#souls entwined with each other to the core

[softquietsteadylove]

I love the way you can describe Thenamesh. How you find the right word to describe anything. It’s very poetic. Maybe you can use your talent and write something beautiful?

How Thena sees Gil? What she thinks when she is looking into his eyes, sees his smile? How he is tall and has these muscles but is very very gentle with anything fragile. How he is utterly gentle and soft with her?

Just her perspective of him. Something beautiful, soft and sweet.

Im looking forward for more story’s of you ❤️

Warmth

There are a few things that can come to mind when looking at the Strongest Eternal, but the first and foremost should be warmth. He radiates it, embodies it, effuses it. And it spreads to those around him, encouraging them to bask in such qualities as his warmth and his humour and his utter kindness.

When she looks at him, something stirs within her mind. it's hard to explain, and the Warrior Eternal is not exactly one confounded by her own thoughts often. But looking at him pulls something from deep within her. It lies dormant, under her unconscious thought when she doesn't need it. But how she loves that indescribable feeling.

From the moment their eyes met in deep space, to when her hand slipped into his when they first touched down on the planet, something about him makes her feel at ease.

The nerves in her body calm, the thoughts in her head quiet. He stills her like a ripple stills the water in its wake. She gives him her hand and his warmth washes over her. It loosens her, softens her jagged edges. She tucks her elbow in, bringing herself closer to him by her own volition. Because the choice to be closer to him is an easy one.

She watches him across from her, through the flames of revelry. Deviants have been slain and celebration is in order. She is not one for it, but he is. And if he is there, then she will not be far. Not unless it's to protect that smile of his--the warmth he carries preciously without even realising it.

"Come and have a drink with me."

Cold and hard, just like her. "No."

Not all of them are. Sersi is soft and warm, Makkari is bright and warm. Kingo is a little too bright, if anything. But none of them are warm like he is.

He turns and looks at her, bathed in Babylonian sun. His hair moves in the wind, soft and almost fluffy on the top of his head. It catches the light and holds it with its dark colour. His skin glows from the work he's doing. He waves.

His eyes are warm, and so gentle. Their colour is brown, but Thena will never have the words to describe how they are so much more than that. They are warm soup he makes for her when it's raining, or tea he brews when she can't sleep. They are the last embers of a fire she keeps stoked so he won't be cold after dozing off in the middle of watch duty. They are the first hints of sunlight she glimpses on his skin before going back to sleep, content with just the sight of him.

"Hey," he greets her plainly and simply. The one word has so, so many others behind it--so much that exists between them.

"Hey," she smiles back at him, content as his smile pulls up to one side while he tries to guess her thoughts. She lets him, because she gets to look at him for longer.

His eyes flutter as she reaches up to brush away a bead or two of sweat. He has black eyelashes, which make her envious because they get to touch his cheeks whenever they please.

"What have you been up to?" he asks lightly, his hand hovering closer, lingering in a way that would get anyone else killed.

She allows it, because it's easier than giving in and leaning all the way into it. "Watch."

He nods, content with her one word, because he knows she has chosen it just for him.

"You?" she asks, and this too is more than anyone else would get.

"Helping patch up the hole," he points to the last point of impact from a previous fight. It was a good fight. "Just finished."

"Hm," she purrs, eyes travelling over him. She follows every move of his shoulders, every breath that expands his chest under his armour, ever twitch in his arms after a hard day's work.

Those arms can rip a Deviant's head clean off. They are also made to fit around her in embraces that can only be described as painfully gentle.

"Hungry?" he asks, because he's always so concerned with feeding her.

She lets his hand come to the small of her back, his palm spreading against it. She knows every bend of muscle, every edge of bone, every ridge in the tips of his fingers. "What are you making?"

His smile puts the sun to shame. "Anything you want."

She lets out a fraction of a laugh, but he brightens as if she has promised him riches beyond compare. He always presents himself as living to hear even the smallest laugh from her. That is how she feels about his smile.

"Honey buns?" he suggests, and is rewarded with a full, bright smile, her lips pulling back from her teeth.

His eyes trail over them. Just like she knows every muscle on his body, he knows every bend and line in her lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

She keeps her eyes on him as they walk. She has no choice; he's too beautiful to look away. His hand moves and soon his arm is looped around her, as easily and lazily as he might lean against something.

She leans against him--leans into it.

How she loves him.

[lowkeyren]

FOR HIS HEART CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

in which — dan feng can’t imagine a life without you. so even when death takes your hand, he'll hold on to your other and do anything to get you back in his embrace, no matter the consequences.

pairing — dan f/heng x gn!reader

wc: 2.5k, lovers to enemies, you both are lowkey bad with feelings LOL, i lied when i said there's an alternative ending for hurt/comfort enjoyers, now suffer. (reblogs w comments are appreciated, pls enjoy <3) ps. dividers aren't working cus tumblr is being mean to me so using dashes instead ARRHGHGHG

—

lying in your shared bed, your breathing grows increasingly shallow, your hands tremble uncontrollably, signaling another episode of your deteriorating condition. the dim, cold room feels oppressive as you catch the distant echoes of the best physicians from all around xianzhou, their hurried steps reverberating against the walls as they hasten to your side.

dan feng tightens his grip on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his expression etched with concern. the smell of herbal remedies and the sharp scent of sickness fills the air, mingling with the mustiness of the stone walls; a familiar sense of dread washes over you as you struggle with each breath.

his brows are furrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line, his knuckles turning white from the tightness of his grip on your hands. the pressure is so intense that it almost hurts —almost, but not quite enough to cause you (more) pain. he would never hurt you, not even over his own grave.

despite the best efforts of your personal caregivers, the limitations of medical knowledge, and the uncertainty of your treatments are harsh realities you have to face. it fills him with anguish to witness your episodes almost daily —suddenly collapsing in his arms, gasping for breath; moments like these are where he feels like he's standing right beside your deathbed, desperately hoping for signs of improvement each time you open your eyes again. 

it kills him that there's nothing he can do but watch over you, he watches as you waste away before his eyes, feeling a piece of himself wither away in tandem. 

dan feng’s eyes search yours the moment you regain consciousness, the doctors respectfully step back, bowing before hurriedly exiting the room. his heart breaks into a million pieces when he sees your eyes that were once bright with joy, now clouded with tears. the sight pierces through him, stirring a deep ache in his chest.

"dan feng," you whisper hoarsely, your voice fragile with pain. “it hurts, it hurts so much…” he presses a soft kiss against your entwined hand, his touch a soothing balm amidst the storm raging within him. “don’t worry,” he murmurs softly, “i’ll make it go away soon, i swear.”

“thank you.. but promise me, if i don't make it, you'll find a way to move on.” you manage a weak smile through the pain. his eyes glisten with unshed tears, he shakes his head slightly, "i won’t let that happen." 

of course he won’t. you were the kindest, most lovely soul before this godforsaken unknown illness with no definitive cure stole your life away; he sees your smile slowly losing its radiance, and your eyes dulling as each day passes. 

“this body… it’s useless, i’m useless. i’m sorry, i—” dan feng places a finger against your lips. his touch tender yet firm, stopping your words. "don't say that," his voice choking with emotion. "you're not useless, in fact you're the strongest person i know."

hearing you utter such self loathing words is like a dagger twisting in his heart, tipping him over the edge. you, who have always been his anchor in life's turbulent seas, slipping away feels like fragile glass shattering into countless shards, leaving him scattered and irreparable, each piece cutting deeper into his core with every breath.

he can't face the idea of losing you. it destroys him from within, even more so now that time is running out. but he won’t let anyone else have you, not even the cold hands of death. for you, he’s willing to pay any price, even if it means he has to break the highest laws of xianzhou.

—

you wake up feeling unusually energized, a stark contrast to the persistent aches and pains that have haunted you for so long. as you sit up, the familiar discomforts are no longer present, instead replaced by an almost surreal sense of vitality.

but something feels strangely off, an unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of your awareness. your eyes dart around the room, frantically searching for your boyfriend’s presence; he has never left your side without a word (his protectiveness wouldn't allow it anyway), especially not for this long. 

panic flares as you look down at your body. the surgical wounds that once marked your skin have vanished without a trace. your breath catches in your throat as you run your fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface where scars should be.

you push back the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, struggling to piece together what could have happened.

where is dan feng? is he in trouble? and, why do you feel so... alive? 

then, a chilling realisation dawns on you. you try to shake the thought from your mind, but no matter how hard you try, you aren’t able to find any other explanation that fits your condition. as the high elder, dan feng should know better than anyone that such an act is a sin —a disgrace...

the truth begins to settle in, he really did sacrifice everything to grant you immortality.

—

“you’re literally the high elder for god's sake, what have you done?!” you exclaim, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger.

dan feng's expression is pained as he meets your gaze, his own eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “i’m only trying to help you. you don’t understand, i—”

“help me?” you cut in sharply, scoffing. “you betrayed xianzhou! you betrayed me. i was ready to let go, so why?” 

he reaches out to you, his hand stopping, and hovering in mid air as if unsure whether to touch you. "i can't bear to lose you," he confesses, his voice barely a whisper. "i can’t just stand by and watch you suffer when i have the power to save you."

tears well up in your eyes, the room feels suffocatingly small as you stand in front of him. for the first time, you find yourself on opposite sides of the battlefield, the weight of his transgression hangs heavy between you, tearing apart everything you once knew. 

“by defying everything we stand for?” you choke out, your words laced with venom. “do you realise just what you’ve done?” he takes a step closer, his face etching with anguish. "i know i’ve made a grave mistake." he admits, “but will you believe me if i say that i didn’t regret it one bit?”

“how can you do all this… for love?” your eyes search his for answers that seem unfathomable. “no, my dear, for you.”  he steps closer, his breath warm against your skin, gaze locking onto yours with an almost desperate intensity. 

"but how can i ever love you again after this?" you whisper, your voice trembling. his heart shatters at how your eyes taint with fear and betrayal, the sight wrapping around his chest like a vice. the mere thought of losing you, of seeing you banished because of his desperation, is a torment he can hardly bear —but now one that he has to face.

"if you can't accept what i've done, i'll grant your wish, whatever it is.” he murmurs. “for you, i’m willing to pay any price." 

though when bound in chains, his title of high elder does little to shield him from the repercussions of breaking the sacred laws. he’s taken away; his fate sealed by the very rules he broke. and you, the one he tried to save, find yourself exiled, cast out for the sin you never chose.

as you wander, lost and alone, the realisation of what he gave up for you lingers, a bittersweet reminder of his love that defied everything, yet cost you both so much. 

—

the land of xianzhou is something dan heng is strangely familiar with; he walks through the maze of narrow alleys and crowded squares, every corner seems to whisper fragments of memories long buried. 

“dan heng! look, isn’t this so cool?!” the excited voice of a pink haired girl reaches his ears. her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she animatedly gestures towards a nearby market stall with hand-carved trinkets. she continues to gush over the intricate designs while holding the hand of her grey haired companion, eagerly dragging them towards the stall.

his eyes follows them as their silhouette grows smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing amidst the crowd. just then, another figure in the distance catches his attention.

it’s a brief glimpse, a fleeting moment where your eyes meet across the street. perhaps it's your mannerisms, your familiar gestures, or simply the way you carry yourself —whatever it is, it stirs a rush of adrenaline, a sense of déjà vu that he can’t quite shake.

dan heng pushes through the bustling throng, eyes darting frantically in search of you. the world blurs around him as he focuses solely on catching another glimpse of you; he spots you slipping into a narrow alleyway, and without hesitation, he follows.

the noise of the market fades into a distant hum as his footsteps echo softly against the alley walls. he turns a corner and sees you up ahead, your figure outlined by the dim light filtering through cracks in the buildings.

you soon reach a dead end, but as you turn to leave, you bump into someone’s chest. the world seems to stand still for a moment, dan heng's breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you. although your face is partially obscured by a thin veil, your features are still discernible. 

“oh? it seems you still remember me.” you finally meet his gaze. those eyes he cherished so dearly still hold a spark of life. “[name]?” he murmurs, the sound of your name still so intimate on his lips after many years.

“you haven’t changed one bit.” he reaches out to gently push the veil covering your face aside. a flood of memories rushes through his mind, one a sharp pang in his heart. seeing you again triggers a vivid recollection of the exact place and position you were in years ago, a memory that stings to recall.

“i wonder whose fault it is?” you tilt your head, if only he knew the trouble you went through to find him again; given that goodbyes were never exchanged between you, it seems fitting to offer one now.

before he can say a word, you swiftly grab his collar and wedge him firmly against the wall. he doesn’t resist even when he feels the cold sharp edge of your dagger pressing against his throat, his gaze still fixing firmly on yours. 

"have you ever felt remorse?" you lean closer into him, your voice is barely audible through your gritted teeth. he ignores your question; unexpectedly, he grips your hand, dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. 

"as long as my blood is on your hands, go ahead, do it." he whispers, his voice steady despite the tension. "my heart has always been yours anyway." his eyes bore into yours as if daring you to follow through. 

his grip on your hand tightens, urging you closer. "and if this is what it takes to ease your pain, then i'm ready."

"...what? you must be out of your mind if you think this way of making amends will work." your disbelief is clear in your voice; you try to shake his hand away, but he refuses to budge. 

dan feng couldn’t imagine a life without you, so when death takes your hand, he holds on to your other —and finds you again as dan heng. even as he gets on his knees and begs for your forgiveness, he still holds on to your hand as tightly as he can, afraid that any moment you might slip through his fingers.

“i’m sorry, i just couldn’t accept the thought of you leaving me.” and i still can’t, so please don’t leave me again.

you feel your willpower wavering, his very being melting away at your resolve. it's too much to bear, and you feel yourself slipping under the weight of his words. even still, you find yourself struggling to deny him. to deny yourself. to deny your own feelings. 

you fight the urge to simply give in, torn between the desire to just let go and fall into the sweet oblivion of his embrace, and the fear of getting sucked back into a cycle of destruction and pain. the weight of all that history, all those memories of your bittersweet love, it's overwhelming, nearly crushing.

“i know.” your heart aches, but you still deny the crave of the comfort of his arms. “and you’re not wrong,” the dagger clatters to the ground, the metallic sound echoing through the alleyway. 

“your heart is mine.” you push the veil to cover your face, placing your hands on his shoulder, leaning in. the cool silk brush against his parted lips, and oh… he’s been waiting so, so long for this moment.

though you pull away just as he comes to his senses. for the first time in years, he sees your smile again —the same smile that first captivated him, the one he had cherished and sought to preserve over the years. 

"remember the wish you owe me?" he nods, unable to find words. the memory of his promise resurfaces with startling clarity, his mind racing with the possibilities of what you might ask for. 

—

dan heng looks in the dagger's reflection; a dishevelled and broken man stares back.

the cold metal digs deep into his palm, the sharp edge slicing into his skin. in that moment, he wants nothing more than to be free of it, than to plunge the blade into his own heart. he feels the pain all over again, the pain of not being able to hold you, to touch you, to be with you.

for he knows that no matter how tightly he grips the dagger, it will never be the same as holding your hand. he knows that no matter how deeply it cuts into his flesh, it will never feel the same as holding you close.

“i wish i never loved you.” your words echo painfully in his mind. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” he releases the dagger with a sudden twist of his arm.

if choosing you over xianzhou was wrong, then consider him a sinner, and if loving you this much is his downfall, then consider him already on his knees.

but was it worth everything? was it worth it to see the look of utter desperation on his face? was it worth it to see him break apart in front of you? you feel only resentment and satisfaction; you made him feel what you wanted him to feel, you made him suffer for you.

the blade falls from his grasp, he stands amidst the shards of shattered illusions; the pain of your absence cuts deeper than any blade ever could. 

perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. 

for now, he honors your wish and only watches as you live on from the sidelines, yearning to be a part of your life again, even if only in his thoughts and dreams. he remains steadfast in his longing, a silent witness to the unspoken ache that lingers in the wake of your parting words.

—

masterlist

©lowkeyren 2024 only on tumblr. please do not plagiarize, translate, repost on other platforms, or feed my works into ai.

author's notes!! (my line of thought when writing this lul)

1. you made him suffer for you. -> irony. vengeance. he made you suffer BECAUSE of him granting you immortality. 2. dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. = "my heart has always been yours anyway." -> which reader says with “your heart is mine.” 3. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” -> reader refers to dan heng as dan feng, i wonder what that means. 4. perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. -> you're both evil asf ngl, yes he will find you, you can't die aka you can't leave (him). ^ the only reason why he doesn't keep pursuing u now is cus he promised to grant your wish which is "to never cross paths again". (wow, he's such a man of his words.) 5. reader kisses dh over the veil, deliberately denying him the satisfaction of any intimacy. can be seen as a form of "punishment", leaving him yearning for more.

ty for reading xx for each reblog i will write 100 words for pt2 /j (BUT DO REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!! and it might not be a slash jay after all heuehehheh)

[augiewrites]

"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 4)

summary: y/n finds yet another note in their desk and sees something interesting on a late night walk home from the library

pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader

word count : 1.1k

previous | next

a/n: i think this is my favorite chapter so far—thanks for all the love on this story :)

Y/N didn’t receive another letter that week. Doubt was swirling in their mind—what if their admirer had lost interest? Maybe they met a real, feasible person and forgot about them. The endless swirl of scenarios was eating them alive. They needed a distraction, but they knew it wouldn’t do much for them. Their mind bounced straight back to their poet during any moment of silence.

They had taken Meeks and Pitts up on their offer to study with them, and they found themselves growing increasingly fond of the two boys. Y/N would be elated if their poet turned out to be anything like them.

Passion was a rare commodity at Welton, and dissent was especially hard to come by. Y/N had been beginning to feel as though they were the only person unhappy with being forced into conformity—or, at least, the only person willing to vocalize their discontent.

That changed as they got to know Meeks, Pitts, and, in turn, the random assortment of boys that popped in during these study sessions. They had forgotten how good it felt to speak their mind to non judgmental ears. Hell, even the ever-bashful Todd Anderson was slowly coming out of his shell in their presence.

The only issue, of course, was Charlie Dalton.

There was just something about the boy that got under their skin.

The line between confidence and arrogance was extremely thin, and Charlie was constantly teetering along that threshold. 

If there were a social hierarchy within the group, Charlie was at the top of it—and the boy was well aware. The other boys were often onlooking Charlie’s antics with a noticeable level of admiration.

Y/N knew that there had to be another layer behind—far behind—the boy’s often pompous attitude. After all, at every teenager’s core is a half-child that wants nothing more than to feel a sense of belonging. A level of vulnerability that most teenage boys don’t want being observed.

A level of vulnerability that Y/N didn’t stick around long enough to see in Charlie Dalton.

The boy in question was currently reciting an excerpt from Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.

“Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,

Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,

But that our soft conditions and our hearts

Should well agree with our external parts?”

Y/N couldn’t help but think that his voice was quite nice—velvety and assured.

They shook the thought from their mind and opened up their desk. A gasp was suppressed at the sight of a neatly folded piece of stationary atop their mess.

Eager hands unfolded the parchment as discreetly as possible.

Darling Y/N,

Did you know that you get this adorable wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re frustrated? I love seeing it almost as much as the dimple of your cheek when you smile.

In shadows cast by moonlight's gentle gleam, A heart entwined in love's elusive dream. Captivated by a smile so divine, Another's joy, a radiant sign.

Each curve and grace, a sunlit dance, Ignites a flame, a tender trance. In stolen glances, a world unfolds, Where every story of passion is told.

A symphony in the heart's soft sigh, A love that blossoms, soaring high. With every grin, a melody sweet, Two souls in rhythm, destined to meet. I hope to see that smile again soon.

x, Yours.

Y/N’s entire body was buzzing as they flipped to a blank page of their notebook.

In crowds unknown, a face concealed, Yet a whispering heart, its fate revealed. Mystery veils, like a silent star, In the vast unknown, I find you, afar.

No words exchanged, no history traced, Yet in your presence, a love embraced. Falling in realms of the unseen,  An enchantment, profound and serene.

Y/N ripped the page out and left it on top of the clutter within their desk. They didn’t look back once when the class was dismissed.

_________________________________________

“We should probably head back to the dorms if we don’t want to get reamed for missing bed checks.”

Y/N and Meeks were the only members of their study group left conscious. Charlie was long asleep—spread across the seats of four chairs.

“That’s too bad,” Y/N grinned, “this is the first time I’m actually enjoying Dalton’s company.”

“You always enjoy my company, Y/N,” Charlie muttered with his eyes still shut, “don’t lie to poor Steven.”

“Whatever helps you rest easy.”

Meeks just shook his head. the ghost of an amused smile threatening his lips, “you live in the East wing, right? One of us should walk with you.”

“I think I’ll survive, Meeks,” Y/N said on a laugh, “you need to be getting back to tuck Pitts in, anyway.”

The two exchanged good nights and good lucks on the Latin oral the next day before Y/N left Meeks in charge of rousing Charlie.

_________________________________________

It was uncharacteristically warm for late January, and Y/N decided to take the slightly longer scenic route back to their dorm. They would happily be chastised for getting back slightly after curfew if it meant they were able to be outside for a while and still be able to feel all their limbs.

A hushed giggle floated across the courtyard, snapping Y/N out of their thoughts. They spotted a familiar head of shaggy brown hair accompanied by another with perfectly curled blonde locks.

“Knox, really,” another giggle, “I have to go.”

“C’mon, Chris. Just a couple more minu—” his head snapped toward the sound of Y/N’s soft footsteps. The panic in his expression quickly melted into relief and a sly smile.

“Hurry, Chris! Hide,” he gently pushed the girl behind him, “we have a spy on our hands.”

Y/N stuck their hands in their coat pockets, feeling as though they were the one caught instead of the couple before them.

“Just an innocent bystander, I swear,” Y/N shot them a sheepish smile.

Chris nudged Knox, looking much more anxious than the boy.

He startled, glancing between Chris and Y/N with a soft, “oh.”

“Chris, this is Y/N—a friend of the poets,” poets? “Y/N, this is Chris, my girlfr—”

“His friend,” Chris interrupted, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Knox held a hand over his heart, feigning offense, “she’s just in denial. Girlfriend.”

“Denial is probably the safest option here. Smart woman,” Y/N smirked at the boy, “I should be getting back. I’ll let you two…finish up here.”

Y/N barely registered the pair’s goodbyes as they walked away. Their thoughts were in overdrive.

I guess it’s not Knox. I should have realized that sooner. I guess that pathetic poem really wooed Chris. Y/N laughed lightly to themselves. What did he mean, “a friend of the poets”? 

The more Y/N found out, the more confusing it all felt.

~~~

part five

[lovemyavatar]

Equilibrium

Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

this one’s for you, @tiredmamaissy ily

Warnings: purely smut, (aged up) nsfw, p in v, oral (female receiving), mating, soft dom Neteyam

Notes: this is set within the same universe as Push and Pull, however it can be read as a standalone

“Where are you taking me, ‘Teyam?”

He guides you forward, long fingers loosely entwined, arm extended at his back as he leisurely steps through the brush. His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, excitement blooming in his stomach.

A giggle bubbles up your throat, feet stumbling over rocks and upturned roots as you blindly follow him through the forest. Long lashes flutter beneath the soft cloth he’d tied gently around your head, just after a searing look and a quiet you trust me, yawne (beloved)?

He’s spent the last week doting on your every need, to the point of excess. Since learning about how you felt ignored, cast aside by his cold demeanor in front of the clan, he’s made it his mission to lavish you with attention at all times.

Even when your cheeks prickle with heat and you gently bat wandering hands away, he only pulls you closer, planting sweet kisses along your neck and murmuring a quiet be good beside your ear.

It brings warmth to your chest, having him love you so publicly. Truthfully, the clan has been aware of the underlying tension between you for years now. Seeing as his parents promised you to each other at a young age anyway, it only made sense that you’d finally given into your desires.

The back and forth was purely a product of two idiots so stuck in their heads they couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

Neteyam stops abruptly, and you stumble, landing against a strong back. He chuckles softly before turning, hands reaching up to delicately remove your blindfold.

You blink against the low light, vision refocusing. Brilliant, glowing purple surrounds you. Your head swivels from side to side, taking in the long hanging tendrils of one of your favorite places in the forest.

A smile pulls at your lips as you run a hand through the dangling branches of the Tree of Souls. It feels alive, the whispers of ancestors long buried wafting over your skin.

When your eyes trail back to him, breath catches in your throat. His chin is low, eyes molten with desire and something else, something deeper. His heated gaze bores through you, straight to the growing warmth between your legs.

Your thighs press together, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed. The corner of his lips twitches into a tiny smirk. One of his large hands dwarfs yours as he peels it from your side before bringing it to his lips to plant a lingering kiss along your knuckles.

“Be mine?” He whispers, voice hoarse.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your chest, fingers tightening against his. “We’ve been over this, yawnetu (love). I’m all yours.”

“I mean…be mine—here.” He takes a step closer, free hand skimming the small of your back. He pulls you into him, chests pressed together tightly. “Before our ancestors. Before Eywa.”

Your eyes pop wide and you move back, eyes scanning his serene expression. You search for any hesitation, any lingering doubts. When all you see is assurance, your lips part in surprise.

“I thought…” Your heart sputters in your chest, thrumming harshly between your ribs.

Though you’ve wanted this all along, you’ve tried so hard not to push him. To force his hand before he’s truly ready. His current fascination with you has been more than satisfactory, the way he’s made your pleasure a priority enough to make you nearly forget you aren’t really mated.

His hand drops yours to move around his back, searing gaze never leaving you as he grips his queue and brings it over his shoulder.

“I want you—all of you—to be mine.” The raw desire in his eyes makes your core clench with anticipation.

He was lost before, distracted by obligation and expectation. Now that he has you, gets to live the rest of his life with you at his side, he wants it all. No, he needs it all. A need to possess, to dominate, has been growing within him, and it’s nearing the breaking point.

“Okay, just…slow down, Nete.” You’re breathless, partially in disbelief that this is finally happening.

Your hands move up to caress the sides of his face, eyes flicking over his features one last time before capturing his lips with yours. He responds instantly, arms tightening around your middle until not even a fraction of space exists between you.

Your head tilts, tongue prodding his lips until he opens for you, giving you the freedom to explore. A groan rumbles his chest, the gentle vibration warming your lower belly. A gasp tears up your throat as he suddenly smooths his hands down your back, until they hook beneath your thighs and lift your feet off the ground.

Your legs wind around his waist, and he surprises you again by lowering you both to the earth. He gently guides you into his lap as he sits on the soft grass, legs outstretched. A quiet hum passes between frantic kisses as you settle into him, loincloth sliding on your already slick core.

The friction hits your clit just right, so you do it again, hips rocking along his hardened length. He moans beneath you, one hand smoothing down your back while the other trails up toward your neck. Long fingers tangle into the braids at the base of your skull and jerk your head back.

He peppers open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, forcing your face toward the sky with his firm hold. You pant above him, lower belly tightening. Your hands roam his body freely, fingertips tracing the line of his shoulders before skimming down his chest.

He shudders beneath you, hot breath stuttering against your skin. Your light touch doesn’t stop until it hits the straining heat contained within his loincloth. Delicate fingers cup his rock hard length with one hand while the other attempts to undo the string keeping him from you.

Suddenly, he pulls away from your neck, strong grip clasping your wrist. He peels your hand away, instead placing it above his racing heart. His cock twitches in protest, a tortured groan slipping past his lips as he sucks another bruise into your skin. He wants to take care of you first, no matter desperate he is to claim you.

“If we’re gonna do this, I need you to be a good girl and listen, okay?” He peels his lips from your neck to catch your eyes pointedly.

You nod quickly, already willing to do anything he asks. The corner of his lips lifts in a coy smirk. He loves you like this. So compliant, so eager to please. That fiery disobedience he cherishes in your everyday life is long gone, replaced with this version of you, his good girl that he loves to ravage.

There’s something so alluring about watching a strong woman give so much power to him. Giving so much trust to him. It drives him absolutely wild.

One of his hands leaves you to grab his queue, still slung over his shoulder. You simply watch for a moment, mesmerized as he lifts the tip, small tendrils curling in the air. You force down a swallow, throat suddenly feeling hoarse.

With trembling fingers, you reach toward your back and gently bring your queue forward. Your gaze is locked on the way it seems to reach for his. The two of you remain still for several long moments, ragged breaths mingling.

Neteyam hooks a fingertip beneath your chin, gently drawing your face up toward him. His eyes, heavy-lidded with emotion, bore into you. Silently asking for permission.

You grant it without hesitation, presenting your queue with shaky hands. He grips your wrist lightly and guides you forward, finally forming tsaheylu (the bond).

A gasp lodges in your throat at the immediate rush of feeling. It pours into you, sinks deep within your chest. You watch as Neteyam’s pupils dilate until the gold of his eyes is nothing but a thin ring. His lips part, ears flattening against his head from the intensity of it.

You can feel everything.

The way his arms are wrapped tightly around your middle, holding you to him as if afraid you might slip away. The strength of his thighs as they support your weight. The throb of his cock, so hard between his legs.

Your lungs quiver, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. It’s not just the physical, but the mental aspect of the bond that’s so overwhelming.

It devours you. His love, adoration, desire fills every tiny space within your soul, until you feel nothing but him.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He growls, suddenly shoving you to the ground.

You barely have time to gasp in a lungful of air before he’s on you, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your back bows from the earth, whimpers muffled by his brutal kiss. Your core ruts against his, legs still tightly wound around his hips.

He moans lowly, feeling both your pleasure and his as the material of your loincloths create a delicious friction. He forces his mouth away from yours, feeling feverish. The desire to explore every inch of your body with this new perspective propels him downward.

His lips leave a searing trail down your neck, your chest, all the way down your trembling stomach. Until he reaches your dripping core. Long fingers grip the string of your loincloth, easily ripping it in two.

“Nete—oh!” Your scolding is cut short as he wrenches your thighs apart, dipping between them to lick a firm line along the lips of your pussy.

A ragged moan echoes through the trees. Your chest blooms with heat, feeling the way he absolutely loves every second of devouring you.

Two fingers slip into your waiting heat, pussy fluttering against the unexpected intrusion. His tongue swirls a familiar pattern over your clit, knowing exactly how you like it. Your hips jerk up toward his face, and he groans with pleasure.

He can’t help but grind his cock against the soft grass, the need to be inside you almost painful. The ache between his legs transfers through tsaheylu, making you whimper with impatience.

Your hips wiggle beneath him as he picks up the pace. It’s too much and not enough all at once. All of your senses are on overdrive, so much stimulus feeding through your skin and the bond it’s almost enough to knock you out cold.

“Sit still.” He rips his lips away from you to bark the order, molten yellow narrowing into a glare before he resumes his ministrations.

One of his hands presses against your lower belly, holding you firmly to the earth. You mewl, unable to obey even if you wanted to. It’s just too much, muscles tightening with an intense impeding orgasm.

Your legs close instinctively, something within you trying to get away from the overstimulation. Neteyam growls against you, and you cry out, the low rumble flinging you closer to the edge.

He roughly jerks your thighs part, landing a firm slap against the soft skin of your inner thigh. Your hips jump from the pleasurable sting, another broken moan falling from your lips.

Hot moisture fills your eyes, cascading down long lashes as your head is thrown back, every muscle in your body tensing. You shatter around him, pussy clenching his fingers tightly as you come undone.

The orgasm rips through you so fiercely, you slump to the earth when it’s over, completely spent. He groans with pleasure, tongue lapping up every drop of your slick. His fingers remain inside you even as he raises up onto his knees.

In an instant his loincloth is nothing but a ripped pile of fabric, cast aside somewhere near yours.

One hand balls into a fist beside your head, supporting his weight as he pulls his other hand from your sopping pussy. You whine at the sudden emptiness, legs wrapping around his hips to draw him closer.

He chuckles darkly, head dropping to lavish your neck with kisses. “What do you want, baby girl?”

You whimper beneath him, hips jutting toward his. You will him to understand through the bond.

“Use your words, sevin (pretty).” His voice drops with the gentle order, the sound only making your abandoned pussy clench harder. He groans at the feeling.

“Need you, ‘Teyam.” You’re a whiney mess, tears streaming down your face, hips bucking into his wantonly. But you can’t find it within yourself to push past the delirious desire to care.

“Need me to fuck you? Is that it?” He grinds his swollen cock into you. The tip sides along your pussy lips, so close yet so far from where you want it.

You’re impatient, his teasing driving you wild. Your ankles lock around his hips and you try twisting out from under him to take matters into your own hands. He growls a low warning, long fingers clamping around your throat. He shoves you back into the earth, practically snarling down at you, eyes alight with feral need.

“Don’t test me, muntxa (mate).” He swallows your desperate moans with a searing kiss, before roughly pulling back.

“Need more, ‘Teyam.” You gasp, breathless.

“Tell me what you want, baby girl.” He drags his tip along your sex again, knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it.

“Need you to fuck me, ‘Tayem! Please!” You’re blubbering beneath him, all rational thought overcome by the emptiness deep in your womb.

“Okay, baby, you’re okay.” He coos gently, kissing away the tears as they stream down your cheeks.

He grips the base of his cock, gently entering you for the first time as a mated pair. Your cries echo overhead, trembling lungs unable to contain your noises of pure bliss.

Neteyam shudders above you, the wet heat of your pussy gripping him so tightly he fears he might cum already. He bottoms out with a torturously slow thrust, forehead pressing to yours for support. His chest heaves, heart thundering between his ribs.

“Move, ‘Teyam!” You beg, and he obeys.

His hips snap into yours fiercely, rocking your body against the grass with each hard slam of his cock. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the combined feeling of his body and yours too much.

You’re breathless, nothing but a whimpering mess as he pounds into you with a steady pace. Your back bows, bringing your belly flush with his. For a moment you’re impressed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to function enough through the intensity of the bond to keep the momentum he’s chosen.

You clench around him, and he moans, long and low in his chest.

“Shit, Y/N, gonna cum again for me?” His eyes blaze with passion, boring into you from above.

A broken whimper is all you can muster. You’ve never orgasmed more than once in a session, despite Neteyam’s best efforts. It’s been a goal he’s desperately tried to reach in recent weeks, and now it seemed to be a reality.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me. Cum on your mate’s cock.” He grunts against your neck, sharp fangs dragging along your skin.

The slight sting catapults you into your orgasm, white hot pleasure ripping through you. Your scream is barely muffled by his victorious groan of pleasure. The walls of your pussy flutter around him, sending him over the edge along with you. He fills your womb with his release, teeth sinking gently into your skin.

The two of you are still for several long moments, chests heaving, basking in the afterglow of sensation through the bond. Once your walls stop clenching around his length, he slowly pulls out. His teeth release you, tongue soothing the small dots of blood left behind.

He falls to the earth beside you, instantly wrapping strong arms around your waist. He pulls you in, cradling you against his chest. You’re limp in his hold, spent from his thorough fucking. He plants a light kiss along your temple, resting his head above yours on the grass.

“I see you, Y/N.” His voice is a hoarse whisper, thick with emotion.

“I see you, Neteyam.” You nestle impossibly closer to his heart, ear pressed against his skin to feel the steady thrum.

The two of you quickly fall into a peaceful sleep, queues still connected, nothing but warmth and love passing through the bond.

[doumadono]

Sinful Sunday is here! How about a romantic and passionate wedding night with Kirishima? 😍😍😍

Warnings: aged-up Kirishima (+25yo)

SINFUL SUNDAY

In the dimly lit room, the soft glow of candlelight cast flickering shadows on the walls. A sea of rose petals adorned the large, canopied bed, and the air was heavy with the scent of lavender and vanilla. The scent of desire was even stronger. It was the wedding night, and you and Kirishima had been eagerly awaiting this moment.

The room seemed to hum with anticipation as you stood before each other, dressed in the finest garments that seemed to vanish with each delicate touch. Kirishima's intense, crimson eyes locked onto yours with an unspoken promise, and his rough, calloused hands gently cupped your face.

He brushed his lips against yours, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. "You look amazing," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. His warm breath danced across your skin, igniting a fire within you.

You couldn't help but smile, your fingers lightly tracing the chiseled contours of his chest beneath his crisp, white shirt. "And you, my love, are simply breathtaking," you replied, your heart pounding with passion.

With a deep, passionate kiss, the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you, locked in an embrace that seemed to transcend time. Kirishima's hands slid down your body, caressing every inch with a tenderness that was in stark contrast to his usual rugged demeanor. He slowly lowered you onto the bed, the softness of the rose petals beneath you adding to the sensual atmosphere.

As your bodies entwined, the fabric of your clothes seemed to melt away. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered declaration of love seemed to build the flames of desire higher and higher. Your whispered words of affection and longing filled the room, creating a symphony of love that was both intoxicating and beautiful.

"I've never wanted anything more than I want you right now," Kirishima confessed, his voice raw and honest.

You gazed into his eyes, lost in their intensity. "I've waited for this moment for so long," you replied, your heart brimming with love. "I love you, Eijiro."

The night continued to unfold with an intensity that left you both breathless. Kirishima's fingers explored the contours of your body, igniting a trail of sensations that seemed to converge at the very core of your being. He leaned down to kiss your neck, his lips trailing along your collarbone and making you gasp with pleasure.

The soft rustling of the bedsheets accompanied your movements as you rolled over, straddling him with a teasing smile. You could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath you as you ran your fingers through his vibrant, crimson hair. "Eijiro," you whispered, "I want to make this night unforgettable for both of us."

His eyes gleamed with desire as he watched you, and he nodded in agreement. The two of you shared a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of your love and longing. With slow, deliberate movements, you both shed the remnants of your clothing, exposing your bare bodies to each other.

The sensation of skin on skin was electrifying, and you reveled in the warmth of each other's bodies. Kirishima's hands traveled up your back, his touch igniting every nerve ending. Your lips met once more, a fiery kiss that seemed to transcend words.

The culmination of your wedding night was a slow and passionate lovemaking session that transcended mere physicality. It was a celebration of your deep connection, a union of hearts and souls.

With your bodies intimately entwined, you guided Kirishima's dick inside you, and the sensation was electric. Every movement was a testament to your love, a dance of desire and affection that seemed to blend your very essences together. Your eyes never left each other's, the intensity of your gaze reflecting the depths of your emotions. His dick soon nestlead comfortably in your pussy. "I love you," you whispered, leaning forward to steal a kiss from his parted lips.

"God, you feel so good around my cock, my love. My beautiful wife," he whispered.

His thrusts were deliberate as he bucked his hips into you, meeting all of your movements as you slowly rode his cock, each one filling you with an overwhelming sense of pleasure. The room echoed with soft sighs and whispered words of love, the rhythm of your lovemaking echoing the cadence of your hearts.

You rocked your hips back and forth, taking his hands and placing them on your boobs.

Eijiro eagerly rubbed your aroused buds, getting his upper body off the bed to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking the bud in his warm mouth.

You whined quietly, his name was the only thing to leave your parted lips as you were gasping every now and then.

As you moved together, your bodies responded to each other's desires. The passion built like a crescendo in a symphony of love, rising higher and higher until it reached its peak. In that moment of pure ecstasy, your bodies and souls merged, and you felt a connection that was beyond words.

Kirishima held you close, his fingers entwined with yours as you both experienced the ultimate release. It was a shared climax that left you both breathless and spent, a physical manifestation of the love and passion that bound you together. Your slick juices covered his shaft, mixing with his seed that milked the velvety walls of your needy pussy.

"I love you," Kirishima repeated like a mantra, his voice a constant reassurance. "Don't get off me just yet, please, my love. I wanna feel your wetness for a little longer…"

"I love you too," you responded, your heart feeling as if it would burst from the intensity of your emotions, slowly laying your chest on top of his, gently rolling your hips a few more times, earning a gasp from your husband.

"God, you're driving me crazy, babygirl. My wife."

As you rolled your hips, yur mixed releases gushed out of you, even if you were still stuffed with his flaccid dick; the juices slowly streamed down his dick, covering the pool around the hilt of his penis.

The night seemed to stretch on forever, a testament to your love and desire. In the quiet moments that followed, you lay entwined, bodies glistening with sweat, and hearts filled with an unshakable bond. As the world outside the window gradually awakened, you and Kirishima knew that your wedding night was just the beginning of a lifetime of shared passion and love.

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the curtains, you and Kirishima lay tangled in each other's arms, the promises of forever etched in your hearts, and the memories of this unforgettable wedding night etched in your souls.

[foursaints]

humbly requesting the rosier twins hcs you have

mil i left this sitting for ages but it’s because i think about them too much </3. my favorites tbqh

i have this hc that twins are more common in magic families & fraternal twins don’t really exist. boy-girl pairs are exceptionally rare and they still come out nearly identical.

evan and pandora are raised by their 107-year-old grandparents in an old pureblood country estate, far from other children. rosier estate is dusty and eclectic and littered with these bottle-glass greenhouses

they’re BOTH trans. but they grew up so wrapped in each other, so used to trading places, when they are about 7 they resolve this by simply swapping names.

pandora is born “evan” and vice versa, and when they make the permanent switch no-one thinks twice

they’re scientists/inventors at their core. theyre lowkey neglected and free to explore the estate & experiment. very weird, morbid children. always want to know what’s at the center of things. they “hide” their experiments by nodding their heads demurely, saying they were at their studies, but they were at the brook catching newts to practice homemade spells on

evan is the healer & doctor. he cares about how bodies work. pandora is the chemist & spellmaker. she cares about how magic works.

they both are low empathy but pandora is more outwardly charming so it’s harder to tell.

VERY undersocialized. i think they were homeschooled until 3rd year & coming to hogwarts is a tough transition for them. at school they start switching places again (to get out of classes, take exams for the other, etc)

related to that: pandora is the talented duelist, the more magically gifted. when people describe evan as such, they were probably seeing her in his place. evan’s the more meticulous. his experiments don’t go awry like hers do

evan’s patronus is a two-headed viper & pandora’s patronus is a two-headed mongoose because even the projection of their souls come in two halves. do you get it now???

people make the apollo/artemis parallel a lot but i disagree. i see them as perses & pasiphaë, twin golden-headed sorcerers, children of the sun, entwined like minks.

[ptn-imagines]

Can you do Suspect R x pre amnesia! chief? ik there's not a lot of content for her but they give such domestic married wives energy like

LOOK AT THIS. its fine if u dont accept, ther are PLENTY other ptn womens i thirst after so....

Oh, I will absolutely write for Suspect R despite her lack of content. In fact, I was hoping someone would ask!

Due to the lack of content on both her and Chief pre-amnesia, I ended up focusing more on the feelings they may have shared more than anything else, using the glimpses of Shepherd-12 we see in Shalom's interrogation as a guide. If this isn't to your satisfaction, feel free to send in another request! Praying that chapter 14 marks the return of the OG wife...

Suspect R x Pre-Amnesia!Chief

Once upon a time, her name was the one they loved the most. In a world where everyone wanted to use or betray them, she was the only one they trusted whole-heartedly. Shepherd-12 adored her.

As truths were unveiled and lies became unmasked and Shepherd-12 became more and more jaded to the world, she was the only one spared of hissing and biting. Only she could melt the icy protective layer upon the Shepherd’s heart, for only she could be trusted with it. Only she had pure intentions.

Secret trysts and rendezvous, the Shepherd was always so tense until the face of the nameless official melted away to reveal their lover, who perched on the edge of their desk like she belonged there. She did belong there. And the Shepherd abhorred the idea of belonging to anyone, anyone except for her. They would give themself over to her in a heartbeat, and they would drown in her, and it would be a sweet way to die.

They are a creature of Mania, but this Sinner is their salvation. She makes them feel human in a way that nobody and nothing else does, and they know that fate will never be kind to them so they relish these precious moments, and they love her eternally and devotedly and without regret nor restraint.

She loves them in kind for she knows this is what they need. They will never speak their thank yous aloud but she knows; how could she not? Even if the world should revile them, see them as monsters (and it did), the two of them would have each other. They need nothing else.

She holds them so close as though she attempts to meld their flesh as one. They greedily kiss her deeper, hotter, as though trying to exchange pieces of their souls with each entwined breath. She is both the untamed tempest that will inevitably drown them and the singular piece of driftwood that keeps them afloat in the storm.

Nothing else matters. Nobody else matters. Let the world burn to ash. The Shepherd would welcome it. The world is rotten to the core. So are they. Only she remains pure in an endless sea of filth. Only she is the truth among the lies.

“My dearest, your heart is becoming so black,” she whispered one night, and they didn’t know it then but this would be the final time they saw her like this. Her fingers caressed their face and they purred, leaning into the touch.

“They don’t deserve any more,” they breathed, nails digging into her back as though they were afraid they might slip through their fingers. “They can go to Hell for all I care. You’re the only thing that matters.”

She smiled at this and pulled them into another deep kiss. This one felt different, like a goodbye, but it was still filled with every ounce of passion and fire and desire and need and belonging they had come to expect. “You know it won’t end like this.”

“I know.” They detest the fact. She makes it bearable. She’s the only reason they haven’t torn the world asunder yet, because she is part of that world. “But you’ll be there, won’t you?”

She smiled. “Always. Don’t sleep for too long, or I might have to come and get you myself…”

…

Shepherd-13 always wakes from the dreams of these memories too soon, these ghosts banished with the rise of the sun over this corrupt city.

What was her name?

If they could choose anything to remember, it would be this.

[snowandsage]

Yearning

I yearn for you.

I yearn for you with an intensity that mirrors a mosquito's insatiable thirst for blood on the first summer evening – a wild, desperate hunger that devours me whole. A hunger that leaves me frantic and consumed by an unquenchable desire.

I wake each morning to find you lingering in the shadows of my thoughts. Your spirit dances through my dreams, a haunting reminder of your presence; or rather lack thereof.

In my dreams, we share a quiet life together.

We reside in a small cottage tucked away amidst the trees, where deer roam through the thicket and vibrant butterflies dance joyously in the warm air.

We spend our days wandering barefoot throughout the creek, our laughter echoing as we collect shimmering river stones and splash each other playfully. As day fades to night, we dance hand in hand under the luminous moon, our hearts entwined in a timeless dance of love.

Your laughter echoes deep in my core, a haunting melody as vibrant and intoxicating as the first autumn day that I was graced with its presence. It weaves through my soul like a broken music box, endlessly trapped in a loop; a delicate sound infused with a hint of madness and raw feminine rage.

I think of you when I drive past a field of flowers. I envision you there, a gentle breeze playfully tousling your wild hair, the golden sun wrapping you in a warm embrace.

I imagine myself there too, running toward you with open arms, my heart pounding fiercely with the ache of finally finding my way home to you.

It strikes me now that I have yet to witness you amidst a field of vibrant flowers. This is not a mere memory; it is a vision, delicately woven from the threads of my imagination. It stirs a profound ache within me, a hope so vivid and alive, yet so painfully absent from the harshness of reality.

I have conjured a version of you – a version of us – a beautiful illusion that lives only in the depths of my soul. A version that is forever out of reach, destined to remain a fantasy.

I see now that I do not yearn for you after all.

I yearn for a version of you that exists solely in the realm of my mind. A vision crafted from longing and soul-wrenching desire.

[babybemydownfall]

things that shimmer in the dark Part II: Rhys ( Part I - Part III ) “I’m thinking that I want you. And if you drop that towel to the floor, I will have you.”  NSFW, as always. Notes under the cut. Or read on AO3.

Notes: Here you go! It was really interesting to imagine Rhys's feelings for Feyre so early in their story. And to consider how he might react post-UTM. So I hope you enjoy my interpretation. Now I feel like I might keep going through ACOMAF, making them fuck at every available opportunity...

II

Lonely.

The word cut through me like the sharpest blade.

I had been so close - so close - to rejecting her advance. It would have hurt us both, and I knew she would not be quick to forgive, but it was the right thing to do. Any kind of sexual relationship between us was a colossally bad idea. She had barely started to recover from what happened under the mountain. Neither had I, if I was truly honest with myself. And on top of that, the world was going to hell. We had a gargantuan fight ahead of us, with very few allies and a plan that was almost doomed to fail before we’d even begun.

But Feyre. Beautiful, exquisite Feyre.

She knew me better than she realised. She had sliced into my very core with that single word, leaving me shattered, my blood spilt at her feet.

I was desperately lonely. I had been for most of my life, but especially the last half-century.

And I wanted her.

I wanted her to know me, to know everything. I wanted her to see all of me, the good and the evil, the dream and the nightmare. I wanted her body, her mouth; her fingernails on my skin and her sounds collecting in the all warm, dark spaces between us. I wanted to make her come, to make her smile. To feel joy again, together: every day, for the rest of our lives.

My Feyre.

My mate.

And that was the thing - she had no idea. I couldn’t tell her, not yet. Not when she had been destroyed by Amarantha, by Tamlin; when she had lost everything she thought she’d known and been flung into my world, her mortal heart and Faerie soul destined to be entwined with mine forever. I couldn’t fuck this up. I needed her. Every living being who opposed the King of Hybern needed her.

But she was right. It would be so nice to feel something good, just a for a little while. I had spent my whole life sacrificing myself again and again, selflessly, in servitude of my people. And I would gladly go on doing so until I took my very last breath. But I had also suffered - more than enough. More than I could bear, sometimes.

I refocused on Feyre, standing in front of me in her bathroom, wearing only a towel. She was the most stunning creature I had ever laid eyes on. I had thought it the first moment I saw her, long before I knew she was my mate, and I had wanted her every day since then. And here she was, offering herself to me. Wanting me, in all my darkness and destruction.

The feel of her was still on my fingertips, imprinted there forever; the heavenly scent of her desire filled my nose, making my mouth water. I had been hard for her from the moment she asked me to stay - at the mere thought of her sitting naked just a few feet away. I should have said no, invented some excuse to disappear, but she needed a friend and I couldn’t refuse her. I would never be able to.

Like when she asked so innocently for me to wash her back.

My mistake was touching her with my hands. As soon as we connected so intimately, I was lost. And then I felt her arousal burst to life along our bond, and she moaned… And by all the gods, I nearly lost my fucking mind.

“What are you thinking?” she asked me now, and I realised I’d been silent for too long.

She was standing so close. I was desperate to touch her but I knew that, just like in the bathtub, once I did I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I had to know she was sure. Because a part of me suspected that when we’d had our first taste of each other, nothing would keep us apart.

“I’m thinking that I want you,” I told her simply, honestly. “And if you drop that towel to the floor, I will have you.” Fire blazed in her eyes. “But if we do this, things might get complicated. If the others find out…”

She shook her head. “It’s just sex, Rhys. Gods, we might all die soon. I need to feel something again. Something good.”

“Oh Feyre darling,” I sighed. “You have no idea how good I can make you feel.”

“That’s very… arrogant.” A spark: of playfulness. Of the Feyre I adored most of all.

I held her gaze, trying not to smirk. “Would you like me to prove it?”

She raised her hands, hovering them just over my biceps - as if she, too, knew that one touch would mark the beginning of the end. I waited patiently. I had yearned for her for so long, I could go another few minutes. And I needed her to make the first move, to show me that she was certain, that she wouldn’t regret this.

I watched as she took in my chest where my shirt was open, the swirls of black ink spread over tanned muscle. Cautiously, she reached out her fingers and placed them on my warm skin, tracing the Illyrian patterns. My heart beat wildly beneath them.

I didn’t know what she thought about me - if she was still in love with someone else; if she had ever considered loving me instead. But when she looked up again, I saw curiosity: about the possibility of me, of us.

I saw hope.

And then she said softly: “Rhys… I would like you to kiss me.”

And every remaining ounce of my hesitation vanished.

I reached for her waist, pulling her to me. Her eyes widened as she felt my hardness against her belly. They stayed open, fixed on mine, as I leaned down and lightly, tenderly, pressed my lips to hers. The world stilled; disappeared. I held her in that moment, the single most important one of my life so far, and saw so much in her blue-grey gaze: surprise, desire. Trust.

She trusted me not to hurt her, not to break her even further - and that meant more to me that I could put into words.

Then her eyelids fell shut and her mouth opened, claiming me. I felt her hand go to the back of my neck as her body bowed into mine, as she kissed me hungrily, her tongue sweeping over my lips and then past them as I submitted to her completely. The embers of lust in my blood roared to life again.

I walked her backwards into her bedroom, my fingers buried in her hair, cradling her head as I ravished her. She was the sweetest, sexiest thing and I already felt frenzied, desperate to have her, to make her mine. She matched me moan for moan, her nails clawing at my shoulders and arms, her teeth grazing my lips in such a way that made me want to bite her.

Outside of those years underground, I had always loved sex - in all its forms. Particularly hard, fast, untamed. I liked to be rough, to scratch and bruise, to leave my mark. Inside this perfect body was a feral animal who loved being let out to play. But only ever with permission - and I was so lost in Feyre already, I hadn’t warned her; hadn’t asked what she wanted from me, beyond feeling good. There were a thousand ways I could make that happen. But, at least this first time, I wanted to let her choose.

I managed to slow us down, to extricate myself from her frenzied kisses and draw back for air. She looked so fucking hot, dazed and aroused, her lips swollen and wet from my mouth. My hips twitched and we both groaned.

“I wear a lot of masks. As you know.” My voice was gravelly, low. “Who do you want me to be today?”

What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll gladly give it to you.

I could see she understood. She had encountered many sides of me already, from cruel to relaxed to pure, unadulterated power. I knew that I fascinated her. She had no sides at all, no masks. She was always true to herself, and I both envied and marvelled at her.

Her eyes scanned my face, back and forth. I wondered what she was looking for; if she had found it when she said quietly: “I want… the Rhys who holds my hand in the dark. Who kneels before me and calls me his salvation. Who looks at me like he cares about me.”

There was emotion there, in her voice, in the way her fists curled into my shirt, holding on. But there was also enormous strength in her vulnerability; fierceness in her honesty. It made me want her even more.

“I do,” I breathed, allowing myself to be honest in return. “I do care about you, Feyre. More than you know. More than I should.”

She continued to stare at me. I could hear, feel, her heart racing - but if she was scared by my words, she didn’t show it. Then she asked: “What about me? What do you need from me?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do? Anything that will… trigger bad memories?”

It took a second for me to realise what - who - she was referring to. I had never been asked by a partner what I wanted, or didn’t want. Oh Feyre.

“You’re talking about Amarantha?” I clarified.

“Yes… her.” Then she flushed. “Although maybe you’ve been with someone else since her, before me. Who am I to-”

“I haven’t.”

She had no idea how much she had changed my life. How much I loved her already.

“I am very good at compartmentalising - as you saw inside my mind. If I dwelt too much on things in my past, I would have been killed or captured a hundred times by now.”

“That’s why you can say her name as if it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. But I don’t give it any power over me.” I held her lovely face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks, her lips. “Thank you for asking, but I don’t think about her. Especially not with you in my arms. You are so beautiful, Feyre.”

Her fingers curled gently around my wrists and she almost, almost smiled. Suddenly it was harder to breathe. I was running out of patience for conversation, but there was one final apology I had to make.

“Until you, under the mountain,” I murmured, “I hadn’t kissed anyone for more than fifty years.”

Feyre looked stunned.

“Not once,” I confirmed. “And I am sorry for the way I kissed you down there. I was jealous and pissed off.” My gaze fell to her mouth. “Please allow me to make it up to you.”

There was a pause: the last deep inhale before the dive. Then we reached for each other at the same time. The first kiss was soft and tender, because I loved her. I couldn’t say it so I had to show her, just once.

The second was our surrender.

Her hands pulled at my clothes as our passion flared again, as her tongue fought mine, as the bond between us melted into pure fire. I helped her rip off my shirt, buttons flying; felt her palms on my skin and growled into her mouth. She reached down, her fingers snaking along my length and then around, gripping me through my pants, and I had to break away from her, to cry out to the ceiling as I hardened even further.

“Fuck, Feyre.”

She looked at me; looked down at my bare torso, at my huge erection tenting the fabric, her eyes widening as she took me in. Clearly she hadn’t quite been expecting this. I couldn’t help but smile, even as she continued to gently stroke my cock. I loved seeing her want me so obviously. I loved being desired by her.

I let my hands glide down the sides of her neck to her chest; leaned forward and followed them with my mouth. I kissed all the way along the line where her towel sat; lifted her arms up above her head - partly because I couldn’t focus with her attention below my waist - and held her gaze as I slowly unwrapped her.

I swore again as her incredible body was revealed to me. No paint this time; no sheer fabric, no wine, no shame. Just acres of her soft skin and the black tattoos snaking down her left arm, onto her hand. Tying her to me. Making her mine.

Her perfect breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing; her rosebud pink nipples were hard and begging to be sucked. And so I did, swirling my tongue over the right first, then the left. The sound she made was so erotic and I felt her entire being, including our bond, tremble. She was exquisitely sensitive here. I stored that piece of knowledge away, hoping I would get the chance to use it again in future.

I trailed my lips lower, moving to my knees before her - the second time in the space of a few hours. I had never knelt to anyone before and now I was making a habit of it. Feyre Archeron was very, very dangerous - and I didn’t care at all. She had curves now, flesh on her bones, her waist and hips and thighs, and I kissed and licked every inch of her as her fingers tangled in my hair, as she continued to whimper and shake. I could smell her arousal as I moved ever closer, and I knew she was soaking wet for me. Gods, I felt like I had been starving and she was the feast. The only meal I would ever want again.

And, like a feast, I wanted her spread out before me.

I stood suddenly and picked her up, carrying her the few steps to her bed. When I lay over her and kissed her again, I was amazed at how seamlessly our bodies fit together, as if they had been made this way. Perhaps her Fae form really had been Made just for me. It certainly seemed like it. Her breasts fit just right in my hands; her legs wrapped around mine and she shifted her hips and the length of my cock sat perfectly along the apex of her thighs, my base pressing right up against her clit. The noise she made into my mouth as she ground helplessly against me came from deep, deep inside her.

Just where I wanted to be.

But not yet. The temptation to vanish my pants and slide straight into her was almost too much, but there was one thing I needed first: a taste.

“Feyre,” I breathed, kissing her jaw, her throat, moving down her body. “You are so…” I sucked on her nipples again; grazed them with my teeth and her back arched off the bed. “Fucking…” I delved my tongue into her belly button, my fingers rolling her nipples now. “Sexy.”

I pushed her legs apart and knelt between them, letting my gaze roam greedily over every part of her. Her eyelids were heavy, her pupils dilated, her skin flushed the most delicious shade of pink. I could feel her throbbing, aching for release - just as I was.

“Rhys… please.”

I traced her entrance with the tip of my finger, so smooth and glistening beneath her neat strip of light brown hair. Her whole body tensed and she became wetter before my eyes. Mother above. I had never been so turned on.

“What do you want, Feyre darling?”

She couldn’t speak. I slowly pushed my finger inside her, all the way - she clenched around me and writhed and cried out. Fuck me, she felt unbelievable. My cock twitched, desperate to feel her, to be buried deep inside her heat.

I added another finger, sliding in and out a few times before circling her clit, slick with her own fluid.

“Rhys!” she gasped, and I had to hold her down with my other hand to stop her climbing off the bed.

“Does this feel good, beautiful? Do you want to come like this?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Part of me wanted to take my time, to tease her some more - but we were both nearing the edge of our sanity. So instead I slid my arms beneath her thighs, gripped her ass in my hands and lifted her pussy into my face. Our shared groan as we connected was utterly indecent.

I kissed her cunt like I kissed her mouth, sliding my tongue over her again and again, sucking on her softly. Her hips and breathless moans were rhythmic and I matched them, feeling her orgasm building, her pleasure hurtling towards me along the bond, her shield non-existent. Selfishly I did take a moment to really taste her, trailing my tongue down her folds and plunging it inside her, devouring every sweet drop. I knew she would be incredible but I didn’t expect to be this overwhelmed. I wanted this, wanted her, every day. Forever.

She groaned my name again and I returned my attention to her clit, licking and sucking in time with the thrusting of my two fingers into her. She was so taut, so close to the edge. I blindly reached up my free hand and found her breast, brushing my thumb over her nipple, pinching it. My pace never faltered.

She came barely a minute later. I felt the moment she hit her peak; the moment she started to fall down, weightless, over the other side. Her pleasure became mine, crashing over me like a tidal wave as she exploded into nothing but pure sensation. The whole of Velaris must have heard her cries. My cock ached like never before and I would have come too had I had any kind of friction there.

It took a while for her to quieten, to finally still. I kissed her thighs, her abdomen; rose over her and waited for her eyes to open, completely in awe of how stunning she was, of how much I loved taking her to such a blissful, otherworldly place. Of how much I loved her, full stop.

“Feyre,” I breathed. “Look at me.”

She did, and my heart constricted. Whatever was blossoming between us, she felt it too. I could see it right there, in the hazy blue-grey of her gaze.

“That was… You were…” Her hands cupped my face. “I can’t even-”

“It’s okay,” I said, unable to hold back my smile. “Your shield disappeared. I felt everything.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was… very enjoyable.”

She glanced at my lips. She hadn’t even tried to restore her mind’s protection, so I knew exactly what she wanted.

More.

“Fuck,” I growled, and claimed her in a fiery kiss.

Our bodies moved together now like they’d been lovers for years. Her limbs encircled me; I let her roll us so she was on top, straddling my waist, our mouths still joined in messy, tongue-filled kisses. Her breasts pressed against me and I could feel the wetness of her pussy on me through my cotton pants.

With a single thought, they were gone. Feyre paused, looking at me in surprise as she suddenly felt the warmth of my skin against hers. Then her eyes darkened even further as she sat up. She took my cock in her hand, circling her thumb over the tip, spreading my fluid around before she began to stroke me up and down. I wanted to look at her as she did, to let her see how absolutely she had bewitched me, but it was impossible. It felt too fucking good.

“Stop,” I hissed just seconds later. “I’m too close. I need to be inside you.”

“Rhys,” she sighed. I managed to watch again as she rose up, positioning herself above me. When she sank down slowly, allowing herself to accommodate me inch by inch, my breath came out in a gasp and my muscles actually trembled.

“Holy Mother, Feyre.”

She braced her palms on my chest and began to move on me. She was drenched, and so fucking soft and tight. I let her continue for a few moments, let her adjust to my size, before saying: “I need to fuck you. Are you ready?”

She bit her lip and nodded. I braced my feet on the bed and gripped her hips as I began to pound up into her. I was big, and her body was tense as I stretched her open. “Relax,” I breathed, and then I felt her do just that, felt her gush even more wetness over me, and every rapid thrust took me deeper and deeper - and Feyre screamed like I’d never heard before as she came again.

It surprised us both. It also brought me so close to orgasm that I couldn’t hold on much longer. I briefly extricated myself so I could lay her on her back and kneel up before her, lifting her hips and wrapping her legs around my waist. I leaned down to kiss her as I buried myself in her again. I could feel everything slipping away - my grip on my power, my glamour, my mind. There wasn’t enough air inside her mouth so I drew back, drowning in her eyes instead as I fucked her. I could sense darkness and night seeping out of me; knew she saw it too, although she didn’t look away from me.

And then I felt my wings fighting to materialise, their heavy weight pushing at my back, and out of nowhere I was thinking about Amarantha, about how I had always kept them hidden from her, and suddenly everything inside me went very still.

Feyre looked alarmed when I stopped moving. But then her face changed, and I realised that for the first time in my life, my shield had slipped - and she knew exactly what horror had just unfurled inside my head. I slammed it back into place but not before she saw the red hair, the naked curves spread out on black silk sheets. Not before she felt the cruelty and control; the hatred I had for my captor, for myself.

Fingertips brushed lightly over my forehead, along my cheekbones, my jaw. “It’s me. Feyre.” There was so much tenderness in her voice, her expression. My eyes refocused on hers. “It’s just us here,” she whispered. “Feyre and Rhys. Just us. Okay?”

She caressed the walls of my mind too, gentle and soothing. I wanted to lean into her, to purr. Before I knew it, the memories had disappeared into the abyss and all that was left was Feyre. She was everywhere, surrounding me, consuming me. And I was okay.

More than okay.

She kissed me with her eyes open, keeping me with her in the present. And then we started to move together once more, so perfectly matched in every way, and we didn’t stop until I roared, until my final thrusts pushed her over the edge again too.

Coming inside Feyre, with Feyre… there were no words. I was nothing but pure feeling. It was a high unparalleled: better than soaring through the sky on a cloudless day; better than all of my power channelled at once.

And it seemed to last an eternity.

Eventually, I moved to her side and drew her with me, our bodies still curled around each other as we slowly returned to earth together, unwilling and unable to be parted. The room was still and silent except for our heavy breathing; pale, mid-morning sunlight filtered through the windows, the world outside oblivious to the incredible thing that had just occurred.

The words came to me as I looked at Feyre’s gorgeous face: I felt at peace. Totally and utterly fulfilled. With any of my past lovers, the pleasure I’d found was purely in my body. But with her, it pervaded my mind, my heart. It filled up my soul, all the way to the brim, threatening to overflow.

And for the first time ever, I wanted to take down my shield. To let her see me. To see the truth.

But I didn’t. There were too many bright and dangerous things shimmering inside me: other words like mate and love. The image of her wearing my mother’s ring on her finger. The fact that I wanted to hold her, to cherish her, forever.

Feyre was first to speak, her voice barely there after all the noise she’d made. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes,” I said truthfully. “I am so much more than alright, Feyre darling.” I lifted my fingers to her damp hair, pushing it back behind the point of her ear. “But I am sorry, for what happened there at the end. You were… so sensational, I lost control of myself. She suddenly appeared in my mind and I froze.”

“You don’t have to apologise, Rhys.” She looked down, once again lightly tracing my tattoos. It seemed like an age since she’d done so before. As far as I was concerned, everything had changed since then.

“I was worried I’d be distracted by Tamlin,” she confessed quietly.

“And were you?” Even though I had no right to, I felt sick at the very thought.

She was still staring at my chest, but I noticed her lips lift slightly at the corners. “Not at all,” she said softly. And then she looked into my eyes again and I could see she was starting to fall, like a star descending from the heavens. “You are… all-consuming, Rhys. I didn’t know I could feel so much. That was… so good.”

“It was,” I agreed. I nuzzled my nose against hers; held her gaze as I kissed her. “It was unbelievable."

When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. “I do feel like a betrayer, though.”

And I filled with rage on her behalf, because she was so extraordinary and he - he was nothing in comparison.

“Feyre,” I said sternly, willing her to believe my words. “You can do whatever you want. I don’t think you owe him anything. You don’t owe anyone. Even me.”

“I’m pretty sure I owe you two orgasms.”

I laughed again, loudly and unexpectedly. She rolled onto her back, covering her face with her arm. “Fuck. I am such a bad person.”

“You’re not.” I couldn’t help myself: I ran my fingertip all the way down the middle of her body, from her chin to her centre, watching as she shivered in my wake. “And if even if you were… I’m bad too. The baddest of them all.”

She looked at me very seriously and I had never before felt so bare, so completely exposed.

“Liar,” she murmured. “You are good, Rhys. Underneath it all. I know you pretend otherwise, and I understand why. But I see you.”

I could barely breathe. “And do you… like what you see?”

She laced her fingers through mine.

“Yes. I do.”

And then she smiled at me - a truly beautiful smile, all the way from her heart - and I knew I was fucked.

II

[hisui-dreamer]

ode to the prideful lion

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader

Synopsis: despite what everyone said about him, he was absolutely perfect and you loved every bit of him

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for Leona, bot proofread

Word count: 645

Notes: weee here's to my first fav in twst <3 happy birthday Leona! thank you for coming home in the jp server mwah mwah

Masterlist

Your lover is prideful, but behind that facade lies a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. It's as if he carries the weight of his past on his shoulders, burdened by countless expectations since the moment of his birth. How could anyone treat him as inferior just because he was born second? It's unfair, and it hurts to think about the pain he endured.

Your lover is lazy, and you often have to motivate him to start another day of living. And yet, under the right circumstances, his laziness transforms into fierce determination. You rarely witness that competitive side, that clever and methodical nature, and it leaves you in awe of him every time.

Your lover is talented in magic, and that alone is an alluring quality. But it's not just his abilities that captivate me; it's the way he embraces his gift with nonchalant charm, even as he skips classes and takes naps. It's as if he knows his worth and doesn't feel the need to prove it to anyone. And yet, he yearns for recognition and seeks to prove himself as a leader.

Your lover is a complex puzzle, and you find yourself falling for every intricate piece of his being. From his aloof exterior to his caring and passionate core, you're enamored by the contradictions that make him who he is. Your lover is someone who deserves love and acceptance, and you want nothing more than to be the one to give him that.

Your lover has an undeniable love for sleeping and cuddling, and there's something incredibly endearing about the way he cherishes those quiet moments together as he pulls you in to sleep together. There's a sense of safety and tranquility in those cuddles, a feeling of being cherished and protected in his presence. And when you both drift off to sleep, his rhythmic breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest create a soothing symphony that lulls you into a peaceful slumber. In those moments, you feel truly connected, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the simple yet profound joy of being together.

Your lover loves leaving love bites on you. Initially, you were taken aback by this intimate display of claiming, but over time, you began to understand that it's his way of showing affection and marking you as his own. Despite the possessiveness, you find yourself unable to be cross with him. There's something strangely endearing about his desire to assert his love in such a primal and passionate manner. Those love bites become a tangible reminder of his devotion and the depth of his emotions.

Your lover's warm embrace is like stepping into a cocoon of safety and affection. Despite his sometimes aloof exterior, when he wraps his arms around you, it feels as though all walls come down, and he lets you into his vulnerable core. The strength of his embrace conveys his desire to protect and cherish you. It's in those moments that you feel truly seen and understood, as if he's unraveling all the layers to know the real you. There's a captivating contrast between his carefree nature and the gentleness he exudes in those arms around you. It's as if he's trying to convey all the emotions he finds difficult to express through his actions, and you find solace and comfort in the depths of his warmth.

You love him with all his flaws and strengths. In his presence, you feel a sense of belonging, like two souls entwined in this chaotic world. You can't help but want to go back in time to be there for him, to support him in his darkest hours, and you know the best thing you can do now is remain by his side and support him through the present.

Your lover, is none other than Leona Kingscholar.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[fulminare-within-her-soul]

“Gather ‘round, and I’ll spin you the tale of a crow among ravens.”

(Content under the wall of text just in case. I do apologize if the artistic nudity makes anyone uncomfortable, thought this was tame and innocent enough to go without much censoring. Hopefully I don’t get in trouble for being an adult doodling a woman being…a woman. XD)

Wanted to share concept art of how I imagine Euphemia looks more towards her 20’s/30’s. Obviously these tattoos are always hidden under her clothes in public- but as she grows older, she wants something sentimental. Something that can’t be stolen or destroyed or lost, and figures she hasn’t been socially acceptable among the masses since she was around 15, so. XD

I also felt it important for the tattoos to be representative of actual witchcraft rather than Wizarding World lore, as the primordial magic she wields is…primordial. Raw, untouched, ancient. Has never nor will ever entirely conform to evolution. Have a summary of my notes, if you can’t read the cursive:

• The Hybridean Black’s head in front of the symbol for ancient magic sits over her left wrist and is essentially the opposite of a Dark Mark- which I have, at least for now- dubbed a “Splendor Insignia.” Euphemia’s soul is forever entwined with Eleazar’s (the dragon, not the dude), but as a deep, symbiotic relationship. They share each other’s strengths, thoughts, and many lesser instincts. Yes, this is based off of Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle. Go read it, shit changed my brain chemistry.

• My depiction of Euphemia’s wand, beechwood with a unicorn hair core. Not much to say there I haven’t already said. Honestly it was just a good space filler. XD

• The most prominent tattoo besides her Splendor Insignia is thirteen crows flying from her lower back around to just below her navel. This is in reference to the “Counting Crows” rhyme, a tarot spread.

• Pagan symbols for the elements run down her spine, Euphie’s compatibility with each House the element represents in order. So Air (Ravenclaw), Earth (Hufflepuff), Water (Slytherin), then Fire (Gryffindor). She’s the kind of person who believes all Houses have their own valuable contribution to the world and nobody can be the pure embodiment of any House, thus one should never be too boastful of their own.

• In the valley of her breasts sits the Triple Moon Goddess symbol, meshed with a pentacle. This is a sign of fertility, femininity and triumph.

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 8

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: none? idk. fluff

________________________________________________

In the quiet loneliness of his thoughts, Remus found himself consumed by your presence. Since that day in his cluttered office, the memory of your touch lingered like a gentle flame, a constant warmth that danced on the edges of his consciousness. The soft imprint of your lips on his skin became an indelible mark, a sweet reminder that traced his every waking moment.

The thought of you became a steady companion, accompanying him from the moment he opened his eyes until the time he surrendered to sleep. Even in the realm of dreams, you painted the canvas of his subconscious, integrating yourself into every corner of his mind.

As the days unfolded, Remus recognized a profound truth within himself—he was undeniably, irrevocably in love with you. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation but a deep, soul-stirring affection that colored the world around him. Your laughter echoed in his mind; your smile etched into the very core of his being.

Yet, amidst the beauty of this newfound emotion, a quiet fear lingered. Remus knew the dangers that lurked within him, the potential for harm that his condition held. He longed for you, yearned to fully embrace what blossomed between you both, but the specter of his own perceived monstrosity held him back.

In the stillness of the night, as the moon cast its silvery glow over his thoughts, Remus couldn't escape the magnetic pull you held over him. Love had taken root, entwining its tendrils around his heart, leaving him to navigate the delicate dance between desire and restraint.

________________________________________

The air around the Hogwarts grounds held a crisp, autumnal chill as Harry and Professor Lupin strolled along the bridge, the gentle rustle of leaves accompanying their conversation. As Harry kicked a pebble along the path, he decided to broach a topic that had been lingering in his mind.

"Professor," Harry began tentatively, "can I ask you about my parents?"

Remus' features softened by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, nodded and offered a small smile. "Of course, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath before plunging into the inquiry. "What were my parents like? I mean, really like?"

Remus sighed, the weight of memories settling upon him. "Your parents were remarkable people, Harry. James was a bit of a troublemaker, always up for a prank or mischief. But beneath that exterior, he had a heart of gold. He was fiercely loyal and cared deeply for those he loved."

Harry's curiosity prompted him to ask, "What about my mum? Did you know her well?"

"Lily," Remus spoke her name with fondness. "She was an extraordinary witch, talented beyond measure. More than her magical prowess, though, Lily was an uncommonly kind woman. She was there for me, offering her support without judgment."

Harry's gaze dropped to the pebble he kicked along the path. "Did Professor (L/N) know my parents too?"

Remus nodded, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she did. Lily was her best friend all throughout Hogwarts."

Remus's eyes softened with nostalgia as he continued to share tales of your and Lily's enduring friendship. They stopped, both leaning against the railing, looking out over the forest.

"Lily and Professor (L/N) were inseparable," Remus reminisced, a distant smile on his face. "They complemented each other in the most magical way. Lily's vivacity and warmth balanced (Y/N)'s quiet strength."

He paused, momentarily lost in the memories. "I remember seeing them together, often sitting by the fireplace, engrossed in discussions about magic, life, and everything in between. Lily's fiery spirit and (Y/N)'s calm wisdom created a dynamic that was a joy to witness. I'm sure if you asked, Professor (L/N) would love to tell you more about their friendship." Harry hummed, nodding his head slightly.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as if nature itself was eavesdropping on the tales of camaraderie. Remus's voice held a blend of gratitude and longing. "Your mother and father, Harry, were a steadfast friend to everyone. In times of trouble, they would face challenges with you, hand in hand. Their friendship was the kind that left an indelible mark on everyone lucky enough to witness it."

Harry, intrigued by the connections that existed between his parents' generation, couldn't help but wonder about the dynamics between his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms teacher.

"Professor," Harry asked tentatively, "were you and Professor (L/N) friends?"

Remus's expression softened as he delved into the memories. "Yes, Harry, we were friends. We met during our time at Hogwarts. We belonged to the same house—Gryffindor."

"How did you know each other? For how long?" Harry asked.

He continued, "We were just acquaintances at first, at least until your mother finally let your father take her out. It wasn't until our last year at Hogwarts that I considered her a really good and close friend."

Harry's curiosity persisted, and he asked, "What happened after Hogwarts? Did you stay in touch?"

Remus's expression shifted, carrying a touch of melancholy. "After your parents… after that fateful night, things changed. The entire wizarding world was struggling with the aftermath, and each of us coped in our own way. Unfortunately, she and I lost touch over the years. Life took us in different directions."

He added, "I regret the distance that grew between us. I feel having her close would have made it easier."

Harry, the curious boy he was, pressed on. "Professor," he asked cautiously, "did you… love her?"

Remus sighed, his gaze distant as he weighed his words carefully. "Love is a difficult emotion, Harry. She was, and is, a remarkable person. She was my confidante, a dear friend." Someone I trust.

Harry, sensing there was more to the story, pressed on. "I mean, did you ever love her romantically, Professor?"

Yes. I have loved her since the day I met her. Nothing has changed.

Remus hesitated at Harry's more personal inquiries, glancing nervously as if questioning the appropriateness of the conversation. Harry, undeterred, waited for an answer.

With a sigh, Remus began, "Harry, should you really be asking such questions?" Harry, ever the inquisitive teenager, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Well, I suppose I could say it this way--if I were to love her, it would span a thousand lifetimes, and even then, it wouldn't be enough."

[moonriddles]

Hey so i have this oc-

I just fricking love him so much i feel the urge of posting him everywhere

Akio Vé Draxum is a goat yokai of Asian-Nordic descent who exudes an intimidating presence wherever he goes. A tribute to his family's pride, his long hair is adorned with delicate gold ornaments that his mother used to entwine when he was just a baby, keeping it in his honor and as a constant reminder of his roots and heritage.

His childhood marked by tragedy shaped his character. At the age of four, his quiet rural town in feudal Japan was raided by humans, nearly leading to the extinction of his race. His mother, a legendary warrior, made the ultimate sacrifice to protect her children, an act of bravery that Akio carries with him as a beacon of inspiration.

Raised by his older brother, B.Draxum, Akio received an intensive education in the art of war and fighting. However, his relationship with Draxum is complex; although they care for each other, Akio harbors some resentment for his brother's bossy attitude during their childhood. The line between teacher and brother blurred, leaving a feeling of lack of emotional support.

Over the centuries, Akio has forged himself into a formidable warrior, renowned in the yokai community for his exploits in war and his unwavering loyalty. But his scars, both physical and emotional, are evident. He is one-eyed, his face and body are scarred by wounds from past conflicts, and while serious and self-centered, he is also loyal to the core and has a deep sense of duty and family.

The mystical Nodachi that Akio wields is an extension of his own essence. Holding a jade handle, it gives off a powerful and mystical aura that seems to resonate with the strength of its ancestors. Imbued with the energy of his lineage, the saber is a tool he uses with supernatural prowess in the protection of his people and revenge against those who have caused harm to his race.

The figure of his mother continues to be a beacon of hope and pain in his life. Sometimes in his dreams he catches a glimpse of her silhouette or hears melodies that he used to sing to her, but he can never see her face. This inability to fully remember his mother is a constant source of melancholy for Akio.

Akio Draxum is a warrior with unwavering spiritual depth, an unwavering loyalty to his yokai lineage, and an iron determination to protect his own. Although his relationship with his brother is complicated, their brotherly bond is a fundamental pillar in his life, and together, they are guardians of a yokai tradition that fights to endure in an ever-changing world.

And well he hates both human and mutant, he considers this last race as inferior and weak for not being "pure blooded yokai".

I have the headcanon that Draxum is Japanese-Nordic

More than anything due to the fact that Huginn and Muninn base their names on Odin's servants who also perch on his shoulders. So, I wanted to do something similar with Akio and give him companions based on outstanding creatures from Escavandian mythology.

Sleipnir was a gift from Draxum when he began his journey as a warrior, "every noble and fierce warrior needs a steed at his level" was what he said to him

Freky is a mortal falcon that Akio rescued from the surface and turned into his servant and companion, it is his eyes around the hidden city. Like all mortal animals, Freky died over the years, but Akio keeps his soul in his sword to keep him with him even after death.

And that's all i think?? I just love hin he's my baby my skrunkly

[utilitycaster]

so you have talked a lot about Laudna and her relationship with Delilah and your dislike of having brought back Delilah for campaign 3 as a patron but do you think if it would have been some other powerful but less known necromancer that it would have changed laudna in a meaningful way.

like do you think maybe Marisha would have needed to flesh some things out more because the patron name drop would have done less of the work if it was someone not so intertwined with c1 and maybe the rest of the cast would have interacted differently if it wasn`t Delilah or would Laudna still suffer with the same problems you already pointed out?

I can't say for certain because I am only speculating on the root cause of what I perceive as problems. @kerosene-in-a-blender and @burr-ell have both made compelling cases for Opash. At the very least, I think Opash wouldn't have had the same "somehow, Palpatine returned" vibes that make Delilah less and less interesting each time she reappears. It would have been tied to a past campaign, but would better have explained Laudna's isolation and loneliness (remote island) and at absolute minimum it would have been something novel.

Here's the problem: the more I think about it, the more I think a lot of the core concept behind Laudna is flawed, and it's not specific to the patron in question. I'm rewatching some of the most recent 4SD, and Marisha mentions that she had originally thought of Laudna as someone who just went with the flow. In another 4SD, she mentioned wanting to play Laudna as someone over her trauma, but in another she mentioned that Laudna was in a state of arrested development, and in still another, as I've brought up, she mentioned an original intent to not level in warlock at all.

The problem is that to play a warlock you need to feel some kind of way about your patron. It's completely acceptable to be go with the flow (will note - not to my taste, I lean towards movers and shakers, but acceptable conceptually)...but Laudna isn't go with the flow about Delilah! She finds her irritating and controlling! She's outright angry at her! So why is she just passively going along with her murderer? And the thing is if she were passively going along with her murderer that's also valid, but that still requires an exploration of what prompted that. If you're trying to play like you're over your trauma, how does that work when the person who traumatized you literally has entwined themselves around your soul?

In the end, my preference would have been for a different patron, but if we were getting a deep dive into Laudna, for example, resenting and hating Delilah but putting up with her because she was the only other person she could really talk to for 30 years, and then turning on her properly once she had Imogen on her side, that would have been compelling! It's just...we get these tiny interesting scraps (Laudna screaming at Delilah after she destroyed the gnarlrock, Delilah returning when she attacked Bor'Dor, Laudna's clear resentment of her situation, everything during the Issylra arc) but none of them ever get realized past that scene. It really feels like there's a lack of coherent vision, and I don't think a different patron would fix that. Perhaps it would have prompted Marisha to look into the character build and backstory more in depth, but I can't guarantee it. I still can't find a unifying concept for the character beyond the aesthetic.

[baldttorenation]

Pantalone takes the plunge

Pantalone was feeling a bit self-conscious as he sat in the chair at Dottore's barbershop. His once thick, luscious locks had started to thin and recede, and he knew it was time for a change. Dottore, with his steady hands and sharp razors, was the only one he trusted with such a delicate task. As Dottore began to lather up Pantalone's head, the sensation of the warm shaving cream against his scalp sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but he couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that came with having his head shaved. Dottore could sense Pantalone's unease and tried to lighten the mood by making small talk. They discussed the weather, the latest gossip in town, anything to distract Pantalone from the task at hand. But despite his efforts, Pantalone couldn't help but feel a growing sense of excitement building within him. As Dottore carefully ran the razor over Pantalone's head, the combination of the gentle touch and the sharp blade sent waves of pleasure coursing through Pantalone's body. He tried to suppress a moan, but it escaped his lips before he could stop it. Dottore looked up, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I see you're enjoying this as much as I am," Dottore said, his voice low and sultry. Pantalone blushed, unable to deny the truth in Dottore's words. He had never experienced anything like this before, the intimacy of having his head shaved by another man igniting a passion within him that he never knew existed. Dottore leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Pantalone's ear as he whispered, "I can tell you want more." Pantalone's heart raced as he felt Dottore's hands explore his newly shaven head, tracing the contours of his skull with a feather-light touch. The sensation was electrifying, sending a jolt of desire straight to his core. Without a word, Pantalone reached out and pulled Dottore close, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. The heat between them was palpable, their bodies pressed together as they gave in to their mutual longing. As the kiss deepened, their hands began to roam, exploring each other's bodies with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Pantalone felt a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced, a need that could only be satisfied by the man before him. Dottore's hands trailed down Pantalone's chest, teasing and tantalizing him with every touch. Pantalone arched his back, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as Dottore's fingers danced across his skin. In a frenzy of desire, they shed their clothes, their bodies intertwined in a tangle of limbs and passion. Pantalone reveled in the sensation of Dottore's skin against his own, the heat of their bodies melding together in a symphony of pleasure. As they moved as one, Pantalone felt a sense of liberation unlike anything he had ever known. The act of shaving his head had been the catalyst for this newfound connection, opening up a world of possibilities that he never could have imagined. In that moment, Pantalone and Dottore were no longer just barber and customer. They were two souls bound together by a shared desire, a passion that defied all conventions and expectations. And as they lay entwined in each other's arms, Pantalone knew that this was just the beginning of their journey together. With Dottore by his side, he was ready to explore the depths of his desires and embrace the exhilarating freedom that came with being true to himself.

[rabioli]

In the quiet hours of a moonlit room.

In the quiet hours of a moonlit room, Two souls entwined, dispelling worldly gloom, Their love, a secret whispered in the night, A dance of hearts, in shadows taking flight.

With tender touch and gaze so deeply traced, They find a world where they are both embraced, The rhythm of their love, a sacred song, In this embrace where they both truly belong.

Their fingers trace a path, a lover's art, Discovering the secrets of each other's heart, In this intimacy, they share their deepest core, A love that burns, forever to explore.

Their kisses taste of passion and desire, A love that sets their very souls on fire, In this space, they find a love so true, Two hearts as one, in every touch they do.

In the sanctuary of their love, they're free, To be who they are, as love's decree, In the embrace of intimacy's gentle grace, They find a home, a sacred, safe embrace.

Their love, a beacon in a world that may not see, The beauty of their union, wild and free, In the quiet hours of a moonlit night,

Two souls find love, a beacon burning bright--

Two souls find love, a beacon burning bright.