#perpetually on the brink

[lies]

Sometimes when I'm birdwatching

[ihavebeenallthingsunholy]

are you ok?

ah you know how it isss

[tojipie]

toji x crybaby reader <3

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut under the cut !

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji is a flawed man. 

short-tempered, married to his money, slow to show affection. but the one thing he does excel at is comforting you.

he knows you’re a sensitive girl, knows just how easy it is for you to get teary-eyed and red in the face over comments that otherwise seem like nothing to the untrained ear. 

you have a kind heart is all, too giving to a world that only knows how to take. he tells you that every time you break down in his arms, thick hands rubbing circles into the small of your back.

his father would have slapped him across the face for crying. called him soft, whiney like a girl. put him to work for the rest of the day to shape him into a man.

he wasn’t his father though, and you weren’t a zenin.

you were soft in the best way, tender-hearted and too trusting. a daisy among weeds, swaying idly in the too-strong wind. nothing like a zenin, nothing like him. 

he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do the first time he’d seen you get upset, standing there in the kitchen like a fool while you babbled on the phone with his bank.

it was a fraudulent charge, small, maybe only 10 dollars. probably dropped his card while paying for gas again, not the end of the world. the customer service rep assured you that much.

it was the principal, you sobbed. you’d lost his card and hadn’t even noticed. why wasn’t he upset with you?

he doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell you it was okay. that he didn’t have it in him to ever be cross with you, be it a ten-dollar charge or a thousand-dollar charge. 

instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling your body flush with his to press soft kisses to the crown of your head.

you were warm there, warm everywhere really. the thrum of your blood heating your skin from the inside out. toji liked that about you, how you offset the perpetual cold of his much larger hands. 

physical touch was something he knew well. toji wasn’t—still isn’t good with words, opting to stay silent and just hold you while you sniffled into the receiver. he got the message across, he always does.

his methods are unorthodox for that very reason. he doesn’t comfort you with his tone, he does it with his body. whether it be thick arms squeezing you until you get your breathing under control, large hands tracing shapes into your tummy until you stop spluttering, or toned legs splaying wide to let you crawl into his lap, resting on him until your bodies reach the same temperature.

toji fucks you on your good days, likes to tease you, get you squirming. the key difference is that he makes sweet love to you on your bad ones. holding you flush to his chest while he rocks into you under the safety of your shared blankets.

you feel like a furnace under him every time, heat radiating off your body and into the deeper parts of his soul. 

he gets mouthy once the feeling of you wrapped around him flicks that little switch in his brain. turning off the mental barrier between him and his inability to use his words. 

“sweet girl,” is what he calls you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“gotta stay close to me, gotta keep you safe, huh?”

and keep you safe he does, tucking your face into the curve of his neck so you don’t have to look anywhere but him. letting you moan, and pant, and sigh into his skin while he rocks against that special spot situated deep in your core.

he goes harder when you ask him to. not faster, but harder—he knows the difference, letting the resistance in his hips subside so he can sink to the hilt over and over. 

the juxtaposition makes his head spin. how do you manage to sound so sweet while asking for something like that? able to melt his heart even on the brink of orgasm.

you kiss him when he fills you up, letting him sink on top of you with a huff and a shy laugh. he listens as you open up about the good parts of your day, his soft hums of agreement spurring you on.

toji wishes he was taught to articulate himself better. he’s trying, he really is. though the “i love you” he says into your skin seems like his best shot at a start. 

[seokjinsonlyone]

hello hello, i am choosing two at random: 4 & 29 please <3

omg thank you so much for askiiinngggg

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

my current favorite word is asinine. i have been calling things asinine up the wazoo lately i love it.

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

see the thing is i don't even really consider myself a writer like i write but i'm not a writer ya know? like i don't write bc i necessarily like writing all that much or bc i'm good at it i just really like bts and i like putting them in situations i think of so i think most of my inspiration just comes from like watching their content bc then it feels like i'm getting to know them and then i be thinking like hmm what would they do if this happened and when i run out of inspiration i just stop like i just allow myself the time to not think and eventually if it's a good enough idea i'll come back to it also just like consuming more content not even with the intent of gaining inspiration just for like my own personal enjoyment like i'm here to have fun y'all everything else is secondary i do this thing off the clock and whatever happens happens sksksk

anyone can ask me more weird writer questions if you wannnttttt

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, ���where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[deception-united]

Random Character Profiles

Prodigal slacker. An exceptional intellect, capable of solving complex problems with ease, but absolutely no drive or motivation to apply their abilities towards any practical endeavors. Others are often frustrated by the wasted talent, but they couldn't care less. If their ideas are so great, someone else can come up with them. They're just here to laze around and have fun.

Loveable annoyance. A mind that dances on the border of sanity, and a perpetual source of simultaneous amusement and irritation. They delight in making puns and bad jokes at the expense of others' patience. Undeniably loveable nonetheless.

Reluctant recluse. They present a facade of rugged independence, portraying themselves as one who thrives on solitude and despises the company of others. They project an air of indifference towards others, often dismissing any attempts at connection or sympathy with a sharp retort or a cold shoulder. But beneath this tough exterior lies a soft spot reserved for the select few who have managed to breach their defenses—though they're reluctant to show it, going to great lengths to conceal the affection they view as weakness. Their stubborn refusal to accept help or acknowledge their own struggles stems from a fiercely guarded sense of pride, manifested in their vehement denial of any signs of weakness or vulnerability, even when they're visibly on the brink of death.

Sister figure. Sharp-witted and quick-tongued; will shame, embarrass, and ruthlessly tease. Their sarcasm is as much a display of fondness as it is merciless. Fiercely affectionate, extremely caring, unwaveringly loyal. Will put themself in danger for those they love, and will not hesitate to hurt anyone who offends or hurts those they care for; but mess up, and their sternness could make a warrior sob.

Impressively patient. Reserved, caring, mature, typically polite and tolerant to an extreme extent. May lash out occasionally. Possessive of a quiet strength, tending to observe situations with a thoughtful demeanor. Their reserved nature can be mistaken for aloofness despite their deep well of empathy and care for those around them. They navigate social interactions with a polite grace; however, beneath this composed exterior lies a potential for volatility on the rare occasions when they are pushed to their limit. Often the peacekeeper in friend groups.

People hater. Seems perpetually done with everything and everyone. Specialises in dry remarks and diminishing enthusiasm. General mood killer. However, their outward projection of disdain and superiority is really a mask of their own feelings of inadequacy.

Feel free to add on any other character descriptions you like! Happy writing ❤

Previous | Next

[assriels]

take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express. 

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child. 

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him. 

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment. 

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps. 

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight. 

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.” 

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time. 

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.” 

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body. 

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully. 

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart. 

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. 

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to. 

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by. 

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders. 

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed. 

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest. 

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours. 

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue. 

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water. 

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful. 

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.) 

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples. 

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure. 

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath. 

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers. 

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts. 

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came. 

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub. 

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form. 

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom. 

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought. 

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back. 

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit. 

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections. 

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over. 

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head. 

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted. 

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips. 

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart. 

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin. 

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice. 

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage. 

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear. 

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way. 

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment. 

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck. 

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her. 

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration. 

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed. 

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it. 

[chosok-amo]

LITTLE LAMB ! : NANAMI KENTO

you and nanami kento have been dating for years since you two graduated from jujutsu high. one day he came back from work and found you whimper and cry in your sleep.

warning. trauma, blood, death mentioned, nightmare, lil bit angst.

OHHHHH, i just love how cheesy and corny and cringe this is 😭

nanami exhaled a low, weary grunt as he managed to remove his shoe, using one hand to brace himself against the unyielding, frigid surface of the concrete. his head pounded incessantly, each throb resonating painfully as if his brain was pulsating with discomfort. the relentless demands of working for the jujutsu organization, coupled with the constant, exhausting presence of gojo satoru, surely had drained his mental fortitude and pushed his sanity to the brink.

each day felt like an uphill battle against the mounting stress and strain that came with the territory, leaving him yearning for a reprieve that seemed perpetually out of reach. the cold concrete beneath him served as a stark contrast to the heated turmoil within his mind, a reminder of the relentless challenges he faced in his line of duty.

slowly, nanami lifted his head, his gaze drifting upwards to take in the sight of his living room. the room was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint, warm yellow light providing a dim illumination that cast long shadows across the space. as he gently shifted his feet, the quiet movement seemed to echo in the stillness. he glanced to the side, his eyes landing on the clock, which revealed that it was nearly 2 AM.

sighing softly, he exhaled a string of weary breaths, each one a testament to his exhaustion. with a heavy heart and tired limbs, he began to make his way towards the staircase, every step deliberate and slow. the path led him straight to your shared bedroom, a sanctuary of comfort and solace that he longed to reach. the journey felt longer than usual, each step up the stairs requiring more effort as the weight of the day pressed down on him. finally, he reached the door, his thoughts filled with the anticipation of finally finding some rest and respite beside you.

the gentle creak of the door echoed softly through the room as he carefully opened it, trying not to disturb the tranquility. the room was enveloped in darkness, with only the soft, silvery glow of moonlight filtering in through the window, casting delicate shadows across the walls. as nanami's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed your serene figure lying on the bed, comfortably cocooned in a warm blanket, your breathing steady and peaceful in deep sleep.

a tender smile spread across his face, a sense of calm washing over him at the sight of you. the urge to crawl into bed beside you, to hold you close and press gentle kisses to your forehead, was strong. however, he felt the grime and exhaustion of the day clinging to him, a reminder of the long hours and relentless challenges he had faced.

despite his overwhelming desire to join you, he knew that he needed to cleanse himself of the day's fatigue first. the allure of a hot shower beckoned, promising to wash away not only the physical dirt but also the mental strain that had built up. with a quiet sigh and one last glance at your peaceful form, nanami turned towards the bathroom, each step bringing him closer to the relief and rejuvenation he so desperately needed.

after a good half-hour, nanami emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and a bit lighter. a small towel hung around his neck, which he used to gently dry his damp hair. he wore nothing but a soft blue long-sleeve shirt and comfortable beige pants, his attire reflecting his desire for comfort after a long, arduous day.

as he stepped into the dimly lit room, he suddenly heard soft whimpering, barely audible but enough to catch his attention. the faint, distressed sounds seemed to fill the room, contrasting with the quiet serenity he had expected to find. his heart clenched at the thought of you being troubled in your sleep. the sound, it's heartbreaking.

nanami paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he tried to locate the source of the whimpering. his gaze settled on you, still wrapped in the warm blanket but now shifting restlessly, a pained expression marring your previously peaceful face. the sight tugged at his heartstrings, urging him to move closer and offer the comfort you seemed to need.

with gentle, deliberate steps, nanami approached the bed, each movement filled with a quiet urgency. he reached out, his hand hovering above your shoulder before he softly placed it there, hoping to soothe you without startling you awake. the tender touch was meant to convey his presence and reassurance, a silent promise that he was there to protect and comfort you.

you were whimpering softly in your sleep, the sound reminiscent of a fragile, distressed little lamb. it was a heartbreaking noise that spoke of deep-seated hurt, echoing faintly through the stillness of the room. as nanami watched you, his concern deepened. the soft glow of the moonlight revealed the glistening tracks of tears on your cheeks, a silent testament to the pain you were experiencing even in your dreams.

your face, usually so serene in slumber, was now contorted with sorrow, your quiet cries breaking the night's tranquility. each tear that escaped your closed eyes shimmered under the silvery light, highlighting the depth of your distress. nanami's heart ached at the sight, feeling a powerful urge to protect and comfort you.

he couldn't bear to see you like this, suffering silently. he knew he needed to be there for you, to offer his support and reassure you that you were safe and loved. with a gentle hand, he reached out and softly brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch light and careful, hoping to bring some comfort.

nanami sat down on the edge of the bed, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor in the darkened room. he whispered soothing words, barely audible, but filled with love and reassurance. leaning closer, he wrapped his arms around you gently, pulling you into a comforting embrace, hoping to ease your pain and bring you some measure of peace even as you slept.

he gently roused you from your troubled sleep, his warm hand tenderly cupping your tear-streaked cheek. instinctively, you leaned into his touch, drawn to the soothing warmth and comfort it offered. “hey, my love, wake up,” he murmured, his deep voice flowing like a gentle river, soft and calming.

nanami's thumb brushed delicately over your skin, wiping away the remnants of your sorrow as he continued to whisper sweet reassurances. his presence was a beacon of solace in the dim light, a comforting balm to your wounded dreams. he watched as your eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the moonlit room, his tender gaze never leaving your face.

“come back to me, my dear,” he whispered, his voice a poetic blend of concern and love, each word carefully chosen to bring you back to the safety of his embrace. your heart responded to his call, and you felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by the gentle rhythm of his care and devotion.

“ken. . .” your voice emerged as a faint whisper, your throat feeling tighter and drier than usual. he smiled at you with such gentleness that it seemed to melt away the remnants of your distress. “hey,” he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“you were whimpering and crying in your sleep again, my love. is your nightmare back?” he asked, his calmness so profound you felt you could lose yourself in it. as he spoke, his thumb gently caressed your cheek, his presence a grounding force beside you.

“was i?” you responded, not fully aware that your old habit had resurfaced. yet, deep down, you knew the nightmares had returned, creeping into your slumber like unwelcome shadows. his calm inquiry and tender touch provided a lifeline, pulling you back from the depths of your troubled dreams.

“mhm… you were.”

his voice was a gentle hum, his tone taking on a quieter and calmer demeanor than usual. he looked down at you closely as he lightly stroked your cheek, his fingers warm and soothing against your skin. his eyes studied your features in the dim light, noting the signs of tiredness and stress on your face.

“you have bags under your eyes, my love . . . how many nights has this been going on?”

“i-i don't know,” you mumbled, tightening as if a lump was obstructing your air, refusing to let you breathe freely. your head spun, throbbing with pain, while your eyes began to sting— the pain from trying to hold back your tears.

the memories and vivid imaginations of yuu haibara— your best friends, tormented your mind, each detail rendered in brutal clarity. you could see him sprawled on the cold, merciless ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. the sight of his lower body missing was a horrific vision etched deeply into your consciousness. the way his eyes shaking from trying to took a glimpse of you and nanami for the last time— it's was crystal clear in your mind.

these haunting images clung to your thoughts, casting a dark shadow over your mind. the crimson pool starkly contrasted with the cold, unyielding ground, creating a macabre scene that refused to fade. cach recollection was sharp and piercing, like shards of ice embedding themselves into your soul, cutting into your peace and pulling you back into the depths of sorrow and horror.

the weight of these memories bore down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, as the anguish and helplessness you felt surged anew within you. it was as if you were ensnared in a nightmarish vision, each detail a cruel reminder of a friend lost too soon, of a moment too horrific to forget. the cold ground and crimson pool were forever imprinted in your mind, a chilling testament to a tragedy that time could never erase.

he was there too— with you and yuu when that tragedy happened, engraved in your brain and his just like a gift, handing to you in a red bow, the color of his blood. leaving a stain neither you nor nanami could not get rid of just by simply washing your hands, letting it disappears, running with the waters.

that’s one of the reasons nanami kento insists you stay away from the world of jujutsu after graduation. the thought of losing you as he lost his best friend is an unbearable weight on his heart. the memory of that loss haunts him, a dark shadow that he cannot escape, and the idea of history repeating itself fills him with dread. he refuses to let you step back into that life of danger and uncertainty, unwilling to risk your safety for anything.

he will be angry at the world if he loses you.

to him, you are too precious, too irreplaceable. the pain of losing you would be a burden he could never bear, a wound that would never heal. his love for you is a fierce, protective force, driving him to keep you safe, to ensure that you remain by his side, far from the perils that once claimed his closest friend.

he observed the shift in your demeanor closely, noticing the way your throat tightened and your voice seemed to falter. he saw the tears welling up in your eyes and the pain etched on your face.

seeing you like this… it was like seeing your heart breaking in real time. he gently slid an arm underneath your body, before he lifted you up and pulled you closer to him, pulling you carefully into his lap. the faint scent of mint on his breath lingered in the air as he wrapped his other arm around you, his arms holding you close and tight against his chest.

you in such distress made his heart clench inside his chest, a deep sense of helplessness settling over him. he gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards his as he saw the glossiness in your eyes. his hand moved from your chin to lightly brush some hair out of your face, his touch a tender comfort against your skin.

“look at me, honey,” he said quietly. “it’s alright. you’re safe here. i’m right here with you.”

there you are, your eyes glossy and broken, gazing up at him with a poignant, silent plea. the tears magnify their shimmer, making them glisten like fragile, luminous crystals under the soft embrace of the moonlight. the ethereal glow bathes your face, highlighting the depths of your sorrow. each tear catches the light, creating a shimmering trail that reflects your inner turmoil.

his soft and soothing voice brought slight comfort to the storm raging within you. he continued holding you, one arm protectively around your shoulders, and the other gently caressed the top of your head.

“you're safe. i've got you.”

he repeated those words a few more times, knowing they would take time to sink in. he held you closer, your body now sitting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong. he continued stroking your head and your hair, hoping to soothe and calm you bit by bit.

his gentle touch and coaxing voice managed to capture your focus, shifting your gaze from the memories haunting you to his eyes, their color and soothing presence anchoring you in the moment. as he spoke, his words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, banishing the darkness that had begun to cloud your thoughts.

the weight of the past momentarily lifted, replaced by the assurance of his presence and the safety of his arms. you held onto him tighter, seeking solace in the familiar strength of his embrace, your fingers unconsciously clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

nanami felt the shift in your grip, noticing the tightness of your fingers on his shirt, as you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. he held you against him, his embrace firm and reassuring. he continued caressing your head and your hair, gently tucking strands behind your ears, and letting his fingers linger at your nape. his heart ached as he saw the pain and fear in your eyes, but he remained calm and steady, his voice just a soft murmur, meant only for your ears.

“just breathe, i've got you.”

“i’m scared. i can still see him, ken. . . like-like he’s still there,” you sobbed, your voice trembling with raw emotion. nanami pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively, forming a shield against the torment haunting your mind. each of your sobs echoed in his heart, causing it to ache with a profound, sympathetic pain. the sight of your tears and the sound of your anguish tightened his chest, filling him with a deep sorrow and an even deeper resolve to keep you safe from the shadows of the past.

“he's not there, my love. je's not there... it's just us here, remember? it's just us.”

his voice, while calm on the surface, held a hint of a pain that mirrored your own. the painful memories of that tragic day weighed on him just as heavily as they did on you. as you continued to sob against his chest, nanami continued to hold you, his embrace tight and comforting. he felt the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, each one a heart-wrenching reminder of your pain.

he whispered soothing words in your ear, trying to reassure you that he was here and that he wasn't going anywhere. every word he spoke was filled with love and reassurance, hoping they would help ease your fears.

“it's alright… everything's alright. just let it out, my love.” he held you tighter, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to soothe your fears. “listen to my voice, alright? focus on me. focus on my voice and nothing else. can you do that for me?” his voice was soft, just a low hum against your ear. he continued caressing and stroking your hair and head, his fingers running through your locks in a slow and soothing rhythm. he kept you held close against his chest, his heart thumping steadily beneath the fabric of his shirt.

as you listened to his voice and felt his touch, you found yourself calming down bit by bit. the sound of his steady heartbeat and the soothing motion of his fingers through your hair helped to ground you, bringing you back to the present.

you closed your eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, your sobs slowly subsiding as you continued to focus on him. the pain and fear still lingered, but they felt less overwhelming with him by your side. “okay,” you whispered, your voice still trembling slightly.

minutes passed by in a hushed silence, except for the occasional, quiet sobs escaping your lips. nanami continued to hold you tightly, his hands gently stroking your back in slow, soothing movements. he wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he could feel the tension gradually leaving your body, replaced by a weary exhaustion. he took a deep breath and spoke again, his voice low and gentle.

“are you feeling any better, my love?”

you slowly nodded against his chest, your body heavy with the emotional strain from the nightmare and the subsequent breakdown. “a-a little,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from all the crying. you didn't lift your head from his chest, taking comfort in the closeness and the protective warmth of his embrace.

you felt a mix of exhaustion and relief, but the lingering memories of the nightmare still weighed heavily on your mind. despite that, being in his arms made you feel safer, like nothing could harm you as long as he was near. “how about i make you some tea and we can go to sleep after that, hm?”

you nodded again, the idea of a warm cup of tea and a good rest sounded like just the thing you needed right now. “yes, please,” you mumbled, your voice small and weary. you continued to cling to him, feeling the comfort in his arms and not wanting to let go just yet.

the thought of sleeping was a bit intimidating, as you feared the nightmares might come back, but you trusted nanami to stay with you and keep them at bay. after a few more seconds of holding you close, nanami carefully shifted his position, gently coaxing you to sit upright. je then stood up from the bed, keeping one arm around you for support. “here, hold onto me,” he said softly, guiding you to your feet. “can you walk, or do you want me to carry you to the kitchen?” you looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and trust, and reached out, stretching your hands towards him in silent request.

nanami saw the gesture and smiled gently, understanding your unsaid request. he bent down and picked you up in his arms, lifting you with ease as if you weighed nothing. he cradled you against his chest, your body fitting snugly in his embrace.

“there we go,” he said softly, his voice warm and soothing. “just rest, okay? i've got you.”

nanami carried you to the kitchen, each step he took was steady and careful, ensuring that you were secure in his arms. as you reached the kitchen, he continued holding you comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your body. once he got to the counter, he gently set you down on a stool, keeping a supportive arm around you as he spoke.

“i'm going to start brewing the tea. just rest here for a moment, alright?” he cupped your cheek for a moment, gently caressing it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss your forehead. you just nodded your head as an answer.

with you seated on the stool, nanami stepped away to gather the ingredients for the tea. he moved around the kitchen, his movements graceful and efficient. he placed a kettle on the stove to boil the water, and then retrieved a box of tea leaves from a nearby cabinet.

he cast occasional glances in your direction as he worked, making sure you were alright and still resting comfortably. once the water was boiling, he steeped the tea leaves in the kettle, letting the aroma of the tea fill the kitchen.

as nanami prepared the tea, he noticed your unwavering gaze upon him. whenever he glanced in your direction, he met your eyes, the silent communication passing between you like a gentle current.

seeing your focus on him, he couldn't help but smile softly. the knowledge that you were watching his every move made his heart feel a bit lighter, knowing that you were still there with him, even if your mind had temporarily been taken by that nightmare.

“you're just going to watch me work, huh?” he asked jokingly, his voice was light and playful. “no requests or demands? i'm surprised,” he chuckled lightly.

he continued to move around the kitchen, his attention split between making the tea and comforting you with his presence, adding a bit of honey and lemon as you preferred. you shook your head slightly, a soft smile playing on your lips. “no, i just like watching you,” you replied, your voice gentle and filled with affection. “it's soothing. besides, i trust you to make it perfectly.”

your gaze never wavered as you continued to watch him, finding comfort in the simple act of observing his careful movements and the calmness he exuded. “thank you for always taking care of me, ken,” you added softly, your words carrying a deep sense of gratitude and love for your boyfriend.

nanami's heart warmed at your words, the sight of your smile causing a pleasant flutter in his chest. despite his usual calm demeanor, knowing that you appreciated his efforts and felt comforted by his presence never failed to affect him. he finished preparing the tea, a fragrant steam rising from the mug. he picked it up and walked back over to you, a tender smile on his face.

“of course, my love. i'll always take care of you,” he replied softly, his voice filled with sincere affection. “that's a promise i intend to keep.”

he placed the mug on the countertop beside you, and then took a step closer. he reached out and lightly caressed your cheek, his touch of tender reassurance, the touch firm but gentle. “you don't have to thank me,” he said softly. as nanami's hand touched your cheek, his thumb lightly stroking the contour of your face, he couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched upon it.

the weariness from the nightmare and the emotional toll it had taken on you was still evident in your weary eyes and the lines on your forehead. he gently brushed a few strands of hair back, tucking them behind your ear, his touch gentle and soothing. “drink some tea, love. it'll help you relax,” he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

your heart warmed at nanami’s words and the gentle smile on his face. as he placed the steaming mug of tea beside you, you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “maybe one day i'll actually have to wife you up with all this care and attention,” you said with a playful grin, your eyes twinkling, “you’re making it really hard to stay single!”

nanami’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he lightly caressed your cheek. “well, if it means i get to be your favorite tea-maker, i’ll gladly accept the role,” he replied with a chuckle. “you don’t have to thank me, my love,” he continued softly. “nut if you do decide to make that leap, i’ll be more than ready.”

as you teased him about marrying him, nanami chuckled softly. he couldn’t help but find it adorable how you teased him despite everything that had been going on, and he appreciated that you could find humor in the midst of all the stress.

his hand caressed your cheek gently, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles against your skin. he smiled at your playful banter, his heart light with affection. “i suppose i should consider myself lucky,” he said with a smirk. “you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger already.”

he picked up your pointy finger and gently brought it to his lips, your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture. his eyes met yours as he pressed a kiss against your finger, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down your spine. is gaze held a mixture of tenderness and a hint of amusement, as he couldn’t help but tease you back.

“see? wrapped around your finger,” he mumbled, his lips still lightly touching your skin.

your gaze was fixed on his lips as they brushed against your finger, making your heart race so intensely you felt it in your ears. after a brief silence, you cleared your throat. it always annoyed you how, whenever you tried to tease nanami, he effortlessly turned the tables on you, leaving you at a loss.

you cleared your throat, a tinge of embarrassment crept onto your face. nanami couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. he knew that you loved to tease him, especially when you thought you could get the upper hand in a situation. little did you know, however, that he had more than enough tricks up his sleeves.

“ah, come on now, my love,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “can't handle it when i turn the tables on you?”

nanami continued to smirk as he watched you trying to compose yourself, enjoying the way your little teasing attempt had backfired so endearingly. his eyes sparkled with a touch of triumph, as he fully relished the moment. he moved a little closer to you, leaning his hip against the countertop as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “you’re not too embarrassed, right? you started it, remember?”

you blushed, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks as you tried to avoid his teasing gaze. “shut up,” you mumbled shyly, your voice barely more than a whisper. you glanced down, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips despite your attempt to play it cool. the playful spark in nanami’s eyes and his gentle touch only made it harder to stay composed.

as you blushed and tried to avoid his gaze, nanami chuckled softly. he could tell that you were flustered by his teasing, and it only made him want to continue messing with you a little longer. he leaned in closer, his body almost pressing against yours as he continued to smirk.

“ah, such a cute reaction,” he teased, his voice a low murmur. “you know i can’t resist teasing you when you’re like this.”

“shut up,” you groan, dragging the 'p' longer, your voice laced with a mix of shyness and playful frustration. your cheeks burned even hotter, and you quickly covered your face with both hands in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

nanami chuckled again, clearly enjoying your embarrassed reaction. he carefully grabbed one of your hands, gently tugging it away from your face so he could see your expression. “no, no, no, don't hide from me now,” he teased, his voice filled with mock disappointment. “i love it when you get all flustered.” you let out a small, high-pitched squeal as you buried your face against his, your giggles escaping despite your attempt to hide.

as you screamed and hid your face in his chest, nanami found himself laughing quietly at your adorable behavior. the high-pitched sound and the feeling of your face against his chest only made his heart clench with affection.

he wrapped his arms around you and held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair, trying not to burst out into full-on laughter at your antics. he loved it when you acted so shy and cute, especially when you tried to hide your blushing face from him. “ah, my beautiful soon-to-be wife,” nanami murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

as he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingered for a moment, as if he was trying to imprint that affectionate gesture into your memory. he held you close, his arms strong and protective around you. he could feel you nuzzling against his chest, still trying to hide your burning face. nut he knew how much you loved it when he called you his ’beautiful soon-to-be wife’ it was a playful nickname he had used before, and it always seemed to get you just as flustered each time.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest against your cheek. he enjoyed the feeling of having you so close, and the way your embarrassment made you cling to him.

you gently pushed your face away from his chest, your chin resting on it as you looked up at him. the remnants of embarrassment still linger on your cheeks, adding a soft, rosy glow to your flushed expression.

as you pushed your face away from his chest, nanami looked down at you with a warm, amused smile. his gaze softened as he saw the remnants of embarrassment still lingering on your cheeks, the soft, rosy glow adding a sweetness to your expression. his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb lightly tracing the contours of your skin.

“there’s that blush again,” he teased gently. “you just can’t help it, can you?” you raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful eye rolling. “oh, please. if you weren’t always so charming, maybe i wouldn’t blush so easily.”

nanami raised an eyebrow in return, his smile growing wider at your sassy response. he chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your playful banter. “charm, you say?” he replied, his tone is lighthearted and amused. “so it’s all my fault then, hmm?”

he leaned down a little closer, his face hovering just inches from yours, his gaze unwavering. “well, i suppose i can’t help it if you find my irresistible charisma utterly swoon-worthy,” he teased with a grin. you smirked, hugging his waist tightly.

“oh, so this is what happens when you come back from jujutsu and gojo’s influence starts rubbing off on you. you’re getting pretty good at this charming stuff.”

you tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “i suppose i’ll just have to deal with it, since you’ve clearly mastered the art of being swoon-worthy.” nanami chuckled lowly as you accused him of getting influenced by gojo, a hint of mock offense in his expression. he knew that gojo could be hard to shake off, both in person and his impact on others.

“oh, absolutely,” he said sarcastically. “gojo's charm and banter are like a virus that spreads. i have no control over it.”

he smirked back, loving the way you continued to tease him. “and you're just going to have to deal with it, because i've mastered the art of being irresistibly charming just for you,” he chuckled. “gojo might have his tricks, but i assure you, my love— all this charm is entirely my own.”

you scrunch your nose, smile still colored in your face, “you're so cheesy and corny.”

nanami chuckled even louder at your scrunching of your nose and your blunt comment. he knew he sometimes did go overboard with cheesy lines, but he couldn’t help it when it came to you.

“cheesy and corny, hm?“ he teased, not the least bit bothered by your playful criticism. “maybe i’m just trying to get you to swoon over me some more.” he smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “or maybe i just can’t help but be disgustingly romantic around you.”

he leaned in, you tightened your arm around his waist, a smile spreading across his face. you mirrored his expression, whispering, “and i'm disgustingly in love with you,” your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

as you tightened your arm around his waist and mirrored his expression, a warm smile spreading across your face, nanami’s heart skipped a beat in response. his eyes softened, a tenderness in his gaze, as you confessed your love. he leaned in closer to you, drawn to the affectionate gesture. he relished the way you spoke, the words dripping with sweetness.

even after all this time together, your affection still had the ability to make him weak in the knees. he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your breath against his lips. the words ‘disgustingly in love’ echoed in his mind, a reminder of the depth of your feelings for each other. he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips before you kissed him.

“and i'm disgustingly in love with you, too,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

as your lips met in a brief, gentle kiss, nanami felt a wave of affection well up within him. he drew back briefly, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, before leaning back in to capture your lips again with his hands come up to gently cradle your cheeks. this time, he kissed you with a deeper, more passionate intensity, his lips molding against yours hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth with a familiar, intoxicating rhythm.

you could feel his body press against yours, his hands holding your face tightly as he claimed your mouth with a possessive, overwhelming force. he pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, his hand moving up to gently caress your cheek. he looked at you, his gaze filled with tenderness.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion, “i could say cheesy, corny things to you all night long.” as he pulled back from the kiss, his hand gently caressing your cheek, you could see the tenderness in his gaze. you relished the huskiness in his voice, the raw emotion behind it making your heart flutter.

you chuckled softly at his words, a mixture of mock annoyance and affection in your expression.

“oh, I know you could,” you retorted gently. “but please don’t. my poor heart can only take so much cheese before it melts into a puddle.”

nanami laughed heartedly as he saw your playful eye roll in response to his cheesy words. je knew very well the effect his cheesy lines had on you, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes. the way you tried to brush them off with a coy smirk only made him want to keep going.

he pulled you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tight in an embrace.

“ah, come on now,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of playful pleading. “you love it when i’m cheesy. don’t deny it.”

and just like that, with nanami's cheesy and corny jokes, his comforting presence, and the warmth of his embrace, your nightmares and fears began to dissipate. his gentle humor and unwavering support created a safe haven for you, where the shadows of your past couldn't reach.

in his arms, the weight of your worries lifted, replaced by a profound sense of peace and security. nanami's love and tenderness enveloped you, turning your darkest moments into memories of light and laughter.

[valsverse]

━━ "FOOL FOR YOU."

✦ synopsis: percy jackson is utterly infatuated with you, and you remain utterly oblivious. ✦ pairing: percy jackson x dense af!reader

percy jackson has never been known for being subtle.

even outside of a romantic sense, whether he's engaging in a public duel with the god of war, or casually transporting medusa's head straight to olympus, his actions have never exactly been discreet.

yet, it's you who has caused him to reach a new low when it comes to his subtlety, or, the lack of it thereof.

when percy jackson falls in love, it's like plunging into the ocean. in fact, to say he "falls" is inaccurate—since the moment his gaze first met yours, he immediately knew you were the one.

the initial sight of you, battling a minotaur with a confident grin, shoelaces undone, and wielding a weapon on the brink of disintegration, nearly elicited a scoff from him. how problematic, how messy, how utterly captivating.

since then, oh he's been absolutely whipped—there's no other way to describe it. he's completely enthralled, beyond captivated. no matter how you word it, percy jackson is absolutely in love.

his feelings are so downright obvious that everyone, Mr. D included, (who makes sure to exit the premises every time he sees percy approaching you because he knows it would be too painful for him to watch) knows how he feels about you, so what's holding him back? simple. it's you.

you're the one holding him back.

it frustrates him because he's conquered feats deemed nearly impossible by most, yet he practically melts at the mere sight of you! and the worst part is, you don't even seem to notice!

percy feels like he's laid it all out there, i mean, how much more obvious can he really get? he's kissed your hands with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, emptied his wallet to stock up on your favorite snacks as if each were a precious treasure, and shadows you around camp like a lost puppy!

each attempt seriously feels like an arrow straight though his heart. take, for instance when he presented you with the grandest, most elaborate bouquet of blue flowers, carefully chosen from the demeter kids' gardens. (though that's a problem he dealt with later) he spent hours clumsily striving for perfection, weaving delicate ribbons and lace until he fashioned a bow worthy of your attention, only to receive a casual, "those are some nice flowers, percy!" in return. then there was the time he knelt down to tie your perpetually untied shoelaces. from his position, on one knee and looking up at you, you seemed almost transcendent to him, like an angel descended to earth. but the spell was quickly broken as you remarked, "you're such a great friend, percy!"

and who could forget the painstakingly detailed confession of his feelings for you? he watched in agonizing slow motion as your smile widened, caught in breathless anticipation only to be met with a simple "thanks!" from you. just carve his heart out at this point, why don't you? it's genuinely painful—not just for him, but for everyone at camp forced to witness his embarrassing antics and your completely dense reactions. you've got to know, right? isn't it glaringly obvious? a simple glance from you and his face turns crimson, his hands go clammy. haven't you noticed how he edges closer when you're beside him? how he constantly invents reasons to be nearer to you, any chance he gets? there's no way you don't know at this point! but each time you respond so innocently, as if you might genuinely not be aware of his feelings, he second-guesses himself. maybe you really are just painfully oblivious. blissfully unaware. yes, percy jackson is undeniably in love with an absolute idiot.

©heartss4val — do not steal, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is prohibited.

[glittervame]

Come on, cum for me again

I haven't written him in a long time, so here's some love for my boy <3

Luke castellan x FEM! Reader 18+, just smut, Unprotected P in V (Wrap it before you tap it), overstimulation, use of toys

Y/n's eyes widened as she felt Luke's hand slip away from her clit, leaving her on the precipice of an orgasm that was perpetually out of reach. It had been days since he started this sadistic game of edging, and she could feel the desperation building within her like a crescendo of need. Her breaths grew ragged, her body trembled, and she couldn't help but whimper in frustration as he chuckled darkly, knowing just how much he enjoyed watching her squirm.

Every night, he would explore her body with a hunger that was both thrilling and maddening, pushing her to the brink only to pull back before she could find release. The days had turned into a blur of teasing touches and whispered promises that never came to fruition.

One evening, as Y/n lay sprawled on her bed, surrounded by a mess of discarded clothes and textbooks, she couldn't help but feel the familiar ache of arousal building deep within her. It was a sensation that had been steadily growing for hours, ever since Luke had started playing his cruel game of edging with her earlier in the day. The way he'd touch her, so tenderly at first, exploring every inch of her body with feather-light kisses and gentle caresses, only to pull away just as she was on the brink of climax—it was maddening, infuriating, and yet, oh-so-exciting. She'd squirmed and begged, her pleas falling on his deaf ears as he watched her with a smug smirk, the thrill of power coursing through him like a drug.

But now, as she lay there, her fingers inched closer to her secret stash hidden beneath her pillow. Her collection of sex toys had been her only solace in moments like these, providing the sweet release that Luke so cruelly denied her. Her heart raced as she pulled out her favorite vibrator, a sleek black number that always knew just how to hit the spot. With trembling hands, she switched it on, the low buzz filling the quiet room, and brought it to her throbbing clit. She'd show him, she'd make herself cum and take back the control he so desperately craved.

As she began to glide the vibrator over her sensitive flesh, the door to her room swung open with a dramatic creak. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock and amusement as he took in the scene before him. "Well, well, well," he drawled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What do we have here?"

Y/n's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and she hastily tried to cover herself, but it was too late. Luke had already crossed the room and snatched the toy from her hand. "I think we're going to have some fun with this," he murmured, his voice low and full of dark promise.

Panic surged through Y/n as she watched him inspect her collection. "Give it back," she demanded, her voice wobbly with embarrassment and anger. "Those are mine!"

"Mine now," he corrected, holding the vibrator up like a trophy. "You've been a naughty girl, keeping these from me and now you're trying to get yourself off without my permission?" Luke gives her a devilish grin, "You know it doesn't feel the same when you try and cum by yourself."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and desire warring within her. "Please," she begged, her voice strained. "I need to cum. You've been edging me for days."

"And it's been the most entertaining thing I've done in a while," he said, casually tossing the vibrator onto the bed. "But since you've been so eager, I suppose I'll let you have some fun." He reached into the stash and pulled out a set of handcuffs, "But on my terms."

With a flick of his wrist, he snapped one cuff around her left wrist, securing it to the metal bed frame. Y/n's eyes went wide with shock and a newfound thrill as he moved to her right, securing it as well. "Now, let's see how long you can last," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt.

The sight of his bare chest was almost too much to handle, her body aching for the relief she hadn't been allowed to experience in what felt like an eternity. She watched as he picked up the vibrator, his eyes never leaving hers, and began to circle it around her nipples, watching them peak and harden under his touch.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his voice like a caress against her skin.

"Please," she whimpered, arching her back. "Please, Luke, I'll do anything."

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down her spine. "I know you will," he said, and with that, he slid the vibrator down her body, pressing it against her clit with just the right amount of pressure to make her moan.

He began to move it in slow, torturous circles, each pass bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She thrashed against the handcuffs, the metal biting into her skin as she tried to get closer, to take more of the vibrator into herself.

Days of pent-up desire were about to be released, and Luke was in complete control. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head as she begged, her voice a symphony of need. "Please, please, let me cum," she chanted, her hips bucking against the mattress.

But Luke was enjoying the show too much to let her finish. He'd pull away just as she was about to crest the peak, only to start the cycle anew. Her whimpers grew louder, her body wetter, and her pleas more desperate.

"Beg," he ordered, his own breaths coming quicker now. "Beg me to let you cum."

"I'm begging," she sobbed, her voice hoarse. "Please, Luke, I'm begging."

With a final wicked smirk, he leaned in and whispered, "Not yet," before turning the vibrator up to its highest setting and pressing it firmly against her clit.

Y/n's body convulsed, the orgasm ripping through her like a wildfire. Her screams of pleasure filled the room as Luke watched, his own arousal palpable. He didn't stop until she was trembling and weak, her body sated but still craving more.

When the last tremor passed, he removed the vibrator and leaned down to kiss her, his mouth claiming hers in a bruising kiss that left her breathless. "See?" he murmured against her lips. "So much better when I'm in charge."

Y/n could only nod, her eyes glazed over with pleasure and defeat. She knew he was right. With Luke, everything was so much more intense, so much more…everything. And as much as she hated the feeling of being denied, she couldn't help but crave the sweet release that came with his eventual surrender.

He leaned back unbuckling his pants, his eyes dark with lust. "Ready for round two?"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, knowing that with Luke, the night was just getting started.

He drinks up her body as he looks at her suddenly grabbing her ankles and pulling her towards him. He kisses her calfs, her knees, her thighs and then finally her wetness. He starts to lick her pussy, his tongue swirling around her clit, sending shivers through her body. His mouth is like a masterpiece, bringing her closer to climax.

But again, he stops, his tongue teasing her entrance before retreating and suddenly the head of his cock teasing her entrance. He pushes in slow, filling her completely. Y/n's body arches off the bed, her moans echoing through the room. He starts to thrust in and out, each movement sending waves of pleasure through her.

He grabs the vibrator with one hand and presses it against her clit as he continues to fuck her. Y/n's eyes squeeze shut as she feels the orgasm build, the vibrations from the toy and his cock inside her combining into an overwhelming sensation.

"Come on, cum for me again," he growls, his voice thick with need.

Y/n can't hold back any longer, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. She screams his name, the sound muffled by the pillow she's biting into.

But even as she rides the waves of pleasure, Luke keeps going, not letting her fully come down from her high. He's relentless, pushing her further and further until she's begging for mercy.

"I can't," she gasps. "I can't take anymore."

"Oh, but you can," he whispers, his breath hot against her ear. "You're going to cum again and again, until I say you can stop."

And with that, he increases his pace, the vibrator still pressed firmly against her. The feeling is too much, the pleasure too intense. Y/n feels like she's going to shatter into a million pieces, but she knows she won't be allowed to. Not until Luke decides she's had enough.

Their bodies move together in a frenzied dance, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Y/n's moans become louder, more desperate, as Luke brings her to the edge once more.

This time, when she comes, it's like a dam breaking. Her body spasms around him, her muscles clenching tight as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her. Luke groans, his own release following shortly after, filling her completely.

They collapse onto the bed, both of them panting and sweaty. Y/n's body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. She opens her eyes to find Luke looking down at her, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"I should edge you more often," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her softly.

[nenoname]

Journal 3’s references to Stan

(…does the Lost Pages count as J3 when some had to be in J2 and also may or may not be a truth lie turducken? idk. Ford’s TBoB letters sure as hell don’t count as J3 but I’m including them here anyway)

Lost Journal Pages

"STANLEY COULD HAVE MADE HER LAUGH"

“My stomach sank a bit when I realized… it was my birthday. This day has felt… odd, since S and I… parted ways.”

"I was adjusting my TV antennae for weather reports (looking for ideal conditions for F's first portal test) and spat out my coffee when I saw THIS! My brother hawking scams under the name "Panley Stines." I had half a mind to call that number, just to pretend to be the police and maybe scare S straight for once! There is something so galling about seeing your OWN FACE committing crimes on your own TV! When my Muse saw me break my stress ball, I decided it was finally time to vent about Stanley."

""How about that; you've got an inferior clone! Why didn't you just eat him in the womb? Think of how powerful you'd be!"

"You can't just eat your twin, Bill."

You'd be surprised what you can eat! I say sure, call him if you want him to start mooching off you again! ME, I went no contact with my home dimension and I don't regret it. All they did was hold me back and sabotage my talents! Can you imagine?"

"More than you know. But you do ever wonder if maybe... maybe things could have been different?""

"Our heat budget was so tight that Mom forced S and me to wear one sweater at the same time. (She called it the "Abominable Snow-Stan." Our cat lived in fear of it year-round.)"

“DAMN! This morning I found F rummaging through my old copy of Urban Legends of New Jersey, where I had forgotten I had hidden some old personal items! I’ve quickly re-hidden them here, away from prying eyes.”

"But then he crossed a line. Helplessly I watched Cipher in my own body limp up to a pay phone and dial... STANLEY'S phone number from the infomercial?! No. He wouldn't.

"Hey brother, it's Sixer. I'm going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don't hear from me, I just want you to know that it's because I never loved you. BUH-BYEEEEE."

My heart was in my throat until I heard the dial tone... The pay phone was out of order. The message hadn't gotten through. Cipher turned back to address me.

"TSK, TSK, TSK. LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME MAKE YOU DO! TOMORROW'S TAPE IS GONNA BE MUCH WORSE.""

(Bro secret code) "miss you"

“The snow has begun to fall again and there’s very little time. There’s only one left I can turn to to protect my journals while I prepare for the journey…”

"S is an overgrown child with none of my rigorous mental training. Who knows what could happen if Cipher stepped inside Stanley's mind for even one minute...

What if Stanley somehow manages to destroy the portal just like he destroyed my perpetual motion machine? I suppose that machine did work in its own way... It kept me perpetually angry for thirty years."

(Bro secret code) "HAVE I BEEN TOO HARSH ALL ALONG?"

"What if he tries to rope me into his latest get-rich-quick scheme? His latest commercial was for "Stan Sauce: The Miracle Sauce that's too cool for the FDA!"

What if... he mocks me? What if he sees that I abandoned our family to become a recluse on the brink of madness? Could I risk admitting that I was... wrong?

PROS: I have no one else. Well, that settles it. It's time to come face-to-face with a face I haven't seen in 10 years. My own face. Which... is my brother's face. God, I miss sleep."

Ford’s Letters

"In the weeks since Weirdmageddon, I conducted numerous tests on Stanley's mind (his terrible jokes are still intact) and inspected the state for dimensional leakage (we also took turns kicking the statue, and Stanley took a few cracks with a crowbar). I burned every Cipher-shaped item I had ever collected, and even threw away all my one-dollar bills, just to be safe (Stanley, of course, found and pocketed them).

“I emerged from my lab after days of agonized contemplation to find- to my shock- that Mabel was reading the book, out loud, to Stanley, Dipper, Soos, and Wendy!”

“They didn’t see me as an irredeemable screwup. Stanley said, "So, your past is just a giant pile of mistakes? Congratulations- you really are a Pines!”“

"Bill may tell you that happiness requires conquering galaxies and living forever, but I've seen enough of the universe to tell you that he's wrong. I've found my happiness. And it looks like this:"

"If you're reading this... then I am dead. Kidding! Sorry, Stanley thought that would be funny. Ha-ha! We're currently out shopping for harpoons to prepare for our trip to the arctic."

"Stan, if you end breaking into my lab at some point later today- Bravo! Still as good a locksmith as in 8th grade. Beers are under the desk."

(It kinda strikes me that the BoB Lost Journal pages about Stan sound far more like post-portal Ford’s opinions on Stan instead, where he’s openly angry at both being pushed into the portal + at the portal being opened again + his murder suicide attempt being foiled + Stan disowning him + turning his house into a tourist trap + taking his identity vs pre-portal Ford being more… melodramatic(?) constantly being reminded of him but not wanting to linger too long? idk the vibes are different

Plus pre-portal Ford pretty consistently only calls Stan "S” or just refers to him as his brother (with the exception of him writing his name in a Caesar cipher). I think he only ever messes up the general naming scheme a single time when he wrote Fiddleford instead of F

…not to mention the perpetual motion machine comment says thirty instead of ten years)

Other sections: Pre-Portal, Post-Portal, Post-Weirdmageddon

[eskumii]

yandere!incel!tomura shigaraki + foreigner!darling who can't speak japanese

TITLE: " RENT-A-GF " — navi.

NOTES: nsfw (18+ only) below the cut (non-con!! somnophilia!!) reminder: this is merely fantasy, i don't condone. will prob proofread someday lol. enjoy!

PAIRING: yandere!incel!shigaraki tomura x foreinger!reader

GENRE/AU: shigaraki is rlly misogynistic and delusional, age gap (you're older), reader is a substitute english teacher who got kidnapped by bwad gwuys and is now... yeah

CHARACTERS: shigaraki tomura (21), reader (24)

let's be for real: shigaraki was born to be an incel.

and incel!shigaraki is shamelessly self-aware of this, indeed. when he's not out terrorizing innocent citizens with his villainous coups, he takes to the internet to fulfill his insatiable need for an adrenaline rush. gorey video games and brutal death metal makes him light up in glee, but sometimes it's just not enough.

so, instead, he's a frequent on the dark web, diligently scouring sites that specialize in obscure female porn collectives that cater to his twisted kinks. incel!shigaraki glowers at the pictures of stupid, slutty women who prance around in sexy lingerie, but still gets a hard-on because he wishes he had a woman who would do that for him and him only.

and what shigaraki wants, he gets. on another sweaty night in his dark bedroom, he's boredly clicking through the hundreds of entries of women who are being sold for, what he thinks, too high of a price. not that money would ever be a problem for him; if he felt compelled to, he could just kidnap the girl he wanted all over again. so, no, it's not the price—it's what he thinks they're worth based on his attraction to them.

and, so far, all of them are worthless.

you see, the conundrum is that incel!shigaraki has a thing for foreign girls. don't ask why, he doesn't know. maybe he finds it cute that they're so clueless about his culture and language, and he's the one who'll control the narrative that rules their ignorance. maybe it's so cute how they wear their perpetual confusion on their face at all times, like a bratty kid who can't navigate the world without mommy or daddy by their side.

of course, though, women could hardly do anything on their own anyway. every time he came across one they'd wail and cry as he grabbed them by the hair and threatened to kill them if they didn't shut the hell up. they'd beg for their lives or scream for someone to save them, but it would only piss him off more at how useless and brainless they tended to be. he just couldn't help but decay them—they were so noisy and whiny, it wasn't his fault.

obviously, shigaraki has neither patience nor experience with women. in fact, he can probably count with two fingers how many times he's had a non-violent interaction with a woman in his entire lifetime. the mere thought of this drives his insecurities to the brink of rage, but it's not his fault women are so unbelievably tasteless in their choice of men. it's their fault he has to go to such lengths to find a decent woman worthy of his presence.

but imagine his delight when he happens upon a listing of you, an immediately attractive foreign woman who used to be an english substitute teacher of all things. he clicks through your pictures with a renewed vigor, his interest piqued as he studies your unique features. eagerly, he scours through your posted information and it turns out that you happen to be exactly the kind of woman he's looking for.

it's a done deal. the transaction takes less than a few minutes and incel!shigaraki couldn't be more pleased with how smoothly it went. he'll have to leave a good review later on, when and if the woman he's just bought has satisfied him.

it takes just one night before shigaraki finds you literally dropped off at his doorstep like an amazon prime package. you’ve clearly been pampered with the way you’re clad in a skimpy maid outfit; your nails, hair, and makeup are all dolled to perfection. you look exactly like you did in the pictures.

and clearly you're wise beyond your years. you don't speak much because of the obvious language barrier, but you do seem to understand a bit of elementary japanese. shigaraki is delighted by your small mutterings of broken japanese—it’s unbelievably cute. sometimes he'll force you to speak in japanese just because he loves watching you struggle with your limited vocabulary.

incel!shigaraki gets attached to you. you're very attractive in his eyes, and he's completely ecstatic that you're all his. a woman he can do whatever he wants with, and no one would dare question him. the immense power trip sends him over the edge.

that being said, the first couple of weeks are still rather... awkward. you're not happy about being in the situation you're in, but you're smart enough to keep that to yourself. you don't fuss when shigaraki orders you to fetch him liquor or tidy up his filthy room, nor do you complain when he commands you to cuddle with him or keep him company while he plays video games.

"[name], c'mere," he'd bark at you, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

"be a good girl and keep my lap warm, hm?"

he'll force you to wear cute lingerie sets like he's seen the women on porn sites do. somehow you look so much better though, and it feels as though you're teasing him with the way you bend over so much while cleaning. the outline of your pussy through the small fabric that stretches over it has him horny in a matter of seconds. you're such a tease, aren't you ashamed? you just can't seem to stay in line.

however, despite all your obvious sexual innuendos towards him, shigaraki gets no relief. he's resorted to jacking off whenever you go to sleep but no matter how hard or how much he cums, there's an itch that can't be scratched with masturbation alone. and the way you're so shy around him is adorable, sure, but your little playing-hard-to-get act wasn't cutting it anymore.

the remedy? incel!shigaraki starts slipping sleeping pills into your food and drinks.

and it doesn't take long for shigaraki to develop a routine of visiting you while you're sleeping. partly to check up on you and assure himself of your presence, but mostly to creep around the edges of the bed and feel you up. you sleep so soundly that you don't even twitch when he fondles your soft breasts or runs his spindly fingers over your curves.

he almost doesn't want to disturb you; you look so peaceful, totally different than the frightened little faces you muster when you're awake. but the bothersome tightness stretching his boxers taut against its stitches makes it hard to resist his urges. anyway, you're simply doing the only thing a woman is good for: using your body to please him.

his breath is hot and heavy, laced with lust and selfish perversion as he defiles you to get himself off. some nights he just sits and admires your beauty, caressing your face with clumsy, inexperienced fingertips. some nights your shirt is pulled up so he can marvel at how nicely your breasts sit in whatever color bra he forced you to wear.

other nights his cock is nestled between them, thrusting like his life depends on it, chasing that euphoric high he gets when he finally spills his seed across your hardening nipples. and other nights shigaraki is even more daring—cute pajama pants and panties below your knees, face buried between your thighs as he explores every inch of your sweet cunt. he knows it's wrong, but so what? he's a villian, that's what makes it feel so right.

when you make faces in your sleep, he's filled with so much genuine affection—it's almost as if you're telling him he's doing a good job. you love it, don't you? he so desperately wants to hear you cry his name in that precious accent of yours and run your hands through his hair as you lavish your praise upon him for making you cream so many times.

he can't keep his eyes off you. so soft and compliant. you're so pretty while he's stuffing his cock into you and relentlessly flicking your little clit, not stopping even when he feels you clench around him like a vice as you orgasm over and over. not stopping even though you're drooling all over the linen sheets and he's came twice already.

"that's right... y-you gonna cum again? you gonna—ngh—cum all over my cock, you dumb whore?"

shigaraki watches with glassy, intrigued eyes as you squirm ever so slightly, face warped into one of undeniable pleasure as he ravages your gushing pussy. you're such a good girl for him, letting him use you as he wishes.

you're the woman he's chosen to give his virginity to. he's so happy and content that when he cums inside of you for the third time, he doesn't pull out. instead, shigaraki gently maneuvers your body so he can spoon you from behind, whispering tender "i love you's" as if he knows what that means. absently grinding his hips because your warmth is so comforting around his sticky, softening dick.

as much as shigaraki wants to stay and pound you into the mattress all night, the sleeping medication doesn't last forever. not to mention the mess you've made; the sheets are completely ruined and your clothes are strewn about on the floor, long forgotten. it's hot in your room and it stinks of his cum and sweat, but it doesn't really matter. the only thing on his mind is you and how he'll ruin you again tomorrow night.

for now, though, he rewards you for being so good by cleaning you up, smirking whenever you unconsciously nuzzle up to his touch. when your clothes are back on, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and admires your flushed face from the shadows of your bedside. when the sun begins to rise and you stir in your ignorance, he'll sneak out and act as if nothing ever happened.

incel!shigaraki who doesn't deny that you're just another stupid slutty woman, but you're the only woman he'll ever want to cum inside of. when he returns to his room, he remembers to pull up your archived listing on his computer and dazedly taps away at his keyboard.

"10/10 recommend"

[dhampling]

both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

-

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

-

Mutilation. 

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead. 

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation. 

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

-

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly. 

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir. 

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm. 

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you. 

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you. 

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth. 

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then. 

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better. 

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat. 

Two beasts in tandem.

-

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin. 

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice. 

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her. 

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place. 

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill. 

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer. 

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make. 

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat. 

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks. 

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully. 

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp. 

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

-

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

The Visage of Bhaal is gone. 

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing. 

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him. 

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him. 

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever. 

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

-

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back. 

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed. 

The stages of grief begin to unravel. 

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog. 

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill. 

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here. 

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair. 

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily. 

You sob once more. 

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs. 

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.  

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise. 

No more. 

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Where Kings Land

Part 1

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

a.n: I finally get the hype about Jace. This right here is one fine man. the hair, the freckles, the big nose. ALL of it. this is part 1 of the miniseries for House of the Dragon, and it's my first time writing outside of the regular asoiaf series. Enjoy and please lmk what you think!!

Warnings: manipulation, not proofread, yelling, cursing? talk of beheading and treason.

Word Count: 4,900

masterlist link

summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

...

The heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, echoing through the granite corridors of Winterfell. Y/n Stark—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark—strode purposefully down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow. She yanked her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, warding off the perpetual chill that seeped through the ancient stones. The servants scurried out of her path, lowering their eyes as she passed. Y/n barely noticed them, her mind occupied with the litany of tasks that lay before her. The castle, a sprawling behemoth of grey stone and timber, was a living, breathing entity, and Y/n felt the weight of its responsibilities press down on her.

Cregan, her brother, was a warrior, a leader born to the battlefield. He thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the shouts of battle. The day-to-day running of Winterfell, the endless paperwork, the constant negotiations, the delicate dance of alliances and diplomacy… these fell upon his shoulders. He was a silent force, a steady hand guiding the ship through the turbulent seas of politics and power.

Reaching the grand hall, Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. Their conversations buzzed like a hive of bees, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She longed to be amongst them, to share in the joy of a feast, to ease the burden of her thoughts, but the weight of the impending winter hung heavy on her heart.

The biting wind whipped around Y/n's face as she ascended the final steps to the maester's tower. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and old magic, a familiar and comforting aroma despite its inherent chill. Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the piles of scrolls and tomes that littered the floor. Y/n's boots clicked against the stone floor, a sharp counterpoint to the rustle of the raven that perched on the window sill, its beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence. The bird was a harbinger of news, always, and today, its arrival had filled her with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You've got ravens in your hair,” the maester, Alyn, said with a dry chuckle, his voice raspy from years of whispering secrets into ancient texts. He was a frail figure, his fingers gnarled and stained with ink, his eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to encompass the entirety of the world. She brushed at her hair, dislodging a stray feather that had become entangled in its braids. 'They know I'm coming for them,' she said, her voice tight. 'They always seem to.'

Alyn nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. 'King's Landing sends more than its fair share of worries north,' he said, gesturing to the table in the centre of the room. It was an imposing piece, carved from ancient oak, the surface groaning under the weight of a mountain of sealed parchments. Y/n sighed, letting the weight of the responsibility settle upon her shoulders. Every one of those scrolls contained a new burden, a new demand, a new headache she would have to unravel. The North had always been harsh, a land of unforgiving winters and fiercer people.

'What's the news, maester?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alyn shuffled through the pile of scrolls, his gaze searching for a particular one. “They're now threatening us with dragon fire, my lady,” he stated solemnly, the chain around his neck clinking softly.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pile of letters that lay on the table before her. Her jaw clenched, her anger rising like a tide. “Burn them,” she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Burn all the letters. We will not answer, nor will we cower.”

Alyn's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Y/n's resolve only grew stronger. “Prince Jacaerys should be here any day. We will make good with the Blacks.”

Maester Alyn leaned back in his chair, studying her face. 'Are you certain, my lady? This is a dangerous game we play. The Green's dragons—"

“Are no more fearsome than the winter that forged us,” Y/n cut him off. She moved to the window, gazing out over the frost-covered courtyard. “My brother may be in the north of the Wall, but we will not be cowed by southern threats.”

Her words echoed through the frigid halls, carrying with them a resolute determination that belied her youth. “You are right, my lady,” he said at last.

Y/n turned to him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Maester Alyn. Please, have the letters burned. We must prepare for the prince's arrival. We’ll show him true Northern hospitality. And maester," she added, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, "make sure we have plenty of that strong northern ale. We'll need it for the toast when we pledge our support to Queen Rhaenyra."

Maester Alyn nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reached for the candle on his desk, ready to carry out her orders. "As you wish, my lady. there's one more," he said softly, holding out a sealed parchment. "It arrived separately... and it's addressed to you personally."

Y/n hesitated, then took the letter. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but something about it seemed different. More... personal. With a swift motion, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, and her face hardened.

"It's from Aegon," she said, her voice tight. She began to read aloud:

"My dearest y/n,

The silence between us cuts like shards of Valyrian steel, slicing through my soul. Do you remember the stolen moments in the godswood, under the watchful eyes of the old gods? The promises we made beneath the heart tree?I await your reply to our ravens with bated breath, much as I once awaited your stolen glances across the great hall.

But make no mistake, my white wolf. Your beauty will not shield the North from my wrath should you choose wrongly. Aemond grows impatient and Vhagar hungers for blood. With one word, we could reduce Winterfell to nothing but ash and bone.

Remember this, my sweetling: fire destroys ice. And dragons do not forgive.

Choose wisely. Choose me.

Yours in fire and blood, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"

y/n’s hand shook as she finished reading, her knuckles white where she gripped the parchment. The maester watched her, concern etched on his weathered face.

"My lady," he began cautiously, "what—"

"Burn it," Y/n interrupted, her voice cold as the Wall itself. "Burn it with the rest." She tossed the letter onto the pile, her eyes blazing with a fury to match any dragon's flame.

…

Amidst the icy grip of the winter, the last traces of sunlight had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when a thunderous beating of dragon wings shattered the bleak silence. Y/n stood in Winterfell's snowy courtyard, her chilled breath leaving clouds in the frigid air as she looked up to witness the dark shape descending from the sky.

With ethereal grace surprising for its size, the dragon landed with a resounding thud and steam rising from its scales as they met the frosty ground. As its rider dismounted, y/n found herself frozen in place, her carefully prepared greeting dying on her lips.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon strode towards her, his Valyrian features softened by Stark coloring. Dark curls framed his face, windswept from the flight. But it was his eyes that caught y/n off guard - soft and kind, yet holding a depth that spoke of burdens she had yet to find out.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Y/n's heart raced as she stood before the prince, a stranger yet somehow familiar. She couldn't explain the sudden pull she felt towards him, as if they shared a connection beyond words. But at the same time, fear and doubt crept in, questioning if this was all just a dream or a cruel trick of fate.

Jacaerys approached, his movements as graceful as the dragon he rode. His brow furrowed slightly at her silence. He glanced around, perhaps wondering if he'd made some misstep. Finally, he bowed low, breaking the spell. "Lady Stark," he said, his voice a low, warm timbre that sent a shiver down her spine. " I am honored to meet you. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Y/n blinked, suddenly aware of the eyes of the entire courtyard upon them. She straightened, pulling her mask of cool composure back into place. "Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Winterfell welcomes you. Please, come inside where it's warm. We have much to discuss."

As she turned to lead him into the castle, Y/n caught the prince studying her with curiosity. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of her own. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The fate of the North hung in the balance.

Yet as they walked, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of his presence just behind her, like the warmth of a flame at her back in the cold northern night.

…

The Brown Room lived up to its name, with rich walnut paneling and fur-draped chairs that spoke of comfort in the face of long northern nights. Y/N led Jacaerys inside, the scent of beeswax candles and old parchment greeting them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered table where ledgers and letters vied for space.

Y/N gestured to a high-backed chair. "Please, sit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached for a decanter, the crystal cool against her fingers. "Would you care for some wine, my Lord? It's a Dornish red – my favorite one."

Jacaerys settled into the chair, his eyes roaming the room before settling on Y/N. "Thank you, my lady. And please, call me Jace."

As she poured, a drop of wine escaped, staining the cuff of her sleeve crimson. Y/N barely noticed, too aware of Jace's proximity, the warmth radiating from him in the cool room.

"What did you wish to discuss, my lady?" Jace broached softly, accepting the goblet with a nod of thanks.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Y/N's heavy fur cloak, a necessity in Winterfell's drafty halls, now seemed unbearable. She shed it, draping it over the tall oak chair behind her. The firelight caught the silver direwolf clasp as it settled.

"Our support," Y/N replied, forcing herself to meet Jace's gaze. His eyes, she noticed, were flecked with gold in the candlelight. She swallowed hard and continued, "We have two thousand men. Strong northern fighters. We call them Winter Wolves."

Jace leaned forward, interest piqued. "Winter Wolves? An apt name, I'd wager."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "Indeed. They're as fierce as their namesake and twice as loyal." She moved to the table, rifling through the papers until she found a particular map. As she spread it out, the familiar scent of ink and parchment helped ground her.

"Here," she pointed, "is where we've gathered them. They await only my brother's word - or mine, in his absence."

Jace stood, moving to study the map. His arm brushed Y/N's as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of leather and something else - perhaps the lingering scent of dragon scales. Jacaerys studied the map closely, tracing his fingers over the different markings and symbols. He was impressed by the precision and detail of the Winter Wolves' gathering points.

"Your brother must be a formidable leader to have gathered such a force in such a short time," Jace remarked, straightening up and turning to face Y/N.

"Yes, he is," Y/N said with pride.

"This is... more than we dared hope for," Jace admitted, his voice low and warm.

Outside, a wolf howled in the distance, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Y/N's inner turmoil. She squared her shoulders, pushing away the unwelcome feelings. Jace's brow furrowed as he studied Y/N's face. "My lady, are you well? You seem... flushed."

Y/N startled, realizing she'd been staring. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, painfully aware of the dampness at her temples. "I'm fine, my- Jace," she corrected herself. "I was... under the weather a few days ago. Nothing serious."

Jace's eyes softened with concern. Jace's hand hovers near Y/N's elbow, his fingers poised as if ready to reach out and catch her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she can sense the electricity between them, even though he's not quite touching her. "Perhaps you should sit. We needn't discuss everything tonight."

The gentleness in his voice made Y/N's heart flutter. She sank into a nearby chair, Jace following suit. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention. His eyes were pools of liquid silver, soft and caring as they searched Y/N's face.

"Tell me," he said softly, "how are you truly faring? It can't be easy, managing the North in your brother's absence."

Y/N's carefully constructed walls began to crumble under his earnest gaze. "It's... challenging," she admitted. "Especially with the constant stream of demands from King's Landing."

Jace's expression darkened. "Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of Aegon's... correspondence."

Y/N couldn't hide the flash of frustration that crossed her face. "Correspondence," she scoffed. "Threats, more like. Your cousin seems to think he can bully the North into submission."

"My cousin," Jace said, his voice low and intense, "forgets that winter roses have thorns." He reached out, this time taking Y/N's hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "You needn't face this alone, my lady."

Y/N found herself lost in his eyes, warm and sincere. "I... thank you, Jace," she murmured.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Jace glanced at the flames, then back to Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "You know, where I come from, they say the dragonfires pale in comparison to the warmth of a northern welcome."

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. "Is that so? And how does our hospitality measure up?"

Jace's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch feather-light. "Oh, it exceeds all expectations, my lady. Though I must confess, I find myself most warmed by present company."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but for once, she didn't mind the heat. A small smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she gazed into his captivating eyes. "You're quite the charmer, Prince Jacaerys."

"Only when properly inspired," is all he replied.

…

The pale light of dawn crept over Winterfell's stone walls, casting long shadows across the frosted courtyard. Y/N stood in the stables, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Her fingers, slightly numb from the cold, worked methodically on the leather straps of her horse's saddle. The familiar motions were soothing - tighten, adjust, check, repeat. The rich scent of hay and horse sweat mingled with the earthy aroma of leather oil.

As she worked, Y/N caught herself glancing repeatedly towards the castle, anticipation building in her chest.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart quicken. Jace appeared in the stable doorway, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He stifled a yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Y/N noticed the slight disarray of his dark curls and felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them.

"My lady," Jace greeted, his voice husky with sleep. He cleared his throat, offering a sheepish smile. "You're up early."

Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "The North waits for no one, Your Grace," she replied, handing him a set of reins. Their fingers brushed, and Y/N pretended not to notice the warmth that spread from the point of contact. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

As they set out, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone gave way to the muffled thud of earth. The misty woods enveloped them, tendrils of fog curling around the horses' legs. Droplets of dew clung to Y/N's eyelashes, refracting the weak sunlight into tiny prisms.

Y/N led the way, her posture relaxed and confident in the saddle. She navigated the invisible path with ease, ducking low-hanging branches and steering around hidden roots. Behind her, she could hear Jace's horse snorting softly, its rider muttering gentle reassurances.

"I can hardly see the path," Jace called out, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Y/N twisted in her saddle, catching Jace's eye with a mischievous glint in her own. "That's because there isn't one," she replied, allowing a rare, playful smile to cross her features.

The forest was a symphony of morning sounds. Birds trilled their dawn chorus, their songs echoing through the mist-shrouded trees. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, sending leaves skittering across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whiff of wild mint when Y/N's horse trampled a hidden patch.

Hours seemed to pass as they wound their way through the increasingly dense forest. Y/N found herself hyper-aware of Jace's presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her back, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder more often than necessary.

Finally, they came upon a rocky outcropping. Y/N dismounted with practiced grace, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She patted her horse's flank, murmuring soft words of thanks. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jace dismount, noting the slight stiffness in his movements after the long ride.

Jace stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. His brow furrowed as he surveyed their surroundings. "My lady," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I hate to question your expertise, but this looks suspiciously like a dead end."

Y/N's laugh echoed off the rocks, startling a nearby bird into flight. "Patience, Your Grace," she said, her eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "The best treasures are often hidden."

She reached out, taking Jace's hand in hers. His palm was warm against her cool fingers, and she felt a flutter in her stomach at the contact. Pushing the feeling aside, she led him towards what appeared to be a solid rock face.

As they drew closer, a narrow opening revealed itself, barely visible unless one knew exactly where to look. Y/N squeezed through first, tugging Jace along behind her. The passage was tight, the rough stone scraping against their shoulders. Cool, damp air enveloped them, carrying the faint mineral scent of underground water.

Jace's breath was warm on the back of Y/N's neck as they inched forward in the dim light. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the way his chest occasionally brushed against her back in the narrow confines.

Suddenly, the passage opened up. Y/N stepped aside, allowing Jace to fully enter the cavern. She watched his face intently, savoring the moment his eyes widened in awe.

Sunlight streamed through an opening high above, illuminating a spectacular waterfall. The water, tinted an ethereal light blue by minerals in the rock, cascaded down in a thunderous rush before crashing into a pool below. Mist rose from the impact, creating tiny rainbows where the light hit just right.

"By the gods," Jace breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the falls. He turned to Y/N, wonder written across his features. "It's incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his reaction. "Welcome to my secret place," she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. "Not even Cregan knows about this."

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice low and sincere.

They settled on a smooth rock near the pool's edge, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The mist from the falls cooled their skin, a welcome relief after the long ride. Y/N pulled out a small bundle from her saddlebag - bread, cheese, and a flask of sweet northern ale.

The conversation lulled, replaced by the constant rush of the waterfall. Y/N traced patterns in the damp sand with a stick, her eyes distant. Jace watched her, noting the slight furrow in her brow.

"A copper for your thoughts, my lady?" he asked softly.

Y/N looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking about duties," she said. "They never seem to end, do they?"

Jace nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The burden of our birthrights," he agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be free of them."

"Free," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the mist between them. She sighed, tossing the stick into the pool. "Cregan writes often of my duties. He's pressuring me more and more to find a husband."

Jace's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I... I apologize if I'm intruding, but may I ask why you haven't? Surely you've had no shortage of suitors."

Y/N met his gaze, finding unexpected comfort in the warmth she saw there. "Because I want love," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want a simple life, filled with moments like this." She gestured to the cavern around them. "But how can I promise forever to someone when tomorrow is so uncertain? How can I build a life amidst a war?"

Jace was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Love in wartime," he mused. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps... perhaps it's the very thing that makes the fight worthwhile."

Y/N felt her heart quicken at his words. "And what of you, Prince Jacaerys? What does your heart seek in these troubled times?"

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I seek a partner," he said quietly. "Someone to stand beside me, not behind me. Someone who understands duty but hasn't lost sight of dreams." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Someone who knows the value of secret waterfalls and stolen moments."

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility. Y/N felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame, but held herself back. This was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"It seems we both seek something rare and precious," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jace nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps the gods will be kind," he murmured.

…

The iron-bound gates of Winterfell groaned open, admitting Y/N and Jace as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of approaching frost. Their horses' hooves clattered against the worn cobblestones, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls.

As they dismounted, Y/N felt the day's exertion in her muscles, a pleasant ache that spoke of adventure and freedom. She caught Jace's eye, noticing how the fading light caught the silver threads in his jerkin, making them shimmer like starlight.

"Jace," she began, her voice low and tinged with an emotion she dared not name, "today was—"

"Lady Y/N! Lady Y/N!" The frantic shout shattered the moment like a stone through ice.

Y/N's transformation was instantaneous and mesmerizing. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting as if an invisible crown had settled upon her brow. The softness in her eyes hardened to flint, sharp enough to cut.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice crisp as a midwinter morning.

The guard skidded to a halt before them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My lady, there's been... an incident. You're needed urgently."

Y/N nodded curtly. "Lead on," she commanded, then turned to Jace. "Your Grace, I must attend to this. Perhaps we could speak later..."

Jace stepped forward, close enough that Y/N could smell the leather of his riding gloves and a hint of something spicy—cloves, perhaps. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to accompany you.”

Y/N hesitated, then inclined her head in agreement. They followed the guard, their footsteps echoing through Winterfell's torch-lit corridors. The warmth of the castle was a stark contrast to the chill outside, yet Y/N felt a different kind of coldness settling in her bones.

They entered a small, dim room that reeked of fear and desperation. A man knelt on the floor, the rattle of his chains a counterpoint to his broken sobs. In the flickering torchlight, his tear-stained face looked ghastly, almost skull-like.

"What has he done?" Y/N's voice cut through the room like a blade.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. Y/N's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, her words sharp and filled with accusation. The man shrunk back in his seat, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately tried to defend himself.

"My lady," he stammered, "I beg you... I was only going to King's Landing, to pledge myself to King Aegon, my children. Is that such a crime?" His voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking as he awaited her judgement.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, seeking any sign of deceit or treachery. Observation seemed to be her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with expert precision. Y/N's lips thinned. "If you wished to leave, you could have done so freely. We do not hold men against their will in the North. Or have you forgotten our ways so quickly?"

The guard cleared his throat, the sound like gravel underfoot. "There's more, my lady. He attempted to steal half the winter rations and one of our best horses. Caught him in the act, we did."

The man's sobs crescendoed. "You can't behead an innocent man!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "You and Lord Cregan, you'll be the death of House Stark! The North will remember this betrayal!"

Y/N stood motionless, but Jace saw the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremor in her clenched fists. The room fell silent save for the man's ragged breathing and the soft hiss of the torches.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. Jace watched as Y/N stood motionless, her face a mask of stoic determination, but he could see the anger burning in her gaze.

"Send him to the Wall," Jace suggested, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Y/N's chest. "It's a harsh sentence, yes, but one that allows him to redeem himself in service to the realm."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Or I could let him go," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then, what message would that send? That theft and betrayal go unpunished in the North?"

"Take his fingers, my lady," the guard interjected. "It's an old punishment, aye, but effective. He'd bear the mark of his crime, but keep his life and limbs... most of them, at least."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and in that moment, Jace saw the weight of the North resting on her shoulders. When she opened them again, they gleamed with resolve.

"You've given me much to consider," she said, her voice steady as the foundations of Winterfell itself. "I'll not make this decision in haste. Guard, take him to the cells. See that he's fed and given water. I'll pass judgment when the sun rises."

As the guard led the prisoner away, his pleas fading down the corridor, Y/N turned to Jace. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the weariness in her eyes.

Jace moved towards Y/N, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, a welcome warmth against the coldness that had nestled in her chest. He spoke gently, never breaking eye contact with her. "You carry your burden with grace, my lady," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing.

Y/N held his gaze for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his words. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She took a step back, "Grace," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grace is a luxury, Your Grace. In the North, we survive on harsher virtues."

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a wintry gleam. The soft curves of her face seemed to harden, as if the very stone of Winterfell was seeping into her bones. With those words, Y/N turned away, her cloak swirling around her like a shroud. As she walked deeper into the shadows of Winterfell's halls, Jace was left with the unsettling feeling that he'd glimpsed not just the Lady of Winterfell, but a portent of the harsh days to come.

The torches guttered in a sudden draft, and for a moment, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the light returned, Y/N was gone, leaving behind only the echo of her words and the lingering chill of premonition.

...

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[atalana]

second thing from the book of bill i wanna overanalyse! ford's journal entry right before he sent that postcard to stan (written out for ease of reading)

CONS: 1) S is an overgrown child with none of my rigorous mental training. Who knows what could happen if Cipher stepped inside Stanley's mind for even one minute... 2) What if Stanley somehow manages to destroy the portal like he destroyed my perpetual motion machine? I suppose that machine did work in it's own way... It kept me perpetually angry for thirty years! [Coded message: Have I been too harsh all along?] 3) What if he tries to rope me into his latest get-rich-quick scheme? His latest commercial was for "Stan Sauce: The Miracle Sauce that's too cool for the FDA!" 4) What if... he mocks me? What if he sees that I abandoned our family to become a recluse on the brink of madness? Could I risk admitting that I was... wrong? PROS: I have no one else.

like okay, to take this point by point

1) i keep comparing this one with "you would have seen him for the scam artist he is" in the finale. it took ford that long to come around on the idea that stan actually does have areas where he's the smarter twin. the idea that stan could be better equipped than ford to handle bill is something that never occurred to him, ford was just focused on "only the most intelligent person could beat bill and i can't so what hope does stanley have??". which is exactly how bill suckered him in the first place

2) it took me a few rereads on this one to realise what it was ford was actually afraid of? like, yes, he wants to shut down the portal, he doesn't want bill to use it. but just like with his journals, he's terrified of the idea of the portal being destroyed. it doesn't matter that it was furthering bill's plans, or that leaving all of these things intact just increases the chance of them being used for harm in the future - that's his life's work! it's his ticket to being recognised by the whole world for how great he is!

ford you are full on "fairytale king can't let go of his fortune even when it dooms the world" here. you can blame other people all you like, but the reason you got sucked through the portal (starting the chain that would eventually cause the apocalypse), is that the portal was still fully functional. like! you could have stopped all of this by just taking the portal apart. but you would never be able to rebuild it, because it was a joint effort between you bill and mcgucket, and neither one of them will ever help you again. you got addicted to the idea of the glory you would get for this, and your self esteem is rapidly dwindling the more you realise how wrong you were, so as far as you're concerned, this is all you've got. and just like your dreams of going to that college, you're scared stan will take it away from you

2.5) the fact that "have i been too harsh all along" is the part in code. because even while you're considering it, you don't want to acknowledge it. of everything you wrote here, that's the part you're ashamed of, and so you're hiding it where no one could possibly read it.

3) this is just an excuse to rag on stanley and feel better about yourself. do not pretend for even a moment like this is a genuine worry. what could stan possibly do to rope you into a scheme that would be worse than the situation you've already cooked up for yourself? it's not like you have a problem saying no to him

4) there's the meat of the issue! the shame is back! it's been motivating you your entire life, it sure ain't stopping now you've got something to legitimately be ashamed of!

but this is also the most clearheaded and honest about the whole situation we've seen ford be. it really does feel like a tipping point where it could have gone one way or the other - if the portal hadn't split them up again for another thirty years, it's possible stan might have been able to get through to him here. it wouldn't have been easy, but there was a chance

and then god that last line hits so hard, i had to stop for a moment when reading and just let that one sit with me. like you have a whole page of reasons why you don't want to involve stan in this, and you could probably come up with several more if someone asked you to. but at the end of the day, none of those objections actually matter. you know they're superficial, compared to that massive glaring truth - you have dug a hole for yourself so deep there's no way to get out of it on your own, you've pushed away absolutely everyone who could try and help you, and there's only one person who's stubborn enough and loves you enough to come anyway

[thestalkerbunny]

So truly as his song proclaimed, on one sunny day (A heat index of literally 97 degrees and climbing) I once again met with our old friend Bill Cipher by purchasing The Book of Bill.

And I gotta say.

It was like a WAVE of nostalgia.

I had forgotten how GOOD and WITTY Gravity falls had been. Not to mention the book in itself is SMART. We as a community were ENTHRALLED with the evil tortilla chip-an absurd thing to vote Tumblr's most sexy man 2013-and the book knew that and was like 'here is more of the chip man.' Like obviously there's codes and treats and what have youse for the smarter folks. But just the energy of the whole book, the fake ADS, the amazing design work, the missing pages, GATSBY, the LORE Bill gives that fills in so many blanks for us while callously poking more holes with a pencil at the same time. You read it perpetually bouncing back and forth questioning how reliable a narrator Bill is and more importantly, how much of it do you REALLY want to believe in?

It's a narrative that explores Bill as a person-at least how Bill Perceives it and with missing journal pages from Ford, how FORD perceived Bill.

The whole book in itself is a BREAK UP story, between a Man and the Monster who he unknowingly let into his life. A monster that pushes him to the brink, that makes the possession trope EXCITING AND NEW to me as he is horribly aware and actively communicating with the monster who is actively threatening his very LIFE if not given obedience and compliance. And it's not one sided yelling into the void convos-they can actually communicate and it makes the disregard so much more terrifying. It both makes you empathize with our favorite villain while not cheapening it so much to redeem him.

Reading this book validates the mania we see Ford with when we get the flash back episode of the Portal Incident. The sick sort of Paranoia that he's developed because every waking moment of his life has been ruined by someone he let in, trusted and opened up to.

The Book of Bill doesn't pull punches. There are parts in this book that go from 'comical horror' that jacks it up to 'Jesus fucking christ'

The Book of Bill does what the original show was not allowed to do-which is go further with how DAMAGING a relationship Ford had with Bill. How it was an addiction, feeding off each other. Ford in finally having someone who could in essence-REFLECT his own intellect back at him and Bill, a creature that demanded an audience to be witnessed by constantly.

Regardless, this was a FASINATING read. 110/10 totally work the trip in the 97 degree heat I made to 3 towns over JUST to get the Barnes and Noble EXCLUSIVE Copy that will now sit very proudly on my shelf. Go Buy it, Go Read it, It is WORTH it.