#the utter madness of having lungs to breath

[ifpoetiswhoiam]

I don't know how it is possible to feel so close to you at times but so far away in others, like there's a switch, a moment in time to lock us in. Each day, I can't quite grasp the essence of your bright light before it burns to ashes around my fingertips, like our love is doomed, made for sweet ends; dirty the papers, walk the roads, smell the aromas, taste the rotten parts of one's hurting soul. Then again, I don't know how I could go on without you and your darkest corners, we'd feel the sun on our skin a mere minute or two until the moon takes over, making us scream in both agony and bliss, as if we're broken in two. Half of us is expecting to live, great or build a wonderful life ahead and half of us is dreading the utter madness of having lungs to breath, a heart to beat(falling in love), hands to touch or legs to run, wishing it'd be much easier that it ever is. Staying in a illusion of better outcomes, mistakes being mended, greeted by simply our existence, not that we need to prove it.

[dearieshima]

ONE, TWO, THREE...

✦SUMMARY

╰┈➤ your boyfriend choso gets the worst possible case of cuteness aggression at the wrong time...

✦C.W

╰┈➤ overstimulation, vaginal penetration, switch?choso, virgin!choso, established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink idk, crying, this is pure smut enjoy, chubby reader appreciation, praise, 652 words, corruption kink prolly, reposted

"Hug-uhhh, hu-gh... ha-agh.. agh..."

Choso's chest heaved as he gulped in the thick, humid air, his lungs burning with each ragged breath. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, mingling with the tears of overwhelming pleasure that streamed freely. He felt drunk on sensation, intoxicated by the exquisite tightness engulfing his aching cock.

This was madness, this insatiable hunger consuming him. This was his first time, no, second, (third?) time inside you. It didn't matter. All he knew is that he wanted, needed, his fourth. Sixth?

He gazed down at you, his vision blurred with adoration and lust. He must've have had the cutest girlfriend ever.

You was a vision, a goddess, sprawled out beneath him in utter submission. Your body was marked by his passion - teeth marks blooming on the soft skin, on the rolls of your doughy hips produced by the position he kneaded you in. He had you curled in on yourself, knees tucked under your chin, your watery gaze hidden beneath your arms.

Choso's gaze was drawn downward, captivated by the erotic sight of his thick cock that disappeared into your tight, cum-filled pussy. The delicate folds stretched obscenely around his girth, still puffy and glistening from the intense preparation it had taken to work him inside you. Each clench of your velvety walls sent ripples along his shaft, coaxing out more of his seed to ooze out around him.

Oh fuck... fuck, you were so adorable. What was that human saying? You were so adorable...

"...I could eat you up," he whimpered out loud, his head cloudy, raining his pleasure. "I wanna... Please..."

Choso's body pressed against yours, his skin slick with sweat, his muscles taut with exertion. He drove his cock deeper into you, filling you completely, stretching you to your limits. You gasped, a cry of pleasure and pain escaping your lips as he hit a spot deep inside that sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your body.

He rocked his hips as he nibbled pathetically at your neck, grinding against your cervix. The wet squelch of his cock churning through the copious fluids inside you was positively obscene. "Please... I wanna... Hum-gh! I can't..."

His body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming with sensation. His cock throbbed and pulsed within you, begging for release, for the sweet relief of orgasm. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. It felt like his very existence depended on this moment, on this connection between you two. He needed his fifth. Or his Seventh.

Choso's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of searing kisses in their wake. He nibbled and bit at your collarbone, savoring the taste of your skin, the saltiness of your sweat. His hands found your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples until they were hard enough for him to suck on them.

The sensation sent jolts of electricity straight to your core, causing your inner walls to clench and flutter around his throbbing length.

"Choso!" you cried out, your voice high and breathy with pleasure. The sound of his name on your lips seemed to drive him wild, and he let out a low, almost pained groan against your skin.

He couldn't take it anymore, the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume him entirely. Your body was like a drug, and he was hopelessly addicted. With a growl of desperation, he began to move again, his hips snapping forward in a frenzied rhythm that bordered on animalistic.

The bed creaked and groaned beneath you as he pounded into you with reckless abandon, his thrusts lifting your hips off the mattress with each powerful stroke. It was almost too much, the pleasure bordering on pain, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to stop.

Instead, you met his movements with your own, rolling your hips.

You could've sworn it was night. So why was the sun peeking through your curtains, highlighting your debauchery?

[suksatoru]

here with me ⋆˚୨♡୧˚⋆ keigo x you

keigo's real laugh is nothing, if not music.

there's a front keigo uses when it comes to other people—a barrier he wasn't even aware existed. his faux laugh was easygoing. it was short, and it was charming. he used it whenever he was talking to the higher ups or his colleagues. hell, he used it when he spoke to anyone. he's never been able to share the intimacy of a real laugh with another person before.

secretly, he was envious of those strangers he'd hear every once in a while. whether it was on patrol, or if he was just strolling into a coffee shop—ordinary citizens, people, humans, we're always laughing around him.

it could be huffs of air, odd squeaks or giggles—people with heaving chests, people chuckling, people snorting, people wheezing—but keigo knew a real laugh when he heard one.

which was odd, because he hadn't heard his own real laugh until you.

you're tucked into keigo's side, half awake and half asleep as you stumble forward. your eyes are barely open—and you're so drunk that keigo can already imagine the headache his poor baby is going to have tomorrow morning

"c'mon songbird, up up up."

he takes off your clothes and makeup, changing you quickly into your nightgown as you talk. you babble on about anything and everything that comes to your mind as he works—keigo kneels in front of you, smiling softly as he slowly unravels your dress and takes off your silvery shiny heels—he pulls on your nightdress, and grabs your favorite fluffy socks before tugging them up and over your feet

"kei baby," you whisper, and he glances up at you as he finishes taking off the last bit of your jewelery. he places your earrings into the little gold box you have on his desk as his warm hands wrap around your waist. he hums quietly as you suddenly place your palms flat on his chest, shoving him

he falls onto the bed with a soft oof! before sending you a confused smile

"shh...let me think, kei."

keigo folds his legs, amusement shining bright in his eyes as he watches you. your hair falls from its updo in wisps, framing your face as you stand in deep thought near the edge of your shared bed—hand on your jaw as you tilt your head

your smirk forms slowly. it's small, sly, silly and so drunk as you suddenly kneel onto the bed. you crawl towards keigo and fasten your knees on both sides of his hips—straddling him as he blinks up in surprise, not expecting your warm mouth to begin trailing kisses up his neck

sexy, is all keigo can think as a soft sigh escapes his lips. he's just about to kiss you back—when suddenly, you speak up.

"are you my appendix? because i have this funny feeling riiiight here that makes me feel like i should take you out." you whisper seductively, gliding his palm towards your tummy and under your nightgown

keigo blinks once. twice. before he stutters with his response. he tries to form even just one word—but he can't. and suddenly, he's falling apart—he's laughing so hard that he can't fucking breathe.

you blink in response, tilting your head adorably in confusion. you thought that was a good pick up line! but keigo's face is flushed for an entirely different reason other than being flustered, and his lips are stretched into a toothy grin. you're concerned for the lack of oxygen in his lungs when he's suddenly wheezing, and god, his eyes are shining with tears.

"oh-oh baby, i fucking love you."

you're slapping his arm, whining and pouting about how he ruined the moment. but your tone—your very serious face while uttering the absolute worst pick up line keigo has ever heard has him struggling to breathe in his fits of laughter

but you can't even try to be mad. because keigo's eyes are crinkling with genuine joy, and his hands are pressing you to his chest, and this laugh is so authentic—it bubbles all the way from his belly, so heartfelt and silly that you can't help but giggle along with him

"it was good, right? are you feeling—heh, turned on?"

keigo's smile is breathtaking. no wonder he's on so many magazine covers every month. finally—he leans forward, pressing his warm mouth against yours in a soft kiss as he cradles your face with both of his palms

"yeah, baby. never felt more hot and bothered... you know, 'm gonna marry you one day." he murmurs against your lips as you squirm in his lap

"nuh uh. who said i'll say yes?"

he laughs again. it's softer this time, and he maneuvers you carefully back into bed. you look like an angry kitten when you glare at him, but he only grins in response as he tucks you in—tugging the soft comforter up and over your body before getting into bed himself. he pulls you on top of him, gliding his hand up the back of your thigh all the way up until he's at the base of your spine

"you make me very happy, ya'know that songbird?"

you hum in reply, eyes already drooping close as your hold on keigo tightens just the slightest bit. his wings naturally fold to wrap around you—cocooning you in his hold.

he can see you're too tired to respond, your eyes are already slipping close when he presses a kiss onto your forehead

he admires you quietly, thanking the cosmos for allowing him to have this one good thing in life. you're drooling all over his shirt, and keigo wouldn't ever wish to have someone else laying beside him at night.

[always-just-red]

Heya! Rafayel with a reader who's slightly afraid of deep water because she doesn't know how to swim? Fluff please!

Thanks for the request! Hoping this is the perfect balance of heartfelt moments and utter silliness. It's Raf, after all! Gotta have fun with it! ❤

Practice Makes Perfect

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: "I'll teach you how to swim!" he said. "It'll be fun!" he said. Let's be honest: the warning signs were there from the very start.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, one instance of swearing, a mild panic attack, humour, Raf bullies you ('out of love!!'— his words, not mine 🙃)

| Word count: 2.3k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel, can you stop that? Please?”

You watch as Rafayel bobs around in the water in front of you. “Swimming?” he asks, pushing slick hair back from his forehead with a lazy smile. “Nah. I’d drown.”

“No, I—” you suck in a sharp breath to keep yourself from wasting it. He knows exactly what you meant. He knows what he’s doing, too: making everything look effortless when you can’t even get out of the stupid boat.

It tips you a little closer towards the ocean, as if responding to your criticisms. You’re done with this. Done with him. Swimming lessons with Rafayel had seemed such a promising idea a few months ago, but now? You’re thinking it would have been better to go it alone. If you’d have drowned, you’d have at least drowned in peace.

He calls his teaching style ‘motivational’, which is to say he spends every lesson trying to motivate you to lunge at him, regardless of your personal safety. It was funny at the local pool. It’s less funny here, on a rickety boat in a deserted bay, where the only witnesses to your demise would be a setting sun and an insufferably smug Lemurian.

You glance up, seeking the familiar half-oceans of his eyes. They’re taunting you to the point of distraction: heating the blood in your veins that had just been running cold. Look at me, they gloat, alive with shimmering reflections, you’re mad at me, remember? 

And they have a point. You are. “Stop showing off.”

“Can’t help it.” Dark water laps at the pale of his collarbone. “It’s just so easy.”

“Says the actual mermaid.”

“Merman!”

“Oh whatever!”

He pouts. Then he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I was worried about this,” he muses, as if he has actually masterminded a teaching plan, and hasn’t just been winging it from the start. He clicks his fingers, signalling a lightbulb moment. “Lucky for you, your super duper swimming teacher came prepared. Check my bag!”

He sinks until he’s peering out from the water, the lower half of his face submerged so you can’t see his smile. You can, though; it’s obvious. You roll your eyes and take the bait because it’s better than sitting here questioning your life decisions and your own mortality. Your hands rifle through his bag until they stumble upon something unusual. Smooth. Plastic. Is this what he meant?

You pull the package out into the evening light, narrowing your eyes.

Inflatable arm bands. Brand new. A toddler beams at you from their cover, seemingly thrilled by its extra buoyancy, and its parents are watching on with unbridled pride. You tilt your head as you read: suitable for ages 2-5! “Not funny, Raf. Not funny at all.”

“What d’you mean?” You flash the photo at him, tapping the toddler’s face. “Yeah? What about it?”

“These are for kids! You’re making fun of me now? Really?”

“No…” His hand leaves the water to scratch at the back of his head. “I thought that was a suggestion? It was kinda confusing, actually. You humans have such weird stuff to help you swim.”

“Oh don’t you dare play the Lemurian card right now!” you seethe, in the middle of retrieving an arm band from the packaging. “You knew! I know you did.”

Set on making your point, you blow air into the arm band’s nozzle. It’s so infuriatingly small; it takes all of three breaths to fill it. “I mean, look at it!” you exclaim, holding it out to him.

He barely keeps his act together. “I think it’s, like… stretchy, yeah?” His bottom lip is caught between his teeth: he’s biting back laughter. “Try it on, maybe it’ll—”

Smack! The arm band hits the water in front of him, and he blinks down at it, shocked.

“Wooooow,” he enthuses sarcastically, “nice throw! I bet the Wanderers just run for the hills when they see you comin—”

Thwack! Another half-inflated arm band strikes his face, and he reels backwards.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re so full of it, Rafayel!” you can’t help leaning towards him, and the rowboat lurches. You clutch at the side of it, but you’ve had enough. “Ugh. Screw it.”

Your adrenaline is lurching too, and you make the most of the momentum: taking a deep breath and swinging your legs over the boat’s side. The chill of the ocean steals that breath away as you lower yourself into it. You’re going slowly, so slowly, your fingers still latched to the boat. But this is… something. You’re in the water. Oh gods you’re in the water. Don’t think about it. Don’t.

“Raf…” you squeak, because how can you not think about it when it’s cold and around your neck?

“I’m here,” he reassures from behind you, and he’s not close, but he’s close enough.

You look at him over your shoulder, gently tugging at the boat until you’re afforded a better view. He chuckles as he flicks the offending arm bands back into it: a calculated arc that sprinkles saltwater over your head. You wince, but you don’t mind.

“You just gonna… hang out there, then?” Rafayel enquires as you wipe a stray droplet from your eye.

“Yep.”

“Nice,” he grins, and it’s weirdly sincere. “Kinda wish you were over here, though.”

“Yeah?” You don’t move.

“I miss you.”

“Aww.”

You’re still not moving, but it doesn’t crush the embers of amusement that glow within his eyes. He’s thinking up ways to drive you crazy again, you just know it. “You could totally make it over here if you wanted,” he says flippantly. “It’s just swimming. If jellyfishes can do it, you definitely can.”

What? What? “They’re sea creatures!”

“Yeah, but they’re soooo stupid.” He taps his head. “No brains, y’know?”

You turn to the boat, pulling yourself impossibly closer to it. “Raf, c’mere,” you beckon, reaching back to him— grabbing at air.

“Why?” He draws nearer.

“So I can hit you.”

You swing a hand at him, but he dodges it, laughing. “If you wanna hit me, you have to reach me.”

There’s movement in the corner of your eye, so you twist to see it. His thumbs and forefingers have met as a square; he’s making a viewfinder. “What are you doing?” you speak from inside the frame.

“Making sure I remember this. I think I’ll paint it.” A corner of his lips lifts as he reveals a prospective title: “Cutie braves shark-infested waters.”

“Sharks?!”

“Who said anything about sharks?”

He’s messing with you— you know he’s messing with you— but you hide your face against your arms, all the same. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stifle your senses and your spiralling thoughts. You’re feeling everything too keenly: the water licking at your throat, the darkness beneath you, around you, waiting to pull you under and fill your mouth.

You never feel further from Rafayel than when you remember he calls that darkness home.

“Rafayel?” you call out, because you need him to tell you you’re being ridiculous. You need him to laugh with you, at you— you don’t care so long as you can hear it.

The only sound is water, and it’s cold and dispassionate.

“…Rafayel?” You glance behind you, and he isn’t there.

What do you do? What do you do? Your mind is in contest with your heart; they’re both trying to see who can race faster. You still can’t move. Shit. What can you do?

“Hey.” Rafayel’s voice makes you jump. He’s next to you all of a sudden, water streaming down from his hair and running over his shoulders. He rests an arm on the boat, too. “I’m here, ok? I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Breathe? “Don’t do that!” you force out of aching lungs, and then your mouth is trying to catch up with the rest of you. “I thought something happened to you! What if something did happen to you? I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help you. What if—”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he cuts in. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes are watering and he’s so close, but it’s not enough. You reach out, pulling him, urging him to close the distance, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. You can feel the heat of his breath and it’s deep, slow: one, two. One. Two. You hold him until you can match it, and almost everything’s still— the ocean, your mind— but not your heart.  

The waves break softly against the boat and they’re breathing with him, too.

“You ok?” Rafayel murmurs. His wet hair is clinging to your skin.

“Yeah,” you sigh.  

He pulls away and gives you a smile. “Wanna know what I’m thinking about?”

Always.  

“The claw machine,” he continues, because it was, as you suspected, a rhetorical question. “Remember that time you took, like, a hundred goes to get that one plushie? We were there for, what— an hour? Maybe two?”

You sniffle, and you’re just leaning on the boat, now— not gripping it. “That’s because it was a peach blossom birb, Raf. They’re super rare.” Another sniffle. “And the only reason I got it is because you kept buying more tokens.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Because I knew you’d get it eventually. Just like I know you’re gonna get this. We’ve got all the tokens in the world, yeah? So it’s just like before. One go at a time.”

His gaze is full of faith, and you want to be worthy of it. “One go at a time,” you repeat. “Thanks, Raf. Really.” You tilt towards him again, set on kissing his cheek, but he swerves away like it’s another attack.  

“Nuh-uh.” He propels himself backwards. “You wanna kiss me? You gotta meet me out here, cutie.”

And he’s so far already. “C’mon, Raf,” you whine.

“C’mon yourself! Look at me!” He runs a hand through his hair— beads of water sliding and sparkling across his skin. “I’m a total catch.”

“More like catch of the day when I get my hands on you.”

“Cute,” he quips, treading water. “You gonna come get me then, or what?”

You eye up the distance between you. You’re willing yourself to cross it; it won’t be good, it won’t be graceful, but you can do it, right? You just have to go for it. Three. Two. One… Go!

Nothing happens. Rafayel laughs quietly, and it’s warm— so passionate.  

“Here,” he says, meeting you in the middle. He holds out his hand.

You can’t trust the boat; it rocks beneath your touch and at the behest of every wave. It is just a thing, like you, at the mercy of something so much bigger than itself. Not Rafayel, though. He’s a part of all this, maybe even the heart of all this. The ocean will not betray him. It needs him to beat for it. To bleed.

Your hand grasps his and you let him guide you into the open water. You’re borrowing him. Stealing him, if only for a moment. He isn’t living for his ocean right now— he’s looking at you. Just you. There are canvases back in his studio, awash with cerulean waves and his love for Lemuria, but there are sketchbook pages, too: you, asleep on his couch. You, with a lily in your hair.

A few days from now, there’ll be a new one, etched eagerly in dark pencil. This.  

Rafayel smiles as you tread water with him. Your movements are clumsy, half-frantic, but you’re keeping yourself afloat. He gives you time to adjust, to find some semblance more of a natural rhythm, but your muscles ache and you’re getting tired, so he draws your arms around his neck.

“What d’you think?” he asks, because you’ve captured him. “Better than a beach bottom bird, right?”

“A peach blossom birb,” you giggle into his shoulder.

“Yeah, that too.”

…

The sky is full of stars, and the sun has sunk behind the wine-dark horizon.  

Rafayel rests his chin on his arms, staring down into the ocean from the edge of the boat, and he’s deep, deep below those waters too. You don’t have to see his eyes to know the faraway look they’re harbouring. There’s nostalgia for all the things he cannot show you. Grief. Rage. Regret.

He thinks you don’t see it, but you do. Especially on nights like this, when the azures of the waves turn black beneath the moon, and they could just as well be blood-red.

“Thanks for waiting for me, Rafayel.”

You’re not sure what compels you to say it, but he glances up at you, his gaze a brief storm of turquoise before settling to its usual amethyst. “Waiting for you?” he asks warily.

“To get all of this swimming stuff. I know it must seem silly to you.”

He relaxes, sitting up straight with a smirk. “Most of what you do seems silly to me. Not this, though. Change can be… scary sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

He slouches back down, but he’s on his side this time— still looking at you. “What made you decide you wanna swim, anyway?”

You mirror him, laying your head against the boat’s edge. “I don’t know. I guess—” waves are sloshing beneath you— “I guess it’s because the sea is a part of you. It’s in your paintings, your stories, and I’ve always felt… disconnected from it. Like it’s fiction— something I could only ever hear about second-hand. But I want to feel it for myself. To know it. All of it. All of you.”  

With a sigh, you give your hand to the ocean and draw mindless shapes in the water. Rafayel watches. You both know you’re only touching the surface.

He smiles, bittersweet. “Wanna go home?” he says.

Home. You pull your hand out of the water and smile back.

It’s been a long day. Yeah, you wanna go home.

[anantaru]

DAY 13 — BITING/MARKING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — kaveh, kazuha, cyno, venti

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, biting/marking, neck bites & marking you with his cum, tit play/tit sucking (cyno uses his vision on you but only a little), fingering, oral (fem! receiving), lots of cum & kind of messy (venti's part)

𖧡 — KAVEH

kaveh will leave his eyes closed before he slopes his head into your neck, and oh, who would've thought? you can feel his blonde hair lightly prod your cheeks before you breathe in the cloying fragrance he wore— such candid scent was one wefted within sumeru roses, a prairie of perfume that had wended its way through his body pressed on top of yours.

"having trouble, hm?" a low, teasing voice rattles kindly into the shell of your ears before you cling onto him, the arch of your back more defined as you sneakily grind your sensitive cunt against his exposed erection, choking out a breathy sob as kaveh kisses the stinging splotches on your neck.

it's almost too slow to your own liking, amost punishing and it drives you mad— how kaveh doesn't give your little cunt some much needed attention, but instead wholly focuses on branding his white canines on your neck and collarbones instead, because the thought of someone seeing them was absolutely intoxicating, besides, it was way easier to spot that you're taken when your neck was littered all over with hickeys.

"mhm… no trouble." the gentle, candid noises you'd make whenever he tips you into a dreamy haze, it pushes kaveh towards the edge of cumming without even being touched by you yet. and he begins to rut the mattress underneath him in a feral tempo, immediately ghosting his hands over your shaky figure before settling two digits on top of your puffy clit— his wet lips, never leaving your neck and suckling strong on the soused places before rubbing your cunt, battering his rough finger pads against the thudding nerves and awaiting your moans turning the humid air all the more sweeter.

fuck— you’re barely able to express how good he made you feel and how impossibly deep his fingers reached inside, pummeling a hot bristle on your cheeks as your hips meet his sensual touch half way, the metrical movements slurred and passionate— perfect traces setting your skin aflame.

truthfully, it’s quite the win-win situation whenever kaveh marks you up and pleasures you at the same time— for one, it’s never hidden whenever curious eyes trail along your beautiful figure. whilst, okay, maybe you will end up trying to cover it up with a large scarf or a turtleneck, but your handsome boyfriend will scoff at you, overly dramatic, a sad roll of his eyes touching up his precious face when you tell him it's very inappropriate if someone spots those hickeys on you.

𖧡 — KAZUHA

you blink down between your parted thighs, in a daze, and whine out in the most heavenly tune imaginable, in utter approval when kazuha drags the flat of his tongue inside the flesh of your folds— the wet lick on you was certainly claiming and presses the air from your aching lungs, the pink muscle expertly gyrating through your slickness as he begins to suddenly mouth away from your approaching sensation.

you sob at the loss— heaving out little why, why, why’s before becoming irritated, tilting your head in confusion as your eyes follow how kazuha laps his tongue all the way to your thighs, precisely the spot that served as a bridge to your legs and your cunt. ah, you smell so nice, quite the sweet fragrance and kazuha truly wonders what that might be, locking his soused lips around a spot before greedily suckling at the skin, the squelching noises of his mouth echoing into your thudding flesh— earning a whispery gasp from you when his palm, that was previously placed on top of your stomach, suddenly touches your clit to rub his thumb right on top.

kazuha can notice the reactions he coaxed out of you a little more precise now, how delicious and perfect you tasted and ugh, the feeling on how you tense entirely when his lips nibble and gnaw around your skin ever so slightly while his finger grow greedy in their movements, eagerly massaging two digits on your folds before prodding at your slit.

he teases, your arousal gushing out of your hole that it makes his mouth water at the sight— truly unsure what he preferred right now.

irrespective of wether it was guzzling on copious amounts of places on your thighs and mark them with bristling hickeys— so kazuha can look at them whilst fucking into you, or even afterwards when he pats the quivering skin and prances his warm palm on top.

his mind spins dizzily now— the very reason for that being when he abruptly notices how you're pushing your hips upwards into his fingers when he kindly inserts the first, long digit into your gaping hole, parting your cunt effortlessly and stuffing your arousal right back into you.

the atmosphere inside the room too, grew in hotness before coming crushing down on your fondling bodies pleasing each other, sweat forming around your forehead and right under your breasts.

ugh, how cruel, it's so hard to choose— and kazuha believes he'd never be able to pick a favorite between pleasuring your cunt or marking you up for that matter. yet of course— and such goes without saying, as long as you're wholly enjoying yourself whenever he has his hands on you— there was no reason for him to stop doing it.

𖧡 — CYNO

cyno's grip around your wrists was powerful— so dominant and compelling that it's almost bruising your tender skin, in addition was it extremely pestering how he locked your hand above your head, rendering you moveless, so he could get a pretty good look on your cute nipples perked up all nicely and ready to receive his warm mouth gushing around them.

occasionally, he decides to pinch them, eagerly listening at how you're yelping out through a rigid jaw whenever he'd add a considerable amount of electric sparks through your flesh, then bring you back to his unwavering attention on your cunt as he keeps thrusting his hips hard.

"you do like that, yeah?" he mutters and makes sure he wasn't doing anything you weren't comfortable with, and hearing him say it through a luscious, cloudy tone made you clench around his dripping shaft even harder— but the very moment he slants his head down to mouth a couple wet spots on your breasts, you're done for.

"let me do that again.." he whispers, massaging one tit before gathering some of the flesh from the other, hollowing his cheeks, sucking down, repeating himself over and over. you whine, then moan his name, your lashes sticking together due to copious amounts of globules expelling from the corners of your eyes as you wiggle your hips for more, arching your back so you could push your tit into his mouth before he stains your skin with warm, tingling spots.

you swear he wasn't done yet, cyno was a sucker for drawing your orgasm out as long as possible, the little hairs on the back of your neck standing tall when he grazes his sharp teeth over a nipple, the trace of his canines stinging yet drawing you into his touch, luring your deepest, most desperate attempts to somehow make him reconsider, and give you what you truly desired.

𖧡 — VENTI

your fingers strongly web into venti's hair as he greedily stuffs your cunt with his cock, so desperate and rough that your sore hole clenches around his entire shaft to keep him inside, the sudden constriction on your tightness throwing him out of his smooth thrusts, becoming sloppier and erratic.

although— he loves the way you pull at his hair while he fucks you silly, even lets out a breathy chuckle against your parted mouth as you pull at the roots to press his lips against yours, so you could show him what he was doing to you, and how insane it made you feel. "mhm.. venti.." you sob, whine and pitch your hips up so he could continue to greedily devour your pussy, plummet his entire shaft inside and massage the spongy insides of your cunt— like he's never touched you before and has been starved of you for what felt like a gruesome eternity.

and venti can't wait any longer, your moans absolutely wrecked his sense of self control as he pulls away from your mouth before rutting himself deeper, hiding his face in your neck to suckle at the skin and sense your upped pulse vibrate over his precious lips.

his long lashes conceal the brilliant, unique shade of his lusting eyes as he fucks you like he hates you, however, venti was utterly obsessed with everything regarding you, strongly nestled between your thighs, leaving an aftertaste of his long, pink length on your walls before he pulls himself out instantly, fisting his cock into the small tunnel of his palms feverishly— it's such a lewd sight to behold and your mouth waters right then and there, panting out sweet, little winces when he pumps two fingers back into your core.

the capture of your orgasm hits you deep inside your constricted stomach, the strong aftershocks becoming excessively noticable due to the reappearing twitches in your hips as tears began to pearl at your lashes when you cum around his digits the second he empties himself out.

on the spot, venti moves himself on top of you the way he always yearned for, the way it just had to be, his breathing low and through gritted teeth as he shoots his warm whites over your bare torso, reaching all the way to your collarbones.

you flinch at the warm feeling, your toes curling inwards as you're giving him a few more seconds to empty himself out— messy hair strands sticking on his damped forehead as he groans deeply into his chest, then huffing out an exhausted laugh right afterwards. fuck, how he immediately sets his eyes on you to watch you relish whilst being soiled and marked up by him, being fully aware that venti cannot help himself but imprint himself on you, wether it was inside or outside, the visual perception of it alone sending a new twitch straight into his groin, his lips coated of saliva as his brain feels heavy with an obsessive amount of both bliss and lust.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 4: Thigh Riding

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Thigh Riding (✨)

Summary: You ride Matt's thigh. That's it. That's the plot.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), thigh riding, dirty talk, use of "good girl", PWP

Word Count: 817

A/n: Today, you are getting a Drabble. I finally managed to write something a little shorter, but I did it mostly to challenge myself. I don't write Drabbles often, so this was fun to do, especially with that prompt. If you were hoping for something longer, I apologize, but thigh riding is one of the juiciest prompts for our Deranged Catholic Lawyer ever and I might use it again in the future.

[Smut right under the cut!]

Read Me On AO3!

The air is thick with sweat and despair. Every breath you take gets caught in your throat and turns into a wanton moan. It’s loud enough to bounce off the walls and spiral back to you. 

You most certainly lost your mind a long time ago. 

Matt has been so busy lately, never leaving a hopeless stone unturned until he has done everything he can to help those who can’t help themselves. It’s one of many things you love so much about it. You are so in love it sometimes makes you want to bash your head through drywall. And tonight, he has taken the night off from the streets of Hell’s Kitchen to take care of his girl. Because you need him, and he can’t say no when you need him. When he can smell the arousal soaking through your panties the moment he sets foot in the door. 

The dinner you made was forgotten before you even had a chance to tell him what you made. Matt walked in, and the second his senses picked up on you in that tiny black dress, he pounced like a starving animal on the hunt. 

Your bare cunt drags over the fabric of his clothed thigh as his nails bury themselves in the flesh around your hips. With every brush of your clit against the taunt muscle, a million fires reignite in your belly. You are weak to the smoldering heat of an inferno waiting to happen and level you to the ground. 

“That’s it,” he grunts in your ear. “Just like that.”

There is nothing more ethereal to him than you when you are like this—mouth agape against his shoulder, biting the fabric of his dress shirt, and your heart beating through your chest into his. He can feel you in every crevice of his being, taste you on his tongue. When you’re this vulnerable for him, when you let your guard down to take the pleasure you deserve, you are the easiest to admire.

His words are far out of his control as they slip, injecting them right into your bloodstream like the most addictive drug on the market—and you are getting it all for free. 

Good girl. Take what you need. Gonna make yourself come, hm? 

Your eyes roll back into your head. 

Gonna wear those pants to work tomorrow so I can smell you. Imagine what it’d be like to bend you over and fuck you ‘till all of New York knows my name. That what you want? Yeah, you do. That’s my girl. 

To him, it sounds like gibberish, but with every syllable uttered, your heart starts beating faster. Your walls clench around nothing. Your lungs contract, and you cry his name into the void. That’s what he was looking for. 

Matt drags his nose from behind your ear, down your throat. Your pulse jumps under his touch. He revels in the way you react to him, always. Like you have never been touched before. 

“Mine,” he writes those words on your upper thigh as he says them, barely conscious yet precise with his fingertips. “You’re mine.”

The possessiveness he feels with you makes him crazy, but you are not so far behind him. He has long driven you into madness. You would use a hot iron and brand his name into your skin if it meant you could stay like this forever, with him. 

“Yours,” you choke out between pants. Yours, and only yours. Though you’re not strong enough to say much more, not when it feels this good to ride those thick thighs of his.

His hand comes to rest around your neck. Air is a luxury, but with him, you don’t need it. You like it when your head gets fuzzy, and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as the noose of pleasure threatens to hang you. 

He’s flexing his thigh and squeezing your neck, and the crescendo is building; you can’t outrun it. Your cunt continues to grind against him, so selfish, so needy, and you know you would give him anything if he just asked. 

The light at the end of the tunnel is right there. Every drag feels like a punch to your gut, but a pleasurable one nonetheless. Not a second goes by when you’re not connected to him. And when you open your eyes and you see the look on Matt’s face, the way he’s taking you in, it’s more than enough to send you hurdling over the edge.

As always though, he is there to catch you as you fall. 

“Shh,” he runs his hand through your hair, “I’ve got you. Breathe.”

You breathe him in. Your legs may be shaking, and you have lost all sense of time, but you are with the man you love, and nothing could ever make you quite as happy as he does. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[regardtheinnocent]

Contains: SoftDom!reader, Sub!Blade, Gentle sex, Established Relationship, Reader is has a cock or a strap on, Penetration (Character recieving), Pretty fluffy overall, porn little plot.

Ahhhh first post !!!!

\ \ \

Blade wasn't used to this.

He was used to the harsh punches, the cruel words and the deafness to any he needs he might have had—

not this.

Your hands gently rubbed over his scarred skin, taking care to run those fingers of your's along each dip and scrape in his body, or so you called it— "each perfection".

It was true that you never allowed him to feel sourly about his scars— nor any part of himself, in all honesty.

"Beautiful." You'd whisper, your voice only audible to him. And he listened, oh did he listen.

Every soft and comforting word that split your lips was like a warm caress to the bone-tired immortal.

Despite everything, Blade found himself unable to resist melting into your hands.

The stellaron hunter swallowed thickly instead of allowing himself to let out the breathy gasp that had pushed against his lips. He had nothing to hide from you, he knew.

But it was just so embarrassing.

You didn't seem to mind, though.

You happily indulged in your naked intimacy with him, hips keeping a pleasing and slow pace.

Blade couldn't help but turn his face away, unable to hold your intense gaze any longer.

His cheeks were too red, the heat that pooled in his belly was too hot— you weren't even doing anything.

He shouldn't feel this pathetic— not at all.

But Blade couldn't help it, he had been robbed of this for much too long.

And at long last, there was nothing holding the both of you back from each other.

A sharp gasp burst from the man's lips as his rough hands grasped onto your bare back, nails threatening to dig into your skin at any moment.

You chuckled softly, not being able to resist giving another, deeper thrust, letting yourself hit Blade's prostate perfectly.

He couldn't help it this time, there was no way for himself to control his sounds when you were sweet to him like this.

So he didn't.

Blade let out a weak moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he held onto you, feeling your thrusts continue to hit deep inside of him.

“That’s it, angel.” You murmured to him. Your voice sounded so soft, so tender, so loving. It drew an almost shy moan from the stellaron hunter’s lips, which of course was a sound that you reveled in.

“Don’t— M’not an angel- Ah!” Blade tried to protest against the sweet term of endearment, though it was a lost cause. After all, it was if your purpose in the universe was to shower the immortal with more praise than had ever been uttered in the history of existence.

You knew that it would only take a little while longer for your lover to stop resisting your pet names, after all it was clear that Blade’s mind was melting.

“You’re my angel, Blade. All mine.” You whispered back as a heavy breath left your lungs. Your hips lurched forward, allowing you to once more hit Blade’s prostate.

“Fuh—Fuck!” The stellaron hunter nearly sobs, his blunt nails scratching at your back in a desperate bid to ground himself. A useless one, but one nonetheless.

Blade’s cock would sway upwards, nearly hitting his tummy with every deep thrust you did. The poor thing was nearly red with neglect, and pre-cum gushed from the tip in an unending stream.

Your hand that had once been holding Blade's hip, drifted to the side in order to take hold of his cock.

You synced your motions, your hand would move downwards when you thrusted in, before moving back up. Your thumb would rub over Blade's tip when you stilled yourself in him for a moment, then the action would repeat all over again.

It was driving Blade mad.

"Good... you're getting close, aren't you?" You ask in that tender tone of your's. It wasn't as if the man could lie to you, so he nodded his head up and down as he screwed his eyes shut.

You gave Blade a sharp thrust and a quick stroke of his cock before murmuring to him once more.

"Words, darling." Ah.. but he could barely even speak. It was cute to see him try, though.

"Mhm— hngh! Close, close— can I?" Blade babbles almost nonsensically, though you're lucky to have experienced this sort of talk from him enough times to have a good understanding of what he was trying to convey.

His scarred back arched beautifully as you deepened your thrusts, hitting places that Blade didn't know existed inside of him.

"Go ahead, sweetheart... You've been so good." You whisper to him, your voice is gentle, coaxing even.

And Blade can't help but feel safe for once, with your body hunched over his and your breath on his neck.

Its more comforting than it really should be.

Without much warning, cum shoots out of his tip, staining his muscular tummy and even some of his chest. Blade also tightens around you, hard, making you let out a groan of your own.

The poor stellaron's thighs tremble with his aftershocks, and his eyes remain rolled back in his head for a few seconds before they slide shut.

You still your hips, instead focusing on kissing away the tears that still wetted your lover's cheeks.

"Come back to me, dear." Those words leave your mouth in a hushed murmur as you bring yourself to lay beside your lover.

Without much thought, you wrap your arms around Blade's quivering body, bringing the large man close to you as he comes down from his high.

You've since pulled out of him, though that does little to ease the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling.

"...Mngh." Blade presses his face into your chest, wordlessly letting you know that he was fine. It was common for him to be quiet after sex, though that didn't stop the stellaron hunter from acting like a big teddy bear.

You chuckle softly and brush some of his hair behind his ear.

"I love you." You coo to him.

"...love you." He slurs back.

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 36. provisional fight club

"LET'S LAY DOWN SOME GROUND RULES FIRST," Choi Yeonjun declared as he rolled his neck to get a few cricks out. "No biting, no chickening out, no kicking a man while he's already down—unless that man is Heeseung—"

Heeseung's face screwed up. "What the fuck?"

"—and no one breathes a word of this to anyone else."

Sunghoon, who had looked disgruntled from the moment he stepped foot inside the boxing gym, let out a huff. "Wasn't planning on it."

"I've already broken that last rule, though," said Yeonjun with an air of indifference.

"What? Then why would you make that a rule?" Jay asked, exasperated.

"I booked the gym so I'm allowed to break my own rules." He shrugged. "Anyway, who watched Fight Club? Rule one of Provisional Fight Club: You do not talk about Provisional Fight Club."

"Which you already broke," Sunghoon reminded.

"Yes, but, from now on."

The four of them stood around awkwardly for a while, with Yeonjun aimlessly stretching his limbs and Jay pretending to look around the gym and take in each detail. Jay hadn't realized just how tense the atmosphere had been between them until this moment, and he wasn't quite sure how he would muster up the willpower to even throw a punch at any of them. He was trying to recall the few YouTube tutorials he watched on how to punch; all he could remember was Jake specifically warning him not to close his fingers around his thumb.

Eventually, the tension became so suffocating that it was Sunghoon who broke first.

"Okay, yeah, this isn't happening, Yeonjun," he said. "This is too awkward. No one's even mad enough to fight."

"What? No, give it a chance," Yeonjun replied. "Let's just start talking shit about each other openly. Here, I'll go first: Heeseung, you're a hypocrite and no one likes you."

Heeseung, who barely even uttered a word until now other than cussing to himself, looked absolutely bewildered. "The fuck? What did I ever do to you?"

"See?" Yeonjun said with a flourish of his wrist, turning to face Sunghoon and Jay again. "Pretty simple."

"Actually, I don't even understand why you have a problem with me," Heeseung spat at Yeonjun, chest puffing up in his bout of fury. "It's you that's been stirring the pot."

"Oh, you're getting right into it, aren't you?"

"Maybe, yeah. Someone has to take things seriously around here."

"Is that so?"

"Ever since you gave Gigi those—"

"Oh, please, is this about the speed?" Yeonjun rolled his neck and let out a petulant groan. "You act like she's coked-out or something—give her a break. This is why she finds you so fucking annoying."

Heeseung scoffed and took a step closer. For a moment, Jay was sure he was going to strike, but then Heeseung's demeanor grew eerily calm.

Perhaps that wasn't a sign to relax; Heeseung's expression even made Sunghoon stiffen up as Yeonjun raised his brows, unamused, boldly throwing Heeseung a simpering smile. Heeseung was an elastic band right now, and Yeonjun was only pulling harder and harder.

"Heeseung," Jay interjected carefully.

"It's chill, Jay," Yeonjun said. "We're fine. Right, Heeseung?"

"Right." Heeseung kept his gaze fixed on Yeonjun as he spoke. "We're just talking."

Although their reassurance did nothing to undo the tight knot in Jay's chest, he let out a heavy sigh. "Okay, good, so—"

Jay heard the impact before he saw the strike; Heeseung lunged and punched Yeonjun in the face.

"—oh," Jay finished, stunned.

The swing caught Yeonjun under the jaw, sending him stumbling backward with a flash of crimson trickling from his bottom lip. For a moment, he looked disoriented as he regained his footing, and then Yeonjun wiped off the blood with his wrist and glowered at Heeseung.

"Fuck, that hurt." It was probably the first time Jay had heard Yeonjun get furious. His tone was still somewhat playful, but there was an edge of frustration that made him worry for Heeseung's safety. After another breath, he seemed to simmer down. "Feel better? Are you still pissed off?"

"Much better," Heeseung said, shaking off the sting from his knuckles, "but I'm still a little pissed."

"Can I hit you back?"

"No."

"That's not fair," Sunghoon spoke up. "If Yeonjun has a problem with you, then you should let him hit you back."

"That wasn't a rule!" Heeseung exclaimed.

"It was," Jay confirmed. "No chickening out."

"Also, let's not leave actual injuries—not injuries on the face, at least," Sunghoon added. "The Order's gonna ask questions if we show up with a bunch of bruises."

"I think it's a little late for that." Yeonjun scoffed, prodding his fingers against the purplish-blue splotch that started to form on his skin. "I think it's only fair if I get to hit him back at least once."

Heeseung's chest had been rising and falling in rapid succession for the past few minutes, but his breaths started to become more shallow after he took his anger out on Yeonjun. The fire that had been blazing in his eyes seemed to die down, and the shadows cast on his face didn't look so harsh anymore.

Jay considered not bringing up what happened with Jaehyun. He wasn't sure he wanted to be on the receiving end of Heeseung's rage.

"Okay, fine," Heeseung decided. "Go ahead and hit me, but I don't get why you're mad in the first place, anyway."

Yeonjun furrowed his brows and crossed his arms. "I just can't understand why this concerns you so much. You and Gigi aren't even that close, and it's not like you had a problem with me being people's plug before."

"You were there freshman year. You saw how bad her addiction got."

"Yeah, it was bad, but—”

"You're okay with her relapsing?"

"She's not a little freshman anymore, Heeseung. I think Gigi's more than capable of taking care of herself." His eyes grew wider, like he had been struck with electrifying realization, and he asked, "Are you jealous?"

"What?"

"You're jealous... you're jealous that I'm Gigi's plug and not yours."

"Okay, stop right there," Heeseung deadpanned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't get ahead of yourself." When Yeonjun looked as though he wasn't buying whatever Heeseung was saying, the latter gave up and straightened his back. "You know what? Fine. Just hit me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, whatever. Probably less painful than whatever it is you're spewing."

Yeonjun wound up his arm, almost comically, and Heeseung clenched his jaw to brace himself for the impact. Yelling at each other only seconds ago must have taken out enough steam out from both of them. Yeonjun was almost smiling and Heeseung had certainly set his pride aside this one time.

"Don't worry," Yeonjun said, his voice all sweet and light all of a sudden, "you can always ask me for drugs."

Heeseung grumbled something inaudible, irritated, which was a poor decision considering Yeonjun swung his fist at that very moment. The impact was hard enough to have Heeseung stumbling back, nearly ending up on the ground from how disoriented he was, but the punch left a nasty welt along his cheek and blood running down to his chin from his teeth accidentally tearing into his lower lip.

"Good punch," Heeseung muttered.

"Thanks," he replied. "I figured you'd be getting a lot more from Sunghoon, anyway."

Heeseung blanched, turning to Sunghoon, who had his arms crossed and his gaze to the floor.

"Yeah," Sunghoon spoke up, pushing himself off from where he was leaning against the wall to take Yeonjun's place in front of Heeseung. "My turn."

Jay already knew where this was going. He recalled that night when Heeseung opened up to him about his feelings for you, which unfortunately bloomed before you got into a relationship with Sunghoon. There was no reason for Heeseung to fight back on this one, and he could tell that his friend was already starting to accept his defeat.

Yeonjun bumped shoulders with Jay and snorted. "This one should be good."

"You have anything you wanna say first?" Sunghoon asked, cracking his knuckles one-by-one while Heeseung just stared at his fist.

"Uh, not really."

"Good."

The sheer force of Sunghoon's blow had Heeseung falling in a crumpled heap before Sunghoon could even draw back his arm. It didn't end there. Sunghoon pulled his friend up to his feet again, although Heeseung was staggering to regain his balance, and he swung his fist again.

Before Sunghoon could hit him again, Heeseung blocked his next punch with shaky hands.

"I'm sorry," he apologized (somewhat pathetically, Jay observed), "but you should know that I never acted on my feelings because you're my friend, too."

"But you did." Sunghoon's eyes were cold. "Can you really say you've never acted upon your feelings?"

"Yeah?"

Before even Jay could see it coming, Sunghoon threw another punch. Heeseung groaned from the sting, gently touching his bruised skin with his fingertips.

"You said not the face!" Heeseung complained.

"We've been friends for a long time now," Sunghoon said. "I'd like to think we're close enough for you to tell me the truth."

Jay had watched plenty of arguments break out between his friends but never anything like this. It was clear that Heeseung was grappling with his words for a moment, internally trying to figure out if he should just let everything out. Jay was immediately reminded of the first night he met all of them—watching Heeseung leaving his own girlfriend behind to try and comfort you—and he was wasn't sure how this would fare well for their friendship.

"Sure," Heeseung admitted with a hint of spite. "Sure, maybe a little. Could you blame me? She and I stopped being as close once you two started dating, and then you treated her like shit. I couldn't even comfort her anymore."

Jay involuntarily clenched his fist behind his back. It wasn't that Heeseung couldn't comfort you; he simply went about it in all the wrong ways. You essentially had no other choice but to distance yourself when he kept hitting on you whenever you were most vulnerable. Jay knew that he was supposed to keep his emotions under check around them, but he couldn't help but feel angry.

"And it's not just me," Heeseung continued with a huff. To Jay's dismay, he pointed his finger straight at him. "Jay's been getting close to her, too."

Jay gawked at the two of them. "Me?"

"It's not his turn yet," Yeonjun said as he was trying to tear open a granola bar.

"Shut up, dude." Heeseung rolled his eyes before turning back to Jay. "You can't tell me you haven't been interested in Y/N, either."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't made a single move on her."

Now Sunghoon was intrigued. He turned his attention away from Heeseung to stare at Jay, raising a brow as if he was confirming a previously-held suspicion. The look on his face only made Jay's stomach sink deeper.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I said interested, not that you made a move on her," Heeseung said. "I've felt this way for a while, but you've been spending a lot of time around her lately."

"That—that doesn't mean anything."

Yeonjun threw his head back to laugh. "Oh my god."

Sunghoon frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. I just think you two are overcomplicating a very simple explanation for this," Yeonjun said, shrugging. "You just feel threatened."

"Threatened?" Sunghoon sneered. "Why would I ever feel threatened?"

"You two have feelings for Y/N, you see her hanging around Jay all the time, so you become jealous because you can't understand why she's choosing him out of the both of you. It's simple enough to figure out."

Jay never wanted to strangle Yeonjun the way he wanted to right now, even though he was saying all the right things that Jay wanted to hear. Regarding the situation at hand, though, he was certain he would be safer if Yeonjun dug a grave and buried him inside.

They were quiet for a few moments before Sunghoon asked in a calm voice, "Do you like Y/N?"

Jay stiffened. "I'd never ask her out."

"That's not what I asked. I said, do you like Y/N?"

Heeseung looked curious, too, and for a moment, Jay could make out sympathy in his eyes. He had been in the same position where he couldn't admit his feelings honestly.

But Jay had different reasons for not wanting to admit his feelings, and it made him feel horrible to even be in such a position.

"It doesn't matter if I have feelings for her or not," he settled for saying instead, letting his head hang low. "I'm never asking her out. We're both just... too different."

"When did you start liking her?"

"Not when you two were—"

"When?"

"Just... just recently..."

Before his words could trail off, Jay was immediately struck with blinding, white-hot pain in his jaw. His vision curled at the edges and he nearly lost his footing and fell against Yeonjun. He looked up to see Sunghoon's arm still outstretched, his fingers curled into a fist.

It felt like the world swayed underneath him for a moment, and Jay could hear the words from Jake's messages parroting in his head over and over again. Straight punches. Tighten your fist. Don't close your fingers over your thumb.

"There," Sunghoon said. "Now I've gotten all my anger out. Heeseung, you can punch me back for being a shit boyfriend to Y/N, and Jay can punch me back for—"

He punched Sunghoon before he could even think straight. It all happened so fast that Jay could only feel the pain in his knuckles afterward.

Sunghoon grunted as he steadied himself, one hand against the drywall and the other cradling his now-bruised jaw. He could barely raise his head for a moment, but when he finally did, Jay could see his dark eyes through his sweat-matted hair.

"Good," Sunghoon rasped out, nodding clumsily. "Good aim."

"Well, one down, I guess," Yeonjun remarked.

"I'll be honest," Jay spoke up, "she was kind of why I told the Order I wanted to punch you."

The three of them looked shocked for a moment before Heeseung and Yeonjun turned to hide their smirks. Sunghoon kept gaping at Jay before he sighed and shook his head.

"I bought you those shoes over that?"

"You can have them back."

"No, keep them," he said firmly. "Now that we've all gotten into the Order, we're all brothers now, whether we like it or not. It only makes sense that we fight these things out."

Jay wasn't sure if he trusted Sunghoon on that one, especially considering the relationship he had with his older brother. Still, the tension in the air wasn't as thick anymore, and they all definitely seemed more light-hearted after punching the bitterness out of each other.

And Jay debated bringing up his gripe with Heeseung as the three punched each other over various things that he wasn't sure made much sense anymore, but he came to realize that he didn't necessarily feel good after punching Sunghoon.

Sure, he finally let a load off his chest, but Jay had only gotten himself entangled deeper into a mess that he wasn't supposed to be part of in the first place.

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

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[the-scandalorian]

Mine

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 4k Content Warnings: anal, ass play, rimming and oral (f-receiving), spit as lube, threatened violence against the reader (not by Joel), canon-typical violence Notes: Endless gratitude to both @frannyzooey and @oscarseyebrow for the help, literally would not have finished this without you two gems xx

He wants it—has wanted it. 

He wants the claim. The utter possession.

Whenever he puts you on your hands and knees, Joel settles a splayed hand on your lower back, and it always slips down, his rough palm sliding further and further the more he loses himself in the pleasure. It drops along with the register of his groans and the steady slap of his hips. He lets his hand shift until his thumb is tucked between your cheeks. And when he’s grunting low and deep, about to pull out so he can come—so he can paint himself in warm streaks across your skin—he’ll press the pad of that finger firmly against your asshole. 

Not inside, not yet. He doesn’t go further than that.

He’s waiting for you to say it. He wants to hear those words, begged so pretty and desperate in your breathy whine. He wants you to plead for it when you can’t wait any more.

He wants you to tell him to fill you in the way he can’t—won’t—risk with your pussy.

He wants you to ask him to make you his.

He dreams about it.

Please, Joel.

*** You’ve been waiting for him to say something—to act on it. You know he wants it.

You’re used to Joel taking what he wants. Never forcefully, not with you. You revel in the privilege of being a singular exception in that way—in being the one type of relationship left for him that isn’t ruled by violence. When he wants something from you, he doesn’t hesitate or hedge or waver. He just says it, lays it out.

Like that first time so many months ago when he fixed those serious brown eyes on you—on you—and said, “Come home with me.”

A statement, not a question. An invitation for you to take or leave. 

Take.

This, for some reason, seems different though.

He’s waiting on you to ask for it.

It’s not some groundbreaking thing that precipitates it. What happens is wearily commonplace in the QZ.

A stupid kid, some nineteen year old with the power trip of a pistol in his hand, gets the jump on you. You’re alone, and he sneaks up behind you in an alley.

The cold barrel is pressed to your temple before you can react.

“Stay quiet,” he breathes, his hot breath reeking of alcohol next to your ear. It has the heady bite of too much ethanol, something he made cheap and easy.

You do mental calculations as he walks you to a brick wall, crowding you up against it until your cheek is pressed to the cool, rough surface. A groping hand reaches into your jacket pocket. He just wants your ration cards, and it’s probably easiest to let him take them and turn tail.

But then he steps back, the steel of the gun moving to press between your shoulder blades, and you can feel the rake of his eyes down your body.

“Well, you’re pretty, aren’t you?”

Your gut fills with lead. The air in your lungs tightens as his intentions shift. You’re about to move, to reach for the switchblade in your inner pocket when there’s a yelp—the pressure of the gun disappearing from your back—the scuffling feet on asphalt and a low grunt—

You turn, and Joel has the guy hauled up against a half-collapsed chain-link fence, his cheek pressed into a tangled coil of barbed wire. He disarmed him in the same movement, the butt of the pistol visible over the waistband of Joel’s jeans, holstered at his lower back.

Joel, who had come looking for you when you ran late.

He seems perfectly calm when he meets your gaze, but you know the tightness in his shoulders, that muted threat in his blown pupils. He’s agitated. Uneasy. Mad at himself that you were alone. You catch it when his eyes flick down and up again, surveying your body for injury.

“Yes or no?” he asks.

You consider for a moment, appreciating the raw fear in the young guy’s eyes—how quickly Joel turned him from a predator to a shifty-eyed, skittery little rabbit. His breathing is a shallow, frantic pant.

“No,” you decide.

Joel nods and shoves him away, and the kid stumbles. When he glances back over his shoulder, you can see fat tears of blood oozing from the shallow cuts below his eye. He’s too shocked to speak, to do anything. He just staggers into a run and disappears.

Your eyes slide back to Joel, and something clicks into place as you watch each other—you realize just how utterly and completely he has you. That he’d burn the world for you if you asked. And you’d do the same for him.

He approaches you with quiet steps. A warm hand settles on your waist.

“Alright?” he asks, looking down at you, his thumb stroking the cotton of your shirt. 

Tension is a precarious, taut thing between you, like a spring-loaded trap ready to bite.

You nod and say, “Take me home.”

*** His apartment is flooded with afternoon sun. Golden beams of light streaming in between the half-closed curtains are shot with suspended motes of dust. Everything always feels still within these walls, like he really can shut out the rest of the world when he closes the heavy door behind him.

He’s on you as soon as he does, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and his mouth on yours as he guides you backward toward the bed.

You both need the reassurance of touch.

You need more than that: you want him to accept the control you're offering with willing hands and take.

As you move together, you let the lingering hum of adrenaline in your bloodstream pull the words—the ones that might have otherwise gotten stuck in your throat—out of your mouth. 

You whisper against his lips: “I want you to fuck my ass.”

He goes rigid for a moment, his breath a pant against your lips, and then he dips his head to your ear. 

His voice is something else entirely now—no more veiled fear behind his rasp, just a honeyed growl of pure desire: “Say it again.”

You bury your face against the hollow of his throat and smile.

“Go on, I want to hear it.”

You squirm and slip a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Be a good girl and say it for me,” he prods, dragging the tip of his nose up your cheek. He slips his hand down your back and over the swell of your ass, pulling your hips forward into his, and squeezes. 

You give him what he wants, what you both want: “I want you to fuck my ass.”

He hums his approval and takes a long, slow inhale to savor the thought of it. He’s just as pleased as you’d hoped he’d be. More, maybe.

He moves his hand inward, tracing the middle seam of your jeans with a light touch.

“That right? You gonna let me in here?” 

His voice is smug, a cocky drawl, but when you look up into his eyes, there’s a hint of desperation skulking behind his dilated pupils, like he’s not quite sure what he’d do if you said no. Like he needs you to want it. 

“I know you want it,” he says, his breath hitching. He tries to convince you, even though you are already won—were won, long ago. “I feel the way you press back against me, just begging for it—I see how quick you come on my cock when I touch you right here.” 

You press a kiss to the taut lines of his neck. He’s right.

He slips his hand down the back of your thigh and hitches your leg up, rolling his hips against you. Once.

“You gonna let me come inside your tight little ass?”

Twice.

You lean away to brush a hand over his crotch, over his fly where you can feel the thick roll of him straining against the denim, and nod up at him. Joel’s gaze is barbed with desire, with a heat so tangible it burns.

*** He lays you out on his bed, strips you bare, and kneels over you. His shirt is quickly discarded on the floor, his belt buckle left open. His lips pull to the side in a casual smile as he looks down at you—surveying the luxurious lines of your body on display for him—but there’s a feral glint of need in his dark eyes as he settles into a familiar position over you, his hips caught between your spread thighs. 

You reach up to run a hand through his silver-flecked hair. 

Joel sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, and when he pulls them out, he leans down to kiss you just as he slips those two shiny, spit-soaked fingers down between your thighs, past where he usually settles them, until he finds that tight ring of muscle. He groans at first contact, pressing lightly, testing the resistance. 

He’s eager. Getting right to it. Your body is tense with the newness of it—with anticipation, with want—but you know he won’t rush it. You trust him to set the pace.

“Relax for me, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. 

The low, husky twang in his command is like a sedative. In and outside his bedroom. It’s easy to surrender to someone who never lets you down—to someone who protects you with bared teeth, white knuckles, and no quarter.

His mouth claims yours again, his tongue dipping past your teeth. Joel asks for a lot when he kisses you—always has. He takes a lot. It’s deep and needy. Possessive. The scratch of his facial hair against your skin is familiar, the smell of him overwhelming when he’s so close.

Clean laundry, warm sun, a light hint of sweat from working outside. Joel.

He kisses down your neck with an open mouth, cloying and distracting, as he massages his wet fingers over your asshole. 

He teases. Pets. Coaxes. All the while, his mouth does the same—on your throat, your chest, your breasts. Hungry and wanting. Joel moves at a leisurely pace, dropping himself down to nip at your ear lobe, pinching and rolling your nipple with his other fingers. 

He’s working you up, making you ask for it, and it’s effective.

When you start to writhe and whine, he finally shuffles down your body and takes up his rightful place with his head between your splayed thighs.  

Joel watches you when he goes down on you, his eyes flicking up to your face and back down to where you’re aching for him—constantly. Always assessing. Studying. Devouring. Gauging how hard or how easy to push you.

He spreads you open and dips his head to lick your clit with the broad sweep of his tongue, taking you apart as he works you open. He’s well-practiced in the art of dismantling you.

He gradually increases the pressure—of  his tongue and his finger—ratcheting up the pleasure, until your legs are shaking around his ears. Until one of your hands is fisted in his short, thick hair. Until you’re canting your hips up and up and up to fuck yourself against his face.

You drag your arm over your eyes, overcome—

Joel looks up—his hot mouth leaving you cold—and tsks, pulling your arm away from your face. “Let me see you.”

His lips shine with your arousal.

Your stalled pleasure has your mouth dropped open, but Joel resumes the steady sweep of his tongue and the firm press of his nose against your mound right away, catching you midair and dragging you right back to the brink of an orgasm. Your heels slip down the sheets, your head pressing back into the pillow as you moan and ride it out.

Joel grunts when he feels it, when it spreads through your veins like lightning.

You meet his eyes as you pant through the aftermath—his brow is creased deeply, his lips parted just a little when he pulls away, his breath barely audible—and while you’re mellow and unwound, he presses his finger inside. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pleasure, reveling in the warm pull of your body, and you arch. A heavy hand settles on your chest.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low, “easy now.”

He waits for your muscles to relax, for you to give him an encouraging nod, and he works that finger a little deeper in your ass, thrusting it shallowly. He can feel your body responding to it—acclimating to, asking for it.

“Turn over for me,” he says, his voice even gruffer than normal. “Get on your hands and knees so I can see it.”

You flip for him, situating yourself on your elbows. The bed creaks as he slips off it behind you. There’s the metal sound of a zipper and the rustle of denim, and then the mattress dips again as he settles behind you.

He leans down to purse his lips and spit. It drips, warm and wet as it slides between your cheeks, and he catches it with two fingers, smearing it over where he’s started working you open, where you feel warm and ready for him, inviting—where you glisten with it. You expect him to press one inside you again, but instead, he leans down and his tongue takes it place.

Your hips jerk forward reflexively at the foreign feeling, at the press of the wet muscle against sensitive skin, but as soon as your mind catches up, you shift back to chase the sensation, that warm, slick slide—the welcoming heat of his mouth. A series of sloppy kisses, wet and open.

Joel’s hands spread you as he tastes you. He licks and laps, his tongue exploring every inch of your puckered rim, and the feeling unfurls over your skin slowly—hot and syrupy and decadent—dispatching a delayed shiver down your spine. The pleasure crackles and spits, your nerves a circuit of live wires.

You moan into the feeling, letting your body arch, and shove yourself against the fervor of his mouth. You wonder why you didn’t ask him—beg him—for this sooner. 

It’s brief. He wants to stay there—you can tell by the low sound he makes against your body, the sound that deepens when you push back against his mouth, so deep it vibrates—but he’s impatient.

Impatient to be inside you.

He spits again, another rush of warmth, and pulls away to say: “Touch yourself, honey.”

You obey, settling a cheek on his pillow, one hand between your legs. His first finger returns. A second one joins it, and you whine at the stretch when he edges them inside.

“I know—I know it’s tight, baby.”

He soothes you with a heavy hand on your back, rubbing it up and down your spine reassuringly.

“I got you.”

He spits one more time, a generous, wet lubricant for his thrusting fingers. He collects the moisture and presses them deep.

You can feel his lips on the back of your thigh, his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. He moves up, working his mouth gently over the curve of your cheek. His hand smooths over your hip, the other working his fingers deeper in a slow rhythm, the movements careful and fluid. He won’t give you more than you can handle. 

You feel full with just his fingers moving inside you, but when you start to move your own fingers over your clit, you find that the fullness feels good.

He answers your pleased sounds: curling and stroking you from the inside out. His fingers scissor and stretch.

His other hand leaves your body, and you can hear him fisting his cock behind you—pausing to spit into his waiting palm and slick it over himself. You know exactly what that looks like, the storm of desire brewing in his dark eyes and the roll of his muscular shoulder as he pumps himself. A pearl of precum likely glistens along his slit, disappearing as his shaft is swallowed by the circle of his fist.

The image of him, one you’ve seen countless times, never fails to arouse you.

The command, the intention—the intoxicating need. 

In the beginning, you had to look away from it. It was too naked, too vulnerable—it was the only time Joel would drop the front and let himself be more than just leashed rage. The only time he’d cut the tether and let himself want what he wants—let it show on his face, stark as day.

Now, you live for it. You recognize it for the rare, precious gift it is.

You can’t help but peer over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of that furrowed brow and taut neck. That is the Joel who loves with his whole chest. Who loves with teeth.

He looks up from where his hand is moving to meet your gaze. He eases those two fingers out of you, and you whimper at the loss.

He moves closer behind you, his broad frame looming tall over you, and settles. Your legs are spread as wide as they go in this position, his bracketed between them.

“I’ll go slow, yeah?” 

You press your cheek back into the pillow and breathe. 

You can feel the fat head of him notched against you, the heat and the slickness, where you’re drenched and shiny. He drops his hips and rubs the tip up and down, once and again. The anticipation—the knowledge of his size—has you tensing, but he pets your hips and talks you through it.

“Relax and let me in.”

Joel eases his hips forward, and as much as he’s prepared you, as much as he’s coaxed your body open to accommodate his fingers, the stretch of him still burns. He’s been so careful, taken such good care of you, but the size of him aches. You can’t help but squirm, a whine spilling from your lips, as he enters you.

He reacts to your hesitation right away.

“Drop your hips for me,” he says, a heavy hand on your lower back.

He guides you down, and you all but collapse, almost prone on the mattress. He blankets your body with his own, his warm chest and the softness of his belly flush against your back, and reaches around you, snaking a hand into the few inches of space between your hips and the bed, to massage your clit with the pacifying rock of one finger—to where your hand had been a second ago, before it dropped away to fist in the sheets. 

He’s heavy draped over you, his body a grounding weight. If it weren’t him—if you didn���t have that steel-cast trust between you, it might feel smothering. This prostrate position, vulnerable.

Instead, safe. 

He breathes hot and slow down the side of your neck then sets his teeth against your shoulder, a blunt bite—not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to mute all other sensation, just a little. 

He’s giving you something to hold on to. 

He murmurs praise between light, plush kisses and little nips, as the blunt tip of his cock slowly—so slowly—breaches the tight ring of your ass.

You key into the words—honey, baby, sweetheart—and the hot trail of his mouth. And breathe, slow and steady, to let your body welcome him deep.

When his hips are cradling your cheeks, he stills.

You’re full; you’re so fucking full. 

It’s almost unbearable in sensation. The thick, rigid length of him is throbbing inside you. You need—you need something—

Your thoughts are slow, eddying and pinwheeling like curls of smoke that refuse to coalesce into something tangible. 

His finger is still pressed tight to your clit, and as you settle together, you adjust. A realization creeps up the back of your neck, shy. Move, you think, the link between your brain and your mouth suddenly faulty. You need him to move.

You arch and start to shift back into him, to encourage him to fuck you.

Joel growls in your ear, the hand between your legs jumping to your throat. “Stay still for me. Just—stay still, alright? Let me—” 

You tense with the effort of it, all of your muscles tightening, contracting around the thick intrusion of him, and his words are cut short by a low groan and the subtle flex of his hips forward. The movement draws a whimper from your throat—a pleased sound.

It’s taking all his control not to move, not to thrust into the tight, molten clench of your body. 

“Let me—let me just feel you like this for a minute,” he finishes. His voice cracks with the effort of staying still. The hand caught around your throat trembles and tightens. 

He’s savoring it. Savoring you.

And trying not to let the exquisite grip of your body undo him too soon. It’s dizzying, knowing that.

He shifts back a bit, braced on a locked elbow by your side, so he can see where he’s splitting you open, and runs a reverent hand along your curves, up your thigh and over your hip—a rough, calloused palm turned tender in the moment. His breathing is labored.

You peer at him over your shoulder, your neck straining. His mouth is dropped open, his tongue peeking out between his lips, and his eyes are hooded. They flick down to meet yours. 

Understanding passes between you.

He drops himself over you again, and his hand finds a home on your shoulder, holding fast. Then he eases his hips back, gently withdrawing before starting up a slow cadence. Testing.

You moan when he thrusts forward, and his own low sound matches yours. His hips start to move faster, his thighs colliding with the backs of yours.

“You gonna come with my cock in your ass?”

You nod against the fabric of his pillow case, your hand returning to the apex of your thighs. It doesn’t take much—a few moments of gentle fingers passing over your aching clit, and all of your muscles are tightening.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”

His rhythm kicks up to a rapid slap slap slap of skin against skin, as you spasm and quiver against the bed, your open, panting mouth leaving a wet spot on the cotton. You clench around the crowded feeling of him until your brain is fuzzy with a haze of pleasure. Until your limbs go completely slack.

“You’re taking it so good for me. So fuckin’ tight.”

You feel sated and warm in the aftermath, your body fucked out and sluggish. You can tell Joel is close by the uneven staccato of his thrusts and the tightness in his voice.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he pants. “You’re gonna make me come—make me fill this tight little ass.”

You moan—waiting for it, wanting it. 

But he wants to hear it first.

“Is that what you want? Hmm? Say it,” he demands, his words punctuated by the surge of his hips and the press of his thighs. “Tell me where you want me to come.”

You barely manage to get the words out, twisted in your raw throat—

“Please, Joel—inside.”

—before he does.

The sound he makes is low and feral, a gasp and a growl clawing their way out of his chest. He grinds himself deep into the tight heat of your body, his hips stuttering in sheer relief, and his cock twitches as he spills inside you. A flood of warmth, pulses of pearly cum fucked deep.

Again and again, until he’s spent.

He pulls out, leaving you empty. You know he wants to see it.

Sure enough, he thumbs between your cheeks, admiring the place where he’s marked you—feeling the sticky warmth of himself in your body. Like he’s always wanted to.

After a long moment, he collapses next to you on the bed and pulls you into his side. 

“Come here,” he says, gathering you up in his arms. He presses a kiss to your forehead and swipes soft fingers over your cheek. You’re boneless in his hands.

He doesn’t say it, but you know. 

Mine.

[love-toxin]

i dunno if you care about my gushing about leon being infected but.

god the remake made it so much hotter and i don’t see anyone talk about it and i don’t know how they don’t! i personally can’t stop thinking about it and i need infected/normal leon carnally.

:) my time to revive plagas leon has come.

(cws: gn! reader, plagas!leon + a lil yandere, post-canon divergence, needles, drugging, nc groping/kissing under the influence, leon has dirty thoughts, biting, blood, reader gets tied up)

Normal Leon is flirty, playful, maybe a little bit saucy at times if the mood is right. Plagas!Leon is a complete and utter menace, and possibly the most perverse thing you've ever encountered.

At the very least, he's not a complete puppet for Saddler's machinations. He has moments of clarity here and there, but they make way for a deep, unconscionable shift in personality when his mind finally accepts that his body is no longer the same. It's difficult to deal with, you can imagine--or you could, if Leon wasn't relentlessly tracking you down and hellbent on not letting you leave the village.

Could he try to talk to you? He could, if you would listen. But every time he faces you with those piercing carmine eyes, you start backing away, and that pretty face twists in fear and disgust at what he's become. Every time you shoot at him, you try to reconcile it as putting down the monster in him and not putting down Leon. But your sweet, gentle conscience can't accept that there's no difference anymore. This is all him, good, bad, and ugly.

Oh, but you're still so cute. You're so mad at him for the way he is, you throw things at him and grab Ashley's wrist to hurry her away when he comes walking up. He was angry when you managed to slip out of his grasp despite feeling that urge to kill you rising, but when Saddler was finally taken out, Leon felt his free will return and realized he had the chance to make his own fate.

And that's why he's waited. He waited day, after day, after day for you, having had to watch you leave with Ashley and Luis in tow and replaying that scene in his mind a thousand times over. The island is gone now, but the rest of the area needs tending to. He spends his lonely days ridding the castle of pests, disposing of bodies, clearing the village away and getting rid of any remnants of Los Iluminados. They don't belong here anymore because they couldn't leave anyways, and since he can't either, he has to cull the ones who might get in the way of your arrival.

Because he knows you. He knows you're certain of his abilities, but even if there was a shadow of doubt about his survival, you won't be sleeping well wondering whether Leon is still alive. If he can be saved, or if he just needs to be put down properly. He doesn't much care where your reasoning lies, so long as you do what he's sure you will and return to the village to find closure.

It barely takes any time at all--in less than a month, you're standing at the edge of the village by a newly-repaired bridge, a local police car parked anxiously by the entrance for fear of what lies ahead. You've got your gun, a map scribbled out from memory, and his jacket over your shoulders. Adorable. You missed him.

There's really nothing to fear, but he won't let you get much further than that village. There are a few Ganados stationed there as plants to relay information to him, but aside from feeding your fury as you take them out they really don't serve much purpose. Leon can feel you here, your feet hitting the ground as you run and the breath burning your lungs as you hurry away from the mob, booking it straight for the castle gate.

How sweet of you to visit him at home. He can't help but stalk you for a bit, watching you wander about the immense palace and search for clues, flip through his notes and break down into tears when you realize he's still alive. You have so much hope, and it's all stored in that little bottle of pills and a needle filled with sedative.

It all falls away when you neglect to notice the latter missing from your belt, only to thrash and scratch wildly at his arm when he comes up from behind to restrain you. A little pinch in the neck, a choked up sigh, and you collapse so limply in his arms like a doll.

Oh, he missed you. It's so much easier to kiss you when you're unconscious, you don't run away or shove him or shout at him that he's a monster. He wants to kiss you in other places, but...not now. He can be gentle and intimate with you like that later. You barely even flinch, you don't even kick at him when he gropes your thigh and brings his mouth to it to bite down. You taste so sweet, he just wanted a bit of your blood to satisfy the craving--he won't make it a habit, that is unless it ends up turning you on when he does it in bed like he's planning to.

And he is planning. You have a future together but it doesn't include anyone else--he's been given an escape from that depressing life he never wanted, but he's not finding a new one without you, the only good thing he's got in this world. Even if he's got to tie you up so you don't attack him the moment you wake from your stupor.

"Let me go! I'll kill you!"

You don't mean that, sweet thing. You're just tired, and scared, and you missed him. That's why you came back--not a force on earth could've made him revisit the site of Raccoon City after what happened there, but you came all the way back and threw yourself into danger for him, even knowing all that you know. The rest of this ugly world isn't worthy of you.

"I'll fucking shoot your brains out for taking him away from me!"

So feisty and cute. Is he really the one that's obsessed? Because watching you cry in desperation and struggle against your bindings is pretty telling, especially since you stop the moment his cool hand touches your chin. You know what he is, and yet you still look up at him like he's the same he always was.

"L-Leon, if you're still in there, I can get you out. There's a facility in Arklay that agreed to help--you can come home!"

It's a shame you're so hopeful. You even grace him with a relieved smile when he backs off, his brow softened at the sight of you practically begging for him. But it's in that darling, naïve way that shows you have no idea you're already being dragged down with him. And you'll only see that once his hand hovers over your lap, and he gently peels back the jagged fabric you thought might've ripped on your way over a fence, or maybe in one of the many struggles against the villagers for your life.

But you understand, he thinks you do, when you finally follow his eyes and peer down at the exposed skin. The bite mark still glistens with blood and saliva from where he sucked hungrily at the wound, but webbing out beneath your skin around the site are thin, black trails that move along your flesh like veins. And they grow as the seconds pass, spreading out deeper within your body as the infection begins its process.

You look up at him so frightened, and yet so angry, that he can't help but kiss you then. You don't have unbound arms to beat at his chest, or breath in your lungs to scream or cry at him for what he's done to you. His tongue swallows all those muffled curses up, sliding wetly between your lips to taste that effervescent warmth he knows you won't lose in your transformation. You're simply too radiant to become as cold as he is, although he's sure it'll add an exciting thrill to the sensations you'll share when you let those locked desires of yours flood out of you. Who knows, you might get so enthusiastic about your newfound power that you don't let him leave the bedroom for days--Leon would certainly welcome that after all this wretched time apart.

"Just get some rest, sweetheart." He whispers barely a hair's length from your mouth, tongue flicking out to trace your bottom lip and indulge in a delightful shiver up your body. "Let Las Plagas give you strength, and I'll show you how to handle the power. And...welcome home, darling."

[twst-drabbles]

Soulmates AU: Idia

Summary: You were born with a run-on sentence for a soulmate mark on your arm, from wrist to shoulder. Now you finally met the man that utters these words by a trashcan.

(I was requested and wrote this long number. Over 4000 words all written within the span of four days. I wrote this for @twst-charity. Not gonna lie, pretty proud that I wrote this much in that span of time. Been a while since I could do that, though I did end up pulling a muscle in my neck. I hope this is a fun read. It's also on ao3 as well. Right here.)

The writings you were born with were practically illegible at birth. The font was rather fancy, overly so, and the words circled around from your wrist to your shoulder so tightly that your family was convinced it was a giant birth mark and not the words of your soulmate.

But you grew and so did the spaces in those words. It was a pretty spiral, but as age continued to feed you wisdom, you felt that this position was deliberate. Because, as far as you knew, this first sentence could very well be the ramblings of someone going mad or already is. But first words are hardly something to build assumptions on, especially when it comes to the subject of your soulmate.

These words covering your arm are about a fictional character named Alexius von Tuveria en Ris. Well, at least you hope it’s fictional. It’s kind of a silly name to give to a kid. And also you’re not exactly up for having a soulmate that’s this, uh, verbose and opinionated about an actual person. You’ve been exposed to the deeper parts of the celebrity fan culture and you’re good with staying far away from it.

…Alexius von Tuveria en Ris doesn’t deserve any of this, though not as if he’d do anything about it if he saw since that prince is just too kind-hearted and honestly kind of cheesy, though cheesy doesn’t mean cringe and cringe is something normies are so immune to it almost makes me sick…

That was only part of the sentence on your arm. Your soulmate, where ever they are, they sure do talk a lot. Like, a whole lot. You tried repeating the sentence on your arm in just one breath and you had to practice a few years just to get it right. Strong lungs on that one, probably.

And a whole lot of unique factors to help narrow down the pool of who is and who isn’t your soulmate. Alexius von Tuveria en Ris is a pretty unique name by itself. But, the uniqueness of it did return disappointment, since searching online for a character with such a name yielded no results. You made it a habit to search at least once a week or so, just in case it was a series that has yet to exist.

You were also sort of relieved to find out that there was no royal family with a similar name. Though, that still didn’t rule out the possibility. For all you know, this could be a fake name someone chose for themselves.

Either way, this name will come to exist at some point, someone or something will be Alexius von Tuveria en Ris, and you’d have to make sure to be on top of that.

But, then you couldn’t, because suddenly you found yourself in a place called Night Raven College. One minute you were living your regular life, and the next you found duty after duty from your “oh so kind” headmage with a cat that doesn’t learn to listen when he should.

It was… an adjustment certainly. The grating egos of everyone here, the casual and not so casual use of magic that can and will kill you if it hits you in just the right way, and large restrictions on your finances rarely left you with more than a few complaints, but all you could do was grit your teeth and trudge on.

At least, despite all of these annoyances and difficulties, there are some silver linings to the found here. Magic itself was something of a marvel to witness, you won’t lie to yourself about that. You will never say it out loud for anyone to head though, because you know the minute you do, people like Grim will gloat and unintentionally belittle you with a, “Well, something as simple as that would look amazing to you, huh?”

And out of a need to never hear those words uttered by anyone, you decided to use one of your privileges to lock yourself in the computer lab. It’s after curfew, so most of the students not in remedial classes are at their dorms by now.

Next to you were a couple of spiral notebooks, the blue one opened and already filled to the brim with notes about basic magic mechanics. Sure, you can’t do a single lick of magic as far as you can tell, but you don’t want to make the blunder of relying on your preconceived notions of it.

Though, as with all studying, even on a subject as interesting as this, your brain starts to fuzz up and suddenly you can’t even retain the current paragraph. Your eyes kept skimming over the same words over and over. Finally, you huffed and slumped back in your chair, setting your pencil aside.

Though, before you decide to call it quits and rest for the night, you felt one more search would be interesting. You pushed up your sleeve until you found the name of Alexius von Tuveria en Ris on your forearm, and typed that into the blinking bar.

Hehe, the name looked a little funny in this cutesy font this search engine uses. You weren’t expecting anything honestly. You’ve already cut your losses with meeting your soulmate young. You’ve had cousins and other distant relatives that haven’t met their soulmates until they were in their seventies. Knowing how that bird-brained Crowley works, you’ll probably return back home when you’re at least in your forties. Or fifties.

He’s really taking his sweet-ass time, huh?

Either way, you pressed enter and stretched. Nothing to come of it and nothing to lose with this simple search, right? You’ve already been through the phase of obsessively searching every day back when you were younger and had too much time. At this point, it does no harm to search at least once. You mean, why not?

But, it was a hit. Several pages of hits. At the top of the pastel blue search engine was Alexius von Tuveria en Ris in all bold. In fact, from the title of the website, you’d say it was an entire site dedicated to this character.

Here it was. The very thing you’ve searching for, waiting for, was right in front of your eyes.

You didn’t say anything, you just clicked. Paragraphs and paragraphs of detailed information about this person–a fictional character–laid before you. You nearly ripped your sleeve up your arm as you scrolled down the page, looking between the screen and your skin as you confirmed that what you’re reading is correct and not just a huge coincidence that’s made to make fun of you for having hope.

The name matches, the background of isolating himself in his castle matches, the huge blow out after attempting to revive his Kingdom of Paradise matches. All of it matches your arm.

You let go of the mouse, eyes burning from staring at a white screen with black text for too long, and just sat. You stared up at the ceiling…

…and quietly seethed.

For months you’ve been wanting to go back home, and often in the middle of the night, you’d find yourself wishing you never got transported here in the first place. Some part of you buried deep was starting to believe that you would never go home, and if you knew that the option of exploring a magical place came with the consequence of never going home, you never would have taken it.

But now your arm and this screen was telling you that you had no choice but to come here. That it was destined, preordained. No matter how hard you fought, you were going to be whisked away.

It… it sucked, you will admit that.

But you sighed out all the doubts and breathed in realistic optimism. You came here one way, there has to be a way out. It happened once, so it’s logical that it would happen again.

And so, with a light stretching of your sore fingers and wrists, you clicked and read as much information you can. Absorbing the series that’s apparently been running for a good twenty years with a handful of remakes and one live action that flopped on its face.

Before you know it, it was way past the dead of night and encroaching on morning. You took a minute to stretched and rub at your strained eyes before packing everything up. You’re going to regret doing all this in the morning, when classes start, but what can you say? You like living in the moment.

You walked out, locked everything up with the keys Crowley entrusted you with, and started down the path towards your dorm. Sure, you do have permission to use the mirrors on campus, but you’re pretty sure you need someone with magic to be able to use the thing. Or you probably don’t, for all you know, but you’re not in the mood to test the theory.

You found yourself on a cross section at the road that served as a nice resting spot before heading to Sam’s shop. It had a couple of fancy black benches with gaudy gold legs, a fountain so large you’re glad you don’t have to clean it, and a lot of foliage for that beautiful view and clean air.

With all these sights nicely lit by the evenly spaced lamps to take in, instead your eyes settled on someone that chose to huddle by a trashcan. You heard crinkling and, at first, you thought this person was riffling through the trash. You got closer, and while you can’t say you were wrong, the only thing in this man’s hands was a poster.

Then, finally, you were within earshot.

“And just when I found the perfect poster, I find it in a trash can of all things, wrinkled up and thrown away because some ignorant idiot thought this was only worth as much as a piece of paper,”

Kind a rambler huh? Sounds like he’s having a bad day. Or night. Should probably just leave him alone.

…

Hold on a moment.

You pulled up your sleeve.

“Couldn’t have the decency to give this limited edition poster back for people like me, who truly appreciate the series, to own, but no of course not, it would be inconvenient, horrible that they would wrinkle the main character’s Kingdom of Paradise that he’s always dreamed of, Alexius von Tuveria en Ris doesn’t deserve any of this, though not as if he’d do anything about it if he saw since that prince is just too kind-hearted and honestly kind of cheesy, though cheesy doesn’t mean cringe and cringe is something normies are so immune to it almost makes me sick–AH there’s a tear because of course,”

You were twisting your arm this way and that, making very sure that this random man’s rant actually matched your words. You almost pulled a muscle as he continued, eyes and neck straining to read the words on your shoulders.

You lost your balance and caught yourself just as the man before you stopped his rant with a huff.

Before he could possibly start again, you walked right behind him and said, “So you’re the dude that inked up my arm.”

Ah, you didn’t really have any special words in mind, like a lot of your classmates back in your younger days. Yes, you’re buzzing a little with excitement, but you’re so tired and drained from another emotional high that you’re in a fog. Besides, you already confirmed that this person’s your soulmate, whatever pops out of your mouth will be just as unique.

“Eep!” A high little squeak of a yelp. The student–his jacket held Ignihyde designs on it–retreated his arms to his chest, like he’s ready to either lash out or curl into a ball.

He would’ve fell backwards if your legs didn’t stop his fall.

“Whoops,” you pushed him to his feet with a hand to his shoulder, “sorry about that. You okay?”

Only then did he finally turn. His hood fell from his face and unleashed an absolute bonfire of hair. A luminous bright blue that almost blinded you.

And suddenly, his hair turned an almost violent mix of pink and purple.

He blinked, then his eyes flickered from your face to his wrist, where your words are. The man opened his mouth but his voice didn’t scream so much as it whistled before dashed to the left. He sped crawled on all fours for a moment before finding his footing.

This man, whom you would eventually find out to be called Idia, ran away upon first meeting you, his soulmate.

You weren’t offended in the least. You can understand that being seen mumbling like a maniac by a trashcan isn’t the best way to be seen by your fated soulmate. So, with that in mind, you didn’t search out for him for about three days.

By day four, you got impatient and decided to hunt down for Idia since he has not even left a hint hint about wanting to meet you. A week would’ve been the original waiting time, but this college really takes a toll on you and you just want this done before you get dragged into another magical situation.

The first day, you waited by a classroom you knew Idia attended. Well, Idia’s tablet. Being a housewarden and not a regular student, it’s rather easy to stumble upon information about him. Egocentric students love to gossip when it’s framed to either make their dorm or themselves look better.

You saw a peek of a magical tablet and grabbed without hesitation.

“Ha?” You heard clicking and felt the tablet attempt to leave your hands. You turned it around and faced the built in camera.

“Hey,” you greeted as causally as you could, “Idia, right? Met you a few nights before–”

Another click, and suddenly your entire vision went white with a flash of light. You dropped the tablet.

By the time your eyes went back to normal, the tablet was gone and you were alone again.

“So, that’s how it going to be, huh?” You’ve had your fair share of runaways. In fact, your little group was mostly made of them, running away for one reason or another, like not wanting to go to class, or avoiding cleaning duties for a mess they’ve made. This was not a new situation for you.

If Idia thinks he can run away from you forever, he has another thing coming.

The next day, you found the tablet floating in the library. You got a ladder to grab it from the bottom, but you weren’t quiet enough when you climbed it. The tablet floated right past your fingertips and dashed out the door with a “Sorry!”

Well, at least he apologized. But you still want to talk!

Another day passes and you found the man physically just as you were about to walk out the classroom. He had a stack of papers in his hands, late assignments he had to turn in physically if he wanted a chance at passing apparently. He didn’t see you, so you retreated behind the door.

When you saw Idia’s figure pass by the door, you popped out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Idia,” you firmly said with a tightening grip on his frozen shoulder, “we need to talk.”

And you were meet with a tower of papers to the face and he was gone before you dug through the pile.

By that point, you were ready and willing to start dragging your other friends into the mix. You let this skittish soulmate of yours to run off the first few times because you didn’t want to stress him out too much. But, by this point in time, it would be better to throw caution to the wind if only so you two can actually sit down and have a talk.

But, by the next morning, before you could meet up with everyone, a robot kid you recognize as Ortho shot out of the sky and landed with surprising grace. At the price of leaves and dirt flooding your mouth.

“There you are!” His voice was loud but it wasn’t grating. It was a cute kind of loud, like he was happy to see you.

You spat on the ground and leaned against a tree, still groggy from waking up. “Ortho, right? Hello. You need something? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“To make a plan to catch my big brother right?”

His accuracy left you stunned.

“Uh.”

“Then, please come with me!” Ortho grabbed your arm and enthusiastically, “I keep telling my brother to suck it up and meet you, but he just won’t!”

“I know that,” you gritted your teeth, feeling like your shoulder will pop out of its socket, “Mind telling me where you’re taking me though.”

“I’m taking you to–” Ortho paused, floated behind you and grabbed your shoulder, “Hold on, this will be faster. We’re going to Ignihyde!”

“Wha–?” But you were forced to eat your words, just when it was finally free of all dirt and leaves.

And before you know it, you were gently placed on your feet in front of the Ignihyde dorm.

“Huh.” If you delete the last few minutes from your mind, you’d say it was a pretty enjoyable ride. Quick, at least.

“So, future soulmate of my big brother,” You’re pretty sure he knows who you are, you’re not exactly a quiet presence with that monster fire cat always around, “I have to do other things, so you just have to go down these paths and you’ll be in front of his room! Just make sure he doesn’t run away, okay?”

Ortho even gave you a little note that straight up looked printed. A clear map of where Idia’s room is.

“Well, thanks,” you turned around to properly face him but Ortho was already blasting off into the sky with a wave.

You huffed out a laugh, just because the whole interaction was ridiculous, and went on your way. You don’t really have early morning classes to be late to, anyway. You just came early to prepare for chasing after Idia.

As much as you would like to take the time to admire the hallways of the Ignihyde dorm, you’re too eager to get this meeting over with.

And then you’re finally in front of Idia’s room. You reach out to knock but the door pulls open, as though avoiding your knuckles. Idia was there, hood over his head like he was going to sneak around again like the first time you’ve met him. He spotted you in a second and slammed the door right in your face.

You waited a few minutes just to see if some miracle would happen and Idia opens the door on his own.

He didn’t.

“I’m not moving from here, if you’re wondering.”

You heard a sharp gasp and then a heavy, shaky, defeated sigh.

“…of course you’re not…” And then heard the slide of fabric against the door before a soft thud at the bottom.

He sat down, and so you got yourself comfortable as well.

“So,” you leaned back on your hands, “you’ve been running away from me.”

“I have…” and then under his breath like he thought you wouldn’t hear, “…any normal person would give up but of course my soulmate would be more stubborn than that…”

You whistled and that caught his attention with a gasp.

“Hey, focus on me,” you knocked on the door for good measure, “Why were you running? That first meeting could not have been that embarrassing.”

“Says you,” his next words came out muffled, like he’s shrinking into his hoodie, “Of all the days to meet you, you just had to see me right next to a trash can like I was some kind of degenerate rat. Anyone would think I was a loser of a freak, stroking that wrinkled poster like that. Well, I’m not! Only true fans would love this series as much as I do. So if anything, you were probably seeing me at my best moment!”

“Huh.”

You can practically hear Idia deflate from behind the door. “’Huh?’ You say… Yeah yeah, think what you want, I can’t even begin to change it.”

You… have a doozy of a soulmate huh?

“Certainly didn’t help that you were flash banged me, almost made me fall down a ladder and threw papers in my face.”

Idia shrank further. “…sorry…”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

“Sorry!” It was a burst of a yell and you had to back up a bit, “I was terrified alright?! I mean, I played all sorts of scenarios and even made a game to prepare for this moment. I had all these scripts in my head and I thought I was ready to trigger the romance flag alright?! But instead, I was stuck in my own head and completely missed it! I messed up and I panicked! You have any idea how scary that is?! You weren’t supposed to see me like that! I was supposed to be at max level by the time I met you but instead, I’m just this unevolved mess!”

You opened your mouth but Idia cut in.

“Fate is inevitable, just as death is… I was going to met you regardless and I guess, I thought, that maybe I had more time. But I didn’t. So I just, wanted you to stay away until I thought I was going to be ready… Ha, either way, it’s my fault…”

…alright, how are you going to handle this? You’re not exactly the best when it comes to emotional comfort.

Well, may as well just use what you already have on hand. Or on arm.

“Didn’t Alexius von Tuveria en Ris think he was ready to rule his kingdom when he brought it back from the ashes?”

You heard a sputter. You continued.

“I mean, the dude was kind of young wasn’t he? Well, not like it matters, he brought it back and someone had to rule it whether he liked it or not.”

Then, you heard Idia actually honk. “No, that’s not what happened! Alexius von Tuveria en Ris wanted to bring back the Kingdom of Paradise not because he thought he was fit to rule it but because he thought it didn’t deserve that fate. It’s not his fault that he was put in that position when he brought it to life!”

Ah, there we go. Switching the subject, your best skill!

You egged him on. “But shouldn’t he have been prepared for that, then? The series did say that he likes to prepare for every thing imaginable because it was a kingdom he was reviving.”

“What the–that’s stupid! He can’t see the future! No matter how much he reads or writes, there’s no way he could’ve predicted that! And even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered! He couldn’t have stopped the tragedy anyway!”

“Oh that’s right!” you clapped your hands, “Thanks for reminding me. Totally slipped my mind.”

“As long as you know. I hate it when people don’t pay attention.”

Huh, he sounds huffy. That’s cute.

“Sorry, it’s kind of hard to remember with all the stuff that happens in the latest Red Sky Arc, where Alexius just–”

You heard a hard slam against the door. “No spoilers! I haven’t gotten to that arc yet!”

You closed your mouth, almost biting your tongue in the process.

A few seconds, then a minute, and then you burst out laughing.

Idia, meanwhile, was stunned. “W-what? What did I do?”

“No no,” you relaxed, “that’s just the loudest you’ve been.”

“I… I guess that was a bit too loud.” The tone in his voice made him seem bashful. “But I’m seriously not at that part yet. I don’t want to get a head start just yet.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut then.” You pushed yourself up and dusted your pants. “I think I’ll be taking my leave here. Don’t want to bother you too much. I just needed to hear an apology and an excuse.”

“Wait, what?”

You turned around, stuffing the map Ortho gave you into your pocket. “See you later, Idia.”

“Wait!” The door slammed open. You turned around.

Idia’s hair was pink at the tips, but at least he didn’t look like he was going to explode. He did look like he was going to collapse though. Poor man looked out of breath.

“I-I,” the pink began to climb upwards the longer he looked at you, “I, uh, I happen to have that season downloaded… on my PC… so if you want to, you know, update your out of date stuff then, maybe you could, you know… watch it with me?”

His head practically disappeared in his hoodie and hair, but you heard him clear enough.

You could tease him, but you don’t know each other well enough so…

You nodded, “Sure, I have time. A lot of time actually.”

That one is a bit of a lie, but you just want to spend time with Idia. You have a number of excuses on hand anyway. You’ll send one off right before settling down.

“Huh? Oh, uh” Idia moved to the side, holding the door like it’ll protect him from his feelings, “C-come in then.”

You stepped inside.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

S/O gets spooked by something and immediately run behind skeleton to hide from danger. Main 10 reaction?

Undertale Sans - .... He's not sure how to tell you he's just a little man and that he's pretty sure everyone can see you right now. Sans is actually very amused and immediately pretends he's protecting you fiercely when, really, if someone throws a pine cone at his head, he lays on the floor in slow motion and acts like he's dead.

Undertale Papyrus - Well he doesn't overreact at all by summoning what he calls the big babies, the huge giga-tall bones, trapping you both in a giant bone cage. He's so confused when the only thing that "attacks" you is a poor squirrel who immediately panics when it sees the bones. Maybe he needs to explain to you that squirrels don't eat humans?

Underswap Sans - He prepares to fight! Finally some action! Only to be extremely disappointed that the only thing coming out of the corner is an old man who immediately gives him a weird look. Blue drops his bone and does a dramatic slow turn towards you. Is he a joke to you?

Underswap Papyrus - Uh??? What? No! No, he doesn't want to die! You panicking makes his soul overstressed and as a consequence, he passes out on the floor lol. He doesn't want to know what's coming to eat him, let him die. He's a little mad at you when he wakes up realizing absolutely nothing happened. Don't scare him like that!

Underfell Sans - You spook him as well and so he instinctively decides to teleport out of here. The only problem is that he did that in utter panic and now you're both on the roof of some random building, having no idea how to get down. What? Don't look at him like that! It's your fault!

Underfell Papyrus - He jumps a bit at your sudden movement and immediately covers you more with his body, tensing as he stares at whatever spooked you. A... A kitty? Listen now, every day he would be glad to be your knight in shiny armor and all but that's a kitty and you don't exist anymore. Edge is now on all four, petting the little cat. He's taking it home. He doesn't care if you don't want to. That's his cat now.

Horrortale Sans - A low growl escapes his throat as he scans the surroundings, nervous. He doesn't see anything and the cereal bar you're holding is distracting him. It's distracting him so much that he suddenly chomps half of it so he doesn't see it anymore. Eh, it's actually good! ... What was he doing again? Oh well, too bad he forgot. He wants the rest of your cereal bar, time for puppy eyes.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's a bit nervous, not sure what to do to help. But turns out you got scared of a tiny little dog and now he's just judging you with a sassy face. What do you want the dog to you? It's not even the size of your knee. He swears sometimes humans are a little weird.

Swapfell Sans - He tenses briefly, but a quick scan of his surroundings tells him there's... Nothing. Nothing at all. He gives you a judgmental stare, slowly looking at you from head to toe. He doesn't say anything but you still feel offended somehow.

Swapfell Papyrus - He saw the whole scene. The tree branch touching your back, you screaming at the top of your lungs and running behind him... Rus is on the floor, wheezing so hard he can't breathe. You don't think that's funny, but he really disagrees with you. Don't worry, he's going to protect you from every tiny tree branch by randomly screaming "Y/N! LOOK OUT!", and watching with intense pleasure as it jumpscares you every time. You're doomed.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine gives you a long stare, and after making sure there's absolutely nothing chasing you... He just walks away, cringing so hard. He doesn't know you, please leave him alone. What would people think of his reputation after that. He ignores you until you get home lol.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He doesn't care what's going on, he screams at the top of his lungs and starts to run for his life, making you panic even more and do the same. Everyone is looking at you two running like headless chickens in the park, wondering what's going on.

[13as07]

Birthright #7

(Itachi & Sasuke Uchiha Smut)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to GintoAi]

Requested by: You know who you are

Word Count: 4,277

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Name Calling: Onii-Chan, Daddy, Cock Warmer, Pocket Pussy, Lap Dog, Crybaby, Good Girl, Pathetic, Useless

Incest (Brother/Sister)

Verbal Fighting

Threats of Death

Proof/Mentions of Child Abuse

Mentions of Mother/Son & Uncle/Niece Incest

Sadly, no Itachi smut this chapter; Next chapter, however...

Blowjob/Deep Throating/Face-Fucking

Hair Pulling

Voyeurism

Degrading

Breeding Kink

As of right now there's plans for a Part #8, #9, & #10

Sorry it took so long to get out. I'm on the butt end of moving and with the holiday coming up I've been swamped at work :(

———————————————————————

     Seven or eight pairs of eyes are caught on me, staring at me as the hushed voices of Onii-Chan and Daddy muffle their way into the locker room. They're loud enough to hear their voices but soft enough to not make out any of their words. The animal masks are all aimed at me, sizing me up as they wait for their commander to come back, making a hint of fear muster in my chest.

     "You let what happen to Princess?" Itachi yelps, the group of eyes snapping toward the door before shifting back to me. My fear is no longer a muster; instead, it's a heavy boulder crushing my lungs. I knew he was going to be mad, especially at Daddy, but I didn't realize he'd be this mad.

     "No. No, no, no, no," Itachi continues to yell, slamming the locker room door open. His underlings scatter at the ringing sound of the door hitting the wall, off to finish changing out of their uniforms like they were doing before Daddy and I showed up. "I said - "

"I know," Daddy interrupts, his face as flushed and angry as Onii-Chan's.

"I said," Itachi hisses, the bloody color of his sharingan dripping into his eyes. He takes a step toward Daddy, his body tense and ready to start a fight if that's what our Father wishes for. "She wasn't safe and you didn't listen. You said it would be fine. You said you'd be with her all day. You said to only worry about making it home. You said you had everything under control."

"Obviously," he barks, taking another step forward. Daddy backs up, his sharingan glowing now too. "You didn't have everything under control. You weren't with her all day. You're a liar and can't be trusted with Princess."

"Itachi - "

"A pathetic man doesn't take care of what's his, right? That's what you said yesterday, isn't it? What the hell does that make you then?"

The room falls silent, everyone fearing to even breathe with the men of my family at each others' throats. Everyone is fearful of being at the receiving end of the glares being exchanged between Daddy and Itachi.

     "Fine," Daddy hisses after a few moments, glaring for another beat before turning his eyes away from my brother, his attention set on me. His face softens at the sight of me but his anger with Itachi is still brewing in his sharingans. "Your Mother and I have plans tonight," he starts, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. "You will stay with Itachi. You will go home with Itachi. You will not leave the house without Itachi, am I understood?"

     "Yes Sir," I murmur, glancing toward Onii-Chan. He's still steaming, the pointed tips of his anger still aimed at our Father. "Have a good night out with Mom."

     "I will," Daddy utters, his eyes slowly blinking until the red of them melts away. "Be safe, Princess. Have a good night with your brothers."

     "I will," I echo, squirming when Daddy snaps his eyes back toward Itachi, the order to have a goodnight framed like a threat toward my brother.

     The staring seems to drag on forever, finally breaking when Daddy turns away, pulls the door open, and slides out of the room. An edible exhale spills from Itachi, his body loosening once our Father is completely gone.

     Slowly, his head turns toward me, sharingans still shining and a mix of worry and sadness coating his features. "Are you alright, Princess?"

     "I'm fine," I chirp, lacing a lopsided smile on my face. I don't know why Daddy and Itachi are strung so tight. I know it's not proper for men to touch me like the clerk did, but it's no different than how they touch me. The guy just had a bad attitude the whole time, unlike the men in my family. Well...

Itachi studies my face, his eyes jumping around looking for even a hint of a lie. "Okay," he finally utters, taking a few steps forward. His hand catches on the shirt of his I'm borrowing, using the material to lead me further into the room.

I trudge along after him, the others in the room scurrying to stay out of our way. I only stop when Onii-Chan settles in front of a locker. He lets me go, his fingers snapping before pointing at the bench screwed in between the rows of lockers. He doesn't even bother to look as I sit down, his focus on popping his lock open. "Aside from... all that, did you have a good day?"

"Yes!" I cheer, clapping my hands as I wiggle on the bench. "We stopped at a few shops, and then got flowers from the Yamanakas and then I got my dress for the Betrothal Ball."

"How were the shops?" Itachi questions, slowly tugging his weapons out of their hidey holes and placing them in their rightful places in his locker.

"They were good. I got you a present like I promised and I got Sasuke this big onigiri tray I found." Itachi hums, sparing me a glance before he starts pulling off his safety gear. "The Yamanaka flower shop was okay. We got peonies for the ball. Oh, and their chief is coming by tomorrow."

"Why?" Itachi barks, snapping his head toward me. His face falls once his sight settles on me, a deep frown coating his lips. "I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

"It's okay - "

"No, it's not. You don't deserve to be treated like that. Onii-Chan is sorry. Anyway, why is the Yamanaka chief coming by tomorrow?"

I stare at Itachi for a moment, trying to figure out if I should acknowledge his apology or if it's better left alone; I decide to leave it alone. "His daughter got her feathers all ruffled because Daddy let me get peonies. I kind of pushed her buttons, poking at her crush on Sasuke and the fact that the Yamanakas don't treat her how you guys treat me. She didn't like that very much and ended up insulting the clan."

Again, Itachi turns around, his eyes slowly blinking as he looks at me, waiting for me to further explain. "She said I was jealous because I come from an 'incest-ridden clan'," I whisper, my focus on my shoes so I don't have to see his reaction. Even though I don't see it, I can still feel it, still feel the angry heat waffling off of him.

After a few moments of madden-filled silence, Itachi continues to ask about my day. "Besides..." he falls quiet, his jaw clicking three or four times before he continues to speak. "How was dress shopping?"

"Um..." I murmur, glancing around at the room still packed full of people, most of them waiting for my brother to dismiss them with a few stragglers trying to finish changing. "It was... um... I got a dress." I can feel the heat of his stare even with my eyes glued to the wall. He's already not happy with Daddy and when he wiggles more of the events at the boutique out of me, he's going to be even more upset.

Itachi crouches in front of me, hands on my knees to pull them apart before he inches closer to me. When he settles, my knees are pressed into his sides. My eyes flicker down, checking his placement. He's further away from me than normal but still closer than most brothers would be, though, I guess most brothers wouldn't be in a position like this to start in.

"Princess," he hisses, tone low and warning as he stares up at me. "Did something else happen at the dress shop?" He whispers, fingertips clinging to the bones of my knees.

"Well... nothing... nothing like, bad, I guess," I whisper back, bouncing my eyes around to look anywhere but him. "Daddy and Kenzo were just... they just... had some fun." My tone is almost mute with the last three words, but not mute enough that Onii-Chan doesn't pick up on it.

He springs up from his spot, his hands sliding up to cling to my thighs. Itachi is hunched over me, head pressed against mine, and his lips right next to my ear. "And what the hell might that mean?" His voice fizzles, his anger quickly building to the point it was at when Daddy was in the room. His head tilts after the question, lips pulled away from me and his ear pointed toward me.

My hands settle on his shirt, balling up the material to tug him closer to me. I keep my tone hushed, making sure the events and the game Daddy had me play with his advisor present stay between the two of us. Onii-Chan's fingers tighten against my flesh with every word that passes my lips, making me worry that he'll leave bruises behind.

     "I'm going to kill him," Itachi grumbles when I'm done speaking. He pulls away from me, a rush to his movements as he finishes changing.

     "Which one?"

     "Both."

                     ————————————

     Itachi stays secure behind me, his elbows digging into my sides as he works on unlocking the door. Once the door pops open, I shoot forward, racing inside to make sure Daddy or Kenzo hid my dress away so Onii-Chan doesn't see it.

"Princess!" He yells after me, his tone still pissy from the events of my day. "You shouldn't go racing into the house until I'm sure it's safe!"

     Sasuke's bedroom door slams open, his head poking out to stare at the two of us. "There's no one here but me, she's fine. Stop yelling at her so much."

With that, I continue to dart away, scurrying to my room to make sure my dress is put up. I push my door open, my eyes scanning my room. My bed is littered with shopping bags, one of them being the long flowing bag holding my dress.

"Princess?" Itachi calls from down the hallway, his footsteps mixing with the sound of his voice.

     "Wait a second!" I yelp, snatching the bag off my bed before tucking it away in my closet.

     Just as I'm shutting the closet doors, Onii-Chan pops into my room, a soft smile on his face for the first time today. "You know, it's not the end all if I see your dress," he murmurs, taking slow steps toward me. When he gets a step away, his hand settles on my waist, clinging to it and using his grip to tug me closer. "You're beautiful, Princess."

"Thank you," I murmur, my arms settling around his shoulders.

My back arches as he continues to pull me closer, pressing me against himself. "You're my everything," Itachi continues to mumbles, lips brushing against the side of my face. His touch almost hurts from how hard his fingertips grip my waist, making sure our body heat keeps mixing. "My favorite, pretty, little birthright," he adds, his light kisses slowly brushing a path toward my lips.

"I know, Onii-Chan."

"Good girl," he whispers, his nose gently sliding against my skin as his lips hover over mine. Warmth starts coating my face as I look up at him. Itachi's eyes are hooded as they stare down at me, dark with anger still, yet they're burning with admiration. His lips are slightly parted too, tying the whole heated moment together.

     It feels like I'm burning up, my body - and pussy, alike - tingling with the want for him. I've craved him all day, and from the look of it, Onii-Chan has been suffering from the same craving. Just as his head is tipping down, about to give me what I'm quivering for, my bedroom door slams open. 

     "What are you two doing?" Sasuke asks, pulling a deep sigh from Itachi.

     A disappointed whine is yanked from my lungs, displeased by him pulling away from me. His fingers squeeze my side but besides that, he doesn't acknowledge my small tantrum. "Why are you interrupting us?" Onii-Chan asks, glaring at our younger brother.

"Because I got beat this morning all because you got off. I'm not taking the fall again, by the way," Sasuke grumbles, mirroring the glare being shot at him.

I let my hands fall, clinging to Itachi's shirt again as I peek over his shoulder. Sasuke - and Daddy - aren't kidding; he sure did receive a beating. Small purple bruises wrap around his eye, marking the place our Father hit him. His cheek is bruised too, matching the injuries surrounding his eye. A small notch is settled on his bottom lip; bruised and busted like the rest of him.

Itachi's jaw clicks as he looks over our little brother with me, the leftovers of the beating adding fuel to the fire of hatred he has for Daddy. "I told you not to touch her," he grumbles, looping his arm around my back, keeping me tucked close to himself. "If you hadn't been on top of - "

"I could have been in my room and Dad would have still blamed me before he blamed you. Itachi, Dad's picture-perfect son," Sasuke groans, rolling his eyes at the lecture he is receiving.

"Go away," Onii-Chan grumbles, his fingertips dipping between my waistband and my back, slowly rubbing back and forth over the material.

"You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," Itachi murmurs, tipping his head down to brush his lips against mine.

I happily accept the kiss, the gentleness of it only adding to my clinginess. I want more of him, I need more of him. My hands tighten on his shirt, trying to keep him rooted in our kiss, but it doesn't work. He pulls away again, his fingertips looping around to toy with the button of my shorts.

"I'll tell Dad when you got home you didn't realize I was here and that you spent all evening making Princess beg and scream."

"Dad won't believe you," Itachi snaps, his head jerking toward a very smug-looking Sasuke.

"Yes, he will. When he got home, Kenzo told me to steer clear because something happened with Princess so Dad and you will be at each other's throats. You know just as well as me he's just waiting for you to mess up."

Onii-Chan's jaw clicks on repeat as he rolls over the threat, his hand tightening on my shorts and tugging on them to pull me closer. "What might you want if I so chose to entertain this empty attempt at threatening me?"

"I want Princess to suck my dick - "

"No." The room starts to heat, Sasuke's amusement and Itachi's anger mixing to make the aura of the room. "Mom spent all night with you. I doubt you have anything left," he adds, shifting forward so I'm trapped between my closet and his frame.

Sasuke shrugs, eyes flaming with mischief and cockiness as he stares at me. "I want my dick down Princess's throat like you've done. Though, I could always lie and tell Dad you tainted his precious Princess. I can only imagine the beat you'd get for stealing her virginity before becoming the next Chief."

"No. If you want your dick sucked why don't you run along and see that pink-haired girl of yours?"

"Because I shouldn't have to run off," Sasuke complains, rolling his eyes again. "Why do you get to have a personal cock warmer and I don't? It's not fair. You get everything. You get the clan, Dad's favoritism even though you hate each other, and Mom made you a personal pocket pussy. I don't get one, let alone get to enjoy yours, how's that fair?"

Onii-Chan is simmering, his mood more annoyed than angry at this point. "Do you do anything besides complain?"

     "I would be patrolling but until this," Sasuke motions toward his face, more specifically his bruises, "heals up, Dad has me on temporary leave. Which, again, is your fault."

     "Fine," Itachi sighs, loosening his hold before dropping the total of it away. "Princess can suck you off, but that's it," he hisses the last part, watchful eyes carefully monitoring Sasuke's slow but eager walk over to us.

"Ya, ya, ya, blowjob and that's it, got it," my younger brother mumbles, quickly shouldering Onii-Chan out of the way before placing his hands on me. Sasuke cups my breasts, squeezing them with slightly more confidence than last night, and instantly throwing away the agreement they have over me. "They're not as full as Mom's," he mumbles, toying with them a second longer before his hands jump to my shoulders.

"Of course, they're not as full as Mom's," Itachi hisses, his annoyance slowly trickling back into anger. "Princess doesn't have three kids like Mom. They'll grow when she becomes pregnant with our first child."

     "Whatever," Sasuke mutters under his breath, pushing on my shoulders to try and get me on my knees. My eyes flicker toward Onii-Chan, double-checking just to be sure he's okay with the situation. His head nods, barely, but it does, sending me his okay. "Glorified lap dog," our younger brother complains, annoyance soaking in the roll of his eyes.

     "Sasuke - " Itachi starts, his tone warning.

     "No, she heard you say yes and she's still looking over at her master for permission. I can't wait until you knock her up. You better give her a girl so I can have my wife already," he continues to complain, his hands busy undoing his pants and pulling his dick out.

     "You'll be in your late thirties by the time our daughter would be old enough to wed. If we even have a daughter. Besides, who says I'll approve of you marrying our daughter?"

     Sasuke's hand balls up my hair, using it to pull me forward. My lips part when they get close to his dick, preparing to take him down my throat. The whole time my eyes stay locked on Itachi who's staring right back at me.

     "Thirty-six and twenty isn't a terrible age difference," my younger brother murmurs, his eyes flickering between the two of us. "Besides, as your brother I have the right to your daughter's hand in marriage after any sons you have. I'll just encourage you to keep breeding Princess until she gives me a wife."

     "That would greaten the age gap," Itachi grumbles, his eyes widening just a tad as Sasuke starts sinking into my mouth. His tense, his muscles only growing more intense as my throat is filled inch by inch.

     "Dad is twenty-seven years older than Princess and I'm sure he sticks his dick down her throat. Dad and Mom have a fifteen-year gap. It'll be fine," Sasuke rattles as he continually pulls on my hair, only stopping when my nose is pressed against his stomach. His eyes grow too, but for a reason completely different than Onii-Chan.

     My throat spasms around Sasuke's cock, trying to force it back out as my body confuses the deep throating for choking. A long, soft hiss slides between his teeth, my brother enjoying the involuntary movements of my muscles and the growing sound of me choking on him.

     "I don't want to think about Dad's dick down Princess's throat," Itachi hisses, his eyes tearing away from me to glare at our brother. "You're going to make her sick keeping your dick down her throat so long."

     Sasuke rolls his eyes at Onii-Chan's overbearing behavior but does pull on my hair again, yanking me backward. "Can't even let go long enough for me to get sucked off," he murmurs under his breath, jerking his hips to shove his cock back down my throat. "Suck, pocket pussy."

     "Watch it," Itachi hisses before his head slowly turns back toward me, nodding to allow me to do as asked. I obey both my brothers, sucking on Sasuke's dick as he works it in and out of my mouth, thrusting deep enough each time that my nose grazes his skin.

     "Aww, poor Princess. Do you need Itachi to fight all your bullies for you? Of course you do, because all you are is a dumb breeding dog," Sasuke continues to degrade, his thrusts picking up with every syllable of the insult that slides out. "The only reason you were made was to continue on the family line. All Itachi is going to use you for is to fill your cunt over and over again like the pathetic lap dog you are. Everyone in the village is going to know the only thing you're good at is spreading your legs because of how often you're going to be knocked up."

     Tears spill down my face, caused by both the insults and the lack of being able to breathe. It's a struggle to continue sucking on him as he shoves his penis down my throat, his movements so rough I'm worried he's going to snap a bone. Daddy and Onii-Chan have never been this rough with me so I'm not sure what to do. My lungs are screaming 'bite him' but my mind is screaming 'suck hard so he finishes sooner'.

     "Sasuke," Itachi says, his voice even and chilled as his eyes bear on me. "You're making Princess cry. I recommend you calm down and slow down before I snap your neck."

     Our younger brother grumbles more about unfairness as he obeys Onii-Chan. Sasuke's thrusts slow down but remain deep enough that I'm sure there's going to be an imprint of my nose on his stomach by the time he's done. "Crybaby," he grumbles, the insult covering up a moan trying to escape his chest. "I take it back, you're good at two things. Being bred and crying. All you do is spill those crocodile tears and get whatever you want handed to you. You can't handle me fucking your over-used mouth so you cry. You cry so Itachi will make it stop. Pathetic."

     "Sasuke," Onii-Chan hissed again, taking a step forward to rip our brother away from me if he acts up again.

     "Sasuke," he echoes, pitching his voice to further mock Itachi. "She is pathetic and you know it. She has two jobs, take our cum, and get knocked up so the clan continues to have faith in the future. What use is a dog that can't do its job? You're a useless dog." By the end of the degrading his teeth are bared, his voice coming out hissy because of it.

     A groan escaped past Sasuke's teeth, his hips jerking to roughly shove his cock as far down my throat as he can. Within moments the growing familiarity of a man's semen is spilling out, dropping directly down to my stomach.

     "Her job is to take my cum, not yours," Itachi corrects, his anger bubbling in his words. "You should feel grateful that I'm sharing her. That I'm letting you taint her."

     Sasuke ignores our older brother, his eyes locked on me and his lips slightly parted as he spills out down my throat, enjoying the feeling of me gulping down his cum. When he's done, he thrusts a few more times, barely pulling an inch out before he's shoved fully in my mouth again. Having him forcing me to deep throat as a means to clean himself is somehow more degrading than his words.

     "She's already tainted and you know that," he finally answers back, slowly pulling his deflating cock out of my mouth. With my mouth newly free, it stays open wide, panting to catch my breath. "Dad messes with her all the time. I doubt there's a spot on Princess that Dad hasn't rubbed against or came on. Besides, after today all she is to Kenzo is someone to try and fuck behind Dad's back. I guess the three of us have a lot in common."

     "How do you know about that?" Itachi asks, rushing - and failing to conceal it - down to his knees to attend to me. His hand is on my throat, gently massaging it as he pets my hair, smoothing it out.

     "Kenzo was bragging about it when two of the council members showed up to meet with Dad about Princess's assault. Dad was in his office looking for something as they stayed by the door so he didn't hear it."

     "You know about that too?"

     "Ya."

     The room falls silent, Itachi continuing to massage my neck and wipe the saliva off my face. Sasuke tucks himself away, the lust in his eyes quickly burning away because of the conversation. Still, both my brothers' attentions stay on me, making sure I'm okay even if one brother shows it more.

     "Concerning - "

     "If Dad is taking care of the assaulter we'll leave it be. If too much time passes we'll discuss it. As for Kenzo, I don't want to speak about it in front of our Princess," Itachi interrupts, his focus on kissing my throat now instead of rubbing it. Sasuke nods in agreement, eyes stuck on me for a moment before he starts to walk away.

     "Onii-Chan?" I whisper, trying not to choke on the hatred wrapped around him.

     "My precious Princess?" He coos, softly sucking on a patch of skin stretched over my throat.

     "What are you thinking about?"

     "How I'm going to erase Sasuke's touch on you. How I'm going to remind you that you're my birthright and not his. How I'm going to pay Dad back for his mess-ups today. How I'm going to kill Kenzo and possibly your assaulter. How much time I have until our parents get back and whether it's enough time to fuck you."

     "What?"

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[gardnhee]

you’ll always love me - L.HS

✧₊⁺. warning(s)- fluff, anstyyy, highschool au, mentions of cheating, proofread, intentional lowercase, cursing - lmk if i missed anything !

✧₊⁺. student!hee x student!afab!reader

✧₊⁺. song rec. el malo - aventura

✧₊⁺. wc. 1.1k

✧₊⁺. note. when i was listening to this it reminded me of heeseung so here i am writing about it (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

with your head rested upon your arms, you stared at the cup of milk your friend had brought from the cafeteria. long forgotten, melted ice creating a thick layer of water that easily mixed with just a swirl of your dainty finger.

faint chatter floated through the hallway in small murmurs, a stark contrast to the utter silence that enveloped the classroom. you sighed, gazing out the window, only to be met with girls laughing, boys - who swore were mature yet acted completely opposite to such statement - ran about, playing pranks on people like twelve year olds. your attention traveled to the clock nailed right above the chalkboard, 12:40 pm. you groaned, realizing there’s still a long, agonizing hour of lunch left.

as the door creaked open, you jerked in your seat, awkwardly pursing your lips when you made eye contact with whoever dared disturb your solitude.

tall, painfully bright smile, purple hair with a hint of orange, honey like skin, and grin inducing eyes.

“hi…heeseung…” you say rather glumly, rolling your eyes as a bothersome tickle blossomed in your chest.

you divert your eyes, ignoring the smug look on his face.

“where’s your boyfriend, pretty?” he questions, studying his surroundings as he walks to you.

“i don’t know where jay is, and don’t call me that.” you sneer, making the boy wince in faux pain.

“you hurt me, truly.” heeseung jokingly protests, resting his whole body weight on one arm, palm planted on your desk. he sends you an ear-to-ear smile, which you smack away with a frown.

“why do you want to know where he is, anyway?”

the anticipating male knits his eyebrows, “oh, i’m not asking for myself.” he continues, “he said he’d be back uh…..” checks his watch, then peers back at you, “right before lunch started?” heeseung tilts his head, “where is he now?”

“what? how do you know that?”

“we have the same class, did you forget?”

“oh. right.” with a dismissive nod, you keep your eyes on the window. he sucks his teeth, leaning forward.

“don’t go quiet on me now, i need you to think.”

“go away, heeseung. ‘m not in the mood for your bullshit right now.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i, leave me alone.”

he sighs, whipping his phone out and placing it on the desk before you. “yn. look.” you didn’t, stare fixed on the window.

“yn! look! dammit…”

“fine! my fucking go-“

your lungs compressed as your breath hitched.

“that’s fake, heeseung. that can’t be true.” with a shaky voice, you grab the phone, this just can’t be fucking true - you hoped it wasn’t true.

“now why the fuck would i fake this? it’s so obviously jay with yet another girl.”

“‘yet another girl?’ fuck does that mean, heeseung?”

“it means you need to open your eyes.”

“no, you’re doing this because…” you stop in order to gather your thoughts, “because you’re not over me and you want me back. that’s right, yeah.”

heeseung scoffs at your dumb attempt to convince yourself, “you’re right, i still love you and that’s why i’m looking out for you. jay’s been jumping from girl to girl while you obliviously sit around looking stupid.” he shakes his head, “i can’t even begin to understand why you got with an asshole like him.”

“you’re pathetic.” you violently seethe as you stand and try to walk away.

“seriously?-“

“yes! who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling me this?”

“hey, what are you getting mad at me for?” heeseung is visibly upset, and much to your luck, also right. he’s not at fault nor does he deserve your anger.

“why are you doing this…?”

he sighs in frustration, taking his headphones from his neck and setting them down on your desk, “look, yn. this is not the first girl he’s-“

“then why didn’t you tell me sooner? hm?”

“because you never let me get close to you anymore! how was i supposed to tell you?!”

“you’re my ex, hee, of course i don’t want you anywhere near me!”

“you don’t mean that.” his voice is low, solemn, as he looks at you with soft eyes.

“how would you know that?”

“look at me in the eyes and say it with your chest, then.” heeseung steps closer, driving you to stumble back against a desk.

“i mean it.”

“and i don’t believe it.” he scans for any sort of emotion on your face, and finds it. god, he can read you like an open book.

“i refuse to believe that he loves you better than i did. i refuse to believe he knows when, where, and how to kiss you. i refuse to believe he knows all the spots that make you see stars. i refuse, yn.”

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, so heeseung took this as an opportunity to speak again. “you’ll always love me, i’ll always love you. and whether you want to believe what you just saw or not, deep down i know you don’t care because your heart belongs to me.” he cages you in until you’re half-sitting on the wooden surface.

“can you grab my phone, please?” you quietly instruct.

“yn-“

“please?”

heeseung nods, rummaging through your school bag and handing you the phone.

“thank you.” you quickly open jay’s message, furiously typing as heeseung tries to peek at the screen. you tsk, bringing the phone to your chest.

“what did you send?”

“he’s not my boyfriend anymore.” you shrug, snorting at the way he tries to keep his excitement at bay.

“you’re right, you know?” he hums as you bite your lip, “i’ll always love you. i mean…it was 3 years, after all…” heeseung nods in agreement, leaning back on your desk as you’re both facing each other, long legs on either side of yours.

you gaze into his eyes, so sincere, so beautiful. why did you ever let him go? yes, he failed you at times and vice versa, you’ve had arguments like any other relationship, but it was nothing major like… well, cheating. heeseung always stayed loyal to you no matter the circumstances.

he glances at your lips, then your eyes. a calm silence fell between, nothing to say except, “can you kiss me?” you utter just above a whisper. he seizes your waist, eagerly pressing his lips to yours. the kiss was demanding, dripping with longing, regret, euphoria.

you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hoisted you onto the table. heeseung pulled back, caressing your thighs.

“can i be your boyfriend?… again?” you giggle, hugging him.

“of course, silly.”

“one more thing.”

“yes, heeseung?”

“i love you.”

“oh, i know!” you beam, earning an unsatisfied grunt from your boyfriend. “i’m joking, dumbass.” you lightly punch his arm, “i love you more.” he smiles like a child, pecking your lips and backing away.

“last one to the cafeteria buys food!” he takes off running as you yell after him, laughing hysterically.

your heart swells, and for the first time in months, you’re in love all over again.

© GARDNHEE 2024, do not copy, modify, or upload on other platforms

✧₊⁺. big thanks to my proof reader @heartryuu !!

✧₊⁺. please leave a like, comment, and repost!! i would highly appreciate that (∩˃o˂∩)♡

[justjams2003]

The Desire to be Loved: 2

Summary: Love is Desire's first creation. As Cupid she shoots her arrows of love and rips them from people's hearts too. Occasionally, shooting a soulmate arrow. What does she do when her first Soulmate arrow in 100 years is between Cupid and Dream?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, soulmate au, cursing, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,8k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

Tags: intothesoul

Masterlist

(I've moved the next part to the bottom)

What a cruel but beautiful creature. To look at me with such entrancing brown eyes that makes something warm flutter in my gut but leave me here. Her aura is that of a setting sun, but her hair is like that of the sun itself. A dear shocked by the presence of a different creature in her woods. Or perhaps shock that I could see her?  

But with the beauty she carries is also something vicious. Another immortal creature who seems to have some recognition behind those doe eyes. And yet knowing who I am and what importance I hold for the mortal world she leaves me here. Without a single second thought she disappeared into a different realm.  

I do not know who she is. Or rather what it is. The human’s son who captured me could not see her. He looked at me with utter confusion, but that is saying so little since they always look at me with fear of the unknown. As they should.  

Clearly something supernatural, but not something powerful enough for me to have known of them before. But in my 50 more years of confinement in this my glass prison I couldn’t help but keep myself busy with the thought of her.  

One of these days, almost on cue, that perfect pink aura suddenly appears in front of the glass bulb. She looks dishevelled. Her braid is messy, several front pieces have fallen out and covers her face. Where last time she wore shoes that made her quite a bit taller than the human Alex. Now, just a few inches.  

But more than that there’s blood all over her hands. Her eyes look glassy with tears but are wide with fear and shock. She’s down on her knees on front of this cage. A shudder pours through her body. Air doesn’t seem to making it into her lungs. Does she have to breathe or is the shock shaking her soul?  

She looks up at me and this seems to make it worse. The dam breaks and tears roll off her cheek. Her chest heaves as she tries to breathe. “I-I-” She mutters trying to comprehend and it seems as if she knows even less than I do now. “I don’t know what I did.” Her voice is just barely above a whisper.  

“He-he said I had to.” She mutters over and over, who is this he? What did she have to do? I wish this damn barrier wasn’t here so that I could see what is this situation. “And-and- I was so mad at him for making me-” another bout of tears overcomes her.  

She then stops and looks at her hands again. “Look at what I’ve done.” I can see how her mind is starting to break.  

That can’t be good. She must play some role in this the human world. Even if only slightly important, it could very well be the beginning or end of this earth. Should I care? Of course I should care. I was made by the first humans subconscious to help the humans. I can’t let all that effort go to waist now...  

But how could I help now? Stripped from all power, locked up and unable to be heard in this glass bubble of mine. I do all that I can think of. My hand slowly slides over the glass to where she sits kneeling in front of me.  

My movement catches her eye almost instantly. Her head snaps up, her ragged breathing stops. Her eyes seem to twinkle like gold dug up from deep in the core of the earth. Time seems to stop and I just can’t seem to understand what is going on. Is she a siren or witch of some sort? Putting a spell on me?  

Her hand, smaller than mine, reaches up and touches the glass where mine is. The blood smears against the glass into a red aura around her hand. The glass makes her fuzzy. Like a halo of red surrounding her as if she’s one of the angles.  

“What the fuck?!” One of the guards exclaim, interrupting this stopped moment in time. This moment, a red haze of ardency. From the human’s point of view, Dream of the Endless somehow just spawned a bloody handprint on the outside of his glass cage.  

The guard stands up from his seat, pistol in hand. “What the fuck did you just do? How the fuck did you just do that?” He says, his pistol raised at the cage. To the humans this seems entirely impossible. Some sort of witchcraft that they fear with their soul.  

The creature who has taken all wisdom from me’s head snaps in a neck-aching turn. Her breathing becomes rapid again after just having calmed her down. She sees the way he approaches my cage and then she turns to me again. “I have to go again. I don’t want him to find out about this this time.”  

With that, she’s gone again.  

For the next 14600 days I could not be there when sun would set and the dreamers were supposed to enter my realm. My dreamers would instead be either stuck awake forever or asleep forever. 40 years of restless, dreamless sleep all because of the Burgess’s. 

I had seen with my own eyes how Alex killed his father by accident or not after a fight about my confinement. He had begged just as his father had. Not for the same thing, but in the same breath for fear of Death. My sister shouldn’t be feared but perhaps he worries about how I might inact my revenge.  

He grows old now, I’m sure, but he has not come to beg again. Humans become frail with age. All entertainment I have is my mind and my plots. Vengeance swirls around in my mind. That and guilt. Guilt of Lucien having to run the Dreaming in my absence. And all of those Dreamers doomed.  

My days and nights are one. I only know the difference from the change of guards. I can’t help but watch their lazy lives. Having to sit and watch me all day. They chit chat of their lives all while the years pass by in front of me. No interruption. No difference.  

And then, there she is again. One second an empty space covered in sand and the next, a dishevelled creature. No heels this time. A pair of these “sweatpants” as I’ve heard the mortals call it. Her hair is no longer in a braid. Golden silk in long mixed wavy and straight hangs on the floor.  

Her eyes are red and look dry and irritated. She appeared standing, but not for long. Her legs seem to give in on her. She sits down on the floor. She pulls her legs up to her chest and just hides her head. I move closer to the edge of my cage. I can see it puts the guards on edge.  

She slowly lifts her head again and rest her chin on her knees. Then suddenly a quiver, assumingly her quiver, appears strapped to her back. She pulls out a single arrow, the only arrow in this quiver. It has a red heart at the very tip. She seems to be inspecting it carefully.  

The creature seems to give a dry scoff. “This is the only soulmate arrow I’ve received in over 100 years.” She twirls it in her fingers and then suddenly it all begins to make sense. A soulmate arrow? And she has them ready to shoot? The humans have so many names for her. Cupid, Venus, Aphrodite, Freya. But I do remember Desire naming her Love.  

Her head falls back on her knees. “I feel so tired...” Her eyes seem to droop. The pink aura she had before is completely gone. The golden sparkle in her eyes is dead. She closes her eyes for a second and lets out a heavy hearted sigh. All soul seems to have left her.  

Then her eyes open again. Again her dead eyes drag over the arrow. “I fear the day I found you here because it has only caused my demise. If I didn't let my own mind wander into the realms of desire and curiosity I would not be weak as I am now. He calls himself Desire but he and his twin are one in the same because now Despair is all I know.” The words begin spilling out of her from a speed unparalled.  

“Something above him, maybe even you, is punishing me for doing as I am told and I cannot take it any longer. All I've done this last century is rip the love from people's hearts. I fear I might have lost the ability to knock an arrow in my bow because I can't even remember how to grant love. Only how to take it.” 

“My soul is kind, I promise.” Her eyes look up at me, her brows pulling together in the middle as if she’s pleading for me to believe her. “If I was not kind I would not be in the state I am in, right?” Again she begs. What for I’m not sure? I do not know of any sins. Could Love ever even be able of causing harm? Is she able of concocting the concept of harming others?  

“There's no love left on this earth. Only this shell Desire has made me and therefore I don't want to live with myself anymore. Him unmaking me would be easier to stand than the hurt I have caused.” It looks painful when she starts to stand up.  

The way she walks, it looks almost deliberate when the salt under her shoes breaks the several circles surrounding my cage. It’s confirmed when she looks back at the now broken salt circles and looks satisfied by this. Then her eyes look back at me.  

The world looks so heavy on her shoulders. Like her head weighs too much for her neck. Her hand comes up on my glass confinement. She steadies herself and then she tells me what sounds like final words: “I will not beg for your forgiveness for not freeing you sooner.”

Her eyes land once more on the arrow glowing in her hand. She takes a big gulp, then she seems to make time stop again. “If you must kill me, I will beg you do it before Desire punishes me.” With what seems like her last bit of energy, life force, she raises her arrow and stabs the glass.  

A large crack breaks through this glass bubble. But she stops before she can repeat the action. Her eyes raise as if she’s listening to something from above. “It seems he was watching me.” Her dried body takes a step back but I catch her before she leaves me once more.  

“Thank you, Cupid. I will find you.”  

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Part 1~Part 3

[mumms-the-word]

Shadow Curse Events Pt. 3

The first 40 days

Hello, friends, and welcome to the third and final installment of this little series about the Shadow Curse in BG3. Part 1 talked about Ketheric's descent into Sharran worship and how he built his Dark Justiciar army. Part 2 detailed the events of the war between the Harpers/druids and Ketheric's army, a bloodbath that culminated in Ketheric's supposed death and a high-cost victory for the Harpers and druids.

With Ketheric's dying breath, he utters a curse and the shadow curse takes full effect within hours. That's what this post is about. There are two journals that give us a day-by-day breakdown of the shadows as they roll outward from town, Olam's Journal and Oliver's Diary. Using these (plus other materials, naturally), I wanted to construct a kind of timeline for the first 40 days of the shadow curse as it slowly took over the landscape.

Quick cw: some descriptions of madness and implied sexual trauma from one note left behind by a Reithwin citizen

As always, long post ahead, under the cut!

———

Dear Diary, Day 1: Nothing ever happens in this town. I'm ready to go to the Gate. If Mother won't let me, I'll run away myself. She says my lungs are too weak for the smoke. But how am I living at all, when all I do is milk the rothe? [mumms' note: I imagine this diary entry by Oliver was written before the battle, but during the siege. I can't imagine him writing "nothing ever happens" when a battle is actively taking place.]

Let me set the stage. It is the third day of the battle between the Harper-druid army and Ketheric Thorm. The Harpers have already tried to surrender, only to be denied by Ketheric, who joins the battle himself. The death tolls are astronomical and the citizens of Reithwin are either cowering and trying to survive the battle that rages outside their doors or fighting as part of a volunteer force. The tides have turned in the Harpers' and druids' favor as reinforcements for Dark Justiciars inexplicably stop coming (thanks to the mason's infernal deal). At last, some lucky Harper or druid strikes the blow that finally fells Ketheric Thorm. Ketheric uses his last breath to utter a curse on the land, the actual words lost to time, and dies. Together with other Harpers and druids, Jaheira assists in dragging Ketheric's body from the battlefield and sealing it inside the Grand Mausoleum. But the damage has already been done.

It's day one of the shadow curse.

Day 2 of Darkness I stood calm as Ketheric uttered his final curse and then withered. As my fellow Harpers dragged his putrid corpse from the battlefield, I allowed myself to feel relief, even solace. A wrong had been righted, an evil thwarted. Victory had come - but I had yet to know its true cost. The darkness shrouded the land like a vast cloak. It began as a chill, as if the Claw of Winter had gripped us. Within hours, every breath was a dagger piercing my throat. I hungered for air like a wolf hungers for meat - yet I could still get my fill, thanks to my armour. Would that the men and women of Reithwin had been so well-equipped. One by one they fell, only to rise as shadows of themselves, intent on extinguishing all light, and all life. The shadows hang less heavy in this place. It still takes some effort to fill my lungs, but better to expend effort than to unite with darkness. My traps should keep me safe - or at least, safe enough.

Olam, an aasimar Harper who eventually fell victim to the shadow curse as he was trying to find ways to reverse it, is our best record for the first day. According to him, the first sign of the curse was a chill, as cold as the Claw of Winter, a reference to the winter month of Alturiak.

Months in Faerûn have two names, a sort of "official" name and a common name. The second month of the year, Alturiak, is commonly known as the Claw of Winter, a month of deep cold that sets in after Midwinter (the day right before Alturiak 1). Given that Ketheric's speech to his troops suggests they're preparing to face winter, and the fact that Thisobald's notes tell us that Ketheric was poisoned by the Harpers in Elient, the month that contains the Autumn Equinox, it's safe to suggest that the battle happened in late autumn. A sudden chill as cold as deep winter would be very alarming, especially accompanied by an unnatural darkness.

So, first comes the cold, so piercing and uncomfortable it makes it hard to breathe. Then comes the shadows, a darkness that settles over the town and begins to spread. If you're in armor, if you've trained your body to withstand magical and physical attacks, if you're resistant to any kind of damage, if you're one of the miraculous soldiers who hasn't been horribly wounded and weakened, you have half a chance to survive the initial shadows.

The untrained citizens of Reithwin don't have even that half-chance.

One by one they fall to the shadows. One by one they rise again as twisted, changed, ravenous undead, "intent to extinguish all light, all life." We've seen what the curse does ourselves to Harpers like Yonas, or to other living creatures like the hyena or the goblin near the mountain pass entrance. The Harpers and druids who believe that they can put battle behind them at last are now faced with a new enemy—the undead, shadow-cursed husks of innocent (and perhaps not so innocent) citizens.

Image: An armored arm covered by black and green shadow magic reaching out.

Not just citizens, either. The shadows soon claim Harpers and druids too. The shadows do not discriminate.

Halsin: Even in defeat, though, Ketheric turned to Shar. Not long after we sealed him away in his tomb, the shadow curse took hold. No one had seen the likes of it before. No one knew how to react…Then it started to claim all those within its reach. Those who had survived the battles now fell to the shadows - became part of the shadows. And worst of all…I lost contact with Thaniel. I wanted to try and find him, but we couldn’t stay. We would have all succumbed. When the Archdruid of the Grove - my predecessor - was seized by the curse, I had to lead the survivors to safety. That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning.

The Harpers and druids no doubt scatter, scrambling for light, caught flat-footed in a fight against the undead they must now kill, some of whom might even be their own allies, their own friends, and a darkness they can scarcely understand. As more and more people fall, more and more corpses reanimate. There's no use fighting. Their only real choice is to run.

Halsin, among the survivors, desperately tries to gather together druid survivors and rescue the wounded from the curse, going so far as to carry some on his back, according to unique dialogue with Jaheira. As they attempt to flee, the former Archdruid falls, seized by the shadows. Halsin is forced to leave him behind to ensure the survival of the other druids.

Halsin: It is an honour to see you again, High Harper. Jaheira: No need for titles. You may call me Jaheira, so long as you are content to be known as Halsin. And the honour is mine. Your stewardship of the Emerald Grove has made for something of a story among the circles. The apprentice who survived the shadow curse, and carried his masters home on his back. Who was raised their master in turn, and searches still for a way to save what was lost. [mumm's note: Halsin says he never met Jaheira, but this could be him being polite, or him referencing that he has seen Jaheira before, they've just never spoken or officially met.]

At the same time, he's lost contact with Thaniel. The spirit of the land has been pulled into the Shadowfell somehow by the onset of the curse as it spreads outward and begins to take over the landscape. Perhaps the Shadowfell claims others, as well, the moment the darkness falls over them, rather than transforming them into undead shadow corpses. We know this happens to Art, after all.

But Halsin doesn't have time to think about Thaniel, unfortunately. With the Archdruid dead, it is now his responsibility to look after the wounded and surviving druids and lead them to safety.

[This is an ancient notebook, whose ink is faded and pages are starting to crumble. It's not easy, but some words can still be made out.] Ketheric is finished, but it cost us the land. Darkness has fallen, corruption is everywhere. [...] ...chased by shadows, picking us off, druids and Harpers alike. [...] ...our wounded were safe, I returned, searching for survivors... [...] ...lost, but I found his shade. I put it to rest and took his glaive... [...] ...blade infused with shadow. I have locked it away, to serve as a reminder that even victory can taste bitter.

In the launch version of the game, the glaive Sorrow belonged to the old Archdruid. (In early access, it belonged to Halsin, but that is an entirely separate post.) Halsin's old notebook reveals the lengths he went to save the wounded, becoming the Grove's leader the very hour, the very minute that the old Archdruid succumbs to the curse. He doesn't stop to fight the Archdruid's shade. He must save whoever he can.

In town, others are trying to flee the curse as well. The first couple of days, it's all the citizens can do to stay ahead of the darkness and escape the shadows before they're taken. One person attempts to send word via a raven seeking help. The raven, too, succumbs to the curse.

[This letter is written on a scrap of paper. Blood and age have made it near illegible in parts.] HELP! A darkness has rolled into Reithwin, cutting us off on all sides. We’ve sent people through, but no one can make it more than a few steps before [the words are obscured by drops of blood.] This letter is our last hope. Send help - anyone, from anywhere, I beg of you. I will renounce our Lady Loss and kiss the Moonmaiden’s feet if that’s what it takes. Just don’t let the darkness take us.

It's nearing the end of the first day. Halsin has at last seen the wounded to some kind of safety and turns back, braving the shadows again to try and find the old Archdruid. He finds his shade and kills it, taking his glaive as a reminder, since the shadow-corrupted body must be left behind. With his duty at last done, Halsin departs the shadow-cursed lands to return to the Emerald Grove with the survivors. He does not return again until a century later.

———

Day 2 of the shadow curse.

Olam the Harper manages to secure something of a safe refuge in a hidden room of the House of Healing's morgue where the shadows hang less heavily. He sets up traps to deter shades and shadow-cursed zombies.

Citizens of Reithwin who haven't fled the curse on day one and are resilient enough to survive the first day are slowly succumbing, too. Some citizens seem to willingly give themselves to the shadow curse, or are taken entirely by surprise.

A couple on the roof of the House of Healing lay together, whispering poetry to one another as the darkness falls. Another couple lays curled up in their home, perhaps trying to hide from the shadows as the darkness presses against the doors and windows. Other citizens drag their feet, trying to pack up their lives and follow after more slowly. The result is the same for all of them. Death to the shadow curse, or the shades it creates from the dead. Their skeletal remains lay untouched for decades afterward.

———

Day 5 of the shadow curse.

Olam, sequestered inside the morgue, is simply trying to survive. The curse begins spreading outward, its borders expanding toward the outer reaches of the landscape.

Day 5 of Darkness The shadows ebb and wane. A torch flame is sometimes enough to burn them away, but no light can dispel the deepest of them. I called my familiar Corvin to my side, but he could scarcely take wing. Tomorrow I search, and not just for food and drink. I might find a scroll, or an artefact, or an arcane focus that can ward off this curse. Perhaps I might even find another survivor. 

Olam is hopeful, but he is very likely the sole survivor of the shadow curse within the town itself. There are, however, survivors outside the town, some of whom are still trying to flee. Others, like Oliver and his mother, are forced to stay in their home as the shadows creep closer and closer.

———

Day 7 of the shadow curse.

Before Oliver held half of Thaniel's essence, he was a young boy (possibly a tiefling) on a rothé farm on the outskirts of Reithwin. He seems to have been born with or developed a chronic illness of some kind, as his mother worries about his lungs not being able to handle the smoke of Baldur's Gate (I assume this is a passing reference to some early industrialization of the city). But by day seven of his journal, the shadows have already started to spread outward toward his home.

Day 7: Ha, a strange fog is descending over our own town. Hasn't left in days. Getting hard to breathe. Mother is eating her words, saying we should head out to the city to stay for a while until it lifts. We go at dawn.

(I personally don't think the numbered days in Olam and Oliver's journals align, where Olam's Day 5 of darkness is also Oliver's Day 5 in his diary. I think it's more likely that they're offset by 2 or 3 days, with Oliver beginning his journal 2-3 days before Olam did, so Olam's Day 4/5 would be Oliver's Day 7, and so on. But for simplicity's sake, I'm just going to use both of their dates as if they were perfectly aligned.)

———

Day 8 of the shadow curse.

Oliver and his mother try to brave the shadows to head west to Baldur's Gate, but the shadow-cursed creatures are too dangerous. They turn around and take shelter in their home once more. They spend another several days protected from the curse, somehow.

I suspect it's Thaniel's lingering presence near the house that is saving them. But they couldn't possibly know that.

———

Day 14 of the shadow curse.

Oliver and his mother have given up hope for any kind of escape. The shadows are too dangerous. It's too late to leave.

Day 14: We tried to leave, but there are creatures from beyond the grave, skulking around the outskirts of our land. It's too late.

———

Day 18 of the shadow curse.

Everything is dead or undead. Everything except Olam, Oliver, Oliver's mother, and the animals they care for...for now. The town is still, as if suspended in time, but not quiet. Things stir in the darkness.

Day 18 of Darkness It's a particular loneliness, in these shadows. Corvin shows great affection when I call him, even as he suffers. Those few minutes are at least some comfort, for us both. It is remarkably still in here, and even stiller out there. I have found a few scrolls and books near the House of Healing, as well as some scattered artefacts, but they hold nothing for me. The only answers call out from within the House itself, where I dare not enter. I hear the moans of the anguished, the shouts of the cruel. There are those who make their home in the shadows, but I am no less alone for them.

Olam's hopes are dwindling. The shadows had taken the life of everything they've touched. Many shadow-cursed undead lie dormant, waiting for something to stir them back into action. Others have been reduced to shades and towering living shadows. Still others, like those inside the House of Healing, have been transformed. In particular, it seems as though the nurses, if not Malus himself, have become twisted undead versions of their living selves, something different than the average shadow-cursed corpse.

Because, you see, being transformed into a shadow-cursed being doesn't simply mean death and undeath. Not always. It also means a descent into pure madness as you lose your entire sense of self. Some victims choose to venture more into the darkness rather than fight it.

Shadow creature transformation is like this: I am standing in a tunnel with one way leading into light and the other leading into darkness. The tunnel glistens and stinks like a tube of rancid sausage. Everything slick with slime. I've got to get out of here. I know I do. But which way? Light or dark? Not day and night. The light is coming from the face of my grandfather, who used to squeeze my knee under the dining table with his bony fingers. His wizened, grinning face is the face life wears. It has flayed off his face and is wearing it now, lantern bright, in the light at that end of the tunnel. The dark though. The dark is absolute. No faces there. No old family trouble there. No bad dreams or memories there, well, well that's decided then isn't it! Sauntering now, striding now, running into the velvety black, embraced, bones snapping, body softening, silking, feeling the change, old life left behind, new life new me let's go yippee!

(There's also weird poetry about the shadows, if you're interested.)

The shadow curse is still Shar's darkness, and the allure of the dark's embrace is still there. Victims who lose their minds to the shadow curse as they turn into shadow creatures are drawn to this twisted idea of a new life (an un-life, really). As we see with Yonas, they're eager to bring others down with them.

Harper Yonas: There you are...come...join me...

Reithwin may be dead, and it may be still, but it isn't quiet.

———

Day 21 of the shadow curse.

In the outskirts, the shadows have possessed Oliver's rothé. They too grow mad, attacking one another and dying, only for the shadows to resurrect them again.

Day 21: The rothe are all possessed, knocking down their fence, battling and bashing one another to death... Dying then fighting again. The shadows are everyone... right outside our window. I can't see more than a few strides out.  [mumm's note: I think "everyone" is supposed to be "everywhere" here.]

The darkness is only getting worse.

———

Day 26 of the shadow curse.

Nearly one full month since Ketheric's death. The shadows have grown darker and darker. In Oliver's cabin, he and his mother can only see a few strides beyond their windows. In town, where Olam continues to try and search for ways to end the shadow curse, the air has darkened from grey to black and grown so thick that breathing it in is like swallowing molasses or tar.

Day 26 of Darkness I called on Corvin yet again, but I cannot bear his torment. Nor can I bear my own. Grey has turned almost to black, and the air might as well be molasses or tar, so hard as it is to choke down. 'All beings should walk free of fear', I was taught. Oh, if only were I granted such a fine fate.

This is the last entry in Olam's journal. After days of trying to break the shadow curse, experimenting with various spells to push back the darkness or dispel the magic, after days of him and his bird familiar, Corvin, being the only living things he has encountered since the onset of the curse, Olam finally succumbs to the shadows. Perhaps he chooses to end his own life, or perhaps the shadows have crept into the morgue and at last killed him. Either way, his body, tainted and ruined by necrotic magic, remains sealed in his morgue hideaway for another century.

———

Day 28 of the shadow curse.

There are only two people still living in the midst of the shadows. Oliver and his mother remain unaffected by the curse, so long as they stay within their home. Oliver has no idea why the curse does not push into their house—it certainly has no issue creeping into every other home in and around town.

But I suspect Thaniel is at work. Given that Thaniel's spirit was torn in half by the shadow curse, perhaps the part that lay behind took refuge in Oliver's home. Perhaps that half is already in Oliver himself.

But Oliver grows restless. Though the curse has yet to take them, living with it is not easy. His weak lungs can't handle the shadow-thick air, even if it does not corrupt him immediately. He begins to contemplate death.

Day 28: I'm not dead yet. But I'm going to die here, aren't I? I can hardly breathe. Why does it not get into our house? Why doesn't the curse take us already. Day 35: I can't stand this. I've been trying to write a memoir of myself but it's still no good. I'm too weak to pen fine words. I am going to die unremembered, be what may. It's getting pointless to cower in here. There is nothing we can do about this all-encroaching dark. Tomorrow, I will walk out into the fog, and I will laugh. With love, a farmhand, forever to be unknown.

———

Day 35 of the shadow curse.

Olam is dead. Everyone in town is dead. Most people in the outskirts are dead. Except for Oliver, and perhaps his mother, and even Oliver can no longer handle the loneliness and despair of the shadow curse. Oliver plans to leave the safety of his home and give in to the shadows, rather than die a much slower death as the shadows continue to creep in.

———

Day 36 of the shadow curse.

Oliver opens his door and walks out into the dark fog of the curse. Some flowers still bloom, untouched by the curse or the shadows, just outside his doorstep. The corpses of the rothé lie inert in the darkness, having died twice over days before. Oliver likely doesn't linger on either detail. It only takes a few strides for the darkness to envelop him.

It only takes moments for it to change him.

Oliver as he was in life is gone, taken by the shadow curse. But some vestige of Thaniel keeps him alive, keeps them both alive. But the shadows have already done their damage.

Oliver remains near his home as the years pass, his laughter and his games turning ever deadlier as the curse strengthens and grows.

———

Day 39 of the shadow curse.

Halsin and the other druids have long since returned to the Emerald Grove. The mantel of leadership weighs heavy on his shoulders. He has sealed away the old Archdruid's glaive, tainted as it is with shadow magic, and begins to turn his attention to leading the Grove. A task he never asked for, and doesn't feel he deserves.

Jaheira has moved on to other adventures, working independently or with other Harpers. It will be another several decades before duty calls her back into the shadow-cursed lands, back to the site where she fought to maintain balance and put an end to a corrupted Sharran general.

The town of Reithwin and the surrounding landscape is dead. Dead, but not quiet. The shadows sink into the land itself, twisting the trees, slowly cracking the very earth apart. Shadows continue to stir, corrupting everything they touch. The unlucky undead that are not granted blissful oblivion shamble among the ruins of the town, between the remains of the battle. Their actions are twisted recreations of their living days, as nurses or as patrons of the Waning Moon. Their minds are all but obliterated.

The town settles into a pattern of hungry shadows on the hunt and undead corpses shuffling mindlessly through the motions. This pattern will remain undisturbed for a century or more.

———

Day 40 of the shadow curse.

Inside the Grand Mausoleum, behind the sigil-sealed doors, the crypts of the dead are not as still and silent as they should be. Something, someone moves in the darkness.

Ketheric Thorm, pulled back into the land of the living, stands at the foot of his daughter's sarcophagus. He wants to forget. He wants the darkness to swallow him whole. But it does not.

A bloated, fleshy hand reaches out in the darkness, and Ketheric hears an all too familiar voice, deep and resonant with dark magic.

"Let us refocus our efforts, General. In here, we have everything we need to bring her back. It will only take time."

Ketheric, having lost everything, agrees.

———

Okay, so maybe Day 40 was just me guessing/wanting to get creative. I believe Ketheric probably woke up, since he's still functionally immortal thanks to Aylin, relatively soon after the shadow curse was unleashed. But because he was sealed in the mausoleum by the Harpers and druids, he must have spent the better part of a few years, maybe even a few decades, trying to gather the strength to blow open the doors and leave.

He's been defeated, and Shar has likely withdrawn her blessings on him. His only power now is his immortality (probably). We know he doesn't build an army again until a century later, when he does so under Myrkul's command. So I imagine he probably spends many decades in the mausoleum, trying to forget, or (failing that) trying to resurrect his daughter.

Forgetting evades me in this infinite darkness. Balthazar is my own source of the barest comfort - the thought that, perhaps, she might be brought back to me. If oblivion can fail, what defence have we against death? None except its mastery. Balthazar's words have never felt more promising.

Somehow Balthazar finds him. Perhaps Balthazar was sealed inside the mausoleum too. But Balthazar promises to find a way to restore the one thing Ketheric wants. Ketheric doesn't desire vengeance. Ketheric doesn't want another army. Ketheric wants Isobel. And Balthazar, a powerful necromancer, believes he can deliver.

So the experiments begin. And fail. And fail. Thisobald, Gerringothe, Malus. The Thorm family members rise again, except they're twisted, grotesque, a little mad. Not how Ketheric wants Isobel to be. But they keep trying. Until at last, nearly a century after his defeat, after a century of struggling to forget and fall into oblivion, ignored by Shar, Ketheric turns to Myrkul. He agrees to become Myrkul's Chosen and do his bidding, in exchange for the one thing he wants most.

Isobel.

Melodia would understand, if she knew my aim. She too, I believe, would have turned to Myrkul under such conditions as these. Our darling will live again. What kind of man would I be if I didn't raze the world entire for her sake?

Ketheric at last renounces Shar to pledge himself to Myrkul. And Myrkul, unlike Shar, keeps his promise. The death that began the spiral into Sharran zealotry, that led to the shadow curse itself, is finally reversed.

After more than a century of death, Isobel wakes up.

———

So ends the three-part series about the shadow curse. What a ride. I'm so fascinated by this entire act/history because it feels like diving into war history or something. So thanks for following, if you followed all three parts!! Let me know what other deep dives you want me to do!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @fingons-rad-harp @stuffforthestash @cakenpiewhyohmy