#what can one do against such painful fate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eclipixels · 3 days ago

Note

can I request an angst with the blue lock boys please? Imagine like their S/O is visiting their favorite places together( watching the sunset etc..) during her last moments and then eventually dying in their arms:(

Sunset Lovers

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Rensuke Kunigami, Kenyu Yukimiya, Sae Itoshi, Ryusei Shidou, Michael Kaiser

A/N: OOH this one got a little kick to it, I was NAWT expecting to tear up while writing this

Warnings: angst, death, sad-ending

You had been sick, ever since you were little. You knew there was something wrong with you. You don't remember much of it but your parents say how the first few years of your life was spent in the sterile white walls of hospital rooms.

Through endless tests, surgeries and diagnoses, the doctors considered your condition fatal, giving you until your late teens to early twenties. The doctors couldn't do anything about it, an auto-immune condition that would slowly kill away at you until just one day, your heart would stop. Your parents made the choice of letting you live out the rest of your life as normal. And what was more normal for a teen than to be in love?

Yoichi Isagi

“No—no, that’s not—there has to be a way. A treatment—something—”

You could only shake your head. “There’s nothing, Yoichi. I’ve known this my whole life.”

His hands trembled as they reached for yours. His voice cracked as he whispered, “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

You tried to ignore the ticking clock, the looming presence of something inevitable. You laughed, you cried, you loved—all while knowing one day, it would all slip away. That’s when you decided. If your time was running out, then you’d make every second count.

Isagi knew, of course. You had told him early on, right after he confessed, your voice trembling as you explained your fate. You expected him to walk away, to spare himself the pain of losing you. But he didn’t. He stayed, holding your shaking hands and promising, “Then I’ll make every second count.”

And he did.

You visited every place that meant something to you, to him, to both of you. The small ramen shop where you had your first unofficial date, where he had nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants before asking you if you wanted to be his. The park where you watched him practice alone for hours, his dream of being the world’s best striker shining so brightly it almost made you forget your reality. The quiet hill overlooking the city, where he once swore he’d take you to every country in the world, never knowing you’d never live long enough for it.

And now, here you were—back where it all started.

The soccer field where you first met him.

Isagi held you close, his arms tightening around you as if he could physically keep you here, keep you alive. His heart pounded against your ear, and you smiled weakly.

“Your heartbeat,” you murmured. “It’s so fast.”

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I don’t—” His breath hitched, and you felt his tears against your hair. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

“You will,” you whispered. “You have to.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

You lifted your trembling hand, brushing your fingers against his cheek, memorizing the way his skin felt beneath your touch. “You’ll be the best, Yoichi. You’ll live your dream. For me, okay?”

He choked back a sob, pressing your hand to his lips. “I swear. I swear I will.”

So here you were now, in the final moments of a life that felt too short yet somehow full. The two of you sat on a quiet hill, overlooking the sunset—the place where you had first told Isagi you loved him. The sky was painted in hues of gold and violet, the sun dipping below the horizon as if mirroring the slow fading of your own light.

Isagi held you close, his arms wrapped around you as if he could somehow keep you tethered to this world. His breathing was uneven, his grip tightening with each passing second, as if he could stop time by sheer will alone.

“Hey, Ichi,” you whispered, voice barely above the wind.

“Don’t,” he choked out. “Don’t say anything like it’s the last time.”

You smiled, even as your body felt heavier, exhaustion pulling at you. “But it is, isn’t it?”

His hands trembled as he cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes, usually so bright and filled with determination, were drowning in anguish. “No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not yet. Not now.”

But you knew. You had always known. And now, with your head resting against his chest, listening to the frantic beats of his heart, you wished more than anything that you could stay.

Your fingers weakly grasped his sleeve, your strength fading. “Thank you, Yoichi. For loving me.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead against yours. “Don’t go,” he begged, voice breaking. “Please… I don’t know how to do this without you.”

You wanted to tell him he would be okay, that he would keep going, that he would live the life you couldn’t. But there wasn’t enough time.

The last thing you heard was his voice, calling your name over and over again.

The last thing you felt was his warmth, his arms tightening around you as if he could hold you together.

And the last thing you saw was the sunset, fading into darkness.

Meguru Bachira

Meguru had known about your illness for a long time. He hated it. Hated the way it made you tired after just a few minutes of running. Hated the way you sometimes clutched your chest in pain, forcing a smile and pretending it was nothing. Hated the way he couldn't do anything to stop it.

But you never let it stop you.

You still laughed, still dreamed, still lived. And Meguru swore he’d make every second count.

So when you asked him to take you to all your favorite places—one last time—he didn’t cry. He didn’t beg you to stay, even though he wanted to. He just smiled, grabbed your hand, and said, “Let’s make today our best adventure yet.”

The arcade was first.

The flashing lights, the sounds of buttons clicking and coins dropping—it was overwhelming, but so familiar. Meguru challenged you to your usual racing game, letting you win even though you both knew he was faster. The prize counter was next, where he used all his tickets to get you a tiny stuffed bee.

"His name is Mini Meguru," he grinned, placing it in your hands.

You laughed, hugging it close. "He's perfect."

Then, the soccer field.

The one where he first taught you how to kick a ball, where he spent hours talking about his dreams of playing in the World Cup. You both sat on the grass, watching kids chase after a ball, their laughter echoing in the wind.

“Do you ever wish you could’ve played more?” he asked quietly.

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Not really. I think watching you chase your dream was enough for me.”

Meguru clenched his fists. "That's not fair."

You smiled softly. "I know."

The last stop was the hilltop.

Where the two of you had watched countless sunsets together, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears. The sky was painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon.

Your breaths were weaker now. Your hands colder.

Meguru held you tightly, as if he could somehow keep you here just a little longer.

"Hey, Meguru?" you whispered.

"Yeah?" His voice cracked.

"I'm glad I met you."

Tears slipped down his face, falling onto your cheek. "No—no, don't say it like that. We still have time, okay? We still have—"

You reached up, weak fingers brushing against his face, wiping away his tears. "I love you."

Meguru choked on a sob, his whole body trembling. "I love you too," he whispered.

And then, you smiled one last time.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

And so did you.

Hyoma Chigiri

You never told Chigiri at first. You never wanted him to look at you with pity, never wanted him to treat you like fragile glass.

But he found out anyway.

You’ll never forget that night—the way his crimson eyes widened in horror when he overheard your parents talking in hushed whispers, the way his hands trembled when he confronted you, desperate for a denial you couldn’t give.

From that moment, he never left your side.

And now, here you were, in your final days, walking beside him through all the places that held the most meaning to you both. The quiet bookstore where he’d read poetry to you for hours, his voice soft and melodic. The riverside where you’d once spent an entire summer evening skipping rocks, laughing until your stomach hurt. The empty soccer field where he first taught you how to properly kick a ball, even though you never had the stamina to keep up with him.

You felt weaker with every step, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet. Not when Chigiri was still clinging onto every moment like he could stop time if he just held on hard enough.

By the time you reached the final stop, the hill overlooking the sunset, you could barely stand. Chigiri noticed immediately, his strong arms catching you before you could collapse.

"Hey, hey, don’t push yourself," he murmured, voice tight with panic.

You smiled, leaning into him as he gently lowered you onto the grass. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the kind of sunset that made everything feel endless. But for you, it wasn’t.

"Hyo…," you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. He covered your hand with his own, holding it there like he was afraid to let go.

"Don’t," his voice cracked. "Don’t talk like this is the end."

You exhaled softly, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones. "I just… wanted to spend my last moments with you. Here. Like this."

Tears slipped down his cheeks, landing on your skin like raindrops. "That’s not fair," he choked out. "You—You were supposed to stay longer. We had more places to go. More things to do."

You wished you could promise him forever, but you both knew that was never in the cards for you.

"I love you," you said instead, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Chigiri held you tighter, burying his face into your hair as his shoulders shook. "I love you too," he whispered, over and over again, like if he said it enough, he could keep you here.

But the world was growing dimmer, the sounds of the wind and his voice becoming distant.

And as the last rays of sunlight faded into the horizon, so did you, held in the arms of the person who loved you most.

Rin Itoshi

Rin, who wasn’t supposed to care. Rin, who hid his emotions behind cold words and sharp glares. Rin, who, despite everything, became the one person you wished you could stay for.

He had promised to make every second count. So, in these last moments, he was keeping that promise.

You spent the day visiting all your favorite places. The places that held memories of laughter, stolen glances, and quiet moments where words weren’t needed.

The soccer field was first. Rin stood there in silence, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared at the goal. You could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations—the way you used to tease him about how serious he was, how you’d sit on the sidelines and cheer only for him.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

"I always played better when you were watching."

Next was the café where he had once fumbled through your first date, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets when you called him cute. The memory made you smile. Now, though, Rin wasn’t saying anything. He just looked at the empty table where you used to sit, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven.

The bookstore came after that. The one you had dragged him into during a rainy afternoon, claiming he needed to appreciate stories beyond soccer. He had only pretended to be annoyed, but you knew the truth—he had loved listening to you read.

Now, he stood in front of the shelves, his fingers hovering over the books, before curling into a fist.

And then, finally, the hill.

The sun was setting, the sky painted in colors too beautiful to describe. It was warm, comforting—yet Rin felt nothing but cold.

You sat beside him, leaning into his side, your breaths coming slower than before. Rin knew. He had been trying not to acknowledge it all day, but now, as the minutes ticked by, reality was forcing itself upon him.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

His grip on you tightened. "Yeah," he forced out.

You turned to look at him, and that’s when it hit him—really hit him.

Your skin was pale, your eyes dimmer than they should be. There was still that familiar warmth in your gaze, but it was fading. Everything about you was fading.

His breath hitched. His lips parted, but no words came out.

"Rin," you whispered, your fingers brushing against his.

He immediately grabbed your hand, holding it as tightly as he could.

"Don’t," his voice broke. His eyes burned. "Don't talk like that."

You smiled—soft, gentle, accepting. "I’m glad it was you."

Rin's throat tightened. He shook his head, his body trembling. "No. Don’t do this. Don't say goodbye."

You exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers weakly squeezing his.

"Thank you," you whispered. "For everything."

And then your grip went slack.

Rin froze.

The air around him seemed to shatter, the world narrowing down to the unbearable silence that followed. His breath stuttered as he shook you lightly, desperate—pleading.

"Hey," his voice cracked. "No—no, please, don’t—"

But you weren’t responding.

Tears welled in his eyes before they spilled, one after another, streaming down his face as he choked on a sob. His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, cradling you against him like he could somehow keep you here, keep you from slipping away.

"Come on," he whispered, his voice breaking apart. "You said we'd watch the sunrise together too, remember?"

His shoulders shook, his tears falling onto your skin, onto the hands he held so desperately. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, ragged.

"Please," he begged. "Don't leave me."

But the sun had set, and so had you.

Seishiro Nagi

And that was how you met Nagi.

It was by chance, really. A lazy coincidence. You had been out on one of your many walks, a way to distract yourself from the inevitable, when you spotted him sprawled out under a tree, phone in hand, the autumn sun casting golden streaks through his pale hair.

You don’t know what compelled you to sit beside him, but you did. Maybe it was because he looked so at ease—so unconcerned with the rush of life that constantly slipped through your fingers. Or maybe it was because, deep down, you envied that kind of existence.

And Nagi, for all his laziness, didn't push you away.

That was how it started.

Over time, Nagi became your safe place. He wasn’t like the others—he never pitied you, never treated you like you were something fragile that might break at any moment. He just existed beside you, like a quiet, constant presence in your fleeting life.

And now, in your final days, he was still here.

“We should go somewhere today,” you suggested one morning, the weight in your chest heavier than usual. You had long stopped telling him when the pain worsened—it wouldn’t change anything.

“Mm... where?” Nagi asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was still drowsy from staying up with you the night before, listening to your quiet fears when you thought sleep would never come.

You smiled softly. “Everywhere.”

You went to the arcade first. It was loud, flashing, full of life. You laughed as Nagi failed to beat you at your favorite game, watching his lips press into a lazy pout.

Then you went to the quiet bookstore down the street, the one you always dragged him to. You ran your fingers along the spines of books you’d never get to finish, inhaling the scent of pages that would turn without you.

The café was next. You ordered your usual, savoring the taste, imprinting it in your memory even though you knew you wouldn’t need it for long.

And finally, the beach.

The sun was beginning to set, bleeding shades of orange and pink across the sky. The waves lapped gently at the shore, the world slowing down as if it knew this was the last time you'd see it.

You felt the exhaustion creeping in, your body weakening by the second. You barely even realized you had fallen until you felt Nagi catch you, his arms wrapping around you like he could hold you together.

“Hey,” his voice was quieter now, an edge of something desperate in it.

You blinked up at him, vision hazy. “I think... this is it.”

“Don’t say that,” Nagi mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours. His grip on you tightened, as if keeping you close would make you stay. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”

But even he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

A tear slipped down his cheek, landing on your skin. You reached up, weakly wiping it away with trembling fingers. “Don’t cry,” you murmured. “Tears don’t suit you.”

A breathless, broken laugh escaped him before he kissed you, trying to force himself to ingrain the feeling of your lips. “I love you too much, I can’t help it.” he whispered.

He was still holding onto you, cradling you against him as the sun dipped below the horizon, the last light of the day flickering in your eyes before everything faded to black.

And then, there was nothing.

Reo Mikage

You met Reo Mikage in high school, at a time when you had already accepted your fate. He was everything you weren’t—privileged, full of dreams, untouchable by the cruel hands of fate. You never meant to let him in, never meant to let him love you. But Reo was persistent, relentless even, until you found yourself falling despite knowing how it would end.

And now, it was ending.

Your body had been getting weaker, the fatigue nearly unbearable. You knew you didn’t have much time left, so you asked Reo for one last thing—to visit all your favorite places together, one last time.

He agreed, but not without hesitation. He hated this. Hated how helpless he felt. Hated how no amount of money, no power in the world, could save you. But if this was what you wanted, he would do it. For you.

The café where you first met.

You sipped at a drink you barely had the strength to hold, laughing at the memory of Reo getting your order wrong the first time. He laughed along, though his grip on his cup was tight, knuckles white.

“You were so confident when you handed me that caramel latte,” you teased.

“I thought caramel and vanilla were the same thing,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I still don’t get how you let me talk to you again after that.”

You smiled softly. “Because you kept showing up.”

The park where he first confessed.

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, petals drifting gently to the ground. You reached out to catch one, but your fingers trembled too much. Reo noticed. He always noticed. Without a word, he plucked a petal from your hair and held it out to you.

“You cried back then,” you reminded him. “You were so dramatic.”

Reo scoffed, forcing a smirk. “I was just emotional, okay?”

“I think you were scared I’d say no.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, quieter this time. “But not of rejection. I was scared you wouldn’t let me love you at all.”

You looked away, feeling the sting of tears. You almost hadn’t. But God, were you glad you did.

The beach at sunset.

The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the waves crashing gently against the shore. You sat beside Reo, leaning against him as exhaustion settled deep in your bones.

“Reo,” you murmured.

His hand tightened around yours. “Don’t.”

But you had to.

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered. “I’m glad I let you in.”

He turned to you then, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t talk like this is goodbye,” he begged.

But it was.

You smiled weakly, your fingers twitching against his. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Reo shook his head, gripping you tighter, as if that would keep you here. “No, stop—please.”

But your body had already given in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breath fading.

And Reo could do nothing but hold you, broken sobs escaping his lips as the sun dipped below the horizon—taking you with it.

Rensuke Kunigami

The city stretched before you, a canvas of memories painted in soft hues of nostalgia. Kunigami walked beside you, his strong yet gentle presence grounding you as you visited the places that meant the most to you both. You knew this was the last time you'd walk these paths together, but you kept that thought buried deep, smiling for his sake.

The place where he first took you after a long day, promising you "the best damn ramen you'd ever eat." The warm broth, the laughter, the way he always gave you the last bite, it was all a part of your story.

Kunigami watched you with careful eyes as you slurped your noodles, his usual gruff demeanor softened by something unspoken.

"You okay?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

You swallowed down the ache in your chest and grinned. "I should be asking you that, you always eat too fast."

He chuckled, but the worry in his gaze didn’t fade. You knew he could tell. He always could. Your time would be ending soon, you both knew it.

Next you visited the gym you used to watch him train in. You recall the rhythmic sound of his punches against the bag echoing in the empty space. He always worked harder than anyone, pushing himself beyond his limits, fueled by his dreams. And you had been there, watching, supporting, believing in him. "You’re staring," he used to tease, wiping sweat from his brow. "Can you blame me?" you shot back, pretending to admire his muscles. If was a fond memory you liked to look back, even if it made your cheeks flushed when you did.

You visited your high school soccer stadium next. Kunigami stood in the center of the field with you, hands in his pockets, looking up at the empty stands.

"This place…" he murmured. "I fought so hard to be here."

"And you made it," you whispered.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Because I had you with me."

You blinked, startled by the raw honesty in his voice. He rarely voiced his emotions outright, but when he did, it hit deep.

Finally, you made it to the rooftop of your house. The wind was gentle, the horizon burning with hues of gold and crimson. Kunigami sat beside you, his arm around your shoulders, holding you close like he always did.

You were so, so tired.

"You ever think about the future?" he asked.

You hesitated. "Yeah."

His grip on you tightened. "Then stay." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it was deafening.

You turned to him, your fingers brushing over his face—his furrowed brows, his strong jaw, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

"I'm sorry," you choked out. "I wish I could."

Kunigami's breath hitched. He shook his head, his hands gripping yours as if he could keep you tethered to this world.

"Its okay, you've been fighting for so long. I'm proud of you... I love you" kunigami tried to smile, but tears clung to his lashes.

"I love you too," you weakly managed to say, but your body was already giving in. The world blurred, his face the last thing you could see.

His voice broke as he called your name over and over, as he held you against his chest, rocking you like he could shake the life back into you. His arms, always so strong, trembled as he buried his face in your hair, his heart shattering as the last bit of warmth faded from your body.

And when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Kunigami was left in the dark—alone, lost, and clutching onto you like you were his last reason to keep going.

Kenyu Yukimiya

The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the city in warmth as you walked beside Yukimiya, your fingers loosely intertwined. Today was a day just for the two of you—to visit all the places that held pieces of your story.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, blending with the quiet murmur of conversations. This was where you had spent countless afternoons together, where he would sketch in his notebook while you talked about your dreams. Today, he stirred his coffee absentmindedly, his gaze lingering on you, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

"You okay?" you asked, forcing a small smile.

"Yeah," he replied, but his voice wavered. You both knew time was slipping through your fingers.

Next, the modeling agency where you met.

You never planned to step inside, just standing outside the glass doors was enough. It was here that fate first intertwined your paths—Yukimiya, the rising soccer star, and you, just someone passing through when you accidentally bumped into him.

"I still remember how flustered you were," he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"You were the one who apologized three times," you teased.

His laughter faded into silence. You both wished you could rewind time, back to when things were simple, when you weren't running out of moments.

Then, the soccer stadium

The field was empty now, but you could still hear the echoes of cheers, the roar of the crowd that once chanted his name. This was his dream, his world.

"You always looked happiest here," you murmured.

"It was because you were always watching," he admitted. "Even when my eyesight got worse… I could always find you in the stands."

His fingers tightened around yours. You squeezed back, grounding him, grounding yourself.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of his breath.

"Stay awake," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Just a little longer."

But your body was giving in. The world felt softer, quieter.

"I'm glad it was you, Kenyu," you whispered. "My happiest moments… they were all with you."

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he held you tighter, as if sheer willpower could keep you here. His fingers trembled as they brushed your hair back, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"Don't go," he choked out. “How am I supposed to live when you aren't?”

The last thing you saw was the sky fading into night, the warmth of his arms around you, the sound of his heartbeat—until there was nothing at all.

And Yukimiya, left alone in the quiet darkness, could only hold you closer, whispering your name like a prayer that would never be answered. He always thought God would never bear the soul with more than it could handle. How unfair and cruel it was to take and take and take. That day, when he lost you, he also lost his faith.

Sae Itoshi

Sae never believed in fate. He believed in hard work, in raw talent, in control. But standing here, walking beside you through the last moments of your time together, he wished—just this once—that fate was something he could fight.

He didn’t say it out loud, but you knew. His silence was different tonight, heavier. And yet, he still walked with you, visiting the places that defined your time together, as if engraving each one into his memory.

Sae didn't focus on academics much as a kid, putting his all into soccer. But, you always dragged him to the bookstore. The place had always been a sanctuary, a world away from the chaos of his career. He never cared much for reading until you showed him how stories could feel like home.

"You always take too long picking a book," he muttered, watching you run your fingers along the spines.

You smirked. "And you always pretend you’re not interested, but I caught you reading my recommendations."

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached for a book and placed it in your hands. "Then, this one. Read it for me."

You looked at the cover—something about soccer, of course. "Are you serious?"

He gave a small, rare smile. "You’ll like it."

You weren’t sure if you had enough time left to finish another book.

The city glowed under the streetlights, the same place where Sae had spent years honing his crafted. You had visited him here once before, stealing a few moments of warmth before his career pulled him forward again.

"Do you regret it?" you asked suddenly.

"Regret what?"

"Choosing soccer over everything else."

Sae sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You make me think I could’ve chosen differently."

Your heart clenched. He was never good at expressing emotions, but this—this was as close as he would get to admitting he didn’t want to lose you.

Finally, you visited the ocean you spent many summers building sand castles with Rin and collecting seashells with Sae. Waves crashed against the shore, the salty air filling your lungs as you stood at the water’s edge. Sae had always loved the ocean—its vastness, its unpredictability, how it never stopped moving forward.

"You always seemed untouchable," you murmured.

He glanced at you. "What?"

"Like the ocean. Beautiful, but distant."

He frowned, stepping closer. Is that how you saw him? "That’s not true."

"You know it is." You turned to him, searching his face. "But you let me close. And that means everything to me."

Sae clenched his jaw, looking away. His hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how to hold on without breaking you further.

The city stretched below, the skyline glowing in the dim light of the setting sun. You sat beside Sae, his warmth grounding you, his silence filled with everything he couldn’t say.

"Don’t close your eyes," he said suddenly, his voice almost commanding.

You smiled weakly. "Sae…"

His hands clenched into fists. "Just stay awake. A little longer."

You wished you could. But your body was failing, the world growing dimmer despite the city’s lights.

"I wanted more time too," you whispered. You didn't want him to think you were betraying him.

His breath hitched. "I know."

You reached for his hand, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He held on tight. He had kissed you a million times before, held you a million times before, none of them ever felt like they were enough.

"Sae," you murmured. "Thank you. For letting me love you."

His grip on you tightened. "Don’t talk like that."

You exhaled, your fingers going slack in his hold.

And Sae, who had never let himself be controlled by emotions, who had always prided himself on being composed—felt himself break as he held you against him, his head bowed, his heart shattering into pieces that no amount of time could fix.

And Sae was left behind, staring at the city that continued to move forward—without you.

Ryusei Shidou

Shidou Ryusei was never one for quiet, predictable love. So when he met you, it was like a breath of fresh air in his life. Someone who could keep up with him and match his energy. But as you walked together through the places that meant the most to you, something was different. His usual smirk faltered at the edges, his usually crazy bubblegum eyes were now soft and held something desperate. He wasn’t used to losing. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to lose you.

You visited the place you two first met. An underground fight club. Being sick, you always had to be careful. You craved to know what it was like to experience the fullest of human life. So, you wandered one night into a fight club to watch what healthy people could do to themselves.

Most people would find it ridiculous, but this was where you first saw him—raw, untamed, grinning like a maniac as he wiped blood from his lip after winning a fight. He was reckless, but you saw something behind the madness.

"You looked hot as hell that night," he admitted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The area was empty now, but you could picture the memories so easily.

"You were a bloody mess," you shot back.

"And you still fell for me." He clicked his tongue. "Guess you're crazier than me, huh?"

You laughed, but it came out hollow. His grin twitched, like he knew the sound wasn’t real. Shidou wasn’t just good at soccer, he was a force of nature. The way he moved, the way he devoured the game with reckless abandon, it was beautiful, terrifying, addictive.

He kicked the ball hard, sending it flying into the net. "Damn, I love this feeling," he muttered. "Feels like I could live forever when I’m on the field."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Then promise me you’ll keep playing. No matter what."

His expression was grim, and for once, Shidou had nothing to say.

You made it to a curb outside your favorite convenience store you always visited with Shidou. It was a small one near your house. You had bought your favorite snacks, enjoying them as you watched the sunset together.

"You ever think about heaven?" you asked suddenly.

Shidou scoffed. "Tch. Like some pretty afterlife bullshit? Nah. I think heaven’s right here."

You looked at him. "Where?"

"Wherever you are."

Your chest ached. He said it so easily, so naturally, like he had no doubt. But you knew better. You knew he never planned for a world where you weren’t beside him.

You sat on the hood of his motorcycle, the city lights flickering around you like dying embers. Shidou stood in front of you, hands gripping your knees, eyes burning with love.

"Do you feel happy?" He asked.

"Of course, I'm always happy when I'm with you." You smiled.

"How am I supposed to be happy when you're not here?" His eyes glossed, and you wanted to cry to. But you had to be strong, for him and for you.

You cupped his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, memorizing the heat of his skin. "You know I don’t have a choice."

His breath hitched. "Then I’ll fight it. I’ll fight God himself if I have to."

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his. "That’s what I love about you, Ryusei."

His whole body tensed. His fingers dug into your legs, his shoulders trembling.

"I love you," you whispered.

You exhaled, the last of your strength fading. Your body sagged, and for the first time in his life, Shidou couldn’t stop something from slipping away.

The city roared around him, but all he could hear was silence. All he could feel was the emptiness where you used to be.

And in that moment, the beast of the field, the unstoppable, untamed, violent force that was Shidou Ryusei had finally lost. Not to another player. Not to the game. But to the one thing he could never fight.

Fate.

Michael Kaiser

Michael Kaiser was not a man who settled for less. He lived for brilliance, for dominance, for being the best. And if there was one thing in this world he claimed as his, it was you.

Yet tonight, as he walked beside you through the places that had become yours, even he, the self-proclaimed Emperor, was powerless against the inevitable.

High above the city, where only the elite were allowed to sit and sip on expensive cocktails, you and Kaiser had made this place your haven. Not because of the wealth, but because up here, the world looked as small as it felt when you were together. You watched the sunset, the colors reflecting in your drink.

Kaiser swirled the wine in his glass, but he wasn’t drinking. His piercing blue eyes were trained on you instead, studying you as if memorizing every detail.

“You’re being quiet,” you teased.

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Admiring my greatest treasure.”

Your heart clenched. He had a way of making things sound both arrogant and deeply sincere at the same time.

“Micha…”

“No,” he cut in smoothly. “Don’t say it.”

You looked at him, the city lights reflected in his gaze. He knew what was coming. He was just refusing to acknowledge it.

Next, the Art Gallery, His Private Escape

Few people knew this about him, but Kaiser had a soft spot for art. Not just any art, but the bold, the striking, the ones that left an impact, just like he did.

“This one reminds me of you,” you said, stopping in front of a piece. It was a chaotic swirl of colors, elegant but unpredictable, like him. An abstract painting of Macaws.

Kaiser stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Flattering me now? I must really be irresistible.”

You chuckled, leaning into his embrace. “You always were.”

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and bittersweet. Then he whispered, so softly you almost missed it, “Don’t go.”

Then, the football stadium, his throne

This was where Kaiser shined the most, where he was untouchable. Watching him play was like watching a masterpiece in motion, graceful, powerful, breathtaking.

His smirk faltered. For the first time, Kaiser wasn’t basking in the glory. Because for the first time, winning wasn’t enough.

Final stop, a grand opera house.

The two of you sat in the empty theater, your hands intertwined as the grand chandelier above bathed everything in a golden glow.

“This was supposed to be our future,” Kaiser muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “Expensive seats, extravagant nights, an empire built for two.”

You turned to him, squeezing his hand. “It still is. Just… not the way we imagined.”

His jaw clenched. Michael Kaiser didn’t do losses. But here he was, losing you to something he couldn’t outplay, outscore, or outshine.

“You’re not allowed to leave me,” he hissed, his voice shaking with an emotion he rarely let show.

You reached up, brushing a hand through his golden locks, your touch so gentle it made him tremble.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“I love you, only you. The only thing I’ve ever loved in this fucked up life of mine.” Kaiser spoke with a desperation you’ve never seen from him.

“I love you too, Micha. Always and forever.” You smiled, wiping the tears away from his eyes. Kaiser shut his eyes, trying to stop the hot tears. Then, the exhaustion took over. Your body slumped, and before you could even fall, his arms caught you.

Panic, raw and unfiltered, flashed across his face. “No. No. Not yet.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, gripping you tighter, his breath uneven. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

But you were already slipping away.

And for the first time in his life, Michael Kaiser wasn’t the one in control.

For the first time, the King had lost his most precious crown.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #isagi x reader #chigiri x reader #bachira x reader #rin itoshi x reader #nagi x reader #reo mikage x reader #kunigami rensuke x reader #rensuke kunigami #shidou x reader #kaiser x reader #sae x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader

143 notes · View notes

aphroditesmoon · 1 day ago

Text

smoke signals (part iii)

lighthouse keeper!sevika x selkie!reader

summary: sevika is content with her life, the loneliness that comes with her job is inevitable. but then one day, as she reaches the peak of mundanity, almost turning into insanity, you appeared. cold, quiet, clueless, sea-sent you, like a wish fulfilment for her.

warnings: selkie!reader, reader has selective mutism in beginning.

a/n: enjoy my loves 🦭🩷

taglist: @lilredbird101 , @djstinkyfartz

wc: 4k

part 1 part 2

---

Sevika has always compared herself to a burning house. In certain perspectives, she is a tragedy, a collection of disappointing failure that is continuous. And for as long as she's lived, there has been this constant question of; "Who lit the match?"

Was it her parents? The ongoing traumatic experience that befelled her? Was it her own hand pouring the oil over her head?

All she was ever sure of, is that it started a long time ago. And that the burning persisted for so long to the point that she didn't want it to stop. Because she wouldn't know what to do with the ashes and the broken messes of her mind once it dies out.

The suffering prevails. Even when it doesn't seem like it, it is there. Through her self inflicted isolation, through alcoholism.

Because that is all she is sure of within herself. Knowing your fate and accepting it can't be harder than accepting that there are parts of you that you are not sure of. Because if she can't be sure of herself, if she listened to the voice that maybe she didn't know herself as much as she thought she did, then she didn't know anything.

And nothing is more terrifying than the unknown.

So here she is, doing what she thinks she must, being who she thought she is.

A middle aged, mechanical handed lighthouse keeper with an alcohol addiction and a gambling history, storing the rest of her life in this tall building, talking to seals

because that's the only conversation she believes that will never be used against her. And living alone because that's the only way people can't hurt her.

She survived the pain by imagining that it was necessary. That someway, somehow, somewhere, there was a version of her that isn't as fucked as this one, living the life she could've had, loving the way she wished she could love, all because she was here, suffering the consequences for her, taking the fall, for her.

Sevika is a realistic, logical person. How funny it is, that this imagination, this hopeful belief, stored deep in her chest, is the only reason she's able to look at herself in the mirror, to not break the glass at the sights of her scars, the healed bruise around her eyes that she can still see, even when no one else can.

The versions of her before she had been truly worn down, broken into pieces so small, you begin to lose them everywhere.

Knowing pain is better than not knowing, she tells herself constantly.

And yet now, Sevika has been faced with the first thing she can't be sure of; you.

You swam your way into her dull daily life and she doesn't know what else to do except to yield to whatever comes after.

She thought she could handle a few weeks with a stranger until she could send you back to land and in the hands of the enforcers to handle, but it's only been four weeks and she's already so on edge, reminded of why she chose the solitary life in the first place.

Dealing with you is like dealing with a cat. You have no understanding of personal boundaries and are never affected by being reprimanded.

You go through her kitchen and leave a mess, you go through her stuff out of pure curiosity and insist on following her around while she's doing work like a lost dog, poking around on her mechanical arm. You ask questions while being mute, through the raise of your brows, the slight frown you'd give her when you're confused.

The judgmental stare you wear when you wonder why she does things the way she does.

Because it's just the way things are, she wanted to say. But you wouldn't understand. And she's not talking about language.

Sometimes she's sure that you can understand every annoyed word that escapes her lips and is only acting like you can't. And she can't tell if this is genuinely how you are or if you're acting up out of boredom or distrust.

You didn't really have a hobby, or at least one you could practise in this small space of a tower. She had tried giving you some old books she had from her childhood and she'd catch you looking through them at times, but with the speed you were flipping those pages with, she doubted that you were actually reading.

This evening thankfully, she's finally found a moment for herself without you. You were in her room. Sleeping or lounging, she assumed.

Sevika just finished writing up the details needed in her logbook, fortunately there wasn't much to fix up since there hasn't been much sailing these couple of weeks, but she was still relieved to get it over with.

She exits from her office, leading herself down the stairs towards her kitchen. Three knocks on the door, and then she spoke: "I'm coming in." She stated before pushing the door open.

You're sitting by the window again, hair being blown by the subtle wind as you lost yourself completely in the calling of the sea on the eve.

This was another thing about you she's come to understand about, your obsession with the waters.

She had seen you spend hours by the window or outside just looking into the vast waves of deep and tranquil ocean, just observing every little movement it makes as if you wanted to jump and live underneath.

Even right now, it was easy to see that whatever the ocean is doing to you, it's vital.You especially loved it when it's raining, thunderstorms and all. it's almost like it rejuvenated you.

Sevika wondered if she had accidentally been holding her breath up until now. She coughed out loudly, breaking the silence and serenity you were just in. You flinched as your head snapped in her direction, surprised.

You're wearing her favourite shirt as you don't exactly have clothes on your own, it dwarfs you completely, but you didn't seem to mind. In fact, you never seem to care much about your appearance, your hair, as it is now, is often wild and unruly, like beastly waves of the sea.

Awkward silence filled the air between you two. "Hey." She said dumbly.

She took a few steps in and was about to bring up dinner until she saw her sketchbook, laid open on her desk by her bedside.

Sevika stops immediately and frowns. "Were you going through my things again?"

Receiving no response from you, she moves towards her notebook, grabbing it possessively and checking the pages. "What did I tell you about-" Sevika's hands froze at the sight of the ripped pages from her book.

Her neck snaps towards you, who is already standing and getting ready to run out. "No." She grabbed your arm before you could move past her and forced you down on the bed.

You growled deeply like a rabid dog, but not in an angry manner, annoyed moreso. "Sit down." She commanded, still gripping your arm. You tried to get up and pull away resulting in her having her arms tangled over your neck, pushing you back down.

"I said no!" She yelled before finally being able to sit you down. You didn't take kindly on her aggression and bit on her arm as strongly as you could, causing her to shove you away with a loud yelp, sending you down across the other side of the bed.

Sevika caresses her arm as she regains her composure while you stand back up from the ground.

She turns to close the bedroom door before turning back to you.

"You know, I let you stay here for free-" She begins. You roll your eyes at her, having heard this speech before.

"If I wanted to leave you out to drown, I could. All I had to do was kick your small ass back into the water and pretend none of this ever happened, but I didn't." She crosses her arms together as you turn to face the open window, not willing to look at her.

"Turn away, I don't care. I know you understand me."

"You know, I really don't know what your problem is, but I have tried to be patient with your childish theatrics for two weeks now. You go through my stuff without permission, you steal my things and keep them as your own, and you follow me around like some dog, and the only reason I'm tolerating it all is for the fact that once I drop you in town to the enforcers, I won't ever have to see you again." At the mention of the enforcers, you whirled your head to lock eyes with her, visibly betrayed.

"I even sit on the sorry ass chair downstairs so you can have my bed, and I'm fine with that. But this is the last straw. You invaded my privacy and stole my drawings, do you know how rude that is?"

The irritation has left your features, but your expression is still unreadable.

"Give them back." She opens her palm to you, waiting in expectation.

You squint your eyes, it's something you do when you're deep in thought, she noticed. As much as you try to keep up your mysterious persona, you are too much of a curious, empathetic soul to truly be unreadable.

"Please." Sevika tries again.

You gave her a long stare before you began climbing on top of the bed and digging out the ripped pages from inside the pillow covers.

Wrinkly in your hands, you slip them into her hand, letting your fingers brush over the wrist before you walk past her to leave the room. She could hear your soft footsteps making your way downstairs in the dark tower, getting more faint each second.

She waited until she couldn't hear you anymore before opening the two papers in her hand, looking down at her own sketch of the friendly seals she had seen weeks ago.

After folding it and stuffing it back on the notebook, Sevika sat on the bed, contemplating nothing and everything. It almost felt as if she had so much more to say to you, but at the same time nothing. She's been so used to putting her own mind on autopilot that processing feelings seemed too much.

She fell asleep after an hour, and when she opened her eyes hours later, the lights in the room were shut off and her body had been covered by her blanket, so she ceased any upcoming thoughts and fell back into slumber.

---

You have lived your whole life feeling like an imposter. You knew you belonged to the sea, but there was this deep craving to be more. It almost felt like destiny. And it's not like you think you're meant to have more than anyone else, because who do you think you are? Demanding for more.

Is it bad to be holding life by the collar and beg for there to be more? Because if this is all life had to offer you, you were sure that you would die slowly from the inside.

You aren't really sure what you're doing right now, giving this poor woman a hard time, living in her shadows, trying to understand her for the sake of understanding yourself.

But today, through her drawing of you, another form of you, was the first time you ever saw yourself through another person's eyes, and it felt good to be seen. To be remembered, to exist as more than just a concept or a myth.

You didn't mean to completely cross her boundary as a person, and maybe you deserved the anger she had let out today, but you weren't upset, because you had finally understood what it was you were looking for in other people, and in yourself.

You've been searching for satisfaction in short-lived excitements and unfulfilling experiences. Wanting things is easy, but they always fade as soon as you manage to catch them in your hands.

What you needed was something you could learn every angle and nook of it and never get bored of. Something worth staying for.

You're not truly sure if Sevika is that thing, but all you could do now is to trust what feels good.

Sevika had overslept, you were glad for it. That woman holds herself to an impossible standard even when her schedule is gonna use god forbid she doesn't follow her routine.

But you knew she needed the rest. She had let you take the bed for two weeks now, the comfort of the sheets must be comforting for her.

To make it up for the disturbance you've given her, you had taken it on yourself to restock her fridge with fresh fish for future meals. Her unconsciousness had provided you ample time to go on a swim and capture the fishes for her. If the little surprise you prepared for her wouldn't put a smile on her face, you're sure that this will.

You almost went as far as to prepare breakfast yourself, but then decided that you have not mastered the kitchen tools well enough to try.

You were outside against the railing again when you heard the small sound of chairs moving. Turning around, you're met with a dishevelled Sevika, taking you in with sleepy eyes.

"You should've woke me up earlier," was the first thing she said to you.

You smiled in response, because it's such a Sevika thing to say.

Before she could react, you pulled inside her by her arm, heading straight to the fridge and opening it.

A shitload of cold, raw fish fills every possible space to the brim. Sevika makes a confused noise, looking back to back from the fridge to you, her eyes crinkling together in an adorable, confused manner.

"Where'd you get this, did someone send these while I was asleep?" You shrugged uncaringly and pursed your lips close.

Sevika knelt down, pulling some of the fish out to check if they're real. "These could last us a whole month." She mumbled as she placed them back in and stood back up.

"Seriously, how did you get these?" She asks again, leaning against the closed fridge.

Your expression remained vague and you smiled, enjoying the pleasantly shocked reaction she had. She sighed at the expected response and you could've sworn that it had sounded less aggravated than usual.

"Well, fish for breakfast?" She jokes as she begins to prepare cooking, watching from the corner of her eyes as you take a seat against your very wet coat, dripping slightly on the floor as it stays hung on the chair.

---

When Sevika woke up, she had this odd, rare feeling in her chest; guilt.

The last time she ever felt bad for anything was when she had accidentally stepped on a dog's tail. People aren't worth feeling guilt over.

She's ashamed to admit that you were the only thing on her mind as she opened her eyes today.

It felt good to be on her own bed, she'll admit, but everything else from her head to her bones had felt wrong.

She kept thinking of last night, wondering how to fix the situation, and the fact that she cared so much about it frustrated herself. She wasn't in the wrong, why should she be this bothered?

As she shrugged herself off of the covers, Sevika took her time coming downstairs, the drowsiness of the afternoon air still lingering over her as she padded down the staircase gently.

Falling off of her routine usually upsetted her. Yet for some reason today with the sudden feeling of remorse taking over her, she only managed to muster up a slight disappointment that barely lasted a minute before she turned her thoughts back to you.

Sevika could guess where you'd be, and she knew she was right when she finally entered the kitchen and found you with your back turned to her as you let the blinding sun shine its golden light over your face.

She could only see the right side of your face as you tilted your face up, but it was enough to take the air out of her lungs for a solid second.

Sevika isn't blind, she knows a pretty face when she sees one. But you were more than just pretty. Your beauty was almost inhuman. You had the kind of face that people would pay to paint.

It wasn't long before you noticed her behind you. and just like most of the time when she's caught admiring you, she's never quite sure what to say.

"You should've woke me up earlier," She decided to say in the end. She expected to see resentment in your eyes for what had occurred last night, but you had bad smiles instead. And that only worsened whatever was blooming in her chest.

Sevika wasn't prepared for you to take her hand and pull her towards the fridge so suddenly, and she definitely wasn't prepared for you to open it and present a fridge full of fresh raw fish.

What the fuck?

Is this some weird fucked up dream where a beautiful angel descends down to gift her a shit ton of fish?

Sevika tries acquiring you on where you had gotten these and fails to receive any clarity. She would push the topic further if she wasn't so hungry, so for now the topic is on pause.

Once the two of you finished eating, she let you continue your daydreaming outside, sunbathing and occasionally growling at the sight of swimming fishes in the weird nature you usually do while she does the dishes and sweeps the already clean floor as per her routine.

Sevika stole glances towards you the whole time of course, unable to focus on anything else even if she wanted to.

Throughout the whole time, her brain is ransacked all over, writing up sentences to say to you. She had never been good at words, unfortunately. But she figured you were worth trying for.

I'm sorry you provoked me? No, that is extremely provoking in itself. I'm sorry I manhandled you but in my defense, I don't think anyone would know how to handle you in that situation. Well, that's worse.

Sevika uncaringly shoved the broom against the wall after she was dome sweeping. Letting herself have these little tantrums like slamming things and stomping her feet is how she restrains herself from returning to her past of violence that consists of wall punchings and body slammings. Small moments of expression that lets her acknowledge how far she's come so she can say to herself; "see, I can be matured if I want to, the old me would've broken that broom in half."

But even the light shove made her resent herself even more, she didn't want you to ever see that side of her.

It confused her, the way you made her feel, the last thing she needed was some girl making her feel self conscious of the way she behaved. Sevika is rough, rude, and boring. And the tiny sense of wanting to be more than that in your presence is irritating.

She leaned against the small chair as she watched you with your head bowed down, frowning at the waves like you're trying to explode the ground beneath it.

In moments like this, she feels as if she both knows you and knows nothing at the same time. She could wake up and instinctively be able to tell where you are and understand the meaning of the faces you make when you're trying to talk to her without actually talking. And yet, she has no idea where you're from, how you wound up in the middle of the sea, and why you don't seem to care that you're in the middle of the sea, away from your home.

Are you a nomad? The theory had crossed her mind. When she had asked you where you were from, you circled the entire map, and at first she thought of it as a joke. But knowing you better now, she doesn't think you were lying.

You adapt to your surroundings as easy and quick as an animal would, you growl and hiss instead of yell or speak like humans do, and she knows you're not actually mute because she's heard your melodious laugh before, during times where you didn't notice her lurking from behind.

There is childlike wonder and curiosity in the way you approach new and strange concepts and things, but she's witnessed the deep grief in your eyes before to know that you must've lived a longer life than she could imagine.

Sevika smiled to herself when she saw you clicking your tongue at the sighting of another fish, and that was another thing she's confused about. What is it with you and damn fishes? She doesn't have it in herself to figure this one out, so she only shook her head and sighed in defeat.

You must've heard her because your head twisted to face you and whatever vexation you once held for the sea creatures, vanished instantly.

You lightly tilted your head in question, Sevika fought the urge to bite her lip and spoke; "we need to talk."

She moved to the other side of the table, letting you sit on the nearest chair and pushed down the burning feeling in her throat so she could properly arrange the words in her brain.

"I would like to apologize." Sevika stated and paused to see if you understood her, you blew air out of your mouth and looked away for a moment.

"I might've overreacted last night. And I am still upset about the drawing, but I shouldn't have grabbed you like that." You looked back to her and nodded in understanding, accepting her apology.

That should do it, Sevika thought. The tension returned, breeding in air that separated you. None of you made any motion to leave or move.

"I- I guess..." Sevika stuttered, "I'm just not used to being around someone else. I haven't been in anyone's company for almost a year, I mean actually living around people. So my people skills are a bit...rusty." You let a small grin escape through your lips while scrunching your nose, agreeing with her words.

"And if I'm going to be honest, I think being around you is bringing out parts of me I didn't know exist." Where did that come from? Sevika's not sure, but once she started, she couldn't stop.

"There are things about myself that I believe are better left buried, and you just happened to push my buttons enough for them to spill out and make me begin wondering again. And for someone who's lived their whole life repressing those parts, the worst thing they can do is start hoping and wondering again."

She wasn't sure what it was, but something had shifted in your gaze and your jaw tensed.

"Like, I wonder what it's like... to be known as something other than cold and reclusive. Or, I wonder if I'm not as faithless as I thought I was because sometimes, when you piss me off, or you talk to fishes or help me do my chores, If there is something between us that's worth believing in."

Because as much as I act like I don't want you around, I wonder if I can go back to being alone after this. She doesn't say that part aloud.

More words threatened to spill out, but Sevika held back. She had said too much already. Things she never let herself think about for too long.

Her mouth opens and closes again, unable to decide what the right thing to say is now.

You don't even blink, weirdly enough.

But then your own mouth opens, and the soft sounds of syllables mesh together as you tell her; "I understand."

Sevika's eyes widened. "You understand?"

You nodded and patted your chest with two fingers. In here, you don't say, but she understood you two. Because both of you have made it way past the language barrier.

"Okay." Sevika breathed out in relief, or anxiousness. "Okay."

"What I said before, about us- I didn't mean it like-" Sevika felt the need to justify what she had said but was cut off when you suddenly rose uo and walked to the kitchen utensil drawer and pulled out something from the inside.

You returned to your seat with a folded piece of paper and passed it to her frok across the table. "What's this?" Sevika muttered and opened it.

She wasn't really sure what she was looking at. Well, that's actually a lie, she knew what it was. It was a very...unique, drawing...of Sevika herself. She could tell because of the small scar drawn under her eye.

"Wow." She lifted the drawing up to take a getter look at it and had to cringe in order to not laugh in your face. "It's um...it's me."

You nodded and laid back against the chair, feeling proud to have made her speechless.

Sevika folded it back and slid it into her breast pocket. "I will cherish it with my life." She says to gritted teeth, grinning widely, and she had meant every word.

#sevika x reader #sevika #arcane x reader #arcane

145 notes · View notes

cha0s-junkie · 3 days ago

Note

NEVER be sorry for spamming us with your amazing writing! I’m so happy to come back and see more of it everyday!

Can I request something like, a Yandere Temple God? Maybe he meets the reader because the local village thought that sacrificing the reader to him would appease the God (but in reality it only made them PISSED)

Love your work!! Can’t wait to read more!

platonic yandere! temple god x reader

warnings; mentions of blood and murder, kind of willing reader.

"Please! I can't- I won't ever do it again, I swear!" You thrashed against the rope that had your wrists and ankles bounded together, begging for your life. What good could screaming your throat raw do when it fell on deaf ears. They weren't going to change their mind, your fate was sealed.

You were the human sacrifice for the feared deity that resided in your village. A blood deity, of all things.

For most of your life the blood deity was satiated with animal livestock, cows and goats alike. But the village priest claimed that the deity was angry. The blood deity wasn't happy with your village and its people and needs a human sacrifice in order to bless the village with prosperous crops all year round.

At first, most people ignored him. The priest was getting old, people said, he doesn't know what he's talking about. But the crops started to wither, animal livestock was dwindling and people were suffering.

"We have to act now. Eryth will curse us more and we won't live to see another day."

It was a last resort, so they ventured out and picked a human sacrifice.

Unfortunately, their eyes landed on you first. A poor child that stole to survive. With no empathy, they had picked you up from your home and dragged you to the temple.

"You brought this on yourself. Thieves pay their sins, they always will." He said, the only words he had uttered the entire time you were screaming at him.

"Now shut your mouth, the ritual is about to begin. You don't want your death to be any more painful that it will be, would you?" A chorus of voices began to chant as you were dragged onto the altar. This couldn't be how you died, the chanting got louder and louder.

Until, he appeared. The village priest cheered as an imposing presence silenced the rest of the villagers. You had never stuck around to see him accept the sacrifices.

Eryth looked down, expecting another cow or a few goats. But all he saw was you, a small trembling child who gazed upon him with fear.

Disgust filled him as he looked back up. The village priest was still smiling, expecting him to slaughter you. He rose his hand and you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting a painful death.

A moment passes. Carnage was unleashed all around you, all you could hear was pained screams and gruesome noises of flesh filled the temple. You felt nauseous as you heard your fellow villagers screamed for mercy.

Nevertheless you stayed still, hoping that he wouldn't kill you too. Everything stopped. All you could hear was his footsteps as it got closer to you.

"I didn't think they'd go this far." A deep voice washed over you. Your eyes stayed shut as you felt a hand brush your tears. "Did they hurt you, my child?"

A demand. "...No."

You hear a satisfied hum and you hear another noise, a small 'whoosh' and your ropes untie, freeing you. You reluctantly open your eyes and meet the piercing gaze of Eryth, the blood deity.

"I won't hurt you." His tone is firm yet soft, he looks down at your wrists and ankles and his jaw tightened. "But I don't like liars." He holds your arm and lifts it up, rope burns decorated your wrists. You made no move to take your arm back as you explained.

"I-I did this to myself, while I was struggling."

"They tied you up first, no? So they hurt you." He let your arm fall back to your side as he sighed. He knelt before you, gently gripping your chin so that he could look into your eyes. Eryth was never one for children, but you were betrayed by your own kind.

A sacrifice, one that wouldn't bring anything but a lost life. But still, you deserved a choice.

"You can go back to the village that had forsaken you, or come with me. Back to my realm, I will take care of you like you are one of my own." His hand caresses your tear stained face. Back to the village? The ones that threw you to the wolves to benefit themselves? Your choice was easy.

"I don't want to go back." You say, your voice so soft. He cracks a small smile, he nods and carries you in his arms. "Good."

a/n; TY ANONNNN ilysm, hope you enjoyed this one!!

#parental yandere #platonic yandere #yandere oc #yandere platonic #familial yandere #x reader #Eryth oc

112 notes · View notes

weirdsht · 13 hours ago

Text

Volatile - Cale & Child! Reader

a/n: this is based on epic the musical's "the horse and the infant" and "just a man" as requested! I wanted to make this longer and write what happens after reader grew up a bit but i also want the focus to be in Cale's feelings and their reunion :<<<<

tags: male! reader, reincarnated! reader, child/baby! reader, spoilers about Cale's past life, set around the ending of book 1, fluff and angst, platonic relationships, hints of mentally unstable Cale (it's Cale what did you expect), yandere Cale if you squint very hard.

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

req by: @xjdjfbcuf

Kim Rok Soo does not know many things about life. Despite all those experiences, even with the combination of his ability “record“ and read many books he is not all-knowing. But that’s normal, expected. If there’s one thing the man had learned it’s accepting just how unpredictable life can be.

That's why, whatever life throws at him, he accepts and adapts with ease. It’s not easy, both mentally and physically. But what else can a hopeless man like Kim Rok Soo do? If he cannot adapt, then he dies.

This was why even when the most precious people around him died he moved forward. Represses his emotions so that the people under his care do not experience the same thing. Put others above his wellbeing for he is empathetic and compassionate like that despite the whirlwind of bullshit life has put him through.

But sometimes his efforts aren’t enough.

Kim Rok Soo poured more than blood, sweat, and tears just so you have the same as Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk. As a young child under his care — used to be under their care — Kim Rok Soo doesn’t want to lose you or abandon you. Hence why he tried his damnest just so his team would have a 0% mortality rate.

Not everything goes according to plan though. Kim Rok Soo can have several contingencies, and make plans a to z, but that would never stand a chance when the gears of fate turn against him.

And turn against him they did.

For not long after his brothers you also died.

Your death devastated him. You were so young, so little. He was supposed to protect you, shield you from the cruel and harsh outside world.

But he failed to do just that.

And so his baby died.

Alone

Scared

Helpless

Just like how he is feeling now, Kim Rok Soo cannot take it upon himself to dwell on his feelings.

Once again the only thing the man named Kim Rok Soo could do was adapt and move on.

Ignore the pain.

Ignore the longing.

Ignore that empty feeling.

Other people are counting on him, he cannot let his flimsy mental state ruin their lives too.

He already ruined theirs, he cannot ruin anymore.

This kind of mentality continued as Cale Henituse. From picking up weapons to picking up bottles of booze. From warding off monsters to avoiding annoying nobles. Cale Henituse adapted seamlessly to this new life he was thrown into without any notice or manuals.

However, there is one thing that bothers him as he goes on his quest to get his slacker life.

When he first woke up in this world there was a small note in his pant pocket and all it said was:

[The heir shall await for the day you relieve it from its fate.]

This kind of thing was never mentioned in the novel. In the first place, Cale Henituse never had a major overarching role. He was just there as a small obstacle course for the main hero, Choi Han.

So what exactly did that note mean?

Why was it in his pocket?

Why did it feel divine?

Is that note for him or the original Cale?

Questions he had no way of answering kept piling up each time he took out the small, yet sturdy piece of paper. Hence why he decided that he has more pressing matters to deal with, like preparing for his slacker life, and that note can wait later.

True enough the answer unveiled itself when the time was right. And that time was when White Star was finally defeated.

Cale Henituse should be resting. He wasn’t gravely injured or anything but everyone kept giving him scary glares when he tried to move around too much. Cale knows his weak, but seriously? Just how much of a weakling do the kids imagine him to be?

Usually, he would be more than happy to do nothing. Relish in the short lavish lifestyle of doing nothing but eating, reading, sleeping, and repeating it all over again. But this isn’t his usual situation. Despite the White Star and the Seal God being defeated another annoying thing has popped up.

[The heir awaits at the temple.]

Another note slipped in his pocket. At first, he tried to ignore it, his too tired and weary, surely it could wait for another day?

[You must go now before it becomes a bigger threat.]

Another hour, another note. Cale continues to pretend that it didn’t exist.

[Defeat her while he is not ready yet.]

Okay, that’s it Cale has had enough. His pocket and mind feel too heavy to the point he cannot sleep without those notes haunting him.

Which brings him to his current predicament. Sneaking out at night to go back to that blasted temple to kill whatever heir White Star — or so he assumes — left behind. Throughout Cale’s walk notes kept popping, guiding him where he needed to go.

Finally, after 5 minutes of walking Cale Henituse comes across a closed door where that heir is supposed to be. As he opens the door he readies himself for any possible attack that might come. However, none came. Instead, a lone crib draped by a canopy sits in the middle of the room.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Cale spoke for the first time that night as he approached the crib.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me..!”

He cursed as he looked at the baby inside the crib.

At just one glance he instinctively knew who that baby was… Cale– no, Kim Rok Soo instinctively knew that this baby was you, or at least a reincarnation of you.

This is not White Star’s baby.

This is his baby.

He cannot kill the baby he already failed to protect once.

“I’m not gonna do it. I’m going to take this baby under my roof.”

Cale spoke with finality, if he were speaking to his people they would know that this decision was absolute. That no amount of convincing can change his mind.

Unfortunately, this unknown god doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact.

[That child is the White Star’s heir. If you don’t end him now he’ll come back to avenge his father.]

“His father that is incapable of loving? His father that he won’t even remember because his a literal baby right now?”

[It does not matter, end this baby now or this baby will end everything you have worked for in the future.]

Cale crumpled that last note, but another one appeared almost immediately.

[You already have blood smeared on your hands. You cannot avoid smearing more, you can only choose whose.]

“Bullshit.”

The commander spoke as he scooped the baby— his baby, not White Star’s— from his crib. His voice sounded strong and nonchalant, but the tremor in his hands betrayed the facade he was putting on.

Deep inside, despair and agony wash over his entire being. Crashing against his heart like tidal waves that cannot be controlled. Visions of his people dying reel over his head like a broken record desperately begging to be destroyed.

“I’ll raise him as my own— no he is my own. He doesn’t need to know who the White Star is.”

And yet he is resolute.

[The other gods will make it known how much of a sinner his father is.]

“Try that and see what will happen.”

Cale Henituse is ready to take that risk. More than that he is ready to go against literal gods just to not lose you once again. He cannot take going through that whole ordeal a second time, he doesn’t think he can handle it.

And so he leaves the temple as silently as he entered it. Leaving no trace except for the crumpled notes that littered your crib.

Silence lingered in his temporary room as Cale closed the window after entering through it. Everyone else was asleep— well the assassins probably know he snuck out but trust him enough to not follow him— and the kids decided to leave him alone and sleep in another room as he is still “recovering” according to them.

With only you and the moon accompanying him, the commander silently arranged his bed to be baby-friendly so that you could rest. There are so many logistics and care that go into taking in a baby, but he can think of all of that later. For now, he’ll relish in the fact that he has reunited with his estranged. A supposed miracle sent by the gods, if it wasn’t for the fact that those very beings want you dead.

As Cale settles the both of you on the bed you use your tiny hand to grab onto one of his fingers. It was as if you were aware of your past life and knew just how much he cared for you. His heart swells with pride and love, his feelings are so strong that he cannot help himself but let out a small smile as you squeeze his finger before falling back asleep.

Just like that the two of you fell asleep, unaware of the inevitable chaos your presence is bound to cause in the morning.

“This old man let you sneak out last night because he trusted that you know what you’re doing. But it seems like I overestimated my puppy young master.”

It looks like this is going to be a long morning…

#le asks #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #tcf #lcf #cale henituse #lotcf #totcf #tcf x reader #lcf x reader #x male reader #x reader #male reader #reader insert #cale x reader #cale henituse x reader

37 notes · View notes

kikyoupdates · 2 days ago

Text

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

previous | story masterlist | next

A crime has just been committed, and the perpetrator is none other than Zen’in Naoya.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s out of control! Ever since he showed up, things have been a mess. You’re already more than enough of a whirlwind on your own. Satoru struggles to keep up with you on a good day. But now this?

Over his dead body is he going to let you get married to someone so, so… so stupid! You might be a little stupid at times too, but surely, you deserve better than this. You deserve someone cool, smart, and awesome.

Like him.

Unfortunately, Satoru’s mind is still that of a child, so he doesn’t quite make the connection that right now, he’s horribly and unspeakably jealous. He can’t seem to understand the real reason why Naoya’s proposal offends him so much. Which is why he reacts the only way he knows how to.

By throwing a fit.

“You’re crazy!” Satoru exclaims, and he doesn’t waste a second before pulling you away from Naoya. He makes sure to squeeze you tight, teeth bared as if he’s your personal little guard dog. Which he pretty much is.

Naoya frowns. “How is it crazy? I was just being honest. I know that I’ll have to get married when I grow up, and I’ve decided that I want it to be with [Name]! I won’t accept anyone else. She’s the best.”

“Shut up! You’re being ridiculous! Kids aren’t supposed to even talk about stuff like that!”

“There’s no rule that says I can’t. I want [Name] to become my wife someday, so I just thought I should let her know.”

Naoya shrugs, uttering the words with such nonchalance—a striking contrast to Satoru’s steadily-reddening expression. You have to admit, you’re incredibly amused. Look at these two little cuties fighting over you. As long no one actually throws any fists, then it’s hardly anything to worry about—

“I’m gonna kick your ass, pervert!”

Nevermind. Satoru just let go of you so that he can grab fistfuls of Naoya’s hair. Naoya cries out in pain, of course, and he instinctively pulls onto Satoru’s hair back. They both then proceed to swing their tiny feet at each other, occasionally kicking each other in the shins, stepping on each other’s toes, and various other forms of brutal warfare.

Meanwhile, Toji is reclining comfortably against the base of a tree trunk, and he takes a bite of a biscuit (not made by you) as he watches with a passive expression. He really has become a babysitter. Goddammit. He definitely has no intention of intervening, though. The little bastards will tire themselves out eventually. In the meantime, he may as well enjoy the show.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Naoya whines, desperately trying to keep all his hair from being ripped out. “Satoru, you’re the crazy one! I didn’t even do anything wrong! You’re mean and nobody likes you! I bet [Name] only spends time with you because she feels sorry for you!”

His words give Satoru pause, and while Naoya massages the roots of his air, whimpering all the while, Satoru slowly turns towards you. He does his best to hide it, but his lip can’t seem to stop trembling. There’s even a crease in his chin.

Satoru has never once been insecure. He’s the strongest, after all. That’s what everyone always tells him, and he knows that it’s a fact. But… it’s true that you’re his only friend. Up until he met you, he didn’t know what it was even like to have a friend. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Does Naoya have a point? Are you only spending time with him because you recognize how lonely he used to be? Do you actually feel sorry for him?

Aren’t you his friend… because you genuinely want to be?

“Satoru, it looks like you’re having silly thoughts,” you remark.

“Th-That’s not true,” he stubbornly protests.

“Really? I swear you’re thinking something stupid right now. I can just tell. Your face is doing that thing where you look a little constipated because you’re so deep in thought.”

Satoru’s cheeks turn violently red, and of course, you laugh wholeheartedly at the sight. It’s the kind of laughter that simply can’t be forced. And all those times you would smile around him, so brightly, without holding anything back, surely none of that was forced, either.

Yeah. It turns out that he is having silly thoughts. How stupid of him. He can’t believe he doubted you, for even a single moment.

“You’re a moron, Naoya,” Satoru firmly states, crossing his arms and feeling rather smug all of a sudden. “[Name] is my best friend. She likes me way more than she likes you. It’s not even close.”

Naoya grimaces. “Sure, she can be your best friend. She can have as many friends as she wants. I’m the one she’s going to marry, at the end of the day.”

“Are you seriously still running your mouth?!”

“It’s the truth! We’re in love!”

“She never said she loved you back, you stupid little kid!”

Cue more fighting. Well, it’s back to more hair pulling, kicking, and some slapping here and there, but in the world of children, this may as well be a full-out brawl.

You sigh. This is probably the part where you should intervene, as hilarious as it is. You step up, preparing to pull Satoru back and hopefully get him to calm down, but it turns out that someone has already beaten you to the punch.

In the blink of an eye, Toji separates the bickering boys, then proceeds to stare down at them with a burning glare.

“Enough,” he mutters. “All this foolish talk of marriage… as if I’d ever let [Name] marry someone from the Zen’in Clan.”

Naoya’s jaw drops open, and Satoru throws his head back and starts laughing hysterically.

“Haha! You hear that, Naoya? You don’t even have a chance! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

“But… why?” Naoya simply asks, looking defeated beyond measure.

“Because the Zen’in Clan is filled with disgusting, miserable scumbags,” Toji scowls. “Do you really think I’d allow [Name] to marry into that kind of family? The kind of family that condemns their own flesh and blood?”

“I-I won’t be like the rest of them!” Naoya insists. “I’m going to be the best husband [Name] could ever ask for!”

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions are. The clan won’t let you do as you please. Not only that, but they’ll definitely impose restrictions on [Name] and mistreat her. Didn’t you see the way Naobito laughed in her face? No one will ever respect her. It’s selfish to want to bring her into that kind of environment. You’re only thinking of yourself.”

Naoya’s head droops. The poor thing. He’s only a kid, and kids say all sorts of crazy things, like wanting to get married in the future, but you can’t help but feel bad for him. He seemed really excited about this. Toji didn’t have to shut him down so hard. It also doesn’t help that Satoru is laughing so hard he’s about to cough up a lung.

“Satoru, be quiet,” you frown, and he covers his mouth with the palm of his hand to stifle his laughter, at the very least.

You approach Naoya, prepared to comfort him, but suddenly, his head shoots upright, and there’s a solemn expression on his face.

“It’s okay,” he says. “When I become clan leader, I’ll change things so that no one disrespects [Name]. I’ll make it so that the Zen’in Clan isn’t so mean. If everyone feels accepted, then that means [Name] will too, right?”

Toji’s eyes widen. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting such a show of conviction—from a seven-year-old, at that. Then again, it’s easy to claim things. Actually making them happen is a different story altogether.

“Fine,” Toji half-chuckles. “If you actually manage to change the Zen’in Clan once you’re in charge, then you have my blessing to marry [Name].”

All of a sudden, Satoru isn’t laughing anymore.

“Hey, what the hell, old man?!” he exclaims, stomping his little foot into the ground. “Not cool! I thought you were on my side!”

“Since when was I ever on your side? And relax. He’s not going to be able to pull it off anyway. He’s just too naive to know any better.”

Satoru mashes his teeth together, still in a grumpy mood, but he supposes Toji is right. Clans like the Gojo Clan and the Zen’in Clan are rigid and set in their ways. Naoya has just taken on an impossible mission. Satoru almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

Naoya, on the other hand, is back to being happy as a clam, and he wraps his arms around you yet again.

“I love you, [Name],” he mumbles adoringly, ignoring how Satoru is silently shaking his fist at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll make the Zen’in Clan better. Everything will be great when I’m in charge. Then we can get married, okay?”

It’s difficult to suppress your smile. He’s unbelievably cute. Far cuter than you ever knew he was capable of. Also, he says he wants to try and change the Zen’in Clan for the better, so who are you to stand in his way? You’re not so sure about the whole marriage thing… but a bit of motivation never hurt anyone.

“I’ll think about it,” you hum, gently patting his head. “Do your best to work things out with your clan. I still need time to consider your proposal, though. It’s not the kind of decision I can just jump into.”

“Why are you even considering it at all?!”

“Satoru, be quiet.”

Naoya takes a few moments to let your words sink in, then nods. He’s a lot more understanding than you thought he’d be. Kids are impatient, after all. He’s acting surprisingly mature for his age. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that both him and Satoru are gifted, because your mental age far surpasses theirs.

“I’ll work really hard so that you’ll want to marry me,” Naoya beams. He goes silent for a few moments, and oddly enough, his face is quickly turning red.

You don’t realize why until he leans closer and kisses you on the cheek.

Needless to say, Satoru explodes.

“You nasty little prick! I’m seriously going to kill you!”

You suppose it’s back to the hair-pulling, kicking, slapping, and—oh, they’ve even thrown in scratching, this time. It’s funny that Satoru is actually letting Naoya touch him. His Infinity has been off this whole time. It’s probably a pride thing. How adorable. Since they’re both avoiding using cursed energy, they’re starting to get pretty banged up, but whatever. You’ll just heal them in a bit.

Toji takes another bite of his biscuit, shaking his head in disbelief. “Kids are so stupid. You’re the only kid I can stand.”

“What if you have your own kid someday?” you ask.

“I doubt that’ll ever happen.”

“Maybe it will,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I think you’d be surprised.”

Toji flashes you a look of mild confusion, but he quickly shrugs and turns back towards Satoru and Naoya—who are now on the ground, wrestling. Definitely not a sight you ever thought you’d be privy to.

You chuckle softly, because at the rate things are going, the future might be bright after all.

Despite ending up in a fistfight with none other than Gojo Satoru, Naoya returns to his clan estate in a chipper mood.

“You’re back,” one of his older brothers remarks. The judgment on his face is clear as day, but Naoya could care less. He’s made up his mind to marry you. He’ll have to keep it a secret for now, because he doesn’t want to risk losing the right to keep meeting up with you, but his wish will come true someday. He’s sure of it.

“I’m back,” Naoya happily nods.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood. I take it you went to see that girl again. What do you like about her so much?”

“Everything,” Naoya replies, without even missing a beat. His brother frowns, but he continues. “She’s super pretty, and smart, and nice, and it’s never boring being with her. I could be with her every second of every day and I’d never get tired of it. I want to spend the rest of my life with—”

He stops himself. Phew, that was close. He almost spilled the beans about how he proposed to you. It’s just so hard to contain his excitement.

“I see,” his brother frowns, very much not understanding. He finds it truly strange, because up until now, Naoya was focused purely on getting stronger and being better than everyone else. Naoya has a huge ego, and it didn’t take long for everyone’s praise to go to his head. He looks down on all his older siblings, for that very reason. Or at least, he used to.

With each passing day, he seems to be changing. And it’s all thanks to you.

Naoya spends the rest of the day training. It was part of the agreement, after all. He can’t afford to slack off, otherwise his father will prohibit him from seeing you. Naoya has always been motivated to get stronger, but these days, he feels even more motivated. It’s like there’s a surge of energy constantly flowing through his body. For the first time in his life, he isn’t getting stronger purely for himself. He’s getting stronger for someone else’s sake. Not just so that he can see you, but so that he can protect you. So that he can become the clan leader and keep you safe.

He finally finds himself understanding why you did what you did, with the Binding Vow. Why you were so quick to forfeit your own safety in order to protect everyone else.

Doing something for another person feels really, really good.

Later in the evening, he sits outside his room, facing the courtyard as he dangles his legs over the edge of the wooden walkway. The stars are out, shining brightly overhead, and he imagines plucking every single one of them and giving them to you as a present. Obviously, he knows he can’t actually do that, but still. It’s nice to dream. He’ll have to think of a suitable gift for you, once you’re both old enough to get married.

“Master Naoya, I’ve brought you dinner.”

One of the attendants cautiously slides the door to his room open. She enters carrying a tray filled with food, and she makes a conscious effort of staring down at her feet, not daring to make eye contact with him. He’s the future clan leader, after all. Everyone knows that he’s a spoiled, insufferable brat, and much like the other men in the Zen’in Clan, he has little to no respect for women.

But again—that’s what he used to be like.

“Oh, thanks!”

The attendant blinks. Ever-so-slowly, she lifts her head and meets Naoya’s gaze. He’s grinning ear-to-ear as he extends his hands out, waiting for her to pass the tray over to him. His expression is so warm and bright. She’s never really waited on him before, but… this is the child that everyone’s always warning her about?

“Thanks,” Naoya says again. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the selection of food. “Wow, these are all my favorites! I was super hungry, so this is great!”

He happily accepts the tray of food, and meanwhile, the woman stands there, too shocked to move a muscle. Naoya stares at her, not quite understanding why she looks so taken aback, but eventually, his eyes flicker with realization.

“Here,” he grins, picking up a few pieces of food and setting them aside onto a small plate. He slides the plate over to the woman. “You can have this! It’s late, so you’re probably pretty hungry too.”

She still can’t believe what she’s seeing. Since when was Zen’in Naoya considerate of others? Least of all women. She actually can’t help but wonder if his brain has been swapped out with someone else’s. Truly, he’s nothing like what the rumors say. Perhaps everyone was wrong about him, all along.

Or perhaps… someone has already changed him for the better.

“Thank you,” the woman mumbles, the faintest smile on her lips. She picks up the plate and nods gratefully, then quietly slides the door shut as she leaves.

Once she’s gone, Naoya resumes looking up at the stars, occasionally taking bites of his dinner. If there’s one thing the Zen’in Clan does better than you, it’s how they cook their food. But that’s okay. He’s sure you’ll get better at cooking eventually (not likely). And even on the off-chance that you don’t, it’s not a big deal.

He’ll be sure to eat everything you make for him, like the dutiful husband he plans to be.

Up until he met you, Satoru had never experienced even an inkling of fear. He was born immeasurably strong, and thus, nothing ever posed a threat to him. He figured he would go his entire life without ever being afraid.

But you changed all of that in the blink of an eye.

These days, he’s constantly afraid. Not for himself, of course, but for you. Everything you do terrifies him. You’re reckless to a fault, and unfortunately, you don’t yet have the strength to back it up. To make matters even worse, you’re unbelievably stubborn. You insist on doing things without his help, in order to prove yourself.

Like right now, for instance.

The cursed spirit is fairly weak. Not quite as weak as a Fly Head, but Satoru is forced to keep his distance from it nevertheless, so as not to scare it off. There are three people present. You, him, and one of the Gojo clan members. Today is your very first attempt at exorcizing a cursed spirit. You’re gripping a short baton in your hand—the cursed tool that you’re the most used to—and you face the cursed spirit head-on, fully intent on destroying it.

Meanwhile, Satoru swears he’s on the verge of having a goddamn stroke.

“She doesn’t have to do this,” he insists, looking up at the clan member with an imploring expression. “I’ll exorcize it myself. Or you can do it. I don’t want her to get hurt. Please.”

“This was her request,” the clan member shrugs. “I don’t think she should be fighting either. She should reserve her energy exclusively for healing those who are injured. Reverse cursed technique is already a useful enough ability. I’m not sure why she’s so hellbent on this… but you know as well as I do that she can’t be swayed.”

Satoru grits his teeth. It’s not even the cursed spirit that he’s scared of. That thing is weak enough that its attacks shouldn’t be fatal. Plus, you can heal yourself if push comes to shove. The thing that scares him above all else, like always, is your Binding Vow.

What if something goes wrong? Scarce as your cursed energy may be, it only takes one second, one slip-up, and just like that, you’re dead. You need to avoid harming the curse with your own cursed energy. He’s still not even sure what qualifies as ‘harm’. Just how minimal does the damage need to be? God. He’s making himself sick just imagining all the different possibilities.

Even so, you remain undeterred. Your life could end in a matter of seconds, and yet, you press on.

Naobito couldn’t be any more mistaken about you. Your determination, your resolve, and your unyielding bravery… in that sense, you’re already a proper jujutsu sorcerer. You’re the very essence of what it takes to be one.

The cursed spirit lets out an ear-grating shriek, then it attacks. Satoru feels his stomach drop. He wants to call it quits. He knows you’re desperate to prove yourself, but do you really have to do this? You don’t need to fight at all. You can just accompany other jujutsu sorcerers on missions and be there in case they get injured. Everyone should be protecting you, not the other way around. You have far more value than the average sorcerer.

Not only that, but you’re his best friend in the whole world. You’re irreplaceable.

Please don’t leave me.

Those are the words Satoru silently chants in his head, and all the while, you lunge at the cursed spirit, pulling your baton back as you prepare to get a strike in. It feels like everything’s happening in slow motion. This brief instance seems to be lasting a full eternity. He wants to cover his eyes. Better yet, he wants to whisk you away as far from here as possible. He wants to bring you someplace where he knows you’ll be safe.

Satoru doesn’t realize that you’ve already resolved yourself to this fate. You’re prepared to suffer to overwhelming extremes if it means that no one else has to. But that doesn’t mean you’re just going to throw your life away. It doesn’t mean you’re going to be foolish and negligent. No.

You’re going to ensure everyone’s future—including your own.

The next second, your baton connects with the cursed spirit, and it screams out in pain. It slashes at you with its claws, drawing blood from your skin, but the injuries don’t faze you. You take a deep breath and steady yourself, suppressing your cursed energy to the best of your ability. Then, you pull the baton back and strike again.

It takes a few hits. The cursed spirit keeps attacking you all the while, but you can tell its strength is dwindling, with every blow of your baton.

Until finally, it disintegrates into nothingness.

You allow yourself to exhale. There’s so much adrenaline pumping through your veins that you don’t even feel any pain. It’s not until you look down at all the scratches on your body that you realize just how much damage you took. But it hardly matters. You’ll heal all of that up in no time flat. For the first time in your life, you actually exorcized a cursed spirit. Which means you can fight. Alongside everyone else.

Before you realize it, you’re crying.

“[Name]!”

Satoru rushes over to you and proceeds to examine you, from head to toe. Clearly, you’re fine. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be alive right now. You took some damage, but it’s not permanent. You’re still here with him. You’re still right by his side.

He tries his best to hide it, but soon enough, there are tears in his eyes, too.

“W-Why are you crying?” he asks, gently cradling your cheek. “What’s wrong? Was it scary? If it was scary, you never have to do it again. I already promised I’d protect you for the rest of my life. It’s okay to be scared, [Name]. You really don’t have to do this anymore. Nobody’s making you.”

“No,” you sniffle, and you quickly shake your head, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m okay. I wasn’t scared.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I’m… happy. I’m just so happy right now.”

You proceed to smile through your tears, and Satoru swears it’s the most beautiful, most selfless, most angelic thing he’s ever seen. He’ll never understand why you push yourself this hard. He’ll never understand why you’re so desperate to save everyone—as if you’ve already foreseen their deaths.

But he supposes the exact reason doesn’t matter. There’s no point in trying to figure out what goes on in your head. As long as you stay with him… nothing else matters.

“Satoru, you’re crying too,” you remark.

“I know. I’m crying for the same reason you are.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. At first I thought it was because I was scared for you, but now I realize that I was wrong.” He pauses for a moment, only to smile through his tears, just like you did. “I’m happy. I’m really happy that you’re still here with me.”

Even though you cause him so much heartache, so much grief and fear, at the end of the day, it’s worth it.

No one could ever make him as happy as you do.

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

💫 main masterlist ♡ oneshot masterlist

28 notes · View notes

mai3phy · 5 months ago

Text

Strifesodos Day 3+4

"Defiance/Mentor"

Perhaps the best protest against life itself is living.

@strifesodosweek

#what can one do against such painful fate #my art #art #fanart #cloud strife #genesis rhapsodos #strifesodos week 2024 #strifesodos week #ffvii #crisis core #ff7 #cloud x genesis #its over friends i spent too much brain power on the first one #back to mundanity and mediocrity lets go

79 notes · View notes

poisonf0rest · 6 months ago

Text

The Best Dreams Come in Threes

♱⋅── rafayel x reader x xavier

♱⋅── about: Rafayel and Xavier have always been there for you. One is your fire, your passion, the twin flame to your temper. The other is your light, a guiding beacon, your twin star. So when you have a nightmare, they take it upon themselves to comfort and remind you of their unconditional devotion. Even if it does lead to competition every now and then.

♱⋅── word count: 7.5k (mf...)

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, it's just nasty, threesome, jealousy, somnophilia, oral, pussydrunk boys, breeding kink, double penetration, slight spoilers

♱⋅── a/n: apologies to the two random strangers on the plane that I sat next to when the idea of this fic possessed me. I really, really hope you didn't read anything I was frantically writing down in the midst of me finishing my work report cause that shit was nasty.

art credit and inspiration due to the wonderful @/sakimenz

Lonely star, who do you shine for?

The weight of all your pasts- of all your futures- the guilt and pride you carry will only cause you to collapse, and all that will be left will be an all-consuming black hole.

Your desperation won’t bring your sun back.

Lonely king, don’t you know a kingdom devoid of life is a crown devoid of purpose?

You were the fire that left them, and all you have to show for the betrayal is a drowned memory and a heart wrenched from your chest, a broken promise and a forgotten story.

You’ve changed with each lifetime, but you’ll forever be at the mercy of fate.

And you? You’re the very curse that haunts them.

Claws, so cold they burn, emerge from the darkness before piercing through flesh, tearing through muscle and bone as they dig into your ribcage, dragging you down into the shadows. Drowning, falling. You’re spiraling through lifetimes of failure, lifetimes of pain both your own and not, all while the claws dig closer and closer to your heart, clutching the muscle like a songbird in a cage.

It’s the price, the price you must pay for all this pain you’ve caused, for dooming a star and killing a god.

The clawed hand wraps around your heart, the piercing into the fluttering pulse faster and faster until—

You wake up crying.

A hot trail of tears slides into the pillows, and a sniffle rakes through your body, the sudden movement causing a subtle disturbance to the two forms still sound asleep on either side of you.

Funny, you can’t remember a thing, but there’s a painful throb in your chest. You’ll take another dose of your heart medicine in the morning.

But for now, your bedroom is still dulled by the pale blue moonlight filtering through the curtains, and you’re in no hurry to get out of the warm covers and their embrace.

The nightmares have become routine at this point. You never remember what they are, but you wake up with a sense of fear and dread, as though you can feel the pain all over again. It’s best not to think too much about it.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you inhale shakily one last time, trying to shake off the looming feeling when the arm around your waist shifts, tugging lightly at your loose sleep shirt before slipping under to massage the skin beneath. You let out a soft sigh, a light shudder going through your body as the gentle hands work away the tension.

“The same?” Rafayel’s words are slurred with sleep and concern, hot breath dancing along the crook of your neck as he props himself up on his elbow. You nod.

Rafayel makes a small, displeased noise before his other arm pulls you closer, his bare chest now flush against your back. The sudden movement forces Xavier, who was once tucked against your shoulder, further away, grumbling at the loss even in his sleep.

His face scrunches, brows furrowed together before the corners of his lips turn downward, and he blindly reaches for you. He eventually finds the curve of your waist, and his hand tightens on the fabric of your shirt as it slides in above Rafayel’s.

A huff, and Xavier buries his face back into your chest, his warm breath tickling you. And then, gentle snores— you should've known better than to think that would be enough to wake him.

Rafayel, still pressed firmly against your back, begins to move, propping his body up just enough to look you in the eyes as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek. "Wanna talk about it, cutie?"

“I… I think you were there, both of you. But it felt lonely, painful.”

Rafayel's face contorts into a worried expression, his hand moves down your cheek, cupping your jaw, and you lean into his warm caress with a sigh.

You place a kiss on his palm. "It's okay, just a scary dream. Nothing real. Nothing to worry about." You repeat it, more to yourself than Rafayel, but his arms wrap around you anyway.

And yet Rafayel looks at you with a deep furrow in his brow, a seriousness you’ve almost never seen on him.

You give him a questioning look, but his lips press to yours in a searing kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. He pulls away only for a second, whispering sweet nothings against your skin before returning his lips to yours, the hand cradling your face slipping down to rest on your hip.

He kisses you softly, gently. First pressing a trail of light, chaste kisses along your jaw, the corners of your mouth, and nose, then moving back to your lips. “We’ll never leave you. We’d tear through every universe, every destiny to get back to you.”

Strange, how Rafayel says it with all the reverence of a vow.

You want to tease him for the sudden declaration, for making all this fuss over a stupid dream, but you never have the opportunity, not when Rafayel's signature smirk settles back onto his lips.

His hand slides down to your thighs, fingers teasing around the band of your sleep shorts, toying, pressing, but never crossing the self-imposed boundary of your clothes. “Unless, you’d prefer it if I proved it to you?”

“Rafayel,” you warn, hoping your narrowed glare would dissuade him.

Of course the man only seems to take that as a challenge, smile widening as you flinch at the cold touch creeping under your shirt. One palm traces up your ribcage, long, nimble fingers rubbing circles against your skin until he brushes the underside of your breast.

You shudder, hissing out another string of curses before turning around so your back is to Rafayel.

Really, you should know better than to think that alone would be enough, and a hot trail of kisses now joins his wandering hands down your shoulder blade. They start innocent enough, sweet, lingering touches along the hem of your shirt, but that quickly changes when Rafayel’s arm under your shirt practically yanks it up, sucking wet, messy kisses into the bare curves of your chest.

Each nip against your sensitive flesh forces the possibility of sleep further and further away, and you resort to distracting yourself with the motionless silhouette of Xavier. Petting through his hair, your rhythm is jolted every time Rafayel decides to leave a mark, nails pulling through Xavier’s locks as you bite your lip on a moan.

You don't miss the curve of his smirk against your skin, and the next kiss is accompanied by a bite, hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp that stirs Xavier. Tense, you scan the blonde's face, but he's nothing if not a heavy sleeper, and he nuzzles further into your touch, still unconscious as his head tucks under yours.

You don't get to sigh in relief. Instead, a whine builds in your throat, the wet heat of Rafayel's teeth tugging on the strap of your underwear as he fists your sleep shorts down.

"Rafayel, stop it,” you hiss as his hot breath hits the already embarrassingly damp center of your underwear.

His smile grows, lips brushing against your clothed core as he tilts his head. “Hmm? But you don’t sound like you want me to stop. And she certainly doesn’t sound like it either.” Two fingers dip under the band, and he parts your cunt with a lewd click.

Your face flushes in embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge just how easily your body gives in to them. One hand leaves Xavier, roughly fisting into Rafayel’s curls as he groans from the sharp pressure. “That’s because you and Xavier refused to wear protection!”

The accusation earns a hushed laugh, his shoulders shaking against the insides of your thighs. It would have been innocent, the same contagious sort of smile gracing Rafayel’s face, if not the shadows cast across his face in the dark, teeth gleaming like fangs as he traces his tongue up the entire length of your clothed cunt.

"M’sorry, we thought you'd enjoy the mess," he says, words muffled over your thighs, nose practically buried in between. "How can I make it up to you, cutie?”

You don’t get a chance to respond, not when Rafayel’s tongue dives into your clothed cunt, moaning against the soaked fabric as you gasp and force him closer by his hair. To muffle his sounds, you tell yourself. A pathetic lie considering how much louder he gets now, nose grinding up against your clit as his tongue tries to press into your fluttering cunt even with the barrier of cloth in between.

God, he’s addicted, and it doesn’t take long until Rafayel’s spit and your slick soak through your underwear, the near-translucent fabric sticking to your lips as the bare minimum friction nearly drives you insane.

“Say it,” Rafayel whines, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Please, just tell me how badly you want me. Tell me, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Like he wouldn’t already.

But how could you ever deny him when he begs so sweetly?

Your palm cups his face, watching his near-wrecked expression and flushed skin tremble beneath your fingers. “I’m yours, Rafayel.”

And the fabric is ripped into pieces.

Refusing to even breathe, Rafayel places an opened-mouth kiss on your cunt, lapping up your slick with the most satisfied moan. He doesn't waste any time, not while your confession coated his mind with the sweetest type of intoxication, eating you out like he was depraved.

He might as well have been with how he moans, hips grinding desperately against the edge of the mattress, his not-entirely human tongue curling in and out of you as it writhes with terrifying accuracy against your walls.

It feels too good to be ashamed of the noises you make, gasping and crying out until you slam your palm over your mouth, biting down hard as the other claws into Rafayel’s hair. You can barely control yourself, half fighting to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, half rocking your hips up and down his face as you jerk him closer.

“Mhm, greedy.” Fucked-out, broken little grunts leave his throat before his words are muffled into your cunt, not baring to part for even a breath. “Pull on it, please. Harder.”

You tug Rafayel’s hair almost in vengeance when he purposefully kisses away from where you need him most, licking and sucking obscenely into your thighs just to hear your frustrated cries even over your hand.

He loved being used like this, so long as it was you.

So long as it was him that turned you into such a beautiful, pathetic mess.

It's not long until Rafayel pulls you close to the edge, nose pressing against your clit while thrusting his tongue into you, eyes rolling back from the taste and from the thought of your tight heat fluttering around his cock instead.

And then, he stops, pulling away and leaving you gasping into the tear-stained pillow.

You bite back a sob, releasing only a choked little noise that has Rafayel's eyes flicking up to your face, the soft, concerned look in his eyes melting into something far more dangerous.

With viciously dilated pupils and your slick dripping from his mouth, Rafayel stares you down as every inch the dangerous siren the legends claimed him to be. He smiles, tongue raking over his teeth as though he couldn’t get enough of your taste, and you swear you’d let him eat your heart and soul. Gods, you’d let him eat you whole.

You realize you must have made a sound, because Rafayel hushes you, pressing quick kisses to your knee. "Aw, what happened to being quiet? Aren't you afraid we'll wake the poor sleeping bunny?"

At the mention of your other partner, you turn to where Xavier’s nuzzling his face further into your side, each warm breath damp against your feverish skin, still lost to the realm of dreams.

Not that Rafayel allows your attention to turn away from himself for too long.

He leans over Xavier, the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight cupping your face, and his lips are crashing into yours with all the viciousness of a summer seastorm. Your lips part, and Rafeyel fucks his tongue into your mouth the same he did your pussy, wet and desperate, the taste of yourself enough to make you dizzy.

"Tell me,” Rafayel’s tone dips into something darker, kissing down your throat and stomach as he eyes Xavier. “Who’s the better lover?"

Xavier's fingers flex, the tips brushing against the curve of your breast as he sleeps, and Rafayel's smile is almost predatory.

"D-don't ask stupid questions you dumb fish," your voice cracks as Rafayel's mouth ghosts over your cunt, teeth bared to your thigh, threatening to bite. "I chose you both."

The confession, as expected, doesn't please him. If anything, he seems overly offended, pouting and huffing a cold breath of air right against your aching core. The chill makes you squirm, trying to force him back to your center with the grip you have on his hair.

"No. Nope. That's not an answer."

"Raf–"

His name breaks off in a moan, sound ripped from your throat as Rafayel's thumb starts rubbing firm circles around your neglected clit. He doesn't relent, the pressure too much, too quick, your body already trembling from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to torture you with.

Only, it seems that all your sudden noise and movement have finally begun to affect Xavier. Not enough to wake him, but enough that you can hear his breathing become heavier, following your every twitch and buck from Rafayel’s onslaught as his body begins to grind into yours.

Mumbling into your neck, Xavier’s hand tightens around your waist before slipping under your shirt to palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading until the touch has you keening.

Xavier's still fast asleep, nonsensical words slurred against your skin, and yet his body is now far from it. His erection is thick and heavy against your hips, grinding desperately into your warmth almost in time to Rafayel’s ministrations, whimpering under his breath with every forceful thrust.

Rafayel notices too, his gaze drifting up to the blond. You can't see his face, already busied between your legs once more, but a pleased hum vibrates through his entire body, fingers finally slipping into your cunt as he curls them just right, your back arching off the sheets with a silent scream.

Xavier whines at your sudden thrashing, tugging you closer and unknowingly forcing you immobile and at complete mercy to Rafayel’s unfairly skilled fingers. "Mhm, so warm. Please, m’want to..." Another needy, slow grind against you follows his sleepy request.

"Rafayel," you choke out a muffled plea, but his eyes only narrow, taking a breath as his free hand grabs at Xavier's ass, the touch just light enough to tease and make him rut harder against you.

"What is it, cutie? Don't pretend like you don't want more, not when your pretty pussy's drooling for his cock. She’s so needy, am I not enough?”

Rafayel rests his head on the inside of your thigh, fingers thrusting roughly into that sweet spongy spot inside you just as his other hand wraps around the base of Xavier's cock through his boxers, thumbing over the pre-cum staining the dark fabric.

You're forced to bite down on the pillow beneath your head to stop the desperate cry tearing itself out of your throat. "This isn’t- ah- isn’t right."

"Isn't it? You’re dripping and the little bunny’s still asleep, yet look how desperate he is, rutting against you." Rafayel's voice dips, a raspy edge from his throat still fucking into you making it even more sinful, slurping everything you give him around his fingers before it drips down his wrist and into a puddle below. A huff, “I should get rewarded with how much effort I’m putting in.”

You cry out, legs trembling as his thumb begins its relentless attack on your clit, tracing mindless circles just random enough to keep you on edge. You're close, and Rafayel can feel it.

Xavier isn’t faring much better, whimpering a string of incoherent pleas into the crook of your neck as his hips keep rocking into the fist around him. He doesn't take his mouth away from the skin of your shoulder, biting down on it as he cums, shuddering and whimpering as the mess splatters down Rafayel's knuckles and onto your thighs.

“You’re next. If you won’t be honest with me, I’ll make your body is.” Rafayel’s taunt is the last coherent thing you remember before you come. Hard. His words ring against your skull as his fingers pump into you faster, and the pressure against your clit becomes almost unbearable, and you're falling apart, crying and thrashing, the only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of Rafayel's weight and the scent of Xavier's strawberry shampoo, and then—

Rafayel finally shuts up to let you ride his face through your high, letting you use him as your thighs lock around his head, grinding desperately as though he were no more than a toy. No chance of breathing, no chance of escape.

Not that he could care less, not as long as he could keep his lips around your gushing cunt, humming and sucking into your release as cum sprays over his tongue and down his chin. Gods, he could never get enough of this.

You're still shaking through your orgasm, pliant and stupid from the dizzying pleasure, that you don't notice the rustle of sheets until a second pair of hands slide down your thighs.

"You’re doing this without me?"

Xavier’s voice is a whisper, husky from sleep and his orgasm as he presses a kiss right below your ear, fingers squeezing rougher against your breasts.

"S-sorry. Didn't want to wake you," you try, biting back a gasp when his thumb flicks over a nipple. Rough. Mean.

Rafayel snorts. "I think it's a bit too late for that.” A glare at Xavier over your leg, showing off your cum still dripping from his lips and fingers. ”Besides, I didn't need you."

You want to argue, really, but then Xavier is grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging just hard enough to push your head back, coaxing a moan from your throat as he marks down your neck with kisses intending to bruise. He’s pouting, grabbing your jaw as he forces your gaze away from Rafayel, nipping your bottom lip until you surrender to his drowsy advances.

“Why…” Another kiss before Xavier's licking desperately into your mouth, “Why didn't you wake me?"

The question comes out a little breathless, almost petulant, eyes hooded and dark as he looks over the mess Rafayel has made of you. He can't tear his eyes away, watching Rafayel even as he kisses you. His fingers flick over your nipple again, twisting and pinching until you're shaking, your thighs squeezing Rafayel's face, all while Xavier watches.

Said man only smiles, all smug arrogance. "Didn't you hear her, Xav? She said she didn't want to wake you, so don't blame me."

Rafayel drags a wet, open-mouthed kiss over your cunt, the overstimulation making you break the kiss with a gasp.

"Liar." Xavier's voice trembles, and you can't tell if he's referring to Rafayel's words, or the way he's staring longingly at Rafayel's lips now, still slick with your release. "You just wanted her all to yourself."

He doesn't bother giving Rafayel a chance to retort, taking the punishment out on you as he dips his head underneath your folded-up shirt, groaning as his hot tongue rolls over your nipple, sucking at the stiff peak as his hand continues to assault the other. The onslaught has you whimpering, pushing and clawing against Xavier’s shoulder to try and fight him off as he refuses to let go for even a moment.

Rafayel's not one to be ignored, not when he has the advantage, and his tongue is back to fucking into your cunt with no reprieve, a cruel smirk on his face as you writhe and beg for their mercy.

Your hips roll, torn between pleasure and oversensitivity, unable to escape either of the men. It's overwhelming. Too much, too quickly, you only just came and you're already getting dragged back.

"Ah! Stop, I'm already mhm—"

You're interrupted by Xavier's tongue slipping into your mouth, a filthy, lazy slide that makes you grind up into Rafayel's tongue. It's like he doesn't even need to breathe, the wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out drowned out only by the sound of Xavier kissing you senseless, pausing just to nip and suck at your breasts as though he'll get rewarded if he just tries hard enough.

"You want him to stop? Is the mermaid not enough to satisfy you, princess?" Xavier taunts, lips brushing against your ear as his hips push up, grinding his cock against your thigh. "If that's the case, perhaps we should switch. I can give you exactly what you want, remember?"

“Shut up, I’m the one making her cum.”

“Only cause I wasn’t awake yet.”

“You snooze, you lose. Whose fault is that? Oh ya, yours.”

They're at each other's throats yet again, practically clawing and snapping at each other, and you're helpless to try and intervene when they take their faux anger out on your poor abused body.

You can't think, can't focus, can't do anything but shake and pant and sob into the pillow, their combined weight on top of you, forcing your pleasure higher and higher.

“Xav—" He cuts you off with a kiss.

“Shh, just take it."

You can't even tell who’s sloppier anymore- Xavier fucking your mouth with his tongue or Rafayel still eating you through your second orgasm, the sudden hit of it thundering down your body.

“You look so pretty when you come," Xavier moans into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and glazed, hand coming up to stroke your cheek as he watches you, a sharp contrast to the other still rolling against your swollen nipple, loving the way you jerk into his touch. Then a glare to the man below. "My turn.”

Your body is still trembling, Rafayel's merciless fingers not allowing you to come down from your high, aftershocks of hypersensitivity crashing down your spine as every muscle spasms. No more. No more, please. You can’t possibly come again.

You don't realize you’re begging out loud, not until Xavier shushes you with another bruising kiss.

But it doesn't seem like Rafayel has any plans on stopping, not until Xavier’s hand skims down your thighs and yanks him up by the chain of his necklace.

Rafayel growls as he's practically forced off your weeping cunt, eyes bleary and unfocused as he fights the blond's grip. And god, he looks absolutely wrecked, spit and cum dripping from his mouth and chin, connecting his lips to your pussy in sticky wet strands before they break, and you feel the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining against his soaked boxers.

Xavier yanks him forward, pulling the necklace chain until he crashes his lips onto Rafayel's, all teeth and tongue, desperate to get a taste of your cum from his mouth. It's filthy, and Rafayel is the first to give in, still drunk off your taste and now Xavier's too.

"Mhm, you taste like her," Xavier whispers, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, his mouth still moving against Rafayel's swollen, parted lips.

"Ya?" Rafayel’s grin is predatory, all fang and sin. "You wanna try too, don’t you? Give in then, bunny, lie down for us.”

"I don't take orders from you."

Xavier scowls against Rafayel's lips, but you can feel his resolve breaking, his arm trembling where it rests against your thigh.

"No, you take them from her, and she asked us so, so nicely to make her come. You wouldn't dare deny her that, would you?”

The Lemurian is nothing if not dangerously persistent, one hand coaxing Xavier backward so gently you don’t think he realizes how easily he’s falling, the other clawing down his abs as Rafayel bites against the erratic thud of Xavier’s pulse. Sharp and bruising, a silent promise for what to come. "Or do you wanna eat her out like I did? Have her ride your face while I fuck into her poor, desperate cunt? I can't decide, there are so many options."

“No.” It’s more a plea than a demand. Xavier's voice shakes with need, and you watch, dizzy and panting, as Rafayel's fingers slip underneath the waistband of Xavier's boxers. His fingers, still dripping with your cum, brush down the length of his cock, thumb circling the sensitive head and smearing the copious amount of pre-cum leaking from it. “You had y-your turn.”

He can hardly finish his objection, not when Rafayel’s thumb comes up to abuse his leaking slit, Xavier’s words slurring into a desperate whine as he practically collapses back onto his elbows. Immediately, Rafayel is atop him.

"A competition, then." Rafayel leans down to whisper into Xavier's ear, but the words are purposefully teased out loud enough for you to hear, “But you lose if you cum first, and I get to fuck her.”

It's a low blow, a challenge he knows Xavier can't turn down.

A challenge that somehow has you poised once again as the torment and the reward.

And it's true, because the second the words register, the blond's eyes shoot open, and his cock jerks violently against Rafeyel’s palm, a broken sound leaving his lips as his eyes lock back onto yours with all the promise of a starving hunter.

"Deal.”

Xavier doesn't allow the agreement to go without a price. Something snaps, the bedroom flickering with a sudden darkness as all the light vanishes.

One moment, you’re lying against the bed, and the next Xavier manhandles you to your knees, one hand forcing your arms behind your back as he tugs you against him, the other pinning Rafayel to the mattress.

Rafayel’s the very picture of smug sin, the feral expression far more genuine, less threatening and much more amused as he nestles further into the pillows, one arm tucked lazily behind his head.

Cold fingers dance up your hips, and Rafayel drags your bare cunt over his thighs and onto his lap, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as you're pinned deliciously between his cock and Xavier's sculpted back.

"So needy, little bunny."

"Shut up. I'm not the one who's leaking."

Rafayel snorts, and before the two can start fighting again, you're leaning forward, a hand resting against Rafayel's abs as you cup his erection through his boxers. And when he moans you believe every myth, every fairytale singing the doom of sailors to a siren song, because every sound he gives you is addictive and sweet enough that you’d drown to hear it again.

Pulling Rafayel's cock out from his boxers, you’re stunned yet again by the slightly non-human beauty of it, heavy and thick in your palm, the flushed, ruddy tip already drooling precum as you thumb at it in vengeance. You know Xavier's watching from the way his own cock twitches against your back, hands digging bruises into your hips. Then, the warmth at your back disappears.

Instead, a pair of hands drag your ass up, forcing you into a deep arch as you scramble for purchase against Rafayel’s thigh and the bed below.

“Closer.” Xavier’s hand laces into your hair as he pushes your head down, forcing your mouth to nuzzle against the base of Rafayel's cock.

The movement pulls a gasp from both of you, your hot breath teasing the sensitive skin of Rafayel's shaft and forcing a shudder from his entire body.

Seeing the two of you completely at his mercy does terrible, horrible things to Xavier, and his fingers dig bruises into your hips as it takes him everything not to forgo the competition and fuck you right there.

"Good girl,” he hums, voice trembling as his grip tightens against your hair, giving you a harsh glare when you whine and squirm in his hold. "Now open."

You can't bring yourself to say no, not when the sight of Rafayel's eyes rolling back the second you do makes your stomach clench. His cock twitches against you as you lick at the copious amounts of cum leaking from his tip, then obediently wrap your lips around him.

With a smile that would have you shaking, Xavier leans down, barely able to continue guiding your head as he’s entranced with the mess between your legs, licking up the slick dripping down your thighs as he sucks against the delicate flesh, marking right over the sensitive bruises Rafayel had only just left behind.

“This- hah-” Rafayel curses under his breath, the single word breaking off into a moan, the sound muffled by his palm as his chest heaves. “This is hardly fair.”

But his complaints feel half-hearted, not with the way he’s already rutting into your mouth, Xavier’s iron grip keeping you in place as Rafayel thrusts himself into your mouth in one breath. You yield pathetically quick, flattening your tongue against the slick underside of his cock, another stream of pre-cum flooding your mouth as you nearly choke on it all, unable to pull off to even take a breath as Xavier guides your head up and down in a steady rhythm that has Rafayel falling apart.

It’s cruel, but you can't help each pathetic moan that gets muffed onto Rafayel’s cock, the vibrations forcing his back to arch off the bed, head rolling back as it thuds against the pillows, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps in shallow breaths.

You almost wish he would let you see his eyes, but then you'd miss the view of his chest, every muscle tight and twitching under his skin, the mesmerizing sight now blurry from the tears forming in your eyes. You can't resist reaching up, dragging your nails down his abs, watching his body jerk against every new line of red.

"Please,” you're not sure if the broken whimper belonged to Rafayel or yourself. “Please, I can't wait anymore, wanna feel you— fuck— wanna fill you up again, please let me cum." It's like just the very thought has Rafayel keening, his hips jerking up into your hot mouth with reckless abandon as Xavier forces your spine up into a deeper arch.

You're nearly bent in half, the new angle leaving no part of you hidden from Xavier's hungry gaze as he watches you practically drool over Rafayel’s cock, lips meeting his pelvis as he breaches your throat.

Xavier’s going to win. He needs to win.

The thought makes him frantic, tongue fucking past the tight resistance of your cunt, his hand sliding up to tease at your clit. He won't be the one to finish first, not this time. Not when he's wanted nothing more than to feel your cunt gushing around him ever since Rafayel woke him up, ever since the two of you had the audacity to start this without him.

Rafayel can’t last much longer, especially not when you bring one shaking hand down to massage his swollen balls, hardly in control of your own movements as you feel dizzy on the addictive combination from the lack of oxygen and pleasure as Xavier begins to eat you out like a man starved.

The room’s filled with the sounds of each slick, messy movement, whimpers from the man beneath you and breathless pleas from the one behind, bed rattling with every thrust.

And yet you’re still so painfully empty. So, so, empty as your cunt flutters around Xavier’s tongue before he relents to kiss your clit once more, dragging a dissatisfied whine from you as you fight yourself off Rafayel’s cock.

"F-fuck me. Please," A sob, and you feel both Rafayel and Xavier shudder. "It’s not enough. Want your cocks inside me, wanna cum on it. Need it, please-"

Oh, and when you beg like that, they should have known they never would have stood a chance.

"Shit."

"Ah, please-"

It's a blur. A rush of hands, of pleasure and pain, all of it colliding and dragging you to the edge. The room spins, the ceiling above you falling until the familiar, comforting feeling of slick muscle embraces you, grounding you as you focus on the erratic heartbeat between each ragged exhale.

You're still sandwiched between them, lying on Rafayel as Xavier's weight drapes across your back, head propped up on the former's chest as you stare blearily at his silver pendant, unable to move. You're not even sure if you can, not with the way Xavier's still gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you open as he forces one leg higher up.

Then, the blunt head of his cock grinds between your folds.

Xavier’s pressing his forehead against your back, wrapping his arms around you before biting into the crook of your neck. "You mean it? You’ll let us come inside again?"

Rafayel laughs, a raspy sound still raw from his orgasm. "Well, we both lost. Now what, bunny? We can't just leave her like this, poor thing is trembling."

"Mhm,” Xavier forces you up, “We both fuck her then."

His words only make you whimper, body jerking uselessly against Xavier's grip. His hands lift you as Rafayel flips you around so you're now facing the blond, flinching violently as his cock brushes your swollen clit, any semblance of protest quelled as Xavier pulls you into another messy kiss.

It’s demanding, Xavier mumbling achingly sweet praises into your open mouth as he begins to press you down, faster, harsher, forcing you onto Rafayel’s lap in a reverse cowgirl as you slide down slowly, taking inch by inch of Rafayel’s throbbing cock. There’s hardly any blue left in Xavier’s blow-out pupils, too mesmerized by the slick mess you’re gushing down their thighs. And just when you begin to squirm, impatient and desperate, Xavier slows their pace even more.

"Shhh, we need to make sure you'll be able to take both of us."

Rafayel's hand is wrapped around your waist, thumb rubbing small circles into your stomach, and if it weren't for Xavier's arms locked around you, holding you upright, you would have collapsed the second Rafayel pressed into the spot his fingers had found.

"Look at you," he purrs, a low sound that has you gasping. "So pretty when you’re needy. Can you feel me?"

It's hard not to. Everywhere feels warm, and every slow thrust, no matter how gentle, has a small burst of ecstasy building in your stomach, a wave crashing higher and higher as the two of them slowly fuck you full. Just as you’re nearly seated all the way onto Rafayel’s length, Xavier’s palms come up to the back of your knees, folding them up and forcing you backward until you’re practically lying prone atop of Rafayel.

Your head lolls uselessly against Rafayel's neck, gasping at the force of the new position, and you're not sure if it's the tears in your eyes or the overwhelming pressure against your walls as they stretch around his cock that's making the world so blurry. Xavier soon follows you down, pressing you closer into Rafayel’s chest as his lips trail your jaw, your neck, your sucking against every sensitive spot behind your ears until you're distracted from the pain.

"You're doing so good, princess. Just a little more."

The sudden onslaught of pressure of both of you atop him has Rafayel flinching, and he hisses out a pained moan, hips jerking up into the slick heat of your pussy, and it's only Xavier's grip that keeps the two of you from slipping off.

"Hah- hurry up-" Rafayel's eyes are glassy, his head tipped back and face twisted in pleasure.

Strings of incoherent pleas are whispered against your ear, Rafayel marking up the left side of your neck while Xavier’s still busy with the right, that is, until Xavier switches sides, biting right over Rafayel’s marks until he’s pulled up into a desperate kiss.

The wet sounds of their lips are filthy and obscene, each hot breath and moan brushing past your ear as you writhe, pressed between them. Rafayel's cock is already swelling, twitching against the fluttering walls of your pussy, unwilling to fully pull out, settling to just grinding up in slow, cruel thrusts before something in him snaps and he switches to pounding against your abused walls.

Every time you think you’ll finally come Rafayel switches pace, the obscene slap of skin on skin muffled only by your sobs and their kissing.

You’re close, so so fucking close you feel your muscles begin to shake. Xavier only pushes you down further, every angle a new cruelty, smothering you between them, rendering you unable to do anything but take it.

Again, Rafayel slows, and you slur curses down at him as your thighs tremble from overstimulation, shaking violently until you feel something grab your calf. Xavier massages the quivering muscle, gentle until he’s suddenly pressing your knee higher and higher, going until it’s pinned to the mattress up against your head.

And now Rafayel is hitting impossibly deeper, abusing your poor g-spot with each thrust.

Xavier kisses your ankle, then calf, making his way up your leg until he can nip at your inner thighs now folded over his shoulder. And then you feel the pressure of his cock at your already full entrance. Xavier’s hand dips down between your bodies, trying to bully himself in alongside Rafayel, but his cock slides past your navel, slick and covered in your combined cum.

"No, no no, not gonna fit- ah- Xavier!"

Your words break off into a wail as he tries again, grinding closer so you’re tightly cradled between the two, Xavier leaning fully atop you both. A snarl grits through his jaw when his cock slips past again, readjusting you so your legs fall apart wider, the burn in your thighs turning delicious and overwhelming, pussy weeping around Rafayel’s cock as Xavier’s swollen, leaking head bumps against your clit.

Xavier watches the mess, every thrust and messy squirt of cum, brows furrowed and flushed a deep red, as he whines into your shoulder, "Please- can't stop- please let me fuck you too, you'll look so pretty with both of us filling you up, taking us so good- don’t make me stop."

He’s reduced to babbling against your neck, biting down hard enough to bleed when your cunt finally yields to him too, cockhead bumping into Rafayel’s as he slowly pushes in inch and inch, trembling from the combined pleasure of your walls and the violent throbbing of every vein now grinding together.

It's too much, it’s not enough, the stretch and the friction and the pressure leaving you fucked stupid, hands scrambling for purchase. Rafayel grunts when your nails drag across his thighs, his own hands coming to latch onto your wrists, pinning them above his head, forcing you motionless between them.

You can do nothing but sob, tears streaming down your face as your entire body convulses. And when they finally, finally bottom out together, the world goes white.

"Shh, you're alright," Rafayel soothes, although his voice is trembling, the sound broken as he tries to catch his breath. "Doing so well for us, cutie, so perfect."

Xavier growls, his hands grabbing the headboard. He's barely holding on, not with the way Rafayel's cock twitches against his own, your hot walls clenched tightly around the two of them as you beg.

"Please, can't- too much, more, I need-"

There's a broken sob, and then Xavier’s slamming his hips forward, fucking into you with a brutality he usually saves for Rafayel, the force sending the three of you rocking against the mattress, headboard splintering under the strength of his grip. The other leaves to thumb at your nipples, lips following suit as he rambles, drunk off your pussy, "These would look s'pretty filled, even more sensitive. Bet you'd let us milk you, fill you up even more."

"And here, you'll feel us here too, won't you?" A hand moves lower- whose you no longer are coherent enough to care- brushing over the swell of your abdomen, the slight bulge appearing and disappearing where both of them are thrusting violently into you. "Be a waste not to. Imagine it, a painted mess filled with us.”

And you are. You can't think about anything else, not with the way they're stuffing you full— every time Rafayel's cock would settle near your g-spot Xavier’s would ram back in, forcing the former up against your cervix before pulling out entirely, repeating the vicious rhythm as the pain bled into pleasure.

Tears stream down the side of your face, room spinning into dizziness until all that remains are the burning trails of their touch, the only things keeping you grounded.

Rafayel's sucking into your shoulder, biting the sweat-slicked flesh, and you can feel his hips begin to stutter underneath you, already reaching his high despite Xavier still pounding into you with the same intensity, desperate to catch up.

The moment Xavier feels Rafayel's release, it's over. Your back arches up against him, convulsing against their hold, your abused walls clenching down so tightly that you’re practically begging for them to come inside, sucking them in deeper and deeper until it’s impossible for them not to follow.

It's a violent orgasm, hot squirt of your cum drenching Xavier’s abs, the intensity of it causing Rafayel’s vision to white out too, unable to hear the desperate sounds of your moans, not when his blood is rushing past his ears.

Then, the world comes crashing back.

Rafayel’s panting, still thrusting weakly into the slick, tight heat as he emptied himself inside you, the sheer overload of it gushing down your legs and onto the sheets.

"Ah- Xavier," you whine, the sound muffled into his chest as Xavier continues to chase after his high, too lost in his late orgasm to pull out.

The overstimulation is torture, your body twitching and trembling with every sloppy thrust. The moment he finally pulls out, the mess follows, thick, white rivets leaking down your thighs, the sheer volume near damn concerning had you the capacity to focus on it.

Rafayel laughs, fingers swirling through the cum as though painting your thighs, "That's not going to be easy to clean up."

"S'gonna look pretty. Messy. Full." Xavier murmurs, still pinning the both of you beneath him as he collapses in exhaustion, fingers dancing over the small swell in your stomach. Pressing lightly, he watches in fascination as their mixed cum gushes out faster, and you whimper, gripping his wrists to stop before they get any more ideas.

You're not sure what's worse, the fact that they're both still hard and the way they're looking at you, or the fact that their words have your exhausted body already trying to recover, a shiver running through your sore muscles as the room's cool air brushes over the slick, sticky mess between your thighs.

"You're both so disgusting," you groan, the words coming out slurred and barely audible.

"You love it."

"Yeah," Xavier's agreement is soft and almost hesitant. "You love us."

"Yes, I love both of you. Now get the fuck off of me." A shove, your shaking arm barely affecting Xavier as he finally relents, a small smile on his lips as he rolls the three of you down into the bed, resting on your sides.

The muscles in your thighs scream in relief as they’re finally placed down, every inch of your body sore and marked up in one way or another, every visible bruise and bite getting pampered in faux apologies by the two men snuggling up next to you.

It’s a tangle of limbs, Xavier already claiming your chest again as he nuzzles into your breasts while Rafayel simply curls himself around your back. A hand there, an arm there, and a little more muffled bickering. Yet you all fit together, and sleep comes easy now.

And the nightmares never return.

6K notes · View notes

brittle-doughie · 6 months ago

Note

Since we had that story of Y/N Cookie wanting to keep the Ancients from going out and getting themselves killed up against Dark Enchantress Cookie, how about something similar with the Beasts?

>The Beasts get corrupted

>Y/N Cookie, not corrupted, tries to fight them, and fails

>cue them starting to die

>Beasts start panicking, completely overestimating how much Y/N Cookie could take

>Y/N Cookie, in their last moments, wishes they could’ve done more to help the Beasts not get corrupted before finally going

>Witch(es) stumble upon this scene, seeing their greatest cookie having been crumbled, along with whatever other carnage is around

>cue literally everything else

Being sealed away with the guilt of spilling jam from the cookie you all loved the most fresh on your mind? They are NOT gonna be doing so hot in there.

The Tale of the Forced Hand (The Five Beasts)

Witch’s Castle witches are pretty neat.

“The story begins when this very Silver Tree was only a small sapling…When the World of Desserts was at its infancy.”

“The Witches baked six Cookies to help them in their creation of the world.”

“..harness the radiance bestowed upon you for the betterment of this world…”

“And the six Cookies imbued with absolute powers walked Earthbread as almighty envoys of the Great Creators.”

“Knowledge, Volition, Compassion, Happiness, Change, and Solidarity.”

“The Dessert World bound by these Five Virtues was nothing short of paradise.”

Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie chimed in with their responses.

“So those six Cookies were the original owners of the Soul Jam?”

“Huh…Those “Six Virtues” are different from those of the Soul Jams. There’s six of them, yet only five today…”

“The Virtue of Compassion is what held the other Virtues so closely together, cherishing each of them equally as much.”

“Alas, for they and the perfect age were short-lived. Absolute power begets nothing but arrogance. It inevitably corrupts its wielder, bringing them to the most tragic of ends…A fate even the Witches were unable to foresee.”

“One by one, the Five, once regarded as saviors of the Cookie World, gradually turned to Darkness. And thus, the Five Virtues, too, became distorted, twisted…reduced to Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence….”

Strawberry Cookie shuddered in worry at the mere mention of the fallen virtues.

“Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence..that sounds really scary…

“Wait, what about the Virtue of Compassion? They weren’t evil too, were they?”

“The Virtue of Compassion was able to prevail against their descent into Darkness with their Soul Jam, whereas now the Five Beasts, the apostles of evil, began their dark crusade…”

“The Witches asked of Compassion to protect the Cookie World from the Beast Cookies, lending them what strength they could give.”

“Compassion fought bravely against the Beasts, blocking each of their blows and resisting their sickly whispers…But it was only a matter of time before Compassion slowly began to whittle…”

———————————————————————

“Come on, snap out of you all! This isn’t what you guys once were!”

“What’s the big deal, silly willy~ There isn’t anything wrong with dabbling yourself in a little bit of Darkness, you should try it with us!”

“No! This isn’t you! You were all my best friends! Come to your senses! Now!”

“It pains me to see you still cling onto false hope that you’re different than the rest of us, darling~ Can you just let go and become who you really are? For me~?”

“I can’t…I cannot forsake my oath to protect the Cookie World. You all know that! Cookies that want happy lives, don’t you want that?”

“They will all meet the same fate in the end, reduced to nothing…the futility of all this should be clear to you…”

“As if! It isn’t pointless to live life the way you want it to! It’s how you spend it and make the most of it!”

“They will all crumble in the end, so why not give them a little push! You’re starting to really aggravate me now, Y/N Cookie!”

“I won’t let you hurt them and I don’t want to hurt you all any more then I have to! Please, don’t do this…”

“……”

“Your silence says everything I need to hear from you. I tried…but I will put a stop you no matter if I’m reduced to bits!”

———————————————————————

“Woah….What happened to them?”

“The Virtue of Compassion fought for as long as they were able, their dough slowly whittling away with every blow that dealt to them. The Beasts have overestimated just how durable their former friend was…and they perished right in the middle of the circle….”

———————————————————————

“Ok, ya silly goose! You can stand right back up now! You put on a great show, let us give you a round of applause!”

“Darling, we know we haven’t hit you too hard. You can join us and we can all be together once more as Beasts…”

“Hmm…they don’t seem to be responding to us…”

“Hey, Y/N Cookie. Quit being soft and get up already, you’re..starting to worry me a bit here, you know.”

Silent Salt Cookie knelt down and placed their thumb on your wrist…jumping back when they feel nothing…

“Ahaha! Okay! This isn’t funny anymore, you softie! You win! Stand up on your two feet now! I’ll make you if you don’t!”

“D-Darling? P-Please get up. Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I-WE just really wanted you to join us…”

“Burning Spice Cookie, just how hard were your strikes to their dough?

“D-Don’t put any type of blame on me! All of you were just as rough with them as I was!”

“….!”

The Beast Cookies rushed to their fallen friend in the center, clearly distraught on their faces…

“Y/N Cookie, if you don’t stop playing jokes with me right now, I’ll never forgive you!”

“Darling! Wake up! I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have hit you so hard! Please wake up! You have to! Don’t leave me alone!”

“It was pointless to try and stop us, Y/N Cookie. Yet…my heart cries and aches, why did you have to resist….please, wake up…”

“God DAMN IT. I-I went too far, I shouldn’t have been so brutal with my swings and now look at you, your dough..damaged and ruined….because of me….”

“….Hmph….”

Silent Salt just lowered their head to look at the ground, feeling nothing but shame and remorse for what they had done…for what they all had done….

“I wish…I could’ve done more for you all…I wished…that I had loved all of you more…to not…end up like this...”

“…..I’m sorry…..”

———————————————————————

“The Witches couldn’t bear to see what fate had befallen their creations, made even more distraught at the loss of their greatest creation among them all…they punished the Beasts by sealing them away deep within this land…”

“And planted the seed of the Silver Tree to ensure their evil power never sees the light of day again. Right where the Virtue of Compassion was laid to rest, so that at least a part of them can live on….From then on, this land where the Beasts were put to sleep, was called Beast Yeast.”

“The Witches then gathered the last vestiges of power bestowed upon the Beasts, untouched by their corruption. They further cleansed, purified it, and in the end…Soul Jam was created. The purest Soul Jam was meant to be earned by Cookies who had proven themselves worthy.”

“All, but Compassion. For their purity simply could not be remade again. The Witch who personally baked Compassion had locked herself away in grief after the loss of her cookie and took the knowledge of the recipe and baking of Compassion with her…”

“So, there can never be another cookie like Compassion?”

“It’s what they say, but all life powder returns to the earth. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that the Virtue of Compassion may return in some form, someday…”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Y/N Cookie, who was casually eating some food offered to them by the Faeries.

“…..What?”

4K notes · View notes

ma7moudgaza2 · 3 months ago

Text

How did we cope with hunger in Gaza and not perish until now?

It’s a very strange topic to discuss in the twenty-first century.

Since the Israeli military war began, a more brutal war has been waged alongside it: the war for food.

I don’t know where to start, as I really don’t want to remember anything that happened to us, but it’s necessary to talk about it to benefit from our experience, may God spare you from similar situations.

As men, we are the first line of defense in our family army against the aggression of the hunger war.

The first situation I suffered from was five months into the war. It was a critical time when we had been without food or flour for nearly a month. We were living off what remained of our bodies' fat, some barley, and animal food.

It was a very cold night. Finally, we received a food ration from a charity, which was a bag of flour.

My family rejoiced and prayed, but I sat lamenting my fate. I saw how these rations were distributed; it was extremely chaotic. The queue, oh the queue! I swear the line stretched over 3 kilometers of people.

My turn was scheduled for nine o'clock the next morning. You can imagine that I had to leave at sunset that day to spend the night on the street to secure a place in the queue, otherwise, I wouldn’t receive anything.

I was overwhelmed by three pains:

The hell of children's hunger.

The hell of the queue and the cold.

And the hell of war.

By the way, the military war is nothing compared to what I mentioned above.

I indeed burdened myself with clothes, took my mattress to sleep on, and carried the water bottle for which I had stood in another queue to obtain.

I bid farewell to my family and left. I am Mahmoud, a computer engineer with soft skin. Imagine, my dear, imagine the fear that overwhelmed me.

I truly did not sleep and sat waiting for my turn until it finally came, and I received my ration. It was the most exhausting day of my life, but it became bearable when I returned to my family and found them eating.

My mother suggested a way to eat. Each of us would only get one loaf of bread throughout the day. She said: "Eat half of the meal you usually eat over a longer period. If you eat half a loaf for breakfast in 10 minutes, eat a quarter of a loaf in half an hour. The effect will be as if you ate half a loaf."

Indeed, the method was very, very effective.

The question for you:

What were you doing while people in Gaza were dying of hunger?

I have a donation campaign for my family if you are interested in helping your friend from Gaza. 👇

@hyperions-fate @nabulsi @khizuo @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @schoolhater

@werewolf-transgenderism @breadmp3 @sawasawako @cigaretteaunt @tartrazeen

@silicacid @audrey-hepbae @cryptarchs-qualm @hussyknee @ana-bananya

@doorhine @chilewithcarnage @daloy-politsey @transmutationisms @toyttsumedinasyisroel

@ysali @lightinger @jihaad @neechees @time-being

@batmanisagatewaydrug @mahoushojoe @opencommunion @palistani @comintoyoulive

@sar-soor @coughloop @vakarians-babe @notchainedtotrauma @sabrsiren

@moqawama @junglejim4322 @niqabisinparis @communist-ojou-sama @ghostofanonpast

@pitbolshevik @capricornpropaganda @halalchampagnesocialist @sesamie @voidpumpkin

@sivavakkiyar @saharawitch @rhubarbspring @teabisexual @fusdoq

@dirhwangdaseul @gorgugplushie @genderkoolaid @opencommunion @nabulsi

@sawasawako @metanarrates @beserkerjewel @mar64ds @soon-palestine

#palestine #free palestine #signal boost #gazaunderattack

2K notes · View notes

sincerelyrki · 8 months ago

Text

forbidden fruit

how would four best friends, all helplessly in love with their other best friends big sister, react to getting her leaked sex tape sent them via a groupchat? there was only two options. one was to ignore it, and the other was to act on it.

pairing : enha!hyungline x fem!reader

warnings + genre : smut. oral (m+f). fivesome. anal. double penetration. pool sex. anal (f). spitting. choking. partial MxM. brothers best friend(s). jealousy. profanity. spit. cum eating/sharing. sunghoon has a breeding kink. unsafe sex. name calling/slight degradation. marking. reverse harem. a singular photo gets taken. begging. switch!jay. switch!jake. dom!heeseung. dom!sunghoon. switch!reader. whining. 18+.

wc : 7.9k

a/n : been gone for a while and about to disappear again… i’ve been too busy to do literally anything, i just got back from a month vacation and i’m leaving again for another week on friday. anyways not sure how i feel about this but i hope you can accept this as an apology for my absence 🙏 don’t be shy to leave feedback, i’d love to hear everyones thoughts <3

written perm taglist : @vousty @ilololoveyou @moon0fthenight

An alluring person you were, the sweet nectar of a forbidden fruit strong with your scent as you swayed passed them.

A forbidden fruit, that’s all you were- all they allowed you to be.

It was hard staying away from you, their shared desire to hold you, to bend you over any surface was nearly impossible to hold back.

The rush of heat racing across their bodies, the unforgiving hairs on their tensed necks raising with interest at every innocent graze of your skin. Your short skirts quickly became a problem amongst your four friends, your thick thighs peeking out beneath the tight material- fuck it was a sight out of every man’s wet dreams.

Your innocent eyes could do nothing to stop their reactions. Your long eyelashes fluttering lightly against your shined cheeks, pink with your favourite blush, pretty lips pulling up into the sweetest smile- you’re fucking ruining them, and they did nothing to stop it.

It was wrong to think of you in this way, to picture you in any compromising position. So wrong to imagine the bruises on your knees, caused by your foolishly clumsy tumbles, to be a result of your mouth against them, well… wrapped around them.

Hearing about your sexual conquers was one thing, but seeing it was a completely different story. At least for one of the options they could pretend it never happened, that it was nothing more than a misspeaking- a horrible mistake of a slip of a tongue.

But after all, there was nothing they could do. Fate was more than cruel when they made you nothing more than their best friends older sister.

Taunting wasn’t it? Dangling the one thing they all wanted in front of their noses, allowing them a preview of the woman they all dreamt about late at night with their warm palms wrapped around their leaking cocks, crying with the simulation of what they imagined your mouth, god what your fucking pussy would feel like wrapped tight around them.

Their thoughts would torture them with the idea of what you would sound like, and how you would look while they manipulated your body to best fit their size.

Their imagination was so cruel, so. fucking. cruel. It was too easy to imagine your mouth in place of their hands, to pretend that the nasty audio in their ears was in reality, your whimpers. They would ignore their phone's notification, their volume sensitivity going off as the wanton moans in their ears rose in volume. Their questions kept them up even longer, their palms tightening to an almost painful hold as their mind uncontrollably spiralled.

Would you beg for them to wrap their fingers around your neck while they pounded deep into you? Would you push them onto their backs, dropping your entire weight back down onto them? Would you leave pretty scratches up their backs, purposefully using your nails to carve your initials deep into their shoulders?

As said before, it was fucking torture.

So imagine their collective shock when they woke up to a mysterious group chat, one that only included two things. A message, and a short thirty-second video.

It wasn’t only the obvious gloating message that outraged them, but rather it was the very compromising, and also very nude, photo of you that was set as the thumbnail.

678-999-8212

*one video attached*

well, it looks like I won, doesn’t it?

heeseung

what the fuck?

jay

holy shit, is that yn?

heeseung

don’t look, just delete it

sunghoon

too late, I’m going to kill him

jake

you don’t even know who he is😭

jay

she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying it…

even a blind man could tell that she was faking it

heeseung

fucking prick, I could make her feel so much better

sunghoon

she’s mine, back tf off?

heeseung

in what fucking universe?

jake

I don’t remember there being a rule against sharing

jay

all four of us?

jake

I mean… why not?

And once again, that was something they all agreed on.

As usual, you came waltzing downstairs right at eight in the evening. Nothing appeared different about the way you came in, your hair in its usual updo with one of your many pretty sundresses tight around your bust.

To the older boys, it was crazy how unaffected you looked. A sour taste filled Sunghoon’s mouth, his eyes glaring holes into your exposed calves.

He watched the way you walked, the slight bounce in your step only noticeable due to his heavy stare, his distaste growing the longer he watched the way you moved.

No Hickeys? Clearly, the man you chose last night wasn’t the right option because if he was then he would’ve been like Sunghoon. He would’ve thrown your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his tongue deep into your greedy hole, leaving hickeys all across your inner thighs with matching fingerprints.

He wouldn’t stop even when you cried with sensitivity, your legs shaking around his body while your bottom lips quivered uncontrollably.

No limp? Once again, Sunghoon would’ve never let you leave his room until he physically had to hold your body straight. You’d feel him for the next week, feel his aching thrusts every time he ever thought about touching another man.

Sunghoon thought that it was obvious that a girl like you deserved to be ravished, to be loved on to the point where it had you questioning everything about yourself.

But it seemed that only a few shared his same feelings, his eyes catching the way his slightly older friends’ hands clenched against their thighs.

“Are you going anywhere today?” Jake felt his body stiffen at the way your dress swayed at your knees when you came to a stop, your arms crossing against your chest as you smiled at your younger brother.

Jake’s eyes followed the movement, his mouth opening and closing observing the way your chest pushed up at your innocent action. His thoughts raced at the way they’d feel pressed around his hard dick, the image itself causing his shorts to tighten.

It was when he met your eyes that he realized what he was doing, his eyes snapping to the side while he repositioned himself. He was fortunate enough to have been wrapped in a blanket, his growing size hidden away from your sight.

But even then all he felt was your eyes staring straight through him. He allowed himself to look back up once, guilt flooding his system when you passed him a cute smile. He was a fucking perv, and no one but himself was there to witness it all.

“No, I had a long day yesterday.” Rage. His eyes burned with an invisible fire that quickly melted away any guilt, the video playing in front of his eyes once again- as if the other fifty-seven times wasn’t enough. “I think I’m just going to spend my day by the pool, practice my breathing.” Jake caught onto the innuendo right away, a barely noticeable wink getting thrown his way before you turned your attention back to your brother.

Your younger brother, Jungwon, hummed at your words. Everyone knew he wasn’t paying close attention to you, your words going in one ear and out the other while he leaned against his spread knees, hands wrapped around his white controller.

“Fuck- okay, um I think the hyungs wanted to go swimming today too-“ Jungwon’s cursing became blurred out as his words grew heavy in the air. Without meaning to, Jungwon graced his friends with the perfect scenario.

“Not sure about the others, but I think I’d love to go swimming with you.” Heeseung stood up, his eyes never looking away from your own as he dramatically stretched his arms up, his shirt pulling up to display the bottom half of his torso- flexing his muscles in the process.

His lips pulled up at the side when he saw the way you shamelessly stared at his abs, your eyes burning lines into his skin as they trailed across every inch of exposed skin. His ego could only expand seeing the way you rubbed your knees together at the sight of his v-line.

And when a throat clearing on his other side moved your attention from his body, Heeseung wanted nothing more than to punch Jay’s faux shy smirk off his lips.

Jay pushed forward, his chest stopping centimetres from yours. “I don’t have any trunks, do you mind showing me where the spares are?” He tilted his head to the side with a much less shy smile, his eyebrows slightly raising as he waited for your response.

He made the effort to never look away from your eyes, his pupils expanding under the bright light. It was only then that you noticed the light freckles spreading across the expanse of his nose, your eyes connecting the new constellations as his question faded into the back of your mind.

Jay saw one of the boys move forward before he felt them, a hand-clapping against his shoulder before he was spun towards them. Sunghoon’s face was bare of expression, his hold on Jay’s shoulder tightening with every word that came from his lips- “Well luckily for you I also need a pair and I happen to know exactly where Jungwon keeps them.”

Sunghoon didn’t look your way before he turned his back to the two of you, his footsteps light as he began descending down the hallway. You watched through a haze as the other boys followed, their overlapping whispers barely audible over each other.

But at last, you managed to make out one before the four of them disappeared from your sight, “we all have trunks, we literally planned on using them last night?” And with that, a smirk grew on your lips.

Naivety was one game that you had mastered from an early age, it was about time they caught on. And so you turned on your heel, walking towards the laundry room to collect one of your many pool towels.

“I’m going out, Minjae needs help setting up for the party tomorrow.” Your brother rushed past you, his hand plucking your sunglasses from your head with a playful smile, “I think I'll be needing these a bit more.” And with the close of the door, you decided to ditch your towel.

If the boys were playing the game you thought they were then you definitely wouldn’t be needing one.

All four boys couldn’t move their eyes from your barely covered form, their mouths practically open and drooling watching the way you pulled your dress up.

The sun kissed your skin in a perfectly golden hue, your body glistening with an addictive enhancement due to a thin layer of sweat.

Their cheeks grew warm as they watched you pull the fabric over your hips, their greedy eyes drinking in all newly exposed skin. They were all aware that they were tiptoeing the line of being perverted, but god the way you moved was fucking hypnotizing.

One second they had you, and the next they didn’t. You went diving into the deep end, a perfected technique that they would’ve commented on under any other circumstances.

By the time you rose from the water, time moved in slow motion. Your hair slung over your shoulder, droplets of water cascading down your face- dripping everywhere from your lips to your eyelashes.

A forbidden fruit, that’s still all you were.

Half an hour later, that stance was impossible to believe. Heeseung had you right where he wanted you, your covered core pressed against his, discretely grinding against him as you pretended to play colours.

“hm, is your colour red?” Your head tilted to the side, arms wrapped around his shoulder as you prepared to get dunked again.

“No.” He lied. His colour was, in fact, red, but in his defence you just looked way too good in his arms, wrapped around him. He wasn’t sure how he managed to get into this situation, but after a singular look from you, he had folded.

He was almost positive that for the game colours the second player would be held bridal style, but you insisted otherwise. And Heeseung decided then and there that he’d never argue with a pretty girl.

“How about green?” Heeseung shook his head once, a cheesy smile on his lips. You groaned out loud, your hand smacking against the water as you threw your little tantrum.

Heeseung decided against dunking you this time, your cute upset smile warming his chest. “How about a different game, truth or dare?”

You jumped up with excitement, the movement causing Heeseung to groan. You both paused, eyes wide once you realized what just happened.

“Oh- I’m sorry-“ You tried apologizing to which Heeseung just shushed you, his face bright red. “Truth or dare?” He decided to change the subject, giving you an appreciative smile once you reciprocated it.

“No, can I go first?” Heeseung jokingly rolled his eyes at you, his arms propping up on the poolside behind him.

“Truth.” Heeseung assumed this would be the easy way out, as it usually was. It wasn’t that he had any secrets to hide, so why wouldn’t he choose truth?

“Have you ever had sex in a pool?” This, perhaps, is the only time Heeseung wishes that he chose dare.

“No.” He didn’t provide an explanation, not even after you desperately begged for one. It was the truth, he never has. He didn’t see the appeal to hook up with someone in the pool, because what’s the point?

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Heeseung wasn’t shocked, dare having been your go-to since you were a child.

“I dare you kiss me.” Heeseung thought you’d reject him, leave him to go bother someone else. But you’ve been the person to deny a dare.

And so you leaned forward, connecting your lips. It was only a second long, but it managed to changed your entire dynamic.

“Truth or dare?” And against Heeseung’s better judgment, he finally chose dare.

“I dare you to fuck me.”

Heeseung knew it was risky, but a dare was a dare, right?

“Are you seriously fucking in the pool?” Heeseung froze, there’s no way they just got caught- “Are you jealous?” there was no denying it now.

If you didn’t care that the others knew, why would he? And so he pulled at the two strings holding your bottoms together, completely removing them.

The other boys’ faces fell when they saw Heeseung raise your bottoms, betrayal swimming across their faces watching the way his hands controlled your body.

“What the fuck-” Jake choked out after a minute of watching his best friend trust into you, the way your legs wrapped around his waist as you filled your hips to match his pace.

Your moan awoke something deep within them, a desire that made each of them forget about the entire “forbidden fruit” bullshit.

“Don’t be rude, share.” Heeseung rolled his eyes at Sunghoon’s demand but complied. There was plenty of time for Heeseung to make you cum, this one time won’t make a difference.

He hauled you onto the side of the pool, your cunt exposed for all of them to see. Sunghoon didn’t waste a minute before he threw your legs over his shoulder, pressing his face into you.

Your hands wrapped around his loose hair, the wet strands pulling together in a makeshift ponytail. He started by licking across the labia, his tongue flat against the entirety of you.

He used two fingers to spread you, his nose pushing against your clit as he lapped at your leaking hole, his quiet groan causing vibrations to speak across your entire body.

His touch awakened many of the nerves in your body, his tongue bringing you to a place no other man managed to and that was only within the first minute. You didn’t even want to imagine the way you’d feel by the time you finished on his face, would it be as good as you hoped? Or even better?

Jake was growing impatient, his face nearly pressed against your leg as he watched the way Sunghoon ate you- his entire body throbbing with need.

Heeseung noticed and nudged Jake forward, his head nodding towards the place Sunghoon’s head was buried, “we’re sharing, remember?”

Jake didn’t need to be told twice, easily sliding between your leg and Sunghoon’s arm. You looked at Jake with confusion, having never been put in a situation where two men wanted to have you at the same time.

But Jake didn’t care, all he needed was to taste you- to feel your pulse against his tongue.

Once he knew that you were watching he lowered his head towards the place where Sunghoon’s mouth was attached to you, both men making eye contact for half a second before the other man shifted to the side- making room for the other.

Your jaw dropped open when he attached his mouth to your clit, his tongue using the mixture of your wetness and Sunghoon’s spit to move in spirals.

It seemed that the lewd noises from Jake caught the attention of the other two boys, their jaws matching yours. “Holy shit-“ Heeseung leaned forward to view better, his hand coming down to push Jake’s hair from his face.

The three of you watched as the two boys performed, their tongues pressing together as they switched positions, Jake pulling one of your knees over his shoulder in an attempt to pull you closer.

Heeseung used his hold on Jake’s hair to tilt his head closer to Sunghoon’s, their lips practically touching with every move. “Our baby deserves a better view.” He tsked from his position on your side, eyebrows furrowed while he watched the boys walk an invisible line.

Sunghoon’s heavy eyes glared up towards Heeseung, his sticky cheeks glistening so pretty under the pool's lights. There were some things that Sunghoon could ignore, but a blatant challenge? He’d be dead before he proved anyone wrong.

And so, while maintaining eye contact, he turned his head towards Jake. He pushed his lips against the side of the boys, pushing his tongue to lick at the exact stop Jake was lapping at.

Jake, of course, reciprocated right away- both boys practically making out against your cunt, strings of saliva connected the three of you together. And such performers they were, the other boys growing jealous at your undivided attention being pulled at the boys between your legs.

A rough tap on your cheek was enough to pull your attention back to a kneeling, now hands-free, Heeseung. One of his now free hands gripped at the area where your chin and neck meet, his thumb pressing directly on your pulse point.

“Are they making you feel good?” He cooed, his lips jutting out while his other hand toyed with the string of his bathing suit bottoms.

You nodded at his words, your face melting into his palms with a dumb look in your eyes. Heeseung barely managed to keep down his smile, his chest warming at the sight of you nuzzling against him.

If it wasn’t for the throbbing in his lower body, then maybe he could’ve adored the sight for a minute longer. But his impatience grew thin the longer he heard the noise from between your legs, jealousy stirring deep in his stomach.

“Open your mouth.” His hand moved further up your chin, your cheeks now pressed between two of his fingers, tightening as he applied pressure, forcing your lips open. You tried your best to keep your lips sealed, a playful action that evoked the exact reaction you expected.

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed on demand, his nose slightly scrunching together as he looked at you with a look you recognized all too well.

Your stomach tightened in anticipation, the rumours surrounding Heeseung’s kinks coming to your head.

It wasn’t a secret that Heeseung got around, but his partners seemed to remain a mystery. You had first heard the rumours in your eleventh-grade history class, a few girls crowded around the seat behind you, their voices mudding together as they formed their own fantasies.

It wasn’t hard to hear the name of the man of the hour, your brother's best friend’s name being on your mind more times than it was supposed to.

It was a childhood crush, a dream that got crushed with the words spilling from the other girl's lips. They’d whisper about how Heeseung only bed college women, about how he only liked women with experience.

In their words, he wanted someone who could “handle it.” At first, you didn’t understand what they meant, handle what? It was a week later when you finally understood, it was then when you decided that you were over him.

If you couldn't get under him, why not get over him? And that’s what you did, well until now.

It was safe to say that the current you could handle him, your experience growing tenfold in the year after you graduated.

But there was this one rumoured kink that you couldn’t seem to shake, one that has stuck around since the day you heard it.

He rose to his feet, pushing his trunks down in a smooth swipe, completely exposing himself to your watering mouth. His hand returned to its position, pressing your mouth open once again. Only this time, you allowed him.

His length felt heavy on your tongue, foreign to what you were used to. He was much bigger than most of your past partners, which you took as a good sign.

There had to be some proof of the rumour, and you couldn’t help but take this as the first hint. The second hint came directly after, his tip hitting the back of your throat, bottoming out straight away.

Throatfucking? Sure it was pretty basic, but god some men just couldn’t do it. They either went too fast and shallow, barely reaching halfway across your tongue. Or they went too slow and deep, your boredom growing as they used your throat in a pathetic attempt.

Heeseung, the man who was almost known for his head game rumours, seemed to be the perfect fit.

Your senses were filled with nothing but him. His taste filled your mouth, the precum coating your mouth in a layer of lubricant. Both your throat and scalp burned with each thrust, but it hurt so good.

His soft grunts made you all more pliant, loosening your jaw to allow more suction, it was a sight straight out of both of your wet dreams. Jay seemed to agree.

Jay’s hand wrapped around the base of your throat, tightening- holding you in place. His breath tickled your ear as he blew warm air against it, his words slipping out with each harsh thrust getting pushed in.

“You can feel him so deep, can’t you?” He pressed small kisses along your jawline, trailing down to the center of your throat. He pulled away the tiniest bit, his eyes glowing with amazement as he watched the way your skin bulged every few seconds.

He raised a finger to press against the most prominent spot, his lips following suit as he began nipping against the same spot. “C’mon, I need you too…” He trailed off, alternating between kissing and sucking on your exposed neck.

“Please, don’t make me beg.” Jay didn’t need to say another word, your hand already blindly searching for his shorts. His hand quickly guided yours, pushing it between his stomach and the elastic.

His head fell against your shoulder, his chest pressed halfway across your back. He didn’t care for the man on his other side, his eyes closing as he melted into the feeling of your hands rubbing against his bare cock.

Heeseung’s head fell back at your increase of moans, the vibrations rushing his release. He quickly pulled out of your mouth, his hand gripping around his base as he stopped himself from cumming too early.

Heeseung looked back between your legs, Sunghoon now sucking hickeys against your thighs as Jake pushed his finger into you, his tongue licking at the skin stretching around them.

A cool shiver spread through his back, his bare body exposed to the cold wind blowing from the pool. It was then that he noticed that goosebumps were present along most of your arms, granted some were for other reasons, but it was the only sign he needed.

Instead of using words, he just opted to lean toward the two boys still half-submerged in the water. He grabbed Jake’s hair, pulling his face away from your cunt.

Jake’s eyes snapped up, confusion clouding his irises. Heeseung ignored the look before letting Jake go, reaching over to do the same thing to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon caught onto Heeseung’s look way quicker, his body detaching from yours as he hauled himself from the pool, his trunks tight against his waist.

Jake, albeit still a bit confused, followed suit right away. Heeseung looked at Jake’s now bare thighs, his eyebrows furrowing in a silent question.

Jake only shrugged, shooting him a sly smile before he used his thumb to point over his shoulder, his black trunks floating along the surface on the other side of the pool.

All that was left was you and Jay, your full attention on him. His chest pushing harshly against you, his heartbeat thumping against your shoulder blades.

“We’re going inside.” Jay shook his head against you, his hips pushing forward to rut into your warm hands. You clicked your tongue in faux annoyance, your fingers tightening almost painfully against him- forcing his movements to stop.

You removed your hands from his shorts, your hands wrapping around the band to pull him in front of you. Your chests were pressed together, hearts beating as one.

His watery eyes opened, meeting yours as his cheeks flushed. Your facade melted, your eyes filling with adoration at his needy expression. “We’re not done, you’ll feel so much better upstairs.” You whispered, ignoring all the other boy's eyes staring directly at your exposed body.

Jay still didn’t move, his eyes pulling you in once again. Without a thought, you pushed your lips against his- tilting your head for a closer angle.

It wasn’t even ten seconds in when Heeseung came stomping over, his hand grabbing Jay’s hair to pull his lips away from yours. A thick string of spit stretched across both of your lips, your head following his.

All boy's jaws dropped at your following action, their arousal and jealousy battling against each other. You leaned forward once more, your tongue pressing against the side of Jay's mouth, swiping from one side to the other.

You causally licked the spit from his lips before swiping at your own bottom lip. After a moment of silence, you looked up.

Jay’s mouth opened and closed, gaping at the sudden action. “You- what?” He blubbered out, shock heavy in his tone. And just as Jake did before, you just shrugged. “Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” You stood up using Sunghoon’s outstretched palm, entwining your fingers while sliding your slides back on.

“We’re going inside, now,” Heeseung growled towards Jay, his eyes watching your hips sway as you walked away.

The second you stepped into your bedroom Sunghoon pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped tight around your throat with his lips pushed into yours- pinning you down.

He traced your entire body, nerves coming alive with every inch of unmarked space. He finally moved his eyes down to the marks on your thighs, his marks.

Pride. Pride wasn’t a new feeling to Sunghoon, but he swears he’d never felt it this strong. He was almost happy that you were left unmarked, he didn’t even want to think about how he’d react to seeing proof of another man’s hands touching you.

Sure he was furious that you weren’t getting the pleasure you deserved, but Sunghoon could give you all that and more. He’d give you anything, even if it meant sharing you with three of his friends.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” He knew he had to ask now because if he didn’t then he wouldn’t ever build himself to.

Your expression became guarded, lips pulling closed at his hurt tone. “What do you mean?” Sunghoon froze, did you not know?

You watched his reaction, the way he retracted into himself. “With your needs, I could’ve helped you.” He tried regaining his confidence, squaring his shoulders as he stood taller.

“You wouldn’t have to fake it with me.” Ah, now you understood. A smirk rose on your lips, your hands moving on their own as you gripped his waist.

“Are you sure? My other boys make me feel pretty good.” You stressed the last few words while your hands travelled further up his exposed torso- pressing against his lower stomach for a few seconds before tracing the lines between his flexed abs.

Sunghoon hissed under his breath at your words, his eyes darkening at the mention of your former partners.

“The video didn’t seem very promising, we wouldn’t have you looking all neat, looking untouched.” It was then that Sunghoon realized the other boys were surrounding his other sides, their arms almost pressed against his.

You looked up towards Heeseung, tilting your head with a fake pondering look, “A video?” He nodded once, his jaw clenched at your fake oblivious attitude.

“And how did I look?” You wrapped your hand around Sunghoon’s, pulling it away from your neck. He took your action as a signal to move back, pulling his body from yours.

All the boys stayed silent at your question- which was something that didn’t sit right with you. You looked at each of them before you landed on Jake, noting the way his cock twitched at your sudden attention.

You turned your body to face him while ignoring all the other boys, your palm coming up to rest against his heaving chest. You made a show of trailing your finger across your collar bones, all the way up to your halter bikini top.

“How did I look, Jakey?” A stuttered cough left his left the second your finger pulled at the knot, your top now dangling around your rib cage, your breast completely exposed.

“I didn’t do this, did I?” You grabbed his wrists, moving his hands to press your breasts together. You contorted your expression into one of pleasure, your lips dramatically dropping open as you pretended to choke on your words.

Jake shook his head to the side, his body moving on autopilot as he calculated his next moves.

“No, but I think you knew that.” You pursed your lips while shaking your head at him, nose scrunching up in annoyance. “I didn't see the video, you did.”

Heeseung reacted before anyone else, his hand grabbing your arm to pull you towards your bed.

“You’ve been bratty all night, clearly no one’s taught you to behave.” Heeseung pushed you flat against the bed, his knee pressing flesh against your sensitive pussy. You let out a loud mewl, your back arching into his knee. “I think you need to teach me again.” Your head flew back when you began moving your hips against him, his knee providing the perfect pressure against your swollen clit.

Heeseung kept his arms crossed across his chest, expression unmoving as you used his knee to get off. Your whimpers had a clear effect on both Jay and Jake, both of their hands wrapped around their exposed cocks as they jerked themselves off at the sight.

“P- please help, it doesn’t feel as good without someone’s help.” You blubbered out a beg, your lips pouting together while your lash line filled with unshed tears. Your desperation was clear, your hips stuttering against the bed due to the lack of pressure.

“Aw look at you, a slutty baby who can’t do anything by herself.” Sunghoon cooed from over Heeseung’s shoulder, his hand holding onto his shoulder as he watched the way you rubbed against Heeseung.

“But pathetic cry babies don’t deserve help, do they?” You rapidly shook your head, plethoras of different disagreements leaving your lips.

“But you’re not a crybaby.” Jake joined into the taunting, kid body weighing you down as he kneeled to your side. His hands reached over to rub across your cheeks, his fingers catching your salty tears. You nodded your head, eyes wide with excitement thinking that at least one of them was on your side.

“So stop fucking crying.” His harsh words were still sung with the same cooing tone, his gentle hands contradicting their speech.

“M’not crying, not a baby.” Jake nodded along to your words, repeating them back to you once before he turned his head to look at the two boys standing above you.

They both nodded toward Jay, who was still standing on the right side of the bed- opposite to Jake. Jake gave the other boy a single once-over before he nodded back at the other two.

Jake placed a small kiss against the apple of your cheek, your salty tears sticking to his skin before stood up from his position. You, who read the situation wrong, began repeating your small sorrys. Apologies slipped from your mouth in a slobbly mantra, your desperate attempt to be touched once again.

“You’re sorry?” It was a rhetorical question, but still- you answered. Heeseung took charge once again, his hand pressing against your knee- rubbing small circles into it.

“Prove it to us.”

Jay, who removed his trunks at the door, crawled onto the bed beside you. He sat in the center of the bed, right above your head. “Make Jay feel good, show him how much you need him.”

You didn’t waste another second before you turned to your stomach, your ass pressed in the air as you arched towards the other boys. Your hand wrapped around Jay, your tongue peaking out to give small kitten licks to his tip.

Jay bit his lip in anticipation, his feet twitching by his side with each small touch. His head was filled with nothing but you, the thoughts of you.

His nightly thoughts were finally getting played out, the warmth of your lips millimetres away from him drove him insane. But he wasn’t the only one growing desperate, the sharp smack against your ass laying it down.

“Giving him those pathetic licks won’t do anything, even Sunghoon could do better.” Heeseung tutted, his hand smacking you once before before he pressed his hand flat against your upper back, pushing you closer to Jay.

“What the fuck?” Sunghoon glared at Heeseung for adding his name, to which he just gave him an exasperated look. “You were the one practicing making out with Jake earlier, not me.”

Both named boys looked away, their cheeks burning bright red. “Whatever.” Sunghoon scoffed, his shyness still coming in full force as he recalled the way he reacted earlier.

Their almost argument was cut off at the gasp Jay let out, all three of them watching the way his face pulled up in pleasure. Heeseung never thought that he’d enjoy watching another man’s reaction to getting their dick sucked, but he also never thought that he’d be sharing someone with three of his friends.

The sounds coming from your lips were downright disgusting, slurps mixed with the occasional gag- but in a way, you’ve never sounded better.

Heeseung could see the way Jake was stopping himself from stroking too much- not wanting to cum anywhere but in you. Sunghoon noticed it too, his small snickers catching the Australian boys attention.

Jake’s jaw dropped when both boys stepped back, allowing Jake to take their place. He waited a few seconds, making sure that he was actually catching what they were throwing- and not making it up in his head.

He got his answer in the way the boys moved on either side of the bed, Heeseung’s hand resting against Jake’s shoulder when he stepped beside him.

Heeseung gave him a small nudge, pushing him towards your legs. He gave a reassuring nod with a tight-lipped smile, and that was all Jake needed.

“Comdom?” Heeseung leaned forward to meet your eyes, his question heavy in the air. Sunghoon stood with bated breath as he waited for your response, his chest blowing out when you finally shook your head.

Jake knew you were spread enough, having been the one to stretch you out by the pool. And you certainly were wet enough, but even that couldn’t stop him from spitting on his palm- rubbing it across his entire dick.

He used one hand to push your back into a further arch, the other wrapped around his base as he lined himself up. The second his tip entered you the tiniest bit- he pauses.

If this was going to be the only time he got to have you, why not savour it all? He removed his hand from his base but instead used it to spread your lips out.

He got the full effect, watching the way your tight hole sucked him in- gripping him. His groan rolled from his mouth once he bottomed out, his balls slapping against you once before he pulled back out, slamming in harder the second time.

Both of his hands were now gripping your hips, his short nails making half-moons across your skin as he repeatedly pulled you back into him.

You saw stars, the stimulation feeling like nothing before. You weren’t sure if you could ever go back to only fucking one person, not when two people against you felt this good.

A cock in your mouth and one in your pussy, heaven. They were fucking ruining you, and you loved every moment of it.

You felt the way Jay was getting closer, his noises growing quieter the longer he held his breath. You reached your hand under your chin, massaging his balls with one hand while the other pressed down on his pubic bone for stabilization.

You completely removed him from your lips, your tongue sticking out as you trailed it across his most prominent vein, curling it once around the tip before you swooped back down. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking his balls into your mouth while your hand twisted along the length.

You used one finger to press against the slit on his tip, pressing it down. His hips shot forward, a loud moan breaking from his lips at the sensitivity.

As quickly as you did that, you switched again. Your mouth sunk back down onto him, holding your breath as you held him deep in your throat.

A second after he let out a pitchy breath, he released in your mouth. Usually, the taste of cum didn’t bother you. Sure it was usually bitter, but after a while, you just learned to ignore it.

And maybe Jay tasted similar, but he tasted so different. He was addicting, every part of him. And it was for that reason that you didn’t pull away, why you kept going even when his body began twitching beneath you. It’s why you went faster when his broken pleads turned into inaudible sounds. It was why you swallowed around him a second time, swallowing everything he had to give you. Except this time, you held it in your mouth.

You pulled off of him, his cum still in your mouth. You looked up towards Sunghoon, his eyes widening when you gestured to him to get closer.

And maybe if you weren’t so fucking hot, then maybe he wouldn’t have complied. Maybe he wouldn’t have opened his mouth, allowing you to spit it into his own. Maybe he wouldn’t have listened to your next orders, but god, you were so fucking hot.

“Share it with Jake.” They all knew what you meant, and at Jake’s small nod, they all knew exactly. what. you. meant.

“Holy shit-” Jay’s jaw was on the ground as he watched his friends share his cum between their lips, their tongues twisting together as it grew more intense.

If Jake’s thrusts meant anything, then you knew that he more than liked it. He loved it.

“Sunghoon, join Jake.” Your head snapped over to Heeseung, your eyes wide as his words processed in your head. Heeseung ignored your look, staring dead into Sunghoon’s eyes. “I don’t think she’s proved herself yet, one cock in her clearly isn’t enough.”

The next minute was a blur. One second you were arched into Jake, and the other you were sat on his lap with your legs wrapped around Sunghoon’s waist- his cock inches from you.

Heeseung’s fingers were pressed deep into your ass, the spilled lube coating Jake’s lower stomach. After the third finger, Heeseung decided you were stretched enough.

Heeseung helped holding you up, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he lowered you onto Jake. Your arms tightened hard around him, your eyes falling closed at the new feeling of having someone pushing into you from the back.

You’ve tried many things, but anal definitely wasn’t one.

“Relax, let him in,” Heeseung whispered into your ear, one of his hands rubbing circles into your back. You did what he said, letting go of all the tension in your lower body.

It didn’t take very long for Jake to bottom out, time blurring together due to your hyperfocus on the unknown feeling. “You did s’good.” Heeseung pecked your ear once before he released you, raising his hands to pull your arms off of him.

You put your arms on Jake’s side, holding him for stability. He took two steps back, still close enough to pull you away if you showed any discomfort.

The first few thrusts felt weird, the pleasure yet to come. But once it came, it came fast. Your back arched as your head fell back, your lips gaping open.

Your legs tightened around Sunghoon’s waist, pulling him closer. “P-please-“ you begged through broken moans, your desperation clawing at your chest.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for, but you knew whatever Sunghoon gave you would help. He hesitated for a minute after he lined himself up, his worries of hurting you replacing his neediness for a split second.

It was a split second too long, long enough for you to reach one hand forward and pull his hips into you. Both Jake and Sunghoon paused at the feeling, Jake’s stomach tightening under your hold.

Sunghoon’s expression was nothing if not pure bliss, his eyes half open, his mouth wide as he let out heavy exhales. His rosy cheeks seemed extra pigmented, his wet bangs hanging over his forehead when his head fell forward.

The sensations that you were all feeling were so intense- to the point where the three of you stopped breathing.

The feeling of two cocks in you was something you could never explain, nothing compared.

And for the boys? The mixture of the tightness and the groves of another dick against theirs? Insane, but so delicious.

Sunghoon was the first to start moving, his hesitant thrusts causing butterflies to erupt on all three of your stomachs.

Once Sunghoon found his tempo, Jake began moving to watch it. Your head was completely empty, your mind focused on nothing but the feeling of them entering and exiting you.

Sunghoon leaned forward towards you, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples while the other one played with the other. His moves were slightly sloppy, imprecise pinches and nibbles alternating between each tit.

Heeseung noticed it right away, his hand coming out to shoo Sunghoon away with a harsh glare. “If you’re not going to do it right, don’t fucking do it at all.” His lips relaxed Sunghoon’s, the difference between the two more obvious than not.

Your chest arched into Heeseung’s mouth, his eyes fluttering closed as he trailed a line of kisses between each breast, small hickeys getting left at random.

Jay, feeling left out, moved forward to join. He was already as hard as he was when you started, the sight before him nearly sending him into a spiral.

His hand reached down to circle around your clit, his finger never once directly touching it- he knew no one wanted it to end yet.

It was clear to the four boys when you got close, your body responding to all their touches differently. Jay now allowed his fingers to make contact, fast circles setting your nerves on fire.

Sunghoon pushed his hand against your stomach, feeling his cock kiss his palm with every push. The bugs made his fantasies come out, images of you swollen with his kids chasing his hips to push in further.

His primal instincts won against the rational side of his brain, the desire to fill you up feeling stronger than ever. Realistically, he knew you wouldn’t fall pregnant. The plan b pills and your birth control were proof enough, but it didn’t hurt to pretend- right?

It was then that he remembered the entire reason why they were doing this. It was to prove a point, wasn’t it? And that’s when he got a great idea, one that made complete sense in his half-conscious brain.

The other man gave proof, shouldn’t they return the favour? His phone was forgotten by the poolside, same with Jake’s.

He had almost lost hope until his eyes caught your phone on your bedside, his eyes lighting up in relief. “Pass me that phone.” Heeseung did what he was asked without question, his lips, which were now attached to yours, stayed unmoving while he reached over.

He blindly grabbed at the table, taking the first thing that felt like the phone. He’d passed it to Sunghoon- who accepted it right away.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar phone, whose was this?

He knew you didn’t get a new one, having texted you yesterday asking to hang out- to which you cancelled.

So whose phone was this? Upon noticing that it was shut down, he quickly powered it on. The screen was blank for a second before messages came flooding in.

No fucking way.

You let out a muffled moan at Sunghoon’s sudden harsh trust, Heeseung’s lips still moving against yours.

And at the same time the cameras clicked, you came.

All four boys panted around you, two of them releasing inside of you right after you finished. Sunghoon ignored the phone for now, tossing it to the side as he pushed himself as deep as he could- holding his hips in place. Even when Heeseung helped Jake pull out, Sunghoon stayed- plugging your cunt full, refusing to let a drop out.

“Switch? I promise I won’t let it leak out.” Heeseung knew exactly what to say to get Sunghoon to move, and it worked every time.

Sunghoon and Jake stepped back, allowing the other two to take their place. Sunghoon zoned out while Heeseung and Jay situated themselves, choosing the position they wanted you in.

Now that he was in a slightly better mindset, the images from the phone came rolling back in.

Why the hell were you getting the messages they’d sent in that group chat? There was no one else in the group except for them and the random number.

It was nearly impossible for you to get those messages unless you were that random number. Sunghoon raised his eyes back towards you, then to the phone, then back to you.

He noticed that you’d seen him make the connection, and you smiled. Naivety was one game that you had mastered from an early age, it was about time they caught on.

4K notes · View notes

harmonysanreads · 26 days ago

Note

I NEED MORE PUPPY PHAINON, imagine that his beloved was offended by him, and he literally walks on his knees after her, asking for forgiveness, lol

Can be read as a continuation to this piece.

Phainon has become more partial to hating silence in his recent years.

It wasn't always this way though and in certain conditions, he finds himself craving a particular flavor of silence. But in the other, majority of cases, that deafening vacancy of noise reminds him of memories he’d rather forget. To placate that discomfort, he embellishes the void with sound no matter how small, or with his own voice.

Still, the ache is manageable, not voracious enough to make him dramatically restless. Where this faint modicum of control fails as well is when you, in all your cruelty, cast that curse of silence upon him as a direct consequence of anger.

In the name of the Titans, he prays you’d scream at him, hit him couple of times, destroy his house and belongings — anything, anything besides this nonverbal torture he can withstand. But he's not one to dwell in unfair complaints. Especially when your downturn gaze, pressed lips and crossed arms affirm so loudly that he's messed up.

By now, he’s exhausted almost every tactic in his arsenal to get you to acknowledge him again — apologizing, pinching his ears, making funny faces, wrestling a titankin and two whole repeats of that cycle. But you didn't let this opportunity go to waste in showcasing how good you’ve gotten in keeping a blank face in truly tumultuous situations, much to his chagrin in this instance.

It's only when you, most likely fed up with his antics, started to walk away that he scrambled to try again.

“My sun, my moon, my star, my light — please, please please please, look at me? Just once?” you're halted by a tug at your sleeve. A twinge of something softens your resolve as you realize how Phainon remembered, wrestling with his desires to not touch you until he's earned it again.

You can feel the weight of his eyes on your back, you pray that he didn't notice you waver. You steel yourself and stubbornly keep the act steadfast, conflicted before dropping the charade in favor of melting into his arms and forgetting altogether. But you can't, you’ve already promised to wring the confession on the errors of his ways this time.

You glare at the splinters in the earth, “Haven’t I told you once? If you keep calling me things that will never be yours, I might just become the same.” it takes everything to keep your voice even.

You don't need to look to picture Phainon's sure dumbfounded blinks, the churning and turning of metaphorical cogs as they shift in his head, neurons firing and synapses piecing together the implication of your cold comment.

You make the mistake of expecting only a gust of wind and are hit instead with a fully powered storm, in the form of a dull thud that you recognize as the hero’s knees hitting the ground when you're forced to spin as his arms find refuge in clinging to your thighs.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — I am so SO sorry. I promise I won't do it again, I swear on the Flame-Chase — no, I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I will never do it again! If I do, may I face a fate worse than death itself. Just… just please, forgive me.”

There's an ache in your heart, sudden, quick and flighty. Kephale's light cradles you both, the corners of Phainon's eyes shine with something. By instinct, you try to escape the painful grasp of the hero, try to. Stumbling a few steps in what you intended would create space, resulting in Phainon getting dragged alongside your movements — sans a care in the Deliverer’s countenance.

“Phainon, I'm going to fall if you don't —” you try to bargain and fall, you do.

One ghost of a touch against the pavement is all you recall, so faint it can be disregarded completely. Your gasp gets muffled in something soft and firm, a mix of the perfume you recognize as yours and something else too convoluted to remember in the heat of the moment canopies your senses.

When the brief storm settles, a sigh slips past your lips. You don't even need to look up to know where you ended up landing.

But an insistent grasp angles your gaze against your wishes upward, you don't offer further resistance as pity grips your heart, “My dearest, beloved, my love, honeycakes with whipped cream on top, my life… won't you show me mercy?”

You calmly maintain Phainon's gaze, searching his face for any trace of dishonesty. The glossy blues of atonement prompts you to be petty one last time, “You don't care much about your life though.”

At this, Phainon completely deflates, collapsing in your arms. “Oh come on! Will you just say yes?”

At the faintest chime of the giggle you fail to quieten, he burrows further in the crook of your neck, arms coiling with a force you're no stranger to by now. Phainon shifts to adjust your position on his lap and changes tactics at the last moment, seizing your momentary lack of guard to launch an aimless attack of kisses.

You can only thank the barren side of Okhema city you two had chosen now, you do not want to think of what you’d have to do to get him off of you had this been a crowded place. The agony that came with the thirty something minutes of deprivation Phainon tolerated is much prominent, a burn lingers around your cheeks and neck. He refrains from completely leaning towards your lips though, still mindful that you haven't yet affirmed in words.

“Okay okay! You're forgiven, good heavens.” you heave, Phainon's exclamation of joy gets lodged in his throat prematurely, “But, you'll be sleeping on the couch today.”

You regret uttering that almost instantly, it's as if every particle of the hero’s life force has been drained mercilessly, appearing as though he might really cry this time.

You avert your eyes, forcing a sigh, “Ah, well, nevermind. You can sleep next to me — but I'll still be keeping a pillow barrier in the middle! Don't forget I'm still… still mad at you.”

As if on cue, Phainon springs back to life once more. Perhaps it's just your enervated eyes, but apparitions of what you can only assume to be puppy ears flick to and fro on top of his head. Caught in a trance, you reach out to ruffle those snow-white tresses and your lover melts.

You know your imposed punishment won’t last for more than ten minutes into the slumber and you’ll be coaxed with these antics again and again. But for this moment, you suppose it won't hurt to allow yourself to indulge and believe, that everything is okay.

#so.. all in agreement that phainon is the embodiment of “my girl is mad at me i hope i die” ?#good lord i always lose control whenever i'm writing a “drabble” for this man #phainon #phainon brainrot #phainon x reader #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #phainon fluff #phainon x you

1K notes · View notes

julymusings · 2 months ago

Text

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT next: love in withdrawal

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

1K notes · View notes

ghost-bison · 6 months ago

Text

what actually rocks my shit with the moment ten finally hears the four knocks and realizes he's going to die anyway isn't just the look in his eyes - because bro, that was some damn good acting. no, it's also, mostly the fact that it's not just because he's going to die that he feels so sick. it's also because he realizes he has been on his guard, and paranoid for so long, and that in the end, nobody was out there to kill him. he's been paranoid over nothing. it made him act out of fear and do terrible stuff just to convince himself he could do anything including surviving, and that look in his eyes when he solves his case is one that says "it's always been you or them. it will always be you or them":

nine had to sacrifice his life to save rose's and then ten his happiness for hers.

donna begged him to let her stay but he couldn't bear to watch her die so he did something selfish and erased her memories against her will - not really just to protect her, but to protect himself from the pain and grief of losing her.

not that that's how he sees it. in his mind he probably thinks he did it for her.

then in waters of mars he comes back and saves three people who were supposed to die and someone knocks three times and he probably likes to think he's the one who averted a fourth one - because it would entail that he can do it: save himself and save them.

then it all comes crashing down that he can't when adelaide brooke offs herself - it's either him or them and it will always be them.

there he goes, last two episodes, resigned to his fate: he will confront the master and the drumming and die to save everyone.

but he survives.

and for a moment, everything shifts. maybe he can be happy. maybe he can find a way to bring donna's memories back without killing her. maybe he will see rose again.

finally, wilfred knocks, and it's the cruelest reminder - it will always be you or them. it will always be them.

#dw #doctor who #tenth doctor #10th doctor #david tennant #donna noble #rose tyler #the master #ninth doctor #9th doctor #wilfred mott #adelaide brooke

2K notes · View notes

makethatelevenrings · 4 months ago

Text

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child.

But Hanno was different.

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name.

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them.

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man.

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin.

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching.

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

“Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.

#hanno x reader #lucius verus x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #lucius verus #hanno

2K notes · View notes