#now tone down the betrayed how-dare-you voice

[avourel]

honestly this Qianqiu guy annoys me so much. i don't remember being this annoyed when i read the novel.

i've said this before, but in the donghua he's all outrage, not tempered at all by the fact that his family killed Xie Lian's family too, and i find that incredibly annoying.

be outraged all you want, grieve all you want, feel betrayed all you want, but have some shame at the same time, you spoiled, self-centered little brat.

[wyvernest]

cold nights by the fire

cregan stark x betrothed f! reader

cw: smut, piv, creampie, fluff, slightly typical-medieval sexist views, loss of virginity

summary: your soon-to-be husband keeps you warm on your first cold night in Winterfell

Ever since the war ended, nights have grown colder in the regretted absence of most dragonfire in Westeros. High and sharp winds have started growing in the North, sweeping far south of The Wall and clawing at the gates of Winterfell.

Tonight was no different. You had asked your handmaiden to build a fire in the hearth for both your comfort, but with little gain. As soon as you stepped away from the red, licking flames, the cold took over like shadow vanquishing light.

“It’s all in vain.” you mutter, defeated.

“I shall bring more furs, m’lady.” your handmaiden insists, getting up from her spot by the fire.

“Don’t.”, you chuckle, “Any more and I’ll suffocate. They’ll have to send all the guards to come looking for me amongst them come morn’.”

Your companion lets a shy laugh escape her trembling lips, although short-lived as a tall, broad shadow appears by the door. 

“My lady.” Your heart flutters wildly at the unmistakable sound of your betrothed’s voice, so gentle and concerned. “Are you well?”

Nodding for your handmaiden to retreat to her own chamber, you now become aware of your condition; kneeled on the rough tapestry, crumbled into a ball of pelts, hands above the flames. Sour shame washes over you, for having dared to believe you were one of the toughest of your family during harsh times, yet now conquered by the cold on your first night in Winterfell. 

“Cregan.” you shuffle to raise to your feet but your freezing legs aren’t eager to heed your intent. “I must admit, my northern blood has betrayed me tonight, for the first time.” 

You are startled amidst your struggles to flee from the furs as he braces you with a firm hand on your back, before his other comes around your waist, easily lifting you off the rugs. He walks back, placing you on the soft bed and sitting beside you, the covers rigid with night’s chill underneath.

“I will not have my lady wife quiver in my own keep.” He rids himself of his cloak swiftly, draping it over your smaller frame. The hastiness of the gesture makes a newfound warmth pool in your veins, reminding you of the same way he is to soon cloak you as his lady, in sight of the Old Gods. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, surprised and stunned, as you cuddle closer into his embrace. His body heat soon seeps into you, your trembling diminishing as his strong arms faintly squeeze more and more. 

‘Exhilarated’ didn’t begin to properly describe how you felt when Lord Cregan started courting you not long after he had returned from the southern war of the Targaryens. Your house is pledged to the Starks, but with the safety of the North now secured, he did not deem it necessary to strengthen alliances with marriage anymore, not when he could follow his heart so freely.

A giddy shiver rouses you from oncoming slumber, as the last slither of cold leaves your body in a sneeze you wished you could suppress. 

“Come closer.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he moves you over his lap, his right arm running up and down your back in hopes of keeping you warm.

“Is this proper? So soon, before the wedding?” You do not wish to so easily disrespect customs and laws, but it wasn't rare that you found yourself fantasising about finally being his.

“I am merely looking after my beloved. I already vowed to shield you from harm.” You cannot tell if there was a trace of amusement in his tone or if it was just your mind jesting.

“Not before the gods.”

“The gods knew of the pledge before I could speak it. The ceremony will be held, but my loyalties will have been with you for long before.” The hold around your waist tightens, affectionate.

You look up at him, pondering your next words carefully; but before you could muster up a word, your eyes drift to his lips, only for a moment. He doesn't need a clearer impulse to proceed.

His mouth meets yours with a warm exhale that seems to bewitch you, all senses and shock diffusing into the need of being with him. Your face is hot, the skin of your waist is buzzing under his touch even through thick clothing. Your kiss is shy, despite his growing hunger. He nips at your soft lips, his right hand cradling your face, warm and calloused, yet so tender.

His left palm grazes your thigh, a reassuring safety seasoned with soft need. 

You cannot dream of stopping him. Your only concern is him ceasing at an awful time, only to return to his usual, honourable self and leave you desperate until the wedding. But he does not back away, more and more enraptured with you, the scent of you, your skin and your soft sighs. 

He kisses down your jaw, down your throat, wet, hot and open-mouthed. Your body has forgotten all about the sting of cold, leaning back onto the furs. He follows without breaking away, climbing on top of you slowly yet steadily. You moan in surprise as he begins to toy with the back strings of your dress.

“If you wish me gone, I will be gone at once, wife.” He vows.

Returning into view, he looks at you from atop, his brows soothing at the realisation that you are about to welcome him.

“Warm my bed tonight, husband.” You utter, a feather’s puff aways from his lips.

With that, he descends upon you, tasting your words on your lips, his hands cradling your liquified body like softened candle wax. You're burning up and twisting with excitement under the blazing flame of his heat. 

His hands slowly rid you of your garments, leaving you in your white shift, before slipping underneath and grabbing your waist. His touch leaves your skin aching and burning behind, his kisses mark you in a scorch palpable only to you. His touch climbs past your waist, coming to fondle the soft flesh of your breasts. Your heart beat is so strong you swear he might feel it as he softly squeezes your tit.

You shuffle in his hold, seeking to press yourself closer and closer into him, as if to become one. He indulges, himself wanting to wrap you up entirely in his embrace. Your soft breasts come flush against his hard chest, legs curling up around his waist as you receive him between your parted thighs. 

His breathing gradually becomes laboured as he moves against you, pulling the covers over you both. As he continues to caress the curves and dips of your shape, his groin brushes up against your flower and your hips betray you, dragging back up against him. With a low grunt, he frees himself from his breeches with one hand, and you pull at his chemise to fully undress him.

“Are you certain?” You inquire, out of breath.

“Always have been.” He soothes your worries with another heart-stopping kiss, sealing the premature bedding with an undoubting vow.

You feel him guide himself into you, the tip of his manhood prodding at the pink petals of your unplucked rose, claiming you. He pushes in and you gladly accept him, wet and wanting. 

“Gods, you feel amazing.” He groans above you, finally settled completely into you, before pulling back out and starting to roll his hips, steady yet hard enough to have you tensing at the sudden feeling of kindles in your womb. 

He sinks deep into you with every thrust, breathing heavy on your neck, groaning in your ear, whipping at the cold and dark of the bedchamber. You can smell the pinewood and musk on him, closer than you’ve ever been before, and it drowns out your senses, reducing you to the rapid waters of a river, bending and breaking against harsh stones of mountains, willing and united. 

You gasp out his name as the air is filled with your moans and pleas, the wood-carved bed frame ramming into the bleak stone walls of Winterfell with an echoless rhythm. 

He worships your body like you were a godly grace bestowed upon him, listening to your every sound and heeding every sign that he could do more for your pleasure. Eventually his thrusts grow urgent and scattered in between breaths, and before he can muffle your ecstatic whines with another kiss, you come, your delicate flower quivering around him, pushing him into the peak of his own satisfaction. 

You feel him throb inside, filling you with a strange, new sensation. He collapses by your side, tenderly dragging you with him. He strokes up and down your back, his breaths calming with a deep sigh.

“Is my lady still in discomfort?” He jests lightly, proud with himself and immensely content.

You snuggle at his side, head on his chest. “No. But I'm afraid I will be in need of your aid every night, my lord.”

[murdrdocs]

FOOLISH LOVERS. luke castellan

description. luke castellan has betrayed camp half blood. luke castellan has made an enemy out of those around you. and unfortunately, luke castellan has always held a place in your heart that you can't close off. at least, not until you meet with him one final time.

includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, daughter of hypnos reader, oral (f and m receiving), brief anal rimming (f receiving), implied p n v, dreamscape sex again, angst galore, some arguing, references to pjo ep 8. inspo from wicked game by chris isaak

wc: 5.8k+

a/n: a dreamcatcher: daughter of the god of dreams installment.

Before you can realize the change, you’re standing on a hill. 

It takes you a second to notice, but the area is much like your dreamscape. Low, waving blades of grass that travel through the air with the wind brushing against your bare ankles. The ocean is loud and to your right, down beneath a steep cliff. From just a quick glance, you see a storm brewing off into the distance. The water swirls angrily as if it’s ready to disrupt anything that dares to come into its path. 

You can’t help but think about the betrayed son of the sea god back in reality who surely feels the same. 

When you take your eyes away from the entrancing scenery of the ocean, you notice a cabin directly in front of you. It’s small, and made from long wooden logs, although there isn’t a forest nearby to identify the source of the frame. The exterior is slightly shabby, appearing manmade with a few imperfections. 

It’s not on a comparable scale to the cabins back at Camp Half-Blood, but something about it feels cozy. It gives implications of a simpler life. Maybe what summer camp could have been if you weren’t the offspring of a god. 

That and the clouds rumbling with warnings of an approaching storm is what encourages you to seek refuge in the four walls. 

Step by step, you don’t fail to notice how a focus subject has yet to appear. 

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and you push the slab of wood open as you wonder who’s dream you could have been pulled into tonight. 

You haven’t even stepped foot over the threshold, you have started to convince yourself that this is the dream of the son of the sea god, and then someone speaks. 

“Hey.” 

You stop. 

Your foot hovers for a second before you place it back beside the other. 

That voice. You hadn’t heard it for months now, but you know it. Day after day, you lay at night with your eyes closed, cementing the memory of the way he spoke and how he sounded as he laughed at your jokes into your mind. Forcing yourself to recall the inflections in his tone as he teased you, and how his words flattened out and got hard when he gave orders to yourself and others. And then, completely involuntarily, you would force yourself to pick through every single intonation and word that you could remember, attempting to find signs. Any hints or clues that Luke Castellan wasn’t the person he made himself out to be. 

Each night, you grapple with the fact that you couldn’t find any clues. You tried to reconcile with your blindness, all while telling yourself that you could have attempted to prevent it all. 

But hearing his voice now, none of that returns. Unexpectedly, your body floods with warmth. 

Luke sits on a small loveseat. The shape of it is a bit of a blur at first, but you blink and it cleans up to present a busy patterned textile couch. It’s well loved, there are a few tears in the bottom of the fabric at the back, and if you’re smelling it correctly, there’s a slight waft of cigarette smoke. 

Strangely enough, it’s inviting. 

You hate to admit it to yourself, but the boy sitting at one end of it makes it even more inviting. 

You step into the cabin and close the door behind you. 

“Hey, Luke.” 

He turns around to face you at the sound of your voice. You sound stronger than you expected. More casual, too. 

You realize that he’d been looking out a large set of windows before facing you. There’s only two but they take up most of the small wall. Outside is a perfect view of the land you’d just come from; bright green grass in the foreground and deep blue salt water off into the distance. 

Luke stares at you. 

The cabin is a little dark—there’s a lamp in the far corner that illuminates the room, washing out the otherwise blue light from outside—but you think his eyes are shining. As if there’s unshed tears barely held within them.

He smiles at you. It’s soft and almost mournful. 

You should leave. 

You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Luke at all, even if it is within a dreamscape. You couldn’t trust yourself in a room with him, especially with the things the two of you used to do when you were in dreamscapes alone. 

Just looking at him reminds you of all of those times. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The feeling of his muscles beneath your inquisitive hands. The deep and smooth sound of his voice. The way everything felt so real and so tangible as he rocked into you, and then as euphoria swept over your bodies you felt so infinite and surreal. 

Your teeth find your lower lip. Your body urges you to get closer to Luke. Stubbornly, you stay in your spot. 

“What d’you think?” He lifts a finger and circles it around in the air. Your eyes lift and you finally take in the rest of the cabin. 

The main room is spacious, but comfortable. Lightly furnished with hardwood floors. Though almost every surface is covered in some sort of rug, most of them persian. There’s a small kitchen to your left, and then the living area that Luke sits in on the right. There’s a few bookshelves but there aren’t many books on them, and there’s a fireplace that looks to have never been used before. A few picture frames sit on the mantle of the fireplace, but from afar they just appear to be showcasing blobs of people without any distinctive features to identify an identity. 

Admittedly, for this to be the created dreamscape of the son of a messenger, it’s impressive. 

You tell him as such. 

This time, Luke’s smile is appreciative. 

“Means a lot coming from you. Especially with the things you can create.” 

Your skin heats up and you block the memories out of your head before they can firmly cement themselves once more. 

“You might have me beat, Castellan. Giving me a run for my money.” 

You don’t know why you decide to fall into the old routine with him. Maybe it’s because you can’t push Luke away for the life of you. He was once your friend and so much more at the same time. It’s impossible for you to completely forget the times you shared together. 

Maybe it’s the home making you feel this way. 

How comfortable it feels. How protective it is. 

You’ve spent weeks pulled into unfortunate dreams. Nightmares have plagued even the toughest minds of Camp Half Blood as of late, and you’ve been unable to fortify your own mind enough to prevent slipping into the mind of others. Which has left you to fight against unbeatable monsters, fortify the barriers of Camp only to have them knocked down by Zeus over and over again, watch those you love die in horrible battles, and much much more. 

In comparison, there is the possibility of a simple conversation with Luke Castellan giving you what you’d been desperately missing even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself: Luke’s company. 

It’s how you reason with yourself whenever you take a seat atop the cushion of the couch. Instantly, it feels as if you’ve never truly known comfort before. This couch conforms to the curves of your body. You lean back against it, pull your feet up with you, and you quickly decide to stay a little while longer. 

Up close, Luke looks even prettier than you remember. Dark curly hair a little more grown out, unruly and hanging over his forehead like low hanging fruit, begging for you to latch onto it. His face looks a little slimmer as if he’s lost weight, and the angular planes of his cheekbones and jawline accentuates the dark shadow he has along his chin. The mark of facial hair that was previously present. Beneath his clothes—a faded black, almost gray hoodie, and black sweatpants—he appears larger. His shoulders wider, his neck thicker, his wrist and hands veiner. 

(Compared to his covered body, you feel bare in nothing but long socks, and a matching shorts and tank top set.)

He looks virtually the same, but his aura is different. There’s more confidence in him, a larger ego, glory even, that wasn’t there the last time you’d seen him. You know what has caused the change, and it should be something you despise. But his new glory makes him more attractive. It dries out your tongue and lodges something in your throat, pushing it further down until it sits heavy in your stomach. 

“Thought this could be our new spot.” Luke speaks softly, almost in a scared whisper, as if he fears that you’ll reject him. 

(You don’t know if you could ever reject Luke)

Your eyebrows furrow. “Our spot?” Confusion drips off of your words. 

Luke nods once. He licks over his lips and you’re quick to peel your eyes away from the sight and back to his eyes. That’s not helping you much either so you instead try to figure out what books are on the shelves afar. 

Since the little amount of time that has passed, there have been a few more added. From the ones that have already been there, the titles are too far away, too dream disoriented, and your dyslexia hasn’t escaped this dream, but you think you find novels on Seeing. Guides on how to decipher the visions that come to humans, or how to channel them. 

You focus back on Luke. 

“Yeah. Like the old bedroom. But a little more …” he hesitates to find the word then lands on, “Casual.” 

The bedroom. 

Your lower stomach stirs at the mention of it. The large bed, how warm it always was in there, the cold leather of the couch, the things the two of you did to each other on all surfaces. 

This spot is definitely a lot more casual. You’re not instantly compelled to straddle Luke here, although you do have a few thoughts about throwing your legs over his right now and reconnecting in ways you’ve missed since he left. 

So badly do you want to agree. This could be the one place where you get to experience what you’ve been missing without anyone else knowing. This is the only place where you can see Luke without anyone else knowing. 

But it’s wrong. 

He’s the cause of all of this. He’s caused the nightmares you’ve been pulled into. He has betrayed everyone on levels you could have never imagined. And who’s to say that he won’t betray you again. 

“We won’t need a ‘spot’, Luke.” Briefly, his eyes flash as if he’s hurt but in your eyes, Luke has proven himself to be a formidable actor as of late so you ignore it. “This is a one time thing.” 

A moment passes. And then another. 

You turn to watch the sea out in the distance. It appears as if the ocean has lulled for the time being. The sky is still dark, but it has yet to deepen in color. 

Luke takes a breath and you give him your attention again. 

“Why won’t you join me?” 

His eyes flash betrayal, his lips twist into something sorrowful. 

Your answer comes easy. The same one you’ve told yourself over and over again, night by night when you considered reaching out to him. 

“Because it’s not right, Luke.”

When he stands, his newfound power becomes even more clear. It leaks from his pores, spews from his mouth with his words. 

“How could it be ‘wrong’ when you feel the same. All that time you spent telling me about your father. How neglected you felt. What happened to that?” 

Your head shakes. You stand, too, evening out the field for both of you. 

“This is not what I meant. I–” The words don’t find you. Luke takes notice. 

“You what? Love your father? Love the gods? After how they treat you. How they treat us.” 

“Don’t say ‘us’. We aren’t together, Luke.” 

That same look flashes in his eyes once more. He takes a step forward, you take one back. 

He doesn’t say anything. You watch his hand reach behind his back. 

“What, are you gonna fight me like you did with Percy?” 

His head shakes. His eyes harden. He pulls his hand back and it comes up empty. 

“He attacked first.” 

Your voice starts to rise. “And you tried to kill him, Luke. He’s twelve. What don’t you understand about that? ” 

“Twelve and a forbidden child. In the grand scheme of things, his age doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. More powerful than both of us combined.” 

“So is that why you tried to kill him? Because he’s a threat?” 

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.” 

“Yeah? Well then when? And where? Because this is the last time you’ll be seeing me, Luke.” 

“Okay.” 

Your eyebrows raise. Disbelief paints over your features. You’d expected more of a fight. For Luke to disagree or attempt to convince you to return to him a few more times after this. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to convince you that you needed him. Maybe you wanted to hear him tell you that he needed you. 

Either way, your reply is the same as his. 

“Okay.” You turn and take the few steps it takes to get to the door. 

Your chest heaves with large gulps of air in and small breaths of letting them out. Your body is buzzing, the same feeling you would get before sparring with Luke. The same feeling you would get before your bodies joined together. 

You tell yourself to reach out for the door handle. You tell yourself to lift your arm, connect your hand with the metal, and pull it open. You tell yourself to return to your own dreamscape, maybe even reality, and forget any of this ever happened. 

Maybe you would’ve done it if Luke hadn’t spoken. 

“You can walk out that door but that won’t change how you truly feel.” 

He doesn’t add on. You don’t move. 

“And how do I feel?” 

The adrenaline is overwhelming you. You need to expel it out of your body somehow. 

As Luke is speaking, you’re already approaching him. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to answer that for you.”

When he speaks, it’s with arrogance. His confidence is heavily laced in his words, overflowing until it drips out into the air and lodges in your chest. Running through your body and down to your fingertips. It annoys you, makes you want to battle it out with him in a fight you’re sure to lose. 

Your feet thud against the floor with each step until you’re close enough to cup his cheeks in both of your hands and pull his face down to yours. 

There’s no hesitation in the kiss from either side. As if both of you were expecting it to happen eventually. 

Luke kisses you back vehemently, his lips messily sliding against yours as he presses into the center of your back, accentuating the curve and drawing your chest into his. His free hand glides down your side to your hips. He circles to your back, dragging his palm down to rest over the curve of your ass. He grips the flesh through the soft fabric of your shorts, digging his blunt nails in before continuing his hand—open palmed—down to grip the back of your thigh. 

His other hand mirrors his previous actions until he has a hand on either thigh. He tugs once, and you collaborate to wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. Your hands dig into his hair, and your core tightens as you prepare to continue holding yourself up. But Luke takes most of the load. 

He places his hands on your bottom to keep you lifted. You expect him to walk you back to the couch, or maybe pin you to a wall. But he doesn’t. 

He holds you against him in the center of the living room, kissing you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. You don’t fail to realize how he likely won’t. 

His tongue slides against yours, your teeth knock together at least twice, both of you refuse to pull away to breathe which results in heavy exhales through your noses against the skin of the other cheek. 

While it may be uncoordinated, it’s not primal. 

There’s copious amounts of longing beneath each pass of your tongues against each other. There’s human emotion behind the way you tug on his hair and how he uses one hand to pull your hips closer to him. There’s raw longing in the soft sighs and gasps you both let out into the other’s mouth, taking it in and replicating the noises over and over again. 

When you finally do part, it’s with a wet, pronounced smack. 

“Luke,” you gasp his name before you can realize it’s happening. One of your hands moves from his hair to hold his cheek. Your fingers spread around his ear and your thumb probes into his jaw. 

He hums, his eyes still shut. 

“I want you,” you admit. 

You watch the smile spread across his lips, his eyes flickering open to look into your soul. 

“Took you long enough to admit it.” 

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes. Your other hand, previously resting on his shoulder, slaps his bicep. 

“Don’t be an asshole about it.” 

He laughs as he apologizes, knocking his forehead against yours. “Sorry, pretty girl.” 

He takes a moment.

When he speaks, his eyes are nothing but earnest. His words are slow and careful, despite how simple they are. They fill your chest with warmth. They comfort you, possibly in slight delusion as you instantly believe him without caring about what repercussions his promise could come with. 

“You have me. Always have. Always will.” 

You’re quick to surge forward. 

Luke is quick to reciprocate. 

This time, he walks you back to the couch. He settles you on it carefully, not lifting his hands from your bottom until you’re seated securely along the loveseat and pulled to the edge by his hands hooked under your knees. 

His own knees dig into the rug beneath the furniture. His head is tipped up to continue kissing you, this one lacking the over enthusiasm from before. Now, he takes his time, having confessed his desire to be with you as long as you’ll let him. 

It’s not long until he pulls away and trails his lips down, kissing along your decollete, not stopping when he comes in contact with the fabric of your small shirt. He presses his lips into the fabric firmly, as if he’s trying to reach your skin beneath the layer.

You feel the pressure he has beneath each kiss as he trails down, and you arch into his touch, excitement spreading through your lower half whenever Luke digs his fingers into the elastic of your shorts and pulls them off of your legs before he even reaches there. 

You’re quick to leave your legs open, even going as far as to spread them a little more to give Luke more room. 

His wide shoulders fill the space. They nudge against your knees and instead of letting you spread your legs even more, he throws them over his shoulders, effectively caging himself in with your limbs. 

If the small smile on his face is anything to go by, he’s happy about his position. 

You’re still wearing your panties. Your hands trail down to get rid of them, but Luke stops you with a hand on your lower abdomen. 

“Let me,” he tells you, voice soft and light. 

You remove your hands and do as told. It’s a simple system you have worked out, Luke slowly but surely working his way down to where you want him. He's eager, and you know he wants himself there as much as you do. 

It’s strange what desire could make you do. 

You’ve never been anything but loyal to Camp Half-Blood. To both of your parents. And in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do this.

 But you’ll simply have a final time with Luke. That’s it. Sharing your body with him, and having his body shared with you, won’t make you forget his transgressions. 

As your panties are pulled off of your legs, and your skin is once again placed above the thick fabric on the shoulders of his sweatshirt, you tell yourself that this won’t change anything. 

You’ll never be able to forget what he has done. What he’s planning to do. 

Except, perhaps, you can push it aside for as long as you’ll have to while you let yourself get lost in his touch. 

The first pass of his tongue is a long stripe between your folds. He spreads you open with his thumbs, pulling at the skin on either side to expose your center. Then he flattens his tongue and licks up from your entrance to your clit. 

He puckers his lips, sucking twice before flicking his tongue against the bud. 

Your hands card through his hair, ignoring the way your fingers get stuck on a few stubborn curls that refuse to separate in favor of grounding yourself. It feels too good, and you haven’t been in this position for too long. There’s nothing you fear more right now than getting too lost and waking up in the real world before you’re even satisfied. 

Luke brings his attention back down to your entrance where he laps up what you’ve been leaking. He groans, peeling his mouth away and you stare down at him, entranced by how grateful he looks. 

Eyes closed, face completely relaxed, his scar laid flat against his cheek, his pink lips parted and glistening. 

He looks ethereal. The sight is addicting. 

“Missed this so much,” he admits, tongue flickering out to lick the remnants of your arousal off of his lips. 

You feel the same, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, you scrape your nails at his scalp lightly and shuffle your hips, hoping that alone is enough to capture Luke’s attention again. 

Either he catches the memo or he had the same idea as you because his lips are right back between your legs.

You’d expected him to behave like a man starved, licking and sucking your cunt like you would disappear any moment. Instead, he takes his time with you. He utilizes the best part about being in a dreamscape: the lack of concrete time. 

He savors the taste of your cunt, and the little sounds you make. His fingers press into the tops of your thighs as he holds them down against his shoulders to prevent you from squirming. His nose nudges against your clit and digs into the short hair you have on your mound. 

He presses his tongue everywhere that he can, sometimes even sliding further down to rim areas still unexplored. Each time, you would tense up just a little less, until eventually you were trying to subtly urge his head further down for him to do it just one more time. 

And when he does, that’s when the coil in your lower belly gets as tight as it could get, just before snapping from the tension. You would have warned him. Or, maybe you did. You were so focused on getting there that any words that came out of your mouth weren’t even considered. You weren’t aware of anything other than your mouth moving at the same speed as your hips as you dragged your cunt against Luke’s face, using him to guide your orgasm to full completion. 

As soon as your hips stop twitching you swing your legs off of his shoulders and slide to the floor beside him. You pull your shirt off, then do the same for Luke, throwing both of your tops off to the side. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing another layer beneath the sweatshirt, allowing you to run your palms down his chest, feeling the familiar definition along his abdomen. 

You sit in front of him with your legs folded underneath you, and since he’s on his haunches, he towers over you just a bit. You have to tilt your head up to kiss at his jaw and neck, your hands busying themselves with urging his sweatpants off of his hips. 

Luke does the rest of the job for you, hesitantly pulling away from your touch to stand and slide his sweatpants off of his legs himself. You’re left on the ground, hands politely resting in your lap while you stare up at Luke with wide eyes. 

He slowly reveals more and more of his legs until he’s wearing nothing but his briefs. They hug him well, like they always have. A prominent outline of the muscle definition in his thighs, elastic waistband hanging low enough on his hips for you to see the ‘V’ that connects his hips and abdomen. And of course, the tight material reveals the prominent boner confined within the crotch of his briefs. 

You want to reach up and palm him. You want to pull the final layer off of him. You want to take his cock into your mouth and relax with the heavy and warm feeling of him against your tongue. 

But you decide to be patient. And it’s worth it. 

Luke slides his briefs off himself, never breaking eye contact with you as he throws them to join the rest of your clothing. His stare is strong and heavy as he spits into his hand and puts his dick into the same place, wrapping his palm around the center of it and stroking a few times. 

There’s the prettiest, most picturesque bead of precum at the tip and you’re practically salivating just looking at it, praying deep down that Luke doesn’t run his hand over it so you can have it for yourself. 

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Luke takes a step closer, holding the base of his cock right in front of your face, allowing you to get the perfect view of how his tip is a light pink around the almost clear drop of precum. 

“You want?” he asks you simply, smiling a bit when you nod eagerly. “Then open.” 

You’re quick to do as told, lacking any shame whenever you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. As soon as Luke presses his tip to your muscle, you wrap your lips around him and eagerly suck him clean. 

Another good thing about the dreamscape is that everything either tastes like absolutely nothing, or like pure honey. And when you’re with Luke, things are usually the latter. 

You start to get lost in it, enthusiastically beginning to suck Luke off even though you were only meant to be getting a taste. 

You can see that Luke is close to commenting on it. His eyes shine like they do before he has something to say, but just when his lips part and he takes a breath to speak, you hollow your cheeks and sink as far down him as you can and any words he could have conjured up are suddenly gone. 

He lets you do what you want, eyes fluttering shut and one large hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to suck him off. He lets out the smallest noises, pretty grunts and groans and sighs. 

Luke was clearly just as wound up as you were. Within a couple of minutes he’s already starting to spew out praises like he does when he’s close. Some of them are fragments, broken words strung together in incomplete sentences. 

“So … doing so .. you’re–” when you swirl your tongue at the tip and tease his balls just a bit. 

“Gods, you’re so good at this,” when you jerk the majority of his dick with one hand and focus your mouth on his tip with the other. 

“Close. So close. Almost there, dove” when you take all of him into your mouth once more, throat molding around the definite shape of him. 

And when he cums down your throat, you’re so satisfied that you can’t help but moan unabashedly along with him. 

You’ve only just swallowed his cum before his cock is pulled out of your mouth and he’s back on his knees in front of you. 

His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you into his lap, laying his head on your chest and just letting himself be. 

Just existing. 

After a couple of minutes, you stop expecting him to speak and decide to just exist too. Your breathing eventually matches up, in and out, in and out, over and over again in tandem. Outside, rain starts to thud against the roof of the small home. Distantly, there’s the faint sound of thunder, and you’re sure the ocean is swirling angrily. 

None of that matters, though. You’ll be left to decipher the metaphorical meanings of it all later, when you aren’t coexisting in the shared warmth from you and Luke. 

When he isn’t kissing the tops of your breasts and holding you securely in his arms. 

Eventually, Luke does break the silence. His voice is low when he does, both in volume and tone. 

“Can I have you? Just one final time?” 

He talks into your skin without looking directly at you. But as you start to respond, you cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. 

The entire time, you’ve been fighting this battle. Knowing you wanted Luke, knowing you wanted to be with Luke, but also knowing it was wrong. All of it was wrong. 

But right here, right now, you let go. You nod unashamedly. You kiss his forehead then the tip of his nose then his lips, before landing on the bottom end of his scar. 

You tell him, “Yes. Of course, Luke”, as if he didn’t even have to ask in the first place. 

And truthfully, you don’t think he did. 

‎

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” 

Luke is in the middle of pulling his sweatshirt back over his head when you speak. There’s a second where the fabric is hiding his face, slowly revealing the curls at the top of his head, then his dark eyebrows, and finally his eyes. They look as they have the entire time: despondent. 

“I know you didn’t. Neither did I.” You have a feeling that neither of you are speaking about the same specific thing, but the overlap in your conditions is so wide that you don’t bother correcting him. 

He reaches behind his back once more and when he pulls his hand back around, he has his camp necklace dangling from his fingers. He undoes the knot, and holds it open, waiting, until finally you turn around and let him delicately tie it around your neck. 

Your hand touches the beads. You want to thank him, but it doesn’t feel right. 

Instead, your lips twist into what you hope comes off as a thankful smile when you turn around. When Luke replicates it, you feel a little better. 

There’s a moment, just a brief moment there where you’re both staring at each other and the memory of Luke’s hands and lips and tongue and his everything engrossing you, taking your everything and combining them together, is still fresh on your mind. The warmth of his eyes and the warmth of his camp necklace around your throat heals you. And you consider that your feelings for Luke were stronger than you ever forced yourself to acknowledge. 

He was more than a close friend to you. More than someone you looked up to. More than someone you shared your body with in the dreamscape. 

He was more. 

It feels unfair for you to have these emotions. The wrongness of it all—your feelings for Luke Castellan, how he’d turned out—has rage fueling deep in your gut. With no one else to blame it on, you can’t help but briefly curse the gods. 

For they were the ones to cause this. To instill deep hatred into Luke’s chest. To prevent either of you from ever having a normal life where you could live and breathe and love without the burdens placed upon you both. 

A life where you wouldn’t have to love and lose someone like Luke. 

But there’s nothing for you to do about it now. 

You don’t want to leave. But your time together is up. You should’ve left a long time ago, and your choice to stay before resulted in something you could never take back. 

You turn and walk to the door. And once more, Luke speaking causes you to stop. 

“You are the only one who could make me change my mind.” He says it in a small whisper, as if he doesn’t want to admit it even to himself. As if he shouldn’t be admitting it at all.

‘Are’. His feelings for you still haven’t changed. You don’t know if they ever will. 

Either way, you’re forced to change yours.  

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. Your hand reaches for the doorknob. You take it in your palm, gripping and turning at the same time until the latch is undone. 

The door opens and fills the room with the sound of rain falling. It’s loud and fills the empty space. Up until Luke speaks and the baritone of his voice joins it. 

“This is it?” 

You nod once. Luke’s scoff sounds painful. It’s bitter with an edge of hatred. Maybe disbelief. 

It makes tears brim at your eyes. Your nose stings. Your throat feels as if it’s constricting with the effort to hold your tears back. 

Luke takes a breath. You step one foot out of the door. 

“Dreamcatcher,” he calls to get your attention, the nickname giving you that fuzzy feeling you used to get from just seeing him around camp. “We’ll be seeing each other again.” 

And then your foot lands on the dry green grass of your own dreamscape. 

Just a few hours later, you rise with the morning sun, sneaking off to the showers before everyone else to get rid of the stickiness between your thighs. 

The dream might not have been real, but the evidence between your legs certainly was. Strangely enough, that and the additional chord of beads around your neck. You only notice it when you’ve undressed and stepped beneath the shower head, scrubbing at your skin and running into additional jewelry you hadn’t expected to have been there. 

You take it off and slip it with the rest of your clothes as a keepsake, carrying it around in your pocket for only you to know about.

[natsaffection]

STRAP SUCKING STRAP SUCKING STRAP SUCKING ‼️‼️

STRAP SUCKING FIC ‼️‼️

DOM!NATASHA

😉 love ya!

Suck it. | N.R

Warning: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Oral Fixation, Strap on sucking (r)

Word count: 1,6k

A/N: ui..

Natasha sat on the plush sofa, scrolling through her tablet, trying to focus on the intel she needed to review. But her attention kept drifting to you, lounging on the other end of the room. You were relaxed, nestled into the cushions with a tub of ice cream in your hand. The soft clink of the spoon against the container was the only sound breaking the silence. Natasha's sharp green eyes flickered over to you, watching as you took slow, deliberate bites of the dessert. The way your lips wrapped around the spoon had her pulse quickening despite herself.

You noticed her gaze, smirking inwardly. You knew exactly what you were doing. Natasha had a reputation for being tough, unyielding, but you knew the small things that could unravel her, bit by bit. And this little game with the ice cream? It was just too tempting not to play. Slowly, you dipped the spoon into the creamy vanilla, gathering a small bite, and brought it to your lips. But instead of taking it in immediately, you let your tongue trace the edge of the spoon, teasing the ice cream before finally savoring it. You saw Natasha's jaw tighten slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"You're such a slut.." Natasha muttered under her breath, the words meant more for herself than for you. She tried to return her attention to the tablet, but it was useless. The image of your teasing smile and the way your tongue played with the spoon was seared into her mind. You pretended not to hear her, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed your excitement. You dipped your spoon into the ice cream again, this time taking your time to lick it clean, glancing at Natasha with innocent eyes. "Mmm, this is so good, Nat.." you said softly, knowing full well that you were pushing her buttons.

Natasha’s patience was wearing thin. Her grip on the tablet tightened, and she set it down on the table with a little more force than necessary. She could feel the tension building, the struggle between her desire to maintain control and the overwhelming urge to do something about the way you were teasing her. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. In one swift motion, Natasha was on her feet and crossing the room towards you. Before you could react, she had the ice cream tub out of your hands and was pulling you up from the sofa. The next thing you knew, she was steering you towards the hallway, her hand firm on your wrist.

“H-Hey, my Ice-” you started, but the look in her eyes silenced you immediately. There was something fierce and almost predatory in her expression. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” Natasha’s voice was low, dangerous, sending a thrill down your spine. “Well, now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much you can take.”

Natasha's grip on your wrist was firm as she led you down the hall, her pace quick and purposeful. The door to her room clicked shut behind you, and you felt the air in the room shift—a palpable tension thickening between the two of you. Without saying a word, Natasha turned to face you, her eyes dark and intense.

“Knees.” she ordered, her voice low and commanding. You knew better than to hesitate. You dropped to your knees in front of her, your heart pounding in anticipation. The thrill of obedience, of surrendering to her, coursed through your veins. You didn’t dare look up, but you could feel her gaze burning into you, assessing, deciding what to do with you.

Natasha walked away for a moment, and you could hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of her getting ready. When she returned, you dared to glance up, and your breath caught in your throat. She stood before you, her toned body accentuated by the harness she now wore, the strapon jutting out, a silent promise of what was to come.

“Open..” Natasha commanded, her voice carrying that edge of authority you found impossible to resist. You parted your lips, obediently leaning forward as she guided the tip of the strapon to your mouth. Slowly, you began to suck on it, your tongue working over the surface, knowing this was exactly what she wanted. Natasha’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, guiding your movements as you took more of it into your mouth.

“That’s a good girl.” she murmured, a note of satisfaction in her tone. “You know your place.” Her praise sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You closed your eyes, focusing on your task, taking her deeper, pushing yourself to please her. But Natasha was not one to make things easy. Just as you were settling into a rhythm, she pinched your nose shut with her fingers, cutting off your air.

You gasped around the strapon, your eyes flying open in surprise. The lack of air added a new layer of intensity to the act, and Natasha’s grin was wicked as she watched you struggle, her control over you absolute. “Look at you..” Natasha teased, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?”

You tried to nod, but with your nose pinched and her strapon filling your mouth, it was difficult to move. Natasha finally released your nose, allowing you a quick breath before pushing you back down, deeper this time. The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of her dominance and your own submission creating a heady mix that had your body trembling with need.

“Maybe I’ll let you breathe if you’re good enough.” she taunted, her hand tightening in your hair as she guided your head up and down, controlling the pace. “But if you’re not..well, you know what happens.” You whimpered around the strapon, the sound muffled but clear in its desperation. You knew you had no choice but to please her, to obey, or face the consequences of her displeasure. And as much as you loved this game, you knew that Natasha could push you to your limits, and beyond, if she chose to.

Natasha’s other hand trailed down to your chin, tilting your head up slightly so that your eyes met hers. The heat in her gaze was unmistakable, and it fueled your determination to do everything in your power to satisfy her. “Keep going, Y/n..” she urged, her voice softer now, almost encouraging. “Show me how much you want it.”

Natasha’s hand gripped your hair tighter, controlling your movements with precision. You could feel the weight of her dominance bearing down on you, each thrust a reminder of who held the power in this moment. “Deeper.” Natasha commanded, her voice a low, sultry whisper that sent a shiver through your entire body.

You did your best to comply, relaxing your throat and taking her as deeply as you could. The tip of the strapon pressed against the back of your throat, making you gag slightly. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. You knew better than to disappoint her.

“Good girl..” Natasha murmured, her tone laced with dark approval. She pushed in further, her hips moving in a steady rhythm now, forcing you to take her even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, but the praise in her voice drove you to continue, despite the gagging sounds escaping your throat.

Natasha watched you intently, her eyes blazing with satisfaction. She could see the struggle in your eyes, the way your breath hitched each time she thrust deeper. But she didn’t relent..instead, she seemed to take pleasure in your difficulty, knowing that you would push yourself to the brink to please her. “Come on, take it all.” she urged, her voice a husky command that sent waves of heat coursing through you. “I know you can do better than that.”

She thrust again, this time more forcefully, and you couldn’t suppress the gag that followed. The sound was raw, desperate, and it only seemed to fuel Natasha’s hunger. She leaned over you slightly, her grip on your hair tightening as she increased the pace, pushing you closer to your limits. “Don’t you dare pull away.” Natasha growled, her voice rough with need. “You’re going to take every inch, and you’re going to love it.”

You nodded as best you could, your throat burning, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop. The gagging noises grew louder, more intense, but Natasha showed no signs of easing up. Her thrusts became more insistent, each one pushing you further, testing how much you could handle. “Gagging like a desperate little slut..” Natasha teased, her voice dripping with cruel affection. “I knew you had it in you.”

She released her grip on your hair for a moment, bringing both hands to your face, holding your head in place as she pushed in one last time, the strapon going as deep as it could. You choked, tears spilling down your cheeks as you struggled to take it all, but the look in Natasha’s eyes kept you going. She was enjoying every second of your struggle, every gag, every tear. After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finally relented, pulling out just enough to let you catch your breath, but not enough to give you any real relief. She looked down at you, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, her gaze softer now, but no less commanding.

“Good girl.” she whispered, her voice a mixture of praise and possession. “You did so well for me.” You gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to recover, but you knew that this was far from over. She let you catch your breath just enough before she moved her hips again, the strapon sliding back into your mouth. “Again.” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And this time, don’t hold back. I want to hear you gag for me.”

[suguru-getos]

| Yandere Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Axphyxiation |

A/N: The yandere in me has risen from the dead. Read this at your own discretion, Satoru is a manipulative, dangerous, abusive asshole here. Mentions of guilt-tripping, dub-con (doesn’t happen but mentions), belittling, comforting, gentle-talking.

Normally, on a normal day, you’d have the right to be livid, to scream out and throw a tantrum over Satoru’s antics whenever you wanted. It would usually go unnoticed, even catered to if he’s feeling nice. Not today…

“Being a little too bratty are we, Princess?” There was a greyish hue of rage in his sky blues. All, because of you. He would make sure you realize it. You’d cower in fear of him in times like these, breaking down into choking sobs and mumbling apologies for pissing off the ‘Honored one’.

“I swear, I didn’t—” You tried to defend yourself, before the glass window behind you cracked, breaking into shatters as you flinched. A reminder to not piss off Gojo Satoru right now. Your heart raced at the situation you were in. Kneeling in front of him like a guilty prisoner, not daring to look up. Anxiety being the only thing hugging you right now.

“Why did you think it would be nice to ask for Megumi’s phone?” Satoru spoke… almost dazed, still controlling the immense rage that he felt. At times like these, you, a mere non-sorcerer feels a pang of pressure in the atmosphere. As if it was hard to exist, as if it was hard to breathe. It was Satoru’s cursed energy going haywire.

“I wan-wanted to ask for, something.” You were slowly getting broken by this. Yes, you had asked Megumi to give his phone to you, a pathetic attempt to contact your friends. You couldn’t risk contacting your family or Satoru’s rage would pave way in a direction you’d dread more. You just missed them… you aren’t delusional enough to think they had the chance to rescue you after all.

“Ask for what, hmm?” Satoru tilted your chin up, your eyes meeting his harsh, unforgiving ones. He looked dramatically betrayed at your antics, while a choked sigh escaped you. “Just- just missed my friends, Toru.” You had been carefully calibrating this reply. Squeeze his nickname in with the truth. There— that’d make him… less dramatic. Or, that’s what you prayed & hoped for.

“Just- missed my friends, Toru.” He mocked you, mimicking your tone and his hand rested onto your neck, slightly choking. A grim reminder of what he can do to you but chooses not to. Tears well up in your eyes as you looked at him, silently praying for this to end.

“Am I not enough?” His voice rose, almost tediously high. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Please- Satoru.”

“I asked you a question, cupcake.” He chided you, as if he is shutting a brat up who was hell bent on throwing a tantrum. “I asked you something and I need an answer.”

You had to be really, really careful with this one. You mumbled, hands shivery and jittery. There have been times he’s locked you up, just so you miss him. Maybe decided to use your cunt with his fingers just so you’d embarrass yourself cumming over and over and he could taunt you for being a needy slut for him. You didn’t want that… “You are important.”

Your answer squinted Satoru’s eyes, thin ice….

“You are, enough. You are a friend to me, too. S’ just that sometimes I wish to know how they’re doin’ that’s it.” You were internally panicking. Satoru didn’t do anything to you until now but it was the ‘what he could do’ that made you nervous. Satoru wasn’t delusional, he knew you were being calculating and didn’t want to piss him off. However, he was fine as long as you tried to be in his good books. He liked feeling important.

“I see, then should’a just asked Daddy, eh?” He quirked a brow, another question for you to duck.

You decided to accept your mistake like his ‘good little girl’ nodding and looking down, looking oh-so-cute with the guilt laced on your features. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Oh it warms his heart up when his Princess tries to be good for him. Tries to win his heart & suppress his rage. “My baby’s apologetic?” He cooed, kissing your forehead softly, while you nodded like a bobble-head; almost reflexively.

“I see, I see… what’s my baby gonna do to make it up to Daddy?” A smug grin plastered over his features. You were so naive he had you exactly where he wanted you to be. Expressions all knowing & dreading the impending doom, you looked up at him and bit your lip. The bile rising in your throat with anxiety.

“Whatever- whatever you want.” You wanted to make this easy on yourself. Better to have him throw words at you and comply. Satoru… was more twisted than that. “Nuh uh… gonna have to see what you would do on your own to make it up to me.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly the answer he wanted. “Daddy can make love to me.” You uttered brilliantly, his eyes growing more tender. Satoru never, ever, forced himself on you. It was somehow, you, always begging, crying apologetically even— tormented in situations which hugged you like spiderwebs, with no escape wherein you’d do nothing more than to surrender. That’s what Gojo Satoru does…

“Oh really?” He almost scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Daddy’ll make you feel good after you committed a mistake?” He would also make it seem like everything he does is for your pleasure— there are days you believe it, there are days you dread it.

“Sorry.” A stray tear escaped you, it was as if you were being pulled apart with no defenses. “Please, I just— if you want I won’t cum.” Aww— his pathetic, little, dumb, princess.

“Perfect.” Now he has you where he wants.

“Then gonna be my pretty, precious lil cocksleeve yeah?” Satoru asked you once more, feigning the opportunity for you to say no. You nodded, almost gracefully in defeat.

“That’s my good girl.”

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Lost (Zoro)

Imagine getting lost with Zoro.

Word Count: 1,604

Warnings: hurt/comfort

~

(Gif is not mine!)

Things haven't gone according to plan. Of course, that's the norm when you're traveling with Luffy and the rest of the Strawhats. Each crew member has their own quirks, but sometimes everyone manages to stay relatively on track.

Except for Zoro.

The green haired swordsman is notorious for his directional challenges. He even gets lost on his own ship, that's how hopeless his sense of direction is.

So, when everyone splits up to search for the current treasure of the day, you watch with a chuckle as Zoro immediately storms off in the wrong direction.

Huffing with laughter, you race to catch up with him. You trail beside him until he notices and raises a brow at you.

"Huh, what're you doing? We're supposed to split up."

"Oops," you grin at him, chuckling at his exasperated sigh.

He doesn't stop walking, "Go away."

"No."

"I'm serious.”

"Whatcha gonna do? Stick me with your big sword?" You hide your laugh behind your hand as his ears turn beet red.

"If you're gonna follow me, at least shut your mouth," he grumbles.

Smirking at your victory, you subtly start walking a bit closer to him, eyes roaming the area for any potential threats or treasures.

If he notices how close you are, he doesn't comment. He's also on the lookout for danger, hand resting idly on the hilt of his sword.

You've always admired how ready for a fight his is- never letting his guard down. Even when he's 'napping', he's still paying attention to his surroundings.

You've tried a few times to prank him when you thought he was fast asleep but failed every single time. He seems to be able to sense your proximity every time you get within five meters of him.

Even now, as you walk in close proximity, you can't help but admire him. His tall posture and alert eyes that peer  into the forest. His soft green hair slightly tousled from the wind.

"You're staring," his voice bears a tinge of smugness, making you whip your head the opposite way.

"Was not."

"Was too."

"I wasn't. I don't know why you'd even think that," you cross your arms and turn to look at him again. "Not like there's much to look at."

Your tone and smirk betray your lies, Zoro unable to stop from smirking along with your teasing.

"Really? Nothing at all?"

"Of course, I'd never ogle at you and your well trained muscles."

He smirks, turning away from you.

It's been like this since you were welcomed into the Strawhat Crew, easy banter between you and the swordsman. After you had proven your loyalty to Luffy that is. You believe Zoro values loyalty above all else.

Zoro had warmed up to you more than he had some of the others.

There'd been an unspoken tension between you: lingering glances and touches mingled with flirtatious words and playful gestures.

He'd let you drag him into drinking contests (which you always lost), nap beside him, and even join his workouts.

And you'd always tease him (backing off immediately when you noticed that he had enough), and steered him in the right direction when he got horribly lost.

Like right now.

"Zoro, I'm pretty sure we have to go left here," you point out.

"I knew that," he grumbles and alters his course. "I was just scouting the area."

"Uh-huh."

"I was!"

Laughing, you hop onto a large fallen tree that blocks your path. You turn to taunt Zoro a bit more, but you pause as a loud shot rings out.

Sudden pain shoots through your leg as blood splatters around you. You crumble down off the log, saved from a hard landing by strong arms.

Stunned, you look up into Zoro's eyes.

"You're alright," he says firmly as he sets you down against the tree. "It just got you in the leg."

Dumbly, you stare into his face, barely registering his words or his angered expression.

"You stay here and I'll be right back."

You nod, unable to do much more. As you watch him leave, you meekly call out to him, "Don't you dare get lost."

~

He didn't get lost, to your immense surprise.

By now, the shock has worn off and the pain has really kicked in. The bullet went straight through the meat of your leg, luckily not shattering bone. But you will need Chopper to get a better look and bandage it properly.

Right now you're using a strip of your shirt as a makeshift bandage and it's already soaked through. As Zoro does a second assessment.

"You're fine."

You glare at him, "I'm in pain."

"You'll live."

"Good thing, cause if I didn’t I'd haunt your ass!"

Shaking his head, he crouches in front of you, "Can you walk at least?"

You level a deadpan stare at him.

He sighs heavily, "Guess I'll just have to carry you then."

"No, no way."

"It's either that or you walk."

"You need your hands to fight in case there's more enemies," you reason. "Can't use your swords if you're carrying me."

"I'll just set you down."

"No, you'd drop me. And I don't want to be dropped right now," you fire back.

He stands up straight and glares down at you.

"What if you carry me on your shoulders?" You suggest. "That way your arms will be free and you can still fight."

"Fine," he agrees.

You wince as you stand on your uninjured leg, motioning for him to bend down so you can get your legs on his shoulders. He obliges and you precariously manage to seat yourself on his shoulders.

He stands without a problem, steadying you with one hand on your thigh.  Pain floods your sense for a second but it is quick to fade as you realize something.

You realize the extent of the compromising position you've put yourself in.

You're on top of Zoro's shoulders, hands on his head to steady yourself as he grips your thigh with his broad hand.

You flush with embarrassment. Beneath you, you can see the dusting of a blush across Zoro's ears and cheeks.

"Thank you for this," you say, unsure of what to do with your hands. The desire to run your fingers through his hair is immense and it takes all your will power to not act on it.

"I appreciate it, Zoro."

He grunts, "Just don't get injured again and we'll call it even."

"Hey, I didn't wanna be shot!"

"You made yourself an easy target!"

"I thought we were alone!"

"You should've known better!"

"I can't believe you're blaming me right now," you say in exasperating. "By the way, you're going north and the ship is to the south."

He grumbles beneath you but does switch his course to follow where you pointed. You wince every so often as he jostles you.

"Sorry," he says, very uncharacteristically.

Surprised, you lean over to stare into his face.

"For what?"

"I should've sensed that sniper but I was distracted," he grits his teeth in annoyance. "If I had seen him, you wouldn't have been hurt."

"Distracted?" You raise a brow, "You were distracted?"

"Don't-"

"Was it me that distracted you?" You grin, forgetting your pain. "Were you perhaps staring at me?"

"Forget I said anything."

"Too late! Admit it, you were checking me out."

His delightful blush is back in full force, "Was not! I was making sure you didn't fall."

You pat his cheek, "Well, you did catch me when I fell. And I guess I fell for you."

He stumbles slightly, making you laugh and cry out in pain at the same time.

"Watch your step Rorozo," you smack him lightly on the head.

"Don't call me that."

"Never," you run your hand over his hair, "I think you secretly like it."

He doesn't say anything and neither do you. Despite your injury, you are enjoying the moment of closeness between you and the swordsman.

It's moments like these that lighten your heart and bring a smile to your face.

His hand shifts over your thigh, "Maybe I do like it. This."

"Me?" You add softly, tracing patterns through his soft hair.

"Maybe."

"Well, maybe I do too," you bend down and press a kiss to his forehead. "Like you."

His hand tightens on your leg, his other hand coming up to caress your hair in a rare display of physical affection.

"Y'know, Sanji's gonna faint when he sees us like this," you chuckle, imagining his reaction.

"Maybe that stupid love-cook will finally leave you alone."

"Sanji? Stop fawning over a drop dead gorgeous woman? It's unlikely."

Zoro reads his head up to try and glare at you, making you wince as you jolt your injured leg.

"Don't worry Rorozo- I only have eyes for you."

At that confession, he stops in his tracks.

"That's it."

He lowers you to the ground, your confusion growing. Weren't you both on the same page just a second ago?

You're not on the ground for long though, as Zoro picks you up bridal-style and stares into your eyes.

"When you say things like that," he tsks, "I want to shut you up."

Before you can ask what he means, he presses his lips against yours, hard.

He breaks away far too soon, “That’s better.”

“If that’s how you’re gonna do it, you can shut me up anytime,” you grin, lean your head against him.

Wrapped up in his warm embrace, you’ve forgotten all about the pain in your leg…

Or the fact that Zoro is once again walking in the wrong direction.

[nincompoopydoo]

hi i have a req for your vday celebration for this line 'have you no compassion for my poor nerves? ’ for theseus scamander!! going on a trip with newt looking for some new mythical creature to draw and you somehow get injured and theseus gets worried so like angst + fluff pls

IN SEARCH OF A GRECIAN BEAST

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x Reader WORD COUNT: 1.1k SUMMARY: As you, Theseus, and Newt find yourselves on a secluded Grecian beach along the Aegean Sea, an endeavor unfolds to seek out a Hippocampus. However, plans don't turn out as expected. A/N: An angsty yet light-hearted fic in a way. Hope you guys love this lil Theseus one-shot~ WARNINGS: near drowning. angst. Newt literally has no compassion when he’s excited about his beasts lol. PROMPT: “Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“Pray, Theseus, allow yourself a respite! Quit moaning and come with us,” you whine with an exaggerated, sarcastic tone as you trudge down the rocky slope that leads to a stretch of golden sand. Newt is way ahead, feet already on the sand as he scuttles across the rugged coastline that looks upon the Aegean Sea.

Theseus huffs at your words, watching the way your linen top billows in the sea breeze, gleaming under the scorching summer sun. He decides he has no other choice than to follow begrudgingly. He stumbles on his feet, shells crunching at contact, and sees you looking back at him, eyes bright. The curve of your smile goes unnoticeable.

“I thought we were meant to be on holiday,” he calls out to you and his brother.

You merely laugh, and Newt responds without turning back, “Nobody mentioned a holiday, Theseus.”

Theseus scoffs, “Well, I presumed it was, considering you invited me to Greece. Of all places!”

Without warning, you abruptly halt, swiftly turning to face him.

“We find ourselves on this beautiful, secluded Grecian beach, and you're complaining?” You gesture to your surroundings in big movements, arms moving in sweeping motions.

You’re right, he’s being dramatic. Perhaps he finds himself a little sceptical towards your shenanigans with Newt. How you were always closer to his brother than him, even though he never dared admit it to himself that he wished it was the other way around.

Theseus is silent when you fix him with a stern gaze, nearing him. “All I’m saying is, you should loosen up a little.”

There it is. That glint in your stare. It’s hopeful.

Theseus realised long ago that he would do anything for you and be anything you wanted him to be.

“I am loose. I can be loose.”

Your laugh comes off more like a scoff. You don’t believe him one bit. “Right.”

Then, your fist connects with his arm. It’s playful, just like old times. Theseus winces, his palm instinctively rubbing his bicep as he shoots you a maddened look. Despite the irritation etched on his face, the subtle curve on his lips betrays it.

You laugh again. It’s light and sends his heart thrumming faster than ever. 

“Come on –”

"Look!" newt exclaims, his voice ringing out excitedly. “Over there.” He points toward the shore with the widest grin Theseus has ever seen.

You immediately grip Theseus’ wrist, pulling him along as you dash towards Newt.

“Hippocamps,” you breathe out, merely a whisper, eyes trained on the clear waters beyond.

Theseus turns to you and clocks on your wide-eyed gaze. Your mouth hangs slightly agape in utter awe as you take in the scene unravelling before you. Glints of deep blue swirl under the crystal waters, their scales glistening like scattered glitter under the Grecian sun.

Then, you release your hold on his hand. 

“I’m going in.”

The brothers snap their heads to you, “What?”

You turn to Theseus, “I know these creatures better than anyone. You know that.” Then, your gaze shifts to Newt, “Even more than you, Newt.”

A beat. He sees that you’re now looking at him expectantly as if you need his assurance. That he trusts you. He really doesn’t know why you need it.

“Just… be careful.”

You purse your lips and nod. “I will.”

The waves lap rhythmically as you approach the waters cautiously, gentling wading through and towards the Hippocampi. The water rises to your waist. You catch a hint of a tail under the sunlight, iridescent and reflecting the ocean's blue and green hues.

You take a deep breath – the key is to be calm. Extremely calm. You extend your palm, luminous kelp in your grasp, hoping to lure the creature.

Then, its head emerges from the waters, a horse for a head. The creature curiously eyes the kelp in your hand as you watch in controlled excitement as the others drift closer. You cannot help but smile.

Yet, something beneath you rumbles. It’s so slight that you almost miss it. But it sends a rippling uneasiness to your surroundings that it alarms the creatures. The air shifts, and before you know it, the Hippocampi sense an unseen threat and quickly disappear into the ocean.

Your smile drops.

You see it, a sleek form of green drifting in the depths beneath you. It glides through the water with stealth.

Ashore, Theseus senses your concern. “Something’s wrong.”

Then, he sees you turn to them with panicked eyes.

Abruptly, the water erupts with a powerful surge, and a beast rises from the depths and leaps into the air. Its mane of waterweed cascades with its movement.

It’s a Kelpie.

Newt and Theseus watch in stunned silence.

As the Kelpie vanishes beneath the waves, you’re gone.

Theseus’ heart drops.

Instinctively, Theseus calls your name, charging towards the place you stood moments before. In his sprint, he throws a quick, urgent glance over his shoulder at Newt, who scrambles closely behind, his expression etched with mirrored exasperation.

“Why in Godric’s name is a Kelpie doing here?!”

“That’s a good question –”

Theseus isn’t listening anymore. He can’t think right now, his heart pounding fiercely. Each step intensifies the knot in his stomach.

He finds himself slicing through the waves and propelled beneath the surface. His vision goes blur momentarily; elusive silhouettes move around him like drifting shadows. But as his eyes begin to take focus, he sees Newt, a feet away, seemingly going after the Kelpie.

Theseus whirls around, eyes scanning his surroundings.

He sees you, conscious. You’re looking at him with wide eyes, struggling to stay afloat.

Theseus closes in, and he reaches out, arms enveloping you. With a forceful pull, you are brought to the surface, head heavy against his chest. Your sharp gasp pierces the air, it resonates loudly, but it settles a sense of relief in Theseus.

As you’re pulled to shore, you’re induced into a coughing fit, water forcefully expelling from your lips. Theseus hovers above you, his hand on the back of your head, lifting it from the ground in an attempt to ease your choking. His other palm rests against your cheek firmly.

He says your name, his voice laced with reassurance, yet his gaze lingers with a perpetual panic as he hovers above you, the sunlight casting a halo through his tousled hair. Theseus looks truly distressed.

“Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?!” he exclaims, exasperated in all his dramatic and uptight glory.

“Just… trying to keep you on your… toes, that’s all,” you manage to croak out.

Theseus's laugh passes off as an exhale and grins, shaking his head. Quickly, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You instantly feel your cheeks start to burn.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

You just smile. “No promises.”

Then, laughter echoes in the distance. Both of you turn to find Newt emerging from the shore, eyes bright.

"That was incredible!"

[justlin22]

Doctor's Appointment

Dr. Zayne x Reader (Post Breakup)

_________________________

He broke up with you, and it cut deep. The Chief Surgeon of AKSO shattered your heart—the very heart he once swore to protect with every fibre of his being. How dare he pull the trigger and claim defeat in his own battlefield? He had no right to raise the white flag after only two years. But today, you had to face the man who was once the alpha in your eyes but had now fallen from grace. Today was your annual check-up with your primary physician, Dr. Zayne himself.

It was almost laughable that the one who saved your heart had also broken it, and now he was the one trying to piece it back together. You entered his office with your medical report in hand, wearing your usual hunter uniform and your pride—what little remained. Your eyes met his, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. You managed a faint smile before sitting in the hot seat by his desk. A swirl of emotions—sadness, anger, a sliver of something else—tightened in your chest. You didn’t know which would surface before his ever-cold demeanour.

As you passed his desk, he held his usual stoic expression. You nearly gagged at the sight of that mask, knowing all too well what lay beneath. He was surely thrilled to see you again, despite his façade. Meeting your gaze again must have cost him less pride than breaking it. "Asshole," you muttered in your head.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the chair beside his desk.

The command struck a nerve. Your heart burned. Even now, he wielded authority over you like you were a child. You bit your tongue, determined not to lose your composure, and sat.

He picked up your medical report, flipping through the notes slowly, as if savouring each moment. It felt like an eternity beside him. You caught him stealing glances at you. By now, you were sure he had some inappropriate thoughts running through that handsome head of his. His legs shifted restlessly—left, right, up, down. You rolled your eyes.

He placed the stethoscope around his neck and rolled his chair closer, closing the distance to check your heart. “I need to listen,” he said, his tone steady. You unbutton your shirt, revealing the singlet underneath, your skin exposed for his assessment. The cold steel of the stethoscope grazed your skin, and your breath hitched. His grip on the stethoscope tightened slightly, betraying the struggle beneath his composed exterior. His head hovered near your chest, and he didn’t dare to look up. You glanced down at him and felt a wave of disgust at the sight you once loved. You could almost hear his heartbeat, quickening in his chest. Your presence alone was enough to make this man weak, lost in his own recollection of claiming your body. He lingered longer than necessary, listening to your heartbeat as if savouring a forbidden memory.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he ordered, his voice controlled, masking the turmoil within. His composure grated on your nerves. How dare he hide so well behind that calm exterior? You wanted nothing more than to tear down that facade, to force him to reveal his real emotions, raw and unguarded. 

A swirl of thoughts danced in your mind: Should you tease him, test his restraint? Remain passive, letting him lead this unsettling encounter? Or push back, confront him with aggression? You decided to bide your time, choosing submission—for now. Let him think he's in control. You would watch his every move, every flicker of emotion that slipped through his carefully maintained mask, ready to act when the moment was right.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling under his gaze. His eyes remained fixed, but you caught the slight bob of his Adam's apple, betraying a crack in his stoic demeanour. Slowly, he moved the stethoscope across your chest, and the brush of his fingertips grazed your skin in between. His breath, warm and uneven, fanned across your exposed skin. It was a subtle but deliberate move, one that did not go unnoticed. A sly tactic indeed.

“Take another deep breath for me,” he commanded, his voice low and steady. His head hovered even closer to your chest, so near it felt as though he wanted to press his ear directly against your skin. You obliged, drawing in a deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of your chest. As you inhaled, his hand slid to your back, as if to steady your posture, a gesture that felt far too intimate.

You rolled your eyes, a wave of disgust washing over you at the sensation of his touch and the warmth of his hand. The very closeness that once made your heart race now left you cold, reminding you of the betrayal hidden beneath his stoic exterior.

Satisfied with what he heard, he leaned back and removed the stethoscope from his ears, placing it on the table with deliberate slowness. He picked up your medical report and began jotting down notes, his eyes flicking up to steal glances at you—as if he were checking for any reaction, searching for a crack in your composure. Each lingering look felt like a probing question, a silent dare, and it sent a cold shiver coursing down your spine, spreading to your feet. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken words and the tension that hung between you both.

“Your arm, please,” he commanded, his voice steady yet with an underlying tension. You rolled up the sleeve of your shirt and extended your arm toward his desk. Before you could place it down, his hand captured your arm, holding it with a firm, possessive grip. His other hand moved slowly, fingertips brushing along the veins, lingering as if savouring the feel of your skin. His touch wasn’t hurried or clinical; it was deliberate, exploring more than necessary, sending a ripple of unease up your spine. It was as if he were trying to sense more than just your heartbeat—searching for a reaction, a sign of what you might be feeling beneath the surface.

You shot him a cold, unyielding stare—the classic resting bitch face—making it clear you were unamused by his touch. It was as if you had erased all memory of his warmth, every tender moment now buried under layers of indifference. You refused to give him what he seemed to crave—a reaction, a sign that his touch still had any effect on you. Instead, you held your ground, your expression hardened, denying him the satisfaction of knowing he could still stir something within you.

After the checkup, he jotted down notes on your medical report, but you could feel his eyes on you—stealing glances, more frequent and lingering than before. It was clear he was unsatisfied, frustrated even, by your lack of response to his lingering, intimate touches. His demeanour remained controlled, but there was a hint of irritation in his movements as he began to ask you a series of questions, more than he would normally ask.

“Did you get enough rest?” he asked, his tone almost demanding. You nodded, keeping your expression neutral, not even granting him the satisfaction of hearing your voice.

“Are you eating properly, following the recommended diet?” Another nod, your silence growing louder with each question.

“Are you getting regular exercise?” Yet another nod.

“Have you experienced any uneasiness with your heart?” he pressed, watching you closely. You shook your head, giving nothing away.

Each answer was brief, a nod or a shake of your head—never a word. You refused to give him what he seemed to want: a reaction, a sound, anything that might break the cold, impassable wall you'd put up. His questions seemed to dig for something deeper, but you kept your responses simple and detached, denying him even the chance to hear your voice.

He set his pen down, visibly unsatisfied with your responses, even though you had answered everything. His frustration was palpable, his eyes narrowing slightly as if recalculating his approach. Without a word, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small flashlight, turning back to you with a determined look.

“I need to check your eyes,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something more—a persistence that felt almost too personal.

He rolled his chair forward swiftly, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand cupped your left cheek, his thumb gently brushing the skin beneath your eye with an unexpected tenderness. His touch lingered, and your eyes met his. His face was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. In his green eyes, you caught a swirl of conflicting emotions—sadness, longing, desire, and regret—a vulnerable mix you rarely saw from him.

For a moment, it felt like words failed him; his gaze bore into yours, searching desperately for any flicker of emotion, any sign that you felt something too. His hold was firm yet uncertain, as if he were balancing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for you to either push him over or pull him back. His need for a reaction was almost tangible, the air thick with tension as he tried to read what was hidden behind your guarded eyes.

Your lips hovered near his, close enough to feel the heat between you. Then, in a heartbeat, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. It was intense and raw, a kiss that poured out everything he couldn't say—his longing, his regret, his unspoken desire.

[tinydefector]

hi hi! Could I request a Yandere Starscream and Megatron (either from idw or prime) with a gn reader? Nsfw preferred as well as breeding kink pls! Probably dubcon cause it’s Yandere, anyways have a good day bye! ^-^

Missing in action

Megatron x human

Word count:1.1k

Warnings: non-con, Smut, Giant/tiny, blackmail tape, degrading.

Megatron masterlist

I'll end up making one for starscream separately, but I only had it in me to write for Megatron tonight, so I hope you enjoy.

_____________

small hands cling onto Megatron as they stare up into his optics. Their smaller body spread out across the soft bedding. His name is on their lips as he slowly thrust into his little human. 

Megatron's optics narrow with a mix of desire and satisfaction as he looks down at the human beneath him. With slow and deliberate movements, Megatron thrusts into their smaller body, relishing in the tightness and heat that surrounds him. Their moans and cries only serve to inflate his ego.

"Look at you," Megatron growls. "So small, so helpless beneath me."

"Mmm, my little plaything isn't that right," Megatron taunts, their bodies move in rhythm, the room fills with the sounds of both of them. “Not your anything!” They Whimper out as he grips their legs.

Moans fall from their lips as they clench around his spike. Megatron's optics narrow, amusement flickering within them, A smirk forms on his face, a dark gleam in his optics. "Oh, how spirited you are," he growls, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and dominance. "You think you can match wits with me, little one? I must admit, your defiance is... alluring."

"Enjoying it, are you?" Megatron taunts, his condescending tone brushing against their ear. "You relish being nothing more than a tight spike sleeve, a plaything for my pleasure. Do you enjoy being reminded of your place, beneath me, at my mercy?" He spouts off His little speech as he nips their shoulder. 

He continues to guide their body to move in sync with his, Megatron relishes in the pleasure and power he has over them. Never before had he been interested in a human until then. 

They gasp and whimper, moans falling from their lips as Megatron stretches them more than anyone ever had. He had ruined them for anyone else.  His spike bulges their stomach as he grinds it deeper. "Bet no cybertronian would sleep with 'lord Megatron', it's the reason you enjoy humans so much you can't get it anywhere else" they hiss out at  him, clench with each thrust as he grinds his spike deeper, 

a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You think you're the first to make such claims? You believe that no Cybertronian would dare lay with me? How amusing." His voice carries a playful and arrogant tone. 

"You may be right," Megatron retorts. "No Cybertronian could match the tightness you provide, the way you cling to me, begging for more. You are a rare find, indeed. it's a shame the Autobots have kept you to themselves for so long"

Megatron's servos glide along the outline of his spike embedded deep within their stomach. Their moans reverberate through the air as their back arched in pleasure, An amused chuckle falls from him as a smirk curls on Megatron's face, his optics gleaming with satisfaction. 

"Is that all you can handle?. You're so eager to challenge me, yet your body betrays you. It craves my touch, my spike stretching you to your limits."

"The way you moan, the way you writhe under me," Megatron continues, He punctuates his words with a deliberate grind of his spike, 

Their eyes fall shut as they heave in breaths through each thrust,  "Megatron!" They moan out, 

“You moan my name so beautifully."

"I wonder how you would look, round with my sparkling, hmm?" he continues his thrusts,  They clench even harder around his spike, a babble of moans, whimpers and slurred words leave them as their head presses into his plating. “No..No!” They gasp. 

"Your body tells a different story. You may deny it now," Megatron continues, his voice low and seductive. "But deep down, Your body begs for it. Hmm what a sight it would be primes favourite little human round with my sparkling" They buck against Megatron, his name falling from their lips like a prayer as he ruts deeper into them. They arch against his bulk as pleasure takes them. Their body eagerly tries to milk him of transfluid. 

"You like that, don't you?" Megatron taunts, his voice laced with a hint of sadistic pleasure. "Imagine, It would horrify your precious Optimus Prime, wouldn't it when he found out they are mine?"

He revels in the power dynamics at play, knowing that their intimate connection holds. They whimper out, clenching around him looking away. "Don't bring him into this '' they mumble breathlessly.

 " afraid of what Prime would think? How quaint.” He continues to thrust into them, relishing in the power he helm over such a smaller being. "Tell me," he sneers, his voice filled with derision. "Do you think your Prime would approve of the way you writhe beneath me? I highly doubt it." A devious grin crosses his face as an idea takes shape in his processor. Sending a recording of their intimate encounter to Optimus Prime would be the ultimate taunt, a way to showcase just who owned them.

 "Shall we give Prime a taste of what he's been missing? Let him see just how much of a little spike sleeve you are?” He relishes in the thought of the shock and horror it will bring to Optimus. 

Horror crosses their face as he says that. "No,no,no!" they frantically yell, their voice filled with fear and disbelief. But Megatron pays no mind to their pleas, finding amusement in their distress.Megatron's optics narrow as he observes the horror crossing the smaller human's face. Their frantic protests only serve to fuel his sadistic amusement. He chuckles darkly, relishing in their vulnerability as he continues to pick up the pace, recording the message for Optimus Prime.

The sound of their distressed voice only adds to his satisfaction, as he captures their fear and desperation in the recording. It is a taunt, a way to showcase that Megatron owned them now. 

"Do you hear that, Optimus? Do you hear how they cry out my name in ecstasy? This is what you're missing, what you can never provide." As they succumb to another orgasm, their moans echoing loudly over the recording, 

Megatron smirks with a twisted satisfaction as he sends the recorded message to Optimus Prime, titled "Missing Something?". The subject line serves as a taunt, a cruel reminder to the Autobot leader of what he supposedly lacks and what Megatron has claimed as his own.

______________

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[ilomilodailystuff]

Crowley is on his knees, hurt, held down by angels, while Aziraphale is at the opposite, watching the 'good side' threatening him and the demon.

Archangels have warned Aziraphale : if he doesn't come back to Heaven and forget about saving earth, they'll kill the demon Crowley.

"This is your ultimatum, Aziraphale. Save the earth, and he dies. Let the Second Coming happen, and he lives." Archangel Michael says, while Sandalphon presses a blade against Crowley's throat.

The fight is on earth, right in the middle of whickber street and people are watching in fear.

"You have 3 seconds, Supreme Archangel." Michael warns. "3..."

Sandalphon pulls on Crowley's hair to force him to meet Aziraphale's gaze. The demon's nose is bleeding, and his face is bruised.

"2..."

Aziraphale's eyes widens as he sees a tear run down the demon's cheek while he smiles gently, weakly...

"1..."

I love you, Crowley's lips moves faintly.

Aziraphale's jaw tightened and his hands turned into fists.

"Kill him." Michael orders calmly, too calmly to have the decency to feel sorry.

Crowley doesn't even close his eyes, not afraid of death as long as his eyes are on the angel's.

Aziraphale watches, his heart hammering in his chest, seeing how Crowley is ready to die for him no matter what... And how his own family dares to betray him this way, how his own home disappointed him since the beginning of time.

As the blade starts to make Crowley's throat bleed, Aziraphale snaps.

His blue eyes start glowing. His nostrils flares. His tight fists tremble.

The demon's yellow eyes go round as he notices the angel's change of expression.

The gold halo brightens around Aziraphale's head and the wind is blowing heavily, the sky turning grey. Crowley frowns as he stares at his partner with both a worried and impressed gaze.

Seeing the changes around him, Sandalphon stops his movement to look at the sky, then at Aziraphale.

Michael does the same, not understanding what's happening.

"...Here's my ultimatum." Aziraphale speaks with a deep tone, his eyes glowing as the wind makes his white locks move.

Suddenly, a bright light hit the ground like thunder and Aziraphale reappears through the fog, but he's floating above the ground, a halo above his head and blue eyes covering his body wrapped in white clothes while he's holding the most flaming of all swords.

"Let the demon Crowley go, and I'll let you live." His voice is deeper, changed, reverberating and impressive as the sound of his voice vibrates through their chest.

Crowley watches him from his position, almost blinded by the angel's lightness, his heart pounding hard.

"Let him go now, and maybe I will show you some mercy..." Aziraphale adds, voice loud and echoing.

Michael, Sandalphon and other Archangels stare at Aziraphale, and if Crowley was looking at them, he'd see that they're afraid.

Meanwhile, another tear falls down the demon's cheek, but this time, it's out of admiration.

The admiration for Aziraphale's hidden strength and magnificence motivated by love. Their -literally- undying love.

(I had this in my mind for a while so I'm putting it there without any story behind it. enjoy 🙂 I might make a small comics or fanart of it later)

[hd-junglebook]

My Sunshine

Prologue (short and sweet just how I like em)

Warnings - brief mentions of sex, mention of plan b pills, toxic relationship, pregnancy

a:n I feel like the chapter I posted for jack was too rushed, so I rewrote the entire thing. I hope you enjoy this one even more because I enjoyed writing the parts for it.

Masterlist Link

Summary: After Jason suddenly declares he no longer wants to have a baby with her, despite their previous plans, Y/N finally leaves the hell that is her home and seeks the one thing that could give her answers. After agonizing over the decision, Y/N takes the tests spiraling over the results.

Word Count ~ 2054

...

Y/N collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving and her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins as she reached out for Jason, desperately seeking the comfort of his warm embrace.

But to her dismay, he merely rolled over, his back facing her. The deafening silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by their labored breathing.

"Hey," she broached softly, a tremor in her voice. "What's wrong?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She propped herself up on her elbow, studying Jason's tense profile in the dim light of the bedroom as she gently rubbed his back, trying to offer whatever comfort she could.

He grumbled something unintelligible, his jaw clenched tight, his body rigid and unyielding.

"What did you say?" Y/N pressed, a sense of unease and dread creeping into her chest, tightening around her heart.

"I said," Jason repeated, his voice cold and detached, "I don't want to have a baby with you anymore."

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of disbelief and heartbreak washed over her. In the muted glow of the bedroom, Y/N's world shattered like fragile glass. Her body, still throbbing and tingling from their intimate encounter, now grew cold and numb.

Jason sat up, his expression hard and unyielding as he turned to face Y/N. "You heard me. I don't want a baby. We try and try to conceive this...this thing ," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "but it hasn't worked. I'm tired of trying. I've had my fill of you for the last five months."

Y/N felt as if she had been slapped, the words striking her like a physical blow. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, her mind reeling from the devastating revelation.

"But we talked about this," she argued, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. "We agreed that we were ready, that we wanted to start a family. You said you were gonna marry me! How can you say you've had your fill of the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes dismissively. "Well, I changed my mind. And it's not like you have much of a say in the matter, anyway," he sneered.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, anger flaring hot and fierce in her veins. "Excuse me?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. How dare he treat her as if she had no say in the matter - this was their future, their dream, their child they were discussing.

"You heard me," Jason repeated, his tone mocking and callous. "It's my decision, too. And I've decided that I don't want a kid tying me down." He turned away, his broad shoulders rigid with finality, leaving Y/N feeling utterly betrayed and alone.

Without another word, Y/N rose from the bed, her movements stiff and mechanical as she gathered her discarded clothes. She stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a resounding bang that reverberated through the tense silence.

Leaning heavily against the sink, she braced her trembling hands on the cool porcelain as hot, angry tears streamed down her flushed cheeks.

With a shaking hand, she turned on the shower, the scalding spray pounding against her skin as she stepped under it, scrubbing furiously.

She tried in vain to wash away the lingering feeling of Jason's touch, the essence of their intimate encounter seeping onto her thighs. The water cascaded down her body, but it offered no solace, no relief from the anguish consuming her.

Desperate, Y/N rummaged through the cabinets, her movements frantic as she pushed aside bottles of shampoo and tubes of toothpaste, searching for the small foil packet that held her last hope. But as she tore through the cluttered shelves, her heart sank, a fresh wave of panic crashing over her.

The pill was gone.

"No, no, no," she choked out, her voice breaking with anguish. "Fuck!" she cried, slamming her fist against the unyielding tile wall.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through her hand, but she barely registered it, consumed by the overwhelming fear of being trapped - tethered to a man who no longer loved her, who didn't want the life they had so carefully planned together.

The bathroom descended into chaos as Y/N's desperation reached a fever pitch. She swept her arm across the counter, sending bottles and jars crashing to the floor, the sound of shattering glass mingling with her anguished sobs.

Tearing open drawers, she flung their contents aside, heedless of the mess she was creating. In her frantic search, she upended the trash can, the contents spilling out across the tile.

Y/N's world was crashing down around her, and she felt powerless to stop it. She sank to the floor, curling in on herself as the full weight of her devastation overwhelmed her. Clutching her knees to her chest, she wept bitterly, her heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

…

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on the nearly empty shelves of the CVS. Y/N stood in the middle of the aisle, her eyes darting back and forth between the rows of cardboard boxes, her heart pounding in her chest.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerators and the static of the TV mounted on the wall.

Beside her, Heather shifted from foot to foot, her impatience growing with each passing second. The tapping of her foot against the linoleum floor echoed through the store, grating on Y/N's already frayed nerves.

"Could you stop tapping and put that pea brain of yours to use?" Y/N snapped, her voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. The harsh words escaped her lips before she could even register them, her nerves completely frayed.

Heather shot her a sideways glance, her lips pressed into a thin line. She reached out and grabbed a box from the shelf, shoving it into Y/N's hands.

"This looks fine, Y/N," she said, her tone clipped and laced with a hint of irritation. "You've read every box back to front. I think you should just choose one."

Y/N stared down at the box in her hands, her mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. She knew Heather was right, but choosing a box made the situation feel too real – this box held the answer to the rest of her life. The weight of the decision felt crushing, and she couldn't help but feel utterly alone in this moment, despite Heather's presence.

Swallowing thickly, Y/N ran her fingers over the cardboard, tracing the words printed on the packaging. Every fiber of her being wanted to tear the box open, to find the answers that would dictate her future. But the fear of what those answers might be paralyzed her, leaving her frozen in place, the box trembling in her shaking hands.

"Screw it," Y/N muttered under her breath, her resolve hardening. She grabbed four more boxes from the shelf, the cardboard containers feeling heavy in her hands.

Without another moment's hesitation, she turned to walk away, but something made her pause. With a sigh of frustration, she spun back around and snatched one more box, just for good measure.

Heather let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head in disbelief at Y/N's sudden burst of decisiveness. "Alright, that's more like it," she murmured, offering her friend an encouraging smile, despite the gravity of the situation.

She wandered over to the fridges and grabbed a 2-liter bottle of soda before meeting Y/N at the checkout counter.

They plopped their items down in front of the cashier, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a bored expression on his face. He glanced up at them, his eyes widening as he took in the array of pregnancy tests and the massive bottle of soda.

The cashier's voice cut through the tense silence as he spoke up, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Having trouble deciding, ladies?"

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, suddenly self-conscious under the man's curious gaze. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her uncharacteristically flustered.

Thankfully, Heather jumped in, offering the cashier a polite smile. "Oh, you know how it is," she said, her tone light and diplomatic. "Gotta make sure we get the right ones, you know?"

The cashier nodded, his expression understanding as he scanned their items and bagged them up. "That'll be $32.50," he said, adding the final box to the pile.

Y/N silently handed over the cash, her heart pounding in her chest. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The cashier gave her a sympathetic nod, his eyes twinkling with a hint of empathy that made Y/N's stomach twist.

With the transaction complete, they turned and walked out of the CVS, the automatic doors sliding shut behind them with a soft whoosh. The night air was cool and crisp, a welcome relief from the stuffy interior of the store.

Y/N took a deep breath, savoring the sensation of the fresh air filling her lungs as she gripped the bag containing the pregnancy tests, the weight of it heavy in her hand.

She looked over at Heather, who gave her a reassuring smile. "Ready?" her friend asked, her voice soft and laced with concern.

Y/N steeled herself, squaring her shoulders as she met Heather's gaze. "not at all," she replied. With a deep breath, she began walking towards her car, Heather by her side.

…

Y/N sat on the cold tile floor of her bathroom, her knees drawn up to her chest and her heart racing. She had lined up all eleven pregnancy tests on the edge of the bathtub, each one turned face down, waiting for the results that would change her life forever.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. Y/N's mind raced with a million different scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. What would she do if the tests were positive? How would she tell Jason? Would he even care?

Suddenly, Heather's voice rang out from the other side of the door, startling Y/N from her thoughts.

"Time!" she shouted, her voice muffled by the thick wood.

Y/N inhaled deeply, trying to calm her frayed nerves. She slowly lifted her head from her lap, her muscles aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Using the sink for support, she pulled herself to her feet, her knees suddenly weak and shaky.

With trembling hands, Y/N reached out and flipped over the first test, her heart pounding in her chest. A bold, unmistakable pink plus sign stared back at her, and she felt her heart skip a beat, her breath catching in her throat.

Hands shaking, she moved down the line, flipping over each test one by one. Plus sign after plus sign greeted her, until all eleven tests lay face up on the bathtub, their results crystal clear.

Y/N hiccupped, her hand flying to her mouth as a tear slipped down her cheek. She was pregnant. There was no denying it now - the evidence was right there in front of her, etched in pink and white plastic.

The reality of the situation crashed over her like a tidal wave, and she felt her legs give out from under her as she sank back down to the floor.

Sobs wracked her body, her anguish palpable as she grappled with the devastating truth. She was going to be a mother, and the father of her child was a man who no longer wanted her.

Heather's voice called out again, this time softer and more concerned. "Y/N? Are you okay in there?"

Y/N tried to respond, but the words stuck in her throat, choked by the lump of emotion that had settled there. She heard the doorknob rattle, and then Heather was there, kneeling beside her on the floor and wrapping her in a tight, comforting embrace.

"Oh, honey," Heather murmured, stroking Y/N's hair as she cried. "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out together, I promise." Heather's voice was soothing, a balm to Y/N's shattered nerves, and she clung to her friend arms.

...

Tag List <3

@fearfam69691, @alwaysclassyeagle, @rebelatbay, @dancerbailey3, @dasiysthings, @shawnshoney

[n0tamused]

Hello! Could I request Dr Ratio with an artist s/o who loves making him their muse?

Contents: Dr. Ratio x gn reader, artist s/o, fluff, short drabble

“Is this truly necessary?” Words filter themselves out through his teeth, feign irritation lighting up his tone as his eyes run up your torso to follow the line of your arms, which seem to make it a point to make him as flustered as one could possibly make him. He has agreed previously to model for you, after some nagging from your end, and now that the deal was done and through, he couldn’t find it within him to excuse himself from the situation. Dr. Ratio is not a coward, he says to himself, donning his unamused expression as you set his arm in the position you best saw fit, an elegant outstretch of his muscles. His heart wishes to betray him, and he remains thankful for the rib cage that holds its thunderous beat within him. Can you hear it too? This wasn’t the first time, and arguably not the last, that you made Veritas your muse. The only difference was in the fact you’d usually draw him while he was going about with his everyday life, catching rather candid moments of him, reading a book, eating a snack or simply making dinner. The leatherbound notebook was rich with the sketches of him - and you’d admit that the works of him were your proudest. 

He is on full display, and the privacy of it, as well as his relationship with you, only put  a strain on his throat and vocal cords. He can only hope you don’t point out the coloring of his cheeks, which he trusts have become too obvious to be passed off as a simple play of light. 

“Yes, are you uncomfortable with this?” You ask, your hands quickly pausing their ministrations of moving him to instead look at his face. Coral colored eyes flicker up to you, gazing with you with a peculiar intensity. The shake of his head that gives you stirs his pretty locks of hair, and he mutters a ‘no, it’s fine’. Satisfied, you smile at him gently and lean in to work on his hair, your fingertips brushing aside the section that fell into his eyes. “Good.. If there is anything that you have to say, don’t hesitate to tell me” You said, a teasing lilt palpable in your voice, earning you a scoff from the man before you as he averted his gaze to the side. 

“I am not uncomfortable, but I am beginning to question your process of preparation” 

It was no mystery why he was acting this way, you knew him for long enough to pick up on these little details of his person, and it made him all the more endearing. For a man known for his rigor, he sure crumbled often around you, even when he truly tried to hold a lick of sharpness on his tongue. Daring to push him a little more, and to get his attention back to focus on you, you lean in and press your lips to his pink-dusted cheek before pulling away and walking back to where you set up your chair and canvas. 

“My preparation process is necessary. In the end, I’d hate to not do you the due justice once I put you down on paper” The sketching pencil had grown short over the course of the last month, having been tasked to draw the same muse time and time again. Yet, if the pencil knew how to speak, you’d be sure it would start babbling on about your affections for Veritas and the way you grow flustered under his intense stare while you bow your head to finally begin sketching him. 

You may have made him your muse today, but Veritas is getting the bright ideas to switch the roles the next time the opportunity rolls around, if for nothing else but to see you shrink under his gaze more as he marks your beauty down on his canvas. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[srslyblvck]

fractured bonds, kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

synopsis: y/n is captured by pekka's men, kaz goes to rescue her.

warnings: violence, wounds, blood

word count: 1.1k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ KETTERDAM THRIVED IN CHAOS, its streets alive with the cacophony of crime and commerce, where fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye. The city was a merciless beast, feeding on the weak and vulnerable, yet it offered endless opportunities to those daring enough to seize them. Shadows lurked in every corner, and danger was a constant companion. The Barrel, in particular, was a cesspool of vice, a playground for criminals and schemers. It was here, amidst the darkened alleys and looming warehouses, that Kaz Brekker ruled, the indomitable leader of the Dregs, a gang as feared as the city itself.

But tonight, Ketterdam's chaos had turned against Kaz. For days, he and the Crows had been searching for Y/N, scouring every corner of the city, but to no avail. She had been taken by Pekka Rollins' men, and the thought of her in their clutches gnawed at him like a festering wound. He moved through the shadows, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones, his mind a tempest of rage and fear. He couldn't afford to lose her—not Y/N, who had become an indispensable part of the Crows and, though he'd never admit it, to him.

Kaz Brekker's cane tapped against the cobblestone as he manoeuvred through the narrow alleys of Ketterdam. Each step was calculated, and precise, masking the storm brewing inside him.

The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city loomed like a spectre, its windows dark and broken, the stench of decay thick in the air. Kaz moved with purpose, his steps steady despite the limp that had become a part of him. The information had been hard-won, pried from the lips of a desperate informant, but it had led him here. Alone, with no time to gather the rest of the Crows, he pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The warehouse loomed before him, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Kaz slipped inside, silent as a ghost. The smell hit him first—damp, decay, and the unmistakable copper tang of blood. He gritted his teeth, his gloved hand tightening on his cane. He moved through the debris-strewn space, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of Y/N.

And then he saw her.

Y/N was crumpled in a corner, her form barely recognizable through the bruises and blood. Kaz's heart lurched, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his cold exterior. He approached her cautiously, his steps careful, as if the very ground could betray him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. There was no response. He crouched down, his knee protesting the movement, but he ignored the pain. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering above her battered form.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a small, pained moan. Kaz's jaw tightened. He needed to get her out of here. Now. He slid his arm under her shoulders, preparing to lift her.

"No," she whispered, her voice cracked and weak. "Kaz... you don't have to..."

"Be quiet," he snapped, though there was a rare gentleness in his tone. He shifted his cane to his left hand and, with deliberate care, slid his arms beneath her fragile frame. She gasped in pain, but he held her close, his grip firm but as gentle as he could manage.

Kaz moved as quickly as his injury would allow, each step a calculated effort. The warehouse loomed around them, a labyrinth of shadows and decay, but he navigated it with practised ease. Y/N's weight was a reminder of her fragility, of how close they had come to losing her.

Kaz moved swiftly, the warehouse fading into the night as he carried her back to the Slat. Each step was a testament to his determination, the pain in his leg a distant echo compared to the fear of losing her. He burst through the doors, the sudden commotion drawing the attention of the Crows who had gathered in his absence.

"Nina!" Kaz barked, his voice commanding, brooking no argument. The Heartrender appeared, her face a mask of concern as she saw Y/n's condition. Inej and the others followed, their expressions ranging from shock to fury.

"Fix her," Kaz ordered, his eyes hard as steel. He laid Y/n down gently on the nearest table, stepping back to give Nina space. The Heartrender's hands moved with practiced precision, the room falling silent as she worked.

Kaz stood like a sentinel, his gaze never leaving Y/n. "If anything happens to her—" he began, his voice low and dangerous, but Nina cut him off.

"Nothing will happen to her, Kaz," she said firmly, her hands moving over Y/n's wounds with surety. The confidence in her voice was a balm, but it did little to ease the storm raging within him.

He watched Nina work, every second stretching into an eternity. Y/N's breathing grew steadier, her face relaxing as the pain ebbed. When Nina finally stepped back, exhaustion lining her features, Kaz felt a fraction of the tension ease.

"She'll need rest," Nina said, wiping her hands on a cloth. "But she'll recover."

Kaz nodded, the closest he could come to expressing gratitude. He moved to Y/N's side, looking down at her peaceful face. The sight of her, alive and breathing, was a balm to his frayed nerves.

Kaz's cold fury resurfaced. He left the Slat without a word, his destination clear in his mind. Pekka Rollins would pay for this. Breaking into Pekka's base was no easy feat, but Kaz was a master of the impossible. He moved like a ghost, his cane an extension of his will as he dispatched guards and slipped through security measures.

He finally reached the heart of Pekka's lair, where the man himself lounged, surrounded by his most trusted men. Kaz didn't hesitate. With a swift, brutal efficiency, he fought his way through them, his movements precise and lethal. His cane became a weapon, its steel tip striking with deadly accuracy.

Pekka, taken by surprise, found himself on his knees, staring up at Kaz with a mix of fear and fury.

"You think you can take what's mine and get away with it?" Kaz's voice was a deadly whisper. "If you ever lay a hand on any of my Crows again, I will destroy you. And don't think for a second that I won't."

Pekka glared at him, but Kaz's cold, unyielding gaze didn't waver. He turned and left, his message delivered, leaving Pekka to contemplate the consequences of his actions.

Hours passed, the Slat gradually returning to its usual state of organized chaos. Kaz remained by Y/N's side, his mind a whirlwind of plans and strategies. Pekka Rollins would pay for this. He would tear the Barrel apart brick by brick if he had to.

Y/N stirred, her eyes opening slowly. She looked up at him, confusion giving way to relief. "Kaz..."

"You're safe now," he said, his voice as cold and steady as ever. "Rest. We'll talk later."

She nodded, too exhausted to argue. As she drifted back to sleep, Kaz allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. It was a fleeting touch, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes.

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, had his weaknesses. And Y/N was the most dangerous one of all.

[karniss-bg3]

WRITING PROMPTS? Ayo how kar'niss react to being called pretty? Sucks the only time you can compliment him he takes it wrong. Weeps.

Kar’niss lowered his body to the lush grass below, taking time to rest his weary legs from a long days travel. The evening had fallen on the green fields where they decided to make camp, Tav nearby working hard at getting a fire going. The moon had come to rise casting a silver-toned hue over the landscape, particularly over the resting drider. Tav took notice as this was a rare moment of quiet for the pair often on the go with little time to stop. They admired their companion allowing their gaze to wander over every unusual feature he possessed, appreciating even the most minuscule detail.

“You’re beautiful,” Tav said, their voice quiet.

At first Kar’niss didn’t register what had been said much less that it was directed at him. His head raised to acknowledge the other, his head tipped to the side in confusion.

“Who are you talking to?”

“You. We’ve not had many moments to speak on our travels. I’m just now able to take you in, all of you. You’re beautiful,” Tav reaffirmed, their eyes locking from a short distance away.

The drider jerked his torso back, his pedipalps rolled into a tight curl against his lower body. A repulsed snort pushed from his nostrils.

“Do not tease us. We—I am not what you claim.”

Tav dusted off their hands and rose from their crouched position, daring to wander toward the defensive creature nearby. They stood defiantly ahead of him, eye level with Kar’niss lowered as he was.

“I’m not teasing. I mean what I say.”

They reached toward him, the tips of their fingers brushed a few rogue strands of hair from his face in a tender pass. Kar’niss retreated from the touch using his long legs to back away from the gesture. Every experience in his life up to this point told him it was a trap, a way to force his guard down to inevitably be stabbed in the back. Tav saw how tense his body had become, the wariness oozing from every pore. Tav approached their nervous companion with soft, careful steps.

“I won’t hurt you. I know...you’ve been told that before and others betrayed your trust. It’s why I helped you, I couldn’t stand by and watch them abuse you any further.” Tav inched closer until they resumed their previous position in front of him.

Kar’niss’ gaze lingered on Tav with deep rooted skepticism. His legs shifted beneath him, nervously trotting in place until he eventually settled.

“W-We..We..I. I! I—don’t understand.” Tav leaned in closer, a thin smile steadily stretched over their lips. “Then...allow me to explain,” they began. “Your eyes are a wonder, I feel safe knowing they are ever watchful.”

“No. Ugly, unnatural,” Kar’niss grumbled, his shoulders falling into a slump.

“Not ugly, not unnatural. I enjoy them, very much.” Tav lifted a hand to trace around the cluster of dark orbs on his forehead. They saw them blink out of sync which made them smile all the more. Kar’niss crossed his arms over his chest in a bid to self soothe still waiting for the worst to come.

“Your hair is soft and delicate. The moonlight does me a service by dancing upon each strand with such grace. My fingers can hardly resist getting lost in them.” They brushed the back of their hand along the wayward strands that kissed Kar’niss’ shoulder.

He shook his head, tipping his head back as if to spare Tav’s fingers the insult of touching him. “Ratty, thin, a disgrace,” he argued.

They would not be discouraged, knowing full well how much the Absolute had torn his confidence to shreds. “Your body, all of your body, is a marvel. Unique, strong, stunning.” Tav stepped closer, allowing their hips to nestle between Kar’niss’ pedipalps. A hand rested on one of the curled digits to coax it to wrap around their waist, their torsos melding sinfully close.

Kar’niss swallowed audibly and his breath hitched in his throat. “M-Monstrous, abomination, filth.”

His determined companion moved to cup the side of his face, their thumb caressing the rough patch of skin on his cheek. “Your lips, supple and firm. Scarred from a lifetime of torment.” Tav’s eyes fluttered closed, inching their body upward on their toe tips in order to reach.

Kar’niss had no time to process what was happening until it did. Their lips met, a white hot flash of emotion struck the drider quick as lightning. He felt a buzzing tingle that started in his cheeks and soon washed over his whole body like waves crashing over a rocky shore. Tav’s lips were tender, the kiss soft and gentle to allow Kar’niss to move at the pace he desired. At first his response was wooden as if too stunned to respond in kind, his head filling with so many thoughts at once he worried his skull would crack under pressure.

After the initial shock faded Kar’niss found his footing. His pedipalps hooked tighter around Tav’s waist to draw them in, his head craning downward to better meet them to response. At first his mouth’s reply was clumsy, timid, and his hands didn’t seem to know where to put themselves. He placed them on Tav’s shoulders to start and seemingly changed his mind mid-way through, relocating them to either side of their waist. Tav delicately encouraged Kar’niss to tilt his head for a better fit which he complied with easily enough, their hands roaming the length of his chest to feel out it’s shape and texture.

The longer the embrace continued the more Kar’niss’ confidence grew, his lips becoming more aggressive in their pursuit of savoring their taste. He could hear the frantic beat of his heart within his ears, his bulbous backside trembling with an excitement he’d not known in far too long. He was certain this was a dream or some hallucination concocted by his lingering psychosis. Yet Tav didn’t fade or disappear from sight, they remained in place. He could feel their warmth alluring and inviting like a blazing hearth in the dead of winter. He knew then and there he didn’t want to lose this exhilarating experience, he couldn’t imagine going without.

When the kiss broke both individuals had developed a hot blush that streaked across their faces, the sound of aroused panting shared between them. Tav bumped nose to nose with the dazed drider, a satisfied grin tugging at their lips.

“You are not a monster, not to me, not ever. You are Kar’niss and that is all that matters,” Tav whispered. They pressed their foreheads together mindful of his extra eyes, caressing the back of his neck.

Kar’niss had to fight the urge to object to such claims, his mind still saturated in doubt and self-hatred. But after an exchange such as that he did have to wonder...was there still hope for him? Could he have a future, a life, a chance at happiness that wasn’t afforded to him anywhere else?

He was starting to think so.

[yaniiiiism]

just fine. -h.hj ✦ !

🧸 chapter 1.

read chapter 2 ✿ here.

͏✶ pairing : hwang hyunjin x fem!reader ͏✶ info : sadfic (IM SORRY) , a LOT of angst , melancholy (ofc) , drama , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided . ͏✶ personas: uni students ; dancers ; hyunjin does art and dance, reader does dance and songwriting. ͏͏✶ word count : 534 ͏✶ warnings : mature themes !

“Seriously?” 

His voice shot through, brows furrowing in confusion as he ran his fingers through his freshly-permed, raven strands. 

“You’re saying you’ve never— ever, slept or made out with a guy?” “How are we still on this topic?” 

The brunette that was nicely settled on her bed, whined, eyes quickly skimming through her Economics course-book. She tapped her pen against the page, trying to focus. 

“I thought we were over this. Yes, Hyunjin, I’m so pathetic and picky that I’ve never slept or kissed a guy. Can we end it here, please?” He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her life like it was some biography project. 

“What about that guy at the freshers’ party?”

“We had just met?” She sighed, flipping the pages of her textbook a little too forcefully.

He wasn't ready to drop the subject just yet. 

"But you guys were flirting the whole night. I thought for sure something happened after I left."

“Flirting? You call yapping about similar interests— in this case, songwriting, flirting now? While your tongue was figuratively and practically down—” 

She got up from the bed, her voice wavering the tiniest bit, the twinkle in her eyes, fading just a tad. To which she continued by clearing her throat. 

“..Seori’s throat the whole evening?” A glare was shot his way, as she walked towards him, or rather her desk he was nestled near, grabbing a pair of her pastel highlighters.

Hyunjin's eyebrows furrowed further at her jab, but there was a softness in his gaze as he watched her. He knew her well enough to catch the shift in her tone, the subtle way her defences went up whenever this topic came around. They'd shared everything growing up—secrets, dreams, fears—yet, there were still things he couldn't quite figure out about her.

The soft sound in the background was like a lullaby, weaving through the air with a bittersweet elegance. The ethereal notes of "Apocalypse" by Cigarettes After Sex drifted like whispered secrets, mingling with the soft hum of the room. Its dreamy, hazy paints brushed over the room like on a canvas, accentuating the gravity of their conversation as if the song itself was echoing their unspoken intentions.

With her gaze lingering on him a moment longer, tracing the familiar curves of his face— her eyes flickered with a blend of frustration and vulnerability. 

Those sharp yet calm eyes that seemed to pierce through her defences, his plump lips that moved so delicately, spilling words that always made her heart clench just a little too tight. 

There was a melancholy in the way her eyes looked at him, betraying a sadness she kept buried deep in the shadows, the familiar glint absent.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to close the distance between them.

To let the words she never dared to speak tumble out. 

To feel those pink lips on hers, once again.

To let the outer world fade away in a muted embrace, even if it lasted just a mere minute.

But— there are always buts, right?

But— those lips could never belong to her.

But, he could never be hers. 

🤟🤟🤟🤟🤟

author's note !

HAIAIAIAIAI DWBHHKEHEEWJ I AM BACK i hate sadfics yet half my notes app is full of sadfics </3 lowkey or highkey inspired by cough cough hyune's past 3 lives w the permed hair plus hyunebinnie dorm..? next part..?

[fhrlclln]

i’m sorry but i need angst!

i need qimir and reader angst!

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRoXdYwG/

forlorn | qimir

SUMMARY -> loving him was the hardest thing she has ever done but how does that love go so far when he is so immersed in the darkness?

qimir x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> angst

WARNINGS -> toxic relationship, arguments, qimir's kinda gives off sadboi vibes in this, slight manipulation? abandonment & hurtful words

WC -> 1.61k

a/n: 🚨warning, pathetic man realizes his girl is going to leave him!! 🚨 LMAOOO. hope you liked this anonz!!

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

your hands feel numb as you scrub away the piece of clothing in your hands.

your heart feels heavy. your washing his dirty robes, the water in the large basin turning red from the blood and grime as you ponder to yourself... why were you still here with him? you scrub hard, the overwhelming emotions threaten to burst out. this was all wrong. why were you washing the clothes of a cold-hearted murderer?

well, you couldn't. you could not leave him even if you desperately wanted to.

drowning in your own thoughts, you don't notice the chaste kiss placed on top of your head when he finally speaks to you. the same hushed and soft tone reserved solely for you.

"your hands are going to bruise, my love." you look up to see him, the man you were thinking of... the one you are thinking of leaving. qimir has a soft smile written across his serene face as he bends down to your crouched level. and those thoughts diminish now. you always fall back to the start when he looks at you like this. like you were the only thing in the world he desires... that he loves. but you have to remember you were not. that was the realization you had to learn when he carelessly put your life in danger that night in khofar.

"the blood won't come off." you say with a plain tone, avoiding his calculating stare. there's a deafening silence between the two of you as if you're both waiting to see who would speak first about what happened. but you hoped, you hoped he wouldn't say anything else because if he did, you don't know what you'll do. you scrub his robe a little harder, dunking it in the soapy water with a splash, and qimir lets out a sigh at your behavior toward him.

"forgiveness is a hard thing to give. that i know." he starts off as if he's starting a lesson for you. "but if we prolong this further, when are we going to move forward, my heart?"

your drop his robe in the basin. "some things aren't meant to be forgiven easily, qimir." you bite back. how dare he tell you to move past this? when your own heart is still in shambles for the pain he had caused. his face drops to a solemn frown, and he seems uncertain what to say, but he opens his mouth nonetheless.

"i don't wish to argue-"

"you left me for dead in that godforsaken forest!" you raised your voice, standing up now as you turned around, picking up the laundry basket to hang outside, wanting to get away from him. damn him and his fucking blood-soaked robe. the salty tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall down if you look at him one more time. your steps are quick, but qimir still follows you outside.

you shuddered out a shaky breath, calming yourself as you focused on hanging your washed clothes on the clothesline outside the cave. anger consumes you, you feel like you've been betrayed, how the one person in your whole miserable life could carelessly throw you in the hands of the jedi just because of one thing.

power.

another acolyte who he wants, to be able to achieve the one thing you have always heard come out of his mouth. the power of two. the moment when you had come back to this remote planet to see him tending to her, osha, the one he brought back- not you.

you felt like a fool, a fool who continued to be with him against your personal conflict and how dangerous your life had become because of him. you tried to ignore the jealousy you felt when you saw him treating her when you came back all mangled in dirt and cuts from fighting those jedis in khofar. and he dismissed you when you were going to argue how he didn't even try to come back for you. oh, how your pure heart broke into pieces, how uncaring he sounded that day.

you cried for the first time in years, feeling like you've been abandoned by the one man you claimed to yourself you love. the person who accepted you after years of being abandoned by everyone you had cared for. it was getting tiring. you're tired of being tossed away for another. again and again and again-

"i was going to come back for you." he softly said, gauging your reaction as you hung up your clothes. "but, it was too dangerous to come back to the planet. the order would have been there, and all my careful protection would be gone to waste. i know you understand that."

"you have a tasteful way of saying... i'm disposable." you grit your teeth, wanting to throw yourself off the cliff now. "but her? you chose her instead of me to save."

you willed yourself to turn around to face him. he stands there, face as passive as ever. no emotions but just a quiet look of calmness. it irks you how this seems normal to him. were you going to be just another tool at his own expense? to be tossed away every time if he deems so. your mouth quivers, you can't hold back anymore.

"i'm sorry." he says, but you don't feel he's sincere. "i love you."

"this doesn't feel like love anymore, qimir." you shake your head. "i want to leave. you have your acolyte, and i am done being tossed away." you sniffled, wiping away the tears that had already fallen on your cheeks.

his eyes darkened, and he stepped closer to you. "you can't."

"oh, so when osha wants to leave, you let her. but to me, i'm the prisoner?" you glared at him through your watery eyes. his chest rises, you see him fighting back his own emotions. you want him to feel the same hurt you're feeling as you continue to push on.

"you're so desperate to achieve the rule of two, you don't even see what you're doing is hurting the people around you." you say with venom laced in your tone. "i know i cannot be with your goal, osha can, but will she? it's ironic how careless you are to abandon me when you have experienced the same thing from your master. how cruel you are to do it to the person who you claim to love."

his jaw ticks at your words, and you hit a sore spot. you stare into his emotionless eyes, brows furrowing as he doesn't say anything else.

"you don't love me." you quietly said, your own words hurting you. "if you loved me, you wouldn't abandon me when i needed you."

"that is not true." his face contorted to anger. "you have to understand what i said."

"i am tired of understanding you!" you cried, sobbing as you pushed him away, but he caught your wrist before you could shove him back again. "and frankly, i don't understand you, qimir. what is the point of having more power? what do you want from me when I cannot give it to you, but osha can?" your eyes begged for an answer.

"freedom." he merely says, and you scoff.

"when will you be free if the darkness compels you to have more power?" you retort, you never liked this way of the force. "you're obsessed with this. i feel like you're losing yourself for this."

"if it means protecting you with this power, i will gladly do so." he rests his forehead against yours, and you let him, savoring his gentle touch that you know it might be the last. his hands stay on your waist, rubbing up and down to soothe your sobs. "i don't want anything from you... i just want you."

your heart thumps, doubting if you believed him.

"i love you, qimir." you say as his eyes shine with hope. "but i can't do this anymore."

"don't leave me." he begs, sensing that you're serious about leaving him. "i need you with me."

"let me go." you begged back. if he held you in his arms further, you didn't know if your decision to leave would come true. "please."

he doesn't say anything else. his own eyes shine wetly, his own resolve crumbling.

"stay with me. just a little longer. think about it, please." he tries again, hoping you would relent. your hands move up to cup his cheeks in your palms. "i'm sorry."

"when will this all stop?" you whispered, sighing. "i just want a peaceful life with you."

he doesn't have an answer to that, but that gives him some realization of what follows through. but he knows deep down he will not stop until the jedi order won't come for him. peace is a lie. he remembers what he said to mae back then. he knows he cannot give what you are asking for. peace was never going to be in his life, he hoped you would understand that if you chose to stay with him. but if you choose to leave, he finds himself crumbling at the thought of losing you.

he chooses to capture your lips to his, and you kiss him back, knowing he doesn't have an answer to your questions. he holds you in his arms, your chest hurts, you don't know what to do now. but all you know is your love for him will always be there, whether you choose to leave him still.

all you can hope for now is a moment of peace, even if it will never happen as you rest in his arms.