#you understand my vision nonetheless

[hustlerose]

a group of late 1800s miners singing a working song while hammering a massive dildo into my ass

[astral-schools]

(manticore's) endgame

[of-many-fandomss]

if you could, maybe a fic where reader is the youngest on the grid, and has lost her father. anyway, she wins a grand prix (whatever you’re feeling, it doesn’t matter which one!), and just immediately runs to charles because she knows her dad’s not there to see her big win. he’s immediately taken back but then understands why she came to him and is there to comfort her

and maybe she invites him up on the podium with her!!

thanks :))

Proud

summary: your father was no longer there, but your next biggest supporter was

paring: charles leclerc x reader platonic

warnings: mentions of parental death

word count: 0.6k

a/n: in honor of my baby lando getting his first win 🥹🧡

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The blur of your vision no doubt made it borderline dangerous to be driving- but you couldn’t care. Not one single bit.

Not as you pulled into the spot reserved just for you, a p1 resting against the poster right in front of your car that you could barely make out.

A sob raked through your body suddenly and you dropped your hemelt clad head into your hands, breathing shaky and heart rate still accelerated.

You took a moment for yourself, your eyes squeezed shut and your senses buzzing. There were screams of the crowd around you, each one of them celebrating your victory in a deafening roar of pure thrill and excitement.

Finally, you jumped out of your car, ripping the hemelt from off of your head just in time to see an all too familiar Red Bull vehicle pull up to your right and a Ferrari to your left, taking up their respective places by your side.

Whipping around, you paid no mind to the cheers of congratulations from your team, nor the reporters that tried to invade your space as you raced as quickly as you could to the bright red Ferrari.

Charles hopped out of his car just in time for you to crash into his arms, eyes once again squeezed shut as you hugged the man tightly.

The man stumbled back a bit- having already shed his helmet- eyes slightly wide as he looked down at you, but softened as he watched you finally let the tears flow free from your eyes ducts.

He recovered quickly and hurtfully swept you into his embrace, holding you just as tightly as you were holding him, neither of you tuned into any of the hundreds of cameras that were snapping all around you.

After so much hard work- after so much dedication- you had finally done it. You had finally won your Grand Prix- and one on your home track nonetheless.

The tears were partially for the dedication that was finally paying off, but it was mostly for the man that you wish was by your side at the moment.

Your father.

The man that had always been your biggest supporter, through and through.

From your karting days to when you finally signed on with Red Bull just over five months ago when you turned eighteen.

Only two months later, he had passed away from a sudden and quick disease that had left you and the rest of your family utterly heartbroken.

Even before he had been gone, Charles had been quick to take you under his wing. You weren’t his teammate, and yet, he couldn’t help the sense of responsibility that took over him when he had first gazed upon you. He had wanted nothing more than to make you feel welcomed and safe in formula 1.

And that’s what he did.

When you had lost the man that had been your biggest supporter- Leclerc became just as large of one.

“I’m so proud of you,” He murmured in your ear for only you to hear, listening to the way you were hiccuping against the material of his tracksuit, “Your father would be so proud.”

You squeezed him tighter for a moment before pulling away, laughing slightly through teary eyes at him.

Charles smiled, moving a piece of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, “I’m so proud of you.” He repeated.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

Thank you for saying it. Thank you for looking out for me- for always being there.

Though you didn’t say the words, your eyes shone brightly with them and the man understood.

He nodded before taking his gloved hand in yours, “Come on, let’s get you to your first top spot on the podium.”

When you turned around, you were greeted with the sight of screaming, ecstatic fans, and beaming drivers.

Each and every person in that place was so proud of you, but none smiled as brightly as Charles when you mounted the top of the podium and held your trophy up high.

[pluralpaganidiocy]

Was reading some posts about HDG, written by someone outside the community.

What absolutely struck me is the lack of understanding about how the setting works.

First and foremost, I don't care what anyone says, it's a disability narrative. All the kink, and layers of horror and imperialism is in service to the disability narrative.

Because when your body or mind do not function like you expect them to, it's fucking horrific.

It's goddamn terrifying when my legs give out climbing the stairs, it's horrifying when I lose my ability to speak when I get overwhelmed and my stutter comes out full force, when I can't move because the pain from my knee is so intense I lose vision.

Quite often when I am like that I don't want help, I don't want anyone near me, I will actively refuse assistance. This is because of pride, fear, shame, a multitude of reasons. I don't want care, but I need it nonetheless.

One of the most powerful and meaningful things my current partner has ever done for me was telling me to shut the fuck up and let her help.

I needed to be forced to let her help me, despite being in so much pain moving made me scream.

She still needs to make me take painkillers, because I won't on my own.

This kind of care is an intrinsic part of HDG, you are so hurt you can't figure out what you need, so we will do it for you, and we will make you if needed.

Additionally, at least for me, another aspect is knowing that the people you care about are being cared for too.

A huge chunk of my life and daily stress is making sure my friends and lovers are okay, making sure I have enough reserve cash if I need to support or be able to make an emergency trip, anything at all to prevent another fucking lost friend and tearful memorial before their names get added to my sad list of loss.

I *know* I am deeply traumatized by loss, by closed casket funerals, of self inflicted wounds. Because I wasn't there, or fast enough, or didn't notice the signs in time.

I have as a result made myself into the kind of person that will drop Anything to be there. To drive across the country at a moment's notice because there was a Possibility that my friend needed me.

In the world of HDG, that isn't needed, everyone is going to be cared for and safe, and I would be able to finally rest. To relax. To enjoy the beauty of my friends instead of standing watch.

And that is a disability narrative too.

[erosastro]

🌷Composite risings🌷

Let’s talk about how each couple presents themselves for each rising sign in their composite chart.

*Disclaimer: These are my opinions, you don’t have to agree with them. And I’m aware not everyone agrees with the degree theory but I’ve personally seen a difference from degrees, so again, just my opinion and interpretation.

🌷Aries Rising (could also apply to Aries degrees 1°, 13° and 25°) - This couple is affectionate with each other. They’re passionate and can be competitive with one another, though if on the same team, they’re a force to be reckoned with. They probably enjoy recreational activities with each other. The couple that goes to the gym together, plays sports together, jump out of a plane together lol. They’re both young at heart with each other, even if they identify as old souls individually. They motivate each other to do better and step out of their comfort zones.

🌷Taurus Rising(could also apply to Taurus degrees 2°, 14° and 26°) - They’re so soft with each other and this relationship is filled with tenderness. They can be possessive of one another too(similar to Leo rising couples). They can tune out the world and just soak each other up. They can also be touchy feely with each other, the degree might also have impact here but if it does it won’t be to a great extent.

🌷Gemini Rising (could also apply to Gemini degrees 3°, 15° and 27°) - This is a couple that never runs out of things to talk about. Their favourite part of the day is getting to talk to one another. They inspire the other person. They could have a lot in common and share the same visions/goals. They can also be in their own bubble sometimes, especially if they get really into a topic or discussion and they tend to tease each other, very playful. This is the couple that can prank one another lol.

🌷Cancer Rising (could also apply to Cancer degrees 4°, 16° and 28°) - They have a soft spot for each other. There’s something about the other person that instantly makes them feel comfortable. They’re ones most likely to share nose nudges and butterfly kisses in public. So much PDA but at the same time they can keep a lot of their relationship private. There’s a good balance, in my opinion. They can be very affected by the other person’s mood too.

🌷Leo Rising (could also apply to Leo degrees 5°, 17° and 29°) - Oh this couple loves to show off. Whether it’s their relationship or the other person. There’s so much of PDA with this couple too, like Cancer Risings, but this PDA is like full on whereas the Cancer Risings can be a bit more tender and sweet. this is like grabbing each others ass in public lmao. It doesn’t make it less meaningful though! Power couple vibes.

🌷Virgo Rising (could also apply to Virgo degrees 6° and 18°) - I’ve seen so much of negativity surrounding this composite rising and could never understand why, because like cancer and Taurus risings, they’re so tender and sweet with each other. They’ll do anything for the other person they’re so supportive of one another. They likely are the couple that took a bit of time to get together but people could always tell there’s chemistry between them. They can be private but they can also be sweet with each other in public, perhaps not as much as Leo, but still can be affectionate nonetheless. I like this Ascendant for couples and platonic relationships. People don’t give this Rising enough credit and tend to say they’re boring and unassuming which I don’t necessarily think is true.

🌷Libra Rising (could also apply to Libra degrees 7° and 19°) - Ah the composite rising that gets the most hype, from what I’ve seen. I can understand why since it is Venusian and Libra rules seventh house of relationships. They are also affectionate with one another and tend to be the “It couple”. Everyone wants a relationship like theirs. Romantic with one another for sure. The only thing is that if this couple breaks up, it can turn ugly as seventh house also rules enemies; their relationship can turn really sour.

🌷Scorpio Rising (could also apply to Scorpio degrees 8° and 20°) - Unexpected couple, maybe. No one saw it coming. Their relationship is passionate and deep, but there can be a taboo aspect to their relationship. It doesn’t have to be that deep, perhaps an age gap thats not drastic. You’ll never know what goes on with this couple because they can be very private. I’ve noticed this couple can be awkward with each other at first for some reason? They can also be clingy once they do get into a relationship and it turns into something long term. As much as I’m not particularly fond of this couple, they really are so opened with one another if they do get past the awkwardness and initial fear.

🌷Sagittarius Rising (could also apply to Sagittarius degrees 9° and 21°) - This is the most similar to Aries Rising in my opinion and Gemini rising as well. They’re the couple that have so many inside jokes and like Gemini Rising, they always tease each other and are playful with each other. They love to go on adventures with one another and they can teach each other a lot, constantly pushing the other person to be the best versions of themselves. This couple could also come from very different backgrounds. I’ve noticed also with this Rising sign, a lot of people don’t expect that these two are together.

🌷Capricorn Rising (could also apply to Capricorn degrees 10° and 22°) - Another rising sign that gets so much of slack (like Virgo risings) and I don’t really agree with a lot of it. They may not be as affectionate as Leo risings or Cancer risings once again, but they’re each other’s rock. They can always rely on one another. This couple could be the “slow burn” type because neither person admits they have a crush on the other until later on. They are extremely private with their relationship though and can be protective of each other. Also can be a power couple though, especially to those who know the couple well.

🌷Aquarius Rising (could also apply to Aquarius degrees 11° and 23°) - ah the friends to lovers ascendant. I haven’t met or seen many Aquarius rising couples, majority of them are platonic. This doesn’t mean romantic relationships never work out though. This couple gives each other a lot of space and freedom to be independent but they love each other unconditionally and fully. There’s no judgement here. You can be fully yourself with the other person. If this does turn romantic, they are still always best friends first.

🌷Pisces Rising (could also apply to Pisces degrees 12° and 24°) - They bring out sides of the other person that they never knew they had. For example if you’re not really big on PDA, the person you share a Pisces rising with will bring out that side of you. There could be some aspect to this relationship that’s unusual too. They can get co-dependant though, I’ve noticed. Like they can’t do anything without the person by their side constantly. Regardless, there’s something about these couples that just seem to fit together.

*Personal favourite for platonic - Aquarius or Sagittarius, even Gemini

*Least favourite for platonic - Aries or Cancer

*Favourite for romantic - Cancer, Virgo or Leo (Gemini and Aries can work well too)

*Least favourite for romantic - Scorpio or Pisces

*Risings that can go either way - Capricorn, Aquarius and Pisces.

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter II

𐙚 Aemond comes to terms with the feelings he possesses for you, just in time for a tragedy to strike in your halls.

𐙚 Aemond x Reader/Aegon x Reader (tw: manipulation, incest, mention of child's death)

(AN: I was not going to rewrite the b&c scene, sorry. the scene was hard to watch as it is)

You moan, arching your back in full pleasure. Aemond's never made you feel this way, stars dancing in your vision. Your hair wet with sweat, your face flushed, your fingers pulling at Aemond's locks.

"Please." you cry out. It's desperate. It's filthy.

"Please what?" Aemond comes up from your cunt, mouth wet with you. "Tell me and I will give it to you. I'd give you anything."

He meant it. And deep down, you knew it. But you never truly tested it before, never having the need to.

Aemond pulls himself from you, crawling up your body and resting his hips between your legs.

"I love you. Only you." he whispers, and not in a brotherly way.

You're too breathless to reply, not that he was expecting one.

It was no surprise the entire family was traumatized, the words 'I love you' never uttered between two or more members. You cannot remember a time you even spoke the words to someone, if you have ever. Not even to your dying father on his deathbed, not your mother as her fingers laced your hair in your baths, or your grandsire when he gifted you presents on your namedays. It was just three words, never to be said.

So that Aemond had said it so plainly had you surprised, maybe completely unsure on how to reply. If you should at all.

Aemond's breathing got heavier, "Tell me you love me."

Lining his cock to your cunt, he didn't give you much time to adjust before he shoved himself inside you. You mewl and clutch him closely to your body.

"Tell me-" he begins thrusting hard, causing you to rock against him. Whimpers and cries erupt from you. "-you fucking love me. Now!"

"I love you. I love you." it's like a mantra, like you're praying. Like he's your god. You're not sure if you mean it, completely aware of Aemond's feelings now. “I love you, I love you.”

With Aegon it was easier, his touches came without any awkward admission. But Aemond is a different man. You weren't sure if that upset you or not.

You aren't sure how to respond, small feelings always lingered towards him from you, but you were sure it was never once to be received back. With it

"Aemond I love you." you say softly.

"More than you love him?"

✮⋆˙

"I do not understand why I must don black, he is not my child to mourn." you play with your fingers, keeping your gaze strickly down.

"You'd have the court confused." Alicent snarks, "The way you can be found in Aegon's chambers have us all convinced it is your child to mourn."

"Does Helaena know?" your sister's feelings at the forefront of your mind.

"No. She is in mourning. I would not burden her with such news." your mother states.

She sits across from you, a black gown lined with red rubies lay across the chair beside you. For the past set minutes, she is determined for you to fit into it. But your point remained, if he was not your son, why mourn him? The whole city did and they did not know him. It seemed selfish and callous to you.

Pretenders , Aegon would seethe.

Your mother insisted you be part of the carriage for Jaehaerys’s memorial. But you refused. Rather be in Aegon's chambers comforting him. Even if it were in a way not befitting your station. You did feel bad for Helaena though. He was not your husband nor the mother to his children. But he was your king, so perhaps you were doing your duty nonetheless.

"Have you nothing to say?" your mother's voice brings you back.

"What?" you blurt out. "I do not wish to be a part of this...public display of grieving, I do not wish to be put next to her. Please mother, I do not want to."

"And what would you prefer? To crawl back into bed with Aegon and shut out the world while war eats around us?" your mother sighs, disappointed.

"I wanted to comfort him..."

"I will hear no more of it." Alicent insists, "You will wear the gown, and the smallfolk will see that the grief has reached even you, and then they will see her for what she is. A monster."

"But do we know she sent the rat catchers, can we be sure-"

"I am disappointed. To defend a traitor to the crown and the realm, the very person who has hurt your brother so purposely. Rhaenyra ordered it, that is the most known fact present in front of us."

"Why does my grief matter? He was not my son mother, and I had only held him as a babe." your voice is beginning to crack, you're desperate.

"You are disobedient as of late!" Alicent shoots up, her voice echoing through the room, "You do not do what is asked of you unless forced, your mind elsewhere. Tell me plainly and truthfully, is your brother's cock more important than your duty you are sworn to?"

Tears swelled in your eyes, "Aemond wouldn't let you do this."

"If he were here perhaps not. But he does not grace his own bed as of late, therefore he cannot put an end to this. Much to your misfortune." Alicent can only look down at you with such displeasure. The look haunts you.

"I wish we were here." you admit.

"As do I." she agrees.

✮⋆˙

When Aemond had turned a fresh one and three of age, Aegon had taken him to the brothels, to 'make a man of himself' and ever since, Aemond had found comfort in the walls, and in its people. He had wanted to find comfort in you, the very person...the only person to have treated him with such care and respect.

But you had turned to Aegon following your nephew's gruesome death, him selfishly pining after your sympathy. Aegon only did it to spite Aemond, he knew this. You did not. It was a game when they were much smaller, Aemond loved you, and Aegon had caught on. So there began a sick game; Aegon would touch and kiss you, giving you your first kiss and your first orgasm. When Aemond had found out, he had destroyed his entire chambers from anger.

You had always chosen Aegon, and despite the anger it brought, Aemond could never hate you, he had only loved you. Igniting a fire in him to win you over more. Sometimes entertaining the idea of Aegon dying, so all of your affection would be forced to be towards him.

When the news that you had taken to Aegon's chambers, and bed, in his time of grief broke to him, it drove Aemond to the brink of almost insanity. That night, he had left the castle and headed to the only person that brought him any comfort of late. Sylvi was a madam, one that Aemond had first lost his virginity to, and now was attached to her. Giving him the comfort he wished he got from you.

"He has taken her to bed." he says, laying his head on her lap, hair pooling around him. "I lost my nephew, but it is Aegon who needs the doting. I have lost her. I spent my life loving her, and he gets her most intimate parts."

"She does not see your devotion to her. She is...blinded by the King." Sylvi tells him.

"I sometimes wish that Aegon would lie dead, not to take the throne..."

"But to take her." she finishes for him.

"Daemon sent them to kill me." he says, quickly changing subjects. His heart hurt, "I was out."

"You were with me."

"In truth, I am proud…that he considers me such a foe, and that he seeks to murder me in my bed. He’s afraid of me." Aemond smiles to himself, happy that his uncle feared him.

"Where was she that night?" Sylvi asks, curious about the girl who has driven a wedge between the close boys she was once fond of.

"In his chambers, with him. While his little son was being slaughtered, he was fucking his little sister." Aemond says, tone dripping with anger. "Helaena had a blade put to her neck, and he-It is not right of him, he should do right by our sister, not bury himself in the other."

"The boy has grown into a man." the madam smirks.

"Not here." he pulls from her. Aemond sighs, "I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, I am sorry for it."

"I am glad to hear it." Sylvi reassures him.

"We are to go to war." Aemond cuts her off, and looks back to the woman. "I worry about her place in it."

"Who? Your sister?"

"Yes." he nods.

"Which one my prince?" she goes to reach for him.

Aemond slivers out of her reach, "My lamb. They would put her in harm's way if it served them. I fear for her."

"Would your brother allow that? He must have some feelings towards his new toy."

Sylvi's words allowed anger to rise inside him, his lamb was not Aegon's toy. "Do not speak of her that way." he hisses.

"My prince?-"

"I said-" Aemond grabs her violently, her eyes shining in fear. "Do not call her a toy. She is a princess of the seven kingdoms, a station that you shall never even dream of seeing. I am fond of you but do remember your place."

[hannie-dul-set]

heartbeat conquest — day 1.

SYNOPSIS. you’re sucked into a reverse harem otome game, and there’s only one goal— say the right things to conquer as many pretty boys as you can. PAIRINGS. tomorrow x together x reader. TAGS. social media! au, modern fantasy, reverse harem (of fucking course), romance, humor, a whole bunch of weird dynamics maybe HUAHAHAHAHAHHAAH. inspired by the manhwa with the same title, “heartbeat conquest.”

it has been thirty minutes since you started staring at your phone.

the walls that surround you have transformed from a pink to a light beige. the bubblegum floors have turned into carpet. and the bed you’ve sunk yourself into feels just as foreign as it is yours. what is this? what is going on? you have a rough idea on just what you’ve gotten yourself into, but it’s still difficult to wrap your head around.

sanctuary. angel. knight. savior. lover. considering the premise, these must be the love interests you have to conquer. yet you have yet to open any of their messages because the “system” didn’t even bother to provide you with any context on who these strangers are! even otome games give a brief profile of your targets. how are you supposed to know which of these nameless and faceless bastards is your type?

“ugh,” you grunt, jumping off of bed and feeling the plush carpet against your skin— a warm and sickly feeling. the window shows the midnight moon shining above what appears to be a college campus, buildings lining up before and after this one, a wide field directly below you and connected pavements from one concrete wall to another. your guess that this is a dormitory is proven to be correct. but you don’t understand how everything seems to have the same bubblegum pink filter clouding over your vision.

ding!

you pause for a moment.

the system has made it very clear. you know what you’re supposed to be doing.

first impressions: what the fuck, all these love interests are in some what or another— off. weird. is this some screwed up otome game? do you have to deal with a bunch of creeps to get yourself out of this? now, that’s not your only problem. five out of five of these guys want to meet with you, and all on the same date nonetheless.

from what you have gathered, you have to win all of them over. but you’re left with no choice but to pick one of them this time.

now— who would you like to meet first?

NOTE. oooh choices HAHHAHAHA. now let me just give you guys a hint: some of these boys are gonna benefit if you don’t pick them. i wanted to give my spin on the usual reverse harem tropes, and fuck with them a little BWAHAHAHAHHA. the reason why angel and knight haven’t been unlocked yet is well........you guys failed to get a big enough reaction for them (whether it be negative or positive).

as usual, please answer the form linked above to progress. i will close them once i feel like i’ve gotten enough responses!

DAY 0 | DAY 1 | DAY 2

heartbeat conquest. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[transmascaraa]

hi! is it ok to req a lyney, gaming, and/or bennett scenario where reader likes to kiss key areas on their body? e.i. lyney's teardrop makeup, the x scar on bennett's shoulder, gaming's little neck mole, etc.

it doesn't have to be all of them btw! just ideas stemmed from my brainrot

— 🧷anon

multiple characters headcannons!

kissing key areas on their bodies... how do they react?

characters: bennett, gaming, lyney x gn!reader

author's note: HELP I LOVE THIS REQUEST TOO MUCH I SHOULD BE CONCERNED IT'S SUCH A CUTE IDEAAA i tried my best please i'll be obsessed with this one i just know it

๑ Bennett

-he would be a bit surprised bffr

-you would kiss his scar while telling him that it's okay to be clumsy that it's no big deal etc that you'll love him nonetheless

-he would be blushing and just thanking you a billion times(he still hasn't said it enough)

-and you'd just kiss him which would only make him blush more

-he's a blushing mess

-he doesn't know how to return the favor

-so yk

-he returns the favor by giving you a little kiss on your lips

-hoping that it was enough(for him it wasn't)

-but if he didn't accept it, you would continue kissing the scar and even tickling him until he accepted it and thought he had thanked you enough.

-in reality, he just doesn't want you to leave him because of his unluckiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✷ Gaming

-he's a total sweetheart help

-you'd kiss that mole on his neck and he would be a tomato already there

-off topic for a second but i love that he has a mole because i have moles all over my body and just one on him means sm to me for some reason(i'm not okay) so idk wether to feel proud or not about them

-anyways back to gaming

-he would blush and after you looked back up at him he would hide his face in your neck

-hiding that adorable blushing face of his

-you just tell him that it's cute and continue doing it until he's more than just a blushing mess.

-he wants to return the favor so he showers you with kisses.

-be ready for him being extra cure for the nextt few days.

-and if course, clingy as fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✯ Lyney

-bro will be flabbergasted.

-he's the flitry one, he's the rizzler, he's the more dominant one!

-so when you catch him off guard like that after a show as a sign of praise...

-he is as red as his pyro vision.

-he's so embarrassed that he doesn't even hide his face, just stand there frozen(even tho he's tehnically burning on the unside)

-he doesn't understand how you make him feel so hot, but loves it so much despite not telling you so

-and when you'd pull back from his cheek, where his signature teardrop makeup mark is...

-he's looking at you. just looking.

-red as fuck.

-he's adorable.

-so in order to get at least a bit of lyney back, you'll have to drag him with you.

-for the rest of the day, he'll be completely flabbergasted. and tonight, he'll keep his hand on where the mark is, not daring to wipe it off.

-(he was looking at himself in the mirror and just graced his fingers over the mark gently, admiring it.)

-for the next few days, he's more than clingy.

-and for the rest of your guys' lives, he'll never miss a day when he doesn't draw that mark on his cheek.

-and if you kiss it ever again, the cycle restarts itself...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i have an obsession okay

LYNEY'S PART IS LONGER I'M SORRY BUT I'M LITERALLY OMW TO WRITE THAT BRAINROT OR WHATEVER

but the others were precious i swear i love them all(favorite vision is anemo why tf do i like short pyro men)

[bloodcasket]

“ BLOOD BOIL ”

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW! (Death Island Jill), age gap relationship (not as specified as my previous fic), female described reader, dominant Jill Valentine, submissive reader, manhandling, rough intimacy, mentioned use of strap-on toy, words used to describe toy such as “dick” - etc, hair tugging (ive tried my best not to specify hair texture), pinch of degrading, concept of power-play dynamic, jealousy & argumentative situations, use of “gaslighting”. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 6.4K+

DESCRIPTION: Jill’s jealousy is like spitting fire, just from one simple glance of a man speaking to you. Perhaps she’ll use her words against you. Force you on your knees to make you understand.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sigh. Not my best work, but here we are my friends. I acknowledge this is lackluster, but I missed writing for Jill, and so I at least want to do something for her. My apologizes! I will edit later if there are any mistakes. And hopefully, my brain will be ready to write again.

You’re invested thoroughly, thumbs bending into the hardened wheel, and your pink tongue wiggling in place, caught between your two front teeth, canines gnawing down amongst the moist muscle, all whilst you remain burrowed into a blanket of concentration.

So close, and nearly there. The banner sign is spread wide just up ahead, the crimson finish line taunting you, and the wheels of the vehicle skidded against the road, engine humming as the speed heightens. The countdown is in white bolded numbers in the upper right corner of the screen, approaching the last few seconds, there’s only a few more feet left-

That is, until an all-too-familiar ringing soon began to vibrate beside you. Perhaps it’s been the fourth time that she’s answered a phone call today. You couldn’t exactly give an explicit or precise answer, you had lost count a few hours back. Nonetheless, it drew your attention away all the same, hands loosening against your wheel.

“Gotta answer this, just give me a sec.”

A gruff response is heard from your right, and you watch from your peripheral vision as the other woman sits up from the false car seat. She trudges along the neon star-patterned carpet, her calloused thumb tapping with haste against the brightened screen of her phone as she sauntered over to the exit door. Clearly leaving no chance of objection from your side, too quick on her feet to even spare you a mere glance.

The car seat rumbles from below, the vibrations resembling a mini earthquake just against the flesh of your thighs, signaling your loss. Your softened eyes peer upwards and flicker toward the games’ screen. “Last place” taunts you in a pixelated format, the letters spinning around in repetitive loops. You had lost, and now the game was finished. The taste of triumph now blemished and dulled. An abhorrent sink of your heart weighs down in your rib cage, strong enough to plummet into your stomach.

You’re almost beginning to question whether this was all worth it or not. The plans, the date, the broken promises she always manages to cultivate off the tip of her tongue. You hadn’t forgotten the way the older woman’s rough hands circled your waist earlier this morning, pulling you close. Velvety lips tracing your cheekbone; leaving chaste kisses in its wake.

All about you, today. That’s what the middle-aged brunette had ensured. But ruined plans were practically habitual when it came to such a relationship with a woman of her degree. Ensnared in her work. Drowned in stacks of reports and hour long meetings. Body battered and aching by the time she’s finished training. It’s always “saving civilization” and “eradicating bioterrorism” first— and, of course — you came second. The way she has been so adamant on abandoning you today makes that point even more crystal clear, with each individual call she’s making, more words exchanged about sudden work relations rather than her own girlfriend on a well planned date.

It takes all your willpower not to let it dilute your mirthful attitude. With a shrug of your purse’s strap over the arch of your shoulder, and the shimmying of your hips out of the vibrating car seat, you begin to stand. Make your way over to a different game across the expanse of the arcade room. The area is dimly lit, save for the intensely hued lights flashing from each individual game screen.

Whilst you stay immersed by mashing blue and red buttons inside, a grin over your youthful features, Jill Valentine is much on the contrary. She’s stood outside, a scowl cast over her pink lips as she speaks with her colleague about information she could, quite literally, give two shits less about. Her boot is kicked up against the wall of the building, an expression of irritation clouding over her already-hardened features, wrinkles of age twisted around the flesh of her waterline, smile lines curling downward against her frown.

“Tomorrow, alright? I’m busy today. No more calls, got it?”

She warns, swallowing down the hiss that nearly pounces out from between her lips. She wants to say something worse than that. Maybe even a good, ‘go fuck yourself and stop calling my number’ sounds more appealing, but she diverges from actually saying that venomous remark. Doesn’t stop her from muttering a few curses under her breath once she’s hung up the phone, though.

There’s two sides of the story here, but at the end of the day, both of you are unsatisfied with how today's events are being twisted. The older woman is aggravated that she's being interrupted from her time with you. The younger, you, becoming rather solemn over the fact that your girlfriend is constantly being taken away.

The short-haired brunette rubs a palm across the stretch of her forehead, long fingertips and wide knuckles bumping up against her pale skin, and she breathes in before exhaling a hefty amount of air.

“Alright”, she shrugs, saying this more to herself in reassurance than anything else, mentally preparing herself for that look of despair in your pretty eyes that she’ll soon be faced with. God, she felt terrible.

She shoved her phone back into the small pocket of her jeans and pivoted on the heel of her shoes, hand grasping for the door handle. She brought herself back inside the arcade. She almost smiles at the sight of you. All excited and giddy, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. ‘Like a kid in a candy shop’, she’s chuckling to herself, boots shuffling along the soft trim of the patterned carpet.

Almost.

But seeing another form pressed up against your side sours something deep inside her. Large hands guiding yours to certain buttons on the machine, hip brushing up against hip, boisterous laughs echoing in the air, all whilst the cartoonish music and spirited sound effects synthesize in the background.

The woman can feel the pumping organ within her chest palpitate, it’s warm and uneasy, a maelstrom of heat broiling at the pit of her stomach and seeping into the pores of her skin. Her flesh is set aflame, fists clenched, and her jaw tensing; her teeth grit inside her mouth, white canines squeaking and clashing against each other in a slow grind.

Jealousy is the easiest way to describe the scorching sensation. Seeing what’s rightfully hers — melt under the presence of another?

‘I left her alone for one goddamn second.’

Jill Valentine scowls as she feels her blood singe. ‘The hell does he think he is? What gives him the right to just fuckin’ walk right up and get into my girlfriends personal space?’

She tries to be bitter, tries to find a reason for her unreasonable irritation. Beaming brightly, the apples of your cheeks uplifted and shimmering, round eyes focused on some stupid fighting game that resembles Mortal Kombat. Jubilant and content, obsidian pupils dilated. This beautiful display, and yet, it wasn’t for her to indulge in, was it? It’s as if a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

Her ego has deflated, and like a dejected child, she glumly sits herself down close nearby, slumped in her seat as she watches you chatter with the male stranger.

Her phone vibrates. Another message. She ignores it purposefully, thoroughly imprisoned into the wreck of her own insecure psychology.

The evening has improved, for the most part. At least, it’s more appealing for your half rather than the middle-aged woman. The two of you eat at a nice restaurant just downtown, settled into your seats at a wooden table, a view of the lively city; just outside the wide casement windows beside you, a serenic display.

Not even a nice meal can save the grimacing brunette's mood. Not when you’re rambling on and on about the new combos and tricks that you’ve learned today, or about how much you’ve improved on a specific fighting style game. It only seems to tamper with Jill the more she’s listening to you.

You speak with tones of exultation and glee, fascinated and bewildered from the mere fact that something you once were intimidated by is now mastered by a smash of your finger against a button. So many clashing statements of ‘he taught me this,’ and ‘he taught me that’ had been eagerly pronounced amongst the opening of your lips and the click of your wet tongue.

Jill tightened her hold against her cutlery, her fork scraping along the edge of her porcelain plate. Watching your facialized jocundity does nothing but dampen the warmth she once envisioned for today.

“Yeah”, she hums in response, nodding her head, her discouragement concealed by a pleased facade, “I’m glad you had fun, baby.”

Veins bulge, and her body heats up. She can feel her blood grow scalding hot once more, that air of vexation and covetousness swirling around her head and mixing her brain into mush.

The car ride home is no different. Her skin has grown white around the bulbs of her knuckles, hands gripping firmly on the steering wheel. It’s a silent drive, unpleasant. Even more-so when the two of you return to the comfort of your shared apartment.

That’s when everything unwinds. Now away from the curious eyes of the public, finally concealed underneath the roof of your own home. You make an attempt to speak again, but are silenced immediately.

The middle-aged woman kicks the door closed with the heel of her boot, sending it slamming behind her, the lock on the knob jittering as it connects into place. You had acknowledged that perhaps she was upset, but to this length of such physical force? She was damn mere seconds from breaking the door. You really couldn’t read her as well as you always thought.

You had winced, crumbling into yourself at the sudden act of outrage. Shoulders hunched up so far that you felt them brush up against the outer shell of your earlobe. You cowered and trembled, bones threatening to just melt into jelly, and shrink away into a meek puddle of nothingness. An image of a mouse, so small and fragile, standing in the shadow of a warlike fiend.

“Can’t shut your goddamn mouth for one second, can you?”

The seasoned agent scowls, her jaw tightening up and falling stiff. When in a moment of anger and fury, rationality seems so far from the field of vision, and right now? The blue-eyed older woman was blinded. Jaded from her own sense of possession and childish jealousy.

“Do you think I really give a shit about how much fun you had with some stranger? I leave you for one second-”, her pink lips are pruned and falling agape as she spits out words of poison, eyes widened and nearly bulging from her sockets, “one fucking second, and you’re letting some dickhead breathe down your ass? His hands all on you?”

Evocation crosses her, a vision of the man in the arcade. His eyes descend upon you just behind the gleam of his rimmed glasses, lanky fingers drawing against your wrist. Staying firm and still, his body just adjacent from yours. Both faces painted in frames of magenta and indigo, pearly whites showcased from behind the curve of his thin lips; admiring every crevice and curve of your physique and womanly structure.

That’s all that it took for the older woman. She gave it time to marinate in her past memory, but the inner ache had failed to dissipate. Her blood boiled.

“You-”

An immediate expression of confusion unveils, drawing over your quivering features. You’re intimidated by her sudden hostility, the tailbone of your spine colliding against the marble surface of the kitchen counter in a cowardice attempt to escape the situation.

“You looked fine earlier- you said it was alright- I just-”, you’re trembling over each word, you’re beginning to ramble, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong- me and him were just playing together, it wasn’t anything like that. I didn’t even know him, Jill.”

The brunette's lips curl into a cruel, and nearly incredulous smirk at your response, her head shaking whilst she draws her hand out in a physical gesture of her own exasperation. Her face, creased with age and experience, now flushed crimson. She looked crazed.

“Oh, save the bullshit. You liked it, I saw you. Talked about how much fun you had with him all day. Should have just gone home with him.”

“You should have told me!-”

You pipe out, voice drawn out squeaky and timid, your words drowned by the booming shouts she’s hissing out, seething as she dares not face away from you. Determined to win this argument.

Having the audacity to convince you that you’re in the wrong here. As if your innocence and sweetness toward passersby meant that you were unfaithful rather than enjoying simple pleasures. Your one interaction with a man deemed nothing but cheating, and all because he versed you in a mortal kombat game.

“Oh, what? I’m supposed to tell you not to go out and fucking flirt with other people?”

Jill has never acted like this before. Had always bathed you, her beautiful and prized girl, in dollops of sugary sweet words and reassurances. She’s the older woman here. Shouldn’t she be more understanding? But so stuck in her old-fashioned ways, brain clearly riddled with arrogance and self-righteousness.

An argument had never been formulated, emotions never stirred. Maybe a few huffed words were exchanged over which groceries to buy, or what dinner to eat — but such verbal abuse was nonexistent. Had never happened in your “tranquil” relationship. Except for now, that is.

So much effort, all for the middle-aged woman’s tender facade to be burnt down into smithereens, and her jealousy is like spitting fire, making your eyes well up with liquified warmth. You harshly remind her of her mistakes prior. Your planned date with her, the arrangements and proposed ideas. All for her to be entwined in her cellular device, making calls and sending out texts for the whole day.

“What about earlier? When you ignored me, and were glued to your phone all day? Clearly your job is more important than me.”

The waterworks threaten to spill over the dam that is rightfully your rounded eyes, glistening tears mounting in transparent pearls along your rows of onyx shaded lashes. Something in Jill’s face twists at the sight, her stomach churning. Realization, but it’s blurred away quickly.

“You couldn’t care less about me, could you? You promised me— promised you’d spoil me today and give me your undivided attention. I guess I don’t matter?”

You swallow mid-sentence, heart thumping against the structure of your rib cage. Each word of yours is so weak and broken, resembling a sickly and puny hiccup. Your trembling palms are grasping for the counter behind you, nails clutching for the cool surface. You were tired of the accusations. Exhausted from being denied her love and affection, and instead being faced with taunts and insults. You deserved better than this.

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me. Because he gave me a better time? Because he didn’t toss me aside for hours and avoid me? Break promises?”

The way you bit back was unexpected, but the moment you let it sink it, regret soon molds over.

The air surrounding the two of you is thick and heated, so sweltering that it threatens the capability of breathing. Your words had struck Jill deeply, aiding the maddened concoction that bubbles in the blackened abyss of her belly. The acidity rising up the tube of her esophagus, bile trapped inside her throat.

“I’m done with this conversation, Jill. You’re just- you’re not being fair. I’m not going to argue with you over this.”

And when you turn to face away from her? Daring to flee, even in such a time like this — strict actions soon come after the exchange of harsh words.

Jill crosses the room, a large hand stretching to reach you. Her calloused hand circles around your wrist, clutching you firmly and with much purpose, thumb dipping toward the head of your ulna bone. She pulls you in a sharp and precise yank, not caring about how she manhandles you, even after the exaggerated yelp that is pushed from your plush lips.

The rough pads of her fingertips dip into your smooth flesh, her blunt and trimmed nails digging crescents along the velvety surface, forcing you to succumb to her forced authority. So many years she’s spent using those fingers to wield weapons and train in combat, now abusing their force of power by bending you into a cage of submission.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

Another tug, and your shoulder blades collide against her chest, your figure taut and almost held in a paralyzed state, not daring to move an inch. Nor a bare centimeter. Your face grows pallid, knees wobbling beneath you and nearly failing to stay balanced.

“Don’t ever walk away from me when I’m talking. Do you understand me? You listen when I speak to you.”

Moist heat fans over the stretch of your nape, and your neck hairs curl up in response. Goosebumps prickling up along your arms and legs the moment you are subjected to the humidity of her breath blowing out along your ear, her robust anatomy pressing rigidly against your own limbs.

You can hear the clack of spit draw atop her gums, echoing along the press of her tongue whenever she’s vocal. Her voice is gruff and deep, yet feminine and rich all the same. Drawing out sentences of dominance and command that make strange waves of heat lap at your tummy, pooling in the center of your cotton panties. You mistake the sudden dampness for a burst of anxiety.

“Do you have any idea…”

She pauses, as if holding back from lashing out on you entirely. She’s being cruel. Scowling as she stands behind you. Her breasts flush along your back, and her firm hands trapping you down. Making sure you don’t run away this time. Not that you’d even contemplate it.

“Do you have any idea how I felt? How I feel? The shit I do? I’ve got a job. Risk my life every fucking day. I’ve been in this mess probably longer than you’ve been alive, you know that?”

A gulp resounds from your mouth, tastebuds along your wriggling pink muscle now wrought with parchedness, lacking any formulation of moisture. Valentine continues after taking a sharp breath, each syllable she pronounces is rough and gnarled.

“So I can buy you stupid shit, like a ticket to the arcade. So you can sit around, and let some shithead drool over your head. And now you’re blaming me? Because I had some calls to make? Because you couldn’t be patient for a split second?”

Her calloused digits release the grasp along your wrist, now shooting upward to thread through the roots of your hair, curling into the locks and giving a firm tug. Controlling the position of power so tortuously. She pulls so hard that a squeak is forcedly erupted from you, stars swimming in your vision.

“And the funniest thing?”, she grimaced, still scowling beside your ear, “you haven’t apologized once. You didn’t even try.”

She yanks along the strands as if your tresses are some sort of personalized leash, nails scraping along the slope of your scalp, bringing you so far back that the arch of your throat is craned downward. The crown of your head pushed into her pronounced collarbone, doe-like eyes peering up at the older woman.

“Do I have to teach you how to apologize now, too? Have no goddamn manners for your age. Always want everything.”

Warmth floods your tummy once more. Something runs slick along the square of your gusset. You feel it whenever you wobble and shake, the sensation of stickiness webs elongated strands across the bridge of your puffy labia. It’s not your self-proclaimed anxiety. It’s your undeniable arousal.

“I’m sorry”, you sputter out a hoarse response, your supposed apology that the older woman demanded. She doesn’t seem to let up though, but of course she wouldn’t. Jill Valentine has never been the type to easily succumb — or sugarcoat, either. And with the current events? Consider her praise and sugary sweetness gone for tonight.

“You’re sorry”, she grunts out mockingly, condemnation swirling in the depths of her obsidian pupils. “I’m sure you are.”

With your hair still firmly gripped between her fingers, she presses her hips into the softness of your rear, propelling you forward with a quick shove.

You stumble on your clumsy feet the moment she ushers you into the kitchen, steps unpurposefully misplaced, and soon enough — your right cheek is smushed along the crisp white marble countertop. You find yourself bent over the kitchen’s island, memories of dicing vegetables along cutting boards, and preparing supper for your lover have been eradicated. Replaced by an image of sheer wanton destruction.

It’s filthy the way you writhe along the hardened surface, thighs spread apart and separated by Jill’s intruding knee. She wedges her toned leg in-between, the warmth of her kneecap placing cruel pressure against that specific swell that hides inside your undergarments. You have to bite back the urge to grind your hips downward; the temptation is so intense that it makes your brain fog.

“If you’re so sorry, you know what you did wrong, I take it?”

Both of her slim and scarred hands abandon your hair and slide down the bend of your spine, digits rolling up your pretty little skirt in each palm, crumpling the cotton material into an irrelevant lump of creased fabric. Jill shrugs the hem of the garment to the top of your hips until it’s shriveled and stiff, baring your back-end to her hungry eyes.

“So”, she begins to speak, the trace of her hands along the suppleness of your right cheek was nice and simple, her voice devoid of any real emotion, “tell me

what you’re apologizing for.” She cups the soft flesh, her fingers dipping into your ass as if it were dough. “And what you did wrong.”

What you did wrong? The hilarity of it all was tremendous.

You can’t find the words to speak, no reasonable way to reply to her command. You nearly huff from the audacity, but your words grow choked up, and your voice is drained due to the spreading ache that suddenly engulfs your rear. She’s spanked you, quick and sharp, the edge of her calloused palm dragging against your soft flesh like a whip, the texture like dry sandpaper as it strikes you.

A cry bursts from your lips, a wail so pitiable that Jill can’t help but chuckle with dastardly amusement. Any other moment, and she would have soothingly brushed her fingers against the crimson welt that shapes into your ass, offering cherishing caresses in replacement of a verbal apology. But In her current belief? Your lack of response challenges her patience, nearly ready to land a firm hit against your flesh for a second time.

“I’m- I’m sorry for talking back-”, words tumble out in a clustered mess, your speech impaired due to the throbbing ache that courses up along your hip. You grit your teeth once the same treatment spreads to the surface of your adjacent hip, Jill’s hardened blows lashing along the unmarred skin, leaving no patch of muscle unattended.

“And for speaking to him-”, three spanks she’s planted, and yet you’re already a quivering mess, shrunken and beaten against the solid countertop. There’s no doubt in hell that she’s not being easy with you, and the experience behind her proficient hits proves that.

“Jesus Christ.”

The older woman mumbles out, and the way she hisses under her breath is akin to something of judgment and surprise. A blunt nail curls into the hem of your underwear, tugs it, and stretches the flimsy and sheer fabric upward.

It’s only then that you realize what she’s scrutinizing. Especially after you feel the drag of her thumb dipping toward your clit, rubbing slow circles against the cloth in a devilish tease. Your teeth clash and bump against each other, a pathetic whine almost escaping, and all due to the older woman’s perverted touch.

“Your panties,” a boisterous laugh bellows from the pits of her stomach, and you flush with embarrassment as you understand what she means, “you’re soaked.”

Lo and behold, you indeed were “soaked” (as Jill had quoted). A patch of wetness soils the gusset of your undergarments, arousal seeping past the threads of fabric, darkening the material that’s clung against the swell of your cunt. To make matters worse, you’re bare and vulnerable, right in front of the older woman’s eyes. She won’t live that down, you just know it. Not until the day you die.

A grunt resounds in the kitchen, her form separating from yours to stand upright, lengthy fingers lazily threading over the zipper of her pants, tugging it downward, hearing the sound rip its way loose.

“So goddamn mad at you right now”, she mumbles under her breath, glowering at your crumpled figure. “Can’t fucking believe you. First, you’re arguing with me — and now this?”, the scowling brunette's fingers finish plopping open the last few buttons of the jeans she’s wearing, navy blue boxers snug underneath. Her pants slither down the hardened muscle of her thighs, undressing herself with impatience.

“Get to the room. Now”, she demands of you, and with that mere order, nothing else needs to be said. There’s no need to delay the inevitable. “And take off that skirt, while you’re at it.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, each thrum of the frenzied and wild organ so heavy that you feel the weight of it sink into the depths of your body. With every singular step, you risk stumbling against the wooden floor; your shoes barely touch the ground as you practically race and scramble just to reach the bedroom door. Like a delicate flower, you are — carried by the gusts of wind that are Jill's oppressive instructions.

With clammy palms and trembling fingers, you grasp for the steel knob and swing the door open, wasting no second to wobble forward and seat yourself off the edge of the mattress.

Metal collides and clinks together in warning, telling you she’s coming. Undoing her shirt, and wrapping the belt around her hand. The processed leather screeching and creasing underneath the grind of the older woman’s digits. She follows your shadow in leisurely strides, turning the corner with measured composure and a solemn expression. As if she hadn’t already planned on how she was going to fuck you dumb.

It only makes the thickened heat between your thighs dribble further into its cotton bed, as each crisp and rough stomp of her boots along the solid floorboards makes you warm with want. Eager. Anticipating. Thighs grind together once you manage to slither your heels off, toes curling into the carpeted material below the bed.

And when you finish unzipping the top of your skirt, allowing the fabric to lower from the dip of your waist, and pool around your ankles — a figure of dominance and control stands in the doorway, the hall devoured by darkness.

Over the course of time, love and intimacy came in their own, individual ways. Between the two of you, that is.

The middle-aged woman found herself to be consistently busy, her nose always pointed and buried into the stack of reports she needed to finish, wrists tight and strained from how long she’s spent scrawling notes amongst the white sheets of torment.

Sex wasn’t as common. Lovemaking being quick and rushed, soft words spoken, honeyed kisses exchanged between bated breaths and velvety lips that speak words of encouragement and devotion.

Nights spent wasting away by the creaking wood of Jill’s office desk. The one she has propped away in some messy room of the apartment. Cork-boards filled with maps and pinpoints, a few pictures of you propped up in irrelevant areas. Atop the cabinet — framed photos of your beaming face furnished along the white walls. She’s got you everywhere, along with her crumpled balls of paper that are strewn around the floor, obvious that she grew too tired or lazy to throw them into the trash bin. She loves you so much that it’s sick.

The brunette finds herself arching her spine into the back of her rolling chair, bony fingers threading through your tresses, curling into it as she grunts. Her head is thrown back as she huffs out sequences of sultry content, your tongue laving bundles of spit over her clit, dipping near her entrance and tasting the drip of her cunt, humming as you feel the press of her fingertips along your skull.

Another night you’ve searched for her, desperate and deprived and begging on your knees. Another night she orgasms, groaning and gasping as she spasms against the lap of your tongue. It repeats like a record, over and over. Until the next day she goes back to work, and refuses to make time with you all over again.

It’s different today. Where everything tumbled down the rabbit-hole.

The sight of her now is so rare, you’re sure you’ll never forget such an image. Obsidian shaded silicone protruding from her pelvis, tilting toward the ceiling as if it’s some striking weapon, foreseeing a prophecy of impending doom. A toy she purchased months before, buried in the past. Clearly forgotten about, and never used — unfortunately kept tucked away into the bottom of her wardrobe. Sleek and shiny. Brand new, and ready for a good breaking in. Tonight’s the night, you suppose.

Her almond shaped eyes bore into yours, rich-colored cerulean swirling around dilated pupils, speaking words without volume. She’s as enchanting as she is daunting, threads of syrupy strands curling down the stretch of her sharpened cheekbones, hair falling as she keeps her gaze on you. The portrait is so beautiful and provocative, you’d never wish this memory to diminish.

“Open your mouth.”

Jill drawls, low and raspy as she waits with her palms laying flat on her hips. Glancing down at your feeble figure which kneels before her, staying balanced whilst you clamp your hands against her thighs.

Poor thing you are, so cautious and wary when your mouth opens, your jawbone taut and rigid, feeling like weighted stone as your quivering lips press forward.

You’re new to this, inexperienced to the bulbous head that is welcomed into the accommodated warmth of your mouth. The plastic has no taste, just the scent of its artificial realness drifting past your nose hairs and swirling around the dizziness in your head.

You clamp tighter around her thighs, swallowing waterfalls of anxious drool down the well of your esophagus, your timid tongue curling up and hiding beside the security of your tonsils. Too nervous to thoroughly take her in.

Like an infant against a pacifier, suckling the tip further into the wetness of your gums, keeping your eyes closed all-the-while the rubber like-plastic protruded from your right cheek. Terrified to be face-to-face with her snarling and haughty judgment.

“You think that’s good enough?”

A calloused hand soothes across the hairs of your nape, laid to curl and rest there as she draws you near. A reminder that she’s in charge. The hardened press of her thumb into your neck confirms that.

“Stick your fucking tongue out. Blow me like a big girl, yeah?”, her tongue runs over her enamel and she sucks, swallowing dryly against the glistening whites of her teeth. “Do it how I want”, and so you try.

With you kneeling, bare and naked, tits hanging below you, and your cunt squeezing around thin air between your legs — you comply. Your cheeks hollow out as you take half of the length into your waiting mouth, plopping the heavy silicone amongst your writhing tongue, allowing the pink muscle to curl around the mushroom-shaped tip. With the rough and warm hand guiding you, you bob your head to a steady rhythm, spit and gargles conjoined.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just keep quiet and put that pretty mouth to good use.”

Slick draws cold over the flesh of your lower lips, arousal potent and thick like molasses as it drips between each pulsating fold. A piteous mewl reverberated in your throat, sweet eyes flitting up to catch Jill’s gaze, and she swears to the heavens she could come from that innocent look alone. The salty tears brimming along the corners of your waterline, mere seconds from spilling — the flush of your skin. You take her so well, you always do. It almost makes her want to croon, and to apologize for being so filled with contempt.

That’s not to be easily given, though. Especially not with the way you gag when the rubberized cock dips past your tonsils and tickles along the slimy walls of your throat, reflexes causing you to choke. You're quick to gain composure, though, too cock-drunk to allow the show to end. You’re back to bobbing your head, nails digging crescents into Jill’s thighs as you clamp tighter and tighter.

You want this. It’s a fact that aids in inflating Jill’s ego.

The bedroom mirror captures the image just across from the both of you, and the older nearly groans at the vision. Watching your pebbled nipples fatten and swell within the reflective glass, breasts swinging as you brought your mouth down with every push. Imitating the way Jill ruts her hips carelessly into your mouth, matching your rhythm. Jesus, it was a sight.

A hand fists into your hair, halting your desperate movements and dragging your mouth off her spit-lathered dick. A sheen of drool pearls along the plastic veins that wrap around the black shaft, glimmering and glistening under the wax and wane of the yellowed lighting. Leaving with an obnoxious pop — you gasp for breath after the separation, spittle soiling your pretty face and coating your lower chin in patches of saliva — all in which had gushed out when you were too busy blowing Jill’s length.

“That’s enough”, the brunette says, respiring heavily, “lay on the bed.” The harness strapped to her hips rattles, the toned muscles in her abdomen rippling with every sharp inhale she takes. She directs you with the point of her chin. “On your back, legs up.”

Spots of black speckle your vision for a second, your sight blurred from the liquid pooling in your eyes, and pearls of sweat lining in columns within the pores of your forehead. It’s hard to almost process what she says, but you understand after a moment of catching your breath, your palms separating from her thighs.

Your knees wobble once you physically begin to stand on your feet, and you internally chastise yourself for not being quicker and more precise. You totter over a couple of feet, crawling atop the silky sheets without much complaint, and she’s in your peripheral, right behind you.

The comfort of the bedsheets surround you, cushioning your form and laying you like a princess amongst her throne. It’s necessary, of course, due to the older woman’s authoritative press of her hand into your chest, sinking your naked body further into the comforter. Might as well get snug before your brain is fried from sex, which leaves you as nothing but a pile of sizzled, meaty mush.

“Atta girl”, Jill coos with a salacious glint in her eyes, her hips meeting the backs of your thighs the moment she grasps onto your legs and keeps you held upright.

She slants her head to the side, brunette strands falling astray as she examines your pussy, calloused hands kept firm around your ankles. A few seconds of examination, and then a shit-eating grin becomes pronounced over her features. Thoroughly complacent after acknowledging that you’ve grown so wet that she doesn’t even need to prepare you.

“Don’t even move an inch”, she warns, “Just like that.” A hand slithering down from your ankle to her pelvis, taking a moment to stroke her silicone dick for a moment, a palm wrapped firmly around the thickened shaft; making haste to rub the head up against your cunt. She lubricates herself in your juices by rocking her hips to a steady rhythm, the toy dipping back and forth beneath the cushion of your lower lips, watching the moisture disperse. A generous coat of your sloppy spit and arousal scillinates over the deeply shaded rubber.

A whine escapes your lips, head thrown back as she teasingly stimulates your clit just from the gentle prod of her cock slotted up against your pussy, and you sob, hands clamping down on the sheets with desperation. The friction is delicious and brutish equally.

But nothing in this universe compares to the euphoria of when she fills you. Guiding the toy with one hand, watching the girth fill you with ease. It’s a tight fit, your cunt swallows her up within mere seconds, squelching cervix walls wrapping around her length. As if never wanting to let go, mirthful at her forceful entry. You’ve never felt so stretched before, it’s almost indescribable how big Jill Valentine is.

“Jill….”, you cry, but it’s with bliss rather than pain. The sound of your high-pitched squeaks are enough to make her rasp out a moan, scarred hands pressing your legs up to your chest, basking in the submissive portrait you’ve painted. The brunette feels her own heat build up beneath the restriction of her strap harness, salivating whilst she watches your adorable little bud grow erect. No longer thinking about the guy from earlier, now, are you? Neither is she.

The older woman drives her dick further within you, in and out, in and out — all with a precise rock of her hips, her muscles relaxed. Beads of salty sweat slip down in rivulets, the lines of liquid traveling past her neck and in between the supple dip of her cleavage. Consumed by the ample swell of her tits hiding beneath the gray fabric of her sports bra.

She fucks you until you orgasm too many times to count — and what else is there to do? With you, so weak and whorish beneath her, always bent from her instruction. She’ll continue until you’ve learned your place.

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER ONE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about. Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, tiny reference to reader being a murderer lol, brief mention of child death, body horror, murder, descriptions of torture, Jack and reader arguing and not shutting tf up.

Word Count: 3.7k

A series of loud knocks on your office door interrupt your typing. “Come in.”

Your face stays looking at your screen, continuing your rhythmic clicking of the keyboard. You know who it is; you can see his burly stature in your peripheral vision, not to mention the way you can feel the energy sucked out of your body the moment he walks into the room. A trait that he has unknowingly tortured you with, a trait that is distinctly-  “Jack.” You state, breaking the tension. 

“It's good to see you.” What the fuck does he need. 

“I’m writing up the blood report for the Anderson case. Give me… 25 minutes, it’ll be yours.” You say, briefly glancing at him. You see that look in his eyes; he needs something, and his gaze is too sympathetic for a request for a blood report, let alone a blood report for a case he has nothing to do with. 

“Could you take a moment?” He’s frustrated, or maybe embarrassed; your lack of interest is not leaning in his favour. A part of you blissfully believes that if you stay apathetic towards him, he’ll walk out of your office. Maybe he’ll stomp, leave the door open just to peeve you, but nonetheless, you’ll be left alone to continue to describe the direction of the arterial spatter left on the blue living room curtains that clashed against the yellow cigarette stained walls.

In the corner of your eye, you can see him move closer, taking four deliberate steps closer. But that's all it takes for his black suit to transform into navy blue and for his sour look on his face to become clear as he firmly places his calloused hand on your shoulder. 

“I-I need you.” He sighs. He’s letting me know that he’s putting himself in a vulnerable position and that he doesn't want to be here either. “Eight girls are missing with no bodies.”

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard and cease typing. “That's not my problem, Jack. No body, no blood, no me.” As much as you try to swallow your annoyed tone, it slips out of your mouth before you can sand it down to a polite, soft refusal.

He pulls his hand away. “Elise Nichols, 19. She was supposed to house sit for her parents and take care of their cat-” 

“I’m trying to finish something Jack-” 

He interrupts your interruption. “Same height, weight, age, eye colour, hair colour as all these missing INNOCENT girls, and you don't care?!” He’s trying to make you feel guilty, obligated. But why must he disrupt your workplace? 

With a deep inhale, you answer, glaring at the blue light emanating from your monitor. “I’m back to doing blood work, Jack. I left the business of profiling, and I already have things here I am obligated to do.” Like more paperwork and plans for the plastic wrap in your trunk.

“I talked to your lieutenant, and she's more than willing to alleviate you of any duties; there's people on the forensics team to tie everything over without you.” He tries to reason, and if anything frustrates you more that he talked to your boss first. He may have had the assumption that you would jump at the opportunity, that everything would be water under the bridge, and that you two would walk out of the building holding hands and skipping gleefully. Or maybe he would need to convince you, but the second he put his hand on your shoulder, you’d understand. That you two would look at each other and have a silent understanding of what must be done, that you’d forgive him, and that you would remove the burden off his shoulders and cradle against your heart.

“But they can’t do what I do, like I do.” You quip.

“Which is exactly why I need you, not even for the full run just…” He breaks off his sentence and drags a hand over his eyes. He inhales through his nose and out of his mouth in an attempt to ground himself. “We’re going to Minnesota tomorrow, and I’m asking you to join.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn't changed much; he’s such a stubborn Taurus man. “And I’m declining. I’m not going to argue with you Jack. I’m sure this wasn't an easy thing to do or ask from me, and I’m sorry for disappointing you but I can’t do this. I’m not the same person anymore, and I’m not going to be helpful.” 

His expression softens with a margin of sympathy. You didn't think he was expecting you to acknowledge the elephant in the room; in all honesty, you weren't either. 

There's an uncomfortable silence laid across you both. It's his turn to speak, yet, he’s having trouble finding his words. “I doubt much has changed about you in what? 22 months?” He counters, It's a weak reply; he’s nearing his end of this discussion. He'll leave with his head hung low with the files still gripping his left hand, and you will continue typing up yours. 

“I don’t want to keep disagreeing with you Jack, but you keep making me and it's hurting my feelings. I don't want to do this.” It's your turn to be vulnerable, candour? No, but making it seem like he just tore the stitches off an open wound is the way to fast-track his guilt and exit. It’s time for you to sustain eye contact for the first time during this conversation. 

“I’m tired, Jack. I’m still trying to gather the missing pieces of who I was that broke off.” You plead with him. 

“So you break off all personal relationships you have, Will Graham.” I’m sorry, what about Will?

He said it to pique your interest, and he did. What an asshole. You can’t not ask how he’s doing. The itch to know how he’s been spending his days is an impossible thing not to scratch, plus, this is your best-no, least creepy way. You could find one of his students, email them, and ask how their professor seems to be doing. Ask if he’s gotten a new haircut. Glasses? A dog? That’s a completely normal thing to do. Or you could ask Alana. Fuck no. 

“You’ve been talking to Will?” You say before looking back towards your computer screen, you can’t help but be a bit ashamed of how easily he hooked you in. 

He spins the arm of your chair and spins it 90° to face him. “He’s assisting with this case.” 

You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he waits for your reaction. “I hate to sound narcissistic, but did he join you with the understanding that I would also be assisting?” You have to know if he’s still thinking of you. You know he’s not fond of Jack, so you can’t help but wonder why he agreed. 

He pops his chest out like a fucking bird, trying to assert dominance. “He’s not. We were meant to fly out tonight but I wanted to ask you first.” 

“You halted the investigation of a case to request my help?” He feels a sense of responsibility to help you; he still cares about you; or he is still guilty enough that he wants to right his wrongs. Maybe if you help him and save another girl's life per his request, all will be forgiven. But he’s still so career-driven that the only way your pain could be absolved would be work-related. You would have settled for a heartfelt apology; hell, you would have settled for a fruit basket if it meant his emotional harassment would cease.  

“That is immensely stupid. For someone who seems to be so invested in this case I find it ridiculous that you would halt an investigation for a one-ended conversation.”

Jack grunts out something unintelligible before grabbing his phone. 

“What?” You say, if he’s going to make a remark you’d rather it be audible instead of under his breath. 

“Would you like me to call Graham?” He says with pursed lips, tapping his finger on the side of his phone. He’s taunting you; you stay silent until he flips it open. 

You stand up and attempt to snatch the device out of his hand before he quickly pulls it out of your reach. “What the fuck is wrong with you Jack?!”

“What is wrong with YOU! You can prevent this girl's death and you’re not doing it because of what? Pride? I’m sure if you just read the files you would give valuable input!” He shouts. 

Now this is becoming a serious problem. “You do not get to come to my workplace and disrupt me and my coworkers.” You say sternly, and you jab a finger into his chest before continuing. “If you’d like me to read the files for your peace of mind, and for you to know that there's nothing I can add that you can't I will.”

“Then do it.” He growls. 

“Under one condition.” You add, “You take Will Graham off this case. Actually, you just leave him alone.”

He pauses for a moment, actually considering it. You can feel the tension in the room deflate as he contemplates the idea. “I-” He starts, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, but I can't do that. If you're not going to be involved in this case I need Graham.” He answers. 

You feel your heart fall to your stomach. Will shouldn't be working under Jack; he’s selfish and greedy when it comes to his agents. He’ll push Will, won’t listen to him when he asks to stop, and won’t force him to stop when he gets too immersed. 

“I’ll look at the case file and talk to you when I get off.” You say with an exhale, you can feel the tension in your neck. You turn your back to him and sit in your chair. “Leave it on my desk.”

He doesn't reply, but you can feel his stare. It's been silent for so long that you're about to say something, but he beats you to it. “Thank you.” He says so quickly that you're not even sure if it happened; before you can even look back at him, he walks out of your office. 

2 YEARS EARLIER

You hop out of your car onto the pavement, a street filled with police cars, no parking; you had to park down the street. The more steps you take, the more clearly you can see the spectacle in front of you. Press arguing with the police, concerned neighbours chatting to each other in between bites of their nails. You make your way in front of the house; it's no more than a one-bed, one-bathroom place. 

“This is a crime scene. I need you to leave; you can’t be on the property mam.” You hear from your right, and when you turn your head, you see an officer. 

“I’m forensics.” You say, walking past him and flashing your laminate, Does he just think you carry around this heavy ass bag and camera for fun?

The front door to the home opens slightly. Jack exits and immediately closes it behind him. As he turns around to scan the front yard, his eyes fall on you. “I need you in here now.” He shouts while pointing at you. If the audience outside of this house wasn't enough to convince you this is a bad one, Jack's tone does. 

The closer you get to him, the urgency in his body language becomes more apparent, his foot tapping on the wood below him. Once you make it to the steps on the porch, Jack begins to speak. 

“I’m going to need you to prepare yourself for this one; it's bad.” Well, there goes holding onto any hope.

“I’ve seen my fair share of 'bad'; I think I can handle it.” You say as you reach for the door knob, his hand on your wrist stops you. 

“I know you have, but I’m serious. I’ll open the door; you go first.”

“Okay?” You say, Jack's not one for dramatizing a crime scene. Two parts of your brain are arguing, half telling you to go turn tail before you see something you can't unsee. But the other part of yourself, the morbid, dirty part, wants nothing more than to see whatever gruesome scene is inside. 

Jack barely opens the door, just enough for you to squeeze through without any of the plethora of onlookers on the street to see. But before you can even take a step in, your senses are swarmed with a putrid smell. You’ve smelled a lot of dead bodies—badly decomposed ones with bugs living in bodily cavities. Or worse, children. Or worse then that, badly decomposed children with bugs living in bodily cavities. Before you can fully step into the house, the sight you see stops you in your tracks. 

You’re greeted with the living room upon entry and the kitchen to your left. There's no sofa, no coffee table, no TV, nothing; the room is free of furniture, though not empty. Taking centre stage is a large naked man, caked in what you presume to be mud, kneeled completely naked face down in the feeding trough in front of him. 

“What the fuck?” You look back at Jack, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “No one had seen him for a while; one of the kids in the neighbourhood got curious and crawled through the doggy door and found him.” 

“Holy shit.” You even get anything intelligent to come out. Your brain just stopped working correctly. It's awful and horrible. You should be thinking about how much this man suffered and how traumatized that poor child must be, but all you can think about is how disgusting he looks.

Jack walks towards the body and holds it’s head up with his latex-covered hands; once it's held vertically, you see something attached to the corpse's head. You almost don’t believe it at first. You grab a pair of gloves for yourself out of your bag and slip them on as you walk forward; all of it gets worse as you get closer.

His fat grey face is covered in what you’re assuming to be pig feed; his bloated face isn't the issue; it's the two real pig ears attached to the top of his head. Upon closer inspection, you see that his head seems to be freshly shaved and the ears sutured to him. It’s not the worst attachment, though most sorts of medical professionals could be ruled out as perpetrators, the stitching is far too messy for that. Unless he was fully conscious.

The skin is severely discoloured around the animal's ears. Not only was he alive during it, but from what appears to be a severe infection around them, he was likely living with it for multiple days.

Before you can even collect your thoughts, Jack's voice interrupts you. “There's a tail too.” He says while nodding towards the man’s behind. Your mouth tries to make a noise of acknowledgement, but you fail to as you can't stop staring at the rings of dried blood and pus around the base of each ear. 

“If you want to take a moment, he had a backyard. It's fenced in, but I'd still watch out for anyone with cameras; I’m pretty sure Zeller’s out there.” You hear him say, It sounds so fuzzy, everything feels so fuzzy, actually. 

“I’m fine, just dissociating, I think.” You say, still not looking at Jack. “I’m blood, Jack. There's no blood, why am I here?”

He stands up, his knees cracking from no longer crouching. “Bedroom.” He simply states before walking to the left side of the house. As you follow him down the short hallway and take a glance into the bathroom, you stop as you see Beverly’s back blocking the view and entry.

“What's-” Before you finish, Bev moves to the side, giving you a full vision of the washroom. The floor was coated in a thick layer of dried mud. As you creep forward, you see the bathtub filled with what looks to be about two whole feet of mud.

She turns around to look at you, she looks so overwhelmed. You're not sure what to say to her or how you’re meant to console someone in this situation. Beverly rarely shows her her stress, but right now, she's wearing it visibly like it's one of her cheap fough leather jackets. You give up on trying to find anything to say, but she doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she seems just as silent as you. 

Your brain finally kicks into work mode. You walk away from Bev and towards Jack, he says nothing as he opens the bedroom door for you. The bed is covered with layers of blood, and the bedside table has a bloody needle and black thread looped through it. 

“I don't understand why he left it all here—he cleaned up everything, removed all the furniture. Why?” You hear Bev say behind you. You didn't even hear her walk in, but you suppose you were a bit preoccupied. Jack's silence is unnerving as you try to piece together the gruesome scene in front of you. The realization sinks in that this killer wants to leave a lasting impression on his victims. 

"He desires for us to feel repulsed." You think out loud. “He wants us to see every bit of torture the victim incurred, even if it risks leaving evidence; or maybe he’s confident he didn't leave any.” The victim—who is the victim?

“Do we have an ID?” You inquire, looking at Jack.

Jack clears his throat before speaking. “Cristopher Myers, 43, unemployed, living on disability.” He approaches the bed from the right side. “We don't have any DNA, only bootprints.”

At that, Beverly smiles. “You haven't let us work our magic yet.” She says before walking out of the room, boots clicking behind her. 

You sigh, realizing you have a lot of work ahead of you. You will have to survey every single thing. “Where do you want me to start?” You ask. 

Jack starts to say something, then stops, not even sure where to start. “Well how do you think this began?” 

“Not sure, but there were ligature marks on the victim's wrists, which I'm assuming he used while…operating on him, but I don't see any restraints. Unless they are around here somewhere else, he may have disposed of them elsewhere. I’ll ask Bev to see if there's fibres left in the wounds, they’re shallow but he still tugged on them enough to dig in; they look like rope marks, I think.”

He hums back, his eyes still fixed on the bloody bed. “I’ll ask her, you do your work.”

"All right." You say. “I’m gonna start taking some pics. Can you back up?” Jack doesn't respond, just walks out of the room. His footsteps halt, and his voice resounds through the walls. His voice is quiet but you can assume he’s giving Beverly directions. 

As you remove your camera from its case, you reason that it does not concern you and that you should focus on your work. Time to take some seriously macabre photography. 

You gaze into your microscope, blood sample 24; every piece of DNA discovered at the site belongs to the victim. "I can’t concentrate with your moaning, it's distracting." You grunt.

Jimmy lets up on his pacing behind you. "I feel like I’m at a dead end; I am not complaining, I am frustrated." He mutters, frustrated. 

“And I feel like you need an Ativan, Jimmy.” You can't focus with someone whining in your ear. 

"You’re not helping at all." He states.

"I still need to go through eight more samples and write a blood report, so go bug your work husband." Jimmy rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering a response under his breath. You take a deep breath and refocus on analyzing the slide in front of you.

This one was a droplet from the floor, likely from the nasal cavity, with the nasal mucus you can see. Yum.

The victim didn’t seem to have any nasal bleeding. He didn’t seem to have any blood around any visible orifices, actually. You grab the phone and call Jack. 

“Hello.” You hear his static voice. 

You clear your voice before speaking; you want to sound clear. "Hey, how much longer till we get the coroner's report? I think I might have found something.”

Before you can even get out the second syllable of your final word, he interrupts. “What.”

“Um, I’m going to test the blood to be sure if it’s a match to the victim anyway, but I found blood from a nasal cavity, and I don’t think it’s from the victim.”

It’s silent on his end for a moment. “I’ll fax a copy over to you when I get it, you do the same when the results come back. And I want to be the first person you tell the results too.”

“Yes sir.” You say before he hangs up. 

A part of you knows the results already, you know that the sample isn’t the victim’s.

PRESENT DAY

You pick up the file that Jack threw on your desk. You're done for the day, you should get in your car and go home. But it’s like you feel a physical string wrapped around your wrist that's tugging you towards the yellow file.

Fuck it, you think as you snatch it off your desk. As you read through the file, you understand more and more why Jack wants you to be a part of this case. And you understand why he was desperate enough to ask Will for help despite the contempt they hold against each other. 

You sigh as you grab your phone—your mobile, not the one sitting on your desk. You can’t call Jack; you're too bullheaded to call and verbally admit defeat. You type your message and hope that he still has the name number, you don’t think you could handle the heightened level of awkwardness that showing up unannounced would cause. 

You take a deep breath before hitting send. You still feel unsure about your rash decision to join the case as you stare at the two words you sent to Jack. 

“I’ll come.”

chapter 2

[death---dealer]

I love noa but blue eyes will always hold my heart ❤️

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND YOUR HONOR HE JUST NEEDS A HUG--

Part two to this imagine. Title: Fished. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: ( Getting BETTER ) Yearning! Blue Eyes x Human! Reader. Rating: K. ( Mucho fluffy. ) Words: 1.8K. Summary: Blue Eyes is not a chatter box. You knew this very well, but still, every so often, he'll bless you with a conversation and always leave you wanting more.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

The sound of twigs crushing underweight got Blue Eyes’ attention. He had been so invested in scouring the area with his eyes, checking for any signs of danger that it ultimately left him defenseless to an extent. Actions caused by his young age, something no doubt his Father would scold him about if he were there, about needing to not be so invested into his own personal thoughts that it caused him to lack focus on other, more important tasks. He could almost see, hear Caesar in his mind about that but he pushed it aside. Even when out on his own time, he found himself thinking about his Father. But--- what had caused the twigs to snap?

Blue Eyes tilted his head and out of the corner of his vision was a form. Ah… It was not dangerous, your scent hit him mildly before your entire being came into view and he turned his head back forward, following the dance of light as it seeped in from the sky above, casting fun shadows along the ground of the woods. It was just you. Just… You, Blue Eyes thought and turned his head to glance up at you, opting to rest in a rather comfortable crouch position as his gaze followed fish in the water in front of him that swam dangerously close to the edge of the shore.

‘Have fun?’ Your signing was rough around the edges, Blue Eyes thought with a huff to himself. A laugh of contentment. You were asking him if he was having fun. A brief expression of happiness hit him, and you felt a surge of gratefulness wash over you. The fishing expedition with himself, you and Ash had gone splendidly. Blue Eyes was quite adamant to be the watch for the entire trip. Not much fishing was done for him, he plucked a few once you were at the embankment of the river and hooted in excitement with Ash at how large a catch it was. You were impressed too, less so once he offered you to hold it, but impressed and happy nonetheless. But he did have a good time watching you and Ash. Ash and… you… You.

The way your body bent against the trick illusion of sunlight bouncing off the water, the chaos of the moment when Ash began chasing you with a fish at the end of his spear, the pleasure on your face when you took your spear out of the water, the tiniest of fishes on the very tip. Tiny, Blue Eyes could eat it in one bite but you were still so proud to call to him, to show it to him. He… He liked that. That you beckoned him, and the way that his name fell from your lips? Blue Eyes felt confused at that and often shook it off, but this time, he couldn’t. It lingered and felt like a mild thorn in his side. He ended up by the embankment in subtle silence, watching, waiting for the second you came back to him to tell him that this time was over, and that you were ready to head back.

With wrinkly hands from being submerged in water for an extended time, you propped yourself next to the Ape Prince, letting your eyes trail along your fingertips before smiling and dropping them into your lap. Pensive silence followed; Common with Blue Eyes but you always found it nice, the non-pressures of having to actually communicate. Ash had gotten himself busy with preparing for departure, you watched as he placed fish into a basket, weaved by yours truly. It wasn’t the best looking, a bit sloppy around the middle, but you couldn’t help but feel proud of the work you had done.

In all honesty, you didn't want to leave. To go back to the Colony in the same silence that you came in, save for Ash’s pestering about you and Blue Eyes. Whatever that Ape saw between his friend and you had to be catapulted in his mind. You didn't want to return just yet as you let your gaze sink into the Prince next to you. Words always found themselves dry when you tried to teeter in your mind how Blue Eyes looked to you.

He was svelte- given his age, given all aspects of his parents, you supposed that made sense. He hadn't quite grown into the same bulk that Caesar had, but no doubt that as the years passed, he would get there, even potentially matching or surpassing his Father. The mild part in his hair, courtesy of his Mother Cornelia. How soft it looked, you thought to yourself with a sigh of longing. What you would give to brush your fingertips through, just to know what it felt like. You imagined silky- the rest of his fur appeared coarse in nature, another aspect of age. He’d smooth out as he got older, the patches of fur that weren’t as thick as others along his shoulders would find themselves evened out and balanced perfectly against the ripple of his muscles underneath. You paused for a moment at the scars across his chest, starting at his right shoulder and encasing his entire upper chest with three parallel and long gashes. If they hurt him, he was good at covering it up as they had already begun to scab over.

The scar that encased his right cheek was noted, feeling a bit of sympathy rest against your chest. How you’d love to heal him, to help him. In these moments of silence, it was always his eyes that caught your attention. You were so used to the intelligence of the green eyes that his were always going to leave you breathless. The bright blue nature, so vivid against the backdrop of his pupils and limbal rings. You wanted to swim in them, that’s how dilated with color they were. You tried your best to gawk, but it was hard not to as you shifted your body ever so slightly to angle away from him, hopeful that if your entire being wasn’t entranced with him, maybe you could focus on something else.

Despite your attempts to cover, Blue Eyes knew you were looking at him. Every pass of your eye, every narrowing and widening, were documented. Known, accepted, and allowed. Blue Eyes did not know why, but even your presence, just sitting beside him doing absolutely nothing, caused him to rattle on the inside. You were great friends with him, you were great friends with Ash, but the stir in the pit of his stomach caused him to shift ever so slightly. He signed, hopeful that it was just a passing feeling and it would fade, ‘Lot of fun. Good fishing ground here.’

A response, albeit late, to your earlier inquiry. You smiled, nodding in agreement. You knew nothing about fishing, Blue Eyes had to know that. ‘I caught one.’ You signed proudly. ‘Finally.’ You tacked on with a laugh.

There was a flash of a happy expression across the Apes face at your joke. ‘Tiny,’ he joked right back, ‘Good, you learned how to do it.’

‘Had good teacher.’ The praise that Blue Eyes got from you pushed him through a metaphorical door. He felt… good. Good that he taught you so well, proud that you told him he was a good teacher.

Still, he could not bring himself to rest comfortably with the compliment from you, documenting the way it made his heart race, the way he felt clammed up when you smiled. ‘Ash is better.’ Ash is better at teaching how to fish, or other things?

You tilted your head and chittered softly, using your words rather than rudimentary signing. It had to be difficult for Blue Eyes to put together cohesive statements from your rather choppy knowledge of sign language. Getting better, but still hard to formulate complete thoughts. “Ash almost stabbed my foot thinking it was a fish.”

Blue Eyes let out a few huffs at that with an open mouth. He was laughing- not at you, but at the situation he imagined. He knew Ash to be that way, and odds are, his friend would deny it happening. He was the greatest fisher of the entire Colony, after all. Self-proclaimed, Blue Eyes sarcastically joked and made fun of Ash for it.

‘He gets… impatient.’ You could tell from the way his hands were moving that he was searching for motions you were going to understand. ‘Wants to catch all at once. Does not wait.’

That… sounded remarkably like Ash, but also like Blue Eyes and you found yourself slapped with a stupid looking smile as you said, “Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

Blue Eyes got quiet next to you in a mild form of self-reflection before snapping rather defensively, ‘No.’

That made you burst out with laughter, tilting your head back and placing a hand on your chest to catch your breath as you wheezed. Blue Eyes watched, turning his head ever so slightly at the sound you were making. Sure, he had heard Humans laugh before - in fact, this was not the first time he’d heard you but the way you moved, the way your head exposed your jugular to his eyes, the way you lightly placed an arm to his bicep, unknowingly or not, to keep yourself leveraged from falling over - Blue Eyes stiffened beside you and let out a small laugh, unsure why what he said was so amusing but he wasn’t able to bring himself to complain upon seeing your visceral reaction.

Wiping tears away from the corners of your eyes, you smiled once more at Blue Eyes. You opened your mouth to speak once more but were cut short as Ash came stumbling in behind the two of you, muttering something about the loss of time and that you needed to head back now to get to the Colony before dark. Blue Eyes gave you a passing glance as he stood next to his friend who gave him a raised eyebrow look - no doubt wondering what the two of you were talking about. Suddenly, as you were preparing to hike your body onto your feet, there was a hand in front of your face. Blue Eyes. You blinked at it, but accepted the action and grasped at his tightly. Without reserve and leaving you breathless as a result, he picked you up like you weighed nothing more than a leaf.

And in stunted silence, you began the trek back home, hoping to the high heavens that Ash didn't come to your reckoning and beg you to tell him about the details from your conversation with Blue Eyes. You wanted to keep his words to yourself.

[paleroze]

Diluc Imagines

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩

Seriously, a menstrual cramp is common for you, it happens whenever it is your month. You prefer to stay at home than usually stroll outside the Winery, with the help of the maids, they come to aid you whenever you call for them.

Especially Adelinde, she stays close and her ears basically all over the house just to wait for your call. She's too kind that you sometimes worry if the head maid is getting any rest, but knowing Diluc, your husband, he randomly gives the day off to his workers.

But back to your crisis, here you are resting on the bed, curled up into a ball as you hug your pillow to try and suppress the pain in your lower stomach as the pain cramps fails to go away. It is the first day, you wonder the next if you could handle it or ask for the maid to bring you a pill, but as stubborn as your husband, you never drink one.

Unless you faint from the pain, which happened just months ago that causes panic within the Dawn Winery.

Diluc steps inside the room and you didn't even notice him until the side of the bed weights due to his sitting. You didn't turn to face him and remain silent.

"My love, are you alright?" He asks in a soft tone, leaning over to get a look at your current situation. He wore a worried face and the thought of you passing out again scares him, he was not in the house when you fainted back then due to a meeting with the guild, and you understand and told him multiple times it is alright.

Now you have a husband at home whenever you have a period, he refuses to leave to take care of the business and instead passes it to Elzer who takes it without second thoughts.

You shake your head as your stomach aches once more, tightening your hold on the pillow.

Diluc sighs and lays beside you, hugging you from behind. "Come closer, I'll use my palm to lessen the cramp." He offers.

With his pyro vision, Diluc carefully infuses his hand to act as a heating pad and you let his hand drift under your clothes, he caresses the lower part of your stomach and you sigh with the warmth.

"Feel better?"

You hummed, placing your own hand above his.

With the comfort of his presence as well as the hand on your lower abdomen, you feel drifting back to sleep despite waking up just three hours ago. Due to the period cramp, you had to eat inside the bedroom despite your protest, afraid to stain the sheet but Diluc insists you eat in bed.

Despite hurting, you tried to act as if it never hurt. He finds it cute as well as admired you, but at the same time, he worries that something might've happened if you force yourself.

"You know," He uttered beside your ear, causing you to stir from almost drifting back to dreamland. You let out a grunt as a response, "I have another solution for it to disappear."

"And what is it?" You asked, tiredness evident in your voice.

"Put a baby in you."

You pinch his hand that makes him laugh, flinching from the pain but nonetheless finds it humorous.

"Don't talk like that Mr.Ragnvindr. I am not in the best shape to think things over." You glare at the window, refusing to look at him as the redness spread across your cheeks from the thought of your desires.

"I'm sorry. But hey, for nine months you won't get to experience—"

"Diluc, I swear I will kick you out." You tighten your hold to the pillow and try to suppress the thought of him making love with you.

"Alright, Alright. I'll stop." He chuckles and buries his face on your nape, giving featherlight kisses that make you shiver.

"I'll take care of you, so just rest, Darling." The last thing you've heard before you successfully drifted off to sleep.

[eevees-hobbies]

Predator - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Kyojuro Rengoku)

Synopsis: What’s hotter than making your boyfriend chase you in the woods while dressed in a spooky costume? Nothing.

Author’s Note: It has been a while since I’ve written for the love of my life, so here we are. This is 100% self-indulgent and OOC for Kyojuro and is also not an accurate portrayal of the time period, but I am aware. Let a girl lust, yeah? This is for the "No, You Hang Up" Kinktober Ghostface Collab event. Reblogs & comments always appreciated.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Kyojuro Rengoku. Degradation, dirty talk, cat-and-mouse, roleplaying, mention of claiming and marking, chasing in the woods, threatening to kill you, but pookie doesn’t mean it, choking/breath play, and ghost-face costume loosely implied but not explicitly mentioned. Tis Smut. Minors Do Not Interact. || Word Count: 2.2K

Banner by me. Divider by @sister-lucifer

“This is not an activity befitting of a Hashira,” Kyojuro grumbles, his voice uncharacteristically gruff and displeased, as he holds a plastic mask and black ankle-length cloak before him. He’s trying his damnest to appeal to your sense of sympathy and reasoning, but as he looks into your bright, lust-filled eyes, he knows your unwavering ability to reason is gone.

“Kyo! It’s fine. This is fine. Nothing you can do can hurt me, and I promise I can handle it.” 

Your voice drips with reassurance, but you’re practically salivating at the sight of the cloak he’s pulling over his head and now adhering to his muscular figure–the garment might be a tight fit, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Out of all of the Hashira, it wouldn’t hurt for Kyojuro to be a little less modest, you think, as the fabric strains against his muscles.

And even as you claim he can’t hurt you, you both mentally think about how that isn’t true. You, almost with reverence, and him with disheartenment of your fragility at the top of mind. 

Kyojuro can’t even begin to fathom who has been corrupting you in such a way that you get aroused at the idea of being chased through the woods by someone who wants to harm you. Don’t you get that enough in your profession as a Hashira with the ever-present threat that demons provide? But he can’t deny that he’s always ready to fulfill any request you may have, no matter how outrageous. He simply adores you far too much to disappoint you–some would call it love, but Tengen calls it being whipped.

“Ok, but we should have a safe word.” His remarks are muffled now that the mask is securely in place. It already annoys him how it tunnels his vision, but he can still see you clearly enough–so clearly that he’s watching you turn your back and dart into the woods. 

“No safe word then,” Kyojuro mutters, resigned yet still watching you with interest.

As he leans against a tree, he can’t help but admire your retreating form. The way your hips sway with each measured stomp of your foot, your thighs flexing as you maneuver around fallen tree branches. It all stirs something in him, some base instinct to claim and mark you, something he would never admit aloud to anyone.

And as he watches you, he kind of understands why you’re into this cat-and-mouse thing. It’s a way for you to live out this base desire to be chased in a no-pressure, non-life-threatening way he can provide. 

He figures he’ll give you a few more seconds before he catches you. You’re fast, but he’s much, much faster. Nonetheless, he wants to reward your apparent effort by allowing you to think you have a chance. But you’re naive if you think you can outrun, outmaneuver or outpower him.

He has to shake his head in disbelief—this mask makes him sound–and feel–like a predator. 

If you weren’t a Hashira, there’s no way you’d be as far out into the forest as you are right now. Years of training allow you to feel the expansion and deflation of your lungs as they move oxygen in and out of your body. You’re moving so fast that you feel like you’re soaring—you’re not even sure if your feet are touching the ground at this point.

Fuck.

But then you see it. You see a flicker of light subtly bouncing off the trees–if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, and you know when your other half is approaching, so quick on your heels that you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. 

But then it becomes so bright that it’s almost like the sun is starting to rise behind you. Despite that, you know better than to look over your shoulder. Looking behind you would mean getting caught. You’ve made that mistake before during sparring sessions, and each time, it resulted in him on top of you, breathing in your ear from behind and asking if you want to yield in a husky voice that never failed to make you shiver.

As you feel the unmistakable sensation of heat on your clothed back, you make a sudden turn. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a hand shooting past your face.

For an instant, you think you might have tricked him, and you let out a barely restrained, triumphant laugh, but then the upright trees are not upright anymore, and neither are you.

As Kyojuro’s body collides with yours, his hands reflexively moving under you to break your fall, you can’t help but be excited that you’ve lost because, truthfully, you’re about to win in all the ways that matter.

“Is this what you wanted, my flame? To feel like you’re in danger? Do you feel like your life is on the line?” He’s hovering over you, mask muffling his usual booming voice, but you can hear him quite clearly despite the sound of your heavy breathing and blood rushing in your ears.

You’d answer him honestly—tell him it’s impossible to ever feel genuinely in danger with him—but you’re too busy trying to recoup all that oxygen from running for your–theoretical–life,  so give him a head shake instead.

Under the mask, Kyojuro chews his lip, wondering what you need to feel or hear to make this experience worthwhile. But deep down, he knows, and he’s willing to give in to yours and his base desires, even if that means he has to act less like a Hashira and more like someone he would and could never be. 

He moves his hand to your neck, his fingers pressing against the pulse point that’s drumming erratically. He watches the corner of your lip twitch upward into an almost smirk that he all but wipes away when the entirety of his fingers wrap around your throat with the pressure that elicits a gasp from you. 

“I don’t have to do much to snuff out your life,” he informs you, his voice low and gravely, which is a far cry from his usual jovial tone. The way he says snuff is punctuated with the tightening of his grip as it threatens the air you just worked hard to recuperate.

Yet you somehow manage a “you’d snuff a cute girl like me out?” 

“You? I think I’d keep you around for a bit. You look like you might be good for something—scratching an itch, perhaps.”

Use me!

Let me scratch your itch, Kyo, your brain all but screams as he presses himself between your thighs. He doesn’t need much to convince you to spread yourself for him; the motion is almost automatic for you as his hands push up your skirt and pull the seat of your panties to the side.

“No foreplay?” You inquire with a purr as he moves the cloak out of the way enough to grab his hardening cock and press it against your heated cunt. He can feel how desperate you are with the way your sex is clenching in anticipation and the heat radiating from your core; it makes him smirk as he teases the entrance by dragging the fat head of his cock against her that only makes her weep your arousal and coat the forest floor. 

You reach up and snatch the mask off his face, and your breath catches in your throat at the sheer intensity of his gaze–it’s dark and hungry, which is a far cry from the usual reverent look he holds when he looks upon you. But this dark and hungry look? It makes you ache.

He looks down at you, eyes cold—a look you’ve only seen him wear a handful of times for the most troublesome of demons. As you stare up at him with bated breath, you can’t help that his look is appropriate because surely you’re haunting him with your little fucked up fantasy.

“Are you the type of girl who likes to be fucked on the dirty forest floor with leaves in her hair and her cunt exposed to the elements?”

Before you can answer, he’s bottoming out inside of you, and you didn’t need foreplay, but the lack of checking in from him–something you’ve certainly grown accustomed to–is jarring. 

You arch your back, expecting him to wait and allow you the chance to breathe, but his hand finds purchase on the column of your neck once again as he holds you down while starting the quick propelling of his hips, stretching you out as his pelvis connects with yours but then pulling out until the tip so much so that your cunt barely has time to grip him.

But Kyojuro can feel how she desperately tries to squeeze him like a vice, how she flutters and tries to embrace his cock in warm and wet blanket of velvet flesh. You feel like heaven and sin all in the same filthy stroke.

You reach up, your hands wrapping around his wrists in an attempt to get a grip on the situation, him, anything because you’re not used to this side of him, and he can see the shock and disbelief in your eyes. 

Fuck, he likes it. 

He leans down, lips brushing against yours, words coming out sickly sweet as he taunts you.

“Don’t tell me you bit off more than you can chew, my flame. You thought you’d be in control here? You thought I wouldn’t savor the opportunity to split you open on my cock right here when you’re offering yourself up to me so nicely?”

As he speaks, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off airflow to the point that you can feel yourself growing lightheaded; the only sensation that becomes apparent to you is the way his cock feels plundering into your cunt.

His lips remain skimming yours, occasionally opening as he lets out gasps–because even though Kyojuro is committed to the bit, he’s still so deeply affected by you and how you feel wrapped around his cock.

“So wet for me, pretty girl. Well, if you want to act like a bitch in heat offering yourself up to me until I mount you on the ground and sheathe myself inside of you, I’m going to act like a dog and take it,” he grunts with another exaggerated jut of his hips.

Kyojuro’s half-lidded eyes meet yours as he looks down at you. The leaves that have turned a rusty brown during the Fall season create a halo around your head, framing your magnificence in a way that feels justified to Kyojuro.

Fuck, you look so beautiful, especially when you’re taking his cock.

Tears are starting to prick at the corner of your eyes as he bullies your g-spot unrelentingly. Your mouth is opening and closing with only shattered moans and whimpers escaping from your parted lips as his hand squeezes the life out of you. 

You look so perfect like this, but, fuck, he realizes, you might pass out. He loosens his grip around your throat, and the way you gasp for air makes his cock throb because, honestly, the power he could hold over you is intoxicating.

“Thank me for not snapping your neck,” he whispers in your ear through gritted teeth. Oh, he’s close, so fucking close that he can feel his balls clench where they smack the curve of your ass. 

He’s not usually very comfortable with dirty talk, often fumbling the words as he speaks, his cheeks heating up as you reassure him that he’s doing just fine, but at this moment? In this moment, it feels right.

“Thank me for taking your cunt and not your life.”

“T-thank you, K-kyo!” A harshly punctuated thrust of his hips, thick-cock head driving into the sensitive ridges of your pussy serves as an unspoken warning for you to get it fucking right.

So you correct yourself, tilting your head back and practically screaming it for the entire forest to hear, “T-thank you, Kyojuro, for not snapping my neck and taking my cunt!”

Quicker than the last syllable can leave your lips, he’s crashing his mouth down onto yours, swallowing your moans and gasps, drinking them up like wine in an open-mouthed, messy kiss. He’s pouring into you as much as you’re pouring into him with a kiss that speaks to your deep connection and intimacy.

His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he holds it over above your head and rolls his hips deeper. The only sounds you’re privy to are the sounds of the leaves crushing under your bodies, your muffled moans as you exchange them mouth-to-mouth, and the obscene squelches coming for your cunt as he pushes deeper into you.

You’re so deliciously close–until you aren't, because you’re falling into a torrent of intense orgasmic waves, Kyojuro quickly following after you with a guttural moan released into your mouth.

After the ripples of your pleasure pass, he rolls off of you, the mask forgotten along with the roleplay as you both attempt to catch your breath again.

“Was that good, my flame? I’m sorry for the filthy things I said.” He looks at you with bright eyes, like he did all of this simply to please you, but you know better.

“Nah, you liked it.”

“I liked it.” he concedes with a chuckle as he brings your knuckles to his lips to place kisses laced with another unspoken apology for committing to the bit far too well.

@hayatoseyepatch @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn

[kentopedia]

starry silence

dazai x reader my lil contribution to the chaos that was today's episode <3 not quite a reunion, but the aftermath of one ෆ. i'm happy he's safe & sound, but he must be so tired. :( sfw !! kind of sad bc i’m also dealing w jjk leaks i love being in pain (i don’t)

as dazai slept, moonlight cut across his face, highlighting the contours of his skin, the dark maroon cuts and bruises that had been littered across his face. though he seemed the image of a soldier home from war, his freshly washed hair and soft breaths turned him into something much more gentle. dark strands fell in soft waves over his head, shifting as he stirred, his inhale just a skip before his breathing evened out once more. 

you traced his jaw, watching the steady streams of air flow through his chest, out his nose. he looked so angelic, so tender in that waxy moonlight, comprised of something otherworldly and earthly all at once. 

a soft sigh left his lips as you traced his chin, and something about that sound of relief, of him relaxing completely under your palm, had you choking up. tears pricked at the edge of your waterline like sharp needles, each one filled with something poisonous. 

dazai didn’t move, but you curled into a ball, squeezing your legs to your chest as he slept on.

he’d been out for hours, ever since he’d gotten out of the shower, collapsing in a pile of long limbs stretched toward every corner of the room.

the blankets were much kinder to him than the steel bed he’d slept on at meursault, where he’d always kept one eye open. now, though, even his own clothes fit him poorly, like the white prison pants that had hung so loosely off his waist. 

under his t-shirt, the angles of his collarbone had become sharper, the planes of his stomach much flatter than you remembered. though his features had never been soft, even the skin of his cheeks had thinned, stress taking more of a toll on him than he'd admitted.

it was peaceful night outside, no sounds of screams to be heard in yokohama. you were certain that you’d absorbed every ounce of turmoil that had lingered in the city beyond your doorstep, and it gathered up in your chest like a bundle of fiery energy. something that you weren’t sure how to get rid of without bending over the porcelain toilet. 

everything had resolved itself, hadn’t it? yet, you couldn’t shake the twisted anxiety that lingered in your chest, even when dazai was right beside you, sleeping soundly with no lasting injuries. 

you rested your chin on your knees, letting that emptiness swallow you whole, disappearing somewhere that wasn’t entirely there. the steady rise and fall of dazai’s chest was the only thing that kept you grounded, kept you from drifting away, lost in a spiral of every possibility that hadn’t come to be. 

a small sound of misery left your lips, and you bit down hard, tasting blood as two salty drops rolled down your cheeks. though the cry had been nearly inaudible, dazai heard it nonetheless, alway attuned to you, even the simple fluctuation of your heartbeat a beacon for him across the universe. 

“what’s wrong, darling?” his words were quiet, like he was hesitant to break the atmosphere, in fear that he might startle you. 

you blinked, not sure when your vision had become so blurry, and twisted your neck, letting your jaw rest against your shoulder. “nothing,” you said, but your smile was weak, and the word was hardly a sound at all.

dazai had tucked his cheek under his hands, blinking up at you with sleepy brown eyes that so resembled a child's. it hurt you all over again, that this aching soul who had never seen the beauty in himself had almost been taken away from you. 

your lips parted, but the words halted at your tongue as you pinched your eyebrows together, trying to explain what exactly was within you. it wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn’t relief either, a cumulation of everything you’d ever felt, and something entirely new. 

though, as always, dazai seemed to understand. he reached a hand out, fingers slender and delicate, placing them on your wrist. “it's not good to hold back your tears, my love.” 

as if you’d just been waiting for dazai’s permission, you shook once more, silently, the tears rolling down your cheeks faster, harder. he sat up, bringing you closer with every moment, until you were wrapped in his warm arms. ones that were battered and bruised, but still the safest place in the world. 

he smelled clean, more like himself than he had when you had reunited with him, and that fact alone sent another nauseating wave of emotion over you. you gripped his shoulders, his chest, unable to get any closer, even as you tried to fuse yourself into his being, turn yourselves into one whole that could never again be separated.

dazai kissed your temple, holding you as you cried, saying nothing until you could form the words to explain the ache that in the deepest part of your stomach, stretching to the back of your throat. 

“i was so close to losing you, osamu,” you said, and even if dazai denied it, even if he said he’d always had it under control, you knew that wasn’t true. one slip up, one miscalculation, and you never would’ve seen him again. a single error by chuuya, by ango, by yourself… 

dazai’s fingers twitched against your spine, and he, for once, was faced with uncertainty. like he hadn’t considered what would’ve been ahead of you when he was gone for good, even if his death would always be a possibility. even if you'd always known that if the world wouldn’t kill him, maybe he’d do it himself.

“i’m here,” dazai said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a lie, and you'd accept it for what it was woth. “I’ll be here.” 

there was no way to predict how long that would hold true, but you’d grasp that last spark of hope tightly nevertheless. you'd shelter it away in your loving embrace until the universe clawed it from your bloody palms, stealing the very last light that it had dropped down from heaven into your life.

and that would have to be enough.

"i probably won't write anything abt the episode, i really need to work on—" … rylie is such a silly liar (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Fracture: A What Is Broken Oneshot (18+) Sneak Peek

Two moon turns before he returns to you, Aemond calls Alys to him to relieve his stress, only for her to teach him something that Aemond will soon teach you, as well.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers, Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (referenced)

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy, infidelity, rough sex

Author's Note: Based on this ask, and expanded upon with the help of my horny mind.

Fracture

Aemond was at the southern window when she arrived, gazing towards his home, to where his little wife was held captive by their would-be usurper of a half-sister and their deranged uncle. It was a mistake to do so, to let his mind wander to her. Doing so only unsettled him – dredged up a sickly feeling of longing and guilt within his chest.

Thinking of her made his resolve waver. Dangerously.

His instincts screamed at him, clawing from within his heart as they begged him to mount Vhagar, fly south, and kill as many people as was necessary to take his little wife back.

“You summoned me, my prince?” A sickly sweet voice called from the doorway.

The owner of that voice was the sole reason he kept his feet firmly planted to the stones of Harrenhal. Not for any affection he felt for her, for there was none. But because of her assurances that his little wife was alive and well and would remain so. Because the witch Alys Rivers had seen it in her visions—the same visions that had guided him to victory time and time again and demanded that he remain in the cursed castle until the war was won.

It would be soon, Alys told him. In time for him to be by his little wife’s side before she took to the birthing bed. He just had to endure a little while longer.

But to endure, he would need Alys’ help.

He hated himself for it, but he needed it nonetheless.

“You took your time arriving.” He really shouldn’t have looked south while waiting for her, how he was in an even fouler mood than before.

Alys tutted. He hated when she did that – it reminded him of his mother. “Apologies, my prince, but I was with Maester Artos.”

He whirled, eyes wide as they settled on her abdomen, where the babe lay.

Their babe – Aemond and Alys’. His bastard.

He knew he shouldn’t care about it, should have commanded her to drink moon tea when she first suspected his seed had taken. But it was just a child. His child. And it had happened so quickly. With his little wife, it had taken nearly two years for their efforts to bear fruit. Perhaps this bastard had been the will of the gods, meant for some purpose he could not yet understand.

[hunny-beann]

Desiderium I

Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

-> Part II

Note: This fic absolutely breaks cannon in multiple ways, but I felt the urge to write this and created it thus lol, so I hope you enjoy regardless (and for my own sanity, we'll just call this an avenger!Loki au).

Synopsis:

Loki is plagued by a dream thrust upon him as punishment during his imprisonment, and finds that even once he regains his freedom, he still can't move past the vision of the life he could have had with you. And when those around him struggle to understand his sorrows, he decides to show them firsthand what he endured while asleep that night, and all that he lost both by waking up, and by making all of the wrong choices for far too long.

Oh, but it's never truly over, is it?

And your sudden reappearance proves that.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 5,057

"Does he ever stop sulking?"

Tony muttered under his breath after sparing a quick glance toward the aesir God of Mischief that sat in the corner of the room, staring into a cloud of green created by his own hand with a type of longing he had worn almost constantly for months now.

At first, many had thought his sullen nature to be a result of his capture and subsequent imprisonment, but even now that he was far more free to roam and do what he pleased (within reason), his somber attitude still had yet to let up.

In fact, some would even swear that it had gotten worse.

The God of Thunder included, and also in particular.

From the beginning, Thor had perhaps been the biggest defender of his younger brother, and of course he had, how could he not be?

But even still, when it came to the questioning of Loki's less than enthusiastic (and at times, borderline concerning) behavior, Thor somehow managed to become even more defensive of his confusing family member and all of the quirks that he seemed to have.

This occasion included.

He turned toward Anthony Edward Stark with a slight frown, a sigh that seemed reserved purely for situations concerning Loki passing his lips,

"All of this has been rather... difficult for him. There is much that he misses about our realm, and even more that he has lost."

Tony rose a brow at that, fighting back a groan at the seemingly constant dramatics of the "Odinson" siblings.

Who would have thought that two gods could be so annoyingly theatrical?

"A lot of people have lost a lot of things, Point Break. Some of them at his hand, in case you need a reminder."

Tony muttered, struggling to find sympathy for the green themed deity sitting across the room, a look of deep longing and sorrow in his gaze as he continued staring into the cloud of his own creation.

Thor sighed again.

"I do not, Stark, nor does my brother. He had a multitude of things revealed to him in dreams delivered by the gods whilst locked away. He is... Not the same."

Tony sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to return his focus toward what he'd been doing before he'd made the mistake of mentioning Loki to his older brother.

"Whatever you say, big guy. Just do me a favor though and ask him if he can practice his daily sulking rituals somewhere else. His whole 'woe is me' vibe makes it a little hard to focus."

Thor sighed again at his comrade's obvious lack of compassion toward his clearly suffering sibling, but he nodded nonetheless.

"I will see what I can do, Stark."

And with that, he was taking familiarly heavy steps toward Loki, each growing more hesitant than the last as he took in the full sight of him.

It was no wonder that Tony found his presence to be so distracting, because in truth, you could all but feel his angst rolling off of him in waves, strong and undeniably present in a manner that almost made the god himself shiver.

It was not easy for the god of mischief, what he was going through, but perhaps even Thor himself had managed to underestimate it.

Perhaps he should have been even more concerned than he already was.

"Loki."

He said stiffly upon his approach, watching as the god in question briefly glanced in his direction in acknowledgement before returning his gaze back to his seidr.

"I sympathize greatly with your sorrows, and I wish truly that I could do away with them for you, but a request has been made for you to better contain your bereavements, if possible, and I think it would be best for you to try."

Thor said calmly, though he could see as plain as day that his words had done no good, a fact made evident by the way that his brother turned to look at him, as if both wounded and infuriated at the very same time.

What a familiar look that was for the mischief god to wear these days.

He stood, green cloud disappearing as he did so, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"Do you believe somehow that I have not already done all that I can to contain my grief, you blithering fool?"

He all but hissed, anger controlling his words but a deep and pervasive sadness evident in his eyes, allowing the god of thunder to see far beyond the ruse his sibling was attempting to put up.

Loki was hurting, perhaps beyond anything that he had endured before, and Thor was unsure if that could have been made any more clear.

The god of mischief took a step closer, slowly, threateningly, as if he might frighten the being standing before him, the only one present that had ever truly seen the good in him, the angel before the fall.

A trickster to be sure, but the villain that he so desperately tried to make himself out to be? Thor could not see such a thing, not in the eyes of one he had grown up alongside of.

Not in his brother, regardless of blood.

Regardless of what was said or done.

"You haven't the slightest clue what I have endured, and yet you have the gall to request that I reign in my pain, as if it is not all that has been left of me? All that has not been so crudely taken?"

He snarled, coming closer, ignoring the heavy gaze of Anthony Stark as it landed upon him, and choosing to pay no mind to the fact that he had undoubtedly called the others in, a fact made clear by the large number of footfalls that grew nearer and nearer by the second.

Maybe Tony was simply a fool made cautious by what he had seen the god do in the past, or maybe he just wished to not be the only audience for this particular spat.

Either way, it mattered not to Loki.

The god in question was far too tired, far too angry, and far too confused to let such a disrespect as this pass.

If they did not understand, then he would make them, and maybe then they could comprehend the realness, the immense depth and crushing weight of his pain.

The burden he bore.

The reaping of what he had sowed long ago, without even realizing it.

The universe had never been fair, not to him, and it was apparent now that such a truth had persevered from the very start.

Back before his title had meant more than a whisper to him, before he had felt the need to prove he was more.

When there had been so much more kindness in his heart and light in his life.

When there had been hope,

When there had been you.

Thor put his hands up defensively, though how secure he truly felt in spite of this almost entirely symbolic and pleading gesture was made clear by his tone, which was pitying in every sense of the word.

"Calm down, brother, I meant no disrespect. I simply feel a deep worry for you, I do not want to watch you suffer any longer. It is a heavy weight upon me to know that you are so burdened."

He said appealingly, eyes full of a type of plea and concern that, once upon a time, might have caused the god of mischief to think for a moment, and perhaps even halt his actions altogether.

But now was not then, and after all that he had seen, all that was now and could have been, he found that his brother's words only served to make him angrier.

"You feel a heavy weight, do you?"

He said darkly, stalking ever forward, even as Thor backed away slowly with each step, not wishing to see his family member trapped in a cage once again as a result of some petty fight.

There was rage in Loki's eyes now, though it did nothing to cancel out the sadness there.

It was clear what was driving him, but even more evident was how upset the god was about that fact.

He did not like being so controlled by his emotions, resented the way that everyone could tell how he was feeling in spite of how hard he tried to hide it.

He had done his best to conceal his sorrows and this was what he had gotten? A request for more, as if he would not have hidden them away entirely in favor of allowing those who were once his enemies to see his weaknesses? The way that truth had changed him?

It infuriated him to no end.

"Can you even begin to imagine then,"

He started, voice low, but just loud enough so that every avenger who had now entered the room could hear it from where they stood together in silence, watching as Loki stalked ever closer to his brother, hands still clenched at his sides, jaw unfathomably tense, and muscles twitching with a quiet kind of rage.

"What I am feeling?"

He finished viciously.

Thor frowned, voice still full of pity and something akin to longing as he replied, tone still entirely bereft of fear,

"I know only what you have told me, dear brother."

He said, watching as Loki all but scoffed at his words,

"So in that way, yes, I suppose I am capable of imagining what you must feel."

The god of mischief laughed in response to this, a humorless and cold sound that was choked by some long abided pain, some endless suffering that only a god could understand, and that no mere mortal could ever endure and survive.

"I think not."

He snapped angrily, watching as Thor's brow creased in response, not understanding what about his reply had been so terribly wrong that it had brought about such a strong reaction from his sibling.

Loki continued,

"I think that if you could even begin to comprehend what I have seen, what I have lost, you would never even think to make an attempt at consoling or correcting me, nor could you ever deign to imagine believing that the small amounts of my grief witnessed through my behavior could be decreased any further. If you could truly understand, you would know the weight that I carry, and you would see that it could never be lessened, because there is truly no greater grief than that which I am suffering from!"

Thor stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before finally he spoke up once more, voice slightly smaller, though still not lacking in compassion or empathy.

"Brother, I beg you to help me understand better so I may communicate this suffering of yours to those around us who do not know you as well as I. We are guests here on Midgard, and I cannot allow for you to push this pain of yours onto our hosts so endlessly without solution or a shared understanding in mind. How can you expect anyone to have faith or sympathy for you if you will not tell us what has happened?"

Thor's pleas caused yet another round of laughter to burst forth from the god of mischief, though this one was less pained and a bit more angry, a twinge of eagerness to it that did not spell out anything good, not for Thor nor any of the unwelcome audience present within the room alongside them.

"You wish for me to let them see? For me to grant you understanding?"

Loki hissed out, a familiar and volatile energy filling the room as he began to use his seidr to do just that.

"Loki-"

Thor warned, moving to take a step forward when suddenly, the entire room seemed to disappear beneath his feet, and without warning, he found himself in a place entirely unfamiliar to him, standing amongst his peers in a small crowd that occupied some unseen corner of whatever space this was.

He watched as Tony turned to look at him, frustration and confusion etched into his features and mouth opening to speak just as a familiar voice cut through the silence.

It was Loki, but not the one that those watching had come to know.

No, this was a Loki long forgotten by time and entirely unknown by the avengers present to witness this dream that the god of mischief had once so vaguely described to his brother while in the thralls of his pain.

This was the vision that the gods had shown to the adopted son of Odin during his imprisonment within the Avenger's tower months prior.

This was where his sadness, his grief, and his longing had stemmed from.

And it was clear, as they all watched on, why that may have been.

It was beautiful here, wherever here was.

The sun shone through every window, and this place, clearly a home, was adorned with stunning textiles and masonry, each detail obviously considered and brought to life with such care and intention that it could bring one to tears if they focused on it long enough.

Thankfully for the onlookers though, this would not be necessary, because the Loki in question who stood before them made for quite a distracting sight.

He looked younger here somehow, features untouched by some pervasive strain or anger that had long since gotten to the man that was so well known to them now.

His expression was peaceful, happy, so devoid of the angst or maliciousness that many were used to seeing.

This version of Loki, whoever he was, and whenever he had existed, was one that did not yet know the things that he did now, one that had found something that his truest self had not.

Happiness.

And it was clear, as this version of the god of mischief spoke, where that came from.

"Dearest Starlight, have you the faintest idea of how much I've missed you?"

He muttered into the hair of the woman standing before him, one arm wrapped around her while the other cupped the back of her head gently, lovingly, and with such fondness that it almost hurt to watch

This was a man overcome with, and undoubtedly changed by love.

They could see it in his eyes and the way that they lit up when the woman, whoever she was, moved away slightly to look up at him, and in the way that he pressed his forehead to hers with such love and clearly intentional gentleness.

He adored this person standing before him, and judging by the tears brimming in Thor's blue eyes, she was far more than a simple dream, or someone made up by the mind to have and to hold.

No, this was someone that they had known, perhaps long ago, perhaps yesterday, for the timing itself mattered ever so little.

What mattered instead, was that this individual, whoever she was, meant the world and more to the very person that the onlooking crowd had once believed to be devoid of the organ capable of love and affection.

She was important, and she was special, and above all else, she was seemingly a vast source of grief for the two son's of Odin, though one in particular far more than the other, the latter of which stood amongst them with a sadness that was almost assuredly not for himself evident within his gaze.

Thor may have known this girl, whoever she may be or have been, but his tears were not for his own loss of her, no, they were instead for Loki's. He watched the two of them with such rapt and sad fondness that it was all but impossible to deny that fact.

He adored what the two of them shared, and mourned its absence.

And in truth, the unwelcome onlookers could not help but feel similarly.

This woman was beautiful to be sure, with shining hair and twinkling eyes, and a gentle touch that she laid upon the deity standing before her with such care and devotion.

She smiled up at him lovingly, mouth still curved upward even as she spoke, her reply teasing, but far from mockery, mischievous in a way that was befitting of any love of Loki Laufeyson.

"Just me?"

She asked amusedly, carting her fingers through the god's soft black locks and watching with gentle laughter as he simply rolled his eyes in response before he leaned down to kiss her sweetly without a single word, the arm that was still wrapped around her waist tugging her closer before he finally pulled away a few seconds later, joy obvious within his expression, in spite of her ardent teasing.

"Do not ask me such foolish questions, my dear, or I may just be required to seal your lips against mine for all eternity to keep you quiet."

He murmured with his forehead pressed against hers, his nose brushing against her cheek for a few moments until he pulled back with a sigh,

"I suppose I should change before I make myself at home again, hmm?"

He asked with mock exasperation, tucking a few strands of the woman's hair behind her ear as she laughed in reply, nodding almost immediately.

"That would most certainly make me a happy wife, indeed."

She said, pulling further away from him before walking over to the kitchen area and removing something from the oven,

"Now hurry up and change before dinner gets too cold, foolish prince, or you may just find Thor helping himself to your portion again."

Loki gave an amused glare in response to this, but said nothing more, wandering swiftly down a long and dark hallway until he faded from view entirely.

After this, there was silence for a minute or two, a peaceful and joyous one that was occasionally interrupted by the sound of the woman's gentle humming, or one of a few a small noises from further down the hall, none of which seemed important enough to capture the woman in question's attention.

That being said, as Loki returned, something else did, though it notably grabbed hold of that of the audience as well, who stared on together in shock, though Thor was clearly the most baffled of them all.

For there was Loki Laufeyson, adopted son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, and god of mischief, with a child on his hip, one with hair the very color of his, and eyes that were an exact copy of his own.

The woman standing in the kitchen crossed her arms upon her husband's entrance into the room, raising a brow at him as she sighed and approached the two beings who had just graced her with their presence.

"And what business do you believe our daughter has with being up so late, Mr. Laufeyson?"

She questioned teasingly as she pressed a gentle kiss to the head of the little girl who was being held so affectionately within her father's arms, a sweet burble of laughter escaping her as the woman's lips tickled her skin.

The audience watched on in utter shock as Loki smiled softly at the sight, his shoulders shrugging slightly as he bounced the child, who appeared to be around a year old, upon his hip, arms keeping her steady with a well practiced and easy grace found only within a parent that had been present and involved enough to know their child like the back of their hand.

"I believe she has business with welcoming her dear father home regardless of the hour. Would you disagree, Mrs. Laufeyson?"

He murmured gently as he leaned forward to press a lingering kiss against his wife's lips, smirking at the sight of her reddened cheeks as he pulled away.

The wife in question sputtered for a brief moment before finally responding, glaring slightly up at the god of mischief for his antics, though they were no doubt familiar to her by now, judging by the ring wrapped around her finger and the child she had so plainly bore that sat now upon her husband's hip.

"I suppose not."

She replied gently, watching as Loki placed the child into her high chair, offering a toy of his very own creation to distract her with as he approached his spouse with a rather eager grin.

"No?"

He asked softly as he moved to stand behind her, his hands finding her shoulders and massaging the tense muscles there gently, his smile only growing as she sighed at the feeling and leaned into him with a practiced ease borne clearly of a long nurtured trust.

"How kind of you to see things my way for once, dear wife."

He murmured against the shell of the woman's ear, sending a shiver down her spine even as she rolled her eyes in response to his overly teasing tone and his seemingly ceaseless need to make an attempt at pushing her buttons.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that, my prince."

She sighed out, still clearly pleased with the feeling of his hands rubbing practiced and efficient circles into her skin,

"I am simply allowing you this one small victory while you may still have it."

The god of mischief smirked upon hearing this, his brow raised and his voice low as he replied,

"Allowing me, hmm? What a benevolent ruler you are, starlight."

He all but purred out, and the woman nodded absently, still clearly wrapped up in the feeling of his hands on her body.

"Aren't I?"

She asked, a smile growing upon her face as she spoke,

"Allowing you to wake up our one year old daughter upon your return before you're forced to cease such childish behaviors once your son arrives in a few months time. How generous of me."

Loki hummed and replaced one of his hands that had been resting upon her shoulder with his chin, allowing his now free hand to travel down to her stomach, pressing against it and providing the opportunity for the onlookers to note for the very first time the way that it was rounded out slightly with child, yet another piece of evidence of the love that they shared.

A love that the Loki Laufeyson that they knew, the one that had been captured, imprisoned, and seemingly rehabilitated, had never known.

A love that he perhaps could have had, if only things had been different.

Slowly, faintly, at the sounds of softening laughter and contented discussions, the scene before everyone faded, and the harsh light of the tower persisted once more, blinding them all sharply in a way that the softness of the vision had not managed.

And there, before all of them, stood Loki, looking more than a little haggard with his hair out of place and his eyes brimming with tears.

It was Thor who spoke first.

"It was that which you saw, brother?"

He asked sympathetically, only for Loki to shake his head in response, tone far less angry and much more despondent as he spoke.

The sight of that vision, that memory of a dream delivered unto him one harsh evening to teach him some horrible lesson, had clearly hurt him far more than he wished to let on, and perhaps even more than he had thought it would.

"No."

He said,

"What I saw was far worse, I'm afraid."

Thor's eyebrows creased with both concern and confusion,

"Worse? Brother, I do not-"

"I had entire life with her, Thor."

Loki murmured gently, staring down at his own two shaking hands as if in disbelief that they belonged to him at all,

"I-I had thought truly that everything, all of this suffering and self-hatred had been the real dream all along, and that my time with her, beginning from back when we were all just children again, was reality."

He looked into his brother's eyes then, and allowed him to see the pain there, the sadness and longing for a life he had once believed himself to have lived, a life where he had chosen differently, and found better.

"I did everything the very same as in this lifetime, except instead of choosing power, or some poorly perceived form of acceptance at the hands of our father, I chose her every single time. I married her, brother, stood at the altar and watched her come to me, watched her be granted her rightful immortality at my side, built a house with her, for her, gave her a daughter, and a son, and many other children who I cannot bear to think about because I am in ruin over the fact that they were never real."

He paused, chest heaving, eyes never leaving those of his brother before finally, he continued,

"I know their names, Thor."

He choked out,

"The names of my children, every son and daughter born with some combination of my eyes and her smile, or her hair and my nose. I know their favorite foods, the toy they prefer over all of the rest, and the song that their mother would sing to put them to sleep the fastest."

His tears were beginning to run now, though if Loki noticed, he did not move to wipe them away or to hide them.

"I know everything about them, and yet they are not here, never were, and never will be, and it feels like I have lost all that I ever deigned to love. My wife, my children, a version of myself that I did not loathe, they are all lost to me, and I have died a thousand deaths for every waking moment spent without them by my side."

Thor's own eyes had grown teary now, and he stepped forward slowly, his arm outstretched, as if hoping to reach into his brother and take this pain away with his bare hands alone.

"Dear brother, forgive me."

He said softly, voice shaky in a way that was so very uncharacteristic of him,

"I did not know, I swear it."

Loki shook his head, some shadow of a smile, pained and without any semblance of joy finding his face,

"I know, Thor."

He said quietly,

"But do not waste your apologies on me. It is not your fault for not truly knowing, but mine for believing I could have her back again. She is gone, and I should have known that I could only ever have her in dreams."

Thor opened his mouth to speak, his expression flooded with sorrow, only to find that there was nothing that he could say.

The bridge to you was one that his brother had burned a long time ago, which had been lying in embers since.

Was he not right that you were largely gone from him? A memory of perhaps undeserved yet so very innocent love that he had shut out in order to keep moving forward until the gods had thrust what the two of you could have been upon him so cruelly?

It had been ages now, since Loki had seen or heard of you, and Thor was ashamed to admit that he too had locked you away in memory in favor of moving forward.

A childhood playmate, a most loyal friend far past adulthood, the once almost-lover of his mischievous younger brother, you were a great many things to him, and yet he could scarcely bear to think of you now.

Betrayal was what he had once thought of whenever you came to mind, but now, so many years later, he could see that you had never been the one to betray.

It had been him all along, him and Loki, albeit for two differing reasons.

Either way, the little witch they had once both known so fondly had been long dead to them for many moons now, until the very sight of you so happy, so alive, in spite of the fact that such a vision was a dream brought on by some vengeful deity, sent you careening back into their minds once more.

Where were you now? How had you fared without them, and possibly without your family as well? Were you even alive at all, after all of this time with only a witchling's feeble immortality to keep you alive rather than the godly kind that Loki had helped to bestow upon you within his dream?

Thor shook off these thoughts almost as quickly as they came, and watched on helplessly as Loki began to make his way toward the exit, eyes glued to the ground to avoid making eye contact with the small group of Avengers who had continued to watch on in surprise.

And perhaps, one of them may have piped up to say something, anything to provide comfort to the once so pesky god, had it not been for the sudden shift in the air, followed shortly thereafter by the very shredding of reality itself, as a tear opened up on the far wall, revealing a dark shimmering swirl of colors and lights that soon spat out a figure adorned in clothing that may have appeared foreign to any Midgardian, but was so very familiar to the one aesir god who stared on in utter shock.

Loki, on the other hand, seemed either entirely unaware of the strange circumstance occurring behind him, or uncaring of it, as he continued on his quest to leave the room entirely.

That is, until a voice so familiar that it all but snapped his heart in two called out to him.

"L-Loki?"

It asked weakly, strained and soft, but just barely loud enough to reach him where he stood.

The average man may have froze up entirely, disbelieving their own ears and blaming their minds for playing such cruel tricks on them, but Loki was no average man, and he did not believe his mind capable of making such a mistake.

He knew what he had heard.

He turned around instantly, already wide eyes growing wider when he found you on the floor there, an old cloak of his wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

"Starlight?"

He breathed out in utter disbelief, making his way over in just a few long and intentional strides before he all but collapsed to his knees in front of you.