#violently shakes and grits teeth and clenches fists | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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WASHED UP [1/2]

ship: odysseus x fem!calypso!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.3k (strap up, babes, this is a long one~) a/n: Y'all forgive me, i have been horrible and abandoned the fandom 😔💔; i swear it wasn't on purpose, i just haven't been bit by the inspiration bug, but nevertheless, here i am getting inspired, so enjoy my twist on odysseus w/ calypso, no worries there will be a prt.2

★·.·´🇪‌🇵‌🇮‌🇨‌: 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The sea spat him out like an unwanted secret. You watched from the cliffs as his body was tossed against the sand, limbs splayed like a broken marionette.

Thunderheads still roared in the distance, but the storm had spent its fury, leaving only the shattered remnants of his ship and the limp figure of its captain.

His first breath on your island was a gasp, harsh and desperate, followed by a violent cough that shook his entire frame.

Water poured from his mouth, a relentless cascade as he heaved, clawing at the sand with shaking fingers. He turned onto his side, retching, purging the sea from his lungs.

Each convulsion seemed to rip through him, leaving him weaker, more drained, until he collapsed back onto the shore, chest heaving, eyes shut tight against the grit and salt.

Above, the clouds began to peel away, the black and bruised sky giving way to a faint glimmer of sun.

The wind, once howling, softened to a mournful sigh, as if the island itself pitied him. Waves lapped at his feet, gentle now, apologetic, as if seeking to soothe the very man they had tried to destroy.

His eyelids fluttered open, the sky above a blur of gray and gold. He groaned, the sound raw and broken, the cry of a man who had seen too much, lost too much.

He lay there, sprawled out on the sand, staring up at the heavens with eyes full of disbelief and despair. His voice, hoarse and cracking, clawed its way out of his throat.

"Why?" he croaked, the single word carried away by the wind. "Why do you forsake me?"

He tried to rise, muscles trembling as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar shore, the jagged rocks jutting out like sentinels, the dense forest looming beyond. He was alone—utterly, helplessly alone.

The Gods had abandoned him here, cast him away like a piece of flotsam.

"Have I not suffered enough!?" he shouted, the words rasping against his parched throat. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. "Is this my reward for years of service, for blood spilled and honor upheld?"

The sky remained silent, indifferent to his plea. He dropped his head back onto the sand, teeth gritted in frustration, the last remnants of strength draining out of him.

The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of his failures.

You could almost feel it, that heavy despair that hung around him like a shroud. A warrior undone, not by the sword or the spear, but by the endless, unrelenting cruelty of fate.

You knew that look—had seen it before, in the eyes of those who had washed up on your shores, broken and lost, only to be healed by your touch, only to be bound by your love.

But this one… He was different.

His suffering was like a beacon, bright and piercing, pulling at something deep within you, something you had buried long ago.

And so you watched, unseen and silent, as he lay on the shore, a man shattered, calling out to Gods who would not answer.

You wondered who this man was, what sins he must have committed to be cast into your lonely exile. Another soul, shattered and lost, delivered to you by the cruel whim of fate.

Was this the Gods' twisted sense of humor, to send you the broken, the despairing, and then sit back and watch as you tried, again and again, to piece them together, knowing each time that they would eventually leave, taking a piece of you with them?

It had been that way for as long as you could remember. They arrived on your shores, eyes wide with fear or despair, bodies battered by storms both within and without.

And you, like a fool, took them in, healed their wounds, offered them solace. You let them weave themselves into your heart, into your very soul, only for them to tear themselves free when the time came, leaving you bleeding and hollow.

Was he any different, this man with his piercing eyes and voice full of sorrow? Would he be the one to break you completely? You don't know. But as you turned away from the beach, you couldn't help but feel that this time, the Gods had sent you a different kind of suffering.

You moved through the familiar paths, the underbrush parting easily beneath your feet. It was an old routine, gathering the essentials—just enough to keep them alive until they could find the will to keep themselves going.

Your hands worked mechanically, filling a small basket with a jug of water, a bit of bread, some fish you'd caught that morning. It was more than they ever needed, really. Most of them wouldn't even look at food when they first arrived, the shock still too raw, too immediate.

As you made your way back, the weight of the basket a comforting presence against your hip, you tried to steel yourself for what you would find. But when you reached the beach again, your breath caught in your throat.

He was sitting up now, his back to you, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world still pressed down on him. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, empty and unfocused, the eyes of a man who had seen too much.

What remained of his clothes clung to him, tattered and soaked through. His armor—what little was left of it—gleamed dully in the fading light. A breastplate, once magnificent, now dented and scarred, a single pauldron hanging by a thread, the gold tarnished and scratched.

The rest had been torn away by the sea, leaving him exposed, vulnerable.

He looked every inch the hero brought low, a man stripped of his glory, left with nothing but his pain and regret. His dark hair clung to his forehead, still damp with seawater, and his hands rested limply on his knees, fingers digging into the sand as if he needed to feel something solid, something real.

You stopped a few paces away, your shadow stretching out before you. He didn't notice. Didn't even flinch. You could see it then, the full extent of his despair, etched into every line of his face, every weary slump of his shoulders.

He was beautiful, in a tragic sort of way, like a statue of a fallen God.

And you knew, as you stood there watching him, that this one would not be easy to heal. This one had a wound that went far deeper than flesh and bone.

You took a step forward, and then another, until you were close enough that your presence cast a shadow over him. He blinked, as if just now realizing you were there, his head turning slowly, eyes lifting to meet yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, laden with the unspoken, the unknown.

You held out the basket, your heart pounding in your chest. "You need to eat," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves.

He didn't move, just stared at you with those piercing eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through you.

And for a moment, you thought he might refuse. That he might just turn away, let himself be swallowed by the sea again, and you would be left standing there, holding out something that could never be enough.

But then, slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he took the jug of water from your grasp.

"Thank you," he murmured, the words rough and uncertain, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He took a small sip, then another, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched him, this broken man, and wondered what kind of suffering had brought him to you.

And what kind of suffering he would bring in return.

The days here had a way of slipping through your fingers, soft and warm like the sands on your island. It was easy to lose track of time, lulled by the rhythm of the waves, the steady pulse of the tides.

You had left him to his own devices, giving him the space he needed to come to terms with whatever fate had led him here. Most of them needed that—time to break down, to cry, to rage at the Gods.

But not this one.

When you returned the next day, basket in hand, you stopped short at the sight before you.

He was shirtless, skin bronzed and gleaming with sweat, muscles taut as he hammered a spike into the ground with a makeshift wooden-mallet. His remaining clothes and battered armor were piled neatly to the side, along with a few other scavenged materials.

The sound of wood striking stone echoed across the beach, a steady, determined rhythm that spoke of purpose.

There was the frame of a hovel half-built, crude but sturdy, the beginnings of a shelter taking shape where there had been only barren sand.

A small pile of freshly caught fish lay nearby, their scales glinting in the sunlight. You could still see the blood on his hands, fresh from gutting and cleaning them. He worked with an intensity that was almost mesmerizing, every movement precise, controlled.

"Wow," you murmured, stepping closer, setting the basket down at your feet. "I'm impressed."

He stilled at the sound of your voice, shoulders tensing as he glanced over his shoulder. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you, assessing.

You gestured to the hovel, the fish, the evidence of his labor. "Most who arrive here are still crying or lost, not knowing what to do with themselves. You're already building shelter."

His eyes sharpened, his expression shifting from guarded to curious, almost suspicious. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin as he set the mallet down. "There have been others?"

You snorted softly, crossing your arms as you looked at him. "Of course, there have been others. Did you think you were the first to be sent here?" The question was almost rhetorical, a simple truth that hung in the air between you.

He frowned, his gaze turning thoughtful, troubled. "Where is here?"

You hesitated for a moment, then took a few steps forward, your eyes flicking to the sword he had tossed carelessly to the side, half-buried in the sand. You reached down, your fingers brushing over the hilt. "This is Ogygia," you said, the name slipping easily from your lips, as familiar to you as your own. "A place of exile, for those the Gods have no more use for."

You were still tracing the hilt of his sword, fingers brushing over the worn leather grip when he spoke again, his voice tight and strained. "Is there a way off this island?"

You stilled, your gaze shifting from the sword to him, catching the desperation in his eyes through your lashes. For a moment, you considered lying, spinning some tale of escape, but you’d seen that look before, and you knew what would follow.

"You can try," you said, your voice calm, almost detached as if you'd had this conversation a thousand times before. "But once you get at least five feet from the shore, the waves will rise and destroy whatever you're floating on to pieces."

The truth of your words hung heavy in the air, a quiet certainty that left no room for hope. His face twisted, the anger and helplessness flaring in his eyes as stared at you.

You could see the way his jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath the stubble on his cheeks, his fingers flexing and unflexing at his sides as if he wanted to hit something, anything.

He turned away, staring at the horizon as if willing it to yield some answer, some solution.

He was the very picture of a man caught in a trap he couldn't break free from.

"Excuse me," you murmured, pushing yourself up from the sand and brushing off your hands, wanting to give him space to process the reality of his situation.

"Wait!"

The word came out sharp, almost desperate, and you paused, glancing back over your shoulder. He was looking at you, really looking, his eyes piercing, searching for something—anything—that made sense of all this.

"Who are you?"

You could feel the laugh bubbling up inside you—a tired, almost bitter sound that you suppressed, forcing your expression into something calm, something almost serene.

It was always the same: this question, the disbelief, the desperate need to know why they were here, why you were here.

"Calypso," you said, the name falling from your lips like a sigh. "Daughter of Atlas and Pleione."

He blinked, the words clearly not the answer he had been expecting. He stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.

"Calypso," he repeated softly, your name unfamiliar on his tongue. There was a softness to it, a kind of reverence that almost made you want to laugh.

You hummed, a sound low and almost mournful. "Aye, cursed to carry the brunt of my parents' sins."

You saw the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something like pity in his eyes before he looked away, his gaze shifting to the sand at his feet as if he couldn't bear to look at you.

You wondered what it was he saw, whether he saw you as a jailer or just another prisoner in this place of exile.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough, hesitant. "My name is Eperitus," he said, the words slow, deliberate, like he was testing them out. "From a small village in Thessaly."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly as you watched him. The name meant nothing to you, but the way he said it—the slight hesitation, the almost imperceptible shift in his posture—it was a lie, or at the very least, not the whole truth.

Still, you nodded, as if you believed him, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Very well, Eperitus," you said, the name rolling off your tongue with a hint of amusement. "I suppose I will leave you to it."

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of suspicion in his gaze, but you didn't give him time to question it. You turned, your bare feet barely making a sound on the sand as you walked away, leaving him there, alone with his thoughts.

You could feel his eyes on your back, the weight of his gaze heavy, but you didn't look back. You had seen this play out too many times before—the hope, the despair, the bargaining with fate.

Each time, it was different, and yet, always the same.

And this man, this Eperitus, whatever name he chose to call himself, was no different.

You just wondered how long it would take him to realize it.

The waterfall cascaded down from the rocks above, the sound a constant, soothing roar that drowned out everything else. The water sparkled in the late afternoon sun, clear and cool as it pooled into the pond below, a hidden sanctuary nestled within the heart of your island.

You stood in the shallow waters, the hem of your white slip floating just above your knees, the fabric clinging to your skin in places where the water lapped gently against you.

The air was sweet with the scent of jasmine and wet earth, the leaves above casting dappled shadows across the surface of the pond.

You hummed softly under your breath, an old song your mother had taught you long ago, a tune that spoke of faraway places and dreams that never seemed to come true.

The melody blended with the sounds of the waterfall, a quiet lullaby that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

It was peaceful here, a place untouched by the outside world, a place where you could almost forget who you were and why you were here. You dipped your hands into the water, scrubbing at a piece of cloth, the rhythm of the motion almost hypnotic.

Then, a sharp crack echoed through the grove, the sound of a branch snapping underfoot. Your head snapped up, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes scanned the treeline.

It took only a moment for your gaze to settle on him, partially hidden behind the bushes, his body frozen in a half-crouch, as if he had been trying to sneak away unnoticed.

"Eperitus?" you called out softly, your voice carrying easily over the sound of the water. He flinched, his eyes wide, a startled, almost guilty look on his face as he straightened up. He took a step back, his gaze darting around as if he were trying to find an escape.

For a moment, you thought he might run, but then he seemed to gather himself, his shoulders slumping slightly as he stepped forward, pushing through the bushes. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile, setting the cloth aside as you turned to face him fully. "It's alright," you said gently, wiping your hands on the slip, the water dripping from your fingers. "I wasn't expecting company, that's all."

He nodded, his eyes flicking to the ground, then back to you, a hesitant, almost bashful look on his face. "I just... I was looking for you," he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. "I thought I'd, well... check in."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

It had been a few weeks since your last conversation on the beach, and in that time, you had kept your distance, letting him find his footing, so to speak. He was more self-sufficient than most who ended up here, resourceful and determined in a way that spoke of a man who had spent years fighting to survive.

You had stepped back, observing him from a distance, only intervening when necessary.

You'd seen him sitting on the shore more than once, staring out at the sea with a look in his eyes that made your chest ache. A kind of yearning, a quiet desperation that seemed to pull at something deep inside you.

Other times, you'd found him working tirelessly on his shelter, hammering away at the wooden frame with a focus that bordered on obsession.

You shrugged lightly, the gesture casual, as if it didn't matter to you either way. "You've been doing fine on your own," you said, your tone light, almost teasing. "Didn't think you needed my help."

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile passing over his face before it faded. He glanced down at his hands, rough and calloused, the fingers still smudged with dirt and sawdust. "I wasn't sure if I was... interrupting," he said awkwardly, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours.

You laughed softly, the sound echoing through the grove. "You've been here long enough to know I'm not that easy to disturb," you said, amusement coloring your words. You glanced at him, taking in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the awkwardness that seemed almost out of place on a man like him.

"Besides," you added, your voice softening slightly, "I've been keeping an eye on you. Just to make sure you didn't do anything foolish."

His eyes widened slightly, and you saw a flash of something in his gaze—surprise, maybe, or something close to it. "I've been that obvious, have I?"

You shook your head, taking a few steps closer until you were standing just at the edge of the pond, the water swirling around your waist. "You're not the first to end up here, remember?" you said quietly. "I know the signs."

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ground, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

"I'm sorry." He glanced back at you, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name. "I didn't mean to—"

"To what?" you interrupted gently, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "You've done nothing wrong, Eperitus."

He flinched slightly at the name, and you saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes before he quickly looked away. It was almost imperceptible, but you caught it, that brief hesitation, that moment of uncertainty.

You hummed softly, waving him off with a light smile. "No worries," you said, your voice easy and warm. You turned away, wading through the cool water to where the last cloth floated lazily on the surface.

The fabric clung to your fingers as you lifted it, squeezing out the excess water, your movements slow and deliberate. Droplets slid down your arms, glistening like tiny jewels in the fading light as you made your way back to the shore.

Setting the damp cloth gently in the woven basket with the other clean clothes, you straightened, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. "I was meaning to tell you, there's fresh water here. You can come and bathe; clean up a bit." You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you shifted the basket to the side. "Unless you're the type of Greek who doesn't do that."

He let out a short, surprised chuckle at that, the sound rough and genuine, his shoulders relaxing just a little. But then his laughter died away, the words faltering on his lips as he looked at you.

You stepped out of the pond, the water cascading down your legs, the sunlight filtering through the leaves above, casting a soft, golden glow over your skin. Your white slip clung to you like a second skin, the wet fabric almost translucent, outlining the curves of your body in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

His eyes roamed over you, unbidden, as if drawn by some unseen force. Your smooth, sun-kissed skin glistened with droplets of water, each one catching the light, making you look like you were carved from marble, like a statue come to life.

Your hair, damp and wild, was adorned with small pieces of coral and tiny flowers—a crown of nature's bounty that seemed almost otherworldly.

By Aphrodite's grace…

The thought struck him like a blow, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from letting the words slip past his lips. He watched you, mesmerized, as you moved with an effortless grace, your bare feet barely making a sound on the moss-covered stones.

Every step, every sway of your hips, seemed to pull him in deeper, into a trance he couldn't escape.

You seemed almost unreal, as if the Gods themselves had sculpted you from the very essence of desire.

His gaze lingered on your lips, soft and full, naturally pouty in a way that made his mouth go dry. He thought to reach out and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers, to trace the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck.

He swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears, his hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep from losing himself completely.

His breath hitched, his mind spiraling, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something he shouldn't be thinking, shouldn't be feeling.

He had a wife, a son, a home waiting for him, a life he had fought tooth and nail to return to.

Penelope, with her quiet strength and unwavering loyalty, the woman he loved more than life itself.

And yet, here he was, staring at you like a starving man, drinking in every detail, every inch of your body with a hunger that burned in his veins.

It was wrong, all of it, and yet he couldn't look away, couldn't pull himself free from the spell you had woven around him.

You were beautiful, achingly so, and in that moment, he knew he was treading dangerous ground.

And for the first time in a long, long time, he truly felt afraid.

"Eperitus?"

Your voice, soft and lilting, broke through the haze in his mind, snapping him back to reality. You were looking at him with those wide, doe-like eyes, your gaze gentle, curious, your lips curved into the barest hint of a smile.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough and strangled, his eyes wide as if he'd just snatched Persephone from Hades' very arms. He took a stumbling step back, his hands raising slightly as if in surrender, his gaze darting away from you as if your very presence burned him.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice uneven, breaking on the last word. He shook his head, the movement almost frantic, as if he could shake free of whatever spell you had woven around him. "I didn't mean to—I should—I should go."

He gestured vaguely toward the forest behind him, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "Fish," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the word itself was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the chaos of his thoughts. "I need to— I'll go fish. Or forage. Or fix something. Yes, I'll— I'll go do that."

He took another step back, almost tripping over his own feet; his cheeks flushed a deep, mortified red. His eyes flicked back to you, just for a moment, and then away again before hurrying off like a man fleeing the scene of a crime, the ghost of your beauty chasing him, haunting his every step.

You watched him go, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, its light spilling across the sea in a riot of colors—gold and crimson bleeding into the darkening blue of the water, the water shimmering like liquid gold beneath the dying light.

You sat with your legs curled up beside you on the cliff's edge, the wind whispering around you, soft and cool, tugging gently at your hair as if trying to coax you closer to the edge.

This was your favorite place on the island, the place where the land met the sea, where you could sit and lose yourself in the endless expanse of water and sky. It was where you had seen him, Eperitus—his body limp and broken, washed ashore like so many others before him, another lost soul thrown at your feet by the whims of the Gods.

The ocean stretched out before you, vast and endless, its beauty a cruel mockery of the cage that held you.

For as long as you could remember, this had been your only view, the only sight that had remained unchanged through centuries of exile. The sky, the sea, the stars—eternally bound to this lonely rock, this place that was both your sanctuary and your prison.

The water was so close, just a few feet away, and yet it might as well have been a world apart. You could still feel it, the pull of the tides, the longing that thrummed in your veins, the memory of what it was to be one with the sea.

You sighed softly, your gaze following the path of the sun as it dipped lower, the sky turning from brilliant orange to deep purple.

Once, you had swum through these waters as freely as the dolphins, your body slicing through the waves like a silver blade. The ocean had been your domain, your home, every current and tide a part of you.

You were a sea nymph, a daughter of the sea, wild and unbound, but the water no longer sang to you—no longer held the promise of escape.

But that was before.

You closed your eyes, the memories crashing over you like waves, each one more painful than the last.

The Titanomachy. The great war that had torn the heavens and the earth apart, that had pitted brother against brother, father against son.

You had watched from the sidelines, powerless to intervene, to stop the destruction that had swept through your family, your kind. And when the dust had settled, when the victors had claimed their spoils and the losers had been cast down into the darkness, you had been left behind, forgotten.

Or so you had thought.

The punishment had come later, delivered with the cold, indifferent hand of justice.

You, the daughter of Atlas, the child of Pleione, had been deemed unworthy, a threat to the new order of things. And so you had been cast out, not to the depths of Tartarus, but to this island, this paradise-turned-prison, to live out your days in endless solitude.

You had not wept, not then.

You had been too proud, too defiant to show the Gods your pain. But as the years had passed, as one by one, those who washed up on your shores had come and gone, the loneliness had seeped into your bones, a slow, insidious poison that sapped your strength, your will.

You had not been broken by the war, but by the endless, unchanging years that followed. You had stopped counting the days, the years. Time had lost its meaning here, each day bleeding into the next in an endless, monotonous cycle.

You had grown numb, your heart a hollow thing, a fragile shell that you guarded fiercely, lest it shatter completely.

And yet, there were moments like this, rare and fleeting, when the ache became too much to bear, when the weight of your exile pressed down on you like a physical thing, crushing the breath from your lungs.

You missed it… the life you had once known—the feel of the water around you, the way it had held you, cradled you in its depths.

The life that you would never get back.

Your eyes stung, the salt of unshed tears burning as you blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. What good would it do? What good had it ever done? The Gods did not care for your tears, your pain.

They had made their judgment, and you were bound to it, bound to this place, this fate.

You glanced back over your shoulder, towards the fire, towards the small, simple home you had made for yourself on this cursed rock. You had tried to build something, to find some small measure of peace, of contentment in the simple things—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air.

But it was never enough. It would never be enough.

A soft, bitter laugh slipped past your lips. How foolish you had been to think you could defy them, to think that you could carve out some semblance of a life here.

A soft "hey" broke through your thoughts, the voice low and tentative. You blinked, your gaze shifting from the horizon to find him standing a few feet behind you, his posture stiff and uncertain. Eperitus looked like he was at war with himself, his eyes dark and troubled as they searched your face.

"Hey," you replied softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

You studied him for a moment, taking in the subtle changes—the way his skin looked cleaner, the faint smell of salt and fresh water clinging to him. He must have taken the time to bathe at the spring, washing away the grime of his journey.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you raised an eyebrow, a teasing lilt in your voice. "I see you took my advice?"

He chuckled, the sound a bit awkward but genuine, as if he were unused to laughing. He took a few hesitant steps closer before lowering himself beside you, his legs dangling off the edge of the cliff.

For a moment, he said nothing, just sitting there with you, watching as the sun dipped lower, its golden light spilling across the water like liquid gold.

You followed his gaze, the sight of the setting sun a familiar comfort, yet tinged with the ever-present ache of longing. "Helios is resting now," you murmured, your eyes softening as the last sliver of the sun slipped beneath the horizon, casting the world into the gentle embrace of twilight. "Even gods need a reprieve from their duties."

His gaze remained on the horizon, the light from the fire behind you casting shadows across his face. He let out a deep, weary sigh, as if the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He turned to you then, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your breath catch.

"Look, Calypso…" His voice was strained, rough around the edges, as if the words were being dragged out of him. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away, unable to meet your eyes. "I haven't been truthful with you." He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "My name… it's not Eperitus. I'm not some soldier from a village in Thessaly."

He paused, drawing in a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own lies were too much to bear. "My name is Odysseus," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might shatter the fragile peace between you. "I'm a king—from Ithaca."

You watched him, your expression unreadable, your heart beating steadily in your chest as his words settled in the air between you.

Odysseus.

The name hung there, heavy with meaning, with the weight of the legend that preceded him. A name that had been whispered on the lips of sailors and soldiers, spoken with reverence and fear, a name that had traveled farther than the man himself.

He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes filled with something like regret, like guilt. "I gave you a false name because I… I wasn't sure if I could trust you. I didn't know if you were friend or foe, if you were another test from the gods, another trial to endure."

He swallowed again, his throat working as he struggled to find the right words, the right way to explain himself. "But your kindness… the way you've treated me, even when I didn't deserve it…" He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, pleading for understanding. "I'm sorry, Calypso. I've spent so long fighting, lying, doing whatever it took to survive, that I forgot what it meant to be honest, to trust."

You let out a sharp snort, then burst into a fit of giggles. The sound caught Odysseus off guard, his head snapping over to you, eyes wide with something like panic. He clearly expected anger or disappointment, but you waved him off, your hand covering your mouth as you struggled to stifle your laughter.

"I-I'm sorry," you managed to say between chuckles, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. "It's just… 'Eperitus'? Really?" You let out another peal of laughter, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "I mean, really? 'Man of Strife'? I may have been stuck on this island for eons, but even that sounds fake! You're lucky I'm polite enough not to have called you out on it."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and before he could stop himself, he was laughing too, a deep, genuine sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did you. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I suppose you are the first to see through it so quickly," he admitted, his voice warm with reluctant admiration.

You hummed, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you leaned back on your palms, the firelight casting a soft glow on your face. "Those around you must not have been that bright to believe it," you teased lightly, watching as his laughter grew, the sound carrying out over the darkening sea.

Odysseus chuckled, shaking his head again. "You'd be surprised," he said, his voice warm with shared humor. "Sometimes, people believe what they want to believe. A name is just a name, after all."

You nodded, the laughter slowly fading as a comfortable silence settled between you, the sound of the waves filling the space left behind.

You glanced at him, the firelight casting his face in soft, flickering shadows, highlighting the lines etched into his features, the weariness in his eyes.

You found yourself wanting to know, to understand, what had brought him here, to your shores, so far from his home.

"How did you find yourself here, Odysseus?" you asked quietly, your voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. "A king of Ithaca, so far from home."

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes dimming as his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. He let out a long, weary sigh, his gaze dropping to his hands, his fingers tracing absent patterns in the sand.

"It's… it's a long tale," he murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of too many memories. "One filled with more suffering than I care to remember."

You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully, your eyes fixed on his as you waited, patient, giving him the space to begin.

He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and then he spoke, his words slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of years of pain and regret. "It all began with a war," he started, his voice low, almost reverent. "Helen of Troy, they called her. The most beautiful woman in the world, stolen from her husband, Menelaus, by Paris of Troy."

You nodded, familiar with the tale. It was a story that had reached even the shores of your island, carried on the whispers of the waves.

"I was tasked to join the rescue," he continued, his gaze distant, as if he were seeing those events play out before him, the battles, the bloodshed. "I sailed with six hundred men, my loyal soldiers to reclaim her and bring her back to Menelaus. We stormed the beaches of Troy, built walls of bodies and dreams, all for the sake of one woman."

He paused, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. "We fought for ten years," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Ten long years of death, of suffering, of loss…" You could see the pain, the regret, etched into every line of his face. "And when we finally breached the walls, when we finally stood victorious, I thought… I thought that would be the end of it. I thought I could go home…"

He laughed then, a bitter, hollow sound. "…but the Gods had other plans."

You watched him, your heart aching with a sympathy you couldn't quite explain, couldn't quite contain. "What happened?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his hands, his fingers twisting together as if he were trying to hold onto something slipping through his grasp. "We set sail for home, but the winds were against us. We were thrown off course, tossed from island to island, each one more cursed than the last." He swallowed, the sound thick and heavy in the stillness. "I made… unsavory decisions, angered those who should not be angered," he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly, the words dragged from some dark place deep within him. "I sacrificed my honor, everything, all for the sake of returning to Ithaca."

You listened in silence as he recounted his tale, the trials and tribulations that had followed—the blinding of the Cyclops, the enchantment of Circe, the deadly song of the Sirens. Each word, each memory, seemed to take a piece of him, leaving him more worn, more broken.

"I lost good men. Friends. Brothers…" he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his grief. "I lost them all... Every single one of them…"

You were silent for a long moment, studying the way his shoulders were hunched, his hands clenched into fists on his lap, the way his eyes shone with a pain you could almost feel. He was a man broken by war, by loss, by the endless trials the gods had thrown at him.

A man who had forgotten how to be anything but what the world demanded of him.

And here he was, baring his soul to you, offering up his truth like a fragile, precious thing. You would have gave your sorrows, but from what you've known of him, it wouldn't do any good.

A sigh escaped your lips, soft and resigned, as you turned your gaze back to the sea, the waves rolling in gentle, rhythmic swells, the last of the light fading into the deep, dark blue of the coming night. "Odysseus of Ithaca," you murmured, the name tasting strange on your tongue, heavy with the weight of all that it carried. "You're not the first to wash up on my shores, lost and broken," you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the horizon, your voice carrying a sadness that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the endless, unchanging cycle of your existence. "And you won't be the last."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your shoulders, the way the firelight played across your skin.

You could feel his gaze like a physical thing, warm and searching, and for a moment, you almost believed that he could see you, not as the myth, the story, the cursed daughter of Atlas, but as something more, something real.

But you knew better.

"You're right not to trust me, Odysseus," you continued, your voice steady, calm. "I'm bound by my curse, just as you're bound by your fate. We're both prisoners here, in our own way."

He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but you shook your head, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of your lips. "You don't owe me anything," you said softly, your eyes meeting his, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity. "But thank you, for your honesty. For your truth."

He stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that remained unspoken. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours, the warmth of his skin a tantalizing whisper against your own.

For a moment, you thought he might take your hand, might bridge the distance between you.

But then he hesitated, his fingers curling into a fist, and he drew back, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

You looked away, your heart aching with a familiar, bittersweet pain, your eyes drifting back to the sea, to the endless, unchanging horizon.

And so you sat there, side by side, two souls bound by the whims of the Gods, watching as the last light faded from the sky, as the stars began to bloom overhead, bright and cold and distant.

Together, yet worlds apart.

A/N: ahhh! not me falling in love with this lil one-shot. anywho, had to cut this in half cuz it was getting ridonculusly long... prt 2 shall be here soon tho, also, would you guys be cool if i added smut to it or nah? cuz i feel like the smut between these two will be so angsty cuz deep down odysseus ass still loves penelope, so calypso!reader is really just getting used, ma babieee 😭😭

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tojismain · 3 months ago

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10 things you hate about toji

He says your name, his voice low and firm, clearly irritated by your cold demeanor. You continue looking at the flowers on the window sill, trying to avoid the way his shoulders brush against you. He grits his teeth and looks away for a moment, gathering a breath before saying, “Look at me.”

You turn your head and lift it up, trying to put on a brave front. You always managed to avoid arguments, even if Toji was irritated and tried to get on your nerves, you never let it go too far, but this time he managed to do just that. He got home, frustrated and itching for someone’s face to fall on his fist. But he wanted to be home to be next to you, to forget all about his violent tendencies and to have you lay in his arms, looking up at him with that in-love expression, but his temper prickled his skin and made him bite cruel words in your direction.

His gaze locks onto yours as he takes in your expression. He can see the flicker of vulnerability that flashes by, a reminder of the fact that you always tried to handle things on your own. You let yourself fall under the pretense that you could be there for Toji but him being there for you was laughable, and because of that he rarely got to comfort you, but looking at you right now, he wanted to do nothing more than hold you and smother you in constant affection.

His tone tilts to a softer hum, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You furrow your eyebrows and bite your lip to stop it from shaking, “Are you serious?”

He frowns at your question, his jaw clenching. He knew exactly why you were avoiding him, he was mean, how did he expect you to confront that? But that’s exactly what he wanted, he needed you to stand up for yourself.

“Yes, I’m serious. Why are you avoiding me?” He repeats.

You falter for a second, looking away for a moment before locking your eyes back on his, “Because you hurt me, Toji.” Your voice breaks on the emphasis of his name.

His heart stutters with an ache and he tenses for a second. His eyes flutter shut for a few seconds and he clenches his jaw, annoyed with himself. After that, he steps forward.

“I didn’t mean to.” He starts. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He’s so close now you could feel the heat radiating off of his body, the tension thickening in the vast room.

Your expression falters once more and you look down, avoiding him even with his close proximity. He notices the shift and steps even closer, he reaches out, fingers gripping your chin, lifting your head up. You let out a short unintended huff to avoid crying.

He sees the tears gathering in your eyes and the ache spreads over his chest, curling around him like a nasty virus. His grip on your chin loosens, perfectly gentle.

“Stop doing that.” He orders.

“Doing what?”

“Holding it in.” He explains. “You don’t do that. Not with me.”

He moves his hand just in time to catch a tear swiveling down your cheek.

“I hate—” You take a breath, quick inhales and exhales following. “I hate that you hurt me, I hate that I can’t fight, and I hate that I can’t hate you.”

He feels the frustration radiating off of you in unsteady waves, the anger apparent in between the hurt. His eyes roam across your tearful face.

“You really should hate me.” He says, his voice quiet.

“I know.” You whisper.

He holds your gaze for a moment. He can see the conflict, and the hesitation.

His hand moves from your cheek to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “But you don’t.” He confirms, and you shake your head.

He brushes his hand against your jawline, hoping that it was a solace for you.

“I can work with that.” He says before he slowly tucks your head against his chest, ironically hoping to shield you from the hurt he caused.

#toji fluff #toji x reader #jjk fluff #toji comfort #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #soft toji #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #hurt/comfort #jjk comfort #tojismain౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹#tojismain

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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What about ☝🏽 angry sex with soap (afab reader) you both just woke up in the wrong foot and are in a bad day, so after yall eat dinner theres finally peace when you’re both sitting in the couch watching tv but one of you just said something then started arguing again so he just makes you shut up by giving you ONE OF THOSE kisses, and he just fucks you for hours until ur ovestimulated and cant even say ur name at that point❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

cw: no foreplay, rough/hate sex, fem!reader

ANGER MANAGEMENT | SOAP MACTAVISH

it'd be so common for you two to clash; two differing personalities, topped with a life-or-death work environment for johnny. days like that are a complete and utter mess.

sitting in silence on the couch, both of you with scowls on your face. "will you turn the tv up?" you spit out your words, not giving him the courtesy of making eye contact. it's only fair; he isn't either.

soap scoffs, "what was that? couldn't bloody hear ye over that attitude." a surge of irritation reappears when you hear his petty reply, and how it ripped open the fresh wounds of your argument that morning.

"jesus christ," you shake your head, climbing over his lap to reach the remote on his armrest. his fists clamp around your biceps, tight enough to make you struggle. you curse at him, words verbatim of the spat you had before.

with a jerk, you get jostled along the couch, until you're straddling him. despite using your entire body to climb off—you were still chest to chest—and his nails were starting to dig.

"johnny, stop being a fucking prick and—" he kisses you. violently. his tongue intrudes your mouth, effectively silencing your fury. soap lets go of your arms, but you remain in his lap, unable to resist the heated intimacy.

the jingle of his belt startles you, and you feels his fingers tugging and rustling between your legs. leaning back, you watch him shimmy his jeans down his thighs, then free his length.

apparently, wrath is his aphrodisiac of choice, because he's already rock-hard.

you don't know why or how, but his furrowed expression has you weak and unable to find excuses. before you know it, he tugs at your panties, pulling them down to get a view of your cunt.

he grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. without any warning, he grabs your hip with his other hand and pushes you downward. the stretch pinches, making you gasp in shock and dig your fingertips into his neck. "you're an asshole." you grit your teeth, only met with a harsh grip on your jaw.

"enough." johnny retorts, with the voice of a hardened sergeant and not your boyfriend. the hand on your hip pushes with more force until your pussy has swallowed his entire cock, your walls clenching with the same death grip you wish you could use on him right now.

but you can't. it's an indescribable feeling of relief after all the bickering, despite the sting of his aggressiveness. his hips start to buck upward instead of controlling your hips, yet it isn't any easier to move. acrimony bubbles in you, along with the pleasure starting to form. you hate yourself for enjoying this; letting sex become the solution.

your head sinks into the crook of his neck, unable to see past all his petty behavior. in an act of impulse, you bite into his neck — enough to make him hiss and cease his thrusts.

your axis tips, sent face first into the couch. "this what y' need? bein' fucked until you cannae see straight?" he sinks inside once more, giving no time to adjust, before he's pounding into you harder than before. one calloused hand raises your hips, while the other holds you by the back of your head, keeping your cheek pressed against the cushion.

"dirty fuckin' girl with no respect; we'll see about that, won't we?"

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

#is he an asshole for this? maybe...#but he's too sexy :(#soap mactavish #soap #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #soap x fem reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #rachel speaks #not writing #mw2 fanfic

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cookies-and-coffee · 2 months ago

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telepathic interrogation (1)

cw: telepathic/telekinetic whumper, sadistic whumper, team leader/defiant whumpee, team forced to watch, psychological torture, interrogation, mentions of broken bones

a/n: this was a prompt that kept me up at night, just because i found it so interesting. the telepathic/telekinetic whump was inspired by a scene at the very end of the book Empire of Storms, part of the Throne of Glass series. TOG as a whole as some really good whump, highly recommend!!

Whumper's power curled around Whumpee's very bones, keeping them still as death. Any shake or tremble from Whumpee, and their spine would shatter from the tension.

A lick of power slicked and snaked up Whumpee's back, wrapping around their throat in a noose. Whumpee gasped shallow breaths, the noose tightening.

Whumper strode in front of Whumpee, smiling wickedly at the team leader on their knees. Whumpee barely noticed their team watching in horror, unable to turn their head from the power threatening to snap bone.

"This is going to hurt," Whumper said with delight, and ripped into Whumpee's mind.

Whumpee tried to steel themselves against Whumper's mind invading theirs, but they still weren't able to wholly prepare when their consciousness became violated in the most intimate sense.

Whumper carved into Whumpee's consciousness, their presence like a serrated knife against Whumpee's thoughts, memories, emotions. Whumpee would scream if they had any breath.

I don't have to do this, you know, Whumper said soothingly, but the sound didn't come from their mouth. Instead, it echoed inside Whumpee's mind, the words reverberating against the walls of their head. Where is Caretaker?

Whumpee shut their eyes, trying to find peace in the darkness, but Whumper just laughed into Whumpee's mind. The sound was deafening, like hearing gunshots from the inside out.

Whumper spoke casually in Whumpee's head, like they weren't tearing a psyche to shreds.

I'm going to get what I want, one way or another.

It's up to you to decide how will be left of your mind when I'm finished.

How much will be left of you when I eventually bring in Caretaker?

They should be proud of how thoroughly broken you will be, knowing you protected them...

fruitlessly, of course.

Whumpee sobbed aloud, the sound secondary to the roaring in their ears from Whumper's violent will. Still, they retreated further into their mind, running from the ripping, scraping, clawing-

They didn't notice Whumper gritting their teeth in frustration, tearing deeper into Whumpee's head.

They cried out in pain when Whumper laid a hand on their forehead. The touch itself was gentle, but the skin seemed to be blistering, like Whumper was trying to burn through the flesh and sinew and bone and brain.

The team couldn't look away, their gaze transfixed on the horrible pain written on their team leader's face, the fists clenched at their sides, the sweat soaking through their shirt.

Whumper was the picture of amusement, save for that glimpse of impatience at Whumpee's determination.

"Does your team know how frightened you are?" Whumper cooed, their thumb and middle finger digging into Whumpee's temples. "That burden you carry... it weighs down every step, wears you to the bone... such delicious fear."

Whumpee whimpered, tears flowing freely, unending.

Whumper reached a wall in Whumpee's mind. "Ah, there it is."

"No," Whumpee croaked, squeezing their eyes shut. That tension rippling along their bones tightened, forcing a shriek of pain from their throat.

No?

Oh, Whumpee, you're so cute to think I'm not going to get what I want from you.

Give Caretaker up, now.

I'm not going to give you another chance.

"No!" Whumpee screamed, their tear-filled eyes snapping open. Whumper lurched back, pulling their hand from Whumpee's forehead.

The pressure in Whumpee's head lessened, but the force trapping their body remained.

Whumper was quiet for a moment, rage crossing their face.

Then the rage dissipated, became something else...

Glee.

Whumper laughed, the sound horrible and dreading. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun."

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #whumpee #interrogation #intimate whumper #captivity #beaten #creepy whumper #team leader #defiant whumpee #sadistic whumper

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elliespassagerprincess · 2 months ago

Note

heyy could you write something based on Dark Red by Steve Lacy?

i love all your works btw

Dark red - (ellie williams x reader)

hi poookie!! thank you sm!! i hope you don't mind me writing this as a gore story, I've been writing a lot of fluff recently and i missed my violent stories, but if you want me to write a different version just let me know!!! i hope you enjoy <33

This story is based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy, if you can please listen to the song while you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

HUGE warning: murder, kidnapping, being held hostage, dead bodies, violence

Summary: in which she wanted you to herself

masterlist

"Something bad is 'bout to happen to me

I don't know what, but I feel it coming

Might be so sad, might leave my nose running

I just hope she don't wanna leave me"

Something bad was going to happen. Ellie could feel it in her bones. She doesn't know why she feels this way, but ever since she woke up this morning, she's been filled with dread. A heaviness in her gut she can't shake off.

Ellie sat at her desk, anxiously waiting for the bell to ring. She hasn't been home for the last 3 days because of school spirit week.

Ellie was so pissed off when she heard they were having a camping day, a sleepover and a all nighter back to back. Everyone was complaining that they were exhausted due to all the activities happening at school, but Ellie wasn't thinking about sleep.

She was thinking about you.

She was always thinking about you.

Ellie could see everyone was staring at the clock, they were practically counting down the seconds before the bell rang. They wanted to go home.

Ellie wanted to go home too, she needed to get home to you.

5, 4, 3, 2-

Before the bell rang the intercom went off. The students groaned thinking that they had to stay at school for another day.

"Can Ellie Williams please come to the principals office. Ellie Williams. I repeat, can Ellie Williams please come to the principals office"

fuck.

The bell rang soon after and everyone ran to the door, Ellie watched as they ran like animals.

"Fucking idiots" she thought to herself

She waited till most of the kids were gone, before she got up grabbing her bag and slowly making her way to the office.

She knocked on the door, and she heard a small "come in".

She let out a sigh as she reluctantly pushed open the door and she was greeted by a the principal and a detective.

What the fuck?

"Close the door and sit down" the principal instructed.

As she sat down her heartrate increased. Her ears were ringing, her palms were sweaty.

The detective cleared his throat before he spoke "as you know y/n has been missing for 3 months now"

She nods

"after further investigation, it seems you were the last one seen with her"

"Was i really or are you looking for someone to blame?" Ellie asked with a raised brow.

She knew where you were, but she couldn't tell him that.

"Ms Williams you're under suspension of kidnapping"

Ellies fists clench by her sides "why am i? Just because i was last seen with her?"

"You guys were best friends, many people said you were close, some say you where obsessed"

Oh she was mad. Ellie was really mad. She wasn't obsessed, she just cared about you.

"i wasn't" she said through gritted teeth.

"We think you know where she is"

Ellie got up, her fist hitting the table "so you're accusing an underage child of kidnapping? do i look like I'm capable of doing that?"

"Ms Williams-"

"no"

Ellie turned to the door and she stormed out. She walked out of the building rushing home to see you.

She hoped you didn't leave her.

"Don't you give me up, please don't give up

On me, I belong with you and only you, baby

Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Only you, darling, only you, babe

Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Only you, darling, only you"

They weren't wrong about what ellie had done to you.

But she had to do it! How else was she supposed to keep you to herself?

Ellie always has feelings for you. Ever since you shyly asked her for a pencil in year 8, she's been all over you. As the years went by her fondness towards you grew, you made her blush, you made her giggle, you made her so fucking happy.

Overtime the two of you built a good friendship but Ellie always wanted more.

It was a Thursday, the sun was shining and the two of had a science project to finish.

The homecoming dance was getting closer and she wanted to ask you. Ellie thought this was the perfect moment to ask you.

"So....with who are you going to homecoming?" Ellie asked clearing her throat

"oh Dina asked me"

"what did you say?"

"I said yes, i think Dina is cute"

No no no no no no no

Not her. You belong to her. You were hers. Not Dina. You were supposed to go with her.

No no no no no

"Ellie?" You asked with concern seeing her zoned out expression.

Ellie looked at you briefly before her hands wrapped around your neck. You let out a silent scream trying to scratch her. You tried fighting but you couldn't. Ellie was stronger than you, she was bigger too.

Eventually you went limp in her hands.

Heavy breaths left Ellie's mouth.

You were still breathing. Good.

She dragged you to her house, hiding behind bushes once in a while to make sure no one saw her. She dragged you into her house, and into her basement.

Ellie placed your body onto the cold floor and she watched you breathing faintly.

Now you cant go with Dina.

"Something bad is 'bout to happen to me

Why I feel this way, I don't know maybe

I think of her so much, it drives me crazy

What if she's fine?

It's my mind that's wrong

And I just let bad thoughts

Linger for far too long"

You're fine. You're fine. You're fine.

She's just having bad thoughts. Ellie has always had a tendency to overthink things.

She knew it was bad to overthink but she was always prepared for the worst.

When Ellie first kidnapped you, 3 months ago everything was fine.

You never screamed, you never fought back, you always tried negotiating or escaping which was good because she didn't need to tie you up or gag you.

You made things easy for her. Ellie fed you, she kept you company, she tried to be Dina.

She really tried to keep you happy.

You didn't need Dina, you needed her.

But for the last month you've been very sick. You barley spoke, you barley ate, you barley moved.

There was something wrong with you, she just didn't know what it was.

Since she hasn't been home for 3 days, Ellie didn't know if you would still be alive. There was no one to feed you. No one to talk to you. You were all alone.

You're fine. You're fine. You're fine.

She's just overthinking it.

Her house key rattled as she pushed open the door. She quickly made her way to the basement, unlocking the door. She walked down the stairs quietly calling your name.

You didn't say anything. She didn't see any movement. she slowly made her way to the bed she had made for you and there you were.

Your skin was pale, cold and it was turning blue. You weren't breathing.

Ellie let out a sigh as she gently grabbed your body, hugging you, not caring of the smell.

Atleast Dina cant get to you.

You were hers. You were safe. You were ok. You now only belong to her.

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Text

vampire!soap conclusion :) 👍

(part 3)

Soap hates that Price is right. Hates that he almost always is, about these kinds of things.

He hates that Price won’t just accept his request to transfer and let him move on from this, and never have to think about what he did ever again.

(Though, who is Soap kidding? He’ll feel guilt for the remainder of his immortal existence for what he’d done.)

But unfortunately, as it stands, he has no choice but to confront the elephant in the room.

For Soap, it’s easy to find Ghost. He knows of the lieutenant’s favourite haunts, knows where he goes to be alone.

And it had never been thanks to the vampirism that he knew of them.

This time, Ghost has chosen to have himself a cigarette in a hidden area on the roof, a place completely out of sight unless one knew where to look for the thin wisp of smoke unfurling into the air. Soap moves silently toward him, slow and hesitant and almost entirely unwilling until they’re standing side by side, suffocating in the thick weight of everything to be said. To be discussed.

Ghost never startles, whenever Soap appears beside him. Hardly ever acknowledges him first, either. It’s the vague sense of a familiar routine that lends Soap just enough confidence to speak.

“I…” Soap takes a deep breath, steeling himself in place. He spares Ghost a bare enough glance to see the way his eyes are blank, distant, glazed over. “I wanted to… apologize.”

Ghost takes a slow, considerate drag, breathing out as he flicks what remains of the cigarette on the ground, stamping it beneath his boot. He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Soap shifts anxiously between his feet.

“Don’t,” Ghost finally says, voice flat. “An apology isn’t getting anyone anywhere.”

Soap wants to huff. Wants to tell Ghost to not make this any more difficult than it already has been, wants to tell him not to make Soap feel any more shame than he can bear.

Instead, he rakes a nervous hand over his scalp.

“Then what—“ Soap wets his lips, exhaling shakily. He makes the mistake of looking at Ghost again, only to spot the violent marks left behind in his neck from fangs that couldn’t tell enemy from ally. “Then what will fix this? I… I want to fix this. Fix… us.”

Ghost’s gaze shifts to his, then. His eyes, darker than ever, burn with an intensity that Soap has never seen anyone else able to muster.

“There’s nothing to fix, Soap,” Ghost says through grit teeth. “You weren’t—I know you never meant to.”

“But I still did.”

Ghost stares at him. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and some distant voice in Soap’s head wonders if he’s forgotten his balaclava is rolled up past his nose.

“Doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t, Johnny.” His eyes are piercing, penetrating even the deepest parts of Soap’s soul. His voice is low, gravelly—borderline broken. “Still here, ain’t I?”

Soap looks to the ground, suddenly finding more interest in scuffing his boot against the concrete. “I’m putting in for a transfer,” he confesses quietly.

Ghost doesn’t need to know that he’s already tried.

Soap can sense his frown, his disbelief, even before hearing it in his pained, breathless, “What?”

Soap curls his hands into tight fists, digging crescents into the flesh of his palms. He glares intently at the ground like it could offer him up some kind of answers.

“Well, obviously, I—“ Soap pauses, shakes his head, and wills himself to start again. “I dinnae want to force you to have to work with someone you cannae even trust not to kill you.”

In his periphery, Soap sees Ghost’s frown deepen. “What are you on about, Soap?”

Soap feels pathetic. Incapable. He feels like a horrible person. “If Price and Gaz weren’t there—“

“Well, they were,” Ghost argues. “There’s no time for ifs in our line of work, Johnny. You were hung out to dry, and I never thought for a second to be more careful when I finally found you because I was too caught up in the fact that you were still alive.”

The admission hangs heavy between them. Everything unsaid but still there makes it all the more terrifying.

“You could have died, Simon,” Soap whispers. He doesn’t trust his voice not to waver, speaking any louder.

Ghost’s hands are suddenly on Soap’s face, human warmth bleeding into the cold of the undead. Soap’s are are wide with shock. Ghost’s are glassy with the threat of frustrated tears.

“But I didn’t,” he murmurs. Soap can’t help but lean into the roughness of calloused fingers pressing into his skin. “I didn’t. And I’d have found a way to forgive you even if I had.”

Ghost’s chin quivers. Soap isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so… so—

“I’ll admit, I—“ Ghost’s voice has grown raspier, exhausted by emotion, “I was afraid of you, for a long while. Of what you are.”

Soap does his best to offer a smile, however watery. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Ghost says nothing, only massaging careful circles into the high points of Soap’s cheeks.

Soap sighs, finally tearing his gaze away from Ghost.

“Price wasn’t going to let me transfer, anyway,” Soap admits. “Not without talking to you, first.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward, his grin endearingly crooked.

“Someone has to be your impulse control.”

“Yeah, well.” Soap rolls his eyes. “Old man’s gonna be all smug, now.”

Ghost laughs quietly, a huff of air through his nose more than anything. “Better than losing you,” he says. “Gaz would miss you.”

Soap tilts his head, his own smile growing wider. “No one else?”

Ghost shakes his head mock-solemnly, playfully patting Soap’s face for good measure. “No one else, Johnny.”

The weight on Soap’s shoulders finally feels lighter, after days of berating himself and bending to the whim of a gnawing shame. There’s still guilt, nestled in his mind, and he knows it’ll stick around for a while yet—but now again on good terms with Ghost, Soap thinks it should be easy to overcome, in time.

Soap’s hands find Ghost’s wrists, gently prying him away from his face to intertwine their fingers. He’s more than glad to finally have this.

Finally have Ghost.

His smile becomes something shyer, just for a moment, as he declares with a profound decisiveness, “I guess I’ll stick around then.”

And how he means it.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing #vampire!soap

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thatlotuscookie · 23 days ago

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👋👋how about Dabi x reader, when he has a nightmare about his past and when he wakes up in cold sweat and everything he doesn't want comfort reader tries to give him and he pushes her away, so reader obviously leaves him be and turns away from him. and then how he actually wants a hug more than anything but he's so awkward to ask or something, like he struggles with forming words🥺 and then he cries or something ❤️

✧･ﾟ: a/n : aww the perfect blend of hurt and comfort in this request is literally so perfect. i love this. enjoy and thank you for the request!

✧ Title: ✧ Home is With You ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst - Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: In the darkness of the night, Dabi battles the ghosts of his past while you offer him the comfort he struggles to accept. ✧ Content Warning: Nightmares, Emotional Distress, Mentions of a Toxic/Abusive Household, Vulnerability, Tears ✧ WC: 1594 words // 8.6k chars

The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the blinds. Everything was calm, or so it seemed. You were curled up beside Dabi, your head resting on his chest as his slow, steady heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

But even in sleep, Dabi wasn’t at peace. His body twitched, his breath uneven as the shadows of his past crept into his mind, turning the quiet of the night into a living nightmare.

His dreams were filled with fire—flames consuming everything in sight. His skin felt like it was burning all over again, the heat unbearable as he heard distant screams, his family’s voices echoing in his head. His father’s harsh words, his own screams of agony—everything was a blur of pain and flames. It was always the same. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the memories wouldn’t let him.

In his sleep, his body jerked violently, his muscles tense, hands clenching into fists as he tried to fight off the invisible enemies haunting his mind. You stirred beside him, noticing the change in his breathing, the tension in his body.

“Dabi?” you whispered, your voice soft as you placed a gentle hand on his arm. But he didn’t wake up. He was still trapped in his nightmare, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, his breath quickening.

Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes snapping open as he bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved with the force of his panicked breaths, his eyes wide and wild as he tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. For a moment, he didn’t even know where he was, his mind still trapped in that hellish landscape of fire and pain.

You sat up quickly, your heart pounding in concern. “Dabi? What’s wrong?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch him, to comfort him. But before your hand could reach him, he swatted it away.

“Don’t… touch me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice harsh and strained. His body trembled as he struggled to rein in his emotions, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists, digging his nails into his palms. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness, especially to you.

Your heart sank at the sharpness in his voice, the way he recoiled from your touch. It hurt, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. This was Dabi—he wasn’t good with vulnerability, wasn’t used to being comforted. You had learned that early on in your relationship. Still, it didn’t stop the sting of rejection from settling in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand back as you gave him the space he so clearly needed. You turned away from him, lying back down with your back to him, your heart heavy. You wanted to help, to be there for him, but you knew when he was like this, pushing would only make things worse.

Dabi sat there in the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to calm himself. The nightmare still clung to him, the images of his past refusing to fade. His father’s voice still echoed in his head, reminding him of all the things he had failed to do, all the pain he had caused. The weight of it all was suffocating.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His body felt heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And now, on top of everything, he had pushed you away—again.

His gaze shifted to you, lying silently beside him with your back turned. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you had pulled away. He knew he had hurt you. He always did. Every time you tried to get close, he shoved you away, afraid of what would happen if he let you see the broken pieces of himself.

But deep down, that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not after a nightmare like that.

His throat tightened, and he clenched his fists even harder, his knuckles white. He didn’t know how to do this—how to ask for comfort, for help. It went against everything he had trained himself to do. His whole life, he had learned to rely on himself, to harden his heart against the world, to never show weakness.

But as he sat there, staring at your back, the need for comfort, for your touch, grew stronger. The ache in his chest was unbearable, and it wasn’t just from the memories of the past. It was the realization that you were right there, and he had pushed you away when all he wanted to do was hold on to you.

He opened his mouth, trying to form the words, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his voice caught somewhere between his heart and his head. He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. He had never had to before.

“I…” he started, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it caught in his throat. His hands shook as he reached out towards you, his fingers hovering just above your back. He wanted to touch you, to pull you close, but his own insecurities held him back.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But the weight of everything—the nightmare, the memories, the fear of losing you—was too much.

A soft sob escaped his lips before he could stop it, and he quickly brought his hand up to cover his mouth, as if that could somehow stifle the pain that was spilling out of him. His body shook with the force of his emotions, the tears he had held back for so long finally breaking free.

Hearing the quiet sob, you immediately turned back to him, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so broken. Dabi never cried—at least, not where anyone could see. But here he was, struggling to hold himself together, his face hidden in his hands as tears slipped through his fingers.

“Dabi…” you whispered softly, sitting up and reaching out to him. This time, he didn’t push you away. His body tensed at your touch, but he didn’t pull back.

You gently pulled his hands away from his face, cupping his cheeks as you guided his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were red, tears still streaming down his face as he tried to blink them away, ashamed of showing you this side of him.

“I… I don’t know how…” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to ask…” His words were broken, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from completely falling apart.

You shook your head, your heart aching for him as you wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You don’t have to ask,” you whispered softly, pulling him into your arms. “I’m here.”

For a moment, he stayed rigid, his body fighting against the instinct to retreat. But slowly, as your warmth enveloped him, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace. His head rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling with the force of his sobs.

You held him close, your fingers running through his messy hair as you whispered soothing words into his ear. “It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I’ve got you.”

Dabi’s grip on you tightened, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, and the fact that he was finally letting you in, letting himself be vulnerable with you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You shook your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize,” you said softly. “I understand.” “I’m scared,” he confessed, his voice muffled against your skin. The admission felt like a weight lifted, but it also left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I know,” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, soothing him. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

He clung to you, letting the warmth of your body seep into his bones, washing away the remnants of the nightmare. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to be weak, to be human. You were his refuge, the light that broke through the darkness, and in your arms, he felt whole again.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words spilling from his lips as he let the tears fall.

“I love you too, Dabi,” you replied, your voice a gentle caress against his heart. And in that moment, wrapped in your embrace, he finally understood—no matter how dark the shadows grew, you would always be his home.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other as the world outside faded away. His sobs eventually quieted, his body relaxing as the tension slowly melted away. Dabi wasn’t used to comfort. He wasn’t used to being cared for. But with you, he was learning. Slowly, painfully, but he was learning.

And tonight, that was enough.

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hestzhyen · 2 months ago

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Leap of (Lack of) Faith

There's some discourse about Hakuri's suicide attempt in chapter 24 going around on Twitter that got me thinking. Well, actually, I just want to share my own pointless take. Yeah, I genuinely want to be perceived for once. But I hate trying to communicate in 240-character snippets on that hellsite, so I'll post here to rot in obscurity where I'm most comfortable.

Basically, there was a post in the Kagurabachi Twitter community that requested to talk about the abuse flashback-jump sequence. And yeah, uh, I'm kind of surprised at how little it gets brought up too. To quote myself:

Please don't ask me why I have three different usernames- there's no satisfying answer.

It's been a while since chapter 24 happened, so let's recap the lead up to this important moment. We first see Hakuri in Ch. 19 with his drink spilling out of his mouth, putting his inner monologue about "hav[ing] to grit your teeth and push through" to the lie. The very first shot of him, the very first food metaphor we see with him, is Hakuri being unable to cope. We don't know why he lost his his family, but he's clearly alone and not doing well. He's struggling.

Next thing we see is him being coincidentally saved by Chihiro. We get a full page of him narrating his impression of the moment, showing us the contrast between his desire to do some unspecified "job" and his fatalistic frame of mind. Then we learn he's weak as hell even though his heart's in the right place. He saves a little girl and insists on being taken back to the Yakuza's hideout, leading him to get kicked around and beaten up. He's a bloody, scribbly-eyed mess by the time he meets Chihiro for real. And this is exactly how we are supposed to see him until the moment he jumps in chapter 24.

It's so, so easy to overlook the hints towards Hakuri's painful past due to the way he's written. Most of his actions and dialogue are framed in a comedic way to bounce off of Chihiro's stoicism. Hakuri's pessimistic inner monologues when he's being hurt or nearly killed are right at home in this demographic too- wimps start at their lowest to leave lots of room to grow. And Shounen series always have a weak, lonely kid who's inspired to become strong. It's extremely standard stuff. But this moment right here was probably the biggest, most blatant hint that he's got more to his circumstances than the average zero-to-hero character:

That tiny little panel of him casually smearing the blood from his nose while he talks to Chihiro lives rent-free in my head. It's a throwaway motion in the moment, and not really out of place in an ultra-violent series like Kagurabachi. But compare that to how Azami -a professional combat sorcerer and war veteran!- screamed when he realized his hand was sliced in chapter 7, or how Chihiro is often shown wincing and having to adjust to his injuries. These characters definitely feel the hits that land on them. But the most hilariously pathetic character yet acts like the beat-down he received never happened. Nor like he's surrounded by bloody corpses. Hakuri is not only used to violence, he's used to it experiencing it.

Again, this is all framed in a comedic way due to his over-the-top personality and expressions. He's a freakish mess on the floor after taking the hit from Hiyuki, sobs in a silly way over Chihiro's backstory, is called "weak" and "a moron" and "a mess" by other characters, on and on. Hakuri's not written like he's supposed to be taken seriously after the first few pages we see of him.

The only other moments of foreshadowing came in chapter 23 as a set of blink-and-you'll miss panels and the last scene:

Hakuri's clenched, shaking fist when he talks about his "scary" older siblings isn't a huge tell. Neither is the insistence that they'd kill him on sight. We can comfortably assume that he's afraid of the consequences of betraying his powerful family despite being a weakling- that's where most authors would have gone with this scenario. But then why does his big brother Soya look so happy to see him? Was Hakuri over-reacting again when he talked about his family? Something's off here, but it's impossible to say exactly what.

The next chapter starts. Chihiro and Shiba are facing off against the Tou and it's looking tense. Chihiro flashes back to his dad talking about the Shinuchi, the fight's about to begin- but it cuts to Soya being a pretty normal person who misses his little brother.

And then we see this.

Suddenly a whole new and very serious dimension is added to Hakuri's character. He's not a goofy weakling that's going to improve himself with some determination and a training arc: he's a victim of abuse. This is the signal that the Sazanamis are truly fucked up more than we know, setting the stage for the major themes of the Rakuzaichi arc. And it makes re-reading those little bits of foreshadowing so much more painful.

This scene is the "oh shit" equivalent of Chihiro finding Char's severed leg in the car- yeah, the author really went there. And it's not even the last time we'll get a moment like this for Hakuri. The Ice Lady chapter is rightly remembered for it's impact, but Hakuri choosing to commit suicide should be held up alongside it IMO. Again: the author really went there, and not just for the shock value.

This moment should be remembered far more often than it is. It was the pivot from Hakuri being a generic potential sidekick into a complex and fully-realized character. Hakuri found people who could help him. Who treated him kindly. Who inspired him. But he chose death in an instant when his past came back to haunt him. Despite his improved circumstances, he had no hope for the future. He only felt fear and the urge to escape from looming torment.

Looking at what we know up to this chapter alone... how can you not feel for him? This goofy, ridiculous mess of a boy is really truly hurting and probably has been for years. But like many victims, he downplays and doesn't talk about it. He just tries to escape via whatever means he can.

So it burns me up that people are still reducing him to Chihiro's silly sidekick. If this scene was somehow not enough to dispel that notion, consider that Chihiro probably doesn't know that Hakuri had all those tools used on him, much less anything about Ice Lady. He knows that Hakuri was regularly ganged up on and beaten, and probably could infer that Kyoura deliberately looked away. But we haven't seen Hakuri talk about in detail about how "someone set him on the right path", nor mention taking a flying leap, nor share what's in his storehouse. He's still got a hell of a lot of literal and metaphorical pain he keeps inside. In the right circumstances, Hakuri could jump again.

Talk about this scene more often! REMEMBER it more often!

#kagurabachi #sazanami hakuri #Blorbo defense mode activated

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weepinglavenders · 4 months ago

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Staying Put: What's the third stage of grief again? (Part 5)

The berg landed in a small clearing, snow covering the undisturbed ground. The windows immediately started to fog up and Newt shivered. Why were they here? This didn’t make any sense. Thomas woke up, blinking blearily at the window as he sat up.

“We’re here?”

“Yep.”

“It feels like I only slept for ten minutes.”

“Trust me, you were out for five. My shoulder bloody hurts from your head.”

Thomas smiled and laughed a little as Newt pushed him slightly. They stood up as the other three came out of their rooms, Brenda looking at Newt with worry which confused him but she went to check on Jorge. Minho came over to them, looking at Newt.

“How are you feeling man?”

“Fine, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I can see almost every vein in your body and they aren't the right color.”

Newt furrowed his eyebrows, looking at his arms and seeing black veins covering his pale skin, going from his fingers up his arm and disappearing under his shirt, sure that they had reached his neck as well. Thomas had turned to look at him, apparently he hadn’t noticed them either.

“Those had to have happened when I was asleep, you looked fine before.”

Newt stared at his hands, watching as they shook slightly, the veins seeming to move under his skin. Brenda came out, her face looking grave.

“He’s going into one of the last stages before the Gone. I think him staying in the berg caused the spread to quicken more.”

Thomas and Minho whipped around to look at her but Newt stayed still, staring at his hands. Maybe he should've stayed at WCKD, maybe he should have left the berg like he had thought about so many times.

“Can we slow it down some way?”

“We don’t have any of the Bliss and they’ve almost completely stopped selling it, there’s nothing we can do Thomas.”

“There has to be something!”

The pain and franticness that laced Thomas’s voice stabbed into Newt’s heart. He should have left so his friends wouldn’t have to feel like this. He was selfish to have not. He clenched his hands into fists as Minho got into the conversation, their words sounding harsh. He grabbed the only jacket he owned and slipped out of the berg, shaking slightly.

He ignored the cold, how his old injury seemed to spring to life at the frigidness, pain shooting up his leg like he was stepping on pins. Was this a dumb idea? Very much so. But, as he looked back at the berg, his heart seeming to fall into his stomach, he knew it was the right thing. He couldn’t let them see him like this.

He walked for an hour and a half, making sure that he overlapped and turned at random so it would be harder for his friends to track them if they even noticed he was missing at all. He finally decided to stop, finding a little stack of rocks that made a small, dry sitting area. He leaned against the rock, stretching out his hurt leg.

His fingers were red from the cold and he couldn’t feel his nose at all. He closed his eyes, absolutely exhausted and overwhelmed. Tears started to fill his eyes as he despaired. He was going to die. At one point that had seemed like the best option, it still was, but now, he didn’t know if he could handle the thought of leaving his friends for good. He gritted his teeth and banged the back of his head against a rock.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t have time for this, not anymore. Get up Newtie.”

He scolded himself, getting to his feet and wiping off his tears on his sleeve. He started walking again, doing his best to ignore his leg and the darkness that was trapping him inside the forest. He broke off a sturdy branch, using it as some type of cane, pressing his weight into it as he walked.

He shivered violently, thinking of how people died of hypothermia. They were warm and happy for the last minute of their lives and Newt couldn’t help but think that wasn’t such a bad way to go. His mom used to read him a story about a little girl that sold matches and she wasn’t allowed to go home until all the matches were sold. She lit the remaining three and had died from the cold with a smile on her face.

He always thought about how morbid that story was to be telling a seven year old but now he understood the girl a little more. She had rather died than have to go home as a failure. Newt would rather die out here then have to go back, going crazy until he was forced to beg Tommy to kill him.

He curled up beside a tree, his body had stopped shivering, stopped feeling almost completely, a ghost of warmth filling his fingertips. He thought about the stages of grief and the conversation he had with Tommy a few hours before. The stages of the Flare were similar to the stages of grief.

He’d wanted to deny that he wasn’t immune, had gotten angry that his friends were and now he’d bargain with what little he had just to have another conversation with his friends.

He’d never be able to live in the woods by Tommy and his dog, warm and happy. He wondered if Minho would have a pet too. As childish as it sounded, it made him smile slightly. Newt wondered about a lot of things in those few minutes he sat there, his heartbeat slowing as he closed his eyes, snow sticking to his eyelashes and hair.

He dreamed of a warm bed, covers up to his chin as his mum read him his favorite book, though he couldn’t remember the name of it anymore. His sister would giggle at parts, laying in her own bed in the room they shared. His mum kissed them on their heads, turning off the lights.

He heard Lizzy turn over, and knew she was staring at him.

“Merry Christmas, Newt.”

She whispered and Newt turned over, smiling lovingly at her.

“Merry Christmas Lizzy, see you in the morning.”

#the maze runner #angst #writing #fanfic #cute #crank newt #tmr newt #newtmas fanfic #coats #tmr thomas #tmr minho #tmr brenda #tumblr writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #love tmr

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sixgunluvr · 6 months ago

Text

A Love To Protect

Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Mature Age 18+ Readers ONLY.

Pairing Arthur with a female reader.

There may be errors. I read through these a couple times but I still may miss things.

You woke up sometime later to Dutch gently shaking your shoulder, calling your name in a hushed voice. "Hey, darlin'? Time to wake up." You slowly opened your eyes to find yourself lying inside your tent, with Dutch sitting beside you on a wooden stool, a look of concern etched on his weathered face. Javier was also there with a look of concern on his face.

Your head throbbed with a dull ache, but the sight of Dutch made you feel a little safer.

'Careful now, darlin'. You took quite a tumble out there,' Dutch said softly as he placed a gentle hand on your forehead, checking for fever.

You tried to sit up, but Dutch stopped you, his voice firm yet gentle, 'Don't move too fast. Take it easy.'

The memory of what happened came rushing back, causing you to wince.

Dutch's expression darkened as he gently touched your swollen cheek. "Who did this to you?"

You swallowed hard, remembering the face of the man who had attacked you. "Micah."

"Micah said he stopped someone from attacking you," Dutch interjected, trying to ease the tension.

You took a deep breath and looked Dutch in the eye. "He attacked me. I went to pick some raspberries in the woods, he just appeared out of nowhere. He forced himself on me but I managed to get away."

Dutch's expression turned thunderous as you spoke, his eyes glinting with rage. You could see the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his teeth. The thought that Micah had dared to touch you in such a way infuriated him beyond belief. Dutch was always the protector of the group, and it was clear that he was taking this matter very seriously.

"Where is the son of a bitch now?" Dutch growled asking Javier, his voice low and dangerous.

Javier shook his head, looking just as angry as Dutch. "He disappeared after the ruckus," Javier said through gritted teeth. "We've been looking for him everywhere but can't find hide nor hair of him."

Dutch clenched his fists in frustration. "That traitorous son of a bitch! I'm going to rip him apart piece by piece when I find him."

But at that moment, all Dutch cared about was making sure that you were okay.

He helped you sit up, wrapping a warm blanket around your trembling shoulders. His eyes filled with a fiery determination as he vowed to find Micah and make him pay for what he had done. You could see the gentle side of Dutch as he tenderly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Don't worry, darlin'. We'll find him and make sure he pays for what he's done," Dutch said, his voice trembling with anger.

Javier nodded in agreement, his own rage evident on his face.

"Arthur, where's Arthur," you asked your voice barely a whisper. You wanted nothing more than to be in his protective arms right now. Arthur would make everything better, as he always did. But he was out on a job with Charles and Lenny.

Dutch's words snapped you back to reality. "Arthur's back," he said poking his head out of the tent, his tone still laced with anger.

Javier and Dutch left the tent to meet with Arthur before he could enter.

Your heart raced at the news, and you felt a surge of relief wash over you. Arthur would know what to do after hearing about the attack.

You could here them talking to Arthur but you couldn't hear what was being said.

Suddenly Arthur's voice thundered throughout the camp.

They told him.

Your whole body trembled. You had no idea how Arthur would react to this news. You had only ever seen him fiercely protective, but never violent. You could feel the tension and anger rise in the camp as Arthur was brought up to speed on the attack.

Dutch and Javier led a seething Arthur towards your tent, where you were now resting. He looked like a man possessed, his eyes blazing with rage and determination. The wind rustled through the trees as they approached, carrying with it the scent of wood smoke and sagebrush.

As Arthur burst into the tent, he rushed to your side, taking in your disheveled hair and swollen cheek.

Rage coursed through him, his eyes flashing with an intense fire that promised vengeance. You had never seen him like this before, and it scared you even more than Micah's attack had.

"Who did this?" Arthur demanded, his voice low and dangerous. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body tense with barely contained fury.

"Micah," you said softly, your voice shaking as much as your body.

"He attacked me in the woods. I went out to find some raspberries, and he was there. He tried to..." Your voice trailed off as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

Arthur's jaw clenched at the mention of Micah's name. His eyes flashed with anger, but it wasn't towards you. No, his anger was reserved for Micah and anyone who dared to harm a single hair on your head.

Dutch and Javier exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

They knew that Arthur's anger was not to be taken lightly, and they would do everything in their power to keep him from doing anything rash.

"He's dead," Arthur said with finality, eyes cold and determined. "I'm going to find him and kill him." Arthur's voice was low, lethal, and he meant every word. You could see the rage in his eyes and knew that he was capable of doing anything to protect you. You believed him because you trusted him. And it wasn't just because he was handsome or muscular; it was because of how fiercely loyal and devoted he was towards you. He would do anything to keep you safe from harm.

Dutch put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "We don't know where he is yet," Dutch said.

"But we will find him, and when we do, Micah will pay for what he's done."

Dutch's voice was firm, unyielding. He was a man of action, and if there was one thing that Dutch could do well, it was taking care of business. Javier, on the other hand, was more measured in his approach. He was always the calming force within the group, but today, even Javier looked ready to take Micah down himself.

Arthur nodded. His mind was made up; Micah would die for what he had done.

But before Arthur could storm off to track down Micah, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don't leave me here alone."

Arthur looked at you, his anger softening at the sight of your fear. He nodded and took a deep breath, his eyes still blazing with determination. "I'll stay with you," he said, his voice low and soothing.

Dutch and Javier exchanged a look, both relieved that Arthur wasn't going off half-cocked.

They knew that Arthur was fiercely protective of you, and while they respected his desire to keep you safe, they also knew that a man on a rampage was never a good thing.

Javier spoke up, "We'll find him together, mi amigo. But right now, she needs rest." He gestured towards you, and Arthur nodded in agreement.

The camp settled down for the night, with Dutch and Javier promising to keep watch. You lay in Arthur's arms, feeling both safe and loved.

His warmth enveloped you like a cocoon, shielding you from the harsh realities of the outside world. Your eyelids grew heavy as his fingers gently traced lines along your arm, calming the storm of emotions within you.

You didn't know if it was his rugged good looks or the strength of his character, but you couldn't imagine being without him.

After the chaos of the day, being wrapped in Arthur's arms you finally began to feel your body relax.

Your head was pounding from Micah's attack, but the feeling of Arthur's strong chest against your back and his arms around your waist provided a sense of security that you desperately needed. The warmth from the fire outside crept into the tent and you could hear Dutch and the others' hushed voices as they moved around the camp.

Arthur's steady breathing was soothing and you began to feel yourself drift off.

But suddenly, you found yourself back in the woods, with Micah's looming figure closing in on you. His twisted smile sent a chill down your spine as he reached out to grab you.

You screamed, your voice echoing through the tent and jolting Arthur awake.

"Shhhh, it's alright," he whispered, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. "It was just a nightmare, baby. You're safe with me."

But the fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, making it impossible to fall back asleep. Arthur must have sensed this because he began to gently run his fingers through your hair, soothing you as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

The tender touch of his fingers on your scalp sent a shiver down your spine, but it was the warmth in his voice that truly ignited a spark within you.

You leaned into him, feeling the strength of his muscles, as his hand drifted down to rest on your hip.

Arthur pulled you closer, pressing his lips against your ear as he whispered, "You're safe with me."

Slowly, you let yourself be enveloped by the feeling of his arms around you, the protection and love that radiated from him in waves. Your body began to relax, but your heart raced as you felt something else entirely.

Without thinking, you turned your head and pressed your lips against his.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

With a low growl, Arthur slipped his hand beneath your shirt, skating his fingers up your spine. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you arched against him with a moan.

"Baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't here," Arthur murmured. You could see the hurt in his eyes.

"I couldn't protect you," he said softly.

"You'll always protect me," you replied, your voice trembling. You needed him to know that despite the attack, your faith in him hadn't wavered.

His lips met yours again in a hungry kiss, as if trying to quell the fear and uncertainty of what had happened. His hand slid into your hair, pulling it free from its braid and fisting it tightly. Your breath hitched as he tugged gently, leaving tingles along your scalp.

Your body pushed against his, hungry with desire and longing to feel closer. You reached up and slid your hands under his shirt, feeling the coarse hair on his chest and the hardness of his muscles beneath. His abs tensed as you explored, and a growl rumbled in his throat.

He trailed kisses down your neck, his fingers grazing your skin and making you tremble with both pleasure and the memory of danger. You moaned as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing it to a hard peak through the fabric of your blouse.

"Fuck, baby," he growled against your skin. "You're so fucking beautiful."

Arthur slid his hand up your thigh, bunching your dress as he went. When his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, you moaned and spread your legs wider, needing more friction.

"You sure you want this right now?" he asked, his voice thick with desire and concern.

You nodded eagerly, his fingers finding the wetness between your legs, and he groaned with satisfaction. "Damn girl, you're soaked."

"I need you, Arthur," you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders as if to ground yourself.

"Say it again," he growled, his eyes darkening with lust.

"I need you," you repeated, arching against him.

"Now."

With a slow, deliberate movement, Arthur slid a finger inside of you, making you gasp as he found that spot that made your toes curl. He pressed gently, his eyes locked on yours as he began to move in a slow, agonizing rhythm that had you trembling with pleasure.

"Arthur, please," you begged, your voice tinged with desperation. You needed more, wanted more of him.

You need him to know that you don't blame him for what happened, that your need and love for him has not wavered.

You needed to be as close to him as possible. You needed that closeness, that connection.

And the more he touched you, the more you craved him. The ache inside of you grew and grew until it was an unbearable throb that pulsed with insatiable hunger.

Arthur sensed your urgency and, with a low growl, slid another finger inside of you. You cried out as he found your pleasure spot once again, this time working both fingers in a tantalizing rhythm that had you writhing beneath him.

"Please," you begged, your legs shaking with the effort to stay still.

You were desperate to feel him inside of you, to ease the burning need that had been building inside of you since before the attack.

"Beg for it," Arthur demanded, his fingers never ceasing their movements.

"Fuck, beg me."

You moaned, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers. "Please, Arthur. I need you."

Your words only fueled his lust. "Say it," He demanded, his green eyes dark as sin. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you inside of me," you panted. "Please." You gasped as Arthur's thumb circled your clit. "I need you."

The desperation in your voice only spurred him on.

"Tell me exactly what you want," he ordered, withdrawing his fingers.

You whimpered at the loss, but knew he wanted to hear you say it. And you wanted to tell him. You needed him to know just how much you craved him, how much you trusted him to erase the fear that had taken root inside of you.

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered. "Right now."

He groaned, pulling at the buttons of your blouse, eager to see what lay beneath. You helped him hastily remove your clothes, your own arousal fueling your desire to be naked in his arms.

His hands roamed over your bare skin, caressing and teasing you into a writhing mess beneath him. Your nipples pebbled under his touch and you arched into him, needing more contact.

Arthur's mouth found yours again as he kicked off his boots. He pulled his shirt over his head, and dropped his pants, his hard cock springing free.

He kicked his pants to the side and covered your body with his, his thigh spreading yours open wider. His cock rubbed against your clit, making you moan and writhe beneath him.

His words only added to your desire as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes burning with a fierce hunger. You gasped as he slowly slid into you, filling you up completely.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned.

"You feel so goddamn good." Arthur grunted, moving slowly in and out of you. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze never wavering as he thrust deeper and harder.

"Arthur," you moaned, your voice barely audible as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you.

"I got you, baby," he moaned.

His rhythm was slow and steady, each thrust sending a shiver down your spine as he hit that spot inside of you that made your toes curl.

You gasped as he leaned down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before biting down gently.

"Oh god," you cried out, arching your back as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

Arthur's response was a low growl as he continued to thrust into you, his pace gradually quickening.

His eyes locked with yours, keeping the same agonizing yet tantalizing rhythm that had you crying out with pleasure.

"I love you so much, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I will always protect you. You'll always be mine."

Your heart swelled with love and adoration for this ruggedly handsome outlaw. With every thrust, you felt the weight of the day's events slip away, replaced by a deep sense of security and safety in his arms.

"Oh god, Arthur! Don't stop!" you cried out as your orgasm built within you. He increased his pace, sending shudders through your entire body as he reached between your still-quivering legs and circled your clit with his thumb.

"Come for me, baby," he groaned, and you gladly obliged. Your orgasm ripped through your body, causing your muscles to clench around his cock as you moaned incoherently. Arthur didn't let up, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reached the peak of his own pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted as he spilled himself inside of you, burying his face in your neck with a guttural groan.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, holding on to him as the aftershocks of your mutual orgasm rippled through your body.

Arthur collapsed on top of you, still buried deep inside, and you welcomed the weight of him, feeling protected and safe in his arms.

You kissed the side of his face, tasting the salt of his sweat and feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your chest. His breathing was heavy, but he slowly withdrew and lay down beside you, pulling you into a close embrace. Your legs tangled together as your bodies fitted perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.

The world outside the tent disappeared as you lost yourself in the comfort of Arthur's arms. It was a feeling that you craved more than the sweetest wine or the most decadent dessert. Here, in this desolate wilderness, under the star-filled sky, you found your safe haven.

As your breathing slowed and heartbeats returned to normal, Arthur gently brushed the hair away from your damp forehead. He leaned forward and whispered soft words of love and adoration, his ruggedly handsome face filled with emotion.

You basked in the warmth of his affection, your heart swelling with love for him. You were his, and he was yours. Together, you could conquer anything.

But, you couldn't help but think about what was to come once Micah was found.

You knew that Arthur was not one to be trifiled with, and if he had set his sights on Micah, then there would be hell to pay.

Yet, as you lay in Arthur's arms, feeling his warmth and breathing in the scent of his skin, you couldn't help but feel safe. It was a feeling that only Arthur could give you - the feeling of being completely and utterly protected from the dangers of the world.

The fire crackled softly outside the tent, casting a warm glow inside and providing some comfort from the chill of the night air.

The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of wood smoke and sagebrush throughout the camp, creating an atmosphere of serene tranquility that existed in stark contrast to the chaos of just hours before.

Despite the tender moment that had just transpired between you and Arthur, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Micah. You knew that the danger had not passed entirely, that he was still out there somewhere, and you couldn't shake the feeling of fear and uncertainty.

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jakkon-and-rose-topic · 7 months ago

Text

Cw: Mentions to Cannibalism, Alchohol abuse/usage, Murder, torture, Slavery, and VERY HEAVY SWEARING

@corinneglass YOU ASKED FOR THIS also, @blueberryseast1 @darkandstormydolls @aalinaaaaaa here's a new scene for you lovelies :]]]

ARGUMENT TIME

Fuck it, it's probably bad, but I'm not editing it anymoreeeeee

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Horns. What's wrong?” Rose eyed her brother-in-law.

Jakkon shrank down in his seat. “It's nothing, Petals.”

“Clearly not!”

“Please just let it go.”

“No, you're making things worse by not telling me!”

“Rose, I'm fine.”

“Oh Really Jak? Because you sure don't look like it.” Rose narrowed her eyes. “Stop trying to lie to me! Your hands are fucking shaking! You look paler than a piece of parchment, like you're going to be sick at any moment! You can't say a single kind word, and your voice sounds like you've been shredded through a cheese grater! Just tell me what's wrong!”

“NO! There's nothing wrong! This whole fucking conversation is the thing making things worse! Everything you say is so patronizing! ‘How was your day Jak? You're gonna be okay Jak. Everything you do is a source of stress Jak. Everything's gonna be okay Jak! Look at me Jak, I can cry without seeing Eveny die in my mind Jak. I have the capacity to care about someone other than myself because I'm a good fucking person Jak!’ JUST SHUT UP!”

“Well I can’t do what you want and leave you alone if you’re around me! I won’t leave until I know what’s bothering you!”

Jakkon gritted his teeth as Rose glared hotly at him. “Fine.” He growled, voice deep and gravelly, the smoke damage adding to the menace of his snarl. “You want to know Rose? It’s you. Every day it’s just worry, worry, worry, ‘I worry about you. You’re worrying me Jak.’ STOP! YOU’RE ONLY STRESSING ME OUT MORE AND MAKING IT WORSE! NO ROSE, IT’S NOT GOING TO BE OKAY! I’M NOT GOING TO BE OKAY! AND IT’S TIME YOU LEARNED THAT!” Jakkon gasped, his breaths rasping like his voice as the wheeze from his damaged lungs cut itself on the shattered tension in the air.

Rose clenched her fists, wings unfurling as her Petals grew black and red, thorns spiking out all over her as she growled, matching his intensity. “WELL YOU DON’T TELL ME A DAMN THING JAK! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? ALL YOU DO IS DRINK AND TRY TO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF! I CARE ABOUT YOU!”

“Do you want to know why Rosenia?” Both were shouting now, voices matched in intensity and anger, so that their volume didn’t have any more impact. But neither quieted. Even with Rose’s voice choked by tears and Jakkon’s shredding itself with ash. He gripped at his fur, hands shaking violently as he exposed sharp teeth and Rose’s vines wrapped around her arms. Jakkon tensed at the thorns, his voice rising to a strained tone. “Why do I do it Rosenia? Because I’m more addicted than the sun is to rising! BECAUSE EVERYONE I KNEW, EVERYONE I LOVED IS FUCKING DEAD!”

In that moment, anger combined with fear and grief, and the sharp tension cut their words into things neither ever meant, or wanted to say. But nonetheless, they hurt. Rose’s thorns spiked to twice their length as she grabbed Jakkon’s shirt and yanked him down a little, lowering her voice to a snarl. “You’re fucking worthless Jakkon. Why can’t you just get a grip on yourself and Let. It. Go.”

Jakkon’s eyes widened for a moment, stunned and hurt for a moment, before the heat of the moment took him back and he retaliated, slapping her hand away from him hard enough to make her cry out in pain. “Fuck off Rosenia! You don’t care about me. You didn’t care about them either. All you care about is running away from your guilt by pretending to care about me just to fix your own sad excuse for a fucking life.”

Rose froze this time, cradling her injured hand against her chest, but neither slowed from the hurt, the pain just fueling both of them in all of their unspoken emotions. “That’s because you’re a mistake, and everyone who loves you makes a mistake. A mistake that gets them killed. And what do you do? You don’t honor their memory one bit. You destroy yourself. Just be honest from once in your damn life and maybe someone would care!”

In that moment, with those words, any last shred of dishonesty and blame Jakkon had, which held him from telling Rose the truth snapped. He stopped caring about protecting her, about letting her believe what she had about his past and his family. And he told her everything.

His voice dropped everything but a solemn tone and the scratchy rasp of smoke. “You want honesty? Then have it. This is what you wanted.” His tone lifted to a high mocking tone as he made a nasty face. “Why, Rosenia? You and your little fragile little heart want to know why I can’t let go?” His voice fell back down. “Because Eveny, Rune and I were kidnapped for those two weeks we were missing. They were tortured while I was chained to a wall and forced to watch. Then he made me choose. Our Captor looked at my wife and my son and told me to choose which would die. I didn’t choose. So he injured both badly and let me free. Eveny was strong. She could handle it. She only fell unconscious. Rune couldn’t hear me when I talked to him, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.”

Jakkon paused to take a trembling breath as Rose stopped entirely, too horrified and confused to interrupt. “So I had to make a split second decision. He was going to die. Would I let him live for a finite more amount of time and endure all that pain? No. I took his pain away. That’s what I told myself Rosenia. ‘I'm taking his pain away. I'm giving him peace. I can only take one to get a healer and I can’t let his final moments be alone.’ that’s what I told myself, that’s what I still tell myself every time I remember driving the knife into his back.”

Jakkon looked like he wanted to stop, like he was about to be sick at any moment, but he choked back the tears and regret and pushed forward. “Then while Eveny was in a coma because she was tortured to hurt me. I was sent to war. All the friends I made, they broke. They couldn’t think either, shocked out of who they were by what they had done. I took care of them for 2 years. I never visited Rune’s grave, and for all I knew, Eveny would die any day and I wouldn’t be there. But they were all I had to talk to. Then they went missing. One by one. Eveny woke up. I thought things might go back to normal. But then… but then she… she… she burned. It was my fault. And… she didn't burn alone. I found that… if she'd been alive for 7 more months… I would have had a second child. Then someone stole her corpse.”

Rose flinched.

“But that’s not the end of it Rose. Listen to me very closely, you understand? This is the most important part. Why I can’t sleep. Why I can’t eat. I was taken two days after. I was sold. And I was bought by a Serial Killer. I worked for my freedom. But he tied me up Rosenia. He tied me to a post. I couldn't move. He gagged me, drugged me, tortured me. But worst of all, he took the corpses of my friends whom he had killed and cut them into tiny pieces in front of my eyes. Then he came over to me, and forced them down my throat, piece by bloody fucking piece. But that’s not it either Rosenia, is it? Because the final corpse wasn’t a friend. It was her. It was Eveny.”

Rose stopped, her eyes widening in horror as Jakkon began to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself. “I loved her more than anything in the world, Rose. Then she was taken from me. But then they gave her back, tiny piece by tiny piece. She was a person, my love, my life, my everything AND I FUCKING ATE HER ROSE!” His voice splintered, turning into a raspy screeching mess as he screamed and his hands flew to his head, tearing viciously at handfuls of his thick black curls.

Rose flinched back away from him as he began to mutter under her breath as his words previously from the argument and this new news all hit her like a mountain crumbling over her, as she stared at her brother-in-law in horror, and ran.

“Hey, what's all the shouting-” Finn froze in the doorway as Jakkon shook violently, muttering to himself.

“Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Purple. Petals. Blood. Ash. Shadows… get it out… get it out… they already cut the exit, GET IT OUT OF ME! THEY’RE WATCHING ME FROM THE SHADOWS! THEY KNOW WHAT I AM! THEY KNOW WHAT IVE DONE! Drip drip, tick tock, crushed between my teeth. THEY KNOW EVERYTHING!”

“What-” Finn stopped. “What the fuck is going on? What are you talking about? What the fuck? Jakkon. Jakkon. Jakkon!”

But the Satyr didn’t respond, giggling maniacally as he ripped at more of his hair. “Petals, pretty flowers, sunset, sunrise, what does it matter? They watch me all the same and They know what I've done. I'M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I DIDN’T WANT TO! I DIDN’T MEAN TO! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! Leave me alone. Leave me alone.” He whimpered softly, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Jakkon!” Finn suddenly stopped, remembering the phrase he'd overheard his old friend say to Rose when he'd walked by. ‘I’m more addicted than the sun is to rising.’ Withdrawals. Of course. How had he not suspected? With the limited supplies, he had prioritized everyone but himself. His shaky hands, his constant irritability since the supply shortage had begun, and now the hallucinations. Rose had told him everything and he still hadn't picked it up.

#creative writing #fiction writing #writer things #writeblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing community #writing #whump torture #whump series #because whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump prompt #whump community #whumpblr #whump

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itsjaywalkers · 8 months ago

Note

Drabble ask game!

Jegulus

65? Angst 😋

sure nonnie!! i'm always down for some angst <3

hmm let's see let's see

65. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"Oh, don't even. I know what you're fucking doing right now and it's not gonna work."

Regulus raises both eyebrows in mock surprise, letting his lips curl into a derisive smile. He looks James up and down, eyes narrowed, and relishes in the pleasing tingle he gets under his skin at the way the other man clenches his jaw.

It didn't use to be like this. It used to be desperate hands and hungry mouths, dark eyes and panting breaths. It used to be lingering kisses pressed into his forehead, interlaced fingers, and whispered conversations in the dead of the night.

Now it's anger. Resentment. Lies and neverending arguments. Waking up in opposite sides of the bed and avoidant gazes.

James still fucks him, and it's as passionate, as needy. Maybe even more so. But now it's filled with fury, too. With something too close to hatred. Like James wants him, wants him still, wants him forever, but despises the fact that he does, that he always will.

Regulus isn't sure of what happened to them.

Well. He supposes that he did.

"And what am I doing, James?" he questions coldly, ugly grin still in place. "Since you know me so well."

"I do. I do, but in moments like this, I wish I fucking didn't," the other man retorts, chuckling without any amusement. "You're trying to push my buttons, get me angry and get me mean, so you can go and play the victim afterwards."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. You've never learnt how to be anything else. You avoid confrontation like your life fucking depends on it, and when that doesn't work, you lash out until you make me snap. That way, you only have to lie down and take it."

Regulus grits his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides. "You speak as if I actually have to make the effort. I don't get you mean, James, you are mean. You've always been. Cruelty comes so easy to you it actually scares me sometimes."

James takes a step forward, face contorted into so much rage Regulus can barely recognise him. He knows he'd never, but sometimes Regulus wishes he'd raise his hand. Walk over that damn line.

He thinks it'd make things easier. Or, if nothing else, at least a lot less painful.

"I think you're mistaking me with you."

Regulus laughs at that. Actually laughs. It sounds wrong, and weak, and like a ticking bomb about to explode.

"We both know that's not true," he sighs once he manages to calm down a little. "I bet you wish it were, though."

"I'm not the bad guy here, Reg," James hisses, towering threateningly over him. "It's you. It's always you. You're the one who keeps ruining this, ruining us."

I know, I know. I'm sorry. I've no idea what to do with good things. I ruin everything I touch. This is the only way I can love.

And yet, you won't leave me.

Please, never leave me.

"Of course, I'm the problem. How could it ever be you? Perfect James Potter. Has never done anything wrong in his goddamn life." Regulus snorts, full of scorn, and shakes his head. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

James bares his teeth. "And how do you see me, huh?"

Loving. Kind. Caring. Too fucking good for your own good.

Ruined.

"Selfish. Violent. Arrogant and cruel," he says instead, offering the other side of the coin. True, regardless, but not what Regulus really means to tell him now. It's too late to stop, though. "A poor excuse of a man who'd do anything to feel loved because he's a fucking nobody when he isn't being adored."

Regulus thinks this will be it. Hopes it will be it.

But then James is smiling down at him, nasty and downright mean, and it begins again, without having properly ended in the first place.

And that's the issue, isn't it?

There isn't an end to them. Regulus isn't sure if he feels more relieved or horrified at the notion at this point.

These days, both things feel kind of the same.

#silly little drabbles #jegulus my beloveds #sorry?

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astrology-bf · 1 month ago

Note

You know what, I'm an idiot and misinterpreted the AU ask, oops. So... ~What if~

~What If~

No worries at all and you're gonna get two because I need to keep the writing muscles in good nick :dab:

CW: Angst, Death Mention, Heavensward-adjacent Spoilers

"...You cannot be serious."

Ysayle's normally cool demeanor had melted into an expression of pure horror, mirrored by the failure of her voice to hide the tearful quaver staining it... tearful, and increasingly fearful.

Haurchefant stared back at her. Every mote of warmth and joy seemed to have bled out of him, and though the winds of Abalathia's Spine bit at him fiercely he gave no sign of feeling anything. His cheeks had turned a raw pink from the chill, matching the ruddy swelling of his eyelids from a constant struggle not to weep.

"Nay, my lady. 'Tis no j-...." The knight was forced to pause and swallow, failing to maintain complete decorum even in the face of a recent enemy of Ishgard. "'Tis no jest. Such was his... his final request."

His hands started to shake violently, causing the still-bloodstained mail of his gauntlets to rattle... mercifully hiding the whisper of a sob under his breath. Though he hardly needed to, given Ysayle issued a loud breath as she turned her head off to the side, screwed her eyes shut, and grit her teeth as she fought back her own tears.

The wind picked up for a few moments, its whistle drowning out the sounds of the two Elezen wrestling with grief. When it settled, Haurchefant took in a long breath before stepping towards Ysayle with a wary, aggrieved, but still resolute expression on his face.

He raised his hands, and uncurled his fingers to offer Lady Iceheart the things he'd been entrusted at the end. A cluster of small crystals, each of a different color with a different symbol etched on each of their faces... and a larger one, a gleaming pale blue of the sort Ysayle already possessed.

When she opened her eyes and beheld what Haurchefant was offering, she knew immediately that its visible aspect concealed five others. A Crystal of Light - or rather crystals, plural - which had been empowered to a degree unseen in this age of the star... but not enough to save its bearer, who gave his life for someone that he loved.

Haurchefant took in another shuddering breath and closed his eyes again. "...He insisted that I pass on his apologies," he said. "...For the burden."

Ysayle stared at the crystals in the knight's outstretched hands. For a long while, she said absolutely nothing nor changed her hesitant and grieved expression.

But as the moments passed, an icy hardness began creeping into her face and gaze. The leather of her gloves let out a snarling stretch as her fists clenched for a brief moment. Then she straightened up, and lowered her chin pensively.

What Ifan wished of her was beyond impossible; given all she had done, and all she felt she lacked compared to the one Eorzea called 'the Warrior of Light'. The foolish man probably still thought she stood a chance of being redeemed.

'You'd make a great Scion', he'd said, with his stupid smile, after they had defeated Ravana.

Impossible.

But he deserved justice, for all that had been done to him.

She could give him that, at least.

Ysayle reached out and took the offered crystals, her fingers curling tightly around them as she felt the mournful warmth surging within the gleaming facets.

"...Very well," she said, nodding at Haurchefant when he opened his eyes. "Lead me to the others. Thordan shan't escape a reckoning."

(Thanks for the ask @upatreewithoutaharness)

#ffxiv #ask meme #drabble #writing #ysayle dangoulain #haurchefant greystone #ifan kaleid #wheeeeee

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tanjamikaelson · 1 month ago

Text

STRANGE LOVE - CHAPTER 15

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER: | PLEASE DON'T LEAVE |

When the cops caught Topper instead of John B, Rafe came home seething with rage. The frustration gnawed at him, a relentless beast within. He stormed into his room, the door slamming behind him with a force that reverberated through the walls. The room felt suffocating, closing in on him as he began frantically tearing through drawers and cabinets, desperately searching for something—anything—that could calm the storm raging inside his mind.

Allison emerged from the bathroom, her body wrapped in a towel, the steam still clinging to her skin. Concern was etched across her features as she observed Rafe’s erratic behavior. "When did you get back? Did they catch John B?" she asked, her voice tentative, barely cutting through the tension thickening the air.

Rafe barely glanced at her, his eyes wild with frustration. "No," he snapped, his voice sharp and clipped, a knife slicing through the fragile peace that hung between them. He continued his search, the desperation in his movements growing with each passing second.

"What are you looking for?" Allison asked, stepping closer to him, trying to pierce through the wall he was building around himself.

"Cocaine. I need it," Rafe replied, his voice strained, cracking under the weight of his desperation. The admission was raw, a confession of the chaos swirling inside him.

Allison’s heart clenched at his words. "We don't have any," she said gently, trying to calm the tempest within him, but Rafe's response was immediate and violent. He slammed his fist into the nightstand, the impact reverberating through the room, causing Allison to flinch in shock.

"Rafe—" she began, her voice trembling with concern, but he cut her off, his expression fierce, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Don't talk," he growled, his voice low and menacing, a threat hanging in the air between them.

"But—" she tried again, her heart pounding in her chest, only to be met with Rafe’s hand gripping her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin with a painful pressure.

"That hurts, Rafe," Allison cried out, struggling to pull away, her eyes wide with fear as he used his other hand to slam the door shut behind her. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as Rafe’s grip tightened, his desperation transforming into something darker.

"I need a fix, and you used all of my coke," Rafe hissed, his voice dripping with accusation, each word cutting into her like a blade.

"It wasn't just yours. I paid for that shit too," Allison retorted, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. The defensiveness in her tone only seemed to fuel Rafe’s rage.

Rafe closed his eyes, trying to regain control, but the frustration was too much. "I told you to shut up," he muttered through gritted teeth, his grip tightening around her wrist.

"No. What is going on, Rafe? Please talk to me," Allison pleaded, her voice filled with desperation, as she tried to shake off his hands, to break through the wall he was putting up between them.

"I told you what's going on. Are you stupid?" Rafe spat, his words sharp, cutting deep into her heart.

Allison tried to remain composed, but the wave of hurt crashing over her was too much. "Okay, if you need it that much, we can get the drug—" she began, but her words were cut off by a sharp tug on her hair, Rafe’s hand yanking her head back with a roughness that sent a jolt of pain down her spine.

"Rafe!" Allison exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he dragged her by her hair, his grip unyielding as he threw her unceremoniously onto the bed, face first.

He moved quickly, removing the towel wrapped around her body with a roughness that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. His movements were mechanical, devoid of the tenderness she had come to know from him. The intimacy that once existed between them had been replaced with something darker, something that terrified her. He discarded his own clothing just as quickly.

He pulled her head up from the sheets, lowering his head closer to her ear. "You have to be real quiet now, or I won't let you finish. Nod if you understand." Allison nodded, fear and frustration mingling in her gaze. "Good," he growled before pressing her head back against the bed.

Rafe positioned himself over her, his eyes cold and distant as he pushed himself inside her. Allison gasped, a mix of pain and pleasure flooding her senses, but there was no time to adjust, no time to process the overwhelming emotions coursing through her.

Rafe’s pace was relentless, his thrusts hard and unfeeling. Each movement was a punishment, each thrust a reminder of the darkness that had taken hold of him. Allison’s hands clutched at the sheets, her body trembling under the force of his movements. She bit down on her lip, trying to stifle the sounds of pain and pleasure that threatened to escape.

“Rafe," Allison choked out, her voice strained, but Rafe’s hand was already around her neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to make breathing difficult.

"I told you to shut up," Rafe demanded, his voice cold and unyielding as he thrust into her violently. The words stung, but the way he said them, the lack of care, hurt even more.

When he finally reached his release, he did so inside her, letting out a groan that echoed in the silent room. He pulled out, releasing her neck and falling onto the bed next to her, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Allison lay there, her body aching, her heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened. She felt a wave of defiance rises within her, a need to reclaim some sense of control.

“That's it?" Allison asked, catching her breath.

Rafe chuckled darkly. “I told you what will happen if you don’t stay quiet."

Without thinking, she slipped her hand between her legs, rubbing her clit with a determination that was both an act of rebellion and a desperate attempt to find some semblance of pleasure.

Rafe noticed, his eyes narrowing in anger. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. "Better go and clean yourself. You're a dripping mess.”

Allison yanked her hand back, her anger flaring. "Fuck off, Rafe." She got up from the bed, pulling on her panties and shorts with quick, jerky movements. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room tonight."

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. "Seriously? Because I didn't let you finish?"

Allison spun around, her eyes blazing with anger. "Because you're acting like a fucking jerk, the one I didn’t want to be with," she shot back.

"I thought you liked it rough," Rafe stated, a smirk forming on his face, but the words felt like another slap in the face.

Allison didn't respond. The fight drained out of her as she turned and headed towards the door, her heart heavy with hurt and frustration.

"Fine, go. See if I care," Rafe added, his words like a final blow, the one that cut the deepest. Allison left his room, her emotions in turmoil, a storm raging inside her that mirrored the one within Rafe.

・ • ・ • ・

Rafe woke up with a start, his first instinct screaming at him that he needed more coke. His body was drenched in sweat, his mind haunted by the events of the previous night. The room felt too small, too confining, and he needed to escape. He threw on his shorts and a t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his damp skin as he walked past the guest room, thoughts of Allison swirling in his mind. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle, but he couldn't bring himself to go in. Instead, he turned away, his grip on reality slipping with each passing second.

He needed to ground himself, to find something that would bring him back from the edge. Grabbing his helmet, he left the house, muttering to himself as frustration boiled over. He slapped his face lightly, trying to jolt himself back to reality, but it wasn’t enough. In a fit of anger, he threw the helmet to the ground. Taking a deep breath, he picked it up, put it on, and hopped on his dirt bike, driving away, hoping the rush of speed would drown out the chaos in his mind.

"Barry!" Rafe yelled as he burst into Barry's place, catching him mid-line. "I need cocaine."

Barry looked up, startled, then annoyed. "I'm all out, man. That was my last line right there. Everybody done came and done a run on me. Everybody stockin' up for this storm," he explained, his tone more irritated than anything else.

Rafe didn’t believe him. He started searching through Barry's cabinets, his movements frantic. "Oh, I know you got it in here, bro."

"No, I don't got anything in here. I'm all out, man," Barry shouted back, his patience wearing thin.

"Bullshit, man! You're full of shit," Rafe yelled, storming into Barry's room with a desperation that bordered on madness.

Barry followed after him, his frustration boiling over. "People got to do something... Rafe! What did I say, bitch? I'm out! I'm out, bitch! Get out of here, man! Get out of my room!" He shoved Rafe out of the room, but the desperation in Rafe’s eyes was unmistakable.

Rafe started hyperventilating, his hands trembling uncontrollably. "Where is it? I know you got some," he gasped, his eyes wild, pleading for relief.

"What the hell done got into you?" Barry asked, his confusion mixing with concern as he watched Rafe unravel before him.

Rafe tried to speak, but his voice broke, and he sank to the floor, his entire body shaking with sobs. The weight of everything—the sheriff’s death, his violent behavior towards Allison, the fear that he might lose her—crashed down on him all at once, overwhelming him.

"Because I..." Rafe's voice broke, and tears spilled down his cheeks. "Some..."

"Oh, shit, man. Hey. Hey, look, dog," Barry said, approaching him cautiously. "Hey, Rafe? You're good. You're good. Breathe."

"Have you ever, uh... have you ever done something... that you never thought you would? Like, somethin'... somethin' bad?" Rafe asked, his voice shaky and raw, as he looked up at Barry with tear-filled eyes.

"Uh, what you done, Country Club? Was you late to a tee time? Huh?" Barry joked, trying to lighten the mood. "You can talk to me, man. Just... just tell me whatever the hell you done, 'cause I can promise you, whatever it was, I done worse, bro. I was in the army."

"I did, uh... something," Rafe sniffed, struggling to find the words. "And now I'm... I'm fucked, man, like, totally. Like, a hundred percent, I'm fucked." Tears poured down his face. "Like, for life, man. There's... There's no way out of this, bro."

・ • ・ • ・

When Allison woke up she felt like she hadn’t slept at all. The emotional exhaustion from the previous night clung to her, making it difficult to pull herself out of bed. For a long time, she just laid there, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and hurt. When she finally found the strength to get up, she decided to sneak into Rafe’s room to grab some fresh clothes, relieved to find that he was already gone.

Downstairs, she found Wheezie in the kitchen, loading dishes into the dishwasher. The sight of the younger girl’s familiar routine brought a small, fleeting sense of normalcy to Allison, something she desperately needed.

“Good morning,” Allison greeted her, trying to muster a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Good morning,” Wheezie replied, turning to look at her. She immediately noticed the strain on Allison’s face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Allison said, forcing a smile that felt even more hollow than before.

Wheezie wasn’t convinced. She narrowed her eyes slightly, her expression skeptical. “Are you sure? I thought I heard you in the guest room last night, taking a shower.”

Allison hesitated, the lie already forming on her lips. “Yeah, Rafe was using the bathroom in his room, so I used the one in the guest room,” she explained, hoping to avoid further questions.

Wheezie didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she gave Allison a knowing look. “You know you can tell me if my brother did something.”

Allison forced another smile, though the truth weighed heavily on her heart. “No, Wheezie, it’s fine. He can just be a jerk sometimes.” She glanced away, trying to push down the emotions bubbling up inside her. “Is he around here somewhere?”

“No, I think he left the house about an hour ago,” Wheezie replied, her tone casual.

Allison guessed Rafe was either searching for John B or looking for drugs—neither option filled her with any comfort.

・ • ・ • ・

It was early evening when Rafe returned home, his steps heavy with exhaustion and the weight of the day’s events. He entered his room and froze when he saw Allison packing a duffel bag on the bed. Her movements were deliberate, each item she placed in the bag a silent declaration of her decision.

“What are you doing?” Rafe asked, his voice startling her. He noticed how her breath hitched at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “Are you packing?”

Allison took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation she knew was coming. “I think I’m going to stay at Jessica’s for a while,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

Rafe’s heart sank. “No-no-no,” he said frantically, the desperation seeping into his voice. “I need you,” he admitted, his voice low and pleading.

Allison finally turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and anger. “You need me for what? To take your anger and frustration out on me because you don’t have drugs?” she snapped, her words cutting through him like a knife. She noticed the blood on his face, but she fought the urge to ask what happened. There were bigger issues at hand.

When he stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the floor, she turned back to her bag, zipping it up with a finality that made his heart race with fear. She threw the bag over her shoulder and moved towards the bedroom door, but Rafe stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Allison, please,” Rafe begged, his voice breaking as he reached out to touch her, but she flinched away from him.

“Just let me go,” Allison sighed, her voice weary, drained of the energy to argue.

“I can’t let you go,” Rafe whispered, his eyes falling on the bruises around her wrist. He reached out to touch them, his fingers trembling, but she jerked back. “Did I do that?”

“Yeah,” Allison replied.

The sight of them made his stomach turn with guilt.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion. “Please don’t leave. I need you.”

Allison sighed, the weight of her decision pressing down on her shoulders. “I just need a few days away, Rafe.”

Rafe shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke. “No. I can’t do this without you. Please, don’t go.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asked, her tone softening. “What happened to you? Where have you been all day?”

Rafe moved to the bed, sitting down heavily as he buried his face in his hands. “I’m... I don’t feel good. I thought I would feel better if I... if I-,” he trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the thought. The truth was too horrifying to say out loud, especially to her.

“If you what?” Allison pressed gently, sitting beside him, her voice full of concern.

Rafe sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes to hold back tears. “If I helped my dad, but I don’t. And I hurt you. I’m sorry, Allison. I’m so sorry.”

“You saved your dad from getting killed,” Allison said, trying to understand the depth of his turmoil.

Rafe nodded slowly, knowing he couldn’t tell her the full truth. He couldn’t let her see the monster inside him. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Allison narrowed her eyes, sensing that there was more to the story, but she didn’t press further. “You’re confusing me, Rafe.”

Rafe looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain and regret. “Look, I’m sorry I did this to you. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He took her hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over the bruises on her wrist. Then, he kissed her wrist softly, his lips lingering on her skin as if he could somehow erase the marks he had left. “Please don’t leave me, Allison.”

Allison felt the anger and hurt begin to melt away as she looked into his eyes, seeing the broken boy underneath the tough exterior. She let him bury his head into her neck, his sobs shaking his body as he clung to her.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair to calm him down. When his sobs finally subsided, she took his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Hey, look at me. What happened to you?”

She gently ran her fingertips over the bruises on his face and the dried blood. “I was looking for John B and ran into the Pogues. Jordan and Pope beat the shit out of me, mostly Pope,” Rafe admitted, feeling a mix of shame and anger.

Allison’s concern deepened, but she knew that pushing him further wouldn’t help. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Rafe nodded, his heart heavy with the realization of how far he had fallen. They both rose from the bed and headed to the bathroom. As Rafe washed his face, the water stinging as it cleaned the cuts on his face, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. The sight was almost unrecognizable to him—bruises darkened his skin, and the dried blood on his face was a stark reminder of the violence he had been involved in. He looked tired, and worn down, like the weight of the world was pressing on his shoulders.

Allison stood behind him, her gaze filled with concern and something else—something that looked like pity. It made Rafe feel small like he was just a broken shell of the man he used to be. Her fingers gently brushed over a particularly nasty bruise on his cheek, causing him to wince involuntarily.

"Do you need some painkillers?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe shook his head, though the truth was, that he wanted to numb the pain somehow—just not with pills. "No, it's okay. I'm just going to take a shower. Thank you."

Allison nodded, though her eyes lingered on him, worry etched across her face. She turned to leave the bathroom, giving him space, but he reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip gentle but firm.

"Will you take a shower with me?" he asked, his voice carrying a vulnerability that caught her off guard.

Allison hesitated for a moment, sensing the fragility in his request. She could see that he was struggling, battling demons that she couldn't fully understand. But she also knew that right now, he needed her, and despite everything that had happened between them, she wasn’t ready to walk away from him.

"Okay, I will," she finally said, her voice soft and reassuring.

A small, almost relieved smile tugged at the corners of Rafe’s lips, and he let go of her hand to undress. He stepped into the shower first, the warm water cascading over his battered body, washing away the remnants of the fight. The heat soothed his aching muscles, but it did little to ease the turmoil in his mind.

Allison joined him, stepping under the spray of water. Her eyes lingered on the bruises marking his skin, and she gently pressed her fingers to one of the darker ones, causing him to wince slightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice filled with guilt.

Rafe turned to face her, the water streaming down his face as he shook his head. "I deserved it, I guess," he mumbled, his fingers brushing over the bruises on her wrist. The sight of them made his chest tighten with regret. "After what I’ve done."

"My bruises don’t hurt as much," Allison told him, her voice soft and reassuring, as if trying to convince him that what he did wasn't so bad.

"Did anyone see them?" Rafe asked, a hint of fear creeping into his voice. The last thing he wanted was for others to know how badly he had hurt her.

"No, I had them covered in the morning," Allison replied, watching as his expression fell, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

"I'm sorry, baby," Rafe muttered, his voice breaking with emotion.

"You don’t have to apologize anymore. I know you’re sorry," Allison said, meeting his gaze with a softness that made him feel both comforted and undeserving of her forgiveness.

Rafe pressed his forehead against hers, their noses touching as they stood there, the water pouring down around them. For a moment, they just held each other, letting the silence between them speak the words they couldn’t say out loud. The warmth of her skin against his was a reminder that she was still there, that she hadn’t left him, despite everything.

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, the water splashing against their faces as they pressed closer together. There was a desperation in the way Rafe kissed her as if he was afraid this might be the last time. He was searching for reassurance, for the connection he was terrified of losing.

It took a few minutes before they pulled away, both breathing heavily, their foreheads still touching. Their lips hovered close enough that Allison could feel the warmth of his breath when he finally spoke.

"I want to make you feel good. Can I?" Rafe’s voice was filled with a mixture of desire and a need to make up for the hurt he’d caused her.

Allison nodded against him, and Rafe didn’t waste a second. He turned off the water, quickly picked her up, and carried her out of the shower. They were both soaking wet, but neither of them cared. He laid her down on the bed, the water from their bodies soaking into the sheets.

Rafe started by kissing her neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses down towards her chest. His lips and tongue found her breasts, and Allison couldn’t help but bring her hands to his back, feeling the muscles move under his skin as he worked. When he sucked on one of her nipples, she arched her back against the mattress, struggling to contain the euphoric moan that threatened to escape her lips.

After a few minutes of lavishing attention on her breasts, Rafe began to move lower, leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach. He spread her legs apart, his head disappearing between them just before she felt his lips softly kissing her inner thighs. Each kiss drew closer to her sex, causing her body to break out in goosebumps.

Rafe traced her folds with his finger before sliding it through her arousal, feeling just how wet she already was. Allison gasped sharply at the sensation, her breath catching in her throat. The sound of her pleasure made Rafe groan, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her before he ran his tongue across her sensitive flesh, tasting her.

When his tongue found her clit, Allison grabbed the sheets, moaning in pleasure as the sensation sent waves of heat coursing through her. She closed her eyes when she felt Rafe’s finger enter her, his tongue still teasing her clit with passion and precision.

Rafe moved his finger inside her in a steady rhythm, his eyes locked on her face as he watched her reactions. When her eyes met his, he growled against her, the sound vibrating through her body, pushing her closer to the edge.

Allison threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him in place as she felt the pressure building inside her. When Rafe slipped a second finger inside her, it was the final push she needed. Her orgasm hit her with full force, her back arching, her lips parting as a loud breath escaped her.

She smiled down at him lovingly, running her fingers through his wet hair. Rafe licked his lips with a proud smile, clearly pleased with himself.

"I'm not done yet," Rafe told her, his voice filled with a mix of determination and desire. He grasped her ass, lifting her hips as he positioned himself between her legs once more.

Allison’s breath caught in her throat as Rafe’s tongue circled her clit, sending another wave of pleasure through her body. She grabbed the sheets again, her back arching as he worked his magic.

"Rafe," she moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and desperation.

She wrapped her legs around his head, unsure how he could breathe, but he only seemed hungrier. Rafe growled against her, his fingers sliding back inside her, his movements relentless.

The knot in her stomach tightened as his tongue worked her clit with expert precision, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy once again. Her body trembled uncontrollably as she neared her second climax, the intensity of his touch overwhelming her senses.

“Cum for me again, pretty girl,” Rafe murmured against her folds, his voice vibrating against her, sending shivers down her spine.

Allison let go, waves of pleasure washing over her as she screamed his name, her back arching off the bed. She was breathless, her heart pounding in her chest as Rafe watched her with a satisfied smile, his eyes dark with desire and pride.

But he wasn’t finished. With two fingers still inside her, he curled them just right, hitting her sweet spot over and over again. His lips found her clit once more, sucking and circling it with his tongue, pushing her into a state of complete surrender.

Allison’s body responded to him like it was made for him, each thrust of his fingers drawing out moans she was ashamed of, because of how loud it had been and anyone could've heard it.

"Oh God! Fuck me harder!" Allison cried out, her voice strained with need.

Rafe growled, speeding up his thrusts. His fingers moved in and out of her vigorously, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. He could feel her walls clenching around his fingers, her body responding to his touch.

When she looked down at him, their eyes locked, and the intensity of his gaze was almost too much for her to handle. She couldn’t hold on any longer.

Her third orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body shaking violently as she squirted into his mouth. Rafe didn’t stop, swallowing everything, licking her clean, pushing her into overstimulation. Allison’s body was a trembling mess, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Did-did I just...?” Allison mumbled, her voice weak from pleasure and surprise.

Rafe smirked, a smug look on his face. "You did."

He brought his fingers, covered in her wetness, to his lips and licked them clean. The sight of him combined with the satisfied "mmm" he let out was mouth-watering for Allison.

Unable to resist, she grabbed him, pulling him up to her, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss as she tasted herself on his lips.

His hand started to move between her legs again, but Allison quickly stopped him. "No, I’m too sensitive right now," she spoke against his mouth, her voice trembling with exhaustion and fulfillment.

Rafe nodded in understanding, feeling a surge of pride for making her feel so good. He rolled over onto his back, his body hitting the mattress next to her as he tried to steady his breathing. The room was filled with the sound of their labored breaths, and the warmth of their bodies mingled with the lingering heat of their passion.

“I barely slept last night,” Rafe admitted softly, his voice carrying a weight that hinted at the turmoil he had been wrestling with.

Allison turned her head to look at him, her fingers gently brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. “Yeah, me too,” she replied, her voice tinged with empathy. She could sense the strain in his words, the exhaustion that ran deeper than just physical fatigue.

Rafe gazed at her, a mixture of emotions swirling in his blue eyes—regret, longing, and something more vulnerable. He moved closer, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as if he was silently apologizing for everything that had transpired between them.

As Allison’s eyes drifted downward, they caught sight of his erection, a reminder of the desire that still lingered between them. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing he had focused solely on her pleasure tonight.

“I should probably take care of that,” Allison spoke softly, beginning to lift herself into a sitting position. Her intention was to reciprocate the attention he had lavished on her, to show him that she wanted to take care of him too.

But Rafe stopped her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and urging her back down onto the bed. His touch was firm yet tender, a silent refusal. “Oh, no. This night was only about you,” he said with a small, reassuring smile. There was a rare softness in his voice, one that carried an unfamiliar gentleness, as if he wanted to give her something more than just physical satisfaction.

“Are you sure?” Allison asked, searching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty.

“Yes,” Rafe nodded, his expression earnest. He reached over to the side of the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover them both. “Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?”

Allison nodded, sliding under the sheets beside him, feeling a sense of comfort in the simplicity of the moment. As she snuggled against him, she hummed in contentment, finding the perfect spot where her head nestled into the crook of his neck, her body fitting seamlessly against his.

Rafe’s arm wrapped around her back, holding her firmly yet protectively, as if he was afraid she might slip away in the night. He sighed, the tension in his body slowly dissipating as the warmth of her presence seeped into him. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sliver of peace, a momentary respite from the chaos that usually plagued his mind.

Allison, too, felt a sense of relief. Despite everything they had been through—the pain, the anger, the mistakes—they were still here, together, in this fragile yet profound connection. She knew they weren’t perfect, far from it, but in this moment, they were enough for each other.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding solace in the warmth and closeness. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, and the road ahead was still fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but in this moment, they had each other. And sometimes, that was all they needed.

THIS IS THE END OF SEASON 1, NEXT CHAPTERS WILL BE FROM SEASON 2.

TAGS: @tiaamberxx

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