#saints and devils writing

[ghostpoetics]

Instances of the word "love" in The Saint of Heartbreak.

[vivienna-vivid]

Sinner!Kromer AU but she and Sinclair don't swap personalities. Kromer is still a fanatic and Sinclair is still insecure. Their school life goes the same as we know it for the most part, except for one small tidbit:

Kromer is a mega-fan of prosthetics.

Kromer believes that human flesh can only go so far. To ascend into a more sturdier and perfect form is the ideal. Thus, she adores prosthetics and wants a full-body one.

In this AU, Kromer came from a normal Nest family. Like in the novel, her family is relatively poor so she can't afford to get cosmetic prosthetics. So at the very least she'd like to work in a prosthetic shop after graduating, but her scores aren't the best.

Enter: Emil Sinclair. His father deals prosthetics and yet Sinclair seems a bit bothered by the topic. Does he not like prosthetics?

Two thoughts occured in Kromer: 1) "I can help him get over his anxiety and make him see how cool proathetics are!" 2) "I can use this to score a job with his dad's business!"

And thus started Kromer's friendship with Sinclair. He was very accepting of Kromer, especially since she saw how distressed the topic of prosthetics made him. Even she knows some horror stories about botched prosthetic surgeries.

But at some point Kromer started bringing magazines and articles about prosthetics. She started small: little stuff about people with one or two artificial limbs or eyes. See, Sinclair? They're functional AND they look cool! Nothing to be afraid of! Gradually she started bringing her personal stash: magazines with her dream full-body models.

Sinclair is even more troubled. He's still just as distressed over his family but now Kromer is being so overbearing. Plus, he can't really avoid her since they're already close friends. Sinclair would feel bad (plus she's usually allroaches him anyway so that's futile). So... he just bears with the growing resentment.

And then Kromer came to Sinclair's home. It wasn't anything special: they had a group project and decided to do it at Sinclair's place. Kromer was ecstatic to meet the famous Sinclairs! If she impressed them enough, she'll be working for them soon!

Sinclair's family took a quick liking to Kromer. She was inquisitive, spirited, and polite. But most importantly, she was Emil's friend. Over dinner they bonded with Kromer. They laughed and told stories with each other, except for one:

Emil Sinclair hated it. In his eyes, Kromer has just stolen his family from him. She was confident, she was outgoing, and she loved prosthetics. She was EVERYTHING Sinclair could never be: the child his parents deserved more. His resentment grew and grew after that night — towards Kromer, towards his family, and towards his weak self.

One day, a transfer student came to the school. Max Demian was his name. Kromer only caught glimpses of him but whe she did, he... he was always with Sinclair. Ever since Demian came, Sinclair hardly ever hung with her. And... that kind of hurt, especially since he wasn't as talkative to her. But it's alright, she'll live.

One day, Sinclair approached Kromer. He was a bit curt, but he was inviting her to stay the night at his place. His family would really like to see her again, he said. Kromer, happy Sinclair was talking to her again, gladly accepted.

Staying in the Sinclair estate was always nice. His family liked her lots and Mrs. Sinclair's cooking was delicious! Kromer was just about to hunker down for the night until Sinclair patted her awake. He wanted to show her something: a secret in the basement. A part of Kromer felt suspicious but she still followed. Why wouldn't she? Her friend had something cool to show.

But this secret wasn't cool. It was... sickening. Through a small vent in the basement, Kromer saw monstrous shapes rend flesh and organs apart. The stench was ghastly and the only reason she didn't scream was simply because she was paralyzed in fear.

The moment she had control over her body Kromer booked it, away from the sight and from Sinclair's home. But what scared her the most was how Sinclair quietly watched the scene without reacting one bit.

Afterwards, Kromer began avoiding Sinclair. Mercifully, he never seemed to approach her again.

So it was truly bad luck that Kromer left some of her belongings at Sinclair's house. She kept trying to ask him but their tenuous bond made it awkward. So, on Christmas, she decided to go visit his house. Maybe Mrs. Sinclair would help her out.

But instead of the warm lights she was used to, the estate was pitch dark. Silent, too. The front door wasn't locked when she tried it and a deep pit opened up in her stomach.

Kromer really shouldn't have opened the door, as the strong stench of fuel and blood rushed towards her. Before her eyes could process the horrible sight, her knees gave way. At the sight of the mangled, bloodied bodies of the Sinclair family, only her throat clenching up stopped her from screaming.

Two people stood in the midst of the massacre: a tall man in a suit of armor and Emil Sinclair himself. Both of them covered in blood, both of them holding nails and hammers. The gaze Sinclair had as he turned to look at Kromer was hellish.

"I wanted to kill you," Sinclair said, stomping at a twitching metalic hand. "That night in the basement, I was planning on killing you."

"You should've died that night. I should've just thrown you to the beasts instead of getting cold feet...!" The armored man behind Sinclair turns around and suddenly Kromer smells smoke.

Sinclair laughs bitterly, looking at his parents' corpses with tears running down his face "You did this. This was all your fault. Papa... Mama... Sis... They all changed because of you. You stole them away. You stole my family. I--" he hiccups, gripping at his bloodied nail like a lifeline "I had no choice... They were all just fakes. Yeah, my family was always dead. I was just... purifying... those bastards that took their form..."

Flames lit up behind Sinclair like a halo. And when he made his way to Kromer, Kromer could do nothing but stare at the flames. If she looked at him, she fears he'll actually kill her.

But all she got was silence. Silence, and Sinclair's burning gaze on top of her. And then...

"Guido. Let's go." "Yes, O One Who Shall Grip,"

He steps around her and leaves her with thr flames and the corpses.

As Kromer's vision turns blurry she hears Emil Sinclair say one more thing:

"The next time I see you, I'll kill you."

Kromer's world fades to black.

When she comes to, Kromer finds herself in her home.

"Sinclair... That wasn't you, was it...? No, no, it can't be. The Sinclair I know was so sweet..."

"I'll... I'll save you Sinclair, I promise."

[that-gay-jedi]

Ew I read people's opinions in the poetry tag and now I remember why I'm unfollowing all the non-Star Wars blogs except my beloved mutuals'. I promise you someone who dislikes that egregious style of "Hey let's make Freud cum in as few words as possible" free verse academia spends too much time on is not automatically too stupid to consider song lyrics might be poetry. I too am tired of people whose lives have been comparatively less gritty than mine writing shit that's like "He looked

At my ass

Like a meat tenderizer

And a dove died" or whatever like desperate to spin every interpersonal interaction as violence and the entire world as dull and grim and then you Google them and they've never gone hungry a day in their life.

[angevinyaoiz]

momson enjoyers r truly the most oppressed of the insence enjoyers across media in terms of quantity of good content and yet. Anyways for all our waxing poetic not a single eleanor/richard on ao3 despite being the blueprint (media and ppl historical inspired) doubtless for many literature with The Vibes later. Is it bc none of us will be able to outdo Mr. Goldman

[stereax]

woohoo spiraling out of control right now (what else is new really I've been fucked up and spiraling for weeks now) and trying to figure out reasons not to delete my tumblr and discord and myself along the way

but you know. talking about myself on my blog automatically means I'm attention seeking and fishing for pity right? should just shut up and stick to the news eh, it's all I'm good for :D

anyway if you need me I'll be in the corner reliving the past, coming to terms with reality, and trying to convince myself I'm not the problem despite every indication to the contrary ✌︎︎

[aedearly]

✎ . . . 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑨 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑹.

₊˚⊹ a collection of loose poem verses, quotes or lyrics from various books and chansons. most were written originally in portuguese or french, and were translated to english by me. some are extracted from personal poems, as well! they all have some type of religious reference/motif. writing/roleplaying prompts. from fluff to angst and suggestive! feel free to edit as you see fit.

❝ i never felt more alive than when you called me your angel. ❞ ❝ saints above help me… don’t look at me like that. ❞ ❝ admit it, you’d have taken a bite out of eden, too. ❞ ❝ what are you waiting for? pray. ❞ ❝ confess. repent. repeat. ❞ ❝ for you? i will be any believer you want me to be. ❞ ❝ run away with me, where no gods can find us. ❞ ❝ i begged for a miracle. instead, i got you. ❞ ❝ you smell like the devil. ❞ ❝ where is your faith now? ❞ ❝ call me a sinner. ❞ ❝ the way you call my name sounds like heresy. ❞ ❝ in your gaze, i find my prayers answered. ❞ ❝ your lips are scriptures i long to memorise. ❞ ❝ even silence feels sanctified like this. ❞ ❝ when you embraced me, i felt like i was cradled by divinity. ❞ ❝ i do not wish for the stars to hear us now. ❞ ❝ meet me at our shared altar, where our ghosts can dance. ❞ ❝ kiss my hand. make me feel holy. ❞ ❝ your love feels like a fallen angel’s curse. ❞ ❝ please, can’t you be my sanctuary tonight? ❞ ❝ should i kneel and beg you to look at me again? as if you’re a saint? ❞ ❝ worship does not come cheap. ❞ ❝ must i pay for my sins? cry for forgiveness? ❞ ❝ hate me, blame me, crucify me; just please don’t walk away. ❞ ❝ i do not know how else to love you if not like a sinner. ❞ ❝ you were my redemption; now you are my ruin. ❞ ❝ the weight of your absence is my penance to bear. ❞ ❝ i built cathedrals of dreams, and you razed them to dust. ❞ ❝ you’re a hymn that haunts my mind at midnight. ❞ ❝ you left me bleeding for you, devoted—abandoned. ❞ ❝ i prayed to forget you, but even the heavens refused. ❞ ❝ do not tempt me with your promises. ❞ ❝ hellfire has nothing to your touch. ❞

[gor3-hound]

CRY FOR ABSOLUTION - LEON S. KENNEDY

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

a/n: heyyy :3 had to make the priest collar edit on picsart so don't look at it too close... um... title from 'absolution' by ghost. thank you @ottermarbles for beta reading !! been working on this slowly while writing commissions... finally here !! rbs and feedback appreciated as always <3

cw: 18+ content, priest!leon, non-religious!reader, dead dove, non-con to dub-con to non-con, victim turned perpetrator, forced breeding, mentions of forcing marriage, religious themes, p in v, creampie, degradation, name calling, breath play

word count: 1.6k words

Leon can sense your presence in the church before he sees you. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going rigid. He starts murmuring under his breath, eyes shut as he recites the prayer. He’d tried countless times to pray to the Virgin Mary, to strengthen his faith in God so he may resist your advances. To Saint Mary Magdalene, to guide you away from your life of sin. To God Himself to plead that you would leave him alone.

He was sure you were the Devil. Almost certain that you were some cruel test that God had bestowed on him.

He grips the rosary dangling around his neck as your footsteps get closer, whispering one final prayer to God, a desperate plea to give him strength before he faces you, hands trembling as his eyes open to meet yours. Leon couldn’t quite understand how you always managed to avoid the crowds, to worm your way into the Church between services, narrowly avoiding the other priests. You did not care for them, for your faith. You had your eyes set on Leon, a succubus in the flesh that had targeted him so callously.

”While I appreciate your dedication to the Church, I’m afraid the service has already drawn to a close, and there is a lot of work for me to get through before tonight’s service. Perhaps if you return later with the other parishioners, we can s-“

”Father, I hoped to speak to you before the service.” You say as you stalk closer, your heated gaze trailing him. He almost doesn’t hear you speak, the ringing in his ears dampening the sound around him, making your voice nothing more than a faint echo. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. His gaze is far away as he tries to think of something, anything else. A lump forms in his throat that he cannot dislodge no matter how hard he tries, swallowing to attempt to clear the passage enough so that he felt he could breathe, but with no success. His vision blurs, and he vaguely registers the tears forming in his eyes as you coo, cupping his cheek to wipe the few that fall.

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

The first sob forces its way from his chest as your lips wrap around his cock. He wishes that he could hate the way it felt. It makes him nauseous - makes his head spin, but it feels good. He's at war with himself as to what this means, if enjoying the wet warmth wrapped around him means he's no better than you. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists as he tries to distance himself from your touch.

You pull yourself off of his cock with a pop, rustling around for something in your pocket. The crinkle of a packet has his eyes snapping open again, his eyes honing in on the foil you're holding up between two fingers. Panic seeps into his very core, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. “Thought we could try something new.” You say with a giggle, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

No. No, this couldn't happen to him. He's a priest - he's meant to stay far, far away from the pleasures of the flesh. He had to do something, anything to stop you. He swallows hard, eyes flickering around the confessional, trying to figure a way out of this before you lead him down a path of sin.

Leon isn't sure what happened. One minute, you were tearing open the condom with your teeth, and the next minute, he pounced. His hand gripped your throat to pin you down in the confessional, squeezing tight. His eyes are wide, almost feral as they meet yours, his free hand yanking your underwear down. His movements are clumsy as he prods as your cunt, trying to push his way in. After a few attempts, he manages to hook the tip on your entrance, and he slides home in one thrust.

“Oh.” He breathes out, eyes squeezing shut again. Maybe God wasn't testing him. Maybe this was his reward for being a good follower - all he had to do was breed this pussy full and wed you, and he'd be able to do this as many times as he pleased.

No. This was a test. He must have passed. He succeeded, and this was his reward. A pretty housewife for him to keep bred and safe in his grasp. A woman to cure his cold, lonely nights. He could finally have the family he always wanted. He was angry at you now, yes, but he would forgive you when you accepted his proposal and his seed.

“Temptress.” He hisses between gritted teeth, the hand on your throat tightening. The pressure against your windpipe is bruising, leaving you desperately trying to gasp in breaths through too tight of a passage. “Indecent whore. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't care when I told you ‘no’, did you? No? Then take it.”

He scoffs as you plead for him to stop again, his brows narrowing in frustration. He didn't want to do this. Leon was a good man. He was a holy man. He couldn't let you ruin him. What if the word of this got out?

“You wanted to ruin me, didn't you? You thought you couldn't take what you wanted from me without consequences? That… fuck… that God wouldn't punish your sins? I'm going to make you take my seed. You're going to be my pretty little wife, and no one will hear about this.”

He thrusts forward particularly violently after his words, his grip on your throat tightening enough that you start thrashing, cunt clenching around his cock enough that he has to halt his movements to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will drag you down into the deepest depths of Hell with me. I swear it on the Lord Himself.” He grits out, finally releasing his hold on your throat.

He ignores your protests, a muddy mix of guilt and anger swirling in his chest with each plea that falls from your lips. You had shown him no mercy, and yet you expect him to spare you? You were nothing more than a Godless nymph. He would show you the light.

“Do you know your prayers, hmm?” He coos, gripping your chin. The pads of his fingers dig into your cheeks harshly, drawing a pained moan from you. He starts fucking into you again now that his orgasm has fully subsided, letting out a shaky breath at the drag of his length against your gummy walls. “No, of course. You have no respect for the house of the Lord - you just wish to defile it.”

He lets go of your face to hitch your legs over his waist, breaths coming out in heavy pants as he pistons his hips into you, sweat beading against his skin from exertion, bangs stuck flat against his forehead. “Repeat after me.”

‘Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me:’

The words fall past your lips in a daze as you repeat them, his hand reaching up to your throat again, but not squeezing. A warning to continue as he speaks the next line.

‘Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.’

He's close now, barely able to hold back as he ruts into you helplessly, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat as you clench around his cock.

‘Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.’

His hips stutter as you repeat the last words of Contrition back to him, his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he gasps out sharp breaths. His cock jumps as he orgasms, stuffing you full of his cum with a noise more akin to a whimper than a moan.

He leans back, eyes taking in your appearance. There was some kind of sick satisfaction seeing you broken like this, knowing God had allowed him to take back the part of him you had aimed to destroy.

You would be his. He would keep you as his wife, his prize. He was given a chance to relinquish the sins you had bestowed upon him.

He would not let the opportunity pass.

[austerity-audacity-asceticism]

The atomic habits of St. Therese of Lisieux

I used to be one of those people that were like “oh I love St. Joan of Arc, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Paul, St. Teresa of Avila” because I thought they were Cool and Heroic and they did Big Things

And whenever someone would talk about “The Little Flower of Lisieux” I was like “mehhhhh… okay”

Not in a way that was totally disrespectful, but not totally aware of the enormity of her interior life

Because guys

Wow

You’d have to read The Story of the Soul to really appreciate just WHY she is a doctor of the Church

(She’s the Doctor of Divine Love, btw)

Because St. Therese? She was in the details

They like to say the devil is in the details, but let’s face it— God is in the details, and in his mercy and wisdom, he placed St. Therese there for us to learn from and imitate in our own ways

She had to reconcile her great desire to be a saint with the enormous legacies of the saints that came before her, especially Joan of Arc and St. Teresa of Avila

(She, along with St. Joan, are the patron saints of France. I’m sure that’s something St. Therese never dreamed of)

And she had the realization that God would not have given her a desire that she was incapable of, and that there must be a way for someone “as small as her” to become a great saint

Which lead her to meditate on Mathew 18:4 (Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven)

And she was like “oh, okay. This desire planted into my heart is an invitation to become a little child, because the Lord wants to be the one to carry me to Heaven” 

(I am heavily paraphrasing so that you guys won’t be spoiled for Story of a Soul. Go read it!!!)

All of this is to say that her writings and her life reflect a simple but profound theology 

The Little Way is one of total dependence on the providence of God, of total surrender and self-mortification— the emptying of the cup of one’s self little by little, so that the Lord can fill it with his graces and abundance, and ultimately, with His own divine self 

The Little Way is one of the smallest acts of radical love, because the only person who needs to see it is God 

The Little Way is St. Therese going out of her way to nurse the nuns that she didn’t get along well with 

The Little Way is St. Therese is doing her best to hold cheerful conversations with a particularly surly nun 

The Little Way is St. Therese relishing being splashed with dirty laundry water as a sign of the smallest of suffering that only God would see

I called this particular post her “atomic habits,” because she believed that small acts can lead to holiness when done with great love for our Lord 

Small acts of love and self mortification were the things that she sought for while in the Carmel 

St. Therese elucidated in her signature sincere and effervescent style the enduring idea that there is no suffering too small, no act of love too small, to offer the Lord— because what he wants is souls, what he wants is us

That’s not to say that her interior life was always rich 

She suffered so much from months of aridity that she grew an affection for atheists, even going so far to say, and I quote:

[God] allowed my soul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven, which had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became a subject of conflict and torture. This trial did not last merely for days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I still await deliverance. I wish I could express what I feel, but it is beyond me. One must have passed through this dark tunnel to understand its blackness ... When I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possession of God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what I wish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshine illumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, but later, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consoling me, makes the blackness thicker still.

It’s thought that St. Therese experienced this interior anguish up until the end of her battle with tuberculosis, with her final words being: “My God, I love you!” 

To summarize everything, reading St. Therese is a study not only of radical love, but also radical humility 

From a spoiled child to a martyr of the Carmel, St. Therese lived an inner life that very few of her own sisters in the convent were aware of 

Her life is also a testimony to God's perfect timing; St. Therese wanted to be a missionary in Hanoi, but was prevented from doing so when she contracted tuberculosis. She was later named a patron saint to missionaries.

St. Therese's Little Way informed the spirituality of many of the saints and intellectuals that came after her: St. Josemaria, St. John Paul II, Mother Teresa, St. Teresa of the Andes, Blessed Cecilia Eusepi, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and Dorothy Day

On her feast day, let’s take the time to reflect on what small things we can do today for the Lord; what small sufferings we can offer him with great love and humility 

God would never inspire me with desires which cannot be realized; so in spite of my littleness, I can hope to be a saint. — St. Thérèse of Lisieux

St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us.

[saintsanddevils]

Never Alone - pt 5

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tension runs high with you and Aaric having to deal with mated dragons.

Warnings: ‼️18+ (MDNI) explicit content‼️, slight smut👀, angst, reader is in denial, Aaric is suffering, slow burn is finally burning

Word Count: 5.8K

Part Four | Part Six

Masterlist

————

-Bound-

(Aaric POV)

“Cam,” she moans against the skin of his collarbone.

Aaric thrusts forward, bottoming out inside of her. He throws his head back in rapture. She’s tight, so tight. It feels incredible. He needs more.

“Hold on, love.”

He pulls out only to slam back into her. She gasps, clawing at his back.

“Please,” she cries out as he does it again. And again. And again.

Aaric bends forward, nipping at her ear as he whispers, “Please, what? Tell me what to do, Y/N. I’ll do anything you want.”

Her breath hitches, as he pumps faster and faster, feeling how soaked she’s getting with each thrust.

His fingers find her clit, circling and teasing as her breaths pick up speed. He feels her racing pulse against his lips as he kisses down her sweat-slicked skin.

“Keep doing that,” she pants, her voice hoarse. “Keep touching me.”

Aaric smirks against her neck. “Anything for you, love.”

When he syncs his fingers with his thrusts, he feels her pussy beginning to tighten around his cock. He closes his eyes at the glorious feel of her coming close to the edge. With the mounting pressure at the base of his spine, he can tell he’s almost there, reaching his peak.

“Cam,” she gasps and moans, her eyes fluttering to meet his. Something shines in her eyes as she stares up at him.

A flood of adoration fills him as he gazes down at her. She’s so beautiful. And right now, she’s all his.

“Cam, I love—“

A loud crash has Aaric shooting up from his bed, panting. The darkness of his room greets him as his pulse races loudly in his ears. He looks around in a panic before he sees he’s entirely alone.

Y/N isn’t here.

It was a dream.

“Fuck,” Aaric groans, throwing himself back onto the mattress. His pillows had fallen off the bed while he tossed and turned. One of them colliding with the clock next to his bedside, causing it to crash to the floor.

Frustration and guilt gnaw at him as the dream still clings to his thoughts. The way she moaned and sighed his name. Her cheeks flushed. Her skin as soft as he imagines it to be.

The straining of his cock in his briefs has him shifting, adjusting to make it less uncomfortable. But the dream won’t let him go so easily. He’s incredibly hard, almost to the point of pain. He knows this will be a problem later on if he doesn’t deal with it soon.

Glancing at the darkened windows, he knows he has plenty of time before he’s expected to get up.

The whisper of Y/N’s moans echoes in his mind like a siren call as he slides his hand into his briefs. Gripping himself, he focuses on the dream, trying to imagine it’s real. The way her back arched. How her mouth gaped and widened. Her pupils dilating as he circled her clit. Her nipples turning into sharp peaks in the soft lighting of his dream.

Aaric groans, his hand sliding up and down his shaft, remembering how real it felt to be inside of her. How she fluttered around him, tightening and releasing him just so.

It’s agonizing remembering the dream so vividly and not feeling her this very moment. Not being able to kiss the skin of her collarbone before finding his way to her breasts. Sucking, licking, biting. His imagination of her body and what he would do to please her has run wild for so long, his hunger for her has become ravenous.

Aaric’s movements become frantic, chasing that high as a bead of precum spills from his tip. Her name chants in his mind as he imagines the feel of her lips against his. Would she be soft, like her skin? Or rough and passionate from wanting him for so long? He knows he’d take his time. He’d memorize every curve, dip, and valley of her body. Every sound she makes when she—

Her name flows from his lips like a prayer as he spills onto the sheets. Moans fill his room as he finishes.

When his cock softens and the throbbing dissipates, an ache settles in his chest. The familiar taste of guilt floods him as he slowly comes back to the present.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. And deep in his bones, he knows it won’t be the last. His body and mind both yearn for her. Being close to her, staying friends, it’s not enough for him.

Frustration racks up his spine as he shifts to stand, tearing the sheets from his bed as he goes. He’s folding the linens when that familiar, deep rumbling presence enters his mind.

Oh fuck. Not now.

“Will this be a common occurrence that will wake me from my slumber?” Molvic grumbles, his voice full of obvious annoyance. “I would prefer not to be present during such private…mortal weaknesses.”

Aaric winces, embarrassment flooding him. I didn’t mean to wake you—

“I know. That is obvious, Princeling.”

Aaric takes deep breaths as he throws the dirty sheets into a basket before grabbing new ones and making his bed.

As much as Aaric hopes he’ll sever their connection, Molvic stays.

“Your frustration with your mate is exhausting. If you wish to be with her, be with her. This is trivial.”

Aaric tenses. Like I’ve said before, she’s not my mate.

A pause. “Your emotions tell me otherwise.”

That doesn’t mean she’s my mate.

It’s as if he can feel the dragon roll his eyes while he quickly dresses into his loose training gear. There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep after that dream. Especially not after Molvic’s chastising.

If he can’t get any sleep, he’s going to take this time to burn off the excess energy in his body to forget everything that just happened.

If Molvic will even let him.

“Human mates are strange. You never communicate. It’s truly unnecessary.” A deep sigh rattles through his mind. “You make this more difficult for yourself.”

Irritation begins to bloom inside of Aaric as he bends to tie his boots. She is my friend, Molvic. Nothing more.

“Then move on.”

Aaric freezes, his laces gripped tightly in his fingers. A flash of her smile, her laughter, chokes him. He recalls the many times he watched her over the pages of a book while she thought he was busy reading. The way the sunlight would catch her skin, gilding her. How her eyes would sparkle as she absorbed whatever story she was consumed by. Her cheeks flushing as she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

The ache in his chest is consuming now. An emptiness hollowing him at the thought of never being able to love her.

Because Aaric does. He loves her. He loves her with every breath of his lungs. Every fiber of his being, every beat of his heart, yearns for her to be his.

He’s never known when he fell for her, only that it was gradual and permanent. Something that settled in him like knowing the sky is blue and that she’s the epitome of love.

Aaric has always loved her and he always will.

With a sigh of defeat, he confesses, I can’t move on. I don’t think I ever will.

“Then stop denying yourself.” What sounds like a yawn fills his head as Molvic’s voice begins to slowly fade. “It only burdens you.”

Aaric stares at the wood of his door, his hand gripping the brass handle. This morning wasn’t the only time he’s thought of her in his bed, under his skin. The dreams have gotten worse since she forgave him for being overprotective months ago. Having her here, so close to him, makes it all the more painful to keep his feelings at bay.

So, he dreams. He hopes. He imagines what life would be like if they were together. If they weren’t thrown into the middle of a war. If they lived at the end of all this.

If she was mine.

It’s an intoxicating thought, but he can’t help himself. If she were his, he’d never let her go.

————

(Reader POV)

Where the hell is she?

My legs ache from pacing back and forth in the quadrant’s library. Violet is thirty minutes late, and I feel like I’m going to go crazy if she doesn’t show up any second.

Dim, morning light filters through the tall, arched windows, casting hazy shadows across the stone floor. The windows overlook the valley below Basgiath, where two weeks ago, I was fighting for my life to bond with a dragon. The branches are full of golden and red-hued leaves. This morning is beautiful, peaceful. Especially since a sudden frost settled over the valley during the night. It coats the windows, causing me to shiver, my skin prickling.

The beauty rivals my tempestuous emotions. It’s been over two weeks since Kesi and I bonded. The bond itself warms my being, but it’s the mating bond that has me pacing.

Two weeks ago, while everyone who bonded a dragon was celebrating after Threshing, I stole away to find Violet. Once I tracked her down, I found her talking with Rhiannon.

“Hey Vi,” I slipped into their conversation, not even caring I’d interrupted. “I need to talk to you.”

Concern etched itself across her features as she turned to me. “Is everything alright?” She lowered her voice, whispering, “Is it something to do with Aaric?”

“Yes and no,” I winced.

Understanding had lit her eyes as she turned to Rhiannon. “I promise I’ll find you later, okay?”

My squad leader nodded before disappearing down the hall.

Once she was out of sight, Violet stepped closer. “Did he find out how you feel about him? How you’re in lo—“

“No!” I rushed, terror striking me. “No, he doesn’t…” I breathed deeply as I tried to calm my racing heart. “It’s not about that.”

Violet’s brows furrowed as she shook her head. “I’m sorry for assuming. I just thought after all this time—“

“Our dragons are mates.”

Violet’s jaw dropped as silence encased our corner of the empty hall. Distantly, I could hear music and voices still celebrating.

”Holy shit,” Violet stared at me. “Mates?”

I nodded. “I need to know what to expect, Vi. I’ve heard it can be…difficult.”

Violet winced. “It can be, at least parts of it.” She sighed. “I can tell you what to expect, but I’m worried—“

Xaden Riorson appeared over her shoulder. As if sensing him, Violet turned around, her features softening.

“Excuse me,” Xaden spoke to me, but his eyes were on Violet. “But Violet, I need you to see this,” his face was grave as he quickly took Violet by the hand, guiding her down the hall.

She had turned back to me, an apology in her eyes as she followed. It wasn’t until later that she sent me a letter informing me she wanted to talk as soon as possible. Alone.

Well, the time finally came. It took weeks, but now, I’ll get my answers. If Violet ever shows up.

As if I summoned her with my thoughts, she appears, rounding the side of a bookcase.

“Y/N,” Violet rushes to hug me, slightly out of breath. “I’m sorry, life’s been so busy lately. I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible.”

Relief washes over me from the sight of her. I quickly motion for her to sit down at a table with me. “I get it, you’re a second year. You have better things to do than worry about a first-year problem.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m happy to help. Especially when it comes to this.”

Violet throws her pack on the table, taking out a leather-bound tome that’s definitely from the archives.

“I grabbed this to help you with anything you don’t understand. It helped me a lot last year when I found out about Tairn and Sgaeyl.” She places the tome on the table before turning to me. “Have you talked to Kesi about it?”

A rumbling huff sounds in my mind, announcing Kesi’s presence.

“You need not worry about this.”

I clench my hands into fists. Nothing you’ve said has been reassuring.

“Molvic is my mate. This should not be a problem for you.”

Deflating, I soften my tone. It’s not a problem. I just want to understand how this affects me and Aaric. No one has told me what to expect.

“I have told you all I can.”

Ignoring her, I nod to Violet. “She’s not told me enough to reassure me.”

Violet grips my hand, her fingers soft and familiar. I smile at the gesture, missing having my friend around more often.

“I get it, trust me,” she huffs a laugh. Squeezing my hand, her hazel eyes meet mine. “First thing you need to know, the bond you have with Kesi? It now extends to Molvic and Aaric. You can communicate with them like you can communicate with Kesi. It’s…strange, at first,” a blush rises to her cheeks that has me raising a brow. “But you’ll adjust to it. You can easily shut them out the more you learn to shield.”

I nod, remembering all the lessons over the last two weeks on shielding. Picturing the library in the palace has helped me visualize my bond with Kesi. It’s the one place I’ve felt completely at home and comfortable, with Aaric at my side. The image of the marble pillars, towering white bookcases, the painted fresco of the gods and dragons decorating the ceiling, rows and rows of rare tomes— it settles the roaring thoughts of my racing mind.

I sit there, closing my eyes, and search my palace library, finding a solid door near Kesi’s. Hers is encased in light, warming me to the bone when I touch its surface. While this one is cold and burning, a blue haze covers the surface when I near it. This is definitely Molvic’s connection to me. I hope I never have to use it.

When I search my library again, I find another door. This one, unlike the dragon’s doors with obvious traces of imposing power, is simple, familiar. Its wooden frame is carved with images of a cabin and lake. It’s the one place Aaric and I would escape to during the winter to be away from court. This is definitely Aaric’s connection to me.

I open my eyes, finding Violet watching me with that scribe-like curiosity. “So, I can communicate with Aaric? Mind to mind?”

Violet nods. “It’s honestly more helpful than you think, but he won’t always be in your head.”

The thought of him even being there briefly has me slightly panicking. What if he sees or hears something he shouldn’t?

An even worse thought comes to me. What if he hears my unfiltered thoughts about my feelings for him? Would he hear every dirty thought I have when I watch him shirtless on the mat? How his straining, sweat-slicked muscles have me clenching my legs together, imagining him holding me down in his bed? Or how I wake most mornings, aching to be in his arms, wanting him inside of me?

A blush rises to my cheeks. Gods, this is awful.

“You’re being dramatic.”

I ignore Kesi, moving on. “Okay, so I can talk to him and Molvic. Got it. Is there anything else I should know or be aware of?”

Violet’s blush reaches up her neck, causing alarm to rise inside of me.

“Well, it can get…complicated,” she winces. “I mean, when Kesi and Molvic are together, it can lead you and Aaric to become…overwhelmed.”

I furrow my brows. “Overwhelmed?”

She slowly nods before scooting closer to whisper, “I know you care for him, but however you feel strongly for Cam, it’ll be incredibly heightened when Kesi and Molvic can’t shut you out during their own heightened emotions.”

I blanch. “You mean when they mate, I’ll want to jump Aaric’s bones?”

Violet squeezes my hand again, trying to reassure me. “I’ve known you for too long to lie to you. It’s going to be really hard to hide how you feel from him. I’m doing this to warn you of what will come.”

Truly, I appreciate what she’s doing. She went through it herself with Xaden, and now look at them, they’re inseparable and incredibly in love. I can picture them having a future together with how happy he makes her.

“Thanks, Vi,” I squeeze her hand. “You’d think after all these years, I’d let go of my feelings for him and move on,” I laugh bitterly.

Violet shakes her head. “Maybe this is a sign that you should tell him. Your dragons being mates feels like this was meant to be. Maybe it’ll work out.”

“And if I lose his friendship and he pushes me away? What then?” I stare out the frosted windows, an ache creeping up my limbs and burrowing in my chest. “I’d rather he be my friend than ruin anything between us.”

Burning fills my eyes as the overwhelming sense of loss fills me. If I can’t have Aaric for my own, I still want him in my life. No matter how much it hurts.

“Thanks for your help,” I try to smile, but the aching in my chest is hollowing me out. I’ll start crying if I don’t get out of here soon enough.

Violet stops me as I try to get up. “One more thing,” her face is gravely serious as she meets my eye. The soft encouragement from before is gone. “Did Kesi happen to tell you the consequences of a mating bond with two bonded riders?”

I slowly shake my head no.

She closes her eyes before breathing deeply. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this, but you and Aaric are bound now.”

“Bound?”

Her hazel eyes open, burning into mine. “If somehow, someway, he dies, then you die. If you die,” she swallows. “He dies, too.”

“Y/N!”

I shoot out of my chair, stumbling to my feet at the sound of Kesi’s ringing shout.

“Hey, you alright?” Violet reaches out, but my head is pounding hard, heart beating rapidly. I feel a surge of panic crash through me, and it’s startling.

What’s wrong?

“Get to the gymnasium. Now.”

The gym? What?

Did something—

“Your foolish prince is trying to get himself killed.”

————

I burst through the gym doors, breaths sawing through me from running down the many flights of stairs to get here. A crowd is gathered around the mats, sounds of yelling filling the cavernous hall. Violet sticks close behind me as I shove my way forward.

“If he dies, you die. If you die, he dies.”

Violet’s words vibrate through me as I move through the crowd.

Please be alive, please be alive, please—

When we finally reach the front, my stomach drops. Aaric is lying on the mat looking half dead. Blood drips down his face from a cut on his forehead. Sweat soaks his shirt as he stumbles to his feet.

Swaying, he stares down his opponent. I’ve never seen this guy before, but he’s huge. Larger than Aaric, and he looks incredibly pissed off. His knuckles are cracked and bleeding, his lip swollen as bruising lines his jaw.

But Aaric looks far worse. It’s this fact that has me panicking. Aaric’s losing this fight. He doesn’t lose unless he wants to.

“AARIC!”

My shout is lost in the commotion of the crowd as Aaric bounces on his toes, swinging at the other man. He easily evades it before punching Aaric in the stomach. The prince stumbles before spitting blood on the mat. His smile is all bloody teeth as he lunges forward.

Dain comes into view, his face pale as he watches with everyone else.

I run to him, panic lacing my voice as I shout, “Do something!”

Dain shakes his head. “I tried. I really did. He only tried to fight me, but I wouldn’t do it.” He turns his head and I can see slight bruising lining his cheekbone.

“Something’s very wrong,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

Dain nods. “He’s either drunk or super pissed off.”

I shake my head. No, Aaric isn’t like that. He’s logical, first and foremost. Everything he does is within reason. He’s calculated and cautious. He would never do this to bring attention to himself. He’s been trying to lay low for months.

So, what set him off?

My gaze returns to Aaric, who’s caught around his middle and thrown to the mat. His opponent straddles him and begins punching his face. Aaric doesn’t even protect himself. He just lays there…almost like he wants it to happen.

If he won’t end it, I will.

I clench my fists, grinding my teeth as I surge forward. Dain’s arm shoots out to grab me, but I step out of his reach.

Running onto the mat, I use all my strength as I collide with the brute on top of Aaric. The momentum throws him off of Aaric’s bruised and bleeding body, crashing to the mat with me on top of him. He looks up, stunned. When his eyes narrow, I roll off of him and stand with my feet apart and fists raised.

I hear Aaric cough my name, but I don’t turn around.

“He’s done,” I say, my voice lethal and cold. “You should be done, too.”

The guy hacks a wad of spit onto the mat inches from my boots. “He’s done when I say he’s done.”

Fury courses through my veins like a cold fire, an icy pull to kill, eliminate, and protect pulling me under. But I don’t give in. I can tell this is part of Kesi’s emotions bleeding into my own. But I tap into it, using it as a weapon.

“This is how this is going to go,” I growl. “You’re going to let me take him to a healer. And you’re going to stay the fuck away from him. Got it?”

His eyes furrow as he appraises me from head to toe. “I don’t need to take orders from his girlfriend.”

“I’m not asking.”

A strange surge of control comes over me. I’m highly aware of every part of my body, every movement of my chest as my breathing slows. I stare down at him, standing in front of Aaric.

It feels like lightning courses through my veins as I command, “Leave. Now.”

Without a second thought, he pulls himself to his feet, glancing at Aaric before turning around and forcing his way through the crowd.

The burning in my body fades just as soon as it arrives. My energy is draining as a pounding headache replaces that surge of calculated fury. I try to shake it off, turning to Aaric. He’s coughing and wheezing as I fall to my knees.

“Cam?” I whisper, my hand lightly touching his bruising cheek.

He turns into the touch, eyes closed as a groan escapes him. “Y/N?” His skin feels feverish and sticky as he moans into my hand, “I missed you.”

He’s delirious, that’s for certain, but his words set off butterflies in my stomach, warmth spreading through me. My eyes burn as I survey his swollen, bleeding face.

Violet is there, kneeling beside me. “We need to get him to a healer.”

I nod as Dain begins shouting to get everyone else to leave. He’s suddenly beside us, kneeling to pick up Aaric.

“Can you walk?” He asks.

Aaric’s head rolls as he looks up at him, blood dripping from his mouth onto the mat. “Oh hi, Dain.”

Dain swears under his breath before standing with Aaric. “I think he has a bad concussion.”

Aaric’s head swerves and finds me, a smile breaking out across his face. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

I would’ve laughed if his eyes didn’t immediately close after speaking. Dain slaps him across the face. It jolts him awake, his swollen eyes wide with alarm.

“What the fuck?!”

Dain huffs as he carries him from the gym. “You need to stay awake, you bastard, or I’m dropping you down the stairs. Gods, you’re heavy.”

Aaric glares at him before his eyes meet mine over Dain’s shoulder. Blood drips down the side of his head as he stares at me. I reach out and smooth back his hair before it gets more blood in it.

“You fucking idiot,” I whisper as tears threaten to fall. “We’re taking you to the healers. If you didn’t break anything, I’m breaking your jaw later for this.”

Aaric coughs a laugh before groaning as his body shifts in Dain’s arms once we’re in the hall.

“Don’t let my father find out,” he hisses to Dain.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Cam.”

————

(Aaric POV)

When Aaric wakes, he finds Y/N sitting next to his bed, biting her lip as she grips his hand. Sheets tuck him into the bed as the sun sets, streaming fractures of light across the room through the arched windows.

A headache pounds against his head as he slowly shifts. On instinct, he tightens his fingers around hers, causing her to jump in her seat.

Her eyes whip to his, wide and tear-stained. “You’re awake.”

It must’ve been hours since Dain dragged Aaric into the healer’s room. Halfway up the stairs, he practically threw the prince to the stone before making him walk. Sienna had yelled at Dain for being a prick and at Aaric for being a moron for getting himself into this mess. They both hooked themselves beneath his shoulders and helped carry him the rest of the way up the stairs.

He barely remembers any of it. Only the feel of stiff sheets beneath him and the smell of something acidic and medicinal before blacking out.

“Hi,” he rasps, voice scratchy from disuse. Sharp pain lingers around his ribs, making him wince. “How long was I out?”

Y/N tightens her grip on his hand. “Almost ten hours, give or take?”

He huffs a laugh before immediately coughing. She’s there with water in her hands, helping him drink. The cool liquid wakes him further, clearing his mind.

“Fuck,” he winces as he tries to shift in bed to sit up. “Everything hurts.”

She rolls her eyes. “I wonder why.”

He scowls at the ceiling before attempting to raise himself again, breathing heavily from the movement.

“Stop that or you’ll make everything worse,” she scolds him, moving to stand.

Aaric rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. There’s enough drugs in my system to keep the pain at bay,” he hisses as sharp pain hits him again in the ribs. “Or at least I think so.”

She glowers down at him. “You’re such an idiot. What were you thinking earlier? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

He tenses. That morning, after he tried to run off all the pent-up energy and desire he felt upon waking earlier, guilt still gnawed at him. He couldn’t believe how horrible of a friend he was for imagining her like that. She didn’t want that. She deserved better than that from such a close friend.

His head was so caught up in this that while he was swinging at a punching bag, he felt someone approach him from behind. They tried to taunt him, test him, get him riled up. Without thinking, with frustration rising inside of him, he turned and threw a punch at the guy. It quickly turned out to be a mistake, but when he got caught up in a fight with the brutish cadet, it felt liberating. Something he could control. And as each punch landed on his body, he knew he deserved it. He allowed it to happen.

Jaw clenched, Aaric doesn’t say anything as his best friend continues to fume. What can he say to her? “Hey, I’m sick and tired of being your friend and it’s slowly eating me alive?”

No. He couldn’t say that.

“Look,” Y/N sighs. “I know you. I know how you fight and what happened earlier was you punishing yourself for something.”

His fists clench, eyes trying not to meet hers as he feels her sympathetic gaze.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“What happened earlier is not nothing. You had broken ribs and a shattered cheekbone. Not even to mention your concussion! It took hours for them to heal you, and I never left, so don’t you get to say it’s nothing when it obviously wasn’t.”

Her voice breaks as she speaks, and Aaric finally looks at her. Tears brim her eyes. Fear and worry lining her features. His heart softens and aches at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’re right. It wasn’t nothing.” He sighs. “I…I was frustrated and angry. He just happened to be there. I needed to blow off some steam. That’s all.”

She doesn’t buy it, he can tell, but her shoulders loosen. “I’m getting real sick of these suicidal heroic tendencies of yours.”

He snorts. “Yeah, me too.”

This cracks her. She smiles gently. Aaric smiles back, only for his head to sting, causing him to wince.

She surges forward. “Shit, your stitches.”

She picks up a cloth lying on the bedside table before moving towards him. Her fingers are gentle, careful, as she smooths the cloth over his forehead. She’s close enough to breathe in the scent of her. Aaric can’t resist. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply. Lilac and citrus.

Memories of home rise to the forefront of his mind. Laughter ringing out over a pan of burned muffins. Shared smiles as his older brother, Halden, stomps off to sulk. Fingers tangled together as both Y/N and himself ready to jump into a pond brimming with water lilies and cattails.

Nostalgia grips him by the throat, and he tries to swallow it down. Everything about her, all that she is, is home for him.

Looking up at her, watching as she concentrates on her task, he feels a wave of affection crash over him.

Later, he’ll blame the drugs flowing through his system, numbing his usual restraint. But for now, he allows his hands to slide across her waist, pulling her closer.

Her breath catches, hand freezing on his forehead as her eyes meet his. He sees a question in her gaze, and something lighter. Something that must be reflected in his own as his fingers slowly pull up the material of her shirt. Just enough for his fingers to settle upon her skin, thumbs caressing her waist in slow circles.

Her pupils dilate as she holds his stare, breath increasing. He can feel her pulse through her skin, racing as fast as his own as he stares up at her through his lashes.

“Is this okay?” His voice is husky, full of need.

She swallows, his eyes tracking the movement, suddenly enraptured by the exposed skin of her neck.

“Y-yes,” she stammers. “It’s okay.”

He leans closer, her lips inches from his as he breathes her in. His fingers move to wrap around her back, caressing the base of her spine as he continues to draw slow, methodical circles into her skin.

“Is this?”

She nods, her eyes fluttering as his fingers softly trace the curves of her skin. Cloth forgotten, she allows it to fall to the bed, her hands tangling in his waves. The way she softly pulls on his hair has a moan rising from his mouth. The movement causes their lower lips to brush, lightning coursing through his veins at the sensation. A gasp falls from her mouth at the contact, her fingers pulling him closer.

“Cam,” she breathes, her voice full of want.

Flashes to this morning, to how he woke without her in his bed, makes him ache to take her there now. To show her exactly what he’s wanted to do to her for years.

Fuck, I want to kiss you so badly.

Y/N freezes. Her eyes widening before she pulls back from him. He starts to tug her back to him, not wanting to let her go, when she stops him with a hand on his bare chest.

“I heard you.”

Aaric furrows his brows, his entire being focused on the shape of her lips. “What?”

“Aaric,” she insists. She forces him to look at her, and her eyes soften for a moment. She sighs before closing her eyes, as if she’s concentrating.

“I want to kiss you, too.”

Her voice suddenly rings loud and clear in his head, startling him. His jaw hangs open as he stares.

Holy shit.

She smirks. “Violet told me about how the mating bond connects us. And I think because of your…lowered inhibitions,” her eyes sparkle as she leans closer. “Your shields let me in, allowing me to hear your thoughts just now.”

Well, fuck.

Y/N laughs, the sound lighting every nerve in his body. “It’s freaky, right?”

Aaric shakes his head. “What if I like hearing your voice in my head?”

She bites her lip, a flush rising to her cheeks. Gods, he wants her. He wants to kiss the hell out of that mouth, taste every bit of her. He wants to take his time before he moves his lips down her neck, taunting her, as he opens the buttons on her shirt, exposing her skin—

“Graycastle,” a voice startles them both, forcing Y/N to spring away from him. They both turn to find an aged healer standing there with a firm expression. “This is not the time or place for such fraternizing. Please refrain yourselves as you are not the only ones in the room.”

Aaric’s pulse races in his ears as he turns back to his best friend, whose face is bright red, eyes bulging as she stares at the floor, her mouth pinched to keep herself from smiling. He can’t help his own from spreading across his face. A strange giddiness fills him as her eyes slowly meet his.

She wants to kiss me.

The thought emboldens him, even as the healer shoos Y/N away from his cot. He catches her stare as she leaves.

Will you be back?

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears before giving him a small smile at the doorway. “Is this a stupid question, or are you still concussed?”

Aaric’s smile is still wide even after Y/N disappears. Long after the healer checks his bandages and leaves. When the lights go out for curfew, he notices the lingering scent of her, clinging to the air around him. Lilac and citrus.

Just as he succumbs to sleep, he swears he overhears Molvic grumble in his mind. One word. “Finally.”

Part Six

————

Taglist: @bookishnerd1132 @abysshaven @annthepenguin @lynnieluvsu @louzello @jinx108 @lustrz-anna @worldsanna @wolfbc97 @kelpyreads @lveegsoi @iambored24601 @bookishcait @marrass @serena-capella @benz12313 @-thatgirloverthere- @tenshis-cake @http-peachie @littlemissmelodie @lagrandeourse

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In the Lonely Shadows (1/?)

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

Requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March. LOL, sorry it’s been forever, my love.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N: this wasn't meant to be a series AT ALL. But so many people have been wanting more parts of this. So i'm writing at least 4-5 parts possibly if people want to be tagged in the future!

WC: 1054

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, however.

Read on Ao3!

--

It had been months since Dean had made his choice. The memory still stung—he chose normalcy, Lisa, and a life far from the chaos... far from you.

The moment Dean drove away to that suburban dream with Lisa and Ben, it was like a wound ripping open and never closing. You didn’t hear from him again, and there was no check-in or phone call—just silence. Castiel, too, was gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of his presence. Prayers went unanswered, and you were left alone with the echoes of battles fought and lives lost.

It was after Lucifer fell that everything seemed to break apart. Sam was gone—dead, you thought. Dean buried himself in the illusion of family, and you… well, you weren’t sure what you had anymore. There was no going back to who you were before the apocalypse, and your heart ached with unspoken feelings, ones that Dean never noticed.

He never loved you the way you loved him.

In the emptiness that followed, Crowley found you. The King of Hell always had impeccable timing. "You look like a stray," Crowley had said the night you crossed paths in some dingy bar in some forgotten town. "Lost your boys, I see. Shame. You were always good at what you do."

You could've walked away, but what was left? With nowhere to go and no one to fight for, you accepted Crowley’s offer—a devil's bargain, becoming a bounty hunter for Hell, tracking down Lucifer loyalists who still believed in the fallen archangel’s cause. It was dark work, but it was work, and it kept your mind from drowning in grief and longing.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Hunting for Crowley meant betraying everything you’d once stood for, but that world had abandoned you first.

Months later, you stood in the ruins of an old church, blood splattered across the stone walls and broken angelic statues depicting Saints. The demon you’d tracked was a fanatic, a true believer in Lucifer’s return. You wiped your blade clean, not even flinching as the body burned to ash behind you. It was mechanical now—kill, move on. Feel nothing.

Crowley appeared, as he often did after a job well done. He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something close to pride. "Well done, love. Another one bites the dust."

You didn’t respond, just holstered your blade and looked out into the night. The stars were out, a stark reminder of the heaven you couldn’t reach, of the angel who had left without a word.

"You know, I’ve always admired your efficiency," Crowley continued, walking up beside you. "But there’s something hollow in it. Still pining for the good ol' days? For Dean? You haven’t been the same since the Moose and Not Moose fled away from the lifestyle."

The mention of Dean's name sent a wave of cold through you, but you kept your face neutral. Crowley was good at finding cracks in your armor, but you weren’t going to let him in. Not tonight.

"He made his choice," you said flatly. "I made mine."

"Yes, yes, he’s playing house while you do the dirty work. How noble of him," Crowley mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you and I both know it’s eating you up inside. It’s killing you that he’s living a life that you so desperately crave with him."

You glanced at Crowley, your jaw tight. "What's your point?"

Crowley chuckled, his smile dark. "My point, darling, is that the past always catches up to us. Dean may think he can run from it, but he can’t. Sooner or later, he’ll come crawling back to this life—and to you. And when he does, what will you do? Welcome him with open arms? Or remind him of what he left behind?"

You stared at Crowley, his words sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could pretend that Dean didn’t matter anymore, that you had moved on. But the truth was, no matter how many demons you killed or how many deals you made, there was still a part of you that longed for the life you had before everything went to hell. The part that still loved him. The piece of yur heart where Dean and Sam would wake you up in the mornings with the scents of breakfast wafting through the morning air.

But the man Dean had become—the one who chose Lisa, who walked away without a word—wasn’t the man you had fallen for. Maybe he never was.

"I don’t owe him anything," you said, though your voice sounded hollow even to you.

Crowley’s grin widened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "That’s the spirit. But don’t be too quick to write him off. You never know when an old flame might reignite."

That night, alone in a dingy motel room, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your phone. You hadn’t tried calling Dean since the day he left, and you weren’t about to now. But your fingers hovered over Castiel’s number, the angel who had disappeared like smoke as Dean had done so long ago.

You had prayed to him, begged for his help, for some sign that you weren’t completely forsaken. But he, like Dean, was gone.

With a bitter sigh, you tossed the phone aside and laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Crowley was right. Maybe the past never really stayed buried. But what did it matter? You had made your choice, too. You had become something else—something darker, harder.Something you hardly recognized when you’d glanced at your reflection.

The only thing that lingered was the ache. The unspoken words, the love that was never returned, and the haunting thought that in another life, maybe things could have been different.

But this was the life you had now, and there was no going back.

Outside, the world continued its chaotic dance of light and shadow, of good and evil. And you, standing somewhere in between, were left to hunt in the darkness. Alone.

The wind howled against the motel window, but you barely noticed as sleep finally claimed you, the weight of a broken heart your only companion, not noticing the door opening to see a figure standing in the threshold holding a quickly packed luggage bag.

[PART TWO]

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[ratatoastwrites]

Playing house

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

[this was specifically written with s2 bratty(suffering from withdrawal)!Spencer in mind 🧚‍♀️]

Synopsis: “has a PhD in engineering and thinks that Ikea manuals are for stupid people” boyfriend vs “isn’t really a good handyman but is determined to follow the rules” s/o get into a bit of an argument 🫢

a/n: it’s me woo! did y’all miss me? 🌝 ofc u did!! 🥰 jkjk but umm i was inspired to write this bcuz i actually got a new chair from ikea a few days ago and i almost ripped out all my hair by the time i managed to put it together ✨ i was listening to the Like a Prayer EP from deadpool & wolverine for the whole two (2) hours it took me to put it together as well lmao 🪑 also, the pic on the left of the moodboard is my own ikea manual on the exact page i messed up!! fun 🧚‍♀️ also, did u guys like that i included a synopsis this time? i hope u did ;)

cw: light angst, arguing about something that shouldn’t really be a cause of an argument, reader has one (1) violent thought but doesn’t actually mean it and also doesn’t act on it ofc, allusion to Spencer’s addiction/withdrawal, some kinda unhealthy thoughts, Spencer is a bit 🤏 of an asshole in the beginning, mostly fluffy ending, also kinda rushed ending which is my bad :( sorry

“This is stupid. And you’re doing it wrong.”

You scoffed in exasperation at your boyfriend’s complaints, but otherwise kept your focus on the task at hand.

You’ve been trying to assemble your new desk chair for the past half hour, while Spencer loomed over your hunched figure, like an unhelpful little devil on your shoulder.

“Well, why don’t you do it then?”

You mumbled under your breath, not necessarily wanting him to hear. He did anyway.

“Well, I would. If you weren’t so insistent on using the manual.”

You could quite literally hear the eye roll in his tone, and while you usually didn’t mind his bratty attitude, right now it wasn’t helping your already frustrated mood.

“Oh, right. Silly me, using the manual that tells me how to assemble this piece of- furniture.”

You had to try your hardest not to start cursing, not wanting to let this swedish nightmare of a chair get the better of you. Spencer sighed behind you, and you were secretly hoping that it was a sigh of resignation.

“I have a PhD in engineering, do you really think that I don’t know how to assemble a chair from Ikea?”

Your hopes were proven to be futile, just like every other time you found yourself not seeing eye to eye with your boyfriend. You took a deep breath, not wanting to turn this petty argument into an actual fight.

“I don’t know, Spencer. And I’m not interested in finding out. I just don’t understand what you’re trying to prove by refusing the very idea of using the manual.”

Your tone became a little sharper by the end, although it wasn’t actually aimed at him. As you read over the manual again, you realised that you messed up the last step, cursing quietly under your breath as you had to undo the last eight screws in the armrests.

“Good thing you were using the manual.”

You were seriously contemplating throwing the screwdriver at your boyfriend’s smartass head after his smug comment. However, you just slowly put it down instead, before standing up from your place on the carpet, ignoring the crackling in your knees as you turned around to face him.

“Spencer, I love you more than words could describe, but you’re seriously getting on my last nerve right now. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, do not follow me please.”

You told him with eerie calmness, before walking out of the living room and towards the kitchen.

You tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at your stomach at how annoyed you’d gotten over something so trivial. You knew that he was going through a rough patch in his life, and you couldn’t blame him for being more annoying than usual. But you couldn’t always have the patience of a saint, and you were already quite worked up about that stupid chair.

‘I just need a few moments of peace. Then I’ll go back and pretend like everything is okay. As per usual.’

You tried telling yourself, blocking out the voices saying how unhealthy that sounded.

You went through the steps of making your tea, doing your best to silence the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest. By the time you finished your hot beverage and put your cup in the sink, all your previous frustrations were gone, replaced by only tiredness. The weight of the day weighed on your shoulders as you dragged yourself back to the living room, although the slight aching in your muscles quickly faded to the back of your mind when you took in the sight waiting for you in there.

“Wh- Spence?”

You were dumbfounded as you looked at your boyfriend, who was standing next to your -now assembled!- chair with a sheepish smile.

“I, uh, put it together for you. All according to the manual, of course.”

His tone was almost shy, and he gave you the sweetest puppy dog eyes imaginable, which never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“But I thought the manual was stupid.”

You stepped closer to him, still feeling a little confused, but your gaze softened in fondness as you looked at him. He shuffled on his feet a little, glancing between you and the chair awkwardly.

“It is. But it doesn’t matter. According to the studies, most healthy relationships are based on compromises. I guess I just realised that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately.”

You frowned at his words, stepping even closer to him, until you were almost toe to toe. You didn’t like it when he talked about himself like that, and he quickly understood your expression.

“You know it’s true. You’ve been nothing but patient and accepting since I… And I can’t even swallow my pride for an hour to help you put together a piece of furniture.”

He continued before you could argue, and your heart broke as he trailed off mid-sentence. You knew that it was hard for him to acknowledge what he was going through, and you really wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t do anything wrong. But you knew that those empty words of comfort wouldn’t do your relationship any good.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But Spence, I don’t want you to think that me being there for you is a chore, or a sacrifice. I’m being patient and accepting, because I love you.“

You told him, reaching your hands out to hold his, interlocking your fingers as you smiled at him softly.

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. And you being a little annoying about a stupid chair doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. Not to mention that you ended up putting it together for me.”

You nodded your head towards the aforementioned furniture next to you, squeezing his hand a bit tighter as you smiled at him fondly.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He said softly, tilting his forehead against yours.

“Negative. You deserve only good things in your life.”

You told him, before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The two of you didn’t always agree, and you could both be incredibly stubborn. But at the end of the day there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your beautiful, intelligent, sweetheart of a boyfriend, no matter how much he tested your patience. And you knew that he felt the exact same way about you.

🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

Bonus badly edited pic of Spencer in my new chair ✨

[namelessgakusei]

Devil May Cry x Reader

EP. 0

Warnings: it's dmc, based on the new Netflix series, reader insert fic, not proofread

Notes: I have like six drafts for Mark and major exams in a few days but I really, really need to get this out my system. Will fix this tomorrow or after exams. Add. note: Gaku of two days later here, hehehe I feel like a 13 year old that writes in wattpad again.

It happened during the night in Vatican City.

Birds cawed faintly outside, as the lull of the night comes to its peak. Statues of saints and historical figures lined up inside the building, serene and undisturbed by outside forces— all while ropes came down from a height and comes down a group of armed men.

The halls are silent, save for the occasional marching of Pontifical Swiss Guards on watch, spears in hand as they round the area. They fail to notice the intruders slipping past as their cameras get hacked and bombs get placed.

A single explosion started it all, as the way to the underground vaults was compromised. Guards take on their weapons, spears, which proved powerless against the men's bullets, ending with them all dead.

Display cases were broken and artifacts that looked like they have monetary value were seized as the thieves raided the vault. A single, ominous sword was left untouched due to its rusty and worn down state, in favor of the gold and rubies adorning the items around it.

"Well, this is awkward."

Immediately, the men went up with their arms pointed at the source of the voice, and out comes a man with a rabbit head, dressed formally and sauntering with poise. "I didn't realized the heist had such a specific dress code."

"And here I came in my Easter best."

The rabbit man grinned, his brooch, a single blue shard, glowed amidst the darkness.

Despite their initial confusion, the terrorists took aim at the creature before them. But their target easily lifted their hands in surrender, assuring that there's no need for violence while also sarcastically describing their nationality.

"Americans. Anything that doesn't fit your narrow understanding, you shoot, you bomb, or burn without hesitation."

The bunny man chuckled wryly, passing through the group with ease and heading towards the lone, intact glass case at the end of the room. "And look where it's gotten you."

"Four so-called soldiers of fortune stealing common stones for a mere 2.5 million," Instantly, the newcomer was surrounded, but the rabbit man paid no mind, opting to focus on the objective in front of him. The poor attempt of stanchions to prevent people from approaching the sword was easily slapped away. "—when there's something right in front of you that is beyond earthly value."

"How did you—?!"

"I was the one who offered it." The rabbit man cuts them off, pushing too hard on the glass to break it open. With a split of a moment, the sword was drawn and the corrosion that once covered its blade broke off, revealing its true form. Glowing ominously purple, the weapon thrummed with energy on the hands of its wielder.

"The Force Edge." Of course, the alarms went off the moment it was out of its fragile prison. "Sword of the demon knight, Sparda." Guards are heard from outside the vault, marching towards the source of alarm. "Ironic, isn't it?" The rabbit man smirked, sending fear coursing through the thieves. "That such a holy place would house the most powerful weapon of Hell?"

"Then again, Hell, as you call it, has always been the true heart of human religion." The rabbit man sneered at his co-conspirators. "You can curb the worst of your savageries only through collective fear and hatred of another world."

"My world."

At last, those men who surround him finally had enough, threatening him to give them their reward or the inevitable will happen. The rabbit man assured them that they'll receive what they are owed as he slices off the guy's neck with the sword. A glint appears in his eyes as the head rolls off. With a broad grin, the rabbit man parried the barrage of bullets shot at him, with it ricocheting off the walls and breaking the glass cases around them, realizing that they're being hit by their own bullets, they stopped, only to give the rabbit man a small opening to strike. With the strength that exceeds human capabilities, one of the men was thrown to a pillar by an elbow jab, breaking his insides as he bled to death. It was all for themselves as chaos ensued. Those who remain alive shot recklessly at nothing before they were either sliced or bludgeoned to death. The rabbit man giggled as he delivered the final blow, digging the sword down someone's throat as the Swiss Guards surround him, blanching at the grotesque sight.

"Here we stand together on the threshold of a new age," The bloodied white rabbit held out a detonator, grinning at the fearful guards. "The age of the Demon."

"This world is about to become much, much larger."

"Well, not for you." The rabbit man pressed the button, activating the bombs planted around the building, burying the humans alive as pillars fell onto them. Fire engulfed everything on sight, with the lone white rabbit standing at the center of it all, grinning maniacally.

EP. 1 INFERNO: A violent heist at a Vatican City museum sparks chaos, pulling unsuspecting demon hunters Dante and (Y/N) into a sinister plot to forge a rift between worlds.

EP. 1.1 IGNITION: After a botched demon hunting, you and Dante hoped for some reprieve in Fredy's diner, only to come face to face with Dante's long dead twin brother. EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION: His "brother" turned out to be a shapeshifting demon, who was targeting his mother's memento for some reason. Extra EP. 1.3 CONFLAGRATION: Unbeknownst to you and Dante, there are people plotting to bring the two of you down.

EP. 2 OUR LADY OF SORROWS: In Washington, DARKCOM gathers a group of mercenaries and offers a bounty to bring in Dante—and the family heirloom that hangs around his neck.

EP. 2.1: TBA

[livelaughlovesubs]

hellooo, i love your writing but im not used to sending asks so forgive me if anything is said poorly or if i do it wrong somehow, but i was curious if your up for writing obey me characters still?

if you are, could i request just ravaging asmo, like to the point where hes crying and not forming coherent sentences, and then just completely switching up after and giving super sweet aftercare? this is sort of inspired by the dazai aftercare post except i want the smut lmao

feel free to refuse or completely ignore this request if you dont feel up to it!

also could i be 🫶 anon? i looked through your anon list and im pretty sure that ones not taken!

remember to take care of yourself and take your time! i hope you're doing well! :)

-🫶

Hello hello~ don’t worry, you are doing great :] Also this will be my first time writing for obey me, bear with me alright? (I only got to chapter/ lesson 22 when I used to play it)

Dom!reader x sub!Asmodeus - reader is gender neutral

Warning: pegging (I use dick), hair pulling, marks, mind break, overstimulation, multiple rounds, a little exhibition?

Creaking sounds lingered around your ears, alongside the breathy moans of the male underneath you. These heavenly noises bounced off the walls, loud enough to seep through the cracks of the door. You were almost worried that other people would hear him, it would be pretty embarrassing at breakfast tomorrow. Though, asmo certainly wouldn’t mind, he’d even brag and show off his hickeys to everyone. How did you know? Because if he had any ounce of shame, he wouldn’t be screaming his lungs out like this. No one can tell you this little slut here doesn’t want his brothers to know he was getting used like a fleshlight.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment and slowing down, gathering some energy. What time was it, how long have you two been going at it? The stamina of a demon really was scary, to think he was still able to stay awake after was felt like an eternity. He was exhausted too, but he still wanted to keep going. “Haha..” you chuckled as you gazed at his messy face, smiling in amusement at the lewd display in front of you. Asmo was such a charming man, his hair had an indescribable colour that was unique to none other than him. Truly a marvellous gift from god himself. And now, it was sticking to his forehead, all wet due to the layer of sweat covering his skin.

His angelic face was fated to be his weapon for temptation, such a beauty was truly irresistible, befitting of his title as the avatar of lust. Those gorgeous golden eyes were shining like stars, lightening up each time you trusted deep inside him. You almost felt guilty, for defiling that innocent appearance of his. The saying of ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ was like tailored for him, for this devil with the most saint-like appearance you’ve ever came across. Everything he did was erotic and inviting, causing you to want to ruin him more. Until any traces of that natural pureness he had were wiped away by lust.

“AaahhGg~..! Oh, y/n, right thereeee mhHmm!!” Asmodeus moaned out your name, his voice sweet and coated with honey. His back was facing you, and he arched his body into a crescent shape. Hips and ass high in the air, while his face was being pushed into the very pillow he was hugging. One of your hands were tangled in his rose-tainted hair, switching up from stroking his locks to yanking on them whenever you saw fit. Each time you’d rough him up, he’d whimper shamelessly, grinning from ear to ear as he shakes his butt for you.

He was so beautiful right now. So very stunning. That once cheeky face now all decorated with tears and drool, all blushy like a maiden fresh in love. His eyes rolled back sometimes, as well as him sticking his tongue out and trembling in pleasure. Despite the impaling realisation that he would pass out if this continued any longer, he didn’t yield, only begging you to give him more. Who were you to deny your darlings wishes? You wanted to give him everything he wanted, even if it will cause him back pain for the days to come.

The other hand was on his hips, helping him holding his body up to meet your trusts. Your pace was a steady one, but pretty slow. That’s because your body was sore as well from pounding him for hours. Asmo didn’t mind it, because you were still so good at it, even if you were tired. Every time you drove your length inside him, it hit his abused and used prostate with such accuracy that he can’t help but cry out in bliss. “AhhNnGg! Harder~ ooOOhhH!!” His hole was all red and swollen, it was so puffy, yet he was still able to clench around you. You could feel his insides squeezing your dick, not letting you pull it out of him.

“Such a dirty boy, how did you survive so long without me?” You teased, pulling on his hair suddenly, ending with him throwing his head back with a yelp. “AhH! i- heh, I guess I wasn’t re-really living mHmm~ before meeting you then.” The demon answered, still capable of smiling at you, even if the said smile looked like the dumb grin of a cheap prostitute. “My my, your choice of words are still as romantic as ever. Can you handle another round, asmo?” His dick twitched at your words, leaking some more precum onto the puddle of semen beneath him. “HnGg, of co-course..! Ahh~ y/n, fuck me <3”

A smirk spread on your lips, and you let go of his light brown hair. Instead, you used both hands to hold his waist tightly, enough for it to bruise. “Then I won’t hold myself back.” You said, as a kind of warning. Asmo looked over his shoulder and your eyes met, the desire in his pupils were evident on his body as well as in your eyes. Another giggle slipped from your lips before you moved backwards, then snapping your hips against his in a fast pace. “AhGGhhH! Mo-moRRe!!” While the devil groaned out a series of encouragements for you to continue rutting into him like some beast, he could feel another orgasm approaching. His stomach curled so intensely, and electricity was coursing through his body.

The expression on his face was so dumb, so fucked out of it that he looked like he lost his mind. As if he succumbed to pleasure, him, the very fundament of lust. “Ah.. damn it, you are such a pretty boy asmo.. heh.” You complimented him among all these ruthless thrusts, it was a gentleness he didn’t know he needed to spill over the edge. “NgHHh! Uh-uhMm, I’m cu-cummINNgG <3!!” More tears rolled down his messy cheeks as his orgasm washed over him, this time he didn’t look as sane as before. No, he looked like he was drunk on the ecstasy and pleasure. It was so good, so so so good he couldn’t fathom it! It crashed down on him and his poor, slim body in waves, it was more than what he could handle!

Hearts were sparkling in his pupils, and his hands clutched the pillow so hard that it ripped. He even accidentally switched to his demon form, so his horns, wings and tail popped out. At this point he couldn’t think nor speak properly anymore, only repeating the same phrases like a broken radio. Whines and gasps of pleasure continued to fill the room of the boy, and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth like some dog in heat. Ropes of cum spurt out of his dick, dirtying the sheets below him. His thighs quivered, some of his slick also ran down his inner thighs. After helping him ride out his high, you slowly and gently pulled the cock out of him. Then, you also released his hips.

Two imprints of your hands were left behind, and you couldn’t hide a sadistic smirk. To your surprise asmo whispered to you in a meek voice, “keep.. mhm, holding me..” He was just a twitchy something now, limping on his bed while his brain was still processing all the sensations. It was simply too much, he was going to take a while until he’ll be responsive again. Even so he still craved your touch, he did have an adorable side to him didn’t he?

“I’ll, if that’s what you want.” You replied and grabbed his tiny waist again, this time you leaned down and pressed your body against his. After waiting and taking a break for a new minutes, you kissed his neck softly, before mumbling quietly, “wanna go wash up now, love?” Not once have you left his side while waiting patiently, giving him some time to reorganise. “Hmmm… can’t we stay like t-this a tad longer?” Asmo pouted and sighed, already feeling sore and the aftermath of the long session. God, he was still stumbling over his words! Just how hard did you fuck him? He will definitely walk funnily tomorrow, if he can even stand on his own two legs. “We can still cuddle after taking a shower. Come on, you go first while I clean up.” You suggested, knowing that he was totally out of energy.

“Nuuu! I want to stay like this! Pleaseeee? Pretty please??” He blinked at you, looking at you with puppy eyes, knowing that this trick always works on you. “Ugh! Fine, fine, if that’s what my princess here wants.” You sighed, acting annoyed at him doing as he pleased. “Hehe~” the devil laughed satisfied, resting his chin on the pillow as he enjoyed your touch. Next thing he knew you kissed his cheeks, while tugging his still chaotic hair behind his ear. While you did those things, you said with a little smile, “You did well asmo, I’m so proud of you.”

Huh. Where did that come from? Out of nowhere his face heated up again, and that right after you thought he had calmed down. “Aww, you are so cute y/n!” He responded immediately, though a hint of nervousness was laced and hidden behind his voice. Was the avatar of lust perhaps flustered or embarrassed about your words? Pff. You laughed in his face, before giving his forehead a peck. “Ahh~ I love you, my prince.”

[aethon-recs]

This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (7 – 19 December 2024)

Last week, the Tomarrymort tag on AO3 has officially surpassed 15,000 fics — congratulations to all the authors on their contributions! And the completed fic this week has also been super impressive, including a 152k longfic drop. Onto the updates!

Completed Fic:

Burning the Animal Skin by beetaker (E, 152k, complete)

Harry can't believe he Imprinted on Voldemort, his body apparently so desperate for a guide in navigating these strange Alphan waters that it latched onto the first one it could find. Never mind that this Alpha wants to kill him.

Machine Men by @izharmilgram (E, 5k, complete)

Harry discovers Lord Voldemort is transgender, and he's really fucking hung up about it.

Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry (M, 87k, complete)

“You’re really quite a delight, Harry. I can’t believe I went weeks thinking you were useless and boring.” Somehow, unwittingly, Harry finds himself engaged to Tom Riddle. He’s not entirely sure how that happened.

In the Shape of Fear, Erised by @rowena-rain (E, 16k, complete)

Harry sneaks into Lupin’s office late at night, determined to banish his recurring nightmares of a certain devastatingly handsome future Dark Lord once and for all. But things quickly spiral into depravity, and before he knows it, Harry is getting thoroughly railed by a boggart in the form of Diary Tom Riddle... Or is it?

*

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Complete | Chapters 1 through 10 of Burning the Animal Skin by beetaker

Complete | Chapters 1 and 2 of Machine Men by @izharmilgram

Complete | Chapters 1 and 2 of Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry

Complete | Chapter 2 of In the Shape of Fear, Erised by @rowena-rain

One Shot | misconceiving by @satflesk22

One Shot | To be Watched by @cyandenial

One Shot | Ceaseless Appetence by Lytri 

One Shot | Bay Tine by @cindle-writes

One Shot | Head injuries and hot cocoa by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts

One Shot | Customer Service by lilacscented

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 23 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapter 12 of Strings of Fate by @solelyseeking

Chapter 17 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3 

Chapter 14 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 10 of Stygian by @crowcrowcrowthing

Chapter 1 of conditional decay by @duplicitywrites

Chapter 11 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 10 of you speak of the devil (like he's not your friend) by @amuria

Chapter 17 of Hole in the Wall by @elddrmot

Chapters 138 and 139 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis 

Chapter 5 of Goodbye Evergreen by @v33r00 

Chapters 3 through 5 of the night is cold in the kingdom by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 20 of with eyes like these (who sees anybody else) by @cealesti

Chapter 4 of Solitude by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 9 of Fractured Souls by moonyunoo

Chapter 27 of Time Stumbler by @wintumnly

Chapter 2 of Part Two - To Grow a Heart by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapters 22 and 23 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapter 1 of Asynchronous by beanclip 

Chapters 9 and 10  of we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands by @boyneptunee

Chapter 19 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 12 of Venom or Valor by @lightningant

Chapter 2 of baby, turn the bright lights on by @ictyn

Chapter 2 of The Stubborn Hunger by @marrythemonstersao3

Chapter 9 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

*

[curpstomb]

⚜️ the hughes saga ⚜️

explanation below!

in the first drawing quinn is portrayed as a saint, which are regarded as the closest thing a normal human can be to holy. i think the canucks fanbase and the nhl in general definitely see quinn in a similar lens. saints are also usually figures of guidance (captain!), wonder workers (self explanatory), and martyrs/bearers of heavy burdens (he's carrying fr 😭). the tear of blood is a nod to the statues of mary that cry blood, which are taken as an indication that repentance is needed. i figured that would be appropriate given the state of our team right now (😞).

jack is portrayed with the devil behind him like he's a pawn being steered by the devil, but a lot of people misconstrued the visual and thought the horns were HIS, thus him being the devil. i am actually obsessed with this and how the narrative is just writing itself here. there's a lot to be said about public perception when it comes to jack, and i feel like somehow this captured that.

luke!! luke's idea was not the original plan funnily enough. i just want to reiterate that he is NOT meant to be jesus but i really like the lamb of god imagery. The lamb being born with a specific purpose as an agent of god felt like the best representation for someone who is the youngest in a long legacy of hockey. born into expectation, destined for something big from the get-go. also attributes like purity and obedience. yeh. (also i am a third sibling projecting)

i am potentially out of my element here but i really enjoyed making these and reading and planning all the details!! rlly fond of this style so expect many others to come.

also! there's an homage to jack and quinn in luke's drawing! see if u can find it :3

[writers-potion]

Writing Magicians

If you are drafting or deepening a magician character, consider these personality traits and common characteristics of magicians. Your magician doesn't have to be set in stone or have all of these traits.

Intelligent

Magic requires a critical, quick, analytical mind to practice and implement. Must be capable of making difficult decisions.

Good Memory

For memorizing spells, potions ingredient lists, rituals and anatomy of magical creatures.

Creative

Magicians need to adapt existing spells and rituals to the situation

Self-disciplined and focused

Casting a spell or conducting a ritual requires the magicians to have unwavering focus and self-control.

Patient

Magic takes time to practice, especially if it's not a talent that you're born with. You also need patience to calm your human sacrifices down and make those stupider than you understand what's going on.

Highly trained

Mere talent is not enough. Practice - and pain - makes perfect.

Specialist

Magicians will have a spell/an element/a potion they are exceptionally good at

Musical

Many forms of magic involve drumming or chanting, or even singing.

Spiritual

Many forms of magic are linked with religious practices or concepts. Your magician might be heralded as a spiritual saint, or hunted for being a heathen.

Prayers are often a part of magic rituals.

Studious

Magicians are always keen to learn more, expanding their skills range, acquiring news spells, understanding different forms of magic and exploring scientific subjects.

Many magicians will amass books, or sign up for every available online class.

Well-orgnized and Methodical

The best magicians always have information and ingredients at hand and know where to find them.

They prepare thoroughly before rituals and have Plan B,C,D ready

Introvert

Many magicians like quietude and solitude in which they can recharge to practice a new spell in peace.

However, some magicians love social gatherings, maybe even showing off their power.

Ethical

Magic gives a person power, and requires moral judgements to apply this power wisely. You magician protagonist will be ethically challenged, but pull through difficult decisions guided by his good heart.

You magician villains, of course, will fall due to their unethical practice of power.

Sharp Sense

Your magician is likely to have a goos sense of smell/sight/sound, so that they can tell poisons part and catch the exact note of the chant.

Descended from Magicians

Magic is often portrayed as a talent that is passed down generations. It can be of blood (you must have "magical blood", so to speak), or it can be a guarded family secret.

On the flip side, your hero can be the only one with magical talent in a family with no such powers.

Psychic

Although magical and psychic gifts are separate matters, the power of foresight is often considered a branch of magic.

If your hero is a psychic, make sure it has limitations and consequences!

Day Job

Few magicians practice openly. Even if the magician earns money from her practice, she'd want to disguise her identity and pretend to work a more everyday job.

Many modern magicians work in the medical sector; other are employed in scientific, engineering or the arts field.

Pet

Magicians are known for thei close relationships with animals.

This can be a typical pet, or a mythical animal, or perhaps an incarnation of the devil, who knows?

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