#sobbing while over-sharpening

[stormbabylore]

Glamtober | Day 31: Spooky or Supernatural

...alksdjflajksdf. (° - º ς)

Anyway, so I have the hots for a completely OOC AU evil version of my character, now. Aeryn as Ascian, maybe? (♡⌄♡) This might officially be my favorite set.

[gyuuberryy]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌 !

pairing: venom!jay x reader

genre: venom au, one sided rivalry, loser!jay, office coworkers, superhero

synopsis: when a geeky coworker’s transformation catches your eye, curiosity leads to a discovery far darker—and more thrilling—than you ever imagined. now, blackmail has you entangled with jay and his possessive alter ego, venom, in a dangerous game neither of you wants to end.

warnings: kissing, fighting, venom??

note: where are my marvel girlies at whoo hoo! venom is so pookie and my biggest "hear me out" hehe he got me sobbing in the theatre. jay as venom would be SO hot kjvfbvnjb >< so i wrote this to make up for me going mia for a while, i have too much school work so writing will be slow. anyway enjoyyy reading!!

word count: 2.5k

your office life was a balancing act between emails, deadlines, and… keeping your one-sided rivalry with park jongseong alive. jay(as everyone else called him), with his slightly too-short ties and endearing but tragic fashion sense, was the clueless office geek. he was awkward, quiet, and too nice for his own good. yet, no matter how awkward he was, jay always managed to excel in everything he did, effortlessly snagging the praise you thought should have been yours.

what irritated you most was that jay never seemed to notice your rivalry. he was too busy offering you help or giving you his signature polite, bumbling smile. and sometimes, you’d even catch yourself watching him a little too closely, feeling a reluctant warmth for his harmless, good-guy charm.

one afternoon, you wandered over to his desk, smirking as you noticed his usual setup: notebooks organised to the millimetre, a stack of neatly sharpened pencils, and a sticky note that read “be confident!” in his looping handwriting.

he looked up as you approached, adjusting his slightly crooked glasses and giving you a shy smile.

“hey, park,” you began, leaning casually against his desk. “did you remember to double-check the new client report? i know how thorough you like to be.”

jay blinked, his cheeks turning pink. “y-yeah, i went over it twice… just to make sure everything was right.”

“of course you did,” you replied with a playful eye roll. “wouldn’t want our employee of the month slipping up, now would we?”

he smiled, looking down at his notebook. “just doing my best.”

you shook your head, laughing softly. for some reason, you loved seeing him blush, getting him all flustered with a few well-placed jabs. jay was sweet, awkward, and, despite your constant teasing, he never seemed to hold it against you.

but the next week, everything changed.

jay showed up to work that monday looking like a different person. gone were the slightly wrinkled shirts and too-short ties. instead, he wore a fitted, charcoal button-down with the top few buttons undone, revealing a silver chain against his collarbone. his sleeves were rolled up, showing his forearms in a way that made you do a double-take. and he’d traded his old glasses for sleek, dark-rimmed ones that suited him way too well, giving him a smouldering look.

you did a double take as he walked by, giving you a casual, confident nod. “morning,” he said, his voice low and smooth. the bumbling, endearing jay you knew was nowhere to be found.

you shook it off, convincing yourself it was just a fluke. but over the next few days, you couldn’t ignore the transformation.

he traded in his ill-fitting clothes for tailored shirts, stylish watches, and a few artfully unbuttoned collars that showed off his neck and a hint of muscle. it seemed like his glasses had now permanently changed, now sleek and sophisticated, accentuating his jawline in a way that made you, against your better judgement, find yourself staring a little too long.

and it wasn’t just his style—jay’s entire demeanour was different. instead of blushing and stuttering, he’d catch you looking, smirking with a confidence that left you flustered.

one afternoon, you approached him, determined to regain some control of the dynamic. “wow, park,” you said, crossing your arms. “fancy new look. trying to impress someone?”

he looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “why? is it working?”

your cheeks heated, but you forced a laugh. “don’t flatter yourself.”

“oh, i don’t need to,” he replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “you do a pretty good job of that.”

his words left you speechless, your usual comebacks fizzling as he held your gaze with a smirk. flustered, you turned away, cursing under your breath.

when had park jongseong become… hot?

over the next week, his flirtations continued, growing bolder and more direct. every time you tried to tease him, he’d have a response that left you stumbling. gone was the stammering, geeky coworker you used to playfully bully; in his place was someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin, his newfound confidence throwing you off balance.

but one night after work, things took an unexpected turn.

you’d noticed him acting strange, glancing at his arms as though trying to keep something in check. he slipped out of the office quickly that evening, his face tense, and curiosity got the best of you. you followed him, keeping your distance as he made his way down the street, eventually ducking into a dark alleyway.

hiding behind the corner, you peeked around, pulling out your phone and hitting “record” just in case. what you saw left you speechless.

jay was standing in the middle of the alley, his body tense, his hands clutching his head. dark, inky shadows pulsed along his arms, twisting and curling like tendrils wrapping around him. his posture shifted, his shoulders straightening as the shadows coiled around his body, transforming him into something that was equal parts terrifying and mesmerising.

suddenly, jay let out a deep, guttural growl, his face contorting as sharp, gleaming fangs appeared, his once-soft eyes turning pitch black.

“finally,” a rough, raspy voice rumbled, oozing from jay’s mouth with a sinister excitement. “let’s go for a little… snack.”

a cold chill shot through you as you held up your phone, capturing the whole transformation on video. your heart was racing, but you couldn’t look away. whatever was happening to jay was unlike anything you’d ever seen.

as he turned, his gaze fell on the man who’d appeared in the alley, a figure holding a crowbar, his face twisted in anger. jay’s lips twisted into a wicked grin as he stalked toward the man, his voice dropping into a dark, predatory tone.

“ohhh, you picked the wrong guy to mess with tonight,” the voice sneered, dripping with a twisted glee. “i am going to enjoy this.”

the man froze, his face paling as jay’s shadows coiled around him, binding him in place. jay’s grin widened, his fangs gleaming as he leaned in close.

“run along, before i decide you’d make a nice little snack,” he growled, his voice a terrifying blend of jay’s and something far darker.

the man didn’t hesitate, stumbling away into the shadows. but as jay straightened, his gaze flickered over to you, and his eyes narrowed. in a heartbeat, he was in front of you, his inky black tendrils stretching out to trap you, pinning you against the wall.

you swallowed, trying to keep your breathing steady as he loomed over you, his dark, twisted grin sending a thrill of both fear and fascination through you.

“you… got that on video?” he murmured, his voice back to normal but tinged with a rough edge.

you held up your phone, smirking. “every second of it.”

his eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, and he leaned closer, his face inches from yours. “we could just… eat you, you know. save ourselves a lot of trouble.”

you raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “please. you didn’t even eat that guy. there’s no way you’d hurt me.”

he chuckled, the sound low and dark, his gaze flicking over your face. “hmm, true… i like you too much for that.”

the words left you breathless, your heart skipping a beat as you stared up at him, stunned. his face softened, a small, genuine smile replacing the sinister grin.

“so… about that video,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

regaining your composure, you smirked, crossing your arms as best you could with his tendrils pinning you to the wall. “i think i’ll keep it… as insurance. you know, just in case you feel like getting hungry again.”

he tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “so… what, you’re blackmailing me now?”

“exactly,” you replied, your grin widening. “you’re going to help me out with a few things, and i’m going to keep my mouth shut about your… secret.”

jay sighed, the shadows retracting as he released you, though he kept his gaze locked on yours. “fine. but don’t push it.”

you grinned, savouring the thrill of having the upper hand. “deal.”

over the next few weeks, you took full advantage of your “arrangement.” you had him running errands, fixing things around your apartment, and even carrying your heavy boxes at work. gone was the bumbling, geeky jay you’d known, replaced with someone who wielded both power and confidence—and didn’t hesitate to let you know it.

curiosity getting the best of you one day, you found yourself pulling him aside. “so… about your little… transformation,” you began, eyeing him carefully. “is he, like, a shadow monster or something?”

jay’s eyes widened, and he looked genuinely affronted. “shadow monster?” he repeated, crossing his arms. “he’s a symbiote. and he’s got a name, thank you very much.”

you raised an eyebrow. “a symbiote? i mean, he looks pretty shadowy to me.”

jay sighed, clearly unimpressed with your description. “no, he’s not ‘shadowy.’ he’s a sentient being that forms a bond with his host—me. he’s venom,” jay clarified, the name coming out almost reverently, and with a slight glint in his eye.

“oh, i see. so, he’s a person?”

“well, he has his own… opinions,” jay replied, wincing as he paused. “we’re a package deal, so to speak.”

“damn right, a package deal,” a deep, gravelly voice suddenly rumbled from within jay, and you felt a slight chill as the symbiote made its presence known.

you stared, both amazed and slightly unnerved. “oh… hey there, venom.”

venom chuckled, the sound reverberating low and menacing. “hello, sweetheart. i hear you think i’m a 'shadow monster.' "

jay rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly exasperated, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he said, “see? he doesn’t like being called that.”

you smirked, glancing at jay and then back at venom. “got it, venom,” you replied, a teasing lilt to your voice. “no shadow monster remarks. i’ll be sure to remember that.”

that evening, you called him over to help fix a squeaky window in your apartment. when he arrived, his sleeves were rolled up, and those dark tendrils emerged, forming into tools as he worked. you couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as he tightened the screws effortlessly, his movements precise and fluid.

he glanced over his shoulder, catching you staring. “see something you like, darling?” he teased, his voice low, laced with that familiar dark humour.

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “keep dreaming, park.”

jay smirked, his gaze flicking over you with a look that was anything but innocent. “oh, i don’t have to dream.”

your face heated, but before you could respond, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you know, all you have to do is say the word.”

flustered, you quickly turned away, ignoring the smug grin on his face.

one night, as you were heading home from work, you felt someone following you. before you could react, a man grabbed your arm, yanking you into a dark alley. panic surged through you, your heart hammering as you struggled against his grip. but before you could scream, a low, guttural growl echoed from the shadows.

jay emerged from the darkness, his face twisted into a terrifying, fanged grin, his body wrapped in shadows that made him look both monstrous and mesmerising. he moved faster than you’d ever seen, dark tendrils coiling around the man’s arms, pinning him against the wall with a force that made your would-be attacker whimper.

“didn’t anyone tell you?” he snarled, his voice laced with dark satisfaction, his grin widening to show those gleaming fangs. “not to mess with what's ours.”

the man’s face turned ghostly white as he struggled against jay’s grip, terror flooding his eyes. jay’s smirk only grew, his shadowed form tightening its hold as he leaned in close, as if savouring every second of the man’s fear.

“i should just eat you,” jay’s voice growled, laced with menace and barely-concealed delight. “but you’re too pathetic for even a snack.” with a dismissive sneer, he released the man, letting him stumble away in blind terror, tripping over himself as he fled into the night.

when you looked back at jay, his inky tendrils had retracted, his monstrous form dissolving into something closer to the man you knew. yet his eyes still held that dangerous, possessive glint, and his breathing was still heavy, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made your pulse race.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge of something raw and wild. his hand moved to rest on your arm, fingers lingering as if to reassure himself you were safe.

you nodded, swallowing as you tried to steady your breathing. “thanks to you…”

a wicked chuckle escaped him, his head tilting as his eyes darkened with a new, eerie glow. you could feel the presence of that “other” entity in him, lurking just beneath the surface. “oh, she’s safe with us,” it rumbled, making your skin prickle. “but i think she owes us something, don’t you, jay?”

jay’s gaze softened for a moment before that twisted smile took over again, his features shifting, the shadows flickering as he allowed his alter ego to take control.

“you really think i owe you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thrill that coursed through you.

“absolutely,” jay, or rather venom replied, his grin widening. “we didn’t just save you. we protected what’s ours. and i think a little… reward is in order.”

you arched an eyebrow, unwilling to back down. “and what kind of reward does a shadow monster want?”

jay leaned closer, his breath warm and tinged with something dark. “i have a few ideas.” he chuckled, his sharp fangs glinting in the low light. “but don’t worry, sweetheart. we won’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

your cheeks flushed despite yourself, but you kept your cool. “i don’t think you’re as scary as you want me to believe,” you teased, meeting his dark gaze. “you wouldn’t hurt me.”

his eyes gleamed with amusement. “oh, i could… but where’s the fun in that?” he tilted his head, observing you with a dark curiosity. “besides… jay likes you too much. and, maybe… so do i.”

the admission left you momentarily breathless, your heart pounding as you stared up at him. just as you were about to respond, his face softened, his gaze flicking to your lips before he leaned in.

without waiting another second, jay captured your mouth in a fierce, consuming kiss. the roughness in his embrace was offset by a possessive tenderness that made you melt, your hands gripping his shirt as he pulled you closer.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes flickered between jay’s gentle warmth and venom’s dark amusement. “so, boss,” he murmured, his voice laced with that familiar, playful edge, “any other tasks?”

with a grin, you pulled him closer, “i think i can come up with a few.”

jay chuckled approvingly, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “good… because we’re just getting started.”

and with that, he leaned in once more, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that promised this was only the beginning of a thrilling, dangerous new game.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[reiderwriter]

The Thrill of the Chase

Chapter Seven of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Waking up in Spencer's arms suddenly feels wrong, but you have to convince him everything is fine before your big secret is revealed.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, and triggers for emetophobia.

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Seven!! It's been a bit of a hectic week for me, so this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! It's crazy to think there are only three chapters left now!

Masterlist || (tag list is currently being repaired, thanks tumblr)

When you woke up, you immediately wish you hadn't. 

The comfortable position immediately became a crick in your neck. The warm fuzz of sleep became sharpened memories of the night before. Your bed became Spencer Reid, though of course it did. 

If you were stiff, you were so sure he was. 

While you'd been wedged between his head and his shoulders, fitting nearly perfectly into his shoulder, he'd been forced up against the sofa, head pushed down at an awkward angle as he tried, and failed, to get comfortable.  

You blinked your eyes open and immediately closed them again as you cursed inwardly.  

 You wondered how you were going to extricate yourself from the solid grip he still had on your hips, but you weren't wondering for long.  

Not when the second time opening your eyes had your stomach somersaulting in your belly, a pair of legs or a head or something pushed right up against everything you'd eaten in the last 24 hours. 

You shot up, not caring if you woke him but absolutely caring that you didn't throw up all over him.  

He joked awake and only  really gained full consciousness when you bolted the bathroom door shut behind you.  

He tried his best to shake off that sleepy feeling, the fatigue of sleeping somewhere unfamiliar. For a second, he felt a pang of sympathy for you, having spent a full week sleeping in unfamiliar territory.

Truthfully, he'd been able to sleep just fine on the couch. His back was stiff, but it was nothing like the ache of the solid prison beds. He wasn't alone at least. 15 years with the FBI, and Spencer had seen enough to never want to sleep soundly again, but you had put your head on his chest and he'd gone from horny to humming contented as he slipped into sleep. 

It was his own relaxed state that had his senses sharpening as he heard the tell-tale signs of your morning sickness. You wretched and heaved over the toilet, mostly expelling nothing except all your comfort and joy. 

Whoever said the female body was purpose built for baby making obviously had never been through it themselves, as it seemed your body was more than likely trying to destroy itself to create life. You weren't even sure what was even left in your stomach at this point.

Spencer knocked quietly at the door. 

“Y/N? Do you need something?” He called, resting his still weary head on the door. 

“No.” You called back, tone a lot sharper than you intended. 

“Come on, what's going on in there?” He asked, still calm and content. Your only reply was another dry heave and a shaky sob of pain. 

You heard his footsteps retreat from the door as your head collapsed against the porcelain, and you rode out your pain once again. 

When he returned, his voice was firmer. 

“Y/N, we have a doctors appointment in 45 minutes at a clinic across town. If you can, open the door.”

“No!” You cried, throat closing up in panic as you heard his words. You weren't sure whether to be pissed at his presumption, steam-rolling you into a doctor's visit even though you knew exactly what it was that was wrong with you, or happy that he even cared enough to ask. 

Either way, you hadn't the energy to lift yourself up and open the door for him. 

You laid back on his bathroom floor and closed your eyes, the cool floor wholly more comfortable than the toilet had been.

You didn't get to relish it for long, though, before he had beaten the door down. You barely registered the first shoulder push before the second one carefully carried Spencer into the room.

He took one look at you and lifted you into a sitting position, even as you groaned, your head now pounding.

“Spencer, leave me alone,” you moaned, even as you hugged closer to him. He pulled you up to a standing position but kept his hands locked around yours carefully and walked you out to the front door, effectively marching you to the door before you could even tell him there had been a misunderstanding. 

You came up with every excuse in the book to get out of the car, bit you didn't have the time to utter a single one before he was strapping you in gently, closing the door behind you, climbing in himself and starting the engine.

“This is a misunderstanding,” you said, as your morning sickness began to fade rapidly. Finally. 

“Oh, so you weren't throwing up?” 

“No, I was but-”

“But what?”

“I do it every day,” you said quietly, knowing it was only going to confuse him more. 

“Then we're absolutely going to see a doctor.” 

You said nothing for the rest of the ride there, staring instead out the window as you felt your world implode beside you. 

In the doctors waiting room, Spencer sorted your insurance and medical details, checking boxes and dealing with the desk staff as you sat silently in the corner. 

You knew you couldn't hold off telling him much longer. Your body had already begun changing, stomach expanding just enough to be noticeable now you were approaching five months. It's why you hadn't changed clothes around him, hoping that he'd just assumed the change of scenery and stress had led you to gain some weight.

Still, you didn't want your hand forced like this.

“Miss Y/N,” a nurse asked from the desk, and you instinctively replied “Doctor,” though that really wasn't relevant here of all places. 

You stood, and Spencer stood with you. 

“No,” you said immediately, as he began to march to the doctors office. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Spencer, you…you can't come in with me.” 

“Why not? You're sick, you're suffering, you probably aren't even aware of your symptoms, Y/N. I have to make sure the doctor knows everything so he can accurately diagnose you.”

“Spencer,” you said, closing your eyes as your tone grew angry, attempting to calm yourself down. 

“You are not my father, legal guardian, and you're certainly not my husband. You are a colleague I have been forced to share an apartment with because there is some maniac possibly stalking me, though I haven't heard anything about that in a full week. So,” you said, dropping your voice to a whisper and stepping closer. “Back the fuck off and stop acting like I'm some pet project you have to take care of. I'm not a victim, I can talk to a doctor alone.”

You turned and left him in the waiting room, and went to apologise to the doctor for wasting his time. 

Luckily, the doctor was more than understanding of the situation. Even after you subtly undermined her professionalism by asking she really stick to her HIPAA oaths or whatever and not let on any information to Spencer at all. 

You knew you had to tell him. You were beginning to sound like a broken record in your own head, and you knew it. But you were sure as hell telling him on your own terms. 

“Could I possibly make a quick phone call while we're here?” You asked as the doctor performed a quick check up on your baby. You got the go-ahead and dialled Emily's number immediately. 

“Y/N, hello. What is it, is something wrong?” she asked as she picked up. 

“No, I'm… Emily. I'm going to be honest with you now, and I need your full cooperation. You can't speak a word of this to anyone, especially Spencer.” 

A moment of hesitation on the other line, and then she agreed. 

“I'm pregnant,” you said. “Spencer is the father.”

“I know,” Emily admitted, sighing slightly. 

“Penelope?” You asked, hoping that you didn't have to make another call after this.

“Penelope knows? Irrelevant, sorry. No, there was an ultrasound picture on your desk last week. And I'm good at my job.”

“Is Spencer good at his?” You asked, not sure you wanted a truthful answer. The only thing worse than Spencer finding out you were pregnant by himself was him finding out by himself and not telling you this entire time, his resentment building. 

“Yes. But he isn't good at anything when you're around.”

“He's good at pissing me off,” you scoffed, but it caught somewhere in your throat and turned into a sob. 

“I'm sorry, I just-” you started crying and your doctor offered you a tissue. 

“Y/N, what happened?” 

You explained the morning to Emily. Except that you didn't explain your predicament fully, so you explained your week, and then your month, and then eventually your entire acquaintance with Spencer Reid.

“So, yeah,” you ended, chest still shaking with quiet sobs. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked, and you replied as honestly as you could muster. 

“I don't know.” 

You wiped tears and continued before Emily could say anything else.

“But I need time to think about how to tell him again, and I need space. Can you call him into the office?” 

“He's at the doctor's office with you?” 

“He tried to come into the appointment with me. I yelled at him.”

“You do that often.”

“It's the only thing that works,” you sighed, and continued. “Please, Emily?” 

“I'll call him with an excuse. JJ’s close by, I'll have her come and pick you up while the doctor fills your prescription.”

You smiled and felt the pressure wash off your shoulders as you hung up. 

Then you stepped out of the doctors office and back into the waiting room and were almost knocked back on your ass when you spotted Spencer in the corner of the room. 

He was exactly where you'd left him, bit at some point the waiting room had been populated by young mothers, and Spencer was now animatedly locked in a conversation with a toddling small boy, playing with the toys as he passed the time. 

Your lip wobbled and you almost broke down before he looked up at you and you blinked back the tears. 

He gave you a confused smile, checking that you were okay before you nodded. 

You didn't move to join him, though, and like clockwork, his phone rang. He excused himself, pointing at his phone to let you know where he was going, and you finally breathed easily, knowing that Emily was sticking to her promise. 

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 30: something wrong

NOTES: this took longer than i thought 💀 anw it was more tamed than i imagined omg yay!! ^^

Scaramouche thought the car ride home was plenty suffocating, but nothing could compare to how heavy the air was once he got home with his mother.

An extensive home that is reasonably far from other neighboring houses, with a spacious lot surrounding the house itself. It could've been such a perfect home — if not for the two broken people living in it.

As his mother remained silent while the two of them exited the car, Scaramouche thought he had at least the whole night to prepare for his mother's outburst. Alas, they haven't even made it to the front door yet, and he had already started hearing something.

"Kunikuzushi."

He merely turned to her, not even saying a word.

"Just what happened?" Scaramouche could not get something from his mother's voice at all. She wasn't yelling — it would be out of character for her to do so anyway. But she obviously wasn't happy either. But at least it wasn't that cold, too?

At a loss for words, the young man forced himself to focus his gaze on one random thing, perhaps the grass peacefully lying on their front yard.

'I'll just have to let her say anything and everything she wants to say, and I'll say nothing. And then tomorrow, we'll just continue like nothing happened,' he thought.

And so he did, letting his mother's words pass through one ear to the other. 'How can you let yourself play like that', 'how can you allow people to see you like that', 'just what would they say about you now', 'this isn't what we trained for'... Nothing he wasn't used to. It was all alright. He can go through another sermon session just fine.

Until he was knocked out of his stupor by a certain statement from his mother.

"Perhaps I should've gotten between you and that companion of yours I saw in the freedom wall. I think she is distracting you, maybe you should stay away from her."

A sudden surge of rage came over him, prompting him to finally meet eyes with his own mother. Ei was slightly taken aback, not used to receiving such a hateful look from her one and only son.

"What?"

The woman could not utter a response, still in shock at the state her son is in. She was so used to him being so indifferent whenever they talk, making it seem as if her advices and sermons have no effect at the slightest.

Meanwhile, Scaramouche, at the lack of response from his mother, could not stop himself anymore.

Scaramouche felt like a balloon — thinned, worn out, and keeping too much inside.

Much more than he could handle.

And his mother's words that night felt like a sharpened needle.

"Why the fuck do I always have to do what you tell me?" He finally snapped.

"What?"

"Can't you see that I'm trying?! And yet you always see something!" Scaramouche gritted his teeth.

"You always see something to criticize! You always see something like a flaw! You always see something wrong!" He yelled, shortly followed by a bitter laugh. "Heck, maybe you even consider my birth to be something wrong."

A swift slap cut him off.

Somehow, the physical pain inflicted by his mother got him out of his continuous outbursts, replacing his seething anger with shock. No matter how cold and strict his mother was, she had never gotten physical with him.

Refusing to believe what just happened, a wondering Scaramouche looked back up to his mother's face — only to see her eyes dripping and her cheeks stained.

'Are those tears?'

'My mother... crying?'

"How could you say something like that Kunikuzushi?"

"How can you treat your life so lightly like that?" Ei sobbed. "Your birth wasn't something wrong — it was the most beautiful thing that happened to me."

The young man just stared at her, probably in disbelief.

"You are my son, a part of me, something even more important than myself —"

"— and that's why I never wish to see you hurt."

"Hah," Scaramouche scoffed. "Really?"

The man could not do anything but laugh ironically. She doesn't want to see him hurt, she says?

'I hate to break it to you mom, but you've been doing that for so long.'

How many lies would she feed him tonight?

"I don't want you to suddenly commit a mistake while playing, put yourself to shame, and be unnecessarily criticized and judged heavily." The purple-haired woman said. "And if that happens? Then what? You'll be so affected by all the backlash, and then you'll finally lose yourself?"

Scaramouche swore he never expected to see his mother cry so hard. In fact, crying was one of the things he thought his mother was incapable of doing. But what was she saying?

Where is she getting all this from?

"What?"

"I don't want anyone precious to me to ever experience that again."

"What the heck are you talking about, mom?"

It was a slip of the tongue, unconsciously going back to what he once used to call the woman in front of him. A slip of the tongue that he failed to catch, but did not go past his own mother, whose memories of the days when he used to call her 'mom' flashed by her eyes.

But before she could even explain herself, someone else made their presence known.

"Your mother had a sister, you see."

It was Yae.

His mother's old friend.

“Have you ever heard of Makoto?” The pink-haired lady asked. Scaramouche could not see the relevance of her question, but he decided to humor her nonetheless. “Who?”

“My twin sister.”

“You had a sister?!”

Scaramouche thought he knew a lot about his mother. But really, is he even qualified to say that he knew her if he knew nothing about her past before having him? Everything he knew about Ei were memories of them together. Her being a loving mother to him when he was little, her having Yae as her only friend, her suddenly changing her parental practices once he started his soccer career — all of them were memories of her after his existence.

Only now did he realize he never knew anything about his mother’s past.

Yae sighed. “How is he ever going to understand if you never told him about Makoto, Ei?”

“It’s too dark of a story. He might not be able to handle it.”

“And you think he can handle your coldness and strictness forever?”

“What, do you want me to discourage my son from his dreams of being a top soccer player by telling him that my twin sister fucked up on a game just once, got so many backlash and became the people’s punching bag, went depressed up to the point that she couldn’t handle it anymore and eventually lost herself?” Ei spat out. “I don’t want to scare him off from achieving his dreams, but I can’t also risk the possibility of him having the same experience as my sister.”

What the fuck?

Merely processing the things he was hearing already required so much from the young man. He could not bear to disturb the conversation between the two ladies, lest there are still some things he should hear.

“So you set high expectations for him?”

“It was the only way I thought of.”

“Have you ever considered the thought that you yourself may actually be ruining his dreams for him?”

“What?” Ei turned her gaze to Scaramouche for a moment, allowing her to once again notice the state that her son was in. Trembling hands clenched into fists, focused yet glossy eyes, and brows furrowed — she couldn’t tell if they were out of fury or confusion. Perhaps it was both.

“You are making your son hate that dream of his that you sought to protect with the way you are treating him, Ei.” Yae walked towards the young man and lightly tapped his shoulder. “What this kid wants is to have fun playing, not play under constant expectations and strictness from his mother.”

Scaramouche looked up at her, who only smiled at him in return. “Isn’t that right, Kunikuzushi?”

He turned his face away from her and immediately swatted her hand from his shoulder. “What would you know about what I want?”

“Oh? But was I wrong?” She grinned. “No response? I must’ve been right then.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re just salty I’m right.”

“I am not?” The guy scowled. “Stop making things up you annoying hag —“

“Uh, excuse me?! What hag?!”

A certain purple-haired woman remained all throughout the banter between her son and her friend. When was the last time her son spoke to her without reservations like that? No, when was the last time they even had a proper conversation, one where he isn’t replying with words not even amounting to a handful?

“Ei, I want to ask you something.” A voice brought her out of her trance. “How do the other players on your team look whenever they practice and play?”

“Tired.” Ei described exactly how the boys on the team looked whenever they were on the field. Their whole beings drenched in sweat, their limbs trembling, their breaths hurried.

But despite everything, she remembered that they were having fun.

“But were they having fun?”

“They were.”

“And how does your own son look whenever he’s on the field?”

For the first time that night, absolute silence reigned over their abode’s front yard.

“See?” The pink-haired woman smiled. “Don’t you want Kunikuzushi to have the same experience as everybody else on your team?”

For the first time, Scaramouche heard the two words he thought he would never ever hear coming out from his mother’s mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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TAGLIST I (closed)

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[colonelarr0w]

The Shibuya Incident

JJK characters in Shibuya.

INCLUDED - Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto (!Non-Defected), Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Ino Takuma, Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

WARNINGS - mature themes, foul language, mentions of death, explicit death, gore, canon JJK violence, mental breakdowns, mass murder

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"Hey, hey. Take a breath for me," Gojo says softly to you, his thumbs smoothing over the skin just beneath your eyes. You're panicking in his arms, eyes flickering wildly about. Your body is shaking in his hold, fear radiating off of you in frantic waves.  

Even with his soft-spoken command, you can't. The ability to breathe feels like it's been ripped out from underneath your feet, replaced instead by sharpened inhales that only make your head spin and your throat burn. The feeling of his skin on your own, while it would've calmed you in any other situation, seemed to only make you feel worse.  

"Satoru," you try to bite out, but his name comes out like a breathy plea. His shoulders sag, the eyes behind his blindfold softening as he watches you descend into your own mind. He's just as scared as you are – walking into that veil was the exact same as walking into the belly of an angered beast.  

He didn't want to do it, and hell he wished that you would've stayed home where at least he knew that you were safe. But duty called … duty always called. "Honey, you have to breathe. Take a breath." 

Though you struggle, you inhale shakily. Gojo nods at you, encouraging you to take another breath. His shoulders raise in an emphasized show of breathing, which he only lowers once he sees your body mimicking the movement of his own.  

"There you go--" 

Gojo's words fall dead on his tongue as you tug his body against your own, arms winding around his waist and holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. In any other situation, he would've laughed at you – teased you even. But this time, he doesn’t.  

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you against him while his cheek lays against the top of your head. He sighs, feeling you shake against him as you conceal your crying into his chest, sobs caught by the thickened fabric of the shirt that he wears.  

"Promise me that you'll come back," you whisper, voice barely audible, but he hears you. Gojo sighs, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his. Your hands shakily lift, pushing up his blindfold to see that his eyes shine with tears just like yours do. "Promise me 'toru." 

He smiles tearfully at you, nodding his head and craning his neck to place a loving kiss against your forehead. He lingers there for a moment, feeling you sigh against him as you close your eyes.  

"I promise." 

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), c'mon, answer me!" Geto must sound like a madman to the sorcerers' that accompany him, but their opinion of him holds no importance – not when he can't find you. 

Your phone had gone dead the moment that you entered the station, which he had expected and anticipated. But it didn't make his heart sink any less when he suddenly couldn't reach you. That meant that he wasn't sure if you were safe, or if you were even alive.  

And now, with an entire portion of the station infested with transfigured humans, Geto had one singular goal. That was to find you and get the fuck out of Shibuya, mission be damned. 

So he sprinted through the train station in a manner akin to a rabid animal, tearing through anything that stood in his path with whatever curse he was able to conjure up. It felt like he had been caught in tunnel vision, only able to see in front of him – all he wanted was to make sure that you were safe. 

"(Y/N)! Thank God, there you--" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat. It feels like he's been punched in the gut. His body stands rigid, eyes widening slowly at the sight that lies in front of him.  

You're there, you're right there in front of him. But your body is held in the hands of a transfigured curse, one with devilish eyes and a wicked smile that quickly burns itself into Geto's memory. He'd never forget that smile, ever.  

Weakly, your head turns so that your gaze meets his. "Suguru," is the only word that you're able to muster up in your current state. The freakishly large hand around you tightens, and with a painful grimace, you're gone before Geto could even process what was happening.  

And he stands there, eyes wide and body stiff, mirroring a position that he stood in years and years ago. 

"Kento …?" Your heart sinks as you slowly approach your husband's back, feeling your chest tighten in fear at the curse that stands behind him, hand raised – Mahito.  

Nanami's spine momentarily straightens at the sound of your voice, head turning just enough that he could watch you walk closer out of the corner of his eye. He wants to open his mouth to tell you to run, to reunite with the others and save yourself. But selfishly, he doesn't. 

He waits until you walk completely into view, shocked that Mahito even lets you. He had expected the child-like curse to round on you and promptly blow you to oblivion in front of his very eyes. He looks tired, exhausted even. You soften, tears already pricking at your eyes. 

"(Y/N)," he murmurs in that silky voice that always had the ability to make you weak. Even now, in a moment where you know that you were both completely and utterly doomed, you smile. Sure, it's a weak little quirk of your lips, but Nanami feels his heart soar at the sight of it.  

You shake your head, eyes flickering between your husband's and Mahito's, struggling to focus on one. Shakily, you lift your arms, readying yourself to attack Mahito. Even as you shake underneath your own fear, you still try to protect him – even if was in vain. 

"I love you," Nanami says to you, breaking your focus on Mahito and returning it to himself. Teary (E/C) eyes flicker to meet dulled hazel, and again, Nanami smiles. Your chest tightens, coiling with guilt over the lack of control that you had over the situation. "I love you … so much." 

"Kento," you breathe out, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I love you too, but--" 

Mahito doesn't let you finish your thought, and in a flash of crimson, Nanami is gone. Your eyes widen, your body stands as still as stone. The curse only smiles, then rounding on you. You exhale shakily, eyes flickering down to what's left of your husband before Mahito's palm hovers in front of your face. 

With closed eyes, you accept your fate. 

"You better fucking be here," you murmur to yourself, skidding on your heels and sprinting through the empty train station. Apart from your ragged breathing, the only sounds that fill your ears are the distant screams of the innocent and the garbled communication between curses.  

Halfway through a one-on-one fight with a low-grade curse, you had felt a prickle of energy across your skin. It was energy that you were familiar with, one that you had committed to memory for occasions just like the one that you were currently living through.  

The moment you felt it, you followed it. Choso. 

You nearly roll your ankle as you skid to a stop, eyes having caught sight of what you had been so desperately searching for. He’s looking around for you just like you had been for him, and the moment your eyes meet, you’re running at each other.  

His arms are around you the moment that you brush against him, tugging you against his chest and burying his nose into your hair.  

You don’t mind being crushed against him, not when you had been out-of-your-mind worried about him since you’d stepped foot in the Shibuya station. 

“(Y/N),” Choso murmurs into your hair, squeezing you tighter as he screws his eyes shut. Your nails bite into his back, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t care, he truly doesn’t. Not when you were safe, not when you were breathing.   

“I’m here Choso, and I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, voice muffled by the thickened fabric of his shirt. His arms squeeze you again, and a comfortable silence falls over the both of you.  

You could both go home and hopefully, just hopefully, you could forget about Shibuya entirely. 

It had been years, fucking years, since you heard that voice. Years since you’d heard that snarky voice either insulting you or telling you that he loved you — there was never a healthy in-between.  

And now, you were standing in front of him. Your ears were hearing his voice, your eyes were seeing his face. Toji fucking Fushiguro. 

But unlike the other times that you had seen him, this encounter was drastically different. He was trying to kill you, not bed you. 

“Toji?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, watching as the broad man stalks you like a lion would its prey. “Toji? What’s …?” Your words fall dead as he swipes at you, fingers closed around the handle of a weapon that you definitely didn't know the name of.  

You jerk back away from him, widened eyes flickering up between the weapon in his hands and his face – which for some odd reason remains blank; you can't read him at all. His eyes are a void, his expression completely void of anything that might even entertain the idea that he was human.  

With every time he lunges at you, you retaliate by taking a quick step back. Your eyes flicker up to Toji's face, and for a fleeting moment both of your eyes meet. His entire body freezes, eyes staring into your own as if you were an alien. The weapon that had been pressed against your chest is pulled away from you so swiftly that you barely process the movement.  

"Toji what the fuck--" 

"(Y/N)." The utterance of your name had you pausing, watching him as he straightened up, rising to his full height. The eyes that once looked like two small black voids are full of life now, their irises that very same color that you once spent hours lovingly staring into.  

How is it that he looked exactly the same as the day you lost him? 

You don't say anything as he steps towards you, his hands dropping the weapon that he had been holding so tightly onto just a moment before. Those same, calloused hands cup either side of your face, holding it just as tenderly as you had remembered.  

You don't know when, but at some point your eyes welled up with tears – tears that Toji thumbs away. He stares down so softly at you, a stark contrast to the hatred that had filled his eyes just seconds before. This was the Toji you remembered, not whatever had attacked you. 

There were very few things that you feared in the world. Being a sorcerer had done that to you, had worn down your ability to feel true, genuine fear. But now? Right now? 

All you felt was icy fear searing through your body as if someone had dunked you naked into an ice bath.  

There was an endless pit where an endless pit definitely should not have been. And standing over it was the one person you had trusted with your life, even if trusting him meant simultaneously putting yourself in immense danger every time that you spent a moment with him.  

His hands are in his pockets, his eyes staring out over the destruction that he had caused with a proud smirk etched into his face. He holds no remorse, you know that he doesn't, but the calmness of his demeanor only adds to your fear.  

"Ryo …?" Your voice is laced with hesitance as you approach his back, legs shaking with each step that you decide to take. He doesn't turn completely to face you, but you notice the small nod of his head in your direction. "What … what did you do?" 

Sukuna sighs – a long and heavy breath that is riddled with pride over his actions. The lives that were potentially lost amidst his destruction meant nothing to him, and they would never mean anything to him.  

"I had my fun," he says plainly, turning completely to face you. He spares you no reaction even though he can so clearly see the fear painted onto your face. It makes him smirk, the tip of his nail running along the underside of your jaw. "Come now, I'm not quite finished with this body yet." 

You shiver as Sukuna walks past you, tearing your gaze away from the gaping hole right smack in the center of Shibuya. You didn't even want to begin to think about the lives that had been lost, how painful and slow their deaths must've been. How much did they scream? How many of them begged for mercy? 

You shake your head, dispelling those thoughts. Hesitantly, you turn to glance at Sukuna, noticing that he had stopped — waiting for you to join his side. You bite your lip, and regretfully, you move to follow him.  

“Hey, there you are. Someone’s been asking for you,” Shoko says with a barely-there smile as you sit up. Immediately, a dull ache douses over your body like someone had dunked you underwater. You groan lightly, pressing a palm against your forehead and glancing up at Shoko.  

“Really?” you murmur weakly, rolling your shoulders as Shoko takes a step back. Ino stands behind her, his arms and legs bandaged just like yours were. His face morphs into relief as your eyes meet his — and even though he stumbles over his own feet, he beelines for you.  

He’s careful not to accidentally upset any of your injuries as he tugs you into his arms, crushing you against his chest and burying his nose into your hair. He can feel you shudder against him, your own arms returning his bone-crushing embrace with one of his own. 

“You’re okay. Holy fuck you’re okay,” Ino murmurs into your hair, barely registering your hands as they comfortingly rub up and down the length of his spine.  

“Yeah,” you whisper into his chest, voice barely audible over the thickened fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, I’m okay.���  

Ino squeezes you tighter, then allowing you to pull away. His hands cup your face, thumbing away the tears that roll down your cheeks. He smiles, and his heart soars when you mirror it. Ino is quick to lean in, lips pressing to yours.  

You return his kiss immediately, leaning impossibly further into him and chasing his lips with your own. He breaks from you, much to your dismay, and leans his forehead onto yours. You can feel his shaky sigh as it fans out over your face, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of his skin against your own.  

"Don't go anywhere." Ino's voice shakes as he speaks to you, the grip that he has over you momentarily tightening as he tugs you against him. You sigh, returning his embrace just as tightly and burying your face away into his shoulder.  

"Yuuji? Yuuji!"  

He turns at the sound of your voice, ears perked like a curious puppy. The tears sliding down his cheeks feel as though they've paused at the sight of you – stumbling over your feet as you reach him. The moment you do, your arms are locked around his neck, throwing yourself against him with enough force that he stumbles back. 

He hesitates, hands shaking as they hover above the small of your back. Do you even know what happened? Could he tell you? 

You pause at the feeling of his body trembling against your own. His arms were locked at his sides as if he had lost all ability to even use them. You slowly take a step back from him, noticing the faraway look glazed over his eyes and the way that he struggles to focus on one single thing – including you.  

Hesitantly, you lift your hands to his cheeks, palms laying against his skin. Your touch almost immediately brings him back to reality; you can see it in the way that his eyes snap to meet your gaze, wide and slightly fearful. But not scared of you, rather, scared of himself.  

"Hey, what's--" 

"Don't. Please don't," he interrupts you, shaking his head against your hands. His palms lift to lay over your own, fingers squeezing you in a way that silently begged you not to leave. You nod, steering his head down to yours so that your forehead can lightly rest against his own.  

Wordlessly, you nod. Your hands shift in position, arms wrapping around his neck again and bringing his body back to your own. His hands immediately go to bunch up the back of your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric in a way that screams 'Don't leave me'.  

And you don't. You stand there, closing your eyes and letting Yuuji cling to you as if you were the last bit of what could keep him sane – and in a way, that was exactly what you were. To Yuuji, you were a lifeline – a resemblance of the humanity that he continued to throw away the more that he switched with Sukuna. 

"I'm right here Yuuji," you whisper into his shoulder, receiving a loving squeeze in response to your words. "And I'm not going anywhere." 

“Promise me you’ll come back safe,” you say, squeezing Megumi’s hands and blinking back the tears that had slowly begun to gather along your waterline. He sighs, reaching one of his hands up to lightly cup the back of your head.  

He brings your forehead to his own, closing his eyes the moment that his skin comes into contact with your own. He can feel you shudder against him, a shaky sigh falling from your nose. “I promise you … with everything I have in me, I promise you.” 

But that had been hours ago, and you had no idea if Megumi was safe. You had separated from him shortly after that conversation, with you joining Nobara and Nitta and Megumi going off to find Yuuji. In the two hours that you spent fighting against curses and transfigured humans, you hadn’t heard anything about any of the others — including Megumi. 

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s with Yuuji after all, isn’t he?” Nobara says reassuringly to you, nudging your shoulder with her own. You turn to glance at her, swallowing the lump in your throat and forcing your head up and down in a nod.  

“Yeah … I guess so,” you answer hesitantly, smiling weakly as Nitta places a comforting hand on your shoulder. The three of you continue walking, a comfortable yet uncomfortable silence falling over your heads. Surrounding you are the sounds of a distant chaos, bystanders scream, transfigured humans gurgle out grotesque noises — reality doesn’t quite feel like reality.  

You pause at the sound of something approaching you, both Nobara and Nitta stopping as well. Three pairs of eyes gaze down a darkened alleyway, and your heart stops at what waits at the alleyway’s end. 

Megumi’s Divine Dog. 

Its ears prick upward at the sight of you, eyes fixed on you in the darkness. Its tail flicks back and forth before it approaches you, not stopping until it nudges its head into the palm of your hand. You scratch lightly behind its ears, eyes flickering to Nobara.  

“You both need to go … I need to find—“ 

“No way. What if something happens to you too?” Nobara interrupts you, reaching out and clasping your shoulders. The shikigami barks angrily in Nobara’s direction, protectively stepping in front of you and making the brunette stumble back.  

“Nobara, I can’t just leave him where he is,” you insist, blinking back tears. “I have to. I have to go and find Megumi.” 

Nobara shakes her head again, and instead, she pulls you into her arms. You still, glancing at Nitta, who only looks away. “You can’t (Y/N).” 

“He sent the dog to make sure that you don’t look for him.” 

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Rewrite the ending

-Just once, let him rewrite the story; Just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Paring◦ felix x mommy issues!reader

Genre ◦ smut with pain

Warnings ◦ The reader is described as having mommy issues though the argument is very brief so it can connect with more people, angst, talk about knives, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill,

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr, @velvetmoonlght

A/N ◦ This is literally a story solely based on an experience I just had with my mother and needed something to comfort me while I have a mental breakdown 😃 also if you liked this man I have mommy issues I severely need reassurance 😭

can somebody please tell me if this is convoluted because I tried to make it poetic but I don't know if I just made it messy. THANK YOU.

Soundtrack ◦ Family Line by Conan Grey, Cover me by Stray Kids

~cookiecreates 🍪

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, your breath grating across your throat like grains of sharpened sand. Talking to her was like bouncing wisdom off a wall; it will only ever come to bite you in the ass-

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

or punch you in the face.

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak and wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

She rips your heart out of your chest, only to dust a gentle finger underneath the curve of your jaw; her sweet smile coaxes your lips open; she was your mother, and yet, with a wicked gaze, she draws her fingers together—you choke, a thick river of blood flows onto your tongue like a bitter stream of a thousand broken promises.

There was so much you wanted to say to her.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

"Only she could spread sugar across your skin before feeding your soul to the ants."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

All you wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

All you have ever wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

It is only when your heart has been crushed by fingers made of feathers do you start caring a lot less about the hands made of knives.

How desperately he wishes he was a human with hinges, where he may unscrew his soul and allow your eyes to gaze upon his walls, with the knowledge that they were only ever painted with the thought of you.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him, just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks like the desert's silky sand.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's soothing hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, pulling you into his warm embrace with a rush of unregistered movements.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to not constantly live with the echo of a hollow soul.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to hear something other than a deafening crescendo of pure contempt.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," you shove the palm of his hand into your core, pleading with so much of your soul none left to protest. He gasps into your mouth, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a million different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the length of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

Just once.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

He lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness that your glassy eyes almost break; his heart thrums with the promise of I love you and the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"I need you," you gasp into his mouth, his throat desperately sucking the sound in. His eyes widen ever so slightly, his features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," nostalgia flutters in your veins as you reminisce the sentence pulled straight from the greatest love story ever told. His nose nudges the column of your throat as he presses a peck on your flesh, drifting his arms down to unceremoniously pull off his pants.

Even with such a simple act, he makes the effort to remind you that he is here.

He takes his time removing your clothes, fingers sliding across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips trace the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers against your skin, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glassy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

You were both overcome with a flood of delicate feelings—the passion that surged with the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; as his hips ruthlessly rut into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—his lips taste like I love you and his tears like I'm here. You can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

The juxtaposition of that orgasm was astounding.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they dip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

It is through the tears of others that we remember we are alive.

Just one more time.

Rewind the tape and let him kiss your shattering soul with the knowledge that has already rewritten the ending.

Just once-

Collapse into him.

Let him prove that this story really is—

The End  

©CookieCreates (posted: August, 12th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

~cookiecreates 🍪

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Warnings: depiction of violence (face slapping), animal injury (broken limb)

Word Count: 2.1k

The village of Salem has always felt too small for you. It's not a matter of size though. The daughters of witches are always watched, scrutinized by eyes that assume they know who you’ll become based solely on whose blood runs through your veins.

Your mother is relentless, driven by an unquenchable thirst for power. For years, she’s been challenging Evanora Harkness for leadership of the coven, insisting that her methods are outdated and weak. Evanora is cautious, preferring stability over expansion, while your mother craves growth and strength, always seeking more power, more influence. Everyone knows that she has tried and failed multiple times to replace Evanora as the head of the coven, each failure only sharpening her ambition and resentment.

Day after day the rest of the coven watches with thinly veiled suspicion as the feud festers, their judgment looming over you, seeing you as nothing but an extension of your mother’s ambition. You’ve been whispered about since you were a child—“Like mother, like daughter” they say, as if you’re already planning your own coup. It constantly felt as if you were expected to follow in your mother’s footsteps, bear the weight of her rivalry with Evanora, even if you have no interest whatsoever in ruling or leadership. You were constantly compared to Evanora’s daughter, Agatha, always so poised and confident in public, often watching you with narrowed eyes—a silent understanding of the role she’s supposed to play: your rival. As if you would care.

But despite the whispered assumptions and heavy expectations, you and Agatha barely knew each other. You have lived in the same village for all of your lives, 19 years to be exact, and you’d never exchanged more than a handful of words beyond what was strictly necessary during coven gatherings. A curt greeting, a passing acknowledgment at ritual events, and a few guarded pleasantries when the entire coven was assembled—always observed by watchful eyes. There was no need to converse when the lines had already been drawn by everyone else.

But they know nothing about you. They don’t see the way you slip away from the coven’s gatherings as soon as you can, escaping to the edge of the village, to the only place that feels like home—the forest. Out there, amidst the whispering trees and thick, wild greenery, you are alone. Free. And the village, with its heavy, judgmental stares, feels far away.

Today, however, that peace is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of anger—cracking branches, a muffled sob, and an unfamiliar voice cursing in frustration seemingly not far from you. You approach quietly, each step deliberate, curiosity overtaking caution. And there, amidst the destruction of broken branches and trampled shrubs, your eyes spot Agatha Harkness.

You’d heard the latest argument between Evanora and Agatha as you slipped out of the coven’s gathering earlier that day. It was hard not to, with Evanora’s voice rising in sharp reprimands and Agatha’s voice shaking with something halfway between defiance and desperation. The rest of the coven remained oblivious, still engrossed in the main hall. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, all you wanted was to get out of there and just be on your way to the forest, to your safe space.

As you reached the hall’s entrance, the voices grew louder. Evanora’s was sharp and unyielding, laced with an authority that seemed to cut through the air. “…after everything I’ve taught you, Agatha, is this how you repay me?”

You didn’t want to get involved, didn’t want to hear more than you already had. You kept your head low, stepping as quietly as you could toward the exit. But as you passed by the ajar door, your eyes caught a glimpse of them, and instinct held you in place.

“I’m just trying—” Agatha’s voice, raw with unsteady resolve, “—to be more than what you want me to be.”

“Enough!” Evanora’s voice cut through the space, commanding absolute silence. You could see the tension coil between them, even from this distance, and a flicker of something almost like pity stirred within you. Agatha stood her ground, eyes shimmering, her posture tense.

The slap was swift, and you flinched in spite of yourself, watching as Agatha’s head jerked to the side, dark curls spilled over her face concealing the expression beneath. You held your breath, caught in that moment of stillness, neither of them moving.

“I will not tolerate disobedience, Agatha,” Evanora’s voice was quiet but firm, a murmur heavy with finality. Agatha remained rigid, her shoulders betraying only the smallest trembling response and no words came from her in return, just a measured, shaky breath.

You couldn’t stay. As soon as the silence thickened in the room, you slipped out, cursing yourself for staying there far too long and heading toward the forest before either of them noticed your presence. You were certain they hadn’t, neither mother nor daughter focused on anything beyond each other. Whatever happened next was not your place to know.

But then, while you walked among the trees entering the forest, you couldn’t quite rid yourself of that last image—Agatha standing still, silent, as Evanora’s words hung like a shadow over her. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that their argument didn’t end there, that it had likely continued and escalated once they left the gathering hall. Perhaps things had only gotten worse behind the closed doors of their home, pushing Agatha to her breaking point. 

It is evident now, as you had just traced the path of her destruction in the forest, that when Agatha had finally stormed out of her home, she had left chaos in her wake.

She is crouched down, almost hidden by the deep shadows of the tall trees still standing. Her hair, dark and wild, falls around her face in waves. You catch glimpses of her stormy blue eyes too, as she’s wiping away furious tears, her hands trembling with poorly contained anger. Agatha is wearing a simple yet beautiful black wool dress, layered with intricate stitching in deep purple along the bodice. The sleeves are long and fitted, ends flaring with delicate white cuffs that frame her slender hands. Her whole appearance is somber, fitting for someone of her lineage and in harmony with the ancient woods that surround her, despite the destruction she just caused.

You watch, as she takes a small creature in her lap, her eyes wide with remorse. A rabbit— one of its back legs broken and limp, most certainly caused by a heavy branch Agatha must’ve thrown in her fit of anger. Agatha mumbles an incantation, her voice shaking. Tendrils of violet magic swirl around her fingers, but it’s chaotic, disjointed, more like a flurry of emotions than a spell.

You can see she’s struggling as her breath catches, a sob almost breaking through as the magic fizzles out. Her fingers tremble, and she tries again, and again. You take a breath, feeling a twinge of annoyance at her carelessness.

“Damn it” Agatha curses under her breath, her voice breaking as tears spill over her cheeks. She doesn’t see you, doesn’t notice you slipping closer, the shadows of the trees hiding your approach. It’s not pity you feel—not quite. But there’s something almost familiar in the way she’s fighting back tears, trying to mend what she broke. You can’t find it in you to walk away.

Without saying a word, you raise your hand. The air hums with energy, and you let your magic flow freely, familiar sapphire blue strands wrapping around the rabbit in a soft, deliberate embrace. There’s a crack as the bone realigns, and the rabbit twitches, then scampers off Agatha’s lap and disappears into the underbrush.

Agatha gasps, her head snapping up. You meet her gaze, and you’re struck by the open vulnerability in her usually fierce and cold eyes, her face stained with tears she didn’t expect to shed. She blinks rapidly, the realization of not being alone dawning on her as embarrassment floods her features.

Of all the people she could’ve run into in the forest, it had to be you. Of course.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, a poor attempt at masking her embarrassment with indignation. You’re not sure if she’s more humiliated by the situation or by the fact that you, of all people, helped her.

“What am I doing here?” you snap, stepping forward. You can’t hold back the frustration any longer. “You storm in here like a hurricane, destroying everything in sight, and you have the audacity to ask what I’m doing here?”

Her eyes narrow, defensiveness creeping in. “It’s not like I did it on purpose—”

“You’re supposed to be a witch, Agatha” you interrupt, voice sharp. “A powerful one, if what everyone says is true. So why can’t you keep control of your own damn magic?” The words may come out harsher than you intend, but it’s too late to take them back and a part of you wants her to snap back, to give you a reason to stay angry.

But she doesn’t. Agatha’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she’s going to lash out. Instead, her shoulders slump, and she looks down at the ground, her anger deflating into something that almost looks like regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—” she starts, then stops, clearly unsure of what to say.

“Didn’t mean to what?” You raise an eyebrow. “Destroy half the forest? Or injure a defenseless animal?”

Her face flushes, a mixture of shame and anger flashing in her eyes. “It’s not like I wanted to—”

“Of course” you cut in with a scoff, folding your arms. You should leave. You should simply turn around and let her deal with her mess. But something keeps you rooted to the spot, waiting to see what she’ll say.

Agatha opens her mouth to argue, but whatever retort she had dies on her lips. Instead, she swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think I want to be like this?” She’s looking at you, her eyes desperate for an answer you can’t give. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be constantly told you’re not enough?”

The rawness in her voice catches you off guard. You’ve always seen Agatha as confident, even arrogant—a reflection of her mother’s pride and role in your community. But there’s a vulnerability in her now that doesn’t fit with the picture you had of her.

“I—” you start, but the words don’t come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “My mother” she says, almost choking on the words, “expects perfection. Strength. Control. And when I can’t give her that…” Agatha shakes her head, the tears threatening to spill over again. “I just—”

She’s breaking, and despite yourself, you feel a pang of empathy. You’ve been there too, in different ways and for different reasons, but the feeling of being constantly measured and deemed not enough is something you both share. Apparently. 

For a long moment, there’s silence between you. Then, Agatha looks away and you can almost see her walls crumbling, piece by piece. When she speaks again, her voice is barely audible. “I’m sorry” she whispers, “For the rabbit. For the forest. For… everything.”

It’s an apology you never expected, from a person that you thought to be so self-entitled to be incapable of remorse. And suddenly, you’re not sure who you’re angry at anymore—her, or the version of her you’d built in your head, the one that others had helped you build, fueled. The apology hangs heavy between you both, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You want to hold onto your anger, but looking at her now, vulnerable and sincere in her remorse, something shifts in you.

You let out a long sigh, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little. “Don’t do it again.” you finally say, and the words come out less like an order and more like a plea. Agatha blinks at you, her lips parting in surprise as she seems to be searching for words, but none come. She only nods and as the silence between you both settles into something less hostile, you turn away, allowing yourself to leave the clearing without another word.

Behind you, Agatha stays put, watching as you disappear into the shadows of the forest, her thoughts still lingering on your unexpected appearance, your strange mix of kindness and anger.

Maybe Agatha Harkness isn’t who you thought she was.

Maybe, neither of you are.

[konigsblog]

Hi orla i lovee your workk <33

May i req a scenario where enemy side!könig fucks reader under the threat that he'll kill her team otherwise?? :3

LITTLE MOUSE, DON'T RUN.

könig x afab!f!reader

synopsis: your enemy finally gets his way with you, after months of dreaming of your torture.

tw: NON-CON, DUB-CON, threats, manipulation & coercion, kidnapping. dead dove: do not eat. photo credit: @ave661

translation: “davon habe ich geträumt, meine kleine maus. um deinen hübschen körper zu vergewaltigen... ich sehe dich immer, wie du über das feld rennst. scheiße, ich wollte dich nur in deine schranken weisen.” = (i've been dreaming of this, my little mouse. to rape your pretty body... i always see you, running across the field. fuck, i just want to put you in your place.)

you really didn't wanna be the reason your entire team would be murdered, slaughtered by the enemies. you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, your eyes wavering with tears filling your waterline, body trembling as he waits, sharpening his knife with a hungry gaze. he had kidnapped you after finding you laying against a tree, your thigh aching from being shot. you were positive he was going to kill you, then and there, but könig had other ideas.

he brought you into a basement, with the threat being if you didn't follow along with his orders and demands, he'd kill you, before killing your teammates as well. you began to drop your clothing, falling around your feet on the ground. you whimpered when he took a step forward, his silver eyes revealing malice and delirium.

“that’s right, follow along now... bend over for me, over the table.”

you bend over the table, your cheek pressed against the wood, the sound of him unfastening his belt causing you to shake and weep quietly, sniffling from fear. parting your thighs, the feeling of his hard, bulbous cock running over your folds causes your body to react instinctively, betraying you. a tear rolls down your cheek at the wetness, feel almost... ashamed for your body enjoying this torture.

“are you sure you don’t want this? or are you just secretly a filthy girl, my dear? you’d like to me rape this cunt for hours on end, ja? wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, a hoarse growl emitting from deep in his chest as he begins to prod at your hole, pushing inside gently.

your walls pulse and throb, clenching around the tip of his hard cock as he eases further inside. he leans down, his brute chest pressed firmly against your body, using his weight to pin you down, while cupping his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle your screams and cries.

“take it, take me deep, little mouse...” he whispers quietly, his voice guttural as he groans lowly, pushing nearly fully inside while your thighs shake and tremble, body aching underneath his bodyweight.

you want no more, but your body craves and longs for his rough touch, making you feel idiotic for sobbing so pathetically. under his gaze, you're weak and defenceless — i mean, you can't even squirm due to his heavy weight! fighting him off would only worsen the effects and his brutality; his cruelty. german curse words flow from his mouth as his broad hips meet your ass, your eyes watering and glistening, your pussy swallowing and forced open, to take each inch of the large, threatening man's cock.

“don’t cry, there is no need to act like you don’t want this.”

könig taunts you as he tightens his grip on your jaw, muffling your loud cries and choked moans, eyes wide with fear and pain, pleasure causing you gut to swirl, for your core to tighten and your stomach to churn.

your body aches, the pressure against your now weakened body has you breathless, your breathing restricted from each hard thrust. your cheeks become glossy with your tears, lips quivering from the ache, and your pussy getting slicker the more he fucks you. you're forced to listen to his pleasured, laboured breathing, your tight cunt feeling like heaven for him whilst his big cock, forced deep inside you, feels like torture. your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion, no longer fighting it, your hand weakly gripping his wrist. the impact and force of his broad hips against your ass has you shaking, pussy swelling up fron this abuse, while his balls press themselves against your tight ass.

“davon habe ich geträumt, meine kleine maus. um deinen hübschen Körper zu vergewaltigen... ich sehe dich immer, wie du über das feld rennst. scheiße, ich wollte dich nur in deine schranken weisen..”

he begins to pound into your ass, fucking you with a purpose as he unleashes all his built up rage onto you, your breathing getting caught in your throat as he slams into you on repeat, making sure to hear your every scream for mercy and forgiveness.

you're bleeding, crimson coating your thighs, rolling down in pearly beads. your body aches, sore and tired, and the repetitive force against your body causes you to wail out with frustration, tears streaming your cheeks, sobbing from all the pain. the feeling of his tip against your cervix has you shaking, feeling so full with his large, veiny size stuffed deep inside your hole. you can sense he's getting closer, to releasing, and all you hope for is that he won't cum inside you, that he'll pull out. könig's thrusts become sloppy, inching even deeper inside you, your eyes closed despite the rough and intense sensation of his tip smacking against your gummy insides.

könig's places both his hands on your waist and hips, pushing fully inside, cumming deep inside your swollen folds, one last cry leaving your lips. your voice becomes strained and sore from all the screaming and sobbing, the ache between your thighs only intensifying when he eases out, growling out at the sight of your bruised cunt.

you hope that he'll let you go, force you outside on two wobbly legs, to fend for yourself. but instead, you're chained to the wall, his obsession with hurting you only growing, your body bare, bruised and covered in dried cum and blood, to be used as his sex slave for what will feel like an eternity.

[alexa-fika]

Midnight Lessons (Mihawk x gn!child!reader)

A/N: Here we go, stoic dad time! Guys please drop by my ask box, wanna get to know my audience!

Dividers by @saradika

Night had fallen in Cross Guild’s headquarters, the members still busing around completing their chores. In the main office, quiet reigned between two of the founders, the only sound echoing in the office being of Crocodile’s exhaling his cigars in a thick mist, sitting at his desk and looking over the current paperwork, and the sound of Mihawk sharpening and polishing Yoru, on the office’s couch, his sharp gaze examines his black blade for any blemishes or imperfections.

A knock rings on the door to the office the two reside in

Crocodile’s eyes narrow slightly as he bellows smoke from his cigar and looks up. He sighed, remembering he had locked the door so he and his co-worker could have a meeting, so he stood up and opened the door, grunting when he saw who was at the door.

“Mihawk, it’s your brat,” he called out, staring at the child in front of him

Mihawk puts down his sword and walks over to the child. He squats down to the child’s level*

“Why are you awake at this hour?” Mihawk asked in a deep, quiet voice

The small child mutters something under their breath, sniffling.

Mihawk raises an eyebrow and nudges their arm with his finger, asking them to look at him instead of hiding their face.

“Do not mumble; speak up.” Mihawk’s voice is like a whisper, but his stare was piercing like a sharp blade

“Can I stay with you, Dad?” They cry out, voices still barely above a whisper

Seeing the child’s sad expression, Mihawk frowns and sighs quietly.

“Yes, you can stay. But not for long; you must return to your room soon. Mihawk’s voice was still quiet, but his tone had an unmistakable gentleness as he easily lifted the child carrying them back to the couch.

The small child hugged his dad tightly, trying to muffle their sobs so as to not bother their father at work.

Reader tightened their arms around their father; in response, Mihawk gently caressed their head and patted their back, silently reassuring the child.

“Why are you awake?” he repeats his previous question.

Crocodile glances at the pair once more before turning his attention back to a stack of paperwork on his desk.

“I had a nightmare,” they cry.

Mihawk’s brow furrows, and he looks down at the child.

“What was it about?”

“Y-you were gone.”

Mihawk’s expression tightens when he hears this. His eyebrows narrow, and his lips pull into a thin line. He stays silent for a moment.

“Do not worry about such things, I will not leave.”

Reader nods, comforted by their father’s short but meaningful words.

He pulls the child close to him until their head is lying on his chest, and their face is buried into his neck. The child can feel Mihawk’s heartbeat in their chest. He wraps an arm around the child, holding them close while they sniffle and sob.

Mihawk’s expression remains blank, and he does not say a word until the child’s crying stops.

Reader nuzzles closer to him as they are slowly lulled to sleep.

Mihawk’s arms enfold the child, gently caressing them and providing comfort. The child soon falls asleep, wrapped tightly in Mihawk’s warm embrace.

“Did they fall asleep?” Crocodile’s deep voice cuts in

Mihawk remains silent. He continues caressing the child, gently ruffling their hair. Then he softly turns his head to peer up at Crocodile, still sitting behind his desk.

“Yes.” Mihawk’s voice is still calm and tranquil despite his expression turning cold and serious

That soon changed, however, as the third founder slammed open the door as he came in, startling the child wide-awake, childish cries echoing through the office.

Mihawk tightened the grip around the child slightly.

Crocodile looks up from his desk, and his eyes narrow as he sees the third officer standing at the door.

“What are you doing, Clown?” he asks coldly.

Buggy’s eyes widen in surprise at his tone. He stumbled back, and then tried to compose himself*

“I…I was just-”

Before Buggy could finish, Mihawk’s gaze pierced through him. His eyes are dark and menacing, looking like he’s about to attack him at any moment. Mihawk’s hand tightened around the child again, and he was clearly agitated.

“Out!…” a low, deadly tone leaves Mihawk’s voice. Buggy’s eyes widened in shock, even he could not ignore the seriousness of Mihawk’s tone and expression. His eyes darted to the child, still sobbing and buried in Mihawk’s arms. Buggy gulped before quickly turning to leave the office. The whole place became silent again, with only the sound of the child’s soba as they cried into Mihawk’s chest.

“I’m going to pulverize him,” grunts Crocodile

Mihawk’s attention goes from the doorway towards the crying child in his chest.

Eventually, and with the help of Mihawk’s warmth and comfort, Reader’s cries recede. They are still snuggled close to Mihawk and can feel themselves surrounded by his warmth and presence. His fingers still brush through their hair while his other arm holds onto the child firmly.

Mihawk gently moves Reader from his chest to between his legs, grabbing his sword and continuing to sharpen it

Reader looks at his actions entranced, his attention captured by Mihawk’s strong but careful sword care.

Mihawk’s hands move gracefully over the blade, which shines brilliantly in the candlelit room. His motions are quick and efficient, and he works accurately and skillfully. His face remains calm and unconcerned as he continues sharpening his sword. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Reader staring at him with a mix of curiosity, fascination, and admiration. The unspoken question lingering in the air.

“No, you cannot work on this sword.”

Reader frowns at the rejection without the child having the chance to ask but makes no comment.

Mihawk notices the expression but does not say anything. He looks at the child and raises an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the sword. He runs his thumb caressingly along the blade but then stops abruptly.

“However, I can find a sword you can work on if you so desire, Blade Child.”

They smile and nod.

“I want to. Can you tell me how to do it?”

“Yes,” Mihawk replies in a low tone as he finishes sharpening his sword. Pulling Kogatana out from its sheath in his pendant and showing it to Reader.

“You may use this sword to practice on,” he says as he puts Kogatana down and hands Reader the sharpening stone, helping them grab it correctly and guiding their hands in the appropriate motion.

The child laughs gleefully, excited to be able to repeat the similar actions they saw their father do minutes prior

Mihawk relaxes slightly at the child’s enthusiasm; he watches as Reader sharpens Kogatana with gentle but firm guidance and hand placements. After a few minutes of instruction, Reader feels comfortable enough to sharpen the sword on their own. The light sound of the sharpening stone against the blade echoes through the office.

“I did it, Dad!” Reader exclaims, showing Mihawk the freshly sharpened Kogatana

Mihawk’s expression softens as he looks at the blade with the sharp edge.

Then he looks over at Reader proudly.

He nods his head.

“Yes, this is much sharper now. Not a bad job for your first time.”

Mihawk places the blade back on the sheath on his pendant.

The child laughs at the praise, knowing it is as strong a compliment as he could pull from their stoic father.

Not sure how to feel about this one; what do you guys think? Please send in requests for what you guys would like to see next!

[sentinelswife]

I'm sorry for missing you... (TF: One Megop)

I highly recommend listening Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery while you read...

Warnings: Angst, Missing an ex.

"Dee...?" The sound of Optimus' voice cracked over Megatron's commlinks, his eyes widening slightly in surprise - before sharpening into a glare once more. "I don't know if you can even hear me..." Why was he doing this? Optimus asked himself, hiding his face in his servos. Was he really feeling that lonely, that he needed to reach out to his former lover? At least no one could bother him, he needed just 5 minutes away from his duties as a Prime.

"I know you hate me..." Optimus' whispered, his voice barely audible. "And I'm still upset with you, b-but... I just really need someone to talk to." He couldn't stop the coolant leaking from his optics, optics that had dimmed and lost practically all their color as he tried to choke back his sobbing. He should be stronger than this, he was a prime for Primus sake! Maybe that's why he found it hard to talk about his problems, his pain. He needed to appear strong, wise, and brave for everyone else's sake - but it only hurt him in the end.

"...What is it, Prime?" Megatron whispered back to him, quickly disappearing from the sights of the High Guard. He didn't want them overhearing this, for his own image... at least, that's what he told himself. He leaned against the nearest surface, allowing Optimus to continue speaking. "I'm sorry for missing you so fragging much..." He couldn't hold back his sobs any longer, and for a moment - Megatron's optics softened, his spark begging to ache.

"I feel guilty that I do, but I j-just need to know -" Before Optimus could finish speaking, Megatron cut him off with some words of his own. "I miss you too..." For the first time in cycles, Megatron felt like his old self again - but he couldn't let this continue. If he let Optimus continue to speak, he would want to run back to him. He would hold him in his arms, kiss away his coolant tears, and assure him that everything would be alright...just like he used to. "Goodbye, Pax... Do not contact me again."

Their commlink was disconnected, and Optimus felt as though Megatron had reached through the very fabric of time and space to rip the spark out of his chassis. "No...no no Dee, please! I just want you to come back, please!" He screamed, hoping, wishing, praying to Primus that someway - somehow... D-16 could hear Orion Pax's desperate pleas.

[stormbabylore]

Glamtober | Day 30: Monochrome

Aeryn's cranky here because she's not super-comfortable in skirts. But this is too cute, so I couldn't resist. I might find a sneaky way to add shorts or leggings to it and keep it...

(˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

[aheathen-conceivably]

New Year’s Day 1934 had come and gone. In the desert, it hadn’t seemed that much different than the height of spring or the dawn of fall. The day had been hot while the night was filled with the rage of dusty wind. Only with it had come the news that they would have celebrated with gusto five years prior: Prohibition Ends At Long Last! Instead it was marked in a silent kitchen, the first bottle of legal liquor they could purchase in over a decade sitting precariously between them. No one knew if it was there to enjoy or to numb.

Each one of them clutched their own glass in guilty silence, maybe even imagining the clinking of champagne flutes that could have once accompanied this occasion. Rather than carouse in a frenzy of dance, they studiously avoided each other’s eyes, afraid to break the silence with even a sip. Everyone except Josephine. 

She threw back her drink so that when she spoke her voice was slurred with anger and alcohol, “So you’re telling me you don’t even own the goddamn farm, Gio? The farm you lured us all out to.”

“Of course I own the farm, Josephine. It’s just a loan, it just means…”

“I know how a loan works. Better than you do apparently. It means if you don’t have their money in six months they take the house. It means they own you.” She turned to Antoine and Zelda, pointing her finger and her blame directly at them, “And you two knew? What the fuck have you been doing, lying and playing at being farmers while the roof over our heads slowly falls into someone else’s hands?”

Antoine remained impassive, the anger and guilt swirling in his glass turning him to stone; but Zelda’s eyes watered as she futilely tried to answer. Gio saw her panic and spoke for her, “Its my loan, Jo, and mine alone. I was supposed to have until the end of the year, okay? The bank moved up the terms on me. I mean this can’t be legal — just scooping up someone’s land like this when we had an agreement.”

“Oh the end of the year, was it? Then you could have swept it under the rug so that poor little Josephine never found out, huh? That it? Well you’re an idiot. All of you. Idiots.” She covered her face in her hands, unsure if the burning in her throat was from the whiskey or the sob she had suppressed, “Does it even matter if it’s tomorrow or December? You don’t have the money. Antoine barely earns shit, and your little farming pipe dream does nothing but keep us hand to mouth. Where’s the money going to come from? The same imagination that told you any of this was a good idea in the first place?”

Her insults finally succeeded in burying the sob so deep that she could look back up at Zelda, “I’m right aren’t I? We can’t make shit off this land?” Jo’s eyes dared Zelda to so much as try to challenge her, so all she could do was muster a guilty nod of her head in affirmation.

Jo looked back toward Gio, the anger rising as the words she really wanted to cry out stayed trapped in her throat. You all let me think you were happy. That our life was perfect and I was the problem. You let me sink and disintegrate while you lied to my face! I stayed because I love you, and this is how you repay me!

Instead she sharpened her words and her eyes into razor sharp daggers, “I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m going into town tomorrow. It’s been over a month. The saloons and the bars have to be opening back up. I’ll sling a drink, I’ll do anything. We lose the roof over our heads and it’s right on the route with the rest of the Okies, fighting for scraps and scrounging for gas while Violette starves. Pathetic, Gio. All of you. Idiotic and pathetic..."

Her speech was cut short by the sound of Gio’s chair scraping against the wooden floors, “Enough, Josephine! I told you to leave them out of it!” Then he went quiet, hands gripping the table as her steadfast gaze told him she would never be the first to back down. When he spoke again it was in a low, chilling voice that none of them had ever heard before, "And I won't let you do that. To go down there and sell yourself again."

Antoine and Josephine rose to their feet at the same time; the former’s eyes burned with threats all the while Gio stayed staring at Jo. Within a split second his voice returned to normal, full of remorse and pleading as he ran after her in a rush of apologies and reassurances.

Their footsteps echoed on the hollow porch before they disappeared on the sand below. Zelda’s fingers remained locked on Antoine’s wrist, anchoring him in place until his rage could subside. His mind was vibrating with Gio’s final words; but he looked down to Zelda, internally counting to ten as he let her face replace the images of wrapping his hands around Gio’s neck, making him feel just as trapped and suffocated as his sister did before he let him go, gasping and desperate for air.

By the time the image faded, there was nothing left in the room but silence.

He sank back into his chair, moving it closer to Zelda. The look of guilt still hadn’t left her eyes, and seeing it, Antoine’s anger settled into worry. She didn’t hesitate to speak to him the way she had to Jo, “I should go after her, shouldn’t I? I should have told her. I’m her friend. Her sister…”

As her words dried up his stepped in, “I know, Zelda. I know. But we couldn’t. How could we?” He already knew that she didn't have to answer, because they had tried to absolve their complicity a dozen times. At their most avoidant, they had told each other it wasn’t their lie to tell. But beyond their deepest desire to avoid the conflict at all costs, they both knew that with each lie to Josephine’s face they had made it their betrayal just as much as Giorgio's. Only they were backed into an impossible corner, simply hoping the loan would be paid off and it would never come to this; otherwise, it meant they might lose Josephine or their home, perhaps even both.

Now that it had, all they could do was repeat what they had told themselves and each other for years. “They love each other, you know that. They’ll work it out. They have to.”

Zelda answered with a small nod, still unable to take her eyes off the door left open to the desert beyond. Across its stillness she could swear she heard arguing. She knew that she couldn’t convince Josephine to stay, the same way that she couldn’t have told her and jeopardized her daughter’s home and happiness.

So she let Antoine pull her head down onto his shoulder, gradually coming to the real question boiling under the surface. But where are we going to get the money? Only it was no use voicing it, not when they and Gio had already discussed it a dozen times over. Both of them had looked for work, and however many times Zelda offered to do the same, they all came to the same conclusion: they couldn’t sell what they grew, but at least they could eat it. She was the only one who could really ensure they wouldn’t go hungry, and the one who’s presence at home was actually the most vital of them all.

So all they could do was sit and wait to see if Josephine would stay. Wait and hope.

[daisymbin]

Hi belle can I request 22. "you were my first love—you still are." Of second chance romance with Joshua. I feel like reading second chances are like a tales that always end in a happy ending ❤️.

hi lovely!!! of course you can! & yes... but honestly I think I'm addicted to thrill at the start of a second chance romance because its always exhilarating yet terrifying 😬

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // shua's m.list

second chance prompt #22: "you were my first love—you still are."

it was supposed to be a fun night. a few drinks, some dinner, the three of you just laughing and letting loose. chan, mingyu, and you had been out for a while now, but as the night wore on, the fun started to fade.

you hadn’t realized how much you were drinking at first, but as the alcohol hit you, it blurred your thoughts and made your heart ache.

your mind wouldn’t stop going back to joshua—joshua, joshua, joshua. the love you had for him. the love you still had for him.

the way he smiled at you. the way he’d look at you like you were the only one in the room.

you missed him.

“hey, you okay?” mingyu asked, his voice cutting through the fog in your head.

you blinked at him, not quite able to focus. your eyes were heavy, your chest tight. “i miss him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone.

chan and mingyu exchanged a worried glance, both of them knowing exactly who you were talking about. they had been trying to keep you distracted all night, but it was clear you were spiraling.

“come on,” chan said softly, trying to get your attention. “let’s get you home, okay?”

but you just shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “no… i can’t go home. not without him.”

mingyu, despite his large frame, was surprisingly gentle. he leaned down to help you up, but you flinched away from him, your body swaying.

“come on,” mingyu coaxed, his deep voice comforting. “we need to get you home.”

but you weren’t having it. you shook your head stubbornly. “no, i need him,” you slurred, clutching at your chest as if it would ease the ache there. “only joshua.”

chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this isn’t going anywhere. i’m calling him.”

the moment chan dialed joshua’s number, you stiffened, your gaze sharpening, even though you were beyond tipsy.

“joshua…” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding.

it didn’t take long for joshua to pick up.

“hello?” his voice came through, the usual warmth in his tone immediately replaced by concern when he heard the situation.

“hyung, can you come?” mingyu said, his voice surprisingly tense for someone usually so laid-back. “(y/n)’s a mess. she won’t let us take her home.”

there was a long pause on the other end of the line. “what happened?”

“she’s drunk off her ass and crying over you,” chan explained. “we can’t get her to leave until she sees you. we’re at that bar near the corner. please, hurry.”

joshua didn’t waste another second. “i’m on my way.”

when joshua arrived, he found you, a sobbing mess, crumpled against the bar counter. mingyu and chan had both tried to console you, but you were inconsolable.

the moment you saw joshua walk through the door, your eyes widened. for a second, it felt like a dream.

your face, already flushed from crying, broke into a small, relieved smile. “shua…” you whispered, your voice raw and barely audible over the sounds of the bar.

you wobbled to your feet, and despite your blurry vision, you flung yourself into his arms.

joshua caught you instantly, his arms wrapping around you tightly, feeling the weight of your sadness. his heart broke as he felt how fragile you were in his embrace, how lost you looked.

“you’re finally here,” you mumbled, barely coherent, your voice trembling as you clung to him. “i waited for you…”

joshua’s heart ached at your words. you didn’t mean for him to hear, but he did. and it tore him apart.

“hey, hey, i’m here now,” joshua whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his hands soft against your skin. “it’s okay. i’m here, sweetheart.”

but before he could say anything else, your body went limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you passed out in his arms.

“sweetheart?” joshua called softly, but you were already passed out.

“oh boy,” mingyu muttered under his breath.

joshua face set with determination, “get the car ready. i’ll carry her.”

as he carefully scooped you up in his arms, joshua couldn’t help but scold chan and mingyu. “i can’t believe you two let her drink this much. she’s been sobbing all night, and you didn’t stop her?”

mingyu looked guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. “we tried, but—”

“don’t,” joshua cut him off, shaking his head. “just get the car.”

when joshua reached your apartment, he carried you inside, his heart still heavy with everything you had said. he laid you gently on your bed, tucking you under the covers.

but you stirred, a soft, drowsy whimper escaping you as you reached for him. you clung to his sweatshirt, your fingers weak but desperate.

“shua,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

"you can let go sweetheart, you're home now." he says as he patted your head softly.

“if i let go… you’ll leave me, right? forever?”

joshua felt a tightness in his chest as he watched you, your tear-streaked face filled with so much pain, so much fear of losing him.

he sat down next to you, gently brushing your hair away from your face. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m not leaving you,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much tenderness.

“promise?” you asked, your eyes barely open, looking up at him with hope.

joshua’s heart broke at how vulnerable you were, how badly you needed reassurance. how badly you needed his reassurance.

he didn’t say “yes.” instead, he spoke the words he had been holding back for so long.

“you were my first love,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “you still are. i would do anything for you.”

your breath hitched at his words, and for the first time that night, you finally felt a weight lift from your chest.

joshua stayed by your side, his hand gently stroking your hair as you drifted into a peaceful sleep. and now you're finally home, you're safe. he is here, and he isn't going anywhere.

[rainba]

I read that u write dark content sooo,,,,

What would be both boys reaction to MC trying to comit suicide?(Succesfully or unsuccessfully)

U dont need to answer if it makes you feel uncomfy!!!

Such interesting questions... ( ´ ꒳ ` ) Thank you for sending them!

Warning for extremely dark content up ahead!

CW: suicide, violence, typical yandere behaviors

If Kairos’ darling committed suicide and succeeded, his mind would absolutely spiral out of control. He wouldn’t be able to think straight anymore; he'd be so overwhelmed with grief that the mere act of breathing becomes an impossible task. There’s really only two ways this scenario could end.

The first scenario: he isn’t the one who discovers your body. Through some other source, he hears that you’ve committed suicide… He wouldn’t believe it at first. He would think that he’s being pranked– someone in this world is testing him. Kairos would go through hell and back just to confirm that you’re actually dead. And when the truth finally settles in…?

He would be destroyed with guilt. 

He could’ve done something– he should have done something. Anything! It’s all his fault that you ended your own life– if he had just been watching you closer, you would’ve never done it. If he had loved you harder, you would've been happy in this world.

Kairos would collapse onto the floor as he clutches his head. The only thing he can think is: “it’s all my fault.”

Kairos can’t live in this world without you. 

When the day of your funeral finally comes, he’ll attend it while dressed in his finest gothic clothes. Around his neck is a black locket in the shape of a heart, and your picture is safely resting within it. He’ll walk up to your casket and lovingly grab your hand, smiling warmly with tears in his eyes. And then he’d whisper…

“I’ll see you soon, my love.”

In front of everyone, he would pull out a pre-sharpened knife, then slice open his own throat.

Kairos' blood will splatter all over your corpse. Everyone who knows you can only helplessly watch as he bleeds out and clings to your cold body.

This way, everyone will always associate the two of you together, even after the both of you have died...!

Everyone will know just how much he loved you.

The second scenario: Kairos is the one who discovers your body.

Kairos would drop to his knees the moment he sees your corpse– his jaw hanging wide open as silent screams escape his lungs. He wouldn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t know what to say. It’s as if his mind becomes full of static, cracking and disconnecting from reality.

His pale hands would grip your arms as he shakes you, begging you to wake up– but you never do. His heart shatters.

Just like in the last scenario, all he can feel is guilt.

Kairos wouldn’t call the police. After all, if he calls the police, they’ll take you away–!! He needs to be by your side! What if you wake up? What if his mind is playing tricks on him? What if this is just another one of his fucked-up nightmares?

Kairos sobs and shakes as he wraps his arms and legs around you, refusing to let you go. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t drink, he really doesn’t move at all. All he can do is absent mindedly stroke your hair as your body enters rigor mortis, slowly decaying in his loving embrace.

It would take a few days for his mind to return somewhat back to normal. You haven’t moved– not even once… He finally accepts that this is reality. You truly are dead.

It’s over. Everything’s over. His life is over. You’re gone… There’s no point in living anymore.

And it would end the same way as the last: while holding your hands, he’ll slice open his throat, and he’ll bleed out right beside you. He makes sure to intertwine his fingers with yours, wanting his last moments on earth to be romantic.

As for Luka: he would be enraged. Hurt. Bitter.

How could you…? How could you commit suicide like this?? 

Did you do it just to hurt him? Did you hate him that much? Was life just that cruel to you, and you couldn’t take it anymore…? 

Luka would have to take multiple weeks off of work; he can barely function. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to cook anything, and he’d lose tons of weight. Dark bags would form under his eyes. His tail would look disheveled and nearly matted. The only thing Luka does after your passing is lay in bed, staring at the empty space right beside him… The space that you were supposed to occupy.

He’d spend hours blankly staring at framed photographs of you. Rereading your old texts, listening to old voicemails, all while yearning so badly for your touch. Every time he passes out from exhaustion, all he sees is your perfect face.

When he dreams, the two of you are running around in a bright and sunny field– he’s always playfully chasing you, pouncing on you before showering you in loving kisses. In his dreams, you’re still alive, safe and sound. In his dreams, you're always smiling.

Luka despises waking up.

It's agonizing. He would often wish that he'd just die in his sleep.

But unlike Kairos, he wouldn’t go through with kill himself– he can’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he just constantly surrounds himself with things that remind him of you.

His phone's wallpaper is a picture of you. His ringtone is your favorite song. He wears jewelry that reminds him of you. He gets a tattoo of your name across his chest.

Everywhere Luka goes, he’s haunted by your ghost. He’d never be able to recover from losing you.

You were the first person to ever make him feel alive; now he’ll forever be an empty shell, doomed to never feel anything ever again.

[butchcarmy]

Pov.

Carmen comes home and hears the reader SOBBING, so he worries something terrible happened but it turns out she's just cooking and chopping onions really irritated her eyes.

LMFAOOO this is so silly. Like he’s instantly so concerned that they’re crying he doesn’t even see the onions out on the counter.

“I’m home,” Carmy calls out as he steps through the front door. The Chicago cold has him bundled up in a thick scarf and beanie, both of which he’s tossing onto the foyer table.

“Hey Carmy,” you reply, but the minute he hears you, he knows something’s off. When he sees you walking towards him, his stomach drops.

You’re hastily wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. There’s tears all over your face, even more raining down as you walk towards him. You sniffle, and it sounds like your nose is stopped up with snot. It sounds like you’ve been crying really hard.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He’s immediately at your side, running his thumbs over the tear tracks on your cheeks. When he realizes that isn’t enough, he starts wiping at your face with the end of his sleeve. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s—it was just—“ You sniffle, your tears stifling you, and Carmy genuinely feels something in his heart crack.

“Did something bad happen? Did someone hurt you?” He’s racking his memories across the past week, searching for something he must have missed. “If someone did anything bad to you, I’ll fucking—“

“Onions,” you blurt out. “It’s just onions, Carm.”

“…Onions?” He pauses wiping at your face, which has now broken into a smile.

“I was just chopping some onions for dinner tonight.” He looks over into the kitchen, and sure enough, there’s diced onions on a cutting board. “That’s all.”

“Oh.” His hands drop to his side. “Sorry, I just thought…”

“Is it bad that I kinda enjoyed that? It was really sweet. I would kiss you, but I have snot all over my face.” You’re running back into the kitchen to grab some tissues to blow your nose. Carmy trails awkwardly behind you.

“It’s been a while since I sharpened your knives. I’ll do it soon, so the onions won’t make you cry as much.”

“You really don’t have to.” You throw a snotty tissue away before grabbing another. “The onions were just particularly sad today. They were telling me the most tragic stories.”

“Well, they shouldn’t be making you cry so much,” he huffs, way too defensive for a joke about some onions, but he revels in the way it makes you laugh.

“They won’t now that you’re around.” You finish wiping your face off. “Wanna help me finish up here? If you’re not too tired, that is.”

“Sure, I’d like that. Just one thing, though.”

You don’t get a chance to ask what it is. He pulls you in for a kiss.

Stupid onions. At least it got Carm to fuss over you.

[viennacherries]

I encroach upon ye with a request

Zevlor breeding kink with like, his long term partner who can’t get pregnant for one reason or another (whether you write them as amab or an afab person who is sterile/lacking a functional uterus is up to you)

Zevlor deserves to be really a little bit feral about his partner yk?? Let the man loose himself, it’d be good for the self-loathing imo (/hj)

hi bestie!! my first time trying to write zevlor so i hope u like it! mwah

CONCEPTION

Zevlor/Tav | NSFW | 2,898 words

Summary:

“Tav…” He can hear the grumble in his own voice, watches as it washes over her and she shivers. “Come here.” She shakes her head slowly, a teasing smirk flitting across her face. When she speaks, it's a breath. “Come and get me.” ~~~ Tav and Zevlor want a baby, but things are rarely that simple.

Read it on AO3!

How long has it been now? Several months, at least. And yet he can't give her the one thing she yearns for more than anything. The gift of motherhood. 

Zevlor is certain it’s something wrong with him, because of course it must be. Perhaps it’s a punishment from the Gods for his failures against his kin. Perhaps they’ve deemed him unworthy and made him barren as penance for his sins. Him, an oath-broken paladin who couldn't resist the call of a false deity and sacrificed his people in his hubris, and her, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate who had been ready to sacrifice everything for a whole city of people she owed nothing to. He is broken and flawed in every way she is perfect and faultless. 

And, Hells , does it hurt. Because there's nothing he wants more than to make her happy. There’s nothing he wants more than to start a family with her, to see her hold their child in her arms and to place a kiss to both of their foreheads. There’s nothing more that he wants than to be a father and navigate the turmoils of parenthood with her by his side. 

And yet he keeps failing her. 

The worst part is, he’s fucking enjoying it. Laying with her every night, pumping his seed into her while she begs him to fill her. His infernal hindbrain lavishes in hearing her plead for his spend, in holding her down and filling her repeatedly, in watching his cum spill out of her and fingering it back inside her cunt to make sure not a drop is wasted. Some nights she’ll beg him to fuck her again and again, over and over until they’re both sore and exhausted, and he fucking loves it. 

But other nights, he’ll wake while the sky is still dark to a cold bed, and hear her sobbing in the other room. He’ll reach out his hand and be met with a small damp circle in the centre of the sheets, and he’ll know her cycle has come again. He’ll rise and find her, holding her while she sobs, and wonder how much longer he can stand to see her like this. 

And then they do it all again. 

He’s training in the low sun of the afternoon when she finds him, he feels her eyes on him and catches her leaning against a post from the corner of his vision. She looks radiant as always, wearing her favourite blouse and a skirt he doesn't recognise. 

He usually trains while she runs errands. It’s nothing as intensive as when he was a Hellrider; his joints complain far more these days. A young man he is not, but he still tries to keep himself in shape. Tav can more than hold her own, but he prides himself in feeling able to protect her, needs to know he’s strong enough to keep their family safe. So, when she travels into town for groceries, or visits the children at school to teach them about the Battle for Baldur’s Gate, he takes himself to the drill field on the outskirts and sharpens his sword. 

They’ve made their home in the burgeoning community Halsin has built in the Reclaimed Lands, and she’s absolutely thriving. Retirement from the adventuring life suits her. That's not to say she’s idle, but seeing her able to relax and travel for pleasure rather than a need to outmarch death fills him with joy. 

It’s been a few days since he’s seen her, her trip to the Grove taking longer than usual on this occasion. He’s a soldier, though, so of course he finishes his set before he turns to her (plus it sends a thrill through him, knowing she’s watching him, though he won't ever mention that to her). He wipes his brow along the back of his arm, spears his sword into the earth, and opens his arms wide to her. She giggles as she throws herself into his embrace and he swings her around in circles. That’s the other benefit to keeping up his training, being able to lift and carry her and hear the elated squeals she lets out. It makes him feel a far more youthful man than he is. 

Before he can ask how her trip went, she's kissing him deeply and smiling against his lips. Yet another way being with her makes him feel young; the way her every touch sends heat through his body as though he’s a virginal adolescent. Hells, he loves her so much. 

When she pulls away she’s grinning, and he can't help but return it. “Good journey, I take it?”

She laughs, and the sound is so weightless and musical it makes his head spin. 

“ Great trip! I have something for you - for us!”

He raises an eyebrow in question. She often brings him back little trinkets and treats from the Grove but it’s rare she’s this excited to give him them. 

Scratch bounds up to her before he can ask any questions and practically clings to her, and her beautiful laugh is back again. Whatever queries he may have had are forgotten as she kneels, cackling as Scratch smothers her face in sloppy kisses.

Usually she’ll bring back a brace of rabbits or pheasants that she’s hunted on the trek back, but she tells him excitedly as she brings out the meat for dinner that she managed to snag a deer. She stopped at a small trading post, where they butchered it for her and she traded them everything that wouldn't keep. She holds the venison steaks up proudly and he applauds her as she takes a deep bow, laughing her way through it. She also foraged some fresh herbs and wild garlic, and the traders gave her some asparagus and carrots in return for the doe. 

As usual, he offers to cook, and as usual he’s swatted out of the kitchen, so instead he vows to do the dishes and takes the time to set the table. He feels so lucky to be privy to the mundanity of domestic life with her, so he takes pride in setting their cutlery and placing the table mats down. He lights a few candles, too, because he’s nothing if not a romantic. Tav deserves candlelit dinners. 

He’s still not used to the way she looks after him. A lifetime of bachelorhood and swordsmanship doesn’t prepare a man for gentle touches and lovingly cooked meals. Zevlor considers himself a reasonably talented chef, and he’s not some invalid that never learnt how to do his own laundry, and yet Tav always insists on doing these things for him. He’s quite sure he’s never known a love like it. He’s so used to being relied on, and it took a long time to wrap his head around the idea of letting Tav carry some of his burdens. They lean on each other, they give each other balance and stability. 

Still, it’s always a competition to see who notices the washing on the line is dry first, and they’re often racing one another to take it down. 

Dinner is delicious, as always. The vegetables are roasted in honey and garlic, and she’s cooked the venison in butter which has it tender and flavourful. She even pours them both a glass of wine, and it pairs beautifully. 

When they’ve both eaten, the dishes washed and the candles extinguished, she’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

“My dear,” he says at last, as he watches her shuffling from one foot to the other, “are you going to tell me what has you so agitated?”

She grins and grabs his hand, standing in front of him, and the words burst from her almost immediately.

“It’s me, Zev. I’m the problem.”

He feels his face twist in confusion and sorrow. It’s not hard to deduce what she’s talking about, but he’s not quite sure why that fills her with such glee. 

“Tav… I’m sorry, I-”

She interrupts him with a finger over his lips. “No, no you don't understand. I spoke to Nettie. She says I can have children, I just don't ovulate at regular intervals. She said the reason we've not been able to conceive is because I have a hormone imbalance, not because either of us are sterile.” 

He lets her announcement wash over him. The thought that all of their issues have been poor timing and unfortunate happenstance is… Almost unbelievable. He’d resigned himself so fully to the idea that he was the issue, finding out that isn't the case makes his heart stop in his chest. 

“How do you-”

She interrupts again, “Nettie gave me a brew when I arrived, to balance my hormones. It’s why I stayed in the Grove a few extra days, so she could test them for me. She says everything is as it should be now. She says…” A blush rises over her cheeks, though the ecstatic smile over her features doesn't falter. “She says if we try now she suspects we’ll have no problems.”

He feels his own blush rising to his face, mostly due to the fact that Nettie now knows far more about his sex-life than he’d hoped to share with anyone ever . He opens his mouth to speak but she’s talking again before he can. 

“And, just to be safe, she brewed me a concoction with Mandrake. She said it tastes foul, but that it boosts fertility.” A smirk rises on her face, and she rises on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. Her breath is warm on his ear and he shivers. “I mixed it into my wine.”

The groan he lets out is involuntary, and it resonates low in his chest like a purr. The sudden switch from confused and sad to elated and turned on has his head spinning, and as she walks him backwards towards their bed he feels his cock rush to attention. 

A single hand in the centre of his chest pushes him back and down, and he sits staring at her from the mattress. She takes two steps backwards and slowly begins unbuttoning her blouse. 

“Zev…” His name on her tongue is like honey. He’s certain she does it on purpose and it drives him wild. “I want you to breed me, darling. Want you to fill me with your babies.”

He clenches his jaw and digs his nails into his thighs. He knows exactly what game she’s playing. She loves to unravel his sensibilities until he’s squirming - until he can't help but rut into her like a wild creature. She knows just how to toy with him to bring his infernal heritage to heel til she gets exactly what she wants. 

She chuckles at his reaction, because obviously she does. “You want that, love? Want to mount me and fill me up?”

The noise he makes at that is closer to a growl than anything else, and he nods tensely. She giggles and lets her blouse drop from her shoulders, and hells, of course she isn't wearing a brassiere. The realisation that she’s been planning this, waiting for this, drives him insane. Suddenly the new skirt makes far more sense. It takes all of his restraint to stay seated where he is.  

Tav brushes a thumb over each of her nipples and lets out an exaggerated keen, which has his cock twitching and straining against his trousers. 

“Tav…” He can hear the grumble in his own voice, watches as it washes over her and she shivers. “Come here.”

She shakes her head slowly, a teasing smirk flitting across her face. When she speaks, it's a breath. 

“ Come and get me .”

Every shred of control he has snaps and he’s on her in an instant, pulling her against his body in one long stride. He hikes her legs up around his waist and holds her there, drawing her as close to himself as he possibly can and bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss. She tightens her legs around him and moans into his mouth and, fuck, he wants her so badly. He spins and drops her down onto the bed, and she gasps as she lands on it. 

She looks a picture like this; skirt sitting high on her thighs with her tits hanging heavy on her chest. An image of her sitting like this, round and full with his child, fills his mind. He imagines her breasts full, imagines her body swelling with pregnancy, and Gods if it doesn't make his cock ache. 

“You…” His voice comes out strained, gravelled and thick. “Are such a tease . I try to be polite and you push���” He moves to stand closer, her head level with his stomach. “... and push…” He puts one hand on her shoulder, easing her backwards and hovering above her. Her legs fall open and he stands between them. “... and push …” He rolls his hips against her core and she throws her head backwards with a moan. “... until I can't help but fold you over, hm? Is that what you want, my love? You want me to use your body til you’re good and bred?”

Hells, she’s making so many needy noises and he’s barely touched her yet. She nods hurriedly, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning up to suck a bruise onto his neck, and fuck he loves when she marks him. He moans and tips his head to give her better access, and he feels Tav smile against his skin as she nibbles at him. 

He slips a hand under her skirt and moans at the realisation that she’s not wearing underclothes either. 

“Hells, Tav, you’re so needy for it. You sat there like this the whole time we ate, desperate for me, hm?”

“ Yes , Zev, Gods . Need you.” Her voice is breathy.

He wants to be teasing, wants to wind her up the way she does to him, but he’s not strong enough. Hearing her beg for him has his face full of heat and has his head swimming. “Can I taste you, love?”

She starts to give her assent, but he’s dropping to his knees before she even finishes getting the words out, lifting her skirt and burying his face in her core. The scent of her drives him wild, and the taste of her musk on his tongue as he drags it through her slick has him moaning into her. Her hands lace into his hair as he sucks her clit between his lips, teasing and tasting her until she’s writhing and keening and cumming into his mouth. 

She drags him back up, kisses him deeply, and the feeling of her tongue massaging against his is so erotic that he can't help grinding against her again. He can feel the wet heat of her cunt leaving a damp patch on the front of his trousers and he knows he can't wait any longer to have her. 

He manages to pry himself away and strips unceremoniously, letting himself languish for a moment in the heated way she stares at his body. The scars and infernal ridges littering his body have always, to him, been unattractive, but she looks at him every time like she can't bear to look away. No one has ever looked at him the way Tav does, and it lights his whole being on fire. 

There's no more conversation needed. He lays himself over her, folds her legs up towards her chest and sinks deep into her heat, and she throws her head back and whines as he fills her. With her legs pushed up like this he can fill her entirely, and the way she clenches around him has him gritting his teeth and grinding deeper into her body. 

“I’ll keep you here all night, if that's what you want, love. Fill you til you’re certain you’ll burst. Can't wait to see you full with my child.”

She tries to reply, but he chooses that moment to fill her with a deep thrust from tip to root, and her eyes roll back into her head as she frees a leg from his grip, digging a heel into his rear and pulling him deeper. With every thrust of his hips she keens, louder and louder until her cries reach a crescendo, and then she’s sobbing her way through her second orgasm and clenching her walls around his cock. 

The wet, tight squeeze of her cunt means it doesn't take long for him to reach his own end, spilling himself inside her just like she asked, kissing her lovingly through it. Every twitch of his cock makes her sigh and clench him harder, milking him of every drop of his cum until he’s laying boneless over her. 

Their heavy breaths mingle together as they share deep, meaningful kisses. When he tries to remove himself from her, she wraps her legs around him and shakes her head. 

“You said you’d keep me here all night. I hope you intend to keep that promise. I want… I want you to stay inside. I want to feel you get hard, and then I want you to fuck me full again.”

And hells, her words have his spent cock twitching valiantly, aching to take her again despite it being too soon, so he tells her yes as he leans in to kiss her again.