#the one you despise the one you pity the one you love despite yourself

[yomkippur]

“I don’t want to turn into you.” / “You’ve been like me since you were eight years old.”

house & foreman / “cool about it,” boygenius

[jasmines-library]

Could you maybe write a platonic Damian x sibling reader (younger but not hy like a lot). And they had a nightmare and go to Damian in the middle of the night. And they're scared that he's gonna get mad that they woke him up, but they didn't know who else to go to

No pressure, of course!! I hope you have a wonderful day/night/afternoon or whatev!!! 🫶🫶🫶

Hold Me Like A Grudge

Summary: Ever since you joined your father at his home, Damian Wayne had despised you. He tries to spend his time as far away from you as possible, until one night you seek comfort in him after a nightmare and everything changes. (gn reader :))

Note: Thanks for requesting lovely! this was so cute to write and a much needed break from the angst for you all (kinda...)

Warnings: Being ignored by Dami, nightmares, none really it's a fluffy fic!

Word count: 1.4k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Damian had never been one for comforting tendencies. He often chose to seclude himself away in a corner, brooding in his own self pity or grumbling about his early-teenage misery. Apparently it had gotten worse since you arrived; having another sibling to pester him didn’t sit well on his behalf, so each time the sound of your small feet pattered into the room, he would turn his gaze away or collect his belongings that he had strewn across the room and left. You weren’t entirely sure what you had done to receive the silent treatment from Damian. Dick, the eldest of the bunch, had tried to reassure you that it was nothing personal. That he had acted that way towards him when he first arrived sending his cold glares from across the room or barging past him in the hallways, but something about the way his face contorted and his lip twitched revealed something else. 

Damian Wayne was jealous. Despite the fact he would rather die than admit it, he couldn’t stand having someone else in his way. You were his biological half sister. The only other person related to the one and only Bruce Wayne. And he hated you for it. He hated Bruce for it. He hated himself for hating it, but that didn’t stop his grudge from lingering. It didn’t help that your charm meant you got along with the rest of the boys better than he did; you had shown them kindness where he had shown them coldness. 

When Bruce told him that he was responsible for you whilst the others were out on patrol he did very little to hide his disdain; rolling his eyes and stomping off to his room but not before snarling at you as he pushed past. 

The manor was eerily quiet that night. It was dark and without the obnoxiously loud antics of your older brothers the place felt empty. Damian was off sulking somewhere and Alfred was monitoring the computers so you were left alone to navigate the endless rooms and high ceilings. You hadn’t been at the manor long so you were still a bit unsteady when it came to navigating the maze of walls but without anyone to help you when you turned a wrong corner, it took you much longer than it should have to find your room. There were a few lights on in the halls, but all of the rooms were dark and vast and the condensation building up on the cold glass didn’t help your feeling of unease. A shiver crawled down your back and you tugged the hem of your hoodie over your hands. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief when you pushed open the door and collapsed onto your bed, burying yourself under the sheets and squeezing your eyes tightly.

Sleep didn’t come easy, much to your dismay. There were too many odd sounds drifting through the house; something clicking, the wind whipping around outside, tree branches tapping on the glass, a dripping tap in your bathroom that stopped for a few blissful minutes before starting up again with a monotonous tempo. Tucking your knees and head to your chest you tried to bury yourself deeper into the bed and drown out the sounds that to someone who had lived there a while wouldn’t even bat an eye at. 

When your tired body finally dragged sleep into it’s clutches it was restless. You tossed and turned with a furrowed brow. The images were dark and disturbing; twisted figures of your new family being captured, of strange figure looming over you in the dark reaching out a cold, bony hand that could have easily been mistaken for a claw until it was only inches away from, reaching and reaching until the icy digits brushed the surface of your skin.

You shot up, kicking off the sheets and clutching your skin where the hand had touched you; you could have sworn you could still feel it there so cold that it felt as though it were going to burn a hole into your delicate skin. Tears rolled fat and ugly down your cheek and your forced yourself out of bed with trembling legs. Your feet carried you down the hall and before you knew it had planted you outside of Damian’s room. Like the others it was dark and silent, but you knew it was his. You had walked past it too many times, itching to just catch a chance of talking to him. Despite your state, your hand hovered above the frame unable to bring yourself to knock. What if he yelled at you or turned you away like he usually does? You supposed you could go and find Alfred instead- no. He was busy. The idea was gone from your head almost as soon as it had appeared and with a shaky sob you rapped your knuckles against his door. 

“What do you want-”

He opened the door much quicker than you thought he would. His jostled hair and cantankerous stare loomed over you, but he changed very unexpectedly when he noticed your sobbing and dewy eyes. Without thinking twice you wrapped your arms around him bawling into his chest. His body relaxed slightly as he frowned sympathetically, wrapping an arm around you and bringing you closer to him. It was odd even to him that there was something special about the moment. Damian wrapped you and led you over to his messy bed, settling you on the edge. The dampness that has seeped into the middle of his shirt didn’t bother him as he crouched down on his toes in front of you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, uncharacteristically tenderly. 

“I…i-” You stuttered trying to force the story out but only failing which just ended up causing a fresh bout of tears to fall. 

The boy cupped your hands in his, getting your attention. Tilting your head up, you saw his softened gaze. 

“Calm down, kiddo. You’re okay.” He gave you a gentle nod of reassurance. 

It took a few moments but soon your blubbering slowed into something of a calm, only interrupted by the occasional hiccup that pushed it way past your lips. 

“That’s it kid.” He rubbed your back “You’re okay.”

“I’m so-rry.” You hiccupped. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

This made Damian pause as a feeling of being humbled washed over him. 

“Tt. Why would I be mad?”

“Because I woke you up.” You pushed yourself up to stand, wiping away tears and making your way to the door. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”

“Oh..y/n…”

Everything seemed to hit Damian all at once. He had been so caught up in his own jealousy that he had completely refused to think about how you felt and it occurred to him that you had so much more in common. You were a scared kid who had just been thrown amongst the most complicated family in Gotham. You were in need of love and guidance and he had failed to do that. The dark haired boy began to feel very guilty. It was his responsibility as your older brother to show you the ropes and he had point blank refused. 

He pushed himself up and settled down on the bed gesturing for you to follow. For a moment he thought that he had completely ruined everything; that you were going to leave and just suffer in silence albeit you walked over to the bed and perched on the end enjoying the way that the memory foam sank down slowly around you.

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there for you. It was selfish of me, I understand now that-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off with a smile.

He nodded contently and pulled you into a hug. 

After a while you meekly broke the silence. “Dami?”

“Mmh?”

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

Damian grinned down as his little sibling proudly for the first time since you had arrived. He then shuffled across the bed and opened up the duvet for you to clamber in next to him. He slung an arm over you protectively. 

“You can stay whenever you need, Little Bat.” 

[denileisariver]

pairing: batman aka bruce wayne x f!reader

summary: you move into wayne manor, but not everything is as it seems.

warnings: dark!bruce, established relationships, male and female masturbation, descriptions of male and female genitalia, voyeurism, another age gap fic cuz i love dilf!bruce, reader is described as a vigilante and being dicks friend, some non-consensual touching kinda, no piv unfortunately :(, reader is also described as having hair long enough to pull, one tiny use of the word 'baby', size kink if you squint, some overall darkish batfam? not rlly but I'll tag them as yandere anyway.

a/n: tbh i jus pulled this outta nowhere and have no idea where this might lead but fuck it we ball.

you had no idea what you'd gotten yourself into.

your new life at wayne manor was fast-paced and quite absurd. the transition from living in a cramped dorm with one girl to an ancient mansion with a bunch of other heroes whose lives you could barely keep up with hit you like a ton of bricks, it gave you whiplash.

you'd been friends with dick grayson ever since the two of you were teenagers. he was always someone you could easily bond with. whether it was about school, relationships, or being a vigilante the majority of the short time the both of you had been on this earth, he was always there for you. he was your best friend.

you never really had anyone you would consider family. orphaned at such a young age, you grew up to be cautious of other people, always wary that they would abandon you or find ways to exploit you.

at the beginning of your friendship with dick, you had honestly been quite jealous of the older male. you knew it was a bit selfish, but you couldn't help it. there was always a small part of you that despised him for being taken in by a wealthy man who could support him at his every whim, his newfound family that seemed to only grow bigger and bigger each time you saw him. how despite all the terrible things he had been through, he managed to find happiness, or at least content in his life.

and you wanted that, too.

but you always buried those feelings deep down. it wasn't his fault, and you couldn't blame him for it either, so you pretended it was never there in the first place. instead, you put on a brave face. it wasn't too difficult, and for some short moments, you did truly believe that you were happy, regardless of how out of place you felt sometimes around dick and his brothers and sisters.

brothers and sisters. those words were so foreign to you, that when you looked over the relationships you had with dick and his family, you almost had a sort of epiphany. none of them were blood related at all, but they went through thick and thin together no matter what. and a small part of you hoped, wished, that maybe you could be apart of that too.

maybe it was all just irrational.

dick and you had spent a lot of time together. at school, at the justice league headquarters, fighting side by side at unholy hours of the night, or just casual hangouts. you knew him well enough to catch that subtle look in his eyes whenever he looked at you. pity. it was there whenever he brought up what parties bruce was throwing for one of the kids' birthdays, or how tim and jason got into another petty fight that he had to resolve, damian getting awards at school that the family had to attend.

all experiences and problems that you never had, and probably never would. at least, that's what you thought, up until now.

"why don't you come stay wayne manor?"

at first, the question caught you off guard. sure, you spent countless of sleepovers at the place, and you'd known a decent amount about it to get around by yourself with ease, but still. you never considered the possibility of actually staying there. and by the look on dick's face, he seems to notice that too. "i meant- if you want. i just know how lonely it can be for you sometimes, and it would just be easier for us, y'know with our nighttime activities and-"

your eyes roll at his quick rambling, internally cringing a bit at the prospect of him mentioning you being fucking lonely. you flash him a weak smile, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

"sheesh, dick, thanks." you don't mean to sound so harsh, but it's difficult when all of this is so personal to you.

"i didn't mean it like that. and it's no big deal, really. we have plenty of space, and im sure bruce won't mind. maybe alfred, since he has to pick up after your ass but-" dick continues, shrugging it off like it really didn't mean anything. like he wasn't asking you to pack up your shit and move in with him and his family. "you're always welcome there."

and at that, your heart softens a bit. of course, you knew that, but even when you stayed over for a weekend or two, you never wanted to feel like you were overstaying. "i'll think about it, dick."

and you did. you thought about it quite a lot actually, even before dick had asked you that ludicrous question. and he was right. it would make things easier. you'd have a stable roof over your head, instead of the cracked ones that leaked like your dormatory back in gotham. you'd be able to spend more time with the people you cared about. you'd have people that cared about you too, look after you, and defend you if needed. it couldn't be that bad, right?

that's how you ended up here.

in a room that was bigger than all the shitty squats you lived since you were a kid combined. there was so much space you didn't know what to do with it. but the rowdiness of the boys and girls outside your door brought a smile to your face. life at wayne manor would call for some serious adjustment, but you felt like you could power through it. plus, it was only a bonus that you'd always thought jason was cute, much to dick's disgust.

the first couple of weeks staying here were honestly going great, much to your surprise. the family had welcomed you with open arms, some of them not even batting an eye when you regularly attended dinner with them, or walked around in your pajamas, or were quick to be in the cave once it was time for patrol. like you were supposed to be there all along.

your friendship with dick was more of the same, only now you lived with him. jason and you had gotten closer, but you didn't trust calling whatever feelings you had for him enough to call it a crush. you didn't always understand whatever nerd stuff tim would ramble about, but you listened to him anways. you appreciated how much stephanie and cass involved you into their movie nights and gossiping. well more you and stephanie gossiping than cass, but it still felt like you had the girl best friends you had always craved for. damian took some time to warm up to you, but you could still bond with him over his art and love for animals. alfred loved you already, so there wasn't much there to add. and then there was bruce.

you couldn't quite place your finger on bruce. even when you were younger, his stoicism and broodiness was something you couldn't get past, only in rare moments. there was always something about him that you found off-putting. granted that he was always kind, if that's even the right word for it, he never made you feel unwelcome, but you always felt uneasy around the man.

maybe it was how he seemed to be able to read you like an open book, how he could disappear in a room full of people, how he never quite matched the energy in the room, his incessant staring. god, you hated how much he stared at you. bruce's gaze made you feel small, when you usually were confident and assured of yourself. you could feel his eyes burning into you across the room, and you didn't know how to say anything about it or do much for that matter besides distract yourself.

you thought that by now you'd be able to get over whatever it was about him, that you'd known bruce long enough that you could just play it off as him being strange in his own way, but those feelings had only intensified ever since you moved into the mansion.

chills would run down your spine whenever he'd place a heavy hand on your waist, seemingly as casual touch, but it always lingered too long. held on too tight. this look in his eyes, but you couldn't tell what it was. you had brought it up briefly to dick, but he didn't think much of it, laughing it off, saying something along the lines that's just bruce, you'll get used to it.

but you didn't. you couldn't.

especially now that bruce was inviting you to spar with him. to make sure you're prepared, he said. prepared for what exactly, you're not so sure. but you reluctantly agreed, trying to see it as something useful and educational that you could actually use while fighting against whatever villain of the day thought about creating mayhem in gotham.

bruce was strong and brutish compared to you. every time you tried to throw your best at him, he always managed to get the upper hand, and you'd be flat on the sparring mat in a matter of seconds. it had almost seemed like childsplay to him, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think that maybe deep down a part of him enjoyed it.

he'd roughly grab and contort your body in uncomfortable positions, to test your flexibility, as he so called it. your hair would be pulled unforgivingly, and he'd place his weight on top of you, telling you to try and escape from him, much to your avail. you felt like he was taunting you, "you think those criminals in gotham are gonna be easy on you like i am?"

it didn't fucking feel like he was going easy. bruce would place his hand on your neck and choke you out till you were clawing at his skin, only letting go if you tried to beg or actually managed to use your own skill to get him to stop, but that had only happened once and never again. and when you writhed and struggled in his bruising hold, you'd notice that damn look in his eyes again.

no, this wasn't normal sparring.

you'd seen him spar with the other boys and girls, and it had never been like this. and although he was still ruthless, he'd given them actual advice. advice that you'd seen them use out in the field on multiple occasions.

you'd been wandering around gotham long enough to know when someone had it out for you. whether it was sex, crime, or something else, you knew that distinct look in a persons eyes.

a predator hunting down prey.

☆☆☆☆☆

you tried to wash off whatever the hell that was with bruce down the drain. everytime the eery thought of him having less than good intentions for you came up, you pushed it away. whether it was out of guilt for even thinking of him in that way, cause he saved so many people each night without expecting anything in return, or because he was your best friends father, and no he'd never hurt you. that's just unreasonable.

the whole situation just made your head hurt. maybe it's just an overreaction. dick said that whatever this behavior was is normal of bruce. and so you foolishly continue to believe it.

you search your drawers for a fresh pair of panties, too tired to realize that some of your favorite pairs had gone missing. the room, which you personalized after your couple of weeks here, feels suddenly strange to sleep by yourself in.

when you first moved in, you slept like a baby. you felt safe, like this was a normal thing because you'd slept well in these walls ever since your sleepovers with dick. now, it just felt like something was watching you. a feeling that sometimes left goosebumps on your skin, and you couldn't understand what it was.

there's bruises on your skin from how tightly bruce held onto you. some as big as the shape of his hands on your wrists, and as small as the tips of his fingers on your neck. you're completely oblivious to the camera that's watching you closely, placed strategically so you'd never find it. you're oblivious to the man whose behind them.

even if you had just taken a shower, you decide to get yourself dirty again, in other ways. your favorite thing to relieve stress. playtime. so you trace your fingertips down your body with a feather-light touch, gently tweaking and rolling your fingers between your nipples to get yourself excited. you allow your mind to go blank for a while.

you have no idea that bruce's breathing only gets heavier when he realizes what you're about to do. don't know how his cock is hardening beneath his joggers when you push your panties to the side, gathering up your slick and finding your clit to pleasure yourself. don't know that he's stroking himself too, between the layers of his pants and boxers, with your panties in his hand.

how he wishes there was better light in the darkness of your room, so he could get a better look at your glistening pussy, and swearing to himself that he'll get a good look at it upclose one day. he matches your pace, making sure he only gets to cum at the same time you do.

you seem frustrated. he thinks that maybe he can fix that for you. you lick at your middle and index finger, using your own saliva as lubricant, teasing yourself by slowly rubbing along your wet folds. torturing him. the soft pads of your fingers find your clit, setting a medium-slow pace. and bruce tries his best to mimick your actions. pulling himself out of the constraints of his clothes, teasing the fat mushroom head of his cock, gliding a thumb over the tiny slit where his pre-cum dripped out of him, then moving it down his shaft to gently pump it with his hand.

and when your fingers pick up the pace, so do his hands. his eyes intently watch the screen before him, admiring the way your body arches up off the bed, head pushing into the pillows. your chest heaves a bit, and by the way you're biting on your bottom lip, he can tell you're struggling to be quiet. he doesn't want you be, but he'll take what he can get, for now.

your hips writhe a bit, almost like you wanted to fuck back at your fingers, desperately needing something thicker than your petite hands. you move both hands down to your cunt, so you can play with your clit and finger fuck yourself at the same time, and the action makes your pussy cry at the attention.

bruces muscles flex with each jerk of his hand, his free hand going down to gently cup his balls. his eyes hone in on your tiny digits, moving in and out of your cunt with one sole purpose, your juices creating a filthy sound that's like heaven to bruce's ears. he wants to be there so he could get a taste of that sweet pussy, but he suffices with your panties in his mouth, biting down on the fabric.

he could see the markings he left on your delicate skin in the moonlight that peeks into your room, possessiveness coursing through him. he feels pathetic for even doing this, but he can't help himself. bruce's cock twitches in his hand at the sight, knowing your orgasm was coming quickly by how sloppy and rushed your movements were becoming.

it's been so long since you've touched yourself. too long in fact, that your cunt spasms and gushes, completely soaking your hands and the sheets beneath you in the process. and bruce allows himself to cum too, his cock jumping a bit with every rope of the sticky substance, covering his happy trail and abs.

you seem too tired to care that you're laying in your own pussy juice, darkening the fabric below. bruce's eyes are soft, watching you roll over on your side, not even bothering to clean up afterwards. that was a tomorrow's problem.

bruce makes sure to save the precious evidence that the camera caught, knowing it'll be hidden away for his eyes only. he watches you fall asleep in your own mess till his cock begins to soften, placing himself back into his boxers.

he knows you pretty well, he'd like to think. knows you well enough that if you knew what he'd just done, you'd probably slap him across the face. another part of him hopes it turns you on just as much as it turns him on, but maybe that's just him feeding into his delusion. he trails his eyes over your sleeping form just one more time, a small goodnight baby whispered from his lips, even if you can't hear him.

he shuts off the computer for the night, hoping that he'll soon be lucky enough to watch you touch yourself again tomorrow. or maybe even get to fuck you. soon. really fucking soon.

he'll have to remind himself to be a bit grateful for dick inviting you to stay here, in his home. bruce hadn't been too proud when he suggested it to dick, bringing up that you'd easily accept to their request of moving into wayne manor. and he was right.

if dick or anyone else was suspicious about what bruce was doing, or planned on doing, he wasn't too worried of it. he also knew his adopted children well enough that they wouldn't tell on him, and loved you too much to allow you to leave, and for that, he was also grateful.

he had you right where he wanted you, and he'd give you a really hard time if you even thought about leaving now.

[velarisnightsky444]

Tired

Angstober Day 15: Tired of Fighting with Neris

CW: Depression, allusions to self harm, angst with comfort.

Summary: Your struggles with mental health become too much to bear, and you finally confide in your mates.

Word Count: 912

October Masterlist

»»——⍟——««

You did everything you possibly could to drown out your thoughts. You always had. Because you couldn't stand being alone with them. You used wine, food, anything you could to keep from thinking.

The world would become too heavy, and even getting out of bed proved to be impossible. 

Your mother had been the same. You could recall times in your childhood when she wouldn't leave her room for a week--sometimes more. You hadn't understood back then. But as you got older, and you began to experience it, you wished you had been more understanding. 

In the last week, things had gotten much worse. Your thoughts were vicious and critical, your chest aching with a weight you didn't understand. You kept it to yourself as much as you could, not wanting to bother your mates. You didn't want them to worry, or waste any time fussing over you. Nesta and Eris were both very busy, and the last thing you wanted was to distract them.

Eris had a lot on his plate as the new High Lord. He'd been working very hard to reform the Autumn Court, and change all of the horrific ways his father ran things. He'd been spending a lot of time with his mother, and repairing things with his brothers. The boys had been pitted against each other their entire lives, and despite their love for each other, been forced to hurt one another. Eris wanted to change that.  

Nesta had been helping the Lady of Autumn recover from the trauma Beron had left her with. She felt a connection with the female, and the two spent time together, just talking for hours. 

So you kept to yourself, not wanting to bother them. They had expressed concern over the last week, but you shut them down. You hated pity, and you hated being fussed over. Your mates knew that about you, but they sometimes couldn't help themselves. 

The bond had snapped for Eris and Nesta when they'd danced together in Hewn City. When they came back to the Autumn Court, you had been hired to wait on Nesta. You dressed her, cleaned up after her, and helped her with everything she asked. Soon enough, the bond had snapped for you, as well. 

Eris killed his father soon after, knowing he would never allow him to accept such a bond. He knew his father would likely kill you if he found out. It was deemed an unsolved murder, but everyone knew it was Eris. The majority of the Autumn Court despised Beron so greatly that none of them cared. 

You sniffled, sitting up as a knock sounded from the door. It was three in the afternoon, and your mates had been up for hours. They'd asked if you needed anything, and you had said no. You knew they weren't convinced, and they would likely stage an intervention quite soon. 

Nesta let herself in, her gaze firm. She huffed when she saw that you were still in bed. She approached carefully, the bed sinking as she sat beside you. She leaned down, kissing your forehead. You savored the comfort, leaning into her touch as she wrapped her arms around your body. 

"I'm here, sweetheart," she murmured, stroking your hair. 

You could vaguely hear footsteps, the ones you knew belonged to Eris. You'd memorized their footsteps, your heart fluttering every time you heard them. You didn't look up as he entered.

"What's going on in here?" Eris mused, making his way over. 

He climbed onto the other side of the bed, his arms tucking around you, opposite of Nesta. You felt safe in the arms of your mates. As though even your thoughts couldn't hurt you. You felt the tears pooling in your eyes, your lower lip wobbling. Before you could stop yourself, the tears fell, sobs leaving your lips. 

"What's wrong, love?" Nesta asked gently. 

"I'm tired of fighting, Nessie," you cried, a weight off your shoulders as you voiced it for the first time. 

"I know, I remember the feeling well," Nesta admitted in a hushed whisper. 

"As do I," Eris confessed, his hold on you tightening. 

"How did you get through it?" you asked, voice shaking. 

"I found something else to focus on," Nesta spoke. "I threw myself into training, and I found a support system. We can be your support system, YN. And if you find something you enjoy, you can use it as a distraction." 

You nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat. Nesta's fingers traced up your sleeve, brushing the new cuts on your wrist. She frowned, loosening her hold on you and taking your arm. She rolled up your sleeve, fingers tracing the scars, surveying the damage. 

"Baby, you should've told us," Eris scolded gently. 

"I didn't want to bother you," you whispered. 

"You're never a bother," Nesta said sternly, her eyes lining with slight silver flames at the intensity of the words. "If you're hurting yourself, we need to know." 

"I won't do it again," you said, just to please them. 

"We aren't naive, YN," Eris said. "And even if you truly believe that now, it's not that easy. We know better than anyone." 

"Next time, tell us," Nesta said. "Preferably before so we can stop you. But if you let us know after, we can properly take care of it."

"I'm sorry," you murmured, feeling ashamed. 

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Nesta promised, placing a kiss to your cheek. "Never apologize for this, my love." 

»»——⍟——««

Kink/Fluff/Angstober Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @danikamariemain @book-obsessed124 @winchesterbbygrl @kissesfrommads @binnieonabike @fourthwing4ever @ghostslittlegf @mollygetssherlockcoffee @hawke1917 @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @honk4emoboys @rogerbarnesxx @a-courtof-azriel @kodokunarisu-blog @dxjaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @littlepippilongstocking

Neris Taglist:

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @anneas11 @andreperez11 @isnotwhatyourethinking @effervescentbutterfly

comment to be added to any of the taglists!

»»——⍟——««

[gh0stswh0re]

"-s gonna be alright, darling, i'm right here, just breathe"

warnings: f! reader, softdom (!) simon, forced orgasms + overstimulation, previously established consent + safeword, mild descriptions of war, very dramatic for no reason, 550+ words

a/n: at the end, cuz they are too long

...

he is a man of determination and sheer willpower, a man with a strong moral ground and one might even dare saying simon riley is a bit of a patriot.

dangerous, is what he really is - like a predator he moves, like a sickened predator he stalks and watches, like a bloodthirsty, bellicose predator he hunts down and slaughters whatever poor bastard is his next set target.

he is blind and rabid - a weapon, a machine on the battlefield with phantoms of war scattered across his skin, still haunting his flesh, seared deep inside.

yet, here he is - his lips skating the heartbeat on your neck, his fingers twitching as the grip of his hand on your hip tightens, turning his knuckles a sorrowful white as he caresses you - as if you are the one and only thing to cherish, admire, protect.

weak - he hates and despises being weak, but good lord above he just loves seeing you weak, crumpled underneath him - broken, shattered, tainted.

passing his thumb over your bottom lip - swollen and flushed pink - prying open your mouth, flattening it against your tongue - you gag and he chuckles, as if to torment you, or, perhaps pity your pathetic state. as another finger slides across your clit, teasing it with a quick swirl, and you chew down on the inside of your cheek, nearly drawing blood as you bite down a whine, the ever-so-similar longing seared inside your abdomen.

his eyes dark - like coal, waiting to engulf in burning flames - as he watches you bury your face into his chest, smearing the remains of the dried-up mascara on his shirt "even as you sob, and tears fall down this pretty face-" heaving breaths wreck his tone, "even as you scream and plea-" he begins rocking his thigh, "you keep your eyes on me" one hand squeezes your cheek, until the flushed skin begins to burn and you whimper as you swallow, "even with your mind gone and body fucked into oblivion, you still follow orders" you squeal - completely cornered by his body pressed against yours - boldly, with only a few hints of concern for how tight the grip he held on you was, as he coos you.

he makes you count - pleasure now mixes with stiff pain, muscles spasming and limbs trembling, white flashing behind your tightly shut eyelids - he makes you count.

shows no remorse either - a slap against the soft skin of your inner thigh snaps you back into the physical realm, "four, sir-" his hand leans higher up, two fingers teasing the wet slit - "four, it was my fourth orgasm" - before an even sharper slap lands against the sore clit and spikes of hot pain ripple through you - from the wet, drippy core up to your spine, the aftershock pulsating in your muscles, "and thank you, sir".

it was stupid - nearly ridiculous - the guilt you feel, as you wince and tremble in his lap, shame and excitement pumping through your system. "-s gonna be alright, darling, i'm right here, just breathe"

you could fight back, you convince yourself - sputter protests, but the trembling tone hiding the silent pleas would, ultimately, betray you.

he makes your skin burn, and your insides twist into ugly knots, as you plead with him to just touch you, despite begging him to stop not even a minute ago, the hungry lust shadowing his face, hiding his expression - it was an ache, an ache only he could soothe. "don't care how sensitive and sore it is, princess, -m still gonna fuck you"

...

a/n: not to be melodramatic (*narrator's voice* she is, infact, dramatic and will remain to be a dramatic hoe for the rest of her life) but y'all are so sweet and i have no idea how to thank y'all for ur patience and support <33 i never would have imagined this december would be so busy and stressful, but y'all are gorgeous and deserve only the best!! for the next few days it's gonna be five or so dribbles + any additional fics i haven't posted yet

[thepixelelf]

For your idol + au thing! (If you're still accepting/looking) mirror verse where you wakeup in a parallel universe and somehow your archenemy seungcheol is in love with you in this world and you're not sure if this is all just an elaborate prank

wc: 1.8k

warnings: attempted assassinations, knives/swords, choking (not the kink like actually an attack bro)

notes: sorry-- I didn't incorporate the elaborate prank part at all but I hope you enjoy!!

[in another life] As your hand guides you through the unlit servant's hallway of the palace, brushing over the paper walls, you breathe as shallowly as your lungs allow. You cannot afford error— not tonight.

Whoever brings Prince Jeonghan's head to your master first will be named his true heir. The next generation's Moonlight Assassin. Whoever completes this final task for him will be left with his overwhelming wealth...along with his immeasurable debt of sin.

Despite the caveat, you simply must be faster than Choi Seungcheol. You understand that he's been training under the master since he was young, and he surely deserves the title of Moonlight Assassin over you, but while you know he wants it, you need it.

Your sister is dying.

Racked by terrible bouts of fever and haunted nightly by ominous visions, she is now too exhausted to even leave her bed. She's already lost her sight. The physician said her hearing would be next, and not long after that, her life.

You haven't told Seungcheol any of this, lest he use your one weakness against you, but there was a moment a year ago when you told him you didn't mean to steal his glory.

"I need the money," you'd said. "It isn't about the title for me."

You thought perhaps he'd take some pity on you then, but it only made him despise you more. He hated that you'd shown up from almost nowhere and somehow charmed the master into taking you in as an apprentice — hated you even more when you seemed to know enough about poisons to impress the master when he'd worked for years to do the same.

For a brief moment, you considered telling Seungcheol your true plan. You only wanted enough money to help your sister; likely a modicum of the master's wealth could cover it. All you needed was that much, and then you'd renounce yourself and cede the Moonlight Assassin title to Seungcheol voluntarily.

But you doubted the master would be happy to hear of your intentions, and you didn't trust Seungcheol enough to stay mum. He'd probably tattle just to get you disqualified before the task even began.

In the end, you kept quiet and let Choi Seungcheol despise you. It was easy when you let yourself despise him back.

His ego was appalling, really, and you truly hated that smug smirk of his whenever he bested you in melee training.

Upon reaching the bend you know is nearest to the honeymoon quarters, you hold in a chuckle. Seungcheol won't be able to smirk now— you'll have the Prince's head before the sun rises. And you'll do it without waking up his new bride, too.

A hand wraps around your throat. Another over your mouth.

Despite your surprise, you make not a sound, knowing just one shift too loud will ruin everything. Only a moment and a half of struggling goes by before the next sound you keep inside yourself is a groan. You know these hands. They've held you down and bruised you enough times for you to remember the shape of them imprinted into your flesh.

"Fool," he whispers in your ear, the sound harsh and demeaning. "You're so slow. I've been waiting for you for hours."

Using both hands, you tear his palm from your mouth, though you have a feeling he is the one who lets you do so. You keep your voice to a low hiss. "You've been here for— why wait for me? You could've killed him by now."

Seungcheol huffs, the quiet version of a haughty scoff. "I could kill a measly prince any day. Tonight is about beating you." He tightens the hand he has around your neck. "I'll enjoy putting you in your place."

"You braggadocios, bull-headed prick—" The insults don't flow from your lips, they come out choking. Your head starts to feel light. "You parading, pathetic narcissist—

Another huff. "If there is one thing I'll miss, it will be your colourful mouth."

Your eyes flutter, eyelids growing heavy. There is not enough air for you to say anything more.

"Goodnight," Seungcheol whispers, his smiling curving against the shell of your ear. "You'll see me well won when you wake."

The last thing you feel is him lowering you softly to the floor, his hand under your head— if only to make less noise than dropping your slack body like a sack of rice.

=

Your first instinct when your consciousness returns is to keep your eyes shut. There is an arm over your waist, and you are lying on your side atop something soft.

Heaven's threads— have you already been jailed? Is some prisoner using you for warmth?

But no, the softness under you feels too fine on your skin. The arm around you feels...tender. Loving. An embrace.

For a moment, you fall into an illusion of time gone backward. You picture yourself and your sister in the small home of your childhood, in the tiny bed you shared before her sickness took over.

This arm is not hers, though. It is much too thick, and — you slowly shift your hand to find the stranger's fingers that graze over your stomach — strong. A hand belonging to someone who developed this strength for years, who...

You freeze.

A hand that was just around your throat. You would recognize it anywhere.

Whipping around, you shove Seungcheol's shoulder so he lays flat, and you straddle his legs to keep them from moving. The knife you keep strapped to your leg is still there, despite everything else feeling so foreign. You hold his dominant arm down with one hand and bring your knife to his neck with the other.

You're shaking.

Slowly, groggily, Seungcheol opens his eyes. You expect him to break free and strike you back — at least try — but his eyes just widen.

"Love," he whispers. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" you interrogate, head swimming. "Where are we? Why am I— why are we—"

His thick brows furrow. "Are you alright?" He doesn't seem to fear the knife at his throat. Doesn't seem to fear you, or the way you've started to struggle against your own breath. "Love, calm down." His hand reaches to push the knife away from his neck, and with his soothing tone of voice, you let him. He sits up and brushes the back of his fingers over your cheek. Gently, he squeezes your hand. "It's alright. You're safe here. I'm with you."

As soon as your breathing evens, you come back to yourself. You smack his hand away from your face. "What the hell has gotten into you? This looks like..." You turn left and right, taking in the room around you lit only by a sparse few candles. "...the palace. What happened? Where is the prince?"

Seungcheol pouts. You didn't know his lips could do that. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, but you slap it away again. "Are you feeling feverish? Dizzy?"

"I'm confused. Why are you acting so strange?"

"Love--"

"That!" you exclaim. "That word-- 'love'. You keep saying it. I don't understand."

He squeezes your hand again, and for some reason, you don't pull away. "I thought you liked that one... You never liked honey, or blossom, or dewdrop--"

You scowl and shove his shoulder, which he only smiles and laughs at. The smile throws you off -- it isn't the smug, irritating one you are accustomed to -- it's wide and bright and warm. He cups your cheek, his smile softening but not going away.

"Love, I think you're tired. Let's go back to sleep."

"Let's?"

Seungcheol chuckles. "You must be exhausted after today. 'Where is the prince'? I'm right here, love."

For a few moments, you simply stare at him. This man, Choi Seungcheol, who once had to be ordered by the master to stop sparring, otherwise he'd break both of your legs -- this man is cradling your face like treasure, and claiming...

"Hah!" you can't help the disbelief that escapes your lips. "You, Seungcheol? A prince? What else are you going to tell me-- that I'm your starry-eyed marrier?"

He tilts his head. "I wouldn't say starry-eyed," he teases, but then his brow furrows again, and he studies your eyes. "You're truly starting to worry me. Should I call for the physician?" His eyes seem to finally adjust to the darkness of the room, and he curiously takes in the clothes you're wearing, the same ones he caught you in outside Prince Jeonghan's honeymoon quarters. "When did you change?" he asks, then lets his gaze dart over to the knife you'd abandoned on the other side of the bed. "And where did you find that?"

"You... you're actually the prince?"

Seungcheol wraps an arm around you, and the protectiveness in his eyes makes you take a sharp inhale. "Something is wrong. I'll call for the--"

"Shh!"

At the slightest sound of shuffling past the thin paper walls, you tackle Seungcheol down to the bed and cover his mouth with your palm. This is starting to feel familiar in a strange, mirror-like way.

You meet Seungcheol's eyes and whisper as quietly as possible. "You're the prince."

Despite his obvious confusion, he nods.

"And we were married yesterday?"

He nods again.

"Heaven's threads," you curse, then turn your head towards the noise outside. When you hold your breath, you're sure you hear the sounds of a quiet, restrained struggle, followed by a body being lowered to the floor.

Seungcheol pries your hand from his mouth. "Love, what's--?"

The door slides open, and a masked figure freezes in the opening, eyes wide as he registers that you're both awake. Still, his surprise doesn't last long. He pulls out his weapon, a short sword you recognize as Seungcheol's -- your Seungcheol, not the prince still holding you in his arms -- and moves so quickly you hardly have time to react.

Though Seungcheol attempts to pull you tighter into him and turn so he will take the brunt of the attack, you are just fast enough to slip from his hold. You grab your knife and send a kick straight into the intruder's chest. He falls to floor. Grabbing his wrist, you slam it against the wood and kick the sword he lets go of as far across the room as possible.

In the frenzy, you rip down the piece of cloth covering the lower half of his face, out of breath as you realize, "Prince Jeonghan?"

The man growls, but the sharp edge of your knife kissing his neck is enough to keep him still. "Who--"

You don't allow him to finish his sentence. Raising your hand, you slam the hilt of your knife into his temple, and he falls limp, eyes rolling back.

The room falls back into silence, left only with your heavy breathing and -- you look over at Seungcheol -- his, too. Through the open door, you spot the feet of whomever has taken your spot in this strange, backwards world.

"Love," Seungcheol says in a breathless exhale. "That..."

You place your hands on the floor and push yourself to your feet. Seungcheol meets you between the bed and the unconscious assassin on the floor. He wraps his arms around you.

"That was strangely the most beautiful thing I've ever--"

His words choke to a stop when he feels you press the tip of the knife into the back of his neck.

"Love," you say, voice shaking. "Take me to my sister."

[sanscat0414]

Sideline 1

Hawks x Timid Reader

Scenario: Hawks loses his memories after a villlan fight leading to head trauma. His sidekick was all the more ready to take your place as his girlfriend. She fed him lies to make Hawks hate you. Will he remember you or will you remain a thorn in his eyes.

Masterlist

It had been 2 months since Hawks was hospitalized after a long stressful fight. Each day you pray he would wake up.

You were there every possible moment waiting and hoping for the day he woken up. You had to work but You would stay by his side up until visiting hours where over. You would come home to your small little apartment crying wanting to have him back. You missed his warmth and you miss all those silly moments you had together.

You immediately rushed over to the hospital once your business trip was over to check on him. When you opened the door you saw him with his side kick, Vivian, the Shadow hero. Vivian was straddling Hawks and they were flirting with one another. You were grateful that he was finally awake but heartbroken seeing him with another woman.

“Hawks?” You asked trying to hide your broken heart.

“That’s the woman I was telling you about. Always trying to tear us apart.” Vivian said.

“What are you talking about I’m-“

“Don’t act all confused now! You weee always budding in like a crazy Fan and you always harassed me! Saying mean things about my body and coming on to Hawks like a creep!” She said.

She win an Oscar if she was an actress with all her crocodile tears. That wasn’t that part that make you hurt. What made you stop and broken was the look in Hawks eyes. No longer was the loving stares he gave you, there was only hate in his eyes.

He gave you the coldest stare you ever seen and sternly said “Get out. Look I don’t know what your problem is but stay away form my girl friend and Me.”

“Wait Hawks but we ar-“

“I don’t want to hear your delusions, please leave before I call security.”

He wouldn’t listen to you. You had no choice but to leave the room. You figured by now that Hawks didn’t remember you. You look back through the small window of the door. Hawks was happy, staring lovingly toward Vivian. You left crying running home. You tried everyday to see Hawks but the staff inform you he didn’t want to see you. They looks at you with pity knowing that you cared for him deeply despite them not knowing your relationship with him other than you were on his emergency contacts.

Once he was out you went to his agency to try to reason with him. He never listened brushing you aside like you were nothing but trash to him. Vivian did her best to keep you or any memory of you from surfacing, going so far to go into his office to remove any trace of you. Hawks even told the secretary to not let you in after 3-4 times you ended up there.

After a while you gave up, Hawks didn’t want anything to do with you. You lost hope that Hawks would ever love you again. Night after night you cried and wake up from nightmares only to wake up to another nightmare. One which Hawks despise you, one that Hawks was no longer your man, no longer look at you with love, no longer Hawks even look at you. You wake up looking up hoping you catch a glance at him only for you to see nothing.

You were walking home when you came across Tokoyami. Tokoyami wasn’t that close to you but Hawks sometimes brought Tokoyami along to have lunch or dinner so you two were really well acquainted.

“Oh Hi Tsukuyomi. It’s been a while how are you?” You asked putting up the best smile you can.

“Fine. I noticed you and Hawks are not talking. Did something happen?”

You couldn’t hold yourself back from crying. You could barely even tell him the whole truth. He guiding you to away form the crowded streets and held you as cry on his shoulders. Once you calmed down you told him what happened, how Hawks hates you and refuses to speak to you.

“… he won’t listen to me. Hawks doesn’t believe me. I been sidelined by Vivian…”

“You shouldn’t give up. You love him don’t you?”

“OF COURSE I DO! But what can I do? He’s happy with her, He hates me. I can’t even get a word in before he pushes me away! I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what to do Toki. I don’t….” You said.

“There you are.” You and Tokoyami heard.

You both look up to see Hawks. You immediately tried to hide yourself behind Tokoyami.

“Why are you here? Are you bothering my intern now?” Hawks said annoyed as soon as he saw you.

Tokoyami look back at you as you held on to his cap. You shook your head as if to tell him not to say a word.

“No, she’s not bothering me Hawks. She’s a friend of mine. I was helping her with something.”

“Oh. Well we should continue your patrols. I wanna ask if you want to have lunch with me Viv is gonna be there too.”

You flinched a bit hearing him call Vivian by a nickname so lovingly. You kept silent. Tokoyami declined and said he was going to escort you home the continue work. You can’t do anything but watch as he leaves you and Tokoyami. As he lifted you couldn’t help but try to reach out only to pull your hand back as you watch. Once you were home you laid on your couch scrolling through all your photos. Hawks smiling with you on your date to the amusement park, he was in disguise but it was a funny picture with a fake mustache. You smile at all your memories but you tears continue to fall as you remember your nothing to him now.

You can only watch him soar from the sideline.

Part 2

[aiendeeay]

“I fuckin’ love you, Kiyoomi!” Atsumu’s voice cracks and Kiyoomi can hardly bring himself to watch the tears form in his eyes.

“I thought you said that you’d never fall in love,” Kiyoomi replies evenly, cooly, nonchalantly. But he’s panicking. His heart is beating hard enough to hurt, his own eyes start prickling with tears. His entire body is screaming at him to break down, to run away, to tear himself away from Miya Atsumu.

“I know what I said, dipshit. But that was before I knew what it was ta actually love someone, not just volleyball, or my family—before I knew what it was like to love you.” Atsumu’s voice shakes with sobs and Kiyoomi wants nothing more than to stop it. “It fuckin' sucks, did ya know that? Because I’ve grown to love ya, more than anything, more than volleyball, and that’s fuckin' terrifying because I’ve never loved anything or anyone more.”

If Kiyoomi were a stronger man, he would have stopped Atsumu there. He shouldn’t have let Atsumu dig himself a comfortable little nook in his life. He shouldn't have let himself become so smitten with a boy he once despised. But seeing Atsumu cry, seeing his tear-stained cheeks and blotchy skin, Kiyoomi has never been weaker.

“I’ve devoted almost my entire life to this goddamn sport,” Atsumu spits, “and in these last couple years, I realized I’ve devoted a whole lotta myself to you. Do ya know how fuckin’ scary that is?”

Kiyoomi knew. He knows. The only thing he’s been undyingly loyal to was volleyball. He’d spent everything he had in an attempt to reach the top—he’s never wanted anything more. Until Atsumu showed up and flipped his priorities upside down.

It was subtle. Kiyoomi himself hadn’t even noticed until it became too large, too obvious, to ignore any longer. At some point, Atsumu grew to be someone Kiyoomi could trust, someone he could rely on. And despite Kiyoomi’s distaste for loud and brash personalities, despite his aversion to smarmy smiles and cocksure attitudes, Atsumu found a way to make those traits endearing.

It’s his confidence and the way he’s always able to follow through that Kiyoomi has never been able to disregard. Somewhere along the way, his mere acquiescence with Atsumu grew into a twisted sort of admiration, and in turn, that admiration evolved into something else. It was more than his captivation with Ushijima Wakatoshi, more than his adolescent fling with Iizuna Tsukasa. This relationship--or whatever it's called--has been more than every other one of his failed relationships or any of his pitiful one-night stands.

From Kiyoomi’s twenty-year relationship with volleyball bloomed a reluctant sort of love. Of course, that’s just how it is with something you surround yourself with, with something you devote yourself to. Just like he’s come to love volleyball—the exhilaration, the tension, the victories, even the pain—he’s grown to love a boy who shares the same passion for the sport he can no longer imagine his life without. And he's never been more afraid in his entire life.

“Are ya even listenin’ to me, Omi?” Atsumu’s breaths come out uneven and heavy. “Fuckin’ say something! Don’t just stare at me with that goddamn blank expression!”

“I’m sorry, Miya,” Kiyoomi tries to say. “I—”

Atsumu cuts him off. “Don’t even finish that sentence, Sakusa.” His eyes may be filled with tears, but the expression behind them is stony and resolute. “You don’t get ta apologize. You don’t get ta leave. I know yer scared, Omi, I am too. But I’m not gonna pussy out and run away—ya already tried that, and look at where it got us. We’re back in the same damn situation. Square fuckin’ one.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Somehow, we’re always back at square one.”

[awoogayanderes]

OUR HEARTS ARE NEVER MEANT TO BE

➪ pairing : unrequited akutagawa x reader, implied relationship with dazai and reader

➪ sypnosis : akutagawa knows the line he’s not supposed to cross, but it’s difficult when you’re so kind

➪ other notes : just imagine being the sweet s/o of the infamous dazai only for his subordinate to look up at you when you’re the first person to show him love, ALSO AKU IS OOC !!! even tho i love this boy he’s so hard to write for

he knows it’s wrong to look at you like this. he knows that that you will never be with him. so why does his heart beat faster when he’s with you ? why does he feel calmer when you’re with him on a mission ? why does he feel like this at all, especially for his mentor’s partner…

maybe it was your sweet temper despite his initial behavior towards you. he wanted to loathe you, he wanted to hate you, why did you have dazai’s approval and he didn’t ? yet part of him knew that he couldn’t just despise you, but why ? he asked himself that question for months when you were always kind to him.

he didn’t know how you ended up in the mafia, wondering how other mafiosos didn’t eat you up like stray dogs and a piece of meat. but he did find out you were a skilled swordsman, quick on your feet as you glided to kill. the battlefield was your playground, now realizing why you were a force to be reckoned with.

you weren’t just kind to him because you pitied him, you were kind to everyone, even giving your enemies a painless death. coincidentally that’s what also caught dazai’s attention. like mentor like subordinate, you could say, not that akutagawa had someone else to take after with mimic behavior.

over several months you got to know akutagawa, familiarizing yourself with the boy. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel bad for everything he’s already gone through. maybe that’s why you took after him when dazai wasn’t around, though you’d never say that out loud.

now both of you were on a small hill watching as the sun slowly set on yokohama. you were sitting on the ground, your knees close to your chest as akutagawa stood behind you leaning next to a tree, coughing into his hand a few times. it was quiet, a comfortable silence that helped both of you bond in an odd way.

“isn’t it beautiful,” you suddenly said, snapping akutagawa out of his thoughts. he shortly hummed, not giving a conclusive answer. “come sit next to me,” you said, patting the spot next to you on the grass, turning around to look at him, softly smiling. he hesitated but softly sighed and sat down next to you.

it was comical how two dangerous mafiosos were now sitting on a hill watching the sunset like old friends. akutagawa sat stiffly, looking ahead as the sky bursts with colors. “ryūnosuke,” you say, akutagawa’s face heating up as you use his first name, something he entrusted to you not long ago.

“why did you join the mafia,” you ask curiously. you knew why, your boyfriend told you but you wanted the perspective of the boy next to you. “to become stronger,” he bluntly said. “even though you’re under someone’s wings?” he stiffens up at that statement, staying silent.

“ryū,” you say, a nickname you gave him the same day he introduced his first name to you. he looks at you, feeling his eyes soften. “you’re going to have to make your own decisions one day, whether you like it or not,” your words have some heft to them despite your voice remaining soft, even softer than usual.

he doesn’t know what to say. instead he just looks at you, soaking in your appearance. “osamu would kill you if he saw this,” you say chuckling and akutagawa can’t help but feel his eye twitch as you say dazai’s first name with such sweetness. but your words start sinking in. he knows you know what he thinks. was he this obvious or were you just very observant ?

“you do know we’re not meant to be right,” you continue the one sided conversation, looking at the boy next to you as he continues to stare at you. “i knew that already, i won’t try anything,” he speaks for the first time in a while. you softly smile at him. with that, the conversation concludes with both of you silently watching as the colors slowly fade away as the moon rises.

this situation is almost comforting to him, knowing that his overthinking was shut down. your gentle rejection spared him humiliation, both of you knowing that you’re never meant to be together. instead, you’ll continue your kindness as he absorbs it like a sponge. such a bittersweet moment, isn’t it ?

[xdreamers-asylumx]

Unspoken Rule

Pairings: PM! Dazai Osamu X F! Reader

Callous remarks and sharp glares did nothing to deter you—cruelty was a love language you had become far too intimate with, and who better to indulge your little game than him? You despised his arrogance and he detested your mutiny. In the end, you were nothing more than two rabid dogs snarling at each other for dominance. A coy smile curved the side of your lips where they left a deep garnet stain on the collar of tonight's lover before linking arms as you made your way down a long stretch of hallway.

Your heels clacked noisily against the tiles leading to the grand doors sealing away the hum of music just beyond them. A party of sorts, you supposed. Dubbed an annual display of your organization's successes and luxury, in reality more of an excuse for Mori to show off Elise in her new dress. Tedious, but not entirely boring under the right circumstances.

"(Y/N)." One of the guards stationed outside the entrance acknowledged courteously. The other offered a forced nod—there was a prominent bead of sweat trickling down the dip of his temple as he remained resolute in keeping his eyes trained forward.

You rolled your eyes, reaching forward to seize the large man’s tie in a manicured hand. What was his name again…? Toru? Toshi? Tetsu?Perhaps it didn’t matter.

A sharp tug to his tie and he was brought down to near eye level. Your gaze flickered up to meet his through long wispy lashes, finally managing to break his seemingly unseeing stare. He swallowed thickly.

"Gentleman, really...” Suggestive fingertips trailed down his chest with a knowing smirk. He flinched. “No need to be so stiff."

A terribly misleading sentiment. One that the man draped across your arm didn't yet grasp the weight of nor even truly recognize; an unspoken rule. No one was permitted to touch you. No one save for one man—and anybody who disobeyed was swiftly dealt with.

The guard who wasn’t currently ensnared by your deceptively soft grasp shot your guest a quick, pitying glance. He wouldn’t dare do more than that. Instead, he asked, “Who might this be accompanying you tonight, Miss?”

You paused in your ministrations, cutting a sideways look to the other guard. There was a palpable moment of silence that followed where nobody hazarded a breath before you quickly alleviated the tension with an airy giggle and a wave of the hand; effectively releasing the man from your hold. “Oh, this is Sato. Such a lovely man, isn’t he?”

The guard sighed, indulging your antics with a curt “yes, Miss” and proceeded to push open the doors, allowing you entrance. You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you walked in.

Jeweled tapestries clung to the ornate walls in intervals between floor to ceiling windows overlooking Yokohama's starlit skyline. A glittering chandelier high overhead caught and reflected the moon's silver beams in fragments onto the polished marble floor below, already crowded with its buzzing patrons for the night—none other than the most integral members of the city's most notorious crime group. The port mafia.

You were the last to arrive.

Weaving your way through the many wine filled glasses wobbling precariously in evidently intoxicated guest and executive hands alike, you lead your faux-lover by the hand to the bar in the back corner of the ballroom. You weren't oblivious to the lustful stare he had locked on you from behind, though you feigned that you were. Despite his conventional good looks, he was boring and the idea of entertaining him more than you already had outside of your own twisted charade disillusioned you. All golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, he was gullible and easy to seduce.

The complete opposite of him.

Pulling yourself into a barstool, you requested a whiskey on the rocks for yourself and your companion. The bartender nodded and poured you your drink from one of the many glass bottles lined up along the shelves behind the bar. With glass now in hand, you swiveled in your seat, gaze dragging lazily over the other people chatting and milling about.

You brought your glass to your lips and stopped short. There, across the room sat languidly atop one of the plush couches scattered about the room, was none other than the man you had been searching for—and splayed across his lap was a woman in a satin dress attached to his neck. His eyes locked with yours. Dazai.

A smirk pulled your lips back over your teeth, a thinly veiled snarl. So the game of cat and mouse begins.

“(Y/N)? What are you looking at?” Sato inquired, head swivelling to try to find what had you so fixated.

You grabbed him by the front of his button-down without a word, drawing his attention back to yourself rather than give him the opportunity to locate the man across the room. Dismounting your seat at the bar, you sashayed your way to the middle of the floor, lover in tow, completely ignoring Dazai.

This, however, only provoked the man. His eyes followed you the entire way across the room, a bandaged hand pushing the woman on top of him aside. You could hear the indignant sounds of her protest as his gaze burned into the side of your face. Smile like the Devil himself, you finally looked his way again.

Dazai stood and began making his way to you in the crowd.

Eyes ablaze with a growing wrath, you spun on the blonde man behind you and pulled his body flush against your own, staring up at him through your half-lidded eyes as you did so. Seemingly pleased with the sudden attention, he wound his arms around your waist, hands wandering up the curve of your spine to tangle in the hairs that fell at the nape of your neck. You wondered, briefly, if he knew he was being used and simply didn't care.

Sato’s lips descended upon your own, melding your mouths together with an unpleasant force that you tolerated only to get a rise out of Dazai. Your eyes met with his over your lover's shoulder. His demeanor was calm, calculated. A fire ignited inside you.

Wasting no more time, Dazai strode over to the two of you just as you broke away from the kiss. He was there in an instant, mere inches away from Sato with a humourless grin stretching his lips.

"I believe you have something of mine."

The man you were just kissing turned around at the sound of Dazai's voice, confusion furrowing his brow—but Dazai wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. His eyes were nearly black now as he stared down at you, gaze raking over your body clad in that dress he liked so much.

"You truly are an arrogant man," you mused.

“Hey—“ Dazai side stepped Sato, much to the blonde man’s chagrin. He had no care for what Sato had to say.

Slender fingers caught a stray strand of hair dancing across your vision. Dazai’s dark eyes bore into yours as the pads of his thumb and forefinger toyed with the loose curl before winding it back into place behind your ear. "And you are an insufferable woman."

"What is going on—?” Before Sato could even finish his sentence, Dazai had produced a gun from beneath his jacket. Without adverting his eyes from your own, he pressed the barrel to the head of the man who accompanied you to the party. There was a threat in the thin press of his lips. A promise.

“Stop interrupting.”

You stared back defiantly with the same amount of hostility tensing every muscle in your frame. “Come now, Dazai,” you purred, stepping closer than any other person would dare to a man like him. “It’s quite unbecoming of you to be so rude to my guest—“

“What the hell?” Just then, Dazai’s own companion decided to chime in, apparently having sauntered over a few mere moments before.

You had almost forgotten she was in the room at all until she grabbed your shoulder and jerked you to face her. She glanced between the two of you with hurt in her eyes—she must have truly believed that she had won his affections.

You almost felt sorry for her.

"Dazai, what the hell?” She repeated. “Are you serious? You left me just to come flirt with this—“ she gestured towards you flippantly “—this random girl?”

Almost.

Your eyes narrowed. In one swift motion, you had untangled the dagger from where it held back your hair and pressed it to the woman's throat. "I don't remember inviting you into this conversation,” you stated, plainly. “And I don’t like sharing.”

She gasped, eyes flickering to Dazai for help, but he was too preoccupied gazing at you. “You’re both insane!”

The butterfly hilt glinted under the soft lights, the ruby embedded in the centre winking as if anticipating another kill. You pressed it closer to her throat.

Suddenly, a loud theatric sigh rang through the room, alerting you to the silence that had overtaken it. “Come, children, must you always ruin my parties with your little charade?”

The voice was deep, amused, but there was an underlying edge to its tone. The sea of onlookers who had gathered around you began to part. Some, who were new to this fairly run of the mill debacle, were gawking—likely guests of other port mafia executives. Others, well acquainted with yours and Dazai’s tumultuous relationship, regarded the scene with tense fear. When the final person stepped back, none other than Mori himself emerged from the crowd.

“I think it’d be best if you and your…” he glanced between Sato at gunpoint and the woman currently pinned beneath your blade, “guests settled down. My dear Elise must be so frightened!” He wailed.

Elise, miraculously appearing by Mori’s side as if summoned by the man’s call, delivered a swift kick to his shin. “There you are!” She pouted. “I thought I asked you for cake!”

Mori glanced down at the young girl with adoration, apparently forgetting all about the situation he was attempting to diffuse. “Elise! I was just on my way to get you some, I swear! I just got a little sidetracked—“

Another kick to the shin. “Now!”

And with that, Elise was stomping away in the opposite direction. Mori stared after her, dejected.

“Yes, yes.” He sighed. His focus turned back to the both of you, renewed disapproval souring his face now that Elise was gone. “As you can see, I have my hands quite full with Elise. I really must insist you lower your weapons.” His eyes glowed dangerously. “You’re disturbing my guests.”

You straightened, allowing your dagger to fall to your side at the warning tone in Mori’s voice. The woman, who was all but a statue mere moments before, took this as her opportunity to advance on you, seemingly alight with a newfound fury. She had her hand raised as if to slap you, tears brimming in her eyes. You raised a brow in amusement.

Dazai was not so quick to oblige to Mori’s command. He never lowered his gun. And with a quick cock of the trigger, his index finger squeezed down.

Once.

Twice.

A final resounding bang followed by a cacophony of shrieks punctuated the thud of two bodies hitting the ground. Blood spattered your face.

Before Mori could react, your wrist was seized in a vice grip, fingers cold as ice digging into your pulse, and Dazai was heading towards the exit with you in tow. The room was frozen as you departed.

No words were exchanged as you were lead out of the building into the parking garage and began weaving through row upon row of flashy cars. You twisted in Dazai’s grip, trying to free yourself from his quick pace that had you stumbling behind in your heels. That was until you found yourself at a particularly expensive looking corvette. Sleek and black, windows tinted so dark that it was certainly not legal, and a jagged slash where you had keyed the driver’s side door in a fit of rage.

Dazai’s car.

He stopped suddenly, yanking you in front of him until he could trap your body between his car and his embrace.

“Belladonna…” he purred into your ear. “That was quite the stunt you pulled in there.”

His hands wandered over the curve of your waist, finding purchase in the loose silk around your hip and pulling you back tight to his chest. “Says the man with a purple bruise beneath his earlobe.” You growled.

A deep, sultry chuckle radiated from the man’s chest pressed firm behind you. “Now, now… there’s no need to be jealous, my love.”

Craning your neck to glare into those cruel, shadowed eyes you knew so well, you forcefully peeled yourself from his grasp and huffed. Despite the familiar flames growing hot in your belly, you removed yourself entirely from Dazai’s all encompassing heat to spin on him, jabbing a sharp nail into his chest. Dazai merely growled, eyelids lowering with lust as he gazed down upon your figure.

“I am not the jealous one here, Osamu—“ a deep groan escaped his lips at the sound of his name on your tongue, taking a calculated step closer to cage you further between him and the hood of his car, “—you are the one that shot my date.”

“The date you brought to get a rise out of me, (Y/N),” he whispered, bending to ghost his lips along the shell of your ear. “Lest we forget that you were the one who started this little game.”

His warm breath fanned over your neck making your knees wobble despite yourself. Bracing your hands on the hood of the car behind you, you turned your head away to avoid his now piercing gaze. “You participate just as freely, Dazai.” You growled. “Or was the lady you brought a mere coincidence?”

He chuckled, but did not dignify you with an answer which only riled you up further. Hands back on your waist, Dazai retreated from your neck to capture your gaze with his. Fingers like cold silk ghosted up your sides, along the swell of your breasts, the dip in your collarbones, all the way to the curve of your jaw where they stayed, finally forcing you to look up at him with a touch none too gentle.

The sharp sting of pain that ached through your neck at the abrupt pulling of your chin closer to his elicited a soft whimper, one that Dazai revelled in. It was only him who could see you like this. Submissive and meek. Eyes clouded with desire and a willingness to please. His nerves felt alight with fire as he slowly pressed the length of his lithe frame to your softer one.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he purred.

Your lips were a breath away, each letter enunciated by his tongue felt by the brush of his mouth ghosting over yours. You released a shuddering breath, resolve crumbling. He pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth and pulled away. You tried to reclaim the distance between the two of you with a quick move onto your toes, but Dazai was quicker. You whined, displeased.

“I’ll give you everything you desire in due time, Belladonna,” he promised, darkly. “But only if you say the words.”

Your teeth caught purchase in your lower lip, in turn dragging Dazai’s attention downwards. His own resolve was being shaken.

“Osamu,” you whispered.

A sharp breath slid between his clenched teeth. You grabbed him by the front of his suit jacket and yanked him down. The honeyed brown that began pooling in his irises had you entranced—but you wouldn’t cave to him so easily.

“I don’t belong to anybody.”

His lips crashed onto yours with bruising force, tipping your head back with thumbs pressed firmly into the underside of your jaw. Soft brown locks tickled your cheekbones as he dipped his head lower to deepen the kiss, parting your lips with an authority that had your body trembling. Tongues met, beginning a war for dominance, one that you knew you would lose but never seemed to mind.

Your fingers found purchase in the hair at the back of Dazai’s head, tangling and tightening until your knuckles were brushing against his scalp. It must have been painful, but Dazai only gasped quietly into your mouth and kissed you hungrily.

His teeth nipped at your already bruising lips, hands sliding down to squeeze at your throat until you were gasping for air and your eyes were glowing with lust. Dazai’s knee slid between you legs, pushing them apart and forcing your back down onto the hood of the car.

You stared up at him in the dim silver light of the moon straining to breach the darkness of the parking garage. His hair was mussed, bandages falling loose over his face, and blood blooming like a rose petal at the corner of his mouth where you bit just a little too hard. But as he knelt over you, unbuttoning his dress shirt torturously slow with eyes so dark and hungry you felt like you’d be swallowed whole… you could swear the angels above would weep at the sight of this devil’s beauty.

“You don’t think you’re mine, (Y/N)?” He said lowly. His hand trailed higher up your thigh until goosebumps were left in his wake and your dress was pooling around your waist. “I’ll make sure everybody else does.”

[twilightmalachite]

Altered - Angels and Devils 12

Author: Akira

Characters: Hiyori, Eichi, Tsumugi, Nagisa

Translator: Mika Enstars

"You’re obscene. I’m not happy you’re fond of it, Eichi-kun. It’s like finding a dead frog inside my birthday cake."

Season: Spring

Location: Yumenosaki Academy Auditorium (LIVE)

⚠️ This is an import from a unproofed Twitter Livetweet!

One week later, at the Yumenosaki Academy auditorium, fine’s debut live…

Hiyori: I have a feeling I’ve been completely set up!

Look’s like the Five Eccentrics have been invited to fine’s debut live as a guest!

Eichi: Do you have a problem with that? You seem very dissatisfied.

Hiyori: To look so happy in the face of a losing battle, you must be a fool or idiot, or a traitor who is getting along with the enemy.

Eichi: Oya, do you lack the confidence to win against the Five Eccentrics? Preparing to lose even before the fight, are you?

This isn’t like you to be saying something like that, who’s always bursting with confidence and claiming to be the best of the best.

Hiyori: I came here in the first place instead of running away because being provoked like that pisses me off so much.

Which is exactly why I feel like I was set up. You’ve always been this way, Eichi-kun.

Is it fun to play with others in the palm of your hand like this?

You are vile.

Eichi: Fufu, despite being constantly deceived and humiliated by me, you never fail to take me up on my provocations, though.

Does that make you a very dumb person, or perhaps even a very good-natured person?

Hiyori: I should be there for this “pathetic child” of a companion at the very least.

If anything, me being here for you is what’s preventing you from poisoning any other innocent person who doesn't know any better.

I’m doing what I can to protect everyone. It’s my duty as a noble.

Ah, how wonderful I am! To step up to be a sacrifice myself to the evil monster!

Eichi: I truly applaud you for that. You have the ability to do anything you put yourself to, and yet you’re always giving yourself up to somebody else. Whether it be to me, or your big brother, huh?

A benevolent protector of his people, a way of life truly worthy of being called a noble.

Not one akin to a dignified knight, but a life more like a princess from an old-fashioned fairy tale.

Like sacrificing yourself for your house. Very antiquated.

Hiyori: What’s wrong with devoting yourself to what you love? If anything, I pity you who cannot find a companion to devote yourself to in such a way!

Eichi: Fufu, that’s right. You’ve always been the only one who’d feel sorry for me.

Me, the heir to the Tenshouin Zaibatsu, one of the worlds largest mega-conglomerates.

You see through to true natures and pity, even if you despise them.

The clarity you have of it all is sometimes too advantageous for me to bear.

Hiyori: You’re obscene. I’m not happy you’re fond of it, Eichi-kun. It’s like finding a dead frog inside my birthday cake.

Eichi: Okay. I fundamentally hate you as a person. There, feel better?

Tsumugi: How can you guys carry on such a vicious conversation with such cheerful smiles on your faces?

Eichi: Aristocrats have to be capable of separating their innermost thoughts from their surface. Isn’t that right, Hiyori-kun?

The life of a noble is but an endless masquerade, where we exchange extravagant rhetoric while masks hide our true faces.

Tsumugi: I may not fully get it, but it sounds like even the rich have rough times…

Just, let’s not be so tense. Not only is it our propitious debut live, but Nagisa-kun is frightened too.

Nagisa: …Mhm. I’m, a little scared.

…Sorry. I’m, not used to such raw emotions, from other people.

…I’m, a tad dazed. I mean, a little disoriented.

Hiyori: Ahh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Everything’s okay, alright, Nagisa-kun? I just want Eichi-kun to die early is all, I don’t mean any harm towards you one bit, ‘kay!

Eichi: Isn’t it because you pamper Nagisa-kun like that his personality will remain the same like an infant, never weaned from his mother?

Hiyori: I will not forgive you for bad-mouthing Nagisa-kun and I!

Eichi: You guys are as close as ever.

Eichi: (And that’s why I can move Hiyori-kun, and Nagisa-kun will move following suit, and vice versa.)

(Not only that, but while I do not know if it is a blessing or a curse… To me, Hiyori-kun is a childhood friend, who I have known for many years.)

(I know exactly where to hit him, and how he will react. Hiyori-kun strives to be someone of simple design, and he adheres to that character of his.)

(He will not bend his way of life for the sake of his pride.)

(He has no flexibility. But that is exactly the vulnerability I need to manipulate him, someone who is greater and smarter than I am to begin with.)

(Yes, at first I wasn’t sure how it would go, but fine appears to work exactly the way I wish it to.)

(The problem is however, that the Five Eccentrics are out of my control. No matter what angle I look at it from, I don’t think I can manipulate them…)

← prev | story directory | next →

[alieinthemorning]

History Repeats Itself [Avatar of Greed | Mammon]

Content: Angst, Character Death, Asura's Wrath Reference, No Happy Ending

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Mammon was the kind of demon who wore their heart on their sleeve. Maybe that was because out of all the brothers, he was the one who was still closely in tune with his previous angelic side.

So seeing him like this, space between the two of you, hands balled on his thighs, head turned away from you—closed off from you.

It scared you.

But maybe being scared was better than learning the truth.

“I love you.” The whisper floated from his lips, trembling and waning.

You nodded, confused. “Yes, I know—and I love you too.”

“No!” Quick and sharp. “You don’t get it…” He brought his hands up to his face, digging his palms into the flesh of his under eyes.

The deep breath he took was shaky and unsure, but when he turned and lifted his gaze to meet yours.

Your stomach dropped.

“I love you.” He paused, taking another deep breath. “As much as Lilith loved that human, and much as we loved Lilith.”

You stared at him, the weight of what he just professed to you coming over you like a freezing tidal wave.

But then you understood.

He was ready to commit the ultimate taboo and go to war when the time came.

All for you.

“And I know that I’d go down that path. I’m ready to go down that path.” He began, tears beginning to gather in his eyes. “What if they don’t get spared again—” His voice changed, becoming deeper and rawer as memories flashed behind those angelic eyes. “Because I know that they spared us out of pity.”

He crumpled in on himself. “But what if they die because of me? What if you die because of me? I—” He couldn’t hold it back any longer, openly sobbing before you.

You sat there stunned, unable to comfort him as you usually would. Your mind was too full of this brand-new information.

You knew and understood that Mammon loved you. He made it very clear. But to go as far as to potentially start a war with…you didn’t even know. The Devildom? The Celestial Realm? The Human Realm?

And then there was the part with his brothers…you understand how deeply Mammon’s love for his brothers goes.

Despite everything.

He still didn’t want anything to happen to them, especially not when he, and by extension you, could very well be the cause of their deaths.

And what if…you die? And his brothers die? Then what?

You curled within yourself, shuddering at the thought.

He knew it.

He fucken knew it.

There was no escaping Elohim’s Eye.

And they all were slaughtered like lambs by Elohim’s own hands.

With the promise of rebirth, to once again be created in Elohim’s image.

But he wouldn’t allow it.

So he ripped those he loved apart. Flesh and soul, so that Elohim would not defile you any longer.

Then, as he met his fate, he swore that he would not join you until he avenged all of you.

It’s funny when you think about it.

Resisting death for so long, coming back after each and every death.

It changes you.

No longer was he an Archangel.

Nor was he the Avatar of Greed.

Whatever he was now didn't matter.

Because he would not succumb until Elohim felt what Mammon had become.

Decided to use Elohim for God's name in this updated version. I did this show just how far Mammon has gone. He no longer respects God (and like even the demons would call Him by God so), he despises Him, so fuck it. Call Him out by name.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows Part 5

Eris x AzrielsSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up. This takes place before Under the Mountain.

CW: overprotective brothers, mentions of a past toxic relationship, alcohol, eris being a little shit

Series Masterlist

Part 4 || Part 6

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year 4

It had been a year since that night. The night that the bond had snapped.

You'd screamed into your pillow, sobbed yourself to sleep, and tried to ignore that string in your chest, leading you to him. In fact, that had been your little routine nearly every night.

You wouldn't call yourself a romantic, but you had grown up hearing stories about mates. Your mother would tell you romantic tales to calm you down during that hour that you saw her.

You'd always dreamed of finding a mate--one you loved. But Eris was far from that. In fact, you despised him. To have him as your mate, of all people . . . it was a cruel twist of fate.

You hadn't told a single soul about the bond. You didn't even dare to speak it out loud. Even your shadows hadn't repeated the word 'mate' since.

But you decided to put your self pity aside for a few days. Rhysand was taking the family--except Cassian--to the Summer Court for a nice vacation. Cassian was quite upset about it, but he had been banned, and you weren't giving up the beach for him.

Mor had let you borrow a black bikini--one you knew your brothers wouldn't approve of. It was skimpy enough to leave little to the imagination.

You found Rhys already on the beach, sitting on a chair with his wings put away, a pair of sunglasses on. Mor settled down on a towel beside him, stretching out to tan.

"Az is gonna make you change if he sees you in that," Rhys warned you.

"Mor gave it to me," you shrugged. He raised a brow at his cousin, who only grinned.

"You're lucky Cassian isn't here," Rhys joked. You just rolled your eyes at him as you sat in the chair beside his.

You closed your eyes, sighing contently as you relaxed. The smell of sea salt made you at ease, as did the sound of the waves hitting the shore.

"I want a drink," Mor complained, propping herself up with her hands as she tilted her head towards the sun.

"I can get us some," you offered, getting to your feet as you adjusted your bikini bottoms.

"Get me a piña colada," she said, flopping back onto her towel. You raised a brow at her until she added, "Please."

You went to the beach bar, tucking your wings in so you didn't hit anybody with them. Leaving the Night Court as an Illyrian was humbling. Everyone stared at you all of the time. Your shadows didn't help.

"Two piña coladas, please," you ordered with a polite smile.

The bartender nodded as you paid for your drinks. You sighed, leaning your arms on the bar as you waited.

“A male is staring,” your shadows sang to you.

Your shadows had always brought gawking males to your attention, and you loved making those males uncomfortable for their staring.

“Are you enjoying the view?” you called, not bothering to turn around.

“Very much."

You knew the voice immediately. The string in your chest went taut, something it hadn't done since the bond had snapped. You spun around, finding yourself facing Eris.

He wore much simpler clothing than you were used to seeing him in. Summer Court clothing. Of course, his face was as perfect as you remembered. That would never change despite how much you wanted it to.

His scent of cinnamon and bonfire smoke seemed so out of place in the Summer Court. While you had worn bracelets to cover your bargain tattoo, his was on full display.

"Stare at some other females ass," you glared once you had recovered from your shock.

“None of them measure up to yours," he taunted. You wrinkled your nose.

“You'll have to make due," you replied.

“Such a shame," he sighed with exaggeration. "I’ll have to store the view away for later.”

“Pig," you snarled. He only laughed, which managed to piss you off even more. “Are you stalking me?”

“I’m here for business," he shrugged. "I noticed a particularly attractive female, and I didn’t realize it was you until I got closer."

You very much doubted that. How many other females had wings and shadows?

"How could you tell I was attractive?" you demanded. "You only saw the back of me."

"The back is all I need," he grinned. You groaned, rolling your eyes at him.

"Two piña coladas," the bartender said, placing them on the table. You thanked him before picking the drinks up.

"You bought me a drink? How thoughtful," Eris teased.

"The other is for Mor," you said. "And I suggest you leave before she sees you."

"I would if I could, but as I said, I'm here on business," he reminded you.

"What business?" you demanded.

"Autumn Court business," he replied vaguely. "Speaking of my Court, you left in a haste the last time I saw you."

You froze up at the mention of that night. You'd been hoping he wouldn't bring it up.

"I wasn't feeling well," you lied.

"Really?" he challenged. "So the bond didn't snap for you, too?"

So it had snapped for him. You'd been wondering for the last year. You had hoped that he was completely oblivious to the bond you shared.

You knew the Autumn Court took mating bonds very seriously. If his father knew about it, you would be forced to marry Eris. And if your brothers refused to allow you, he could start a war over your hand. You would have no choice.

You thought of how Mor got out of marriage with him. You weren't a virgin. You had lost your virginity at 18 to an older Illyrian male in Windhaven named Marcus. He had told you he loved you, then broken your heart for another young female after he got what he wanted from you. After that, you'd been careful about who you gave yourself to. You'd only been with a handful of males since.

"I'm not a virgin," you blurted.

He stared at you, wide eyed and confused before breaking into laughter. Your face went red at the sound.

"What?" he laughed, his eyes twinkling.

"You can't force me to marry you; I'm not a virgin," you repeated.

"First of all, I wasn't planning on forcing you to marry me," he said. "And second, once the mating bond is in place, none of that matters. You'd still be my property, and I'd still have to marry you. If my father knew. But he doesn't. And I'm not going to tell him."

"Why not?" you asked warily.

"Because I have no interest in marrying you," he answered bluntly. You didn't know why the words almost made you flinch. You had no interest in marrying him, either.

You went to reply, trying to find harsh words that would hurt him, but your shadows began to swirl around you.

"Brother approaching," they warned.

Your head turned slightly, eyes meeting Azriel's as he neared the both of you.

"I heard you were here on business, but I did not expect you to have the nerve to speak to my sister," Azriel snapped, his hazel eyes narrowed at the male.

"We were just catching up," Eris smirked, winking at you.

"Leave her alone," Azriel snarled.

With that, your brother led you away with his hand on the small of your back. Your scarred hands still held the drinks, and his shadows moved to cover your ass from Eris's view as you turned away from him.

"You're changing into a different bathing suit," Azriel grumbled.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd@fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @a-court-of-mischief-and-madness @sourapplex

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

[thephilosopheroffeelings]

Succession, US elections, inaction

Succession is my favourite TV series of all time. I watched it two times and today started watching it for the third time after the US elections. The moment I watched it I knew that it was created by a Brit as it was so Shakespearean. Phrases used, ever-changing power dynamics & cold blooded characters were nothing about American. The episode I re-watched after Trump's victory this morning was 'America Decides' (S4, E8) and it is definitely the darkest episode. I cannot choose which ones are my favorite but I think the following episodes are within my top three.

***

S2, E10

You're not a killer. You have to be a killer.

I wonder if the sad I’d be without you, would be less than the sad I get from being with you.

This episode is all about 'Love is an act of the will; it is not simply a feeling.' Tom for the first time considers giving up on this act. Despite how he feels. He realizes willingly ending the act is also part of the act, like how he willingly started it in the first place. Same for Kendall, despite how he feels, he is ready to act to be loved and approved by his father. Whatever it takes. One relationship gets more complicated with action and another with inaction.

S4, E3

I think they’re very much still processing.

This episode is rather complicated for me. When I first watched it I cried from start to finish. This one is all about kids and their rather complex relationship with their narcissistic parents: You want them to die numerous times while at the same time yearning to be approved by them. A lot to process.

S4, E10

Cunt is as cunt does. 

This episode is all about having to accept things as they are; including yourself. You can only delay so much. Sobering. Fragile. Real. Messy. You acknowledge each of their points as they are valid while feeling lost & vulnerable as much as they are. Only feasible fairness has been found in which none of them should get what they want: 'Roman has accepted it. Shiv has realized it. Conor's poll results have proved it. Kendall needs to process it.' Cunt gets what cunt deserves?

***

In the last episode, we do not just see how all four siblings fail on their way to the 'throne.' We also witness a changing relational dynamics between Tom & Shiv:

Shiv: And then when you think of the scheduling, it's mess-free.

Tom: Yeah. You've fallen in love finally. You've fallen in love with our scheduling opportunities.

The seasons 3 and 4 where Tom willingly gives up on choosing Shiv. He gives up on her because Shiv always has choices and Tom realizes he is just one of them. She would like to choose whatever works for her benefit at a time. Tom is well aware that he is nothing more than a convenience for her; even when she seems to be the one who would like to get back together.

And the best part about this is that Tom's awareness has nothing to do with him being a CEO; aka power. It is a process. A lot to process. He is different than Shiv. He is not trying to make Shiv an option just because he is in a more powerful position now. He is just comfortable in his skin as he is not negotiating anymore. 'Being willing to walk away from a negotiation is a key mindset for successful negotiators.' they say. But he is well aware that this is still the 'active' part of the act. But he is now at a point where he does not want to be active in any way. He does not even want to 'walk away.' Because he knows very well that when you are treated as an option with no need or voice, there is no meaning in bluffing or actively participating in any shape or form in their games.

***

Even though I love all of them, I think my favorite character is Tom due to its complexity. Matthew Macfadyen is simply terrific: You despise Tom at times and you pity him sometimes but at the same time, you deeply sympathize with him.

[xoxobaer]

Nobody could ever see what I saw. Nobody could ever feel what I felt. What I had to deal with. What I had to endure. Nobody could ever grasp what it took.

For the weak, it's good this way. Most people would break in an instant if it came down to it. Most would have given up long ago. As should've I. At least that's what my mind's been telling me since early childhood. Yet I'm still here.

I'm wading through more torment than most could even imagine, yet who's proud of me? No one but me. Sometimes I do think about how far I've come, despite all odds. Despite not having any reason to do so. Albeit being almost completely nonsensical. Then again, I take a glimpse at myself and begin to hate myself again. My inner child despises me for not having ended it for such a long time. Why am I doing this to myself? Am I a coward? Am I too strong or am I too weak? I hate myself to my guts and yet, I still keep going, surpassing almost everyone in whatever I do.

Some people do wonder how I am so talented, knowledgeable or whatever, but they don't even see how much it takes to just survive, let alone thrive in the things I do. How much better could I be if I didn't want to kill myself every godforbidden day? Or am I just that good at most things because it's so easy for me, it pales in comparison to the feat of surviving with all that makes me myself? With all my history and all my problems?

It's a pity none of you could ever know what it's like, yet, somehow I just wish for all of you to not know what this living hell feels like.

At the end of the day, I still am the one preaching mental illnesses being an explanation and not an excuse. Even with this, most do not understand what that means. Imagine it like this: If one suddenly turns blind, is it an excuse for walking over a red pedestrian traffic light? Yes. Are you still going to be punished for doing so? Also yes. Of course mental illnesses can be an excuse. You just can't expect for others to respect this excuse and should always strive for your problems not becoming someone else's problems. On a side note, this is why stoicism is so important, although no one I know is good at it. Is that unfair? Probably. Would someone who truly loves you understand and tolerate your behaviour? Maybe. Should you accept them not tolerating unfit behaviour and setting healthy boundaries? Most definitely. Is that always possible? Surely not. Who's fucked in any case? You. You have to do your best, because you're the problem and should not make it anyone else's - or at least not expect them to tolerate it. That's why it's a goal and not a fact, that mental illnesses are an explanation, but not an excuse.

Would anyone understand all of this? Most probably not. Almost no one has the capacity or interest to even think about all of this. That's why it's your problem and it's in your best interest to solve them yourself. If you can't? You're just utterly fucked. And that is the precise reason, why I'm not going to pursue any more human interaction, than absolutely necessary. If I'm the burden, then I'll just stay alone. If I can't get my shit together and have always kept hurting people because of this, wouldn't that make me a monster, if I kept trying, knowing it won't get any better? Better just give up, no? Now tell me. How is this life worth living? Why am I still percevering and why don't I end it right now? Yes, I am depressed, but what does that change, if I have so many rational reasons to ceise trying to continue living like this? It just does not make any sense. I hate it here. I hate every last one of you superficial cunts and most importantly I hate myself. Shoutout to everyone not being superficial and having at least tried understanding me. You're good people, inbetween a world of ignorant idiots.

Good night.

[rush-the-stars]

this is. weird. kinda icky. maybe look away.

pairing: wolfwood x reader is the main pairing but. legato is a creep so a little of legato x reader.

cw: smut. non consensual voyeurism. non consensual and hidden telepathy link during intimacy. stalking if you squint.

a/n: legato is such a weirdo………..kinda loved writing his POV.

***

legato listens carefully in the empty darkness.

it is easy to hear, if you’re looking for it.

(and he always is lately—after the first time, it had gotten beneath his skin and burrowed there. done something strange to his insides like a little parasite that feasts on him. burns him. mutates him. he knows what it feels like to be changed and—it feels something like that, in the pit of his chest.)

the first time was an accident.

which blossomed into morbid curiosity—which has become—

some other monster entirely.

your soft, high gasp echoes against metal. it carries up to him on his perch above the world. like a great bird, he watches. he waits. he listens.

the ship you all reside in has many hiding places—you and nicholas prefer the one below him. and he prefers the one up here.

he squints into the dark, too. there’s a watery slash of light that barely allows him to see your form. to see wolfwood’s.

his lips curl in disdain for the man. the punisher.

why you adore such a man is beyond legato. you could be so much greater, but you keep yourself tethered to a mutt.

(he believes he could fix both of you. he simply needs to divide your devotion. when that is lost, he may fill you with faith. and then he will have both of you fully and without restraint—

master knives will have both of you, he corrects.)

still, he strains to hear the murmuring done by the punisher. he’s never heard the man speaks so softly than when he is with you, like this. perhaps when he speaks to the doublefang, but it is not so sultry or—

hushed.

the punisher drops to his knees. legato is pleased with this—he does believe that he is only worthy enough to be on his knees for you. legato does believe that the punisher can at least be obedient, here, with your hands in his dark hair.

and his mouth latched tight to your cunt.

he’d barely pushed your skirts out of the way.

legato can’t see much—but he knows. he knows by the way your chest heaves. the way the punisher’s head moves up and down and side to side in small, molasses slow movements.

he knows by the way you cry out, “nick!”

he wishes you wouldn’t say his name. and still, it makes some weird heat balloon beneath his skin, even worse when he can hear the punisher’s muffled moan against you. low and dark. enjoying himself.

legato wonders what you taste like. if he’d be better than the punisher—surely he would be. what’s a hound, slobbering all over you, to him? he imagines making the punisher watch him devour you instead. he imagines chaining the other man. muzzling him.

his desire throbs dully.

he hears your whimpers and cries and imagines it’s him whose pulling those sounds from you, his own symphony to orchestrate.

the punisher is a little relentless at this—sometimes he stays between your legs until you’re crying and pitiful. sometimes he guides your hips against his face despite all your protests and whines.

legato is familiar with the sounds you make when you come.

he has them memorized and this time—the sharp, broken moan that’s pulled from you—means that it snuck up on you.

the punisher groans.

legato feels heat press on the inside of his face. must the man be so vulgar? so overindulgent? surely, he’s making a mess…

when he rises from his knees, legato can unfortunately see the cut of his lopsided smile before he kisses you. muffles your voice. forces you to taste yourself, no doubt.

legato despises this part, but he never looks away.

your hands are unbuttoning the punisher’s slacks. they’re so small against him. you’re both kissing hard and desperate, always so desperate, like one of you may slip away at any moment.

he thinks it’s a fear born here, in this ship, away from the world.

he wishes the punisher would slip from you and while you grieved, legato would be the only one to—

the punisher hitches your legs up around his waist.

legato can’t really see—

he strains to do so, but it’s too dark and really, he can just see the tops of your heads, the tops of your breasts spilling out and the way the punisher mouths and slobbers on them.

but he—

wants to know. wants to see. wants to feel.

he knows when the punisher has pushed inside you because of the way you tense up and mewl.

the way the man moans and then starts babbling.

the punisher likes to talk when he’s inside you—such sweet words of praise. legato holds back a roll of his eyes. such a dog, pawing at you like this, humping you like this—

legato presses carefully at your mind.

he can feel its distraction and haze. it’s lust. your lust. he tries to keep his telepathy as thin and sheer as gossamer, as a spider’s web. silky and smooth.

he gently probes, as carefully as he can.

once he’s inside—you gasp—ragged and torn from you. shocked, maybe scared.

the punisher, ever your guard dog, is immediately clued into you.

“what’s wrong? are you okay, sweetheart?”

legato swims in your pleasure and your confusion and your fear. what a heady cocktail. he can feel—

almost feel, how you feel, so full—

he grits his teeth.

“i don’t—“ your voice is far away, confused and soft, “i’m not sure—“

“what is it?” the punisher gently pushes and he’s stroking your face—legato doesn’t see that, but feels it. against his own cheek.

he jerks away, but cannot escape the touch.

“do you want to stop?” the punisher murmurs and again, legato doesn’t physically hear it but rather, hears it through you.

no, legato thinks. don’t stop.

“n-no—no,” you blurt, “sorry. i thought i heard—i don’t want to stop.“

the punisher glances around, but doesn’t see anything. so he draws you back into him, draws you in for a kiss, and legato can feel it melt in his mind.

awful—awful warmth and discomfort and shame pierces through legato as he feels the kiss through you. your lust-addled mind and its desperation. it has an effect on legato, too.

and then the punisher is moving again, thrusting slow and deep inside of you, and your mind fires off in pleasure. a growing wave overcomes you, sweeps him into it, too.

the punisher, for such a name, is hardly punishing at all.

rather, he is deep and passionate and affectionate.

he starts murmuring praise all over again—sweet words dropped into your mouth and your throat and your chest. how much he loves you, how much he adores you.

legato feels strangely knowing these words, feeling them, and the way you parrot them back.

he always thought when the punisher spoke to you like this, it was something filthy or sexual, something brutish.

“my sweet girl—“ he gets out, “i’ve got you. i’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

“nick—“ you gasp and legato can feel how good you feel, how full. “i’m close—“

“yeah?” his voice is so soft, “gonna come for me?”

you mewl, tensing, the wave overcoming your mind and crashing. bearing down on you. on him.

legato bites back a noise, feels the rush of your pleasure down the mind link like a burst of lightning. he doesn’t catch what the punisher says—doesn’t care to—

he throbs with you, somewhere inside. sensitive now. he grits his teeth.

the punisher always finishes inside you. there is warmth and an over-saturation of love and affections. there always is.

legato severs the link.

he watches you blink, uncertain, before burying your face in the punisher’s throat.

legato grimaces.

the inside of his pants are sticky and uncomfortable.

he sneers down at the two of you.

he’ll make loyal servants of you yet and then this—this will all stop. and it will not be the punisher you go to, not in these hidden hallways or at all.

he stands from his place above the world and disappears into the shadows. the sight below him is making him sick.

but what he doesn’t catch, is the way your eyes cast upward, and latch onto his fleeting form.

and the sight above you makes you feel sick, too, just as sick as him as he slips out of sight.

me and the extremely dark trauma bond fic with wolfwood and a reader who is also experimented on. and legato’s weird obsession w the reader.