#my mind is raging ocean it seems HA

[slippery-dick-wrasse]

i can't believe my aspie quiz results came out in the shape of a fish....

[lexcys]

★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader

summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort

warnings: blood, wound description

a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry

loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill

the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other

right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting

curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe

whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind

you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him

after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you

you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight

being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs

you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room

the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead

the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space

he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers

he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word

carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him

analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing

right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter

the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.

quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows

you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face

''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts

you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,” you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding

his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters

''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''

you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge

seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand

you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else

slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this

you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him

silence

rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again

he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing

defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him

suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps

you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did

he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes

rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do

relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''

''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering

you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink

a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself

rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid

right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first

you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took

ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds

he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip

you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way

you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible

his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness

settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong

while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you

you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers

the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing

after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place

you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself

by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze

you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.

you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.

you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid

you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow

it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face

his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash

you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in

you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was

''done''

the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart

his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank

his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go

you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back

rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back

you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''

he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher

his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts

seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch

as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''

fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred

rafe nodded

you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on

he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you

you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion

''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted

you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back

rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw

without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''

he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''

you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold

your eyes flicker back to him

“stay”

[redheadspark]

Here (Part One)

Summary - Azriel's worst nightmare has come true: his mate is nearly killed.

Warnings - Mostly Angst in this one

A/N - This is part of the Ocean Eyes Series.

I wanted to write a two-part, or possibly a three-part of this idea I had in my head. I promise it won't be all angst, more like a hurt/comfort if you will! Please let me know in the comments if you wish to be tagged in the second and possibly third part of this piece :).

Part Two can be found Here

Part Three can be found Here

I hope you enjoy it.

Rage. All Azriel could think was rage. 

He pushed his way into the front doors of the River House, his mind reeling and his thoughts were focused on one being. Everything on his body was stiff, from the top of his neck down his backside to his feet that were pushing him to the main sitting room to the right.  Voices were heard, worried and angered voices that were mixed and the tension felt along the Shadowsinger. He was moving so fast that his own shadows were trying to catch up to him, warning him and coaxing him to be calm. But he was not calm. 

You were nearly killed.  His mate and wife were almost killed. He was seeing red.

He abruptly threw open the doors, seeing all who were present stop in their conversation and look at him as his wide eyes were filled with anger. Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian were all there in a semi-circle, horror was on their faces alongwith anger and festering wrath and outrage. But Azriel was not thinking about them, he was thinking about you and what happened.

What he felt in the bond.

"Where is she?" He asked in a low tone, not caring that the tone was a bite and his eyes were glaring at the Inner Circle. Each of them, directly in the eye, knowing fully well they wouldn't lie to them since it was Rhsyand who contacted him.Feyre, looking rather remorseful and on the verge of tears seeing Azriel like this, walks over to him with hesitance. His eyes locked with hers.

"Azriel.." She started, but Azriel's eyes snapped to her in such a way that it made Freyre freeze.

"Feyre," he said her name with such a bite that it seemed not himself, but he was not himself. Feyre's eyes widened in shock, the sound of his voice saying her name seemed lethal in a sense, he'd never spoken to her like that before. If it was any other circumstances, Azriel would have been chewed out by Rhsyand for the way he spoke to his High Lady. But Rhysand stayed quiet, inwardly knowing not to step on the Spymaster's toes at the moment. 

Feyre glided over to Azriel and took his fist in her hands, coaxing him to at least open his hand up to allow her to lace her fingers in his. Her bright eyes searched his, determination on her face, "Come with me, I'll take you to her."

Azriel followed willingly, knowing Feyre would guide him now as she led him out of the sitting room and up the stairs. All Azriel could think about was you, the pain he felt deep in the bond, and how that alone almost made him fall to his knees. He heard your scream, the piercing scream that sounded like your own soul was being sucked away from you. Azriel knew you could handle pain, he knew you weren't a pushover. You were tough as nails, one of the toughest Illryians Azriel has ever known. Not just tough in strength, but tough in spirit and in your soul. 

To feel that pain and hear it, Azriel had never been this scared in his long life.

Feyre ushered Azriel to one of the guest rooms, pushing the door open. Azriel froze at the sight in front of him, his heart plummeting in his chest and his blood going cold. There you were, passed out cold on your side in the middle of the massive bed that was right in the middle of the room.  You were stripped down to your undergarments, a thin sheen of sweat along your skin as you were clutching a massive body pillow in your arms and legs and your wings were sprawled out behind you. A massive red slash into your left wing, right along the bone from top to bottom, was seen and so visible to Azriel that he was fuming. Madja was perched on the bed, ointment was pressed into your wing and herbs were in vials next to her on the nightstand. 

Azriel saw your unconscious body, the pale skin tone that was clear evidence of blood loss, and even the shine in your hair was gone, it was like he was seeing a ghost. You seemed more like a shell, a hollowed shell of the being that Azriel knew and loved. After Feyre released Azriel's hand, Azriel walked over to kneel next to you to be nose-to-nose with you. He searched your face, the coolness in your cheeks, and the dark circles under your eyes.  Even the way you breathed while sleeping sounded uneasy, laboring really as Azriel tried to hold back his own tears.

His own worst nightmare came true right in front of his eyes: his mate being harmed and Azriel having no way of stopping or preventing it. He feared this for as long as you two were together, that something could happen to you because of who he was and what role he played for Night Court. But of course, you told him that nothing would happen to you, that he was too worried or paranoid. 

It was now a sick reality.

Azriel felt his heart breaking as he tentatively reached out and touched your bare arm that was on top of the body pillow, feeling how cold you were and the sweat still evident. You whimpered, still asleep and sounding like you were in insane pain as Azriel felt tears in his eyes. Tears for seeing his mate in such pain, tears for the rage he was trying to bury deep down.

Tears for the regret of not killing the very fae he had a hunch did this to his mate.

"She'll survive," Azriel's head snapped up at Madja, who was ringing out a blood-stained washcloth into a basin. Her face was solemn, but still calm as she took some more ointment along her fingers and reached over to place a generous coat of it along the open wound on your wings. You whimpered in pain, your face contorted as Azriel immediately rubbed your arms and nosed your hair lovingly. 

I'm here, baby. I'm right here, I got you with me. Stay with me, baby. Please, stay with me. I need you, I need you here with me.

Azriel was saying so many things through the bond, hoping and praying to The Cauldron that you could hear his voice as he kept talking to you inwardly. He wanted you to open your eyes and show you the brilliant blue orbs that he loved, he wanted to hear your laughter and voice to know that you were still breathing. 

You were there, but you seemed so far away.

"What happened?" Azriel finally asked, his voice raw from the tears as his fingers were still massaging your arms soothingly. His eyes went to Madja, who was giving him a serious look.  The stare-down was enough to have Feyre feel as though she was interrupting something, but Madja then jerked her head to the left. Azriel's eyes followed in that direction, seeing what she was he was directing him to stare at. His eyes went wide.

A singular Ash Arrow.

"The arrow sliced along her bone," Madja explained, getting up from the bed and walking over to the bowl where the arrow was sticking out. Water was inside stained red in blood and something darker, almost black. Azriel watched in silent anger as Madja took a spare cloth in her fingers to lift the arrow without her fingers touching the actual arrow itself. It was long, stained in your blood, and looked precise in design.

"It was an inch away from being fatal," Madja explained as she showed the arrow to Azriel, "Your mate was lucky to have been fast enough to not have it be fatal to her. But the poison in the arrow is doubled compared to other ash arrows I've dealt with in the past."

Azriel felt his shadows flicker against his sides in anger from what he heard as he spoke low, "Doubled?"

"Whoever shot this arrow, had all the intentions in killing your mate, and making it painful," Madja explained, Azriel's eyes darting to her as well as Feyre's. Though she was still at the doorway into the guest room, she could see all that Azriel was reacting to. She felt it in the air and sensed it, she too also hated seeing you nearly on death's door and so close to leaving this world.  Azriel was happy with you, immensely happy, and to think of you leaving him and your son in this world without you there would break her heart.

"I spoke to your High Lord and High Lady about her condition and what needs to be done for her to recover back to full health," Madja explained thoroughly as she dropped the arrow back into the bowl with a splash, making her way back to her work station, "Your mate needs to stay here to fully heal. Her wings are tender and delicate now, any movement will make the poison spread,"

"It's still in her?" Azriel asked hoarsely, almost in pain himself. Feyre moved then, no longer being able to stay in her spot away from her friend as he was grieving for his wife. Standing behind him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, his shadows licking her fingers and palm as a silent way to thank her. Somehow, Feyre felt it too, watching Madja as she was packing some of her things.

"The poison is minimal and tolerable for now, I took most of it out. It's up to your mate and her willpower for the poison to evaporate within the next day or two, in fact, it's critical. Which is why she needs to stay here and let the medicine and her Illryian strength do the work to get herself back on her feet," Madja informed Azriel and Feyre, clutching her bag as she stood by the bed. 

"She'll be safe here, Az," Feyre softly said to Azriel behind him, Azriel heard the softness in her tone as she spoke again, "She'll stay here at River House for as long as she needs to."

"I'll come by tonight and check on her, and from then on I'll come daily. For now, she needs rest, peace, and quiet," Madja explained, taking in a long breath as she gave Azriel a soft bow, "I'm sorry for this, Shadowsinger.  This is no easy thing to conquer. But I stand by what I said when she brought your son into the world: your mate is strong. One of the strongest female Illryians I have ever met in my life. You must have faith that she'll make it out alive, it is vital not just for her, but for you."

Azriel drank in all she said as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her to leave Azriel and Feyre in the room. There was silence for a moment or two, the only sound that was heard was Azriel's labored breathing and the slightly opened window near the bed. He looked at you again, feeling his world falling apart all over as he attempted to hide his tears. But Feyre caught on and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hug him from behind. The tears fell, and Azriel squinted in pain as he rested his head on the mattress, though still asleep and not realizing that your mate was breaking.

"She's right here, Az. She's right here alive with us okay?" Feyre said to him as she hugged him tight.

"I failed her," He moaned into the mattress, Feyre shaking her head as he sobbed, "I swore to protect her and keep her safe when we got together. It's my fault—"

"Don't do that! Don't say that Azriel.  This was not your fault, do you hear me?" Feyre reassured Azriel. Azriel clung onto Feyre, still crying into the sheets and feeling as though you were slipping away without him being able to cling to you. But the fact that Feyre was there, holding him close and telling him that you were alive, it was a small sliver of hope for him to hold onto. So many things were flooding in his mind: Who shot the arrow? Who was in charge of this attack? Why would you be the target? 

Who did Azriel need to hunt down and kill?

"She's going to stay here, perfectly safe, and I will make sure she is comfortable, Azriel. You have my word," Feyre promised Azriel as he lifted his head from the mattress, shoving his tears away aggressively with his fingers.

"Are you saying that as my High Lady?" Azriel asked, not meaning to sound bitter about it but his voice sounded it. Feyre hummed, moving to kneel next to Azriel so he could see the love in her eyes and sincerity. He adored that about Feyre, how kind she was even after all she went through as a human, and how she saved Prythian from Kind Hybern. She was still kind, still gentle in her heart though fierce when she needed to be. But the one thing that made her strong was her fierce friendships, how she held her friends close and would never let them go.

Like now.

"I'm saying that as your friend and someone who loves you," She replied softly, trying not to cry herself as she gave Azriel a soft smile, "Nothing is going to happen to her here, and you are more than welcome to be here with her while she gets better. Your family is our family too Az,"

Azriel panicked, thinking about the one member of the family who would be affected. 

"But what about Alec? Oh, Alec," Azriel panicked again, his son was now on his mind. What was his son going to think when he heard about his mother? What was Azriel going to say? His son was far too young for this chaotic world that was filled with hate and pain. Being only 4 years old, Alec was still so innocent and so kind, just like his mother.

"He's at school with Nyx right now, and he can stay here with you too," Feyre said to him calmly, seeing his panic, "I'll make up the guest room across the way for you two to sleep in while—"

"I'm staying in here with her," Azriel said to Feyre as he looked back at you, seeing you shift slightly and cling onto the pillow some more, the pain was less evident on your face as Azriel spoke again, "Alec can use the spare room, he can sleep with Nyx if he wants. But I'm not leaving her side, Feyre. Never again,"

Feyre must have sensed it would be a losing argument on her end when it came to trying to persuade Azriel into anything else.  But she would have done the same if it was Rhsyand there on the bed, even knowing fully well Rhsyand would do the same if Feyre was the one wounded and near death.

With a singular kiss to the top of his head, Feyre squeezed his arm a pinch, "I'm going to make you some food so you can eat in here. We're all downstairs if you need anything, but just stay here and be with her. Nesta will pick up Alec from school and bring him here, don't worry about him right now, we'll take care of him. You focus on your mate,"

Azriel gave her a soft nod, feeling the love she had and the warmth that Feyre could only produce sink into him. Although he felt like he was alone on an island, he wasn't truly alone. Not with the Inner Circle behind his family to care for them and to rally around him in this time.

"Thank you, Feyre," He thanked her, and as she walked out of the room to give him time with you, Azriel felt defeated. He took a chair to bring over to be at your side, then opened a window or two to bring in the fresh air, and then sat in the chair to watch you sleep. Not just sleep, but heal.

Even after hearing from both Madja and Feyre that you were strong enough to make it, Azriel couldn't just rely on hope. He felt hopeless in not being able to do anything, be anything, to bring you back. To wake you up and shine your blue eyes on him, to laugh again and fill the air with your bell of a laugh, and for you to smile and outshine any gem imaginable. 

Rhysand needed his cousin, Alec needed his mother, but Azriel most of all needed his mate. 

As you slept, Azriel was thinking over all the pieces of this complicated puzzle that needed to be placed together. He wanted to search every inch of every Court to find the very being that nearly killed you and almost took you away from him. He wished to find whoever was responsible and inflict so much pain in their life that they would beg for mercy. Any torture he inflicted in the past, he would surpass it. 

But for now, for now he simply wished for you to wake up again.

To Be Continued….

A/N -Once again, let me know in the comments if you wish to be tagged for Part Two and Possibly Part Three!

Thanks for reading!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

-------------------------------------

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

-------------------------------------

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[naomijoestar]

hii!! can we have ‘getting a hard on from their crush’ but for the stone ocean guys this time? (especially puccii <3)

if you can write it ofcc, tysm in advance—i <3 ur work sm

Masterlist here <3

I love this so much👀 I hope you enjoy this and I’m sorry for the late reply! And I’m so glad you love what I put out omg😭❤️ Also to anyone who has requested something and I haven’t replied yet dw I’m not ignoring I will be working on it when I get the time!

characters: pucci, anasui, weather report, versus, rikiel, johngalli A, jotaro 6, DIO 6

warnings: slight NSFW

Stone Ocean men getting a hard on from their crush

Enrico Pucci

You and Pucci are seated in his private study at Green Dolphin Street prison. The atmosphere is quiet and composed, the soft shuffle of papers the only sound until you stretch your arms over your head, exposing just a sliver of skin beneath your shirt

Pucci is a man of immense control—both over his emotions and his body. Yet, when you arch your back, extending your arms and giving a soft sigh of relief, his eyes betray him for just a moment. The way your body curves so naturally, with the faintest hint of skin revealed, sends a surge of unexpected heat through him

He tightens his grip on the book in his hands, lowering it to mask the way his breath hitches. His body reacts in ways that make his internal struggle flare. He feels the stirrings of desire—a reaction he knows all too well, but one he fervently resists

“You must be tired,” he says, his voice steady but his hands gripping the leather-bound book just a bit too hard. His gaze drops, betraying a flicker of something primal as he watches the smooth lines of your body relax into the stretch

You catch him staring, but it’s the tension in his face that gives him away. His mouth is a firm line, his brow slightly furrowed as if he’s silently chastising himself. His mind wrestles with his faith—he is a man of God, devoted to a higher purpose. He shouldn’t be feeling this. It’s wrong

“This… temptation,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, though you catch it. “It tests my faith.”

There’s a brief silence before he turns his head away, trying to regain his composure. He doesn’t move, though; his body remains stiff, his legs crossed in a way that might seem casual to you, but Pucci knows better. He’s hiding the physical reaction that he knows his religion would condemn

“I am a servant of a divine cause,” he continues, his voice low, as if reminding himself of his purpose. Yet, despite the words, his eyes glance back at you, betraying the conflict raging inside him.

Narciso Anasui

Anasui and you are sitting side by side, your legs barely touching, in a quiet corner of the prison yard. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and you’ve just kicked off your shoes, stretching your legs in front of you

Anasui watches intently, trying to act like he’s simply enjoying the scenery. But when you stretch, your legs extending, feet flexing, the fabric of your pants tightens slightly over your thighs. His breath catches as you lean back on your hands, your body arching in a way that makes his gaze linger on the curve of your waist

He’s never been shy about how he feels—he wants you, and he’s made it clear before. But now, seeing you stretch like that, casually and completely unaware of how it’s affecting him, his heart pounds harder, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His body reacts instantly, a rush of heat pooling low in his abdomen, and he can’t stop his eyes from tracing the lines of your body

“Damn,” he mutters, his voice low but unmistakably turned on. His usual confidence falters slightly as he feels a throbbing intensity building beneath his clothes, and he casually moves a hand to cover his lap, trying to play it off

You glance at him, catching the way his eyes darken as they linger on you. Anasui quickly shoots you a crooked smile, but there’s something more heated behind it. “You’re making it really hard for me to focus right now,” he teases, though the rasp in his voice gives away just how serious he is

He leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours, and you can feel the tension radiating off him. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he adds, his gaze drifting from your face to your legs, then back again, his desire barely contained

Weather Report

You’re walking with Weather Report through a misty part of the prison, the air damp and heavy around you. You stop to fix your shirt, the movement causing it to ride up slightly, exposing the curve of your hip

Weather has always been composed, even detached at times, but something about the way your fingers absentmindedly tug at your clothes makes him hyper-aware of you. When your shirt rides up, revealing a hint of skin, his eyes instinctively drop to the exposed sliver, and a spark of heat ignites in his chest

He stands still, watching silently as you adjust your clothes, his pulse quickening in a way he hadn’t expected. Normally, Weather is calm, his emotions buried beneath layers of quiet. But now, with the fog swirling around the both of you, creating an almost intimate atmosphere, his body reacts in a way that surprises him

His gaze lingers on you, his mind wandering into dangerous territory. The warmth building inside him is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His breath comes out a little heavier, and he silently curses himself for being so affected by something so small, but it’s no use

“You’re… distracting,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, the words sounding almost like they weren’t meant to be heard. He swallows, hands tightening at his sides as he tries to will his body into calming down, but his desire is like a steady pulse, growing harder to ignore.

You catch him staring, and his usually unreadable expression falters for a moment, revealing the heat behind his eyes. He glances away quickly, but the air between you feels charged now, and you both know that he’s struggling to keep himself in check

Donatello Versus

Donatello and you are hidden in a secluded part of the prison, away from prying eyes. You lean back against the wall, stretching your arms over your head, your shirt pulling tight over your chest

Donatello isn’t the type to hold back. When he sees you stretch, the way your body curves and your chest rises with the motion, he feels a jolt of arousal shoot through him instantly. His eyes darken, tracking the movement of your body, and a slow smirk spreads across his face

“You really shouldn’t do that in front of me,” he says, his voice thick with heat, clearly enjoying the effect you’re having on him. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he’s staring, his gaze dropping to your chest before meeting your eyes again with a smoldering look

His body responds immediately, and he doesn’t bother to conceal it. He steps closer, his presence dominating the space between you as he tilts his head, his smirk widening. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire

The tension between you is palpable, and Donatello’s arousal is obvious, the way his body presses closer to yours making it impossible to ignore. He’s not the type to hold back—if anything, the way you’ve turned him on just makes him want to push further, to see how much closer he can get

Rikiel

You and Rikiel are sitting in a dimly lit room, sharing a quiet moment. You shift your position, lifting one leg and crossing it over the other. The movement causes your shirt to rise slightly, revealing a smooth line of skin along your waist

Rikiel isn’t someone who’s used to feeling in control of his emotions. His anxiety and inner turmoil often cloud his thoughts, but right now, all he can focus on is you. The way your body moves so naturally, the way your shirt rises just enough to reveal your waist—it sends a wave of heat rushing through him

His breath catches, and he quickly glances away, his heart pounding in his chest. But his gaze keeps flicking back to you, unable to resist. He feels a stirring deep inside him, something primal that he can’t control, and it frustrates him

His body betrays him, his hands trembling slightly as he tries to keep his composure. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs to hide the obvious reaction forming below his belt. Rikiel can’t believe how easily you’ve gotten under his skin, how just a simple movement from you is enough to set him on fire

“I-I wasn’t staring,” he mumbles, his voice shaky and unconvincing. He’s embarrassed, his face flushing as he feels his arousal growing, but there’s also a strange excitement pulsing through him. Rikiel is torn between wanting to hide his feelings and giving in to the desire that’s building inside him

Johngalli A.

You’re at the firing range with Johngalli A., watching as he adjusts his sniper rifle. He’s focused, precise, but when you bend over slightly to pick something up, the movement draws his attention to the curve of your back

Even with his limited eyesight, Johngalli A. is hyperaware of his surroundings—especially when it comes to you. The way you move, the subtle sway of your hips as you bend down, it all sends a ripple of desire through him that he’s not prepared for

He clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the rifle as he feels a sudden rush of heat. His normally calm demeanor falters for a moment, and he struggles to maintain his focus. His pulse quickens, and he shifts his stance slightly, trying to hide the growing tension in his body

Johngalli A. isn’t one to let his emotions show, but this time, it’s harder to keep everything under control. He silently curses himself for getting distracted, but his eyes keep drifting back to you, his mind filled with thoughts he knows he shouldn’t be having

“You’re a distraction,” he says quietly, his voice rougher than usual. His body reacts before his mind can stop it, and he feels the unmistakable tightness building beneath his clothes. He adjusts his stance again, but it’s clear that you’ve gotten to him

Jotaro Kujo #6

You’re both in the visitor’s area of the prison, sitting across from each other. As you lean forward to rest your elbows on the table, your shirt shifts slightly, showing off the curve of your chest

Jotaro is usually impossible to read, his stoic expression rarely giving anything away. But when you lean forward like that, his eyes flicker down to the exposed skin, and for the briefest moment, he loses his composure. His breath hitches, but he quickly averts his gaze, clenching his fists on the table

He can feel the warmth rising in his body, his muscles tensing as he fights to keep his reactions in check. Jotaro prides himself on his control, but right now, with you so close, it’s slipping. His body responds instantly, a tightness forming in his pants that he tries to will away, but it’s no use

His eyes flick back to you for a second, and you catch the dark, heated look in them before he looks away again, his jaw set in a firm line. He shifts in his seat, crossing his legs under the table, trying to make his reaction less obvious. But Jotaro isn’t as composed as he seems—his mind is filled with thoughts of you, and his body is reacting in ways he’s trying desperately to ignore

He clears his throat, his voice rough and deeper than usual. “You should be more careful,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of something more in his tone. Something he’s not used to feeling, and it’s making him restless

DIO #6

Dio and you are standing in a lavish, candlelit room. You’re admiring the art on the walls when you reach up to adjust your hair, arching your back in a way that accentuates the curve of your body

Dio’s gaze is fixed on you, his eyes narrowing with a mix of hunger and admiration. The way you move so casually, completely unaware of how intoxicating you look, drives him wild. His desire for control, for power, is suddenly eclipsed by a more primal need

His body reacts instantly, heat pooling in his abdomen as he watches you stretch. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He can feel the tightness in his pants growing, but Dio revels in it. He enjoys the feeling of desire coursing through him, and he’s not one to hide it

“You’re exquisite,” he purrs, his voice low and dripping with lust. His eyes trail over your form, unabashed in the way he drinks you in. Dio is always in control—except for moments like this, when the sight of you turns his calculated demeanor into something much more heated

He steps closer, towering over you, his presence almost suffocating. “Do you know what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice heavy with desire. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes or the way his body leans toward yours, craving more

…👀👀👀 I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it… No joke this might be one of my favorite works thank you for requesting (I might have been giggling and biting my lip while writing this… Maybe…)

If you liked this make sure to check out my other work! If you’d like me to write anything specific for any character/squad from parts 1-7 you can request it <3 My request rules + master are in my pinned post!

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | xii. {END}

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your nerves stir as William considers you in silence. It’s all he’s done for the last few agonizing minutes, stare at you without uttering a single word. Perhaps you’ve shared too much? Overestimated how much he could take? You’ve told him everything, not skipping over any detail as he asked. How Coriolanus lured you into his web. Weaved a myriad of honeyed lies you naively fell for. Coaxed you into staying with him. Planted a seed that will soon grow into a permanent reminder of all he did to you. 

The whole, plain horrible truth.

Much as it ached to tell the story, and relive it in a way, you were thorough and concise. Your voice may have wavered a little, your eyes evaded William’s at times, but now he has the full story. 

And he’s free to do as he pleases with that knowledge.

“William?” you inquire again. 

This time he swallows a deep breath. Fearful expectancy knots your gut. He clenches his fists and bolts to his feet. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

You wedge yourself between him and the door as he takes long, determined strides toward the exit.

“Wait!” you urge, panic trembling through your voice.

William scoff, a frown marring his brow.

“What? You want to protect him? After everything he’s done to you?”

Your lips tighten. A surge of tears fights its way past your lids but you suppress them. Too much is at stake for you to crumble right now. You straighten your spine and lift your chin.

“It’s not that. Of course I don’t care what happens to him but…” You place your hands on his forearms. He seems to relax at your touch and a sliver of relief leaks inside your chest. Perhaps there is still hope for you and William. “He’s dangerous, William. Cunning, slippery. Like a snake.”

His jaw clenches. “We’ll see about that when I have my fist in his throat.”

He tries to move forward but you keep firmly blocking his path. Once again, you try to reason with him. “No, he really is…deranged.” No other word arises in your mind. You shudder as you recall the glint of madness in his blue eyes. “He has my parents under his spell. I really don’t think he’ll stop at anything to get his way.” Your mouth quivers. “He’ll hurt you.”

“Let him try,” William grumbles, clenching his fists. 

Rage oozes off him, coating the air. You feel its intensity in your very bones. When he said he wanted to kill Coriolanus, it wasn’t a metaphor. It’s how furious your fiancé is after hearing your story.

“William, no…For me. Let it go.” You grab his hands, bringing them to your face. They slowly loosen, his gaze softening as it rests on you. “Let’s just leave. I know I’m asking for a lot. Asking you to raise another man’s child-”

He cradles your face. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll be our child. They won’t even have to know his name.” 

You drape your hands over his, emotion making your voice waver.

“You really mean that?”

His thumbs sweep over your cheek.

“Of course. I made a promise to you.” He smiles. “And I never stopped loving you.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “Even after everything?”

A glimpse of sadness crosses his features.

“It hurt. Of course, it hurt. But there’s no other girl than you for me, and there never will be.” Overwhelmed, you stare at him a long time, basking in his bottomless devotion. How did you end up so lucky? Even after all the misfortune you suffered, amidst your woe, you still found William. A love as rare and pure as a pearl lost in the ocean.

You get on your tiptoes to press your lips over his. At first, it’s tentative. You’re wondering if perhaps it’s too soon, if he’s truly forgiven you. But your doubts evaporate as he eagerly returns the kiss. Your heart swells. He cups your cheeks and you melt against him, soaking his scent and the familiar taste of his skin. You could cry. You missed him so much. For the first time in weeks, air finds a home in your lungs again.

When your lips part, he leans his forehead against yours. For a while, you just revel in each other’s presence, warm breaths mingling in the cool air.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks, his knuckles skimming down your neck. “You…do have a plan, right?”

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight.

“I’m thinking we hitch a late night train to District 2. There’s a weapons shipment tonight.” You grimace. “My dad, h-he sends them to the Peacekeepers garrisons there.” Every time you remember the part your father plays in keeping people in the Districts cowered and afraid of the Capitol’s wrath, you feel sick. This is who the man who raised you has become. Someone who turns a blind eye to his own people’s suffering. It makes you wonder if maybe he and Coriolanus are cut from the same cloth after all. Both of them opportunists. Both of them eager to step over everything and everyone to further their goals. Your father gives the Capitol the ammunition it needs to terrorize. And Coriolanus fuels them with ideas to keep that terror alive.

“We could head South, start a new life there,” William suggests.

You blink in surprise. This is a drastic decision, one you never expected to hear leave his lips.

“You mean, leave Panem?”

“Why not? There is nothing for us here. I don’t think there ever was.”

“You’d be leaving your family and friends behind William. A-Are you sure?”

He sends you a warm smile, rubbing your arms.

“You’re my family. You’re all I need.”

Your heart flutters, a fresh breeze of hope passing through you. 

“William…”

“This is my choice. I’m choosing you,” he interrupts, his inflection firmer than before. “In sickness and in health, until death do us part, right?”

You search his eyes and are shocked to realize William means this. He wants to elope with you, follow you into uncertainty and escape the Capitol’s vicious rule.

“I’m sorry…about everything.”

His tender lips graze your forehead.

“There is nothing to forgive. None of this was your fault.”

His soothing words cast a balm over your wounded heart. You spent so long blaming yourself, tortured by your own thoughts and lamenting every choice you made. It’s refreshing to hear that maybe, not all the responsibility falls upon your shoulders.

You wipe the budding tears in your eyes.

“We have to be quick,” you say, your voice more confident than before. “Coriolanus, he…we need to be long gone before he notices I left.”

William squeezes your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore. I won’t let him get anywhere near you. If he wants to breathe the same air as you, he’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

He wraps his arms around you and, for the first time in several weeks, you feel safe.

You help William pack his most essential belongings before the two of you sneak into the night. Despite what he said, you don’t miss the brief way his green eyes mist as he shoves a picture of his parents and little sister into a leather bag. Guilt floods your insides. You’re the one in trouble, not him. Several times, you grapple with the urge to tell him to stay, that you can do this on your own. But there is no going back now. It’s too late. Besides, a selfish part of you doesn’t want to. It’s scary enough, leaving everything behind. The Capitol. Your childhood home. Your parents. Having William at your side is the only way you won’t fall apart out here. You don’t see yourself surviving beyond the borders without him. As much as you complained about your life here, you’re aware of how sheltered you’ve been. You always had food on the table. You were never cold. You always had a warm bed to sleep in.

Now, those things will not be guaranteed. 

You and William try to act natural around every peacekeeper you brush past, pretending you’re just two lovers meeting for a late night tryst. Still, your heart leaps each time you get a glimpse of the blue uniforms. You haven’t forgotten the time Coriolanus spent in district 12, paranoia prowling the edge of your mind. It’s not like he has any affiliation with them now, does he?

Sensing your unease, William squeezes your hand in reassurance. You smile at him.

Still, you don’t relax until the two of you have hailed a cab and are on your way to the train station on the outskirts of the city. 

Even when the two of you successfully make it onto the back of a cargo train unnoticed, you’re still on alert. Even the whistle of the train as it rumbles to life and leaves the station doesn’t grant you peace. William wraps his arm around your shoulders. The two of you are sitting on the floor behind a gigantic crate of machine guns.

He drops a kiss atop your head.

“Hey, everything will be fine. I promise. Nothing will happen to you.”

You tuck yourself against him. You wish you could let go of your fear but dread’s had you in its clutches since you left the station. Would Coriolanus’ plans for you be thwarted so easily? You find it hard to believe, remembering his unflinching desire to make you fall in line.

Still, you give a weak smile.

“You’re right. I’m being silly.”

As soon as you utter the words however, the train hisses and makes an abrupt stop on the tracks.

William frowns.

“What’s happening? I’ll go ch-”

Before your fiancé can finish his sentence, the doors of the wagon open. A gust of frosty wind whisks inside the train. William’s eyes widen but there’s no time to process his shock as he’s kicked in the gut by a peacekeeper.

Another man appears and the two of them yank him out of the train. 

“William!” you shout, jumping out of the wagon. 

Your fiancé coughs out blood as he’s dragged away by the two blue-clad men. He tries to fight them but they kick him in the jaw. He crashes into the grass. 

Your chest seizes. You begin racing towards him. However as the two men shift, revealing someone else behind them, someone whose haunting blue stare is forever engraved into your memories, you freeze. 

He scrutinizes you before shaking his head.

“You disappoint me, princess,” Coriolanus sighs, folding his arms. “I thought you were finally coming to your senses.”

The two men force William on his knees, one of them pointing his gun at his head to keep him docile. Your eyes water. Helplessness tugs at your chest. He took no time to find you. Did you ever stand a chance?

“Coriolanus, just let us go. This is…all of this is going too far,” you plead. 

He arches his brow, disdain lacing his tone as he says, “You really think I’d let my child grow up in a district?”

“You bastard,” William spits, hate flaring in his green eyes. 

Malice sways in Coriolanus’ orbs as he takes in your fiancé. His taunting voice echoes through the field.

“Oh, does it sting, knowing I’ve had her before you in every possible way?”

He tries to lunge himself at the blond. Your breath catches as you watch the peacekeepers beat him into submission. He keels over in the grass, coughing up more blood.

Coriolanus turns to you.

“I’m going to give you a choice, princess. Come back home to the Capitol with me, willingly. I’ll forgive you, set the entire matter aside and we can focus on our guest list, cake tasting and finding you the perfect dress for our wedding.” He tilts his head, his smile vanishing. “Or don’t. And I really can’t say what I’ll do next.” He chuckles darkly. “I just know you won’t like it.”

You look at him, disbelief and sadness surging through you. You wonder where your friend disappeared to, the one who dried your tears and whispered soft words of reassurance whenever your mood dipped, the one who showered you with gifts and attentions. The one who was kind. 

Who is this stranger standing before you?

Coriolanus laughs. 

“You know Sejanus looked at me the exact same way…like he expected me to be someone I’m not, someone I never was.” His eyes lock with yours. “Right to the bitter end.”

Your stomach sinks, an awful realization digging its way through your mind. You don’t know how you know. Perhaps it’s that smug smile on his lips. Perhaps that glow in his eyes. Or that subtle inflection to his words. Either way, you just know.

You know what Coriolanus did and your entire world falls apart.

Sejanus too never stood a chance, you bet.

You nod. “I’ll come with you.”

A subtle smile blooms on Coriolanus’ lips.

“What?” William stares at the interaction in shock.

Coriolanus offers you his hand as you approach.

“It’s over, William,” you mumble, too ashamed to meet his gaze. You focus on taking Coriolanus’ hand instead. His touch is deceptively soft. “Just go back home, forget about this. Forget about me.”

Your spirits sink lower and lower with every word that leaves your mouth. You are willingly walking to your grave.

William shakes his head.

“No way…”

Everything that follows happens in a blur. So quickly you barely register what’s going on. First, William throws himself at the blond. You gasp as you watch them wrestle, Coriolanus having a clear advantage. Next, one of the peacekeepers hands him a gun. 

He points it at his temple.

Ribbons of blood fly from William’s skull, painting Coriolanus’ shirt crimson.

Time stops for you as your eyes grow wide with horror.

The blond dusts himself off, shoving William’s limp frame off him as he rises.

He sighs at his stained shirt.

“This was brand new,” he laments.

You rush to William and fall to your knees near his unmoving body. It takes all your strength to even shift him a little. 

“William? William, please?” you whimper. His lifeless green eyes rise to the moon in the sky, his soft mouth parted in a scream that never will be. 

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, the shards piercing through your being and trailing scars in their wake. It will never stitch itself back together.

In the background, Coriolanus orders one of the peacekeepers.

“Get rid of the bodies. Make sure nothing is left. And I’ll put in a good word for your sister at the Citadel,” he promises.

The other peacekeeper pipes up, “The bodies? But there’s only one-”

A gunshot erupts. A few feet away, you watch one of the peacekeepers, the one who spoke up, crash into the ground. The other one shot him. Smoke still rises from his gun as Coriolanus nods at the man in approval.

“Like we agreed, I’ll also write to Commander Hoff on your behalf. You’ll start officer training next month.”

More words are exchanged between the two men but they fade amidst the buzz rising inside your head. You lie atop William’s corpse, numb as you faintly hope to find a heartbeat.

After a while, you’re hauled off your feet by a pair of strong arms. You struggle but it’s for naught. You’re taken away, William’s unmoving form dwindling in your vision.

“No, I can’t leave him…”

Coriolanus carries you bridal style to a vehicle. He places you in the passenger seat and ties your seatbelt. 

“Shh, it’s okay, princess,” he coos. “You need to calm down. This isn’t good for you and the baby.”

The baby. You have to admit that for a second, you considered trying to pry the gun out of Coriolanus’ hands and shooting it into your own head. End it all once and for all. Your life has already ended. So what difference would it make? But then you remembered. Your life isn’t just yours anymore. 

You look at the blond through tearful eyes, your hoarse voice swelling in the car. 

“Did you get my brother killed?”

Coriolanus puts on his own seatbelt and turns the key in the ignition. “What an awful assumption to make, princess.”

He grips the steering wheel as the engine roars to life. 

“However, it might be a good time to remember…that your father’s written me into his will.” Your breath stumbles. “Which means, though I prefer him alive to walk my beautiful bride down the aisle…” His blue eyes glimmer, his lips curving upward. “I also don’t need him to be.”

He shakes his head and sighs, running his fingers atop your thigh.

“Who knows how long he still has, with those heart issues of his. Anything could happen.”

“One day you will pay. For all of them,” you grit out, the sheer hate you feel for him overflowing in your tone. 

He fondles your cheek, his smile growing. 

“Perhaps… But not today.” He pauses, as if he just remembered something. He reaches inside the pocket of his coat. 

“Here,” he says as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You witness in horror as Coriolanus removes William’s ring from your finger and slips another one in its place. It’s ostentatious, the red rubies shimmering like blood in the darkness.

Once it’s on your finger, he admires it. He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles. 

“Fits perfectly, just like I know it would,” he chimes. 

[nahoney22]

hi hello I don’t know how to use tumblr but your blog convinced me (I had no idea there was such a gold mine of E V E R Y T H I N G on tumblr whew). Anyway I’m a slut for some slow burn romance, can I request something with Echo? Maybe reader has known him since 501st days and liked him since, and learning he lived and joined the bad batch just made her NEED to find him again? Ps I love you, you’re a beautiful soul ok bye

All Roads Lead to You

Echo X F!Reader

word count: 1.7k

Learning from Rex that Echo was alive, you knew you had to find him and after so many years and confess how you really feel for him before it’s too late again.

warnings: Fluff, cute reunion, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, brief mentions of Echo at the citadel, mentions of death. Safe for work. Female reader. Not proofread.

authors note: oh my darling @burningfieldof-clover I’m so sorry for the delay 🙈 this got lost in my drafts. Enjoy 🤍

"Hey, are you alright?"

Rex's voice reached your ears, but the words remained trapped in your throat. You stood there, rooted to the spot, a whirlwind of emotions raging within you. Tears welled up in your eyes as a million thoughts raced through your mind. Then again, how does one react to the miraculous news that the man you had loved for countless years, the man you had believed to be lost forever, was now alive?

It took the gentle wave of a hand in front of your face to snap you out of your daze. Blinking back your tears, you focused on Rex, who wore a concerned expression. "You okay?"

"Echo's alive?" you finally managed to croak out, your voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

A soft, reassuring smile graced Rex's lips as he nodded. "Yes, he's alive. He's been with another squad for quite some time now."

The shock of the revelation left you struggling to grasp the reality of the moment. Rex had delivered this life- news with such casual ease, unaware of the immense significance it held for you. He couldn't possibly fathom the depths of your feelings for the Arc Trooper.

Rex guided you to a quiet spot and began to unravel the incredible story of Echo's survival. To your horror, he painted a vivid picture of the ordeal Echo had endured from the Techno Union, how he was rescued and his choice about joining another squad. You truly had no ideal to cope with all this information, other than stare at Rex dumbfounded.

You had abandoned your position within the GAR years ago, unable to bear the pain of Echo's supposed death. But now, a chance had emerged, a chance to find Echo and to finally confess the love you had hidden away for years. However, the question of whether it was too late, whether Echo even held the same feelings for you, loomed large. But you had to find out one way or another. “How do I find Clone Force 99?”

Rex had been kind enough to provide you with the coordinates of the last known location Echo was heading to, and you had promptly booked a shuttle to get there. The journey was arduous, with doubt gnawing at your thoughts the entire way. Your mind whispered that this might be a foolish mistake, but the need to see Echo, to confirm his existence with your own eyes, outweighed all hesitation.

As the shuttle touched down on the unfamiliar planet, you felt a sense of disorientation and timid uncertainty. You questioned whether you should first explore your surroundings or make an attempt to find Echo yourself.

However, your gaze was drawn to the vast expanse of the ocean. It had been too long since you had witnessed such natural beauty, the sun's gentle rays dancing on the water's surface. The clean, fresh air was a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the deeper levels of Coruscant. You had overheard that this planet served as a refuge for many after the Clone Wars, and it seemed like the perfect place for it.

Lost in contemplation, you were brought back to the present by the presence of a small girl standing beside you, her bright brown eyes and short blonde hair catching your attention. She gazed up at you and inquired, "Are you okay?"

You offered her a warm smile and nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Just... taking it all in."

She eagerly inquired, "I love it here. Are you visiting someone or staying?"

Your soft laughter filled the air as you found her nosiness to be quite charming. Truth be told, you didn't see a reason to hide the purpose of your visit. "Visiting someone."

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Who? Maybe I know them?" Her eagerness was infectious, and you couldn't help but notice the familiarity in her eyes, a certain resemblance that tugged at your memories.

You began to answer, "Alright, he's called Ec—"

But before you could finish, a commanding voice interrupted, "Omega, come. We need to get going." The voice sent a shockwave through your heart, and your breath caught in your throat. It was a voice you had longed to hear, one you thought you'd never hear again.

Omega let out a sigh and offered you an apologetic look before turning and hurrying to the source of the voice. As you turned to see the speaker, your heart skipped a beat. Echo stood there, so different yet unmistakably the same. His gaze on you was strong, as if trying to piece a picture together of who you were.

"But Echo, I was helping her find someone," Omega protested, gesturing towards you. Her words were distant as Echo's gaze locked onto yours, trying to recognise the changes in your appearance from the last time he had seen you. Your hair, clothing, and your civilian guise had replaced the uniformed visage he remembered.

Interrupting the profound moment, Omega's question rang out, but both you and Echo remained captivated by the connection rekindled in that shared gaze. Soon, the other members of Echo’s squad gathered by Omega's side.

Hunter's curiosity was piqued as he observed the unfolding interaction, and he couldn't help but ask, "What's going on?" Omega simply shrugged, her eyes trained on Echo and you.

With a few more tentative steps, Echo closed the distance between you, his head tilted slightly as if to analyse you, to confirm that it was really you. Your voice quivered as you managed to say, "Hi, Echo," and he echoed your name in a soft, heartfelt tone.

A warm smile graced his lips as he admitted, "I can't believe it's you."

A gentle, albeit slightly teasing, response escaped your lips. "I could say the same."

Finally, the emotional barrier gave way, and you found yourselves locked in each other's arms, holding each other as though afraid to let go. "

I've missed you so much," you whispered into his chest, your glistening eyes revealing the depths of your longing. The tears threatened to spill, impossible to hold back any longer.

And then, an unexpected comment from one of Echo's companions, "I didn't know Echo had a girlfriend,” broke the tender moment and you could not help but laugh.

“Let me introduce you to the others,” Echo pulls out of the hug, offers you a reassuring smile and guides you to his new comrades.

Later that evening after some good, really good food, yourself and Echo take a walk down by the shore. Making small talk and catching up on everything you both have missed, it felt like nothing changed between you both. It was everything you could have hoped for.

"I really can't believe you're here," Echo chuckled, a sense of disbelief lingering in his voice. "I never thought I'd see you again."

A soft smile graced your lips as you matched his pace, coming to a stop as you spoke. "Me either."

Then, with a touch of hesitation, you blurted out, "So, uh, are you seeing anybody?" The question took even you by surprise, and it seemed to have a similar effect on Echo. His curiosity was piqued as he observed your flustered expression.

He folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "No, are you?"

Your reply came swiftly, perhaps a bit too swiftly for your liking. "No." You didn't give yourself a chance to consider the implications of your response, and Echo didn't press further.

His next question, however, held a hint of teasing, and his voice carried a subtle tone of curiosity. "Oh yeah? And why's that?" It seemed as though he was studying you, and for a brief moment, you thought he might have moved a bit closer, but it was hard to tell if it was just your imagination.

Your breath wavered as you gazed into Echo's eyes, your heart racing just like the first time you had ever met him. It felt like the right moment to lay bare the truth, to let him in on the emotions that had been tucked away for far too long.

"I have feelings," you began, your voice steady but your eyes now avoiding his, "for you. I have feelings for you."

Echo's eyes widened, and he blinked in astonishment, his words caught in his throat as he grappled with the unexpected confession. "You have feelings," he repeats, taking a step closer, his voice barely more than a whisper, "for me?"

You dipped your head, nodding as you ran a hand through your hair nervously. "I always have, Echo. I've loved you for so, so many years." The truth hung in the air between you, a confession that had been kept in the shadows for far too long.

The crashing waves almost drowned out the deafening silence that followed Echo's lack of response to your confession. Regret started to surge through you, the weight of the confession now hanging heavily in the clear air, making the situation uncomfortable and awkward.

"Sorry, I should go," you quickly uttered, turning to leave, but before you could take a step, his hand swiftly caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him. You stumbled slightly, finding yourself suddenly close to his chest, confusion painting your eyes.

In a moment that felt like a dream, Echo leaned in, nose nudging against your own and his breath brushing against your face with his lips hovering close to yours. "Echo?" you whispered, a rush of chills coursing through your body.

"I love you too," he finally uttered, his eyes closing as his lips met yours in a tender, affectionate embrace. "I've loved you since the first night I met you," he confessed, his warm breath mingling with yours as his hand moved to your waist, drawing you closer.

The kiss unfolded slowly, a perfect and intensely romantic connection, a moment that exceeded all your imagined dreams of being with Echo. It felt surreal, but his touch, his lips, assured you of his reality. When the kiss finally parted, he breathed, "Stay with us. Stay with me."

In that instant, any doubt vanished. You knew you would never even consider leaving his side again. Echo's confession sealed the bond, and you embraced the certainty that this was where you belonged, in his arms.

Masterlist

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Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova a @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @imalovernotahater @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @photogirl894

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 3)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 2 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Music --- Vivaldi - Winter (L'inverno) Quotes - Fyodor Dostoevsky └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘ Warnings - heavy ANGST, mention of murder, non-con

Listened to it on repeat until i finished the chapter. Enjoy. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Calm, boring days, an unknown future, and an irregular sleep, the days pass and nothing new. The absence of knowledge is the presence of paranoia – she crumbles mentally. It's been happening for so long – it is all that is happening, over and over again. She is full of fear, leading to feeling grief. Her life, a tragedy, a land of devastation and destruction. All the bright, precious things of Bucky fade so fast – in the end, memories are all she keeps. It makes her tremble to think back, to remember how she thought their life would be. Her greatest regret – believing so much in their future. She used to build dreams about Bucky and now she can’t believe if she will ever do it again - she treads the icy path between Spring and Winter, slowly and cautiously, for fear of tripping and falling into the snow again, for fear of losing her dearest Spring. She feels the chill north winds coursing through her home, despite the locked and bolted doors…this is Winter, which nonetheless brings it's own delight – after Winter, Spring always comes next.

She spend so much time in my head and in her heart that she forgets to live in her body, not hearing someone entering.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

She blinks at that line of the book, her mind lingering once again to Bucky…but when is a monster not a monster – oh, when you are the reason, it has become mangled…she remembers when those eyes said love loudly, now these walls so quietly shift towards her as he leans on the door frame stealthy, still not alerting her. She puts the book aside, deciding to wash her dishes – her vast inner solitude poisoning her whole existence, there is no dignity in loneliness. The worst moment, when sitting alone at dinner, she has forgotten the ocean eyes, the depth of his laugh, it all had faded into into the past, where memories are silent.

Winter brushes his hands along the hardwood of the door, tentatively waiting for a sign that she had noticed him in the doorway. Three knocks follow on the wooden frame and her shoulders are already quavering, he once again craved a bullet with her name on it, burning Bucky down and in the ashes left behind – coming to burn her.

She glances at the door behind her as she holds her arms wrapped around herself before turning around to face him. Winter seems so human with his genuine smile, nodding slowly when his presence is finally acknowledged. Rage explodes inside, fire rushing over her skin. Winter’s face is flooding with color by then, and she finds that the sight makes her feel refreshingly nostalgic – the shades of Bucky somehow showing.

Dem light plays upon his face, revealing gleaming eyes, a mouth pulled into a grin. Stillness wraps her up in a cold embrace, a chill running down her body as he speaks.

„I warned you and you didn’t listen“

Winter shifts closer, caging her to the counter.

"Oh no…“ she whispers brokenly.

She brakes into a sob she could not contain, hands wrestled free from his grasp and worked their way to shield herself. He grips her hips, drawing her close, and roughly presses his mouth to the soft, swollen lips. Soldat longed for her for so long, dreamed of it as one would of an impossible journey to the moon, and now? How would he ever let her go?

The winters are becoming longer, very monotonous. Spring does come eventually, but it feels so short, looking back – it is not much more than a coupe of days.

He steps back, his fist unclenching, urging her to see – Walker’s work badge. All of her paranoia which played complicated possible outcomes - what an utterly incomprehensible thing has happened - without delay, Winter plucks every vibrating string in her mind by choosing to mock her.

„I warned you“

„You fucking monster what have you done?! I hate you so much I wish they never created you! I want you gone so much it hurts.“

His heart becomes a shriveled rose, poisoned with death and petals fall with every word from her mouth, sending him into a bottomless pit of anger.

„I will tell him, I will tell Bucky the tru-“

If once one has recognized the truth and seen it, you know that it is the truth and that there is no other and there cannot be, whether you are asleep or awake.

The melodious ringing sounds of Bucky’s dog tag chimes deep into her soul – as he holds them in front of her – as if a funeral bell is ringing, pealing for one a last farewell.

„Bucky is no longer“ dressed in all black, he is giving the eulogy „We can bury him together“ he says with the intend to drop them on the floor, but she catches them.

Up in her conscience, it's making her nauseous, she shifts backwards momentarily, but there is no where to run. Instinctively, Winter tightens his hold on her waist, though he neither pushes her away nor pulls her closer – just grounds her in place when she tries to slide to the floor.

„No…it can’t be, I don’t believe it“ comes her unenlightening, despondent response.

„He never picked up the phone that day. It was me, doll“

Now it all began to fall into place. A poor, beautiful, tragic fool - he had thrown her hope away on a moment's false illusion, and she was paying dearly for it. With her hope, her love, her soul.

„No, you are lying“ she whispers brokenly, her voice trembling. She blinks at him, her eyes enormous pools of misery with wetness clinging to the lashes and collecting in the tender indentation above her top lip.

„Stop crying “ he licks the hollow of her throat. "It is getting annoying“ a long, slow lick up her throat "…цветок“ (flower)

And if it frightens and torments her to think of Bucky and the simplicity and silence that accompanies him – she still believes in the illusion that he is there, it’s life-giving.

His left hand slides up gently to cup her chin as he leans in and kisses her once more, and with all her strength that she could find, she slaps him across the face, forcing it to turn to the side. He murmurs her name low. She whispers „no’s“. Winter presses himself close, giving a hollow bark of laughter as his angry gaze searches hers. He feels the trembling woman in his arms, her breathing shallow and uneven, clearly overcome with emotions.

„Тебе лучше, моя куколка?“ (Feeling better, my doll?)

„Don’t you dare call me that“

From the desert of Bucky’s abandoned love, he dares mock her pain. Winter stares her down, watching every reaction as his hands memorizes her curves, groaning, his fingers clawing at her back and quite possibly tearing her shirt.

Bucky dreams - the trees, stripped of all foliage, are white and bone-dry, twisted and curved like desiccated skeletons. Smoke drifts up from the scorched soil that crunches under his feet. In the distance, there’s a hill where, on the other side, y/n stands waving at him. He quickens his steps. She is calling for him, her voice distant, desperate.

The smoke beneath his feet thickens, he is choking as he he is trying to find her.

The fog begins to thin.

He is no longer walking on stone or dirt, but on show.

Winter of the world has come, and her body is lying on the ground, thin layer of snow covering it.

He wakes up, covered in sweat, looking around and everything is so unfamiliar, it’s feasting off his fragile and confused being.

– and there she lies – – not dressed in snow, but in white sheets.

In the deepening grasp of reality, Bucky has no choice but to recognize the trembling in his own heart. A trembling ocean underneath his eyelids. The veil of sadness and shame – causes him to scream as he holds her body, awaiting her warmth.

„Y/n? Baby…what-t, where, baby come on wake up“

„Baby, please wake up, Jesus what happened…I can’t remem-“

But love unexplained is clearer.

She is still clinging on something, still clinging on hope – the dog tags – it seems that she wanted to pour out all her heart into his heart in hopes of waking him up – she loved him, she shall love him always, loving him more than life itself. “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” PART 4 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Tag list @kaz11283 @montyrokz @queenashen @pandabearrrrrrr @depressed-gays-of-marvel @introverbatim @chocolatelovemusic @happinessinthebeing @goodkittyspost @venting402 @tilltheendofthelinepal9950 @lovelywritinglady @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @msoldier

[bonesofapoet]

sea salt. shanks x you author's note : right so i picked up reading one piece again, rewatched the live action and was immediately reminded how much i lovvvvve his la counterpart and would also fall to my knees for him almost immediately <3 prompt : ingens aequor: the vast ocean word count : 517

The pirate Shanks knew he was many things. He just never thought he'd ever become such a fool. 

Night had fallen in a swell of graceless dancing and lazy smiles chasing away the hot, messy kiss of the hellfire sun. Moonlight floated up into the velvet sky to take its place, graceful in the way it lit up the world cast in shadows and secrets and the blooming, careless hope that only exists under the storybook drawings of stars.

It's just as cruel as it is ironic, that he finds you waiting for him under those exact same stars in that exact shade of twilight dreaming. Sand squishes under your feet as the tide rolls in, closer and closer to whisking you away before Shanks will ever get the chance.

He pauses, eyes roaming over your glowing silhouette all silver-kissed and divine. You sway a little among the embrace of salty, sparkling sea-spray, relishing the eerie calm in your heart before a storm comes to wash it all away.

And yet, Shanks remains rooted to his place in the sand, willing himself to commit this sight, this feeling, to memory: how peaceful you seem. How radiant, and even more enticing than maybe even the Grand Line itself.

Blasphemous fool.

He would trade it all, for one more day with you, yet he isn't and he won't, because he's still leading his crew so very far from your reach once the sun rises and turns the air into gold.

"You know you can't kiss me goodbye from over there, right?" your gaze turns from the enchantment of sea and sky to catch him staring, eyes gone wide and soft as he watches you, lovesick, longing, dreaming of a life he won't ever have.

The smile he shares with you doesn't reach his eyes, nor does it brighten them despite the strength of his will. His gaze falls to the sea, waves reflecting that magical silver sheen before its swallowed up in the never ending hunger of the deepening tide. It's a sight so familiar, he dreams of it often. Could describe the rush and roar of the water at the height of each unruly mood. The sea is his home, his mistress, his partner for life. Yet these last months - well. Shanks suspects it's you, who has grown to become something else entirely.

Because of this, he allows the sea to pull him closer to you, limned in celestial breath. A bargain takes shape in his mind; he vows to himself and the tide kissing his ankles upon every step further into this raging entity that always seems to drag him away and away and away.

He'll come back for you, to you. He knows the feel of his own devotion, and how the shape of it now resembles you. One day, when he's finished with the Grand Line, or when the Grand Line is finished with him, he'll return to this silver-kissed beach with its velvety sky and siren song pulling him helplessly, hopelessly, willingly -

Until he's here, once more, on his knees before you.

[hardcore-jones]

I'm allergic to sunlight

Asirel x GN!Listener

I'm not the only one that's sick of summer right? RIGHT?? So I wrote a summer fic in the hopes it will end earlier lmao, and if i have to suffer in the sun so does Pet

TWs: Listener being a little mean?, Death and Suicide Mentioned in Passing

It was beyond you how anyone could enjoy the hot and unbearable thing that was the sun. You sat huddled under an umbrella, your sunglasses just barely kept your eyes from frying, a floppy sun hat keeping the majority of the sun off of you. The lounge chair was starting to dig uncomfortably into your skin and you were only one more minor annoyance from abandoning the sand and retreating back to the beach house behind you. Speaking of annoyances... 

Asirel emerged from the salty water, wet hair sticking to his forehead as he deposited his surfboard in the sand. He sauntered over, using a towel to dry himself off. 

"You look so miserable over here, pet. Is your reward not to your liking?" 

"Oh right, bringing a vampire to the brightest place on earth is definitely the type of reward I had in mind." You rolled your eyes, bunching up the linen swimsuit cover tighter around you. 

He sat at the other end of the chair, a hand resting on your knee as you sat criss-crossed. "You've had some fun, I even saw you smiling earlier when you found that starfish. A little vacation after protecting me seemed like quite the fair deal to me." 

Asirel must have felt he needed to overcompensate with the reward after a few men entered the estate with guns, though they barely made it a foot through the door before you were on them in a flurry of bloodlust and rage. It was as if he was saying 'see, you'll get nice things if you keep me safe'. 

"That reminds me, I got you something." The chair squeaked as he leaned over, digging through the beach bag next to you until he freed a book from the bottles of sunscreen and towels. He wiped excess sand off it before passing it to you. "I found this." 

"I swear if this is another copy of Twilight I'll drain you..." You mumbled and grabbed it with a quizzical expression. The book was warm in your hands, bound in red leather with a somewhat faded cover. 

"You told me the title before, but you never told me much about it." 

You turned it over a few times in your hands, stunned as you remembered it. "I read it before I was even turned. Well- I should say I read most of it. I never got to finish it, and I couldn't ever find a copy of it." You pulled your sunglasses down a few inches, staring into his eyes despite the harsh sunlight. "Where did you find this?" 

Asirel seemed unaware of your compulsion, or just unfazed, as if he was expecting it. "I have my ways." 

Damn it. Not a lie, of course, but not exactly the truth. You decided to abandon getting a straight answer. You put your sunglasses back up. "I'll have to read this later. Thank you." 

He smiled, a smirk you often wished you could wipe off his face. "Of course, only the best for you, pet." 

Asirel stretched out, laying against the lower half of the chair with his legs in the sun. "Lunch should be ready soon, if the sun is getting to you we can head inside now." 

You put the book down into your lap. "We can stay a few more minutes." 

"Good," He rested his hands behind his head as he looked out into the ocean. "It's been so many years since I've been here." 

"Hm, really? You have access to a beach house on your own island 24/7 and you just... don't go?" 

"My sister uses it more than I do." He explained. "She's quite the busy body, and travel has always been something she's enjoyed. We came together many times as children, but I just haven't had much desire to return since." 

"Is that when you got your amazing surfing abilities?" 

Asirel glared at you. He was very much not good at surfing. You stopped counting after the fourth wipe out. Your maniacal giggling made him roll his eyes at you. He stood up instead, holding out a hand and helping you to your feet. 

"Let's head in and have some drinks to cool down," Asirel used a spare towel to wrap around you, bunched up around your shoulders. 

"I told you the sun won't kill me, you don't have to cover me." 

"I know," he said, his voice almost drowned out by the waves flowing in. "but I know it's not pleasant." 

Asirel found out from first hand experience the myths surrounding vampires. He came to your room one day, stunned to see you pulling back the thick curtains and peering out the window to the garden below. He rushed over, pulling you away and covering the sun again, demanding to know why you'd try to kill yourself in the sunlight. You could hardly explain the misconception between your laughs. 

He kept a hand wrapped around your shoulder and began to lead you up the path and to the beach house. 

"Why don't we come back when this jet lag wears off? Swimming under the stars sounds much more enjoyable, doesn't it?" 

You could stop the chuckle when you asked, "Will you teach me how to surf then?" 

Asirel rolled his eyes, escorting you into the beach house.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Iphicles (Part 3) -

Part 1 Part 2

Dionysus has always been an admirer of mortals.

Humans, despite generally lacking the power of shapeshifting, are so malleable compared to the gods - they can be whatever they wish, while gods are trapped into their own great power.

"Oh, boy, you have no idea what power you have sworn yourself to - what great events you meddle in." Mr. D groans.

The centaur -Chiron - groans alike. "It is not unheard of for the gods to choose a mortal champion. It is not our place to question their decisions."

"Hardly. I shall question as I please, Chiron."

You look at them. "I'm not here to meddle or disrupt. I'm here to protect my brother. What happened last night?"

"Your family were attacked by the Minotaur. And your mother, I believe was taken as... a bargaining chip of sorts. By the Lord of Death."

"I am a mortal. I have no godly ancestor or heroic lineage. That might make me weak. But it makes me strong, too - I am not beholden to the Olympians. I don't believe in your supremacy or omnipotence. You are dangerous, but I am not trapped by the patterns that confine you. I do not fear your Death."

Chiron looks nervous. Dionysus grins. "Well said! I await your imminent demise, but well said."

It is decided that you will stay in the Big House- being a mortal of no lineage, it seems taboo to place you in a cabin. And for a while longer, your little brother remains in the dark about his lineage.

But you walk to the ocean, late at night. "Yuri. Please."

And Poseidon appears to you - there are no taboos or favoritism worries with mortal champions. Often mortals fall beneath the notice of gods.

"Where is my mother?"

"She is with my brother. Hades will not release her."

"Unless?"

Poseidon frowns. "This is not your quest alone. This belongs to Percy."

"She's my mother too."

"I-"

You look at him. "Yuri, please. We're not involved in this."

"Percy must find and return Zeus' master bolt. A son of Poseidon calming our... feud."

"Really? Nature is going crazy, and my mother is being held hostage, my brother is in danger, because you and your brothers are having a pissing contest?" You growl, the rage of the sea cresting within you. Poseidon lays a hand on your chest, and the world seems to calm.

"So you think Hades stole the bolt?"

Poseidon looks at you. "It is not my place to accuse without evidence."

"But if he already has the master bolt, why would he need my mother as a bargaining chip?"

"I do not pretend to know my brothers' minds."

You sigh. "You gods are really starting to get on my nerves."

"Mind your insolence. Few of my relations are as forgiving as I."

You hold your tongue, harsh words leaping unbidden to your lips - channeling your aggression into combat training only works so well, and there is an ocean's worth of fury in you.

"Ease, my champion. I will give you foes to fight soon enough. Stay the course and protect your brother."

He claims Percy after a few more days - you haven't seen the kid often as you want, because camp is a tight ship and full of activities. Though you have been sparring with Luke, who's surprised at your prowess.

Percy looks at you, when it comes time to choose his two companions for a quest.

"I would. But... you're mortal. You cant heal with ambrosia. And if something happens... I can't lose you too, bro."

And you watch your brother walk away.

It hurts, it really does, but - come on, that's your little brother. Did he really think you'd just stay at camp?

You walk towards the beach, and walking out from the seafoam to meet you is a pure-white horse, abalone woven into its mane. It bows to you, and you remember that Poseidon is the Lord of Horses.

You see the blue saddle on the creature, already marked with a trident, and you sling yourself over it - grateful that horseback training had been somewhat covered during your brief time at camp.

The horse gallops over the water with ease, and you hold on tight, hoping against hope it knows where Percy is...

[aixeko]

──────⏯ A WORK OF ART [ ▸ ]

MAIN MASTERLIST ➤ HSR MASTERLIST

🎨 “ I'LL FIGHT FOR CONTROL BUT THE "RIGHT WAY" TAKES A TOLL AND STILL AT THE END OF IT ALL I CAN'T ESCAPE MY FATE THE WRITING'S ON THE WALL. “ .𖥔 ݁ ˖

| Starring | Famous Violinist!Kafka x [ Child prodigy, failed adult ] Artist!Reader 

| Setting | Modern AU

| Scenario | [ SHORT FIC ] ANGST! Hurt/comfort. Mental Breakdown. Unhealthy mindset. Artist’s struggles. Low self esteem. Identity crisis. Established relationship. Kafka & reader is engaged. Rushed ending… NOT PROOFREAD.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× My first Kafka fic on here, wow. Happy holly jolly christmas <3 ×Something about this triggered the 5 stages of grief in me so hard. I hate this fic with my entire soul, it’s so badly written I’m sorry. Especially at the end, It’s so disappointing. Sorry... × Anyway, I highly recommend listening to the duet version between Kaveh and Haitham of Writing on the Wall ! It captures the feels of this fic greatly.

[ Word count: 2721 ] Sources: Love and Deep space, Kafka cosplay, and real life images found on pinterest.

🎻 "I'll come save your soul as your "Right way" takes a toll and then at the end of it all I will rewrite your fate as writing on the wall." ✮⋆˙

With every stroke that strikes the hauntingly pale canvas, the aching prominent in your shoulder seems to grow as if roaring waves taking the form of liquid paint have crashed upon you without a moment's notice. The weight of each stroke takes its toll on you, accumulating like the darkening of the heavens and gathering of clouds before their fierce rage captures its victims in ominousness and instability.

In such a suffocating atmosphere, time felt like nothing more than a worthless nuisance, with its worth only to disturb the bothered and the unbothered. Has the star that this miserable home orbits already fallen prey to slumber, or has its opposite already shrouded the sky in its woefulness? How many times has the Earth already taken its rest while you fought your fatigue under the guise of devotion to one's art? How often have you endeavored to bring forth a masterpiece from a hand marred by mistakes and a mind colored with imperfections? How much longer can your heart allow you to continue this disgraceful creation you would dare call "art"?

Without any hindrance to your movement, another imperfect splash of color daubs the canvas.

Sweat that has amassed begins to feel like the submersion of the ocean itself, followed by the rise and fall of rapid breathing, a frantic attempt to hold a semblance of living in this polluted air brought about by your own destruction.

Your eyes bore into the incoherent carnage of colors. Trembling.

A genius is what you were; a fallen genius is what you are. A desperate soul scouring every inch of one's own being in search of that familiar sensation of flowing fluency, of inspiration, and of motivation. Only to find nothing more than broken pieces.

Without your consciousness's consent, the fuming flame that begs to be unleashed took over, and the hairs of your brush crashed onto the canvas. It takes a while before your lidded eyes glisten, before snapping open at the realization of your misstep. You shake your head nonstop, lips quivering at the distasteful spectacle before your eyes, a sight that nearly has you falling from your high stool.

Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down! CALM DOWN!

You repeatedly try to tell yourself, your vision blurring again at the wetness of anguish that weighs on unfulfilled dreams stemming from swollen, red eyes. The strength of your grip tightens around the same tool meant to aid you, a tool that was never meant to destroy you, a tool you now feel immense shame to even have the rightfulness of holding. 

NO.

Your mind is fooling you with lies of deception; yes, that's what it is; that's what it is called: lies, lies, lies. You're still the same prodigy you always were and have been.

This brush is still yours to bear; this brush is still your territory, your invincible sovereignty where no others can take it away from you. For the first time in months, your eyes wander to something beyond the impending doom of your ambition.

You mustn't give up now, no, not yet, not now, not ever, not until your heart ceases to beat and your body turns to ashes of the past. Fame or attention, it doesn't matter; you must, you HAVE to see this through to the end, the day of its completion, the day when it will bask in its infinite glory. No matter the cost, you will... or else—what was the point of all those praises?

They can't be mere meaningless praises of pity toward an innocent, simple-minded child, right? You're still the little prodigy your mother and father had proudly proclaimed all those years ago, right?

Right...?

The shuddering grip on the brush and the unbalanced posture reveal a narrative diverging from reality, a tale where truth has been distorted into a mere blemish on a meticulously crafted illusion. A revelation that you may be able to lie to yourself and others, but one that you cannot lie to your body and soul.

You knew; you always have. You may have had the passion and talent, but you long ago lost one, holding tightly to another, and believing you still have both under your control.

You weren't the same talented child that so many adored anymore, but you were still the same child who continued to be a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted the acknowledgment of others.

In the end, fame and attention do matter because they define the very reasons for your identity and the continuation of your undesirable life.

You are fully aware of this fact, yet you cannot seem to stop yourself. A true artist would weave their personal tragedy and fabricate it into a timeless masterpiece. Yet, you have never pondered one important detail.

What becomes of an artist when their brush is meek, their mind lost in the abyss, with no visions to seek? When their passion has already lost its spark to ignite, and sorrow lingers on, untouched and cold?

It was already nighttime; the moon was at its fullest, yet you don’t have the will to care anymore, lost in the darkness of your thoughts. You don’t indulge in the tiredness, the empty pit in your stomach, or the concentrated primal desire to finally let loose of your entire being. A tempting, melodious voice murmurs in the back of your mind, consuming the entirety of your senses, an offer to travel to the lowest part of the earth, where even the greatest of scientists have yet to discover the fullest extent of it. The watery depth that is known as the abyss, the ocean in which silence can devour you whole. Devoid of a singular worry, devoid of the guilt of being pathetically idiotic in the field where you should have been unsurpassable, devoid of having to live with the fact that you will never be enough no matter the effort you have invested in. Because in the end, puppeteered by fate's hands, those who are blessed by beings of greater power will always succeed over the untalented.

You tilt your head upward, and immediately that nauseating feeling runs its course all over your body. The moonlight emitting through the clear paneglass window mocks you for your misery, taunting you with the art piece that you have embarrassingly spent months on, only to end up with nothing more than a disfigured, incoherent shot of colors. You bite your lip for what seems to be the hundredth time, your swollen eyes streaming enough tears to cover an entire river.

What would everyone think of me? My audience? My mother? My father? You stare up blankly at the ceiling, unable to bear looking at your own creation, a reflection of your inner chaos. What would they all think of me? You wish to never see it again. A heaviness settles in your chest, and you wish to rid yourself of it all, to vanish into nothingness. Your body slumps, silence wrapping around you, thick and suffocating, leaving only shadows of questions echoing in the stillness where time has lost its meaning. What would you think of me—Kafka?

Your grip around your brush loosens, and eventually, your hands relax. You hear the brush drop to the floor alongside the mess of equipment, but its sound registers as nothing more than muffled background noise.

Your eyes surrender to the painful longing to rest, whether involuntarily or voluntarily; you do not know. Slowly, your body begins to yield. You lean back slightly, feeling the world tilting along with you in slow motion like a steady dance with gravity. You're falling, you realize. To say you care would be another lie because you don't. Rather, the eventual fall feels surreal and oddly comforting, like you're drifting into a gentle dream, and the cold floor is like that of a comforting bed that you slump into after a long-awaited day of hard work.

Time stretches, and the world dims, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the arrival of the wooden floor, a final act of surrender as you wait for impact.

If I fall, art will perish with me.

If I don't...

You wait and wait and wait, but the feeling of the harsh wooden floor never comes into contact with your head. Instead, all you could feel were those calloused, ever-so-cautious, indistinguishable hands. You need no vision to identify whose hands those belong to; their touch alone speaks volumes. Those were the hands of a person who has spent a lifetime honing their ability to the utmost, practicing every day with precision and care. The hands of a talented, hardworking genius, someone that you believe you were.

"You're home early." You let out a voice barely above a whisper and drained of a will to live.

"I'm afraid I'm late."

Her usual sultry and dragged-out voice has significantly softened to quiet murmurs only meant for the comfort of your ears. There's an intimacy in her tone as if every whisper is a precious secret she's reluctant to reveal to the world.

You let out an 'Mn' sound, acknowledging her words before you open your teary eyes. Kafka remains silent, her expression unreadable as she observes your evident misery and the wrecked, enormous portrait that she perceives as a reflection of herself, waiting patiently for you to break the silence. Her eyes, filled with equal concern and curiosity.

A deep, shaky exhale escapes you. You sit up before bending forward with your clasped hands pressed tightly against your head and your arms on your thighs. "Kafka," another heavy exhale releases. "Why... tell me, why do we choose to create?"

You hear a slight hesitation in her step; then you feel her hand gently resting on top of your head, the warmth of her touch seeping through, and another hand on your shoulder, grounding you in her presence.

"Because it is the only thing that fate cannot define."

That fate cannot define? You jumped out of your seat, knocking the stool to the ground and catching Kafka off guard, even more so when you hauled her by the collar.

"That's bold coming from you," you pull her closer, "A genius like you wouldn't know how hard it is to struggle to create, especially considering the human desire is to CREATE. You will never KNOW the struggle to have passion but never the talent to make something that isn't nauseating to look at." Kafka's lips part to speak, but in the midst of the storm that has clouded your sight, the world is all but utter darkness to you, and she is the one exception on whom you can vent your frustration.

"People are CHOSEN by FATE; they are CHOSEN, not MADE, not LEARNED. THEY ARE CHOSEN. KAFKA."

"Music is to the soul what words are to the mind, and art is no different; it is a language without words."

Kafka's left fingers traced your collarbone to your jawline, tilting your head slightly until she rested her hand on your cheek, gently wiping away the streaming tears.

"Would you call a genius who spent countless hours and years cultivating their skills until their hands are imprinted with their experience an act of fate, a chosen one?"

"I—"

"You wouldn't." Kafka leans towards you to kiss away the tears of the untouched side. "What a silly question, isn't it? Why do we create? There is no definite answer, and that's what makes art, art."

"Art is a reflection of an artist's truest form of emotion, a way of communication away from the eyes of the world; is it not?"

It is. You admit it mentally, but that reason does not define you; no, the opposite is really, but ashamed to admit it to your fiancée, you turn away from her gaze to save what little dignity you have left.

If I fall... I will give up on art.

Kafka sighed; she let go of her hold and walked past you. Your fists clenched, and you bit your bottom lip until the flesh of it was pierced through until blood was the only thing you could taste, and loud, discordant noise was all you could hear. Your heart was pounding, and it was dropping. Did you just lose the one soul that you have found comfort in? Did you really just lose the one fucking thing that remained a constant in your life? Are you this much of an imbecile?

If I don't... I will continue.

"You look like a lost puppy," Kafka trailed a small streak of red paint on your cheek. "That said, I prefer to see my puppy smiling."

You blink, and for the first time since her arrival, clarity cuts through the haze of your own downpour, revealing your fiancée, your wife, your lover—the woman who has not just stolen but nurtured your heart.

"Was it not you who told me all those years ago that I should stop obsessing over every little detail when I was a naïve teenager?" Kafka sighed dreamily, her smile reaching her eyes and that tender gaze boring mesmerizingly into yours. In this moment, this woman, this woman who presents herself in such a devilish presence, now looks like God's most beautiful creation, an angel who has descended from heaven.

Your lips part, wanting to say something, but those words get lost in your throat as you drag yourself across the floor, hands reaching out to embrace her tightly.

This time for myself.

"...Why couldn't I be a genius? Why couldn't I be born with natural talents?"

"Shh, my love, let your mind rest and focus on the sound of my heartbeat."

As you stand there, the world outside fades into background noises, and her heartbeat is the only melody in which you allow yourself to indulge. Her thumb rubs the painted streak on your cheek, and you lean into her touch, feeling the frustration of before melt away.

"I should have been here for you; a month away from you is a grave regret." Kafka pressed her lips against your head. "You are enough just as you are, and I am here now to prove it to you."

Your eyes grew heavier and heavier until, in the peace of her presence and the warmth of her love, you felt a sense of tranquility wash over you, guiding you into a much-needed, peaceful slumber.

"Ludwig van Beethoven once stated that the true artist is not proud; he unfortunately sees that art has no limits. He feels darkly how far he is from the goal, and though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have reached that point to which his better genius appears only as a distant guiding sun."

"Then I guess... I'll just have to work until you can't tell the difference between me and a genius."

"Kafka, art is a reflection of an artist's truest form of emotion; it is a way of communicating away from the eyes of the world, a language of the soul. If you practice too much, you will eventually lose your passion. What is art without emotions? What is art without a reason?"

"Are you saying I will never be able to reach their level?"

"There's no such thing as a ranking when it comes to the human desire to create; art is subjective, and so is the beauty of it. Being able to produce any form of art is still art, and no matter the nonsensical opinions of others, it is only you who deserves to make a judgment."

Kafka runs her hand through your hair, feeling the soft strands slip through her fingers as she observes your peacefully resting form.

"A struggle of artistic ideals, an impossibly fast pace of flowing ideas that disappear just as fast as their appearance, and a perfectionistic reality in which the succession of manifestations is humanly impossible."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "It's a shame you have fallen prey to it as well," Smoothly, she picked you up, cradling you protectively in her arms, where no harm can be done to you anymore.

"No matter," she continued, her voice a soothing lullaby to your ears. "Just as you once did for me in the past, I will come save your soul."

[amurderandconspiracy]

A Crow’s Caw and Crumbling Masks

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**Dragon Age Veilguard spoilers AHEAD, read at your own peril ** Follow up to previous scenes (in order): - Scents and Grief - Letter to Lucanis - Fives Stages, Two Talons, and a lost little Crow This scene is prompted by what was not shown of the companions during the Regret Prison. This scene centers on Lucanis and Illario My Rook is Faelarin de Riva, nonbinary Crow!Mage! [see here]

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The shadows under Lucanis’ eyes had become bruises and the edges of his sclera tinted red from rubbing away sleep and the lack thereof.  His eyes squinted in concentration as he looked at the slips of paper before him that made up the diagrams, maps, theories, and sparse correspondence which comprised the team’s information while looking for Rook.  He shook himself a moment and had to count to three to refocus his mind and sight, both suffering severely under the strain of the last couple weeks.  One would think for the number of times that Spite had taken over in this period, there would be some benefit of sleep, however the physical, mental, and emotional strain of each attempt was taking a toll and deprivation of rest was dragging both his and Spite’s energy reserves to breaking.

“As I was saying,” Emmrich repeated, having caught the slip in Lucanis’ concentration, “we know the section of the Fade where Rook is being kept is separated or shielded from the rest of the immaterial dream. The harmonics of particular emotions seem to ripple out in different oceanic patterns and Spite has said they can taste hints of Rook in those waves.” Emmrich was ensconced amongst a chaotic spread of books and treatises, sifting through loose sheets of theory and figures as he attempted to chart the uncharted.

“Yes, but isolating where in the vastness of the Fade has resulted in depletions in both Lucanis’ strength and Spite’s essence…we are running out of time” countered Neve, gesturing with their palm up to direct attention to their exhausted assassin.

“I am well aware Neve,” bit Emmrich, “but to delve this far without pushing forth…” Emmrich stopped, attempted to catch his retort and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath to better concentrate and calm his mind.

Lucanis had been listening the entire time, trying to contribute something of worth to this debate but his mind was lagging and he was no mage, able to speak about the delicate threads of magic.  He was a finely tuned weapon that was starting to lose its edge with each passing day.  As days turned into weeks, his grasp on reality and sanity were beginning to fray. He spent every moment in Rook’s room, when not in deliberation with the team and devising plans of attack or being placed into a magically-induced twilight for Spite to pilot their search through the Fade. He could not eat, only managing when Lace or Taash would pester him into chewing on something they had whipped together.

“TRY AGAIN. SPITE WILL FIND ROOK. SPITE TASTED PAIN LAST. WILL FOLLOW. LET SPITE SEARCH DEEPER!” Spite yelled through Lucanis, using the dwindling energy of his host to seize control.  He emphatically slammed his fists on the table, scattering some of the loose papers and rolls of correspondence.

The sudden thrust of sound and emotion seemed to set everyone on edge, Emmrich blinking rapidly with widened eyes and Neve heaving a frustrated sigh and throwing up her hands, turning away from the table, her prosthetic scraping slightly on the stone flooring as her own strain was showing in her movements.

“Spite, while we agree that we must make all efforts, allowing you to delve too deep has immense danger attached to it.  The last time you ventured into an eddy, the tether became strained and Lucanis nearly died.” Emmrich spoke with a firm but compassionate voice, knowing his tone could easily contribute to an escalated tantrum, managing to ignite an already smoldering fire of seared nerves.

“SPITE. WANTS. ROOK. HOME!” Spite raged in frustration his growling voice reverberating through the expansive room and thudding against the stone walls and roof.  In a fit of pique, Spite started to swing Lucanis’ arms in a destructive arc against the papers on the table. 

With his last remaining reserves of will, Lucanis wrested control of his body from the enraged demon, fighting to cease the destruction as he growled aloud, “We know Spite, we are trying! Throwing a tantrum is not going to get Rook back and ruining what little information we have collected here is actively harming our efforts!” Lucanis’ voice had notes of defeat threaded into it as he implored the demon to see reason.

Neve stormed away at this point and called over her shoulder as she slammed her hands on the doors to push them open, “I need air, we all need air…”

Lucanis momentarily slumped against the table, having expended most of his energy in taking control from Spite the fight to keep his tantrum contained to their body. He had hit a wall, feeling whatever control or hope had allowed him to survive to this moment without total collapse starting to slip into a raw despair threatening to overwhelm him. He pushed up from the table, stepped back and heedlessly started to walk toward the now open doors of the dining hall, stumbling slightly but needing to get away, needing to escape. Emmrich started to protest but something in the look on Lucanis’ face and the posture of his body stilled his objection. His gold-ringed fingers spread forth, paused in midair, halted as the necromancer processed the look and thought better than to interfere.

Lucanis blindly wove an unsteady path across the space to the main building of the Lighthouse and down to the eluvian room, his mind blank and his eyes burning with unspent tears. He had to make it to Treviso, just make it there without collapsing, he could manage that.  He held himself together as he unsteadily stepped through the shimmering magic of the portal, emerging in the next moment on the balcony outside of the Diamond.  He proceeded from the mirror to the broken window, crossed the precarious expanse over the casino and walked with singular determination towards the meeting space on the right.  Viago stood with Teia in a heated conversation, their bodies speaking tense volumes that contradicted the combative tone of the dialogue.  Viago was the first to look up, his always active paranoia telling him of an approaching threat before focusing on Lucanis. Viago’s eyes swept over Lucanis with a critical discernment and he raised his hand to still Teia’s started welcome.

A dead tone ushered forth from Lucanis’ mouth as he stated his purpose plainly, not bothering for pleasantries or social obligations, “Take me to him.”

Viago registered the request, his weary eyes and fatigued countenance pulling slightly as he refrained from inquiry or objection.  He spared a moment and shook his head at Teia, wordlessly requesting she not comment or intrude. He gestured then to Lucanis to follow him as he quickly marshalled his thoughts and shepherded Lucanis to exit down the stairs to the ziplines.

After several station exchanges and wordlessly traversing the network of the Crow’s Road, they came to a penthouse apartment, descending from the rooftops to the terrace outside of two open hinged glass doors.  As their feet hit the floor of the terrace, a smug voice emanated from the interior of the living quarters, “Ahh, finally decided to visit,” quipped Illario as he stepped out from behind a bar island, wine glass in hand, “To what do I owe this unexpected hon…” His pithy barb lost as his skilled eyes took in the unkempt and battered appearance of his cousin, focusing intently on the reddened, saturated water line of his eyes, and the crumbling façade of a tortured man. “…cousin…?” Illario spoke softly, unnerved enough to drop his guard and usual pompous aire.

“they…I…” Lucanis barely registered details in the present, all he heard or saw was his brother across the room and Lucanis’ carefully constructed illusion of control crumbled. A plea escaped him as he fell to his knees, tears falling down his face and breath hitching with the loss of composure, “Illario…”

Illario dropped his wine glass to the counter’s surface, little caring if it stayed upright or toppled. He stepped forward, familial instinct and shared youth driving him, as he rushed to cousin’s side, his eyes made contact with Viago’s in a searching appeal for context, aid, or understanding. He spared a moment to look down and offer, “I am here, cousin…” as his hand touched Lucanis’ shoulder, noting the general disarray of his clothing as if the man had not taken any care of his person in some time. He looked up at Viago again, face contorted in dismay and disbelief in Lucanis’ actions and appearance.

Viago set his jaw and tried to maintain a balance of stoic expression and displeased judgement as he looked at Illario but spoke in a hushed tone, “Fae…Rook…is lost in the Fade…” his speech was terse but Illario’s well trained ears heard the restrained emotion bleeding through Viago’s phrasing.

“Illario, I lost Fae…they didn’t know… No pude decirles lo importante que son para mí…” Lucanis managed to gasp out between sharp intakes of unsteady breath, his chest bound into knots, restricting his lungs as he labored and fought to keep the tears back and his emotions from spilling forth.

Years of resentment and barely restrained jealousy bled away as memories of their youth, of this brother who drove him senseless with talk of wyverns, of their shared escapades and fondness for trouble crashed into Illario like the night of Lucanis’ wake, when his own drunken grief overcame him. “Meu ermano, fale comigo por favor” he implored, falling into his mother’s southern Antivan.

[gloxk]

“Mary Jane.”

Gojo satoru ~

Summary: Your best friend was a snake. She slept with your boyfriend at a party. Everything shattered when you saw them. Your heart broke, leaving you with hatered and resentment. But two can play that game. Didn't she know? Karma’s a bitch.

W/C : 2k+. READING TIME: 10 minutes.

Setting: Modern Au, Reader is in their 20’s.

Song inspo:The best I ever had (Limi)/ Birthday S*X (Jeremih)/Drunk in love (The weekends version)/What you need(the weekend.)

A/N: Happy kinktober. It’s been a minute. (I've returned just for this years kinktober) idk i’ve just been busy fr. I haven’t been writing at all 😭. But I was on tik tok right, and i saw this lil video abt a story. So yall know those reddit stories? Bro this story was fucking outrageous, i tell ya. So boom bro got cheated on by his gf and she slept w his best friend. I was like damnnnnn 💀 ain’t no way. So bro turned around n fcked his ex best friends sister. The crazy thing is HE RECORDED IT. AND HE SENT IT TO BRO. I got carried away w this one. (I was high asf.) But anyway please enjoy! My grammar might be fucked up i didn’t feel like prof reading. Mdni/ageless blogs you will be blocked. 17+.

Warnings: F/M relations,Jealousy, angst if you squint, friend dumping, lewd behavior, DRUGS & alcohol. (mary J) mentions of Ex, BJ’s, Male receiving, unprotected sex (I got a little nasty w this one)

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You sat there disappointed in your dry phone. It was like looking at a blank screen. The night was cold, dark, and quiet. Everything was different now that you cut off your toxic-ass best friend. Deleting all the pictures and videos of you two. All the happiness and laughter y’all had shared just for it to be ruined in a few hours. The incident only happened a few days ago.

You decide to scroll through your alt account’s Instagram feed hoping to see something interesting. Something interesting indeed popped up. A little green circle around your ex-best friend’s profile picture. “Curiosity killed the cat ya’know?”, It surely killed you as soon as you clicked it. She was with your Ex. Your face scrunched in disbelief. You couldn’t help but muster up a pitiful laugh. What was going through her goddamn mind? Did she know the alt belong to you? Was the random pinterest boy profile picture not convincing enough? You nearly tossed your phone to the ground you felt tears bubbling up in your eyes. You remember the whole thing like it was yesterday. The horrible things you said to each other. But one thing she said in particular stuck in your head. “You aren’t even together anymore! Why the fuck do you care Y/n?”, Those were the last words she said to you, the last words you needed to hear to leave her alone. It hurt you so much, the girl you known from middle school betrayed you.

It was late maybe around 11 pm. Your mind was filled with anger. You couldn’t stop thinking about it. You told her everything and she did the same. You two grew up together. When you introduced your boyfriend and best friend they hit it off. They were so cool with each other that it seemed like a dream come true. Having your best friend actually like your boyfriend was extremely rare to come by. Your dream came short-lived after you found them fucking in a bathroom at a party. It hurt so fucking bad. You clenched your shirt trying not to cry. That night broke you, you lost everything in 4 hours. All it took was a couple of shots and one blunt to have your whole world crash. In a fit of rage, you decided to go through her entire Instagram feed. Scrolling through every single post. In a recent post from earlier today, you saw a dump of her stepbrother. All of the pictures were silly, cute pictures of him. You couldn’t lie, he was fine as fuck. You saw her stepbrother a couple of times when y'all were younger, but god did puberty hit him good. He was tall and muscular with a sharp jawline. He has white hair and beautiful ocean-colored eyes. He had a couple of arm tattoos as well. You sat there trying to remember his name. You looked over the caption trying to find something leading to him, the caption read: “HAPPY 19th BIRTHDAY @satoruxgxjo! I hope 19 treats you good lil, bro :).” That was his name! You finally remembered him. Satoru gojo, it was definitely moan-able. You DM’D him almost immediately.

(Y/n): “Hey! I saw your birthday was earlier and I wanted to wish you a happy 19th birthday!” You didn’t know what you expected him to say back to that. You didn’t know if you wanted him to immediately block you or text you back. Maybe if he blocked you would be able to move on and heal. But all you wanted was revenge. After two minutes you got a notification from Instagram. (satoruxgxjo): “Yo, I appreciate it. it’s been a minute. How have you been?” A smug smile arose on your face. You instantly texted him back. (Y/n): “I’ve been amazing. Recently I had just got some za from a friend and since it’s your birthday maybe we can roll up?” You watch as your text goes from Sent to Seen. Your heart immediately went faster.(satoruxgxjo): “Lmao? That was quick but sure. I don’t mind. Addy?” Your face was sinister. If he could see your face right here probably think twice about his current decision. You sent him your location, (Y/n): “I mean it’s not like we don’t know each other Saturo, just pull up :) We can catch up!”, You were so happy that this was gonna work out perfectly. (satoruxgxjo): “Who is Saturo? It’s Satoru* n I’m otw.” That happiness quickly faded into embarrassment. How could you forget his name already? You repeated it 10x to remember it, while repeating his name you quickly got up and rushed upstairs.

You dressed yourself in a loose shirt that hung off your shoulders, your chest was the only thing holding it up. Underneath you made sure to treat your guests to an easy reveal no bra and pink Victoria's Secret lace panties. Your hair was messy letting little strands of hair frame your face. You rushed downstairs to set everything up, you grabbed an open bottle of Hennessy and accompanied it with a jar of bud including a pack of Raw’s. Everything was set for the most part. You dimmed the lights and played some sensual music. You turned your TV on to some random Netflix show to make it seem casual. You soon turned your attention to the door as the doorbell rang. A wicked smile placed on your face, your hips swaying to the music. You opened the door and smiled at your victim—I mean visitor. “Heyy~.” Your voice filled with a welcoming tone. Luring him in like a fisherman. “Hey, Y/n.” He had a basic white shirt on, and his muscular body filled it out nicely. His lower half was hidden behind grey sweatpants, He had on white cross that were no longer white. His tall frame continued to tower over you. He sounded so nonchalant, but his blue eyes told a different story. He couldn’t stop looking at your bare shoulders. “Come in hun.” You moved out of his way and motioned him to the couch. The table caught his attention immediately. You made your way to the kitchen swaying to the beat of the music. “Henny? Whatcha got this for?” He picked up the bottle with an eager smile. “Why else Satoru?” You winked at him. Watching him open the bottle and pour himself a shot. “Well, Hopefully, it’s not for little ole me. God, you wouldn’t make such a silly mistake and give an underage boy Hennessy? Right?” He asked mocking you. A smug expression on his face. You couldn’t wait to wipe it off. “Oh of course not! I would never do such a disgraceful thing. But..I won’t tell if you won’t.” He threw his head back and he gulped down the shot of liquor. The burning sensation only made him crave it more. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.” He chuckled as he watched you sit down on the couch. He soon followed you and plopped down beside you. “You ever rolled before?” You looked at him as you picked up the grinder. “Nah, I’m more of a pipe or hookah person. Ya’know?” You giggled at him. He was falling into your trap without even knowing. “Lemme show you how to roll then.”. You took him through the basic steps. Letting your hands guide his. After a few attempts, he was able to get a good enough roll for a beginner. “And now ya gotta lick it.” You bent over his lap using his muscular arm to hold yourself up. You dragged your tongue over the paper making sure to seal it. You took the joint from him and began to light it. His eyes watched you dangerously. After a couple of pulls, you handed it back over to him. He pulled a heavy hit making him cough. You poured another shot for the both of you. Handing him a glass of liquor. “Oh? Is that for me? How kind.” Your hand sat between his thighs. “Of course.” He took the glass and knocked it back, and you followed his lead.

You weren’t slightly drunk nor were you high. But you couldn’t say the same for Satoru. He almost finished your bottle of Hennessy. His head was between your neck and shoulder. He was mumbling incoherent nonsense, you didn’t particularly care what he was babbling about. He was lying between your legs using your chest to keep him propped up. His hands rubbing your thigh, “Mm..please.” He mumbled desperately. “I told you not to drink too much Gojo. Now look at you.” You laughed as you rubbed his head. “.. I know. m’ sorry. Please y/n. Please.” You were confused you didn’t know what he was asking for to be quite frank. “You should get an Uber to take you home.” You nudged him to get off of you. He didn’t budge at all. His eyes looked up at you pleading with you. “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay with you. lemme stay.” He was so whiny while he was drunk it was pissing you off. “Okay, you can stay.” He hummed softly in response. “upstairs?” You whispered in his ear, he nodded his head. You moved off the couch pulling him off with you. You walked him up the stairs to your bedroom. He was stumbling up the stairs you had to hold him up. Making it to your room in one piece was the hardest part. Opening the door his hands never left your body, If anything they became more needy. His fingers roamed around your back as he began to tug at your shirt.

You grabbed his hands telling him to stop. “I don’t know...if we should do this...I’m sure your sister wouldn’t like this.” You smiled as you pushed him on the bed. Of course, she wouldn’t like her brother sleeping with her ex-best friend. But that made it more exhilarating. Satoru groaned at your words. Bringing up what you and his sister had going on at a time like this was a low blow. “Don’t fuck with me Y/n. You’ve been touching me all night. Saying little shit to me. I’m ready now, and you’re gonna act like this?” You heard the frustration in his voice, looking down at his gray sweats pants you saw what else was frustrated. You laughed at him. “Oh look who’s mad at me. I’m just trying to respect you and your sister's relationship.” Your hands go under his shirt and rub his abs. He laughed as his arm covered his face. “Ah, so I understand why she called you a conniving bitch now.” Your smug face was quickly wiped with confusion. “Oh…Yeah? She gonna think I’m more than conniving after this.” You grabbed him by his hair pulling him closer. Your lips clashed against his, you could taste the intoxication on his tongue. The kiss became sloppy fairly quickly. His hands continued to roam over your back. He followed your lead not allowing your mouth to leave his. He yanked at your shirt, he wanted to pull it off of you. Sitting on his lap, you took off your shirt and tossed it to the side. His hands went up to cup your breasts. His fingers ran over your hardened nipples, his expression was darkened with lust. “So fckin pretty.” He sat up leaving kisses on your neck and chest. You assisted him in taking off his shirt and tossed it over to yours. Leaving kisses on his neck and slowly moving downward to his chest. Taking your precious time with him. He was so impatient, whining if you didn’t kiss him. You used your finger to trace his v-line teasing him enough to push him. You got up and slowly removed his sweatpants leaving him in his tight boxers. Licking your lips at the sight, it was a delectable sight indeed. Tracing the bulging print through his Ethikas. “Oh my god…” You stuttered in disbelief, this man was packing. Satoru felt you tugging his boxers, he lifted his hips and allowed you to yank them off of him. The cold air hit him drawing out a long sigh. Those blue eyes watching you with a dangerous glint, those eyes screaming out for you. “don’t play with me Y/n.” He whispered, almost as if he was begging you to make him feel something. You seated yourself between his thighs, looking at him with awe. Your hands running up and down his hardened dick. You gave him kitten licks on his tip, licking away any pre-cum. He growled at the teasing, “C'mon.” his hand caressingyour cheeks. You smiled as you quickly put your mouth around the tip and bobbed your head up and down.

His tip hits the back of your throat every time. Satoru’s hand pushed your head down so he could feel you deep-throat him, “Fuuucckk, just like that.” You pulled your head back with an angry expression. “Nobody likes a head pusher.”, You glared at him. “Nobody likes a fucking teaser.” He mumbled. You laughed at his audacity as if he was the one in control. You slipped off your underwear and climbed on top of him. Letting him slide in slowly, inch by inch. You threw your head backward, rolling your neck. Low moans escaped your mouth as you felt his hips grinning against yours. “Go faster.” His tone completely shifted from whiny and desperate to frustration. He wanted more, He needed more. It wasn’t enough for him. You looked so pretty going up and down on him. His eyes watched your body lift itself off of him and right back down. Your nails dug holes in his chest, “That fuckin’ hurts Y/n.” He gave you a sadistic smile as he dug his nails into your hips. You shrieked in pain. You could quite literally feel his nails penetrate your skin. That didn’t stop you though, you couldn’t care less about anything other than cumming. Your mind became foggy and filled with a certain haze. “Mm. Keep going. Dnt stop.”, Those words left Satoru’s mouth, his thrusts were sloppy and no longer had rhythm. His fingers found their way to your clit and played with you to make sure you came before him. Your moans filled the room as you were so close. You stopped as you finally reached the bliss you been begging for, panting heavily trying to regain the breath you once had. The feeling of warm liquid filling you was a slap in the face. You soon realized you didn’t use protection. You looked down at Satoru whose eyes were closed with a smile of his face. “Oops, m’sorry i’ll get you a Plan B in the morning.” His hand gripped your ass while you sat there in disbelief. How could you fuck up this bad? You smiled as you seen him cover his face once again, “Don’t worry about it. I have some in the bathroom.”. You got off of him and made your way to the bathroom.

When you came back you saw sleeping Satoru, under your sheets wrapped around your blanket. It was a cute sight to see him so vulnerable, you were about to fuck up his life. You crawled into bed next to him, cuddling him. He turned around and placed his head between your breast, his arm wrapped around your lower back pulling you close. You took out your phone and took a couple of pictures. This bitch was gonna know “Fuck my man, I fuck your brother.”. You unblocked her number to send her a little treat. “When Satoru comes home tomorrow tell him I had a wonderful time. (3 attachments sent).”.

You turned off your phone and cuddled the sleeping boy, kissing his forehead and cheeks. “Mm, she's gonna fuck you up when you get home.” You whispered in his ear. His phone was soon blowing up, From his mom and sister. “I don't care, you don't know how long I've been waiting to fuck you.” He muttered under his breath. You laughed, He wasn’t going anywhere. Not just yet.

[xoxoxkisses]

Deja Vu

Ushijima x Reader

warnings: reader doubts herself, fluff

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He walked up to the girl that was looking out onto the water. Her beautiful long, wavy hair blowing in the wind. The wind caused her perfume to blow towards him, the slight floral smell with a hint of vanilla. She looked so peaceful sitting there, a complete opposite from the ocean with its raging waves crashing onto the beach. Everything was hazy, she turned to look at him, but when she did, he woke up.

Ushijima has had the same dream on and off for the past 2 weeks. He didn’t know if it meant anything, or if it was just a random dream. He decided to ignore it like usual and just go back to sleep, except he couldn’t. So he got out of bed and went to get a glass of water. Looking out the window he noticed the sun was coming up, and it being Ushijima, he decided to do his morning run a little earlier than usual.

As he was running, he passed the beach. He noticed how it looked like a storm was brewing, no big deal. He thought it looked familiar, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

At school, as he was walking to class a girl passed by him. As she did, he smelled a familiar smell. A floral perfume with hints of vanilla. He turned to look for her, but she was already gone. You’re just overthinking it. He kept trying to tell himself. In class he smelled it again. He looked over and caught a glimpse of a girl with long, wavy hair. He’s never noticed her all the years he’s been going here, but something about her was familiar. At the end of class he noticed she had dropped a pen. A great way to see your face. He thought. He picked it up and walked after her. “Excuse me.” His deep voice echoed throughout her body. She turned and was met with his chest. “Yes?” “You dropped your pen.” He held it out waiting for her to grab it, and she did. “Thank you Ushijima!” He wasn’t shocked that she knew his name, but the way she said it shook him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, on his afternoon run he passed by the beach again and noticed a girl sitting there. The dangerous waves raging against the shore. He went down to check it out, and when he did it all hit him like a brick. The raging waves crashing onto the shore, her long, wavy hair blowing in the wind, her scent, how peaceful she looked watching the water. It was the girl from his dream. Then the part he never got to, her face. She turned to him and this time he saw her. The girl he gave the pen to. “Oh hi Ushijima.” She gave him a smile and patted the spot next to her. He sat down and watched the waves with her.

“Why are you here?” She seemed to take a deep breath. “I’m here to clear my thoughts.” “What has been on your mind?” She couldn’t believe she was about to pour her heart out to a random guy, but it was Ushijima. “Just about everything. I don’t feel like I’m good enough to go to a school like ours, or like I’m good enough for anything..or anyone.” She continued telling him about what was on her mind, and he listened. “You shouldn’t feel that way you know? You’re obviously good enough to be in our school because you’re in it. I don’t know you, but you seem like a great person, and anyone would be happy to have you.” She smiled at him. “Thanks Ushijima.” “You’re welcome…” he paused realizing he doesn’t know your name. “Y/n. My name is Y/n.” He nodded. “You’re welcome Y/n.”

He ditched his run for her, which was unusual for him as it was important to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and the two sat in a peaceful silence. ————————————————————————

a/n: ik this isn’t demon slayer related, but I’ve been wanting to write for Ushijima! I hope you guys enjoyed it and lmk if you guys want more haikyuu fics.

[eldritch-spouse]

You swear you saw a glint of sadness in his expression. It might be presumptuous to ask but you feel the need to. Turning away from foraging for food, you look up at the god “Protector Saudramar, how has your day been going? You seem… lost in thought.”

He had been staring off for a while now, beyond the sea gently swaying before him, beyond his powers, dominions and virtues soaring dutifully through the skies. Saudramar looked past the clouds and saw the edges of Eden as the annex gently orbited Earth.

There's no words to describe the utter impotence he feels.

To be the pinnacle of perfection as a Protector yet desire so much more, know that he's capable of so much more but completely powerless to take his place amongst the great Fathers and Mothers. Born to see others fit into place like puzzle pieces while he's doomed to push against the walls of his cage.

Nothing he does can fill the void that's been growing in the siadar's very core. Every single day, boiling rage and vicious envy turn him into an increasingly sour shell of his former self. The pain of his own existence grows heavier on his weary shoulders and he retreats into his own mind to avoid putting those who have been entrusted to him at risk.

Most of these sentiments are unleashed in the great battles against Perdition and the Betrayer's growing forces. He has looked the first fiends in the face as he slayed their kin effortlessly, never a hint of fear to be found in his brilliant ocean eyes, just monumental hatred projected onto the abominations created by a rebel.

It was different, this time.

As he held one of those slithering, disgusting, deformed parodies of celestials- It had stared at him. In a way none had before.

It saw him. It saw the real him.

And the way that foul creature laughed in Saudramar's face made him pause.

You and Them are not so different.

It had rasped, bloodied and broken.

You live in the shadows of those that are inferior to you, as did They once.

Look at us now.

Saudramar couldn't kill it. He couldn't even process what was said to him in that moment. He launched the demonic lifeform into the bowels of its own degenerate annex and moved on. But those words, hissed through chipped teeth and a slithering tongue, held only truth, engraved themselves in his soul.

And the realization alone leaves a taste in the Protector's mouth he hasn't been able to wash off.

The Betrayer is a reflection of him.

The very things he's mercilessly slaughtering with others of his cast are no more than unauthorized creations, in an unauthorized annex, designed by a siadar who was also unhappy with their role in the universe.

Except, that one was strong enough to achieve a modicum of their vision, if only just for a glimpse in time. A window of self-fulfilment worth more than an entire existence of conformity.

What is he doing?

...

The sound of your soft voice has Saudramar snapping his gaze towards you, hardened stare gradually receding.

" Lesser. "

He has a complicated view of humanity. As much as he is unbelievably fond of your design, he's also of the opinion that this project was much too ambitious. The fruits of aimless impulse from Creators who, to him, have neither a plan nor a solution for the trouble your kind will eventually brew.

Alas, you are his favorite so far. Saudramar has witnessed many lessers be born and succumb to age, and not one was as captivating as you. He can't place what it is about you yet that's so appealing, but the Protector knows he'd like to keep you closer, the same way some other casts get to perform binding ceremonies with their favored.

You are his chosen.

But Saudramar won't burden you with that.

The god shakes his head.

" Fret not. Do you require my assistance? "

You smile, relieved. " No, my Lord. " There's a pause, you can clearly tell he's upset, and the siadar chides himself for displaying weakness like that to one of his entrusted.

" Was today's battle exhausting? "

He observes you forage idly.

" Never. Every day Perdition suffers the righteousness it deserves, and I am only fueled by its destruction. "

Saudramar squats when you look into his eyes. A pallid, beautiful hand reaches out, brushing over yours. One set of eyes studies the contrast, another keeps your attention on him.

" Not once shall the filth of the impure taint your sight. The land you step upon is under my protection, and harm will fall upon those who conceive of desecrating it. "

You hold onto his hand with both of yours, and Saudramar feels his chest blossom with a sensation that chases away the thunder in his soul for the briefest of moments.

" Can we cook for you tonight, Protector? " You offer, and Saudramar is thankful no one else is around to see the way he bleeds adoration through his stare.

" Of course, my lesser. "

He will have to hide you away from the seraphim this upcoming Spring, the though of you paired to another lesser is displeasing at best. None of the males here are of enough quality to impregnate you. You are exemplary, a perfect specimen.

Saudramar will protect you.

That's one thing he'll always be able to do, no matter what the future may bring.

" Now, finish. Night will fall soon. "