#WHERE THE SCORN WOULD GET MORE AFFECTED BY THE DARKNESS & ALL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenimmadolla · 10 days

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eddie, "angel", and fluff

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Eddie takes an aggressively long pull of the joint clasped between his fingers, dark brown eyes focused on where you occupy the other half of the couch. Your arms are folded over the arm, head using them as a makeshift pillow for the weed induced nap that came over you.

It’s dusk, the trailer park bathed in the warm copper glow of the sun’s last few minutes. The streetlights are due to come on when it disappears. Until then, the park kids run rampant, eager to play before the dark sends them home.

Crickets are already chirping, Cicadas and their annoying screams are reverberating from various parts of the park, all the sounds of an approaching summer night.

The heat had been bearable today, a nice breeze sweeping through Hawkins and encouraging most of the Forest Hills residents to keep their doors and windows open so their homes could air out.

You’d slept over the night before, and with some languid kisses, Eddie had easily persuaded you to stay. You practically lived with him already, anyways. Had your products mingled with his on his dresser, your clothes in his closet and drawers and his pillows smelling of your shampoo and perfume. It felt wonderfully domestic and Eddie was hooked on the sensation. Loved having your presence all around him.

With a summer day as nice as today, the two of you decided to wind down with some light reading and sharing a joint, some grapes, along with some water out on the porch couch.

Eddie was sitting on one end of the couch, while you were splayed out on the rest of it, bare feet resting on his lap. The two of you read your separate choices, enthralled in the last voyage of the dawn treader and a corpse, made from various beings, brought to life.

The soothing stroke of Eddie’s hands over the skin of your leg, coupled with the heat, breeze and weed had eventually lulled you into a slumber, with Eddie noticing only after he’d finished the chapter he was on. He entertained the idea of reading further, you just proved to be far more alluring than any structure of the English language.

Your face is a little shiny, obviously due to the weather, but it only makes you glow and your lips are pouty as a result of half your face being squished against your arm. You look so peaceful, so beautiful. His angel.

Eddie exhales the smoke he was holding in, head feeling even fuzzier than before. It’s nice.

Despite popular belief, Eddie doesn’t get high often. Nothing against smoking, he’d just already gone through the phase of constantly being high and it lost its novelty. Been there, done that.

Now, he only really smokes with you, more so to relax and enjoy rather than to get high out of his fucking mind and unlock an ability to understand animals or some shit. No, Eddie just likes to use it as another way to bond with you.

Eddie’s an affectionate person, he’s aware. He’d been starved for affection as a child after his mom died and his dad could barely clap him on the shoulder, he was doomed to crave it in his relationships. Always the Romantic in them, even if it left him the fool in the end.

Despite many ends, he never stopped. Maybe he held back a little, but never fully stopped, Always wanting to tuck someone into his side, moon over them, map his kisses out over sweet smelling skin, and even sweeter tasting lips that would later scorn him with hurtful words when he inevitably proved to be too much or too little.

Then you’d come into his life. You’d been present for a lot of it, a background character if you will. Sometimes sharing the same friends, sometimes exchanging pleasant greetings and maybe a short interaction.

Eddie thinks about one, in particular. He thinks about it a lot.

It had taken place at a nice little kickback with Harrington and co. Just a tight knit group of friends, some closer than others. Eddie had his then-girlfriend at his side, and arm slung over her shoulder as he conversed with your then-boyfriend, who you’d attended the event with. The conversation had been pleasant but lacking any genuine common interests or passion, until you spoke up, from your place in his arms, in defense of Michael Jackson’s discography.

Eddie enjoyed all kinds of music, dabbled in it, and while he didn't despise Top 40 music, it did become repetitive so he didn’t listen to it often himself.

After that night, and a heated debate on whether or not songs being overplayed meant it took away from the brilliance of them—Eddie found himself ducking into the local music store to pick up a tape of Dangerous.

That had been the first night he used weed for the sole purpose of enhancing an experience. It had also been the night he’d acknowledged his current relationship would not be ending with wedding bells, which granted he’d already known prior, but since it was you plaguing his mind that night (and every night after) and not her, he knew it’d have to end sooner rather than later—lest he wish to be the douche that longs for another instead of his girlfriend.

Eddie’s hands trail along your skin, a little prickly from re-growing hair but that kind of turns him on. It’s definitely the weed hyping up his senses, your skin is so fucking soft and pliable. You’re always so delicious, he just wants to bite you.

So, he does.

You jolt awake with an Ow! and a laugh once you’d realize what had disturbed you from your nap. Eddie grins, barking out a laugh as you sit up and swat his arm. You don’t have to rub over the bite mark on your leg, Eddie’s already doing that for you before he yanks you by it even closer, until he’s pulling you onto his lap, lips searing against yours. He never has to hold back with you.

You hum against his mouth, a hand moving to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck and he sighs as he melts.

Amongst the crickets and the cicadas, Eddie swears he can also hear wedding bells.

#Queenimmadolla’s smokesesh #eddie munson x reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fanfic

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cauliflowercounty · 1 month

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Mornings in the Mirror

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: a little vignette about getting dressed in the morning with Feyd. Established relationship.

Same universe as Knives Dance based on some of the exposition from part 3 because I’m having trouble saying goodbye to Knives Dance. You don’t have to have already read the series to understand, but there are some spoilers to the series. Set between parts 2 and 3.

Warnings: some suggestive content

Word Count: 2.1k

Written on mobile cause I’m on a bus

You step out of the bathroom attached to the bedroom you share with Feyd, using a towel to gently blot the last of the water off your hair to finish drying it. As you do so, you look outside the window to observe Giedi Prime’s cityscape with its dark, expansive architecture filled with imposing, black structures.

The city is already humming with morning activity. Ships fly through the air, taking people where they need to be like clockwork. You hear the beat of the Harkonnen armies marching on the ground far below your quarters. The sound has become a comfort to you since coming to Giedi Prime. Without fail, the marching would start at the same time each day, ringing in a new day as the black sun shone on the city. Just like all those times before, you feel the aura of Giedi Prime wash over you. Everything is in perfect order, which puts your mind at ease.

Looking over to the large bed behind you, you see Feyd has gotten up since you’ve been in the shower, leaving the sheets untidy over the mattress. You smile. You’ve come to learn his habits over the weeks, and he always does this, knowing the servants will come and replace them with fresh sheets later once you’ve both left. He’s always said that he has more important duties than making his own bed. Now that you’re living together, you know he’s right, especially since he’s Baron Harkonnen now. His daily meetings with advisors in the Harkonnen War Room or diplomats on his throne with you by his side often keep him occupied. His time is precious, as is yours.

Making your way over to the closet, you see your husband through the crack in the doorway. His back is to you, allowing you to see his muscled shoulder blades and admire his slim waist. He’s standing in front of his side of the closet, running his fingers along the series of clothes on hangers. You slip into the closet and approach him from behind. You know he’s already heard you approach when you see his shoulders relax. He turns to you, his Baroness. When he does so, you can see how his eyes soften, a small smile on his lips as he looks at you. He extends his palm outward to you and you gladly walk over and slide your hand into his.

“Good morning, my love,” he says to you before pulling you closer by your hand and wrapping his other hand around your waist before dragging it up your body and cupping your cheek. He brushes his thumb across your skin, sending shivers down your spine

As you look at him, your heart fills with pride, knowing you’re the only one who gets to be with him in this way. You get to see him for more than his reputation. Anyone would scorn the idea that Feyd-Rautha, the psychotic nephew of Vladimir Harkonnen, may he rest in peace, who slays countless slaves in a gladiatorial arena and kills servants at will, would be able to do something so tender. However, here you are, the only one to behold his love and affection.

“Good morning, Feyd,” you whisper back to him against his lips, and he gives your hand another firm squeeze. “I hope you slept well.” You both break reluctantly, knowing you both have to get ready now. “What are we doing today?” you ask him, turning to his closet and thumbing through his clothes yourself.

“We have another meeting with our generals today in the War Room,” he says as he stands back to watch you at work. He was surprised the first time you went to pick out what he wore for the day, but he quickly grew to appreciate the ritual because of how much thought you invested in it every day. “We also have to meet with our Directors of Commerce concerning spice on Arrakis. We should also be receiving news about the status of spice production.”

“I hope Rabban has gotten his act together,” you say, pulling one of his outfits from the hanger and taking an undershirt of his out of a drawer beside you. It’s a deep blue almost black pair of pants with a matching jacket with a high neckline. You hand it to him, and he immediately puts each item on.

You bring your arms to his shoulders to smooth the fabric of the jacket over his body. You grab the seams at the shoulders, lining them up with the edges of his body so that it hangs perfectly on him. The clean lines accentuate the broadness of his torso and bolster his imposing stature. He really looks like a Baron now. You make a mental note to have the seamstresses make more outfits like this for him.

“...And I hope Rabban has figured out how to acquire a brain,” Feyd mumbles, savoring your touch on him.

“Whatever will we do with him…” you sigh in return as you kneel down to smooth out his pant legs.

“Thank you,” Feyd says as you rise to your feet again when you finish.

“Of course,” you reply, starting to make your way over to your side of the closet. He follows you and brings a hand to your shoulder from behind. You twist around to look at him with your brows knit. Why did he stop you?

“May I… return the favor today, my darling?” He asks, his voice wavering for a moment. Your lips part in surprise. He’s never asked to do this before, but his nervousness that he’s trying to conceal makes your heart swell. From that small moment of hesitation, you can tell he’s been wanting to ask this of you for some time.

You step back to allow him access, and Feyd raises his gaze up to the exposed rack of clothes. He starts at one end, pushing the outfits on the rod one by one to take a close look at each one. As he moves down the line, you can tell he’s deep in concentration. Should he pick a Harkonnen gown, or one you’ve brought from Youra? He’s taking great care in this task, which makes you sigh in appreciation.

He finally decides after many moments of consideration. He pulls down a floor length Harkonnen gown with a Queen Anne neckline and cap sleeves. It’s made of layers of fabric that seem to swallow all light that touches it, creating a rich obsidian black. The bodice is an intricately detailed corset adorned with elegant lace and prominent ribbing atop fine mesh. As he turns it around, he drags his gaze up and down the dress. The back is also beautiful, the design stretching all the way around.

“I haven’t seen you wear this one before,” he says, as he admires the open upper back, the edges of which are lined with the same lace as the bodice.

“It has a lace-up corset. It takes longer and requires another person to get into,” you explain, which makes Feyd’s eyes glimmer with excitement.

“What am I here for then?” he asks with a grin.

“Ruling Giedi Prime perhaps?” you jest. He scoffs and brings the dress over.

“Other than that,” he says, taking it off the hanger.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, Feyd.”

“It really isn’t any trouble, my love. Please? May I help you?” You see a hint of longing in his eyes and you nod at him, abandoning your towel as Feyd loosens the laces of the corset. He helps you by gathering the dress, giving you the ability to dive head first into the gown. As you pull down the dress over your body and put your arms through the armholes, you immediately notice how luxurious the fabric is against your skin. Even though the corset has not been tightened, you know that it will be a perfect fit by just feeling it on yourself. Turning your back to Feyd and holding yourself straight, you silently signal to Feyd that you’re ready.

“Let me know if it’s too tight,” he whispers in your ear from behind. His breath on your neck makes your skin tingle, and you try to resist turning around, grabbing his head and kissing him. At your motion he begins to tug on the laces little by little, causing the corset to perfectly conform to your figure. His touch is precise and the way he pulls at the strands is decisive and firm. To your surprise, he’s rather good at this and seems to know exactly what to do. Once he is done tightening it, he uses his fingers to gently tie a knot then a bow at the back of your dress with the excess ribbon. As you move around a little to settle into the dress, you feel how the corset isn’t too loose on you, and you don’t feel like you’re being suffocated either.

Before you can thank him for a job well done, he’s already at your feet, placing a pair of strapless patent leather shoes in front of you. He takes your hand in his. You use your free hand to grab your skirt as you slip the shoes on one by one. Feyd beckons you to follow him and takes you both over to the mirror in the closet. He positions you in front of him in the center of the mirror.

“Look at you, darling,” he whispers to you, his eyes wandering up and down the portrait of you in front of him. Feyd could look at this image all day. The bodice fits your body perfectly and the dress flares out from your waist beautifully, making you look like a goddess descended from above. He brings his arms around you and smooths his hands over your front, feeling the lace pass under his fingertips. The look of you together is truly gratifying for Feyd with him in his clean cut ensemble and you in your gown. You both look powerful next to each other. Together you are Baron and Baroness of House Harkonnen and you look the part. “You’re exquisite, my love.”

He dips his head down and brings his lips to your neck, pressing small kisses over the area. Feeling the heat within you rising, you turn around in his embrace and bring your arms up around his neck. Capturing his lips in yours, you kiss him fervently. He brings one hand up and combs his fingers through your hair, which makes you feel like a surge of electricity has shot through your veins. As you kiss him back, all of your surroundings seem to melt away into nothingness. All of it is insignificant compared to your husband. You can tell he’s also lost in the sensation of you against his body and in his hands as he rakes his hands through your hair. His grip on your waist tightens as his kiss becomes hungrier, and you feel him tug at your bottom lip with his teeth.

Breaking away from him, you see how heavy his lids are now, his firm grip on you not letting up. You smile at him and give him another quick kiss, this one much lighter. You didn’t want to stop, but you must attend to your duties. “Later, darling,” you sigh into his ear. “I just got dressed, after all. I wouldn’t want to undo your expert work.”

He lets out an amused huff and nods in agreement. You go over to the mirror and realize your hair is completely disheveled. Your dress is still beautiful, but you can’t say the same thing about your hair now that Feyd’s had his hands on it.

“I bet none of the Harkonnen women you’ve had in the past had to deal with this issue when leaving your quarters,” you joke as you open a different drawer near you, which contains all of your hair care tools that you’d brought with you to Giedi Prime. You take a moment to make the necessary adjustments to your hair, trying to salvage it.

“You need not mention them,” Feyd says, his jaw tightening. “They are of no concern to you or me anymore.”

“I know,” you smile, turning back to him and extending your arm. “I’m only teasing. Let’s go.”

He relaxes and gladly takes your hand, allowing you to lead him out of your quarters. With that, you begin your day side by side as Baron and Baroness of House Harkonnen.

—

Thanks for reading! 💛

Let me know if you’d like to be part of my Feyd taglist

#feyd rautha #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha x reader #x reader #dune #austin butler

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kitanaijin · 4 months

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feathers in the attic | freakebana | part i. | blueberry trainwreck >> blackberry kush

yandere keigo takami x reader, goldfinch. words: 4567. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

He longed for a world where heroes had too much time on their hands.

No one knew better than his wives how he’d rather spend his days.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains neuro spice, chronic pain, non-consensual fingering, degradation, involuntary & forced orgasms, physical abuse, throat fucking, enforced sobriety, and mention of the breeding plot within the harem.

“Would’ve made a hell of a name.”

Lazing over a bed of flannels and plumage, you flip through the well worn pages of the magazine until you’ve found it.

You can still remember when an idol graced the cover. It’s an old issue from 2018 with a midsummer run, scratched to ruin ages ago. The full shoot was left virtually untouched along with the accompanying article.

She’d posed so pretty, selling her story to perfection. Not that you could fully appreciate what she was promoting.

These types of interviews tended to lose their impact, dated as they were.

No intimacy. No stakes or connection. No urgency in your step to rush to the nearest theater to support the little girl with a dream.

The farthest you could take yourself was the toilet.

Not quite the Library of Alexandria—but oh, how the loss of context tore you apart.

Within the confines of these four walls, time was a construct at your most lucid… a prison when you were dragged past the depths of your dark and twisty recesses.

The nights he’d sweep your broken body from the floor. Hold you in his crimson embrace and manhandle you to his whims. When all the fight left your lungs so you couldn’t even scream, let alone tell him no.

He stole your name twice over in a swinging pendulum of perception; Goldfinch for times you were his sweet girl… Bluebird when you were less than pliant.

It bruised him to see you scorn his affections, so he called you in kind.

He’d pin you down. Pry you apart. Fuck himself into your cunt and soul, leaving you a mere ragdoll to his desires.

You’d only ever been what he had demanded of you.

He wanted a victim, you could damsel with the best of them. This was a show that would go on with or without your approval.

He’d feed you. Rape you. Dry your tears.

Anything more than that, he can stand to spoil you.

Could’ve been hours before you’d feel him leave your side. Days, even. You’d hardly know the difference—only that his side was barren, cool to the touch as you washed a hand over the sheet…

Here one minute, gone the next. Pain emanating and all your own.

Without the organic warmth of sunlight on your cheeks, you’d never feel the day break for yourself.

He took everything from you. Your power. Your will. Your life.

The room was set to a constant low light, controlled by the flick of his wrist and a tablet.

Never natural and never enough, same as every inch of every room of this godforsaken place. A damn menagerie, down to the fucking temp.

dry heat so you won’t catch cold… fans in the warmer months.

He kept you maintained. Albeit depleted in your current state, but no one was about to accuse the bastard of neglecting you.

If they ever found his nest, that is.

Would it matter?

Would they care?

White knuckles hold the spine as the water bottle at your side loses the last of its tepid edge.

You can’t think about it. Mainlining dopamine where you could manage would have to get you through the worst of it for now.

Vivid colors punch a sigh from your lips, even muted in the dark like this. More than satisfied, you’re relieved. Manic thoughts swirl that someday he might deem the material obscene. He was a jealous man, mercurial by nature. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for him to tatter disagreeable content beyond recognition.

Maybe leaving the article unmolested was a gesture on his part, a bygone offering.

Perhaps he’d just overlooked the whole thing. It could mean nothing.

Fingers graze the gorgeous arrangements until you can match the scent into your mind and memory. Citrus and pome. Florals you haven’t thought to conjure in years.

Freakebana.

You take your time tracing the header with a wavering touch before devouring the article.

Composition. Purpose. How to style your very own lovely item.

In another life you’d be all over this shit. You and your quirk.

Don’t think about it.

It’s a striking contrast that never fails to overwhelm you…

Sensual. A serenity that follows the warm blush of anthurium piercing the understated pears. Surreal. The next image featured a bit of Queen Anne’s lace and soft peonies over an orange. Vulgar.

The dissonance of rotting fruit and lush botany was breathtaking. The writer was on the fucking money in the best of ways.

You had some trouble placing the last of the flowers through the hurricane wreaking havoc over your joints and muscles. Breath catching, the aches come roaring back.

You’ve passed the eye of the storm.

Just as well, you’re wrapping on your daily indulgence anyways. Spoil yourself now and you risk the brainrot of whatever envy you’ve got waiting in the wings.

You tuck the magazine under the mattress with a frown.

“Seriously.” Falling back on the mattress, you set the heels of your hands over your eyes. “Like taking a shower and having that perfect comeback all those hours later. So goddamn irritating.”

A voice cuts through the vent, where her wall meets your ceiling. “Never took you for the hero track.”

“Never said I was.”

You hone your focus on the neon numbers at your bedside, blinking away one hour to the next.

The clock reads five fifteen. He’ll be darkening your doorstep soon enough.

A distant cry tickles your eardrums. You curl in on yourself, tremors washing over you with a groan. The contractions in your belly spread like a wildfire of pain past your thighs and calves. It’s all you can do to pull the sheet over your shoulders and bury yourself deeper.

Five thirty.

You’d thought to ask if she heard anything on her end but Magpie had long grown quiet in the room beside yours. It’s all you can do to force your bloodshot eyes open.

You have to stay awake—you can fall apart when he’s taken to the skies or buried six feet under.

Five fifty…

Before sleep can take you, a near melodic taps hit your ears; the sweeping fingers of a key code just beyond your reach.

Keigo lets himself inside, his feathers shutting the door faster than you can think to act.

Not that it matters. You couldn’t fight him off if you’d been training from the start of your confinement.

Your eyes remain locked on the time. Jaw tight, you commit to refusing him.

Five fifty one.

He’ll be late if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get face time with every wife. There was a ritual to these things.

Timing had to be down to an art form otherwise the fastest man would have to be late to the day job. Usually a punishment or two.

Hate to do this, he’d say. Lies spewed past a tight jaw and a strained cock.

Rather than present a front of urgency to the fact, he only lets out a long suffering sigh at the sight of you.

You hear his voice before you ever make his face.

“I know you’re awake.” You tense under his avian gaze. “Was it another bad one?”

He drops the tray of breakfast and meds on a dresser you’ve always found woefully redundant. Then he’s crossing the room, shameless in his liberties over the unclaimed space.

The mattress dips beside you. His body runs flush against your back as an unwelcome touch traces shapes over your belly.

“Finch…” A plea on his lips, a warning to your ears. “I’m sure you don’t want to make a bad time worse. You know the kind of stress I’m under. C’mon, Songbird. You gotta give me something.”

Silence begets silence. He frowns in the darkness, ever waiting on a poised reply from his captive bride.

“Tell you what. You talk to me. You behave, I’ll see what I can do on my end,” he coaxes with his fingers carding through your hair. “We can have family game night. Maybe a movie?”

“So generous,” you rasp.

He hums into a modest shrug, pressing a kiss over your shoulder. “I thought so, at least.”

Smug fuck.

“You still have Starling on the suppressants?”

His wings posture around you reflexively. You have only a second to relish in the chaos before his grip is tightening. He pulls the hair he’s buried himself in.

“I thought you were gonna be a good girl,” he accuses.

“That was your mistake… You’re the one who wanted me to sing.” Spite bleeds from your lips like a curse.

“Really now.” He quirks his brow, almost impressed. “You know what, fair play.”

Drawing your head back for a torturous moment too long, he keeps you in those eyes right there with him. Molten and tragic—fixed solely on you.

You catch your breath in the pillow, heaving into a series of coughs.

He passively regards you as the strewn feathers do his bidding. They haul you from the mattress, raising you up with ease. Remaining on the bed, Keigo knocks both wrists under his neck to lean on.

Hands above your head, he has you bound and restrained midair. You watch the idle plumage sharpen in your periphery. Only two.

You can’t muster the fucks it would take to panic… Never mind the pleas to get out of this.

The aches are ever present, blossoming upwards now. It grounds you, pins you to the moment as the feathers keep you locked in place.

“Here I wanted to have a nice breakfast with all you pretty birds on my day off,” he grouses.

“The pain I’m in is killing me. Day in, day out. You leave me to wither and rot without a thought to my suffering. Not me, not any of us.” You’re absolutely raging beneath his phantom hold. “Fuck your day off.”

The blades move closer. Just a nick in the right place, that’s all it would take to end this nightmare for you. There’s nothing else for him to take.

“As much as I appreciate your blessing, I was already planning on it.”

One slice. And another. A mere whisper of cloth that leaves your breasts exposed.

Both straps of your silken nightdress come undone on his order. They turn the remaining scraps to ribbons until you’re completely nude for him.

Rising from the bed, his wings bristle ever so.

Keigo takes his time sauntering towards you. Rounding the bed, he pops a grape in his mouth. It only takes one fallen feather trailing behind him to swipe pills from the very same tray.

“Not like either of us have anywhere to be. Why don’t I make you really sing, hm?”

Close as he is, you find yourself flinching. His calloused touch ghosts across your skin, breath fanning in tandem over your cheeks.

“What d’ya suppose I’m gonna find when I get down there.”

“Drop dead,” you curse.

Your head is knocked back into the wall before you even register the slap. A practiced hand slips inside your mouth to silence you, taking his time fucking you with his fingers. Never once does he break stride with the hand that keeps time over your pulse.

Your cheek burns. His fingers gag you as he smothers the sounds of protest at your airway. Emboldened by the sounds at his fingertips, his breath stutters over your cheeks as he ruts desperately against you.

He releases you. Presses on, low as he dares to tread in these little hours.

Down your chest.

Past your stomach.

Quick as a flash, he pulls himself from your mouth leaving a trail of spittle that runs down your chin. The absence leaves you fighting for your life, choking on air one minute and a scream the next.

Deft fingers bite into your throat. You groan, arching into his touch.

“Tell me why you’re so interested all of a sudden,” he bids. “Couldn’t possibly be out of concern for me…”

You want to tear away from him. Claw his skin, his eyes. Those feathers aren’t granting you any favors—palms bleeding stigmata, their loyalties remain solely with the master who controls them.

You’re in a losing fight with the pain.

You’ll have to ride this out until he kills you or tires from the game. Fuck this and fuck him.

“Star…ling,” you grind out.

A weak swing of your legs is thwarted with ease.

He loosens his touch some. You hurl your answer at him while there’s a fraction of a chance he’ll leave you alone.

“Lend me her power or up my dose… I don’t care, just give me enough to end it.”

This gives him pause. He hovers over your collarbone. You watch him swallow.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” you sob. “The pain is unbearable and you’re not letting me heal myself. No sunlight. No relief. I can’t sleep unless you put me under and it’s never enough. It was for me, Keigo.”

He sends for a feather to fetch his whims. Rests the heel of his waiting hand against your mons.

“That’s what you’re going with?”

You hang your head. “It’s the truth.”

His lips lock around your aching nipple just as he dips inside you.

He spreads your thighs, appraising your legs with a scrutinizing eye and a wandering touch to match. You’d scream if you thought it would help.

Keigo slots your legs over his shoulders. Sucks a bruise into your thigh, cups your cunt. You jolt into the assault.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases you with his relentless strumming. His middle finger laps your juices, fucking them deeper into you every time.

Thighs shake. Your stomach tenses, bracing for the forced release.

His wrist twists in quick succession. It’s all you hear. He latches on your clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and your own wetness.

Your breath catches on a wail, riding the orgasm for all it’s worth. The last of your release comes pouring out of you, stuttering the last of the stream all over his face; a shining testament to an evil man who knows just how to give migraine-shattering head.

The hormonal gremlin that haunts your attic almost wants him to fuck you. Best taken as a sign you’re ovulating… better to stay away.

It’s like he can smell the apprehension on your skin. His eyes stare up at you in the dark. Not in awe, rather a cautious advantage.

Ever the predator, he watches and awaits the moves of the prey.

You’re still a writhing mess on his tongue. If you could bury yourself in his hair, you would bear down with a white knuckle grip and a piercing cry to match.

Your arms tingle in the restraints above you. “Keigo… stop.”

He does so. Pulls away from you entirely.

You slump to the floor. A groan, “Keigo—what the fuck?!”

The scruff on his chin glistens in the low light. He smiles down on you, aglow as an angel.

Even Lucifer had wings before the fall.

You flinch when his palm reaches your jaw. It takes you by surprise how gentle, how earnest it was. Almost reminds you of the beginning.

Never enough. Not really.

Of course you knew who he was. Hawks was renowned on and off the job; a top hero during business hours and a notorious playboy after dark. He frequented your flower shop when you were earth side.

Still, he never touched you. He didn’t have to when he’d been grooming you from the start.

You came. He called. Service with a smile, even with eyes locked on the scene of him devouring the deepest parts of you.

He left you to your own devices for the most part. One day you got a little too familiar, too comfortable with the back and forth, letting it slip that you’d been living with chronic pain for years.

And maybe you shouldn’t have reassured him that your form of management is often self medicated, supplied by your plant quirk…

But he looked so sad.

Little did you know the ammunition you’d be giving him. A warrant signed by your own hand for a drawn out death, long and tortuous.

Coming to, you gag around him.

“Take it,” he demands. “Shut your whore mouth and take it.”

He’s got a fistful of your hair and you can’t get a breath in while you’re warming his cock.

You push on his thighs but he only tightens his grip, pulling you flush against him.

He stutters above you and then slows.

Stays still inside you, caresses the bulge taking purchase down your throat.

One roll of his hips. Then two to follow. He came on your tongue before he could see to the third.

“Don’t you dare swallow yet.” He twists your nipple, further scrutinizing you as he nods towards your quivering lips. “Open up, let me see.”

You do as you’re told. In the dark like this, you don’t have the luxury of foresight. You could never have known that he had you where he wanted; primed with a grape and your cocktail of pills and vitamins.

He takes the grape in his mouth, tracing your pout with his thumb. After a few moments pass when he drops a languid pool of spit over his come. You choke on the intrusion and are afforded no time to recover. He presses two tablets on the pile before making you take it all.

Palm across your mouth, his thumb caresses your throat. He’s got his fingers censoring you, guiding you.

You swallow with a retch and grimace before taking the rest.

He watches, expectant. Keigo snags a circular style, day of the week pill dispenser from an errant feather. Snaps the lid open and presents you with your haul for the morning.

“Go on,” he urges.

You present your palm to him… It dawns on you both that you were bleeding still.

“Damn it,” he scoffs. Runs off to a trunk in the corner and comes back with first aid. Regards the blood with a rough double take. “Fuck.”

“If it’s really that bad, maybe you should stop doing it. Food for thought.”

He turns your hand over, alcohol wipe in hand. Doesn’t give you any countdown, just starts scrubbing his scene.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Son of a bitch…”

“Do you want the vitamins or not?”

“Are they going to put me in a good mood?”

“Ginger, garlic, and elderberry… mostly immune boosting. Best I can do. You know how I feel about you girls and drugs.”

You watch him, incredulous. “And just what does your little philosophy have to say about forcing sleeping pills on your wives so you don’t have to worry about them keeping up, hmm?”

“Finch, you’ve taken your punishment like a good girl.” He nurses his temple where he’s bound to have a migraine as well. “You can take a day off from being a brat, for once.”

You catch him in the low light. Seems he’s nursing a bruise to match. Onto your own scrutiny, his feathers cut you down before the gripe can draw breath.

His attentions never leave the work.

You pry your hand away, cradling the wound with a hiss. “It’s aftercare for me to watch you squirm, dickless.”

“Is that so…” Keigo sounds almost bored. He rolls his eyes, turning up the brightness of the room. “Well today it’s gonna be antibiotic ointment and gauze pads because someone decided to waste time with an attitude.”

Keigo dresses the wounds without dictation. You allow him his silence until an intrusive thought has you groaning.

“What is it now?”

You shake your head. “I can’t. It’s really bad.”

“Say your peace, Finch. I’m only one man and I have all of you to get through.”

You reel back with a wince, more hurt now than the slap across the face earlier.

The hand hangs limp in his own, touch matching his ever softening tone.

“No. That’s not… fuck.” A biting sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s hardly fair… How’m I supposed to call myself the fastest if I can’t even hack time management with my family.”

He returns his attentions to the inflamed palm. Draws you to his lips, all adoration.

“You know you can come to me with anything.”

And now he’s just gaslighting you.

Fingers splay across your neck and jaw… forcing your gaze, forcing your intimacy.

Your eyes well with tears when there’s nowhere to hide. He steals them away with a frown, lingering across the bruises that betray your sleep deprivation.

“Why are you crying?”

You push him with barely any fight left. “Please. Just go.”

As you thrash to get away, he can only fight to hold you closer. The pain spikes in an unforgiving swipe across your abdomen. You whine into his shoulder, shuddering into his arms.

He cradles your head to his chest with a soothing rock. Feathers run down your arms and back, all forgiveness.

“You know what would help…”

He’s the devil at your shoulder. You are fully aware of what he’s about to say.

“A baby won’t begin to fix this,” you break down. He has to strain to hear, this you know. “…won’t fix me.”

The warmth of his kiss bleeds under your skin. He thrums a gentle rap against your arm, just waiting for you to settle.

He shushes you, flying over his crimson helpers for an assist. A damp cloth. Dragon balm. Some medicinal chaser that tasted more like sewage runoff than remotely helpful.

Keigo carries you back to bed. He lays you down, spreads you out. You wince as he cleans his mess. Mercifully, you can’t see him. But you hear him. Feel him.

You make the sounds of him rustling with the cap. It’s mercifully warm on your abused muscles before the cooling menthol hits.

“Tell me the name.” Your blood runs cold as it registers what he’s asking of you.

He must’ve gotten to Magpie during their conjugal. Shit.

You swallow when he serves the crumbs anyways. “Little Birdie told me that our beloved Blue had heroic aspirations of her own, once upon a time.”

His touch roves over your legs to start, working the product into the meat of your thighs. He waits for what must feel like ages in his eyes… but it would never be long enough for you.

“C’mon. You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Expect an answer, you’ll have to stop talking at some point,” you grouse.

Your breath catches on a strangled wail, meeting no resistance when he flips you.

“Quit your whining,” he snaps. “It’s all I ever hear from you. And fuck me for trying to make this marriage work, right?”

His touch is unrelenting. Prying the tension from the source, spreading his fingers over your lower back.

You try to reach out to him. Make him stop. Bat him away. Fight.

A feather nicks your hand away with the swipe of his whims.

“The name, Blue.” It’s not a grounding request anymore. “You give me the name, this all goes away.”

Starling flashes in mind and memory. If you could sleep, if you could dream—

“Freakebana!”

You curl in on yourself, pushing him with what little strength you have left from this ordeal. With any hope, your pride would be toll enough for him.

The one thing you had, gone in an instant. Precious and private, thoroughly yours. Now it was known to him. Sullied by his acknowledgement. He could twist your comfort and make it ugly—could do whatever he wanted, really.

Keigo was no stranger to it. This would be the least of his atrocities.

He nods to himself in quiet concert, seemingly mollified for now. Keigo leans beside you and presses a kiss over your bruising cheek. His idle touch traces the thrumming pulse before throwing the baby out with the bath water and simply scent marking your whole arm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your wrist.

When Keigo rises from the bed, you keep yourself small. He crosses the room to the dresser. Out of the drawer and into his arms came the clothes meant for you.

You must have been a sorry sight if he’s dressing you in his boxer shorts and cotton undershirt over the negligée.

Again, woeful redundance. He’d disposed of your clothes in the first week, imposing a preference for nudity and teddies. What little he keeps on hand for himself, the only times your husband is liable to share are rare moments such as these.

Toe to toe, back to back.

He’s more patient coming back to you.

Two arms in each hole, ever minding your head as he finishes with the well worn v-neck. Right leg and the left until you’re left to your relative comforts.

“Just… I want you to think on it, yeah?”

You furrow your brow. “If this is about the fucking baby—”

On hands and knees, he remains unabashed in his desires. It’s an old tune, one he’s carried for years now.

A baby will cure your pain. A baby will give you purpose. A baby will soothe your broken heart.

Each and every argument has been run into the ground. He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, let alone want one. The others had been thrust into the position, far before their time or consent.

You were one of two holdouts, yes. But as ever, he remains a slave to his instincts. There were fledglings in his care and he craved their unborn siblings.

“I don’t want to fight,” he sighs. Scrubs a hand across his face like he actually believes it. “I just need you to know there’s an out for you. One that would make me very happy.”

You restrain yourself.

You let him kiss you.

You feel him leave your side.

Only when the door shuts behind him do you give yourself permission to fall apart.

Head pounding, pulse racing, a death rattle crawls from your lips.

The neon lighting bares down in an obtrusive vermilion that burns your eyes, ever the voyeur to your utter destruction.

#yandere keigo takami #yandere hawks #yandere hawks x reader #yandere keigo x reader #mha. fic #🎟️yandere🎟️#.mine #.freakebana #.keigo takami #.masterlist

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argentaur · 7 months

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Prompt: Dark Mark

Love was what had allowed Sirius to change, the capacity for love where there was only calculation and disregard in their eyes. Affection was what kept him close to the light, and love was what made him go to war. Love was what burned in his heart to keep him tall, love was what fueled his desperation, and love was what made him think and think, think too much, think so much about him, and thinking was what made him notice.

The sight of the Dark Mark was familiar by now, it caught them off-guard like a hateful jack-in-the-box laughing at their misery, at the guilt, their failure. Always a step too late, always the fool.

The artistic choice was a bit too much a reminder to Sirius, the Death Eaters’ sign etched in the sky, made of stars and forming a constellation of skull and snake. The Blacks, too, aspired to raise their children above others, to claim equals with the stars. They stole their names, like plucking destiny from the sky and handing them to their own babes, as though it could guarantee their splendor, as though it was their right.

Sirius had done everything to get from under his family’s thumb, he’d thought, he’d distinguished himself. And yet the sight of the skull looking down on him, the snake tongue that dripped hatred and poison, ached like an echo of his mother’s hand, her words, her bearing, her hold on him, and the reminder to behave. Behave correctly, behave right, behave as befitted a Black.

And behave, he did, and he did everything that opposed Voldemort, and yet the war had clawed at him to the point he wondered if a snake had found home in his mouth after all, if poison had tainted his heart or if he had been tainted from the start.

They had been arguing for days, for weeks, he didn’t remember the last time he had peace at home, he didn’t remember the last time he didn’t feel dread at the sight of Remus. He was feeling scornful, he was feeling belligerent. He was feeling cold and lonely and desperate. He couldn’t take Jame’s naiveté, rebuking his words of caution, and at times he wondered if his mother hadn’t been right, that they just couldn’t see what was right in front of them. And then he wondered if there was something wrong with himself.

And so, the war went on, Remus kept disappearing more often, their once tender conversations a soothing balm after a harried day of Order work had turned poisonous, and he didn’t know if it was Remus that had poisoned him with doubt and resentment, or if it was him that was the snake and slowly killing Remus. He didn’t recognize who was the enemy anymore.

Sirius may not be a Death Eater, but he felt criminal anyway. He felt as though his heart had been ruined, incapable of proper love. If not inherent evilness in his blood, his destiny from a stolen name, then he’d been marked anyway to the point to betray his love, in his doubt, with abandonment, betrayal of the silent promises of forever. In his determination to revolt.

Because of love, he’d even tear down Remus.

He wondered, if he ever had to see a Dark Mark above their shared home, their sanctuary, would he have to mourn his love, or was it him that would have been killed by love?

In this war, the murdered thing was love.

@wolfstarmicrofic (585 words, insp.)

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic

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phoenixculpa · 8 months

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get a fake donut croissant where indica dries a spell, taste buds explode in withdrawal of nonexistent love,

said don’t confuse touch with the former when expelled by your own mother, or just confused, say ‘mines,’ when before you fell for dysfunction and pummeled it to the ground—when we became beneficial, formative

daydream, what was attractive in underhanded dealing, like it was so easy to open from a kissy faced emoji, spit red flags to see rosily, long lashes meant for dark undertones and sickening acts homosexuality has nothing on depraved,

ill received, compulsive malice, mask falling evermore to cotton candy claws, boss felt my arm to show how control falls without surgery, replied it’d scare the daylights out of me to be more than fractionally

straight, remembering frustration in screaming and losing control with him like the worst you bring out of blooming, strange surroundings bellow thanks to me, blonde manager who snapped once said hello, and we played it cool, like i wish you’d do

with me, emptily craving a projected peach dry with skin tags, talking of whales to reassuring midfield, like sunny days hurt melon liqueur, checking the young lady’s ID who’s aged ten years, and kush is legal,

yet unasked when caffeinated by necessity on sold out days, terminal healing reminds grace is resilient and mirroring of praise, call her Rozzy,

you’re so boxy in mental faculty to fit dramatic enigmas culturally, like a concealed disease, aging ten years but looking twenty three when you’re happy,

getting more seldom with time ticking down to be replaced, it’s easier to cruelly dismiss than realize abysmal lack of affect, lack of correcting whom you influence poorly, also lashing out

on your scorned pisces, peaced out in embezzled, charaded humility—rolling dice with those holistic hugs, when you’d light up my face and a dream would close curved inches, with wet beauty (advertised twenty four hours or less to complete), and all i could do was hold your hand, in aw[e]—ful disbelief,

embalmed in your sleep, with our fingers laced, habitually, it meant nothing, but an extension of lingering melancholy, couldn’t fall in love with a woman, or say it with lips, vocally, at least, lament, “no one loves me,” and it’s just rippling pain of what you never received, holding my waist, [d]raining internality

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tyrannuspitch · 1 year

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oh god oh fuck.

haven't actually considered this before because i've been too focused on the thanos/odin parallels in the content of the conversation...

but in the conversation between loki and the other... the other is actually a thor parallel isn't he. :(

loki's physical body is sitting on the floor/steps[?], in a secluded place, amid columns, in dark gold lighting, and he is visibly, physically bracing himself for this conversation - all resembling his first conversation with thor in t1.

(-> specifically, before he starts performing, loki draws himself UP into a straight-backed, neutral-faced posture i've pointed out in t1 before! like a soldier standing to attention, or like a servant trying not to be seen...)

the projected conversation is in a dark, high, rocky place, like the reunion with thor later on.

loki and the other openly compete to put one another down, reading heavily into one another's words.

the other is impatiently rushing loki, trying to get through the groundwork/planning stages of the invasion as fast as possible.

the other says "battle?" scornfully, as if what loki's doing is unworthy of that term. there's a deleted scene from t1 where thor says something much the same (only sort of in jest.)

the other is outraged at being questioned, and there is a clear hierarchy of king -> enforcer -> loki.

the other specifically calls loki "little" and "childish".

the other talks about retrieving the tesseract as loot and tracking down loki for punishment in one breath. thor is coming to earth to do both of those things.

like. to be clear. i do NOT think that this interaction is how thor IS. but i think it represents a sort of nightmarish exaggeration of things thor really does do, or things loki pretty understandable fears thor thinks/feels.

thor outranks loki in peacetime and acts as his commanding officer in war. he is officially responsible for ensuring loki's obedience to odin/asgard (at least in theory, when thor isn't in rebelling himself).

even when thor is rebelling, he is very prone to idolising odin and his Great Deeds. here, the other talks about thanos in equally reverent terms.

thor and loki have always competed, sometimes viciously, and thor is unfortunately not above pulling rank or leveraging the fact that he is a more Conventionally Ideal asgardian prince! loki's inferiority complex does not come from nowhere.

thor is very often physically intimidating, and as part of that, he is the only family member we actually *see* directly causing loki pain. notably, on their reunion, loki clutches his back in the same way he does immediately after coming through the portal - thor has caused further pain in an injury the other probably inflicted.

the other openly scorns loki as weak, emotional, and an outcast utterly dependent on him and his king for status/power. this seems to be how thor's friends viewed loki, at least some of the time, so it's hardly a stretch for loki to worry about thor privately agreeing.

equally, the outcast comment implies loki is forever indebted to thanos/odin for "taking him in" and making him their soldier. loki does not yet know how thor reacted to the news of his heritage, but thor has given him little reason to believe it would be good.

true, for pretty much all of thor's actions, you as the viewer can read in nobler motives - a Big Picture that has to come first, and/or veiled protectiveness of loki because the hierarchy keeps everyone safe - but loki is kept unaware of that by design. thor cannot generally openly express the affection underlying his aggression in the moment, because he has to be harsh and unquestionable for the intimidation to work. and if he does express any of it, in the moment or later, it feels like just another layer of manipulation on top of the intimidating. if thor hurts him AND loves him, is that even better? he chooses (or tries) not to believe in the love for most of this film, so at least some of the time, he thinks it makes it worse.

i'm losing track of my point but umm. yeah. the other, ensuring loki's compliance through both physical and emotional brute force. comparable to thor from many many different angles. Uh Oh.

#space viking tag #god it's been ages since i've made a post this long. <3 #the structure of this is pretty messy but whatever. too many thoughts!#i don't know if thanos is technically a king or a lord or an emperor or what lmao #but for thor purposes i always call him a king #meta #s: a1 #ch: loki #ch: thor #ch: the other #r: loki + thor #r: loki + the other #r: loki + thanos #th: abuse + empire #th: servant prince #th: manipulation + mind control #th: love as horrror #th: sinister thor #highlights

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twiceasfrustrating · 1 year

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Hello, Mother

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Relationships: Lucina & F!Grima!Robin

Characters: Lucina & Grima!Robin

Additional Tags: angst, time travel, time shenanigans, Grima & Robin are the same entity, Robin is Lucina's parent

Summary: After a hard fought battle, the past has finally defeated the fell dragon. Even though she wants to, Lucina decides it's best not to stay stuck in the past, but the future she returns to isn't what she expected.

A/N: I played Awakening again for the fourth time and remembered I love it so y'all get to suffer through my fixation with me.

Word Count: 794

Lucina left her past better than when she had lived it. That was all she could ask for. Any more than that would be selfish of her, especially after she'd changed time so much already. But her father and mother were alive and happy and lovingly caring for her infant self that was all she needed.

The past didn't need her anymore and that was fine.

In the middle of the night, she whispered to herself, "You're going to have a better future than I did," before slipping away to return to a new future.

When she came to after being pulled back through time, however, she found that nothing had changed. The ruined hall where she'd charged into Grima's portal was still as dilapidated as before and the air still reeked of blood, metal, and rot.

This place was as terrible as she had left it.

The only thing that had changed was there was no one left standing as they desperately clung to the chance to fight another day in hopes of seeing the war won.

That, and that she'd been bound in ropes of magic that kept her from reaching her blade or even standing up.

"Did you finally wake up?" a voice called from the darkness.

Lucina's eyes widened in horrific realization as the voice's familiar sound popped to the front of her memory.

"No," she muttered. "We ruined your plans and stopped you!"

"You indeed ruined my plans," Grima said almost too calmly as she stepped into view to tower over the Exalt, "in that timeline. It's rather unfortunate that I've been relegated merely to this one due to your interference, but I am not one for wallowing."

She stepped closer to where Lucina lay on the ground in bindings pulsing with magic, appearing disinterested in her once rival.

"Are you upset? Did you believe you would away to the world you had made?"

"You shouldn't be here!" Lucina spit with such venom that it would have killed a lesser dragon.

"I have always been here, same as you, because this is my timeline, as it is yours. Creating one timeline where I no longer exist will not change my presence in this one though it does limit me to it. Congratulations." The last word came out dry.

"I should thank you to some degree, I suppose. Your foolish stunt did see many of those second generation nuisances dead." And how amusing it had been to watch the members of Lucina's little rebellion drop one by one while unknowingly fighting for someone else's future.

The same eyes that only hours ago had looked at her with such love and affection now seemed cold, distant, and calculating; the hands that held her close protectively were now drawn back as if repulsed by the thought of even touching her; and the smile of the woman who birthed her was replaced with the scornful scowl of her greatest enemy and murderer of her father.

"Rejoice," she said with a conniving smirk. "You won't be meeting their same fate quite yet. You have too much value as my descendant to discard so readily."

"I won't allow you to use me," Lucina spit out, feeling the magic bindings keeping her in place burn against her arms as she fought against them.

"Strange. That's what this one said too right before they saw things my way." The fell dragon seemed to laugh to themselves. "Wouldn't you like to be reunited with your beloved family again?"

"You. Aren't. My. Family." Each word came out clipped. "You killed my family."

"I eliminated a threat who happened to be related to you, but we are still family. After all," she placed a hand against Lucina's face in faux tenderness, "you are still my beloved daughter. Your wayward tantrum does not change that, even if you are more similar to your father's accursed bloodline than I'd care for."

Lucina jerked away from her touch. "Don't pretend. You're the monster who destroyed our world and nothing more."

Grima's face twisted back into disinterest. "I can be both. Just as you can have changed a future and returned to the same place you started.

"Perhaps you need time to consider. I'll go snuff out what remains of your rebellion to give you time to think."

With that, she turned and began to leave.

"Mother!" Lucina yelled at the back walking away from her in one last desperate attempt to reach the woman she hoped was still in there, even if she didn't believe a word out of Grima's lying mouth.

The footsteps stopped for a moment only so am echo of her mother's loving face could look back at Lucina with a venomous smile before continuing on their way and leaving her all alone to wallow in her cold realization of what she'd truly returned to.

#fanfic #fire embem awakening #fire emblem robin #fire emblem lucina #mine #angst

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percontaion-points · 6 months

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Everlife chapter 2

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 2

“Why wasn’t I warned about the bond’s effect on others?” I demand.

“You were told consorting with Myriadians is dangerous,” Shamus snaps. “You should have needed no other warning. Only a fool would pledge her life to an enemy.”

At this point, this is completely on them. Every single goddamned person knew of Ten’s relationship with Killian.

So yes. They should have fucking spelt it out for her.

“Ultimately she bonded to him. He used their bond to navigate the Troikan Grid. And guess what? He let his friends in. Their shadows spilled into our Grid. To stop them, I had to kill my mother—and everyone she’d tainted. Everyone they tainted. Don’t you see? We’re all connected. What affects one has the power to affect us all.”

This is supposed to be this lesson about not letting in Myriad.

However, the only thing that I’m getting from this is “Why the fuck is your entire goddamned community so interconnected that one person’s poor decision making affects literally hundreds of people?”

“Love isn’t a feeling but a choice. Feelings can change in a blink, as today has proven. You chose to turn your back on Troika, all for a pretty face.”

I’ve said this before, and I’ll keep saying it: for all of Troika’s pretty words, they’ve proven over and over that they’re not somehow better than Myriad. They’re quick to shun and judge and generally treat people like lower-class citizens for no real reason. What’s worse is that they act like they don’t do it.

At least in Myriad, you know where you stand at all times.

If they wanted Ten on their side, maybe they should have tried convincing her with less manipulations, scheming, and murder.

Despite this, I find myself replying. Tell me. Make her pay. Make them all pay.

Chapter 2 summary: Ten identifies the two generals as Shamus and Luciana, but I swear that this is the first time the readers have met them. They brought some others with them, but when Lucy realises what Ten and Killian have done, she sends them to wait outside.

Then, they have to explain to Ten that they’re hardly the first mixed-realm couple that they’ve encountered. Lucy says that she had to murder her mother, because her deciding to bond with a Myridian damaged possibly hundreds of people, because the bond introduced shadows into the Troikian light grid. And I said what I said about that. But Lucy’s mom wasn’t the only one; they claim that the couples are taken out as fast as possible to prevent the darkness from spreading.

As you can imagine, Ten is like “We’re somehow different than any of those other couples! Our love is somehow more real than theirs was!” This is met with obvious scorn and laughter.

Meanwhile, Killian has been behind Ten saying “Kill” over and over. Ten finally asks what’s wrong with him, and the others laugh at her. Say that Troikians have an easy time succumbing to the darkness, but struggle more in the long-term. But Myriadians struggle a lot at first…

Killian then snaps out of it, and claims that he meant to kill Ten. Ten is confused, which leads to the other part of the explanation: there’s usually a lot of memory loss when accepting the light. So now Killian wants to kill Ten. Joy.

Shamus then starts to attack Killian, and Ten feels every blow and cut he sustains because of their bond. They eventually subdue Killian and say that they’re going to take him to a safehouse in Troika, but they won’t tell Ten where he is. Unless she votes to resurrect General Orion. Ten is obviously upset over this obvious blackmail, but like… This is your bed, babe.

A voice inside of Ten encourages her to make them pay. And she realises that it’s the darkness inside of her, the one she embraced when she made the bond with Killian.

#Everlife #Everlife series #bookblr #readers of tumblr #book review #scifi #dystopia #religious imagery #ya novels #romance novels

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namimikan · 6 months

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suitor armor ships, in alphabetical order, shipping intensity varies:

barsabae/norrix, i'm intrigued! with modeus as their child, maybe, are these two divorced teacher/student-ish? idk, their mysterious backstory compels me. that fallout, that scorn. i don't think barsabae is dead!

barsabae/ricon, gimme something similar to star trek deep space nine, kai winn/gul dukat. let them be terrible and awful in their teamwork that works on charm and poison, and inevitable turning on each other.

(barsabae/ricon/norrix, lmao. this trio would be the stuff of nightmares, in a way. ricon and his two mad magician-scientists, creators of the iron kind. i'm curious about it, and how reimund thwarts it, lmao.)

baynard/peres. they cute, don't have much to say about them.

baynard/ricon/peres. at least baynard and ricon have history, (not too sure about ricon and peres tbh) and i'm curious about that. assume ricon knows everything. i just. live for ricon making people uncomfortable, tbh.

kirsi/norrix, i've always liked the archtype of a princess and her magician falling in love. they're also my two fave characters, so why not pair them together. i just want them to interact more...

kirsi/norrix/reimund, theoretical guinevere/lancelot/arthur love triangle that i'm uselessly charmed by.

kirsi/norrix/ricon, lmao. disaster trio, that feed off each other in such downhill spirals. potentially it's kirsi and norrix being pawns of ricon, as he exploits them for his own purposes, but i can't deny i like the idea of it. (am i maybe thinking or dark shadow's barnabas/maggie/willie similarities, possibly!)

kirsi/quinn. ngl, curious to see interspecies fairy-human romance happen in this webtoon that becomes mutual. while it wasn't a good meeting, it could lead to something, maybe. kirsi opening her eyes, perhaps, could start with a romance...?

kirsi/reimund. pride and prejudice's mr and mrs bennett, i'm afraid :( it had literally one good moment, the heart to heart that lead up to their first kiss. and then everything after that went downhill, bc the story likes kirsi fucking up every chance she gets and reimund gets critical of her, which: fair, ngl, but not particularly shippy for me. might enjoy them as a temporary/dysfunctional ship, where its not meant to be, but i suppose it might depend on s3's happenings.

kirsi/ricon. spider and fly dynamic. idk, the gaslighting and lying. curious about puppetmaster ricon, and how he wants kirsi dependent on him, and how he consistently negs her, and causes her to doubt both her husband and her sister. i want to know if he'll ever become fond of her, or that was never a possibility, or if one day she'll grow sick of his lies.

lucia/modeus. sigh. started off cute, promising sexy monster boyfriend, slowly lost interest. maybe there's a way to be less born sexy yesterday, but right now it's just... modeus is too zoned onto lucia. i want to see modeus grow his own way, independent of lucia.

lucia/modeus/norrix. yeah, yk? they had two hands each. s1 was good for all three ships, so just... put them together, yeah? s2 was less interesting, bc that's typical vying suitors competition which interests me much less.

lucia/norrix. merlin/nimue, them against the world, the lies they tell, the secrets they protect. the angst. they're so cute, i can't not ship them, even now. they're so messy, but i love their snark and quiet affection.

lucia/quinn. childhood friends reuniting and kissing? i'd like to see them have a romance tbh. two sides of the same coin, perhaps.

lucia/reimund. lmao, ricon was right, they're SO well suited for each other. i don't think they'd have a passionate romance, but it would be sensible and they'd have a neat partnership as rulers of two worlds. you could never doubt them as friends and co-partners, which is a good foundation tbh. together, they could have created a bright future.

lucia/ricon. it's the narkik, it's the gul dukat/kira nerys. hell yeah. they hate each other, and are drawn to each other, a whirlwind, where they're soaked in each other's blood. absolutely adore hero/villain ships where it makes them both consumed by contempt for each other.

modeus/kirsi. given that kirsi seems to be the only person modeus actively dislikes and ignores. i'm... kind of intrigued? we see so little of modeus' negativity, that i'm like. kind of want more of that pettiness ngl. and it'll be interesting to see if kirsi ever stops being dismissive of modeus, tbh.

modeus/norrix. frankenstein falling in love with his creation, i'm into it. god complex and all. norrix wanting to deal with everything in the worst way possible, and modeus struggling hard to keep up.

modeus/quinn. i'm curious! idk! they've had two meetings, and quinn was also like... oh??? you've changed!! i'd be curious to see them develop, and they seem like they're gonna have a sweet friendship, in the future.

norrix/reimund. i want the backstory SO much. that reimund felt bad for norrix, and wanted to look after him, but can't really figure out how to help. so he keeps him on the wings, bc at least that's better than nothing...

norrix/ricon. they'd be terrible together, but i'm like. yeah i crave the interactions so badly, and poor impulse control, with norrix thinking he should resist, but then... how can he? it's ricon! and ricon knowing this and taking full advantage...

i think that's it? like i'll pencil in lucia/octavia and barsabae/lucia as maybes, bc i want to see more interactions before deciding and i'm not sure what kind of relationship will be born. possibly quinn/v, idk. like i'm not sure that all of these qualify as romantic ships, but i'm also like... gosh, i think i'm intrigued by the potential and the strength of their character to want to see more interactions tbh.

but hey, the reread could change my mind, idk.

#manhwa blogging #currently: suitor armor

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stxrmnight · 7 months

Text

Journey intro Dravania Part 1 - Ysayle

Alphinaud chiquito... babygirl Sidurgu being amicable while you've not reached drk 50 gameplay wise

ehem,

I can smell the moment where her attraction to the Shiva form went into full on doki-dokis, specially arriving to Tailfeather and hearing Ysayle was raised here when the outsiders to Ishgard were abandoned to the climatical changes. Exploring those idyllic forelands made for many trips and laughs as they

Well, sans this hilarious image made by a fellow player. Please put your egi away I can't see my crush

It's a never ending rollecoaster of telling Estinien to "shut the fuck up we're on a dialogue mission!!! You have to pipe down so we have good chances!"

Pausing at the Gnath village is just another chance to make another round of boasts and jokes that don't get her attention much

She was so mad at Estinien for this. That someone could help her was a rarity and a relief, and she herself knew how powerful Shiva was.

Now, here I should mention I envision it that instead, Nemi reverted to her Dragoon jobstone, since she didn't have enough swing to confidently provoke a primal as a Dark Knight, and so her Lance and Shiva's form fought together to bring Ravana down. Ysayle could have been weakened severly by the Tankbuster push, and only feel the pain once detransforming. That would keep Estinien's scorn where it is

But, that wouldn't affect Ysayle much. Nemi already supported her limping and with potions slowly working. She vouched for how different primals are to the average rival and commending her for all they managed together, and Ysayle ultimately smiled a little and accepted her words, making her heart accelerate

And that made Alphinaud teasing hours easier which helped Nemi detest Alphinaud less, and pretty much my mood this entire expansion

In thanks for her comforting words, Ysayle took Nemi to the top of Anyx Trine, asking the young but big dragons to take them on their night rides. She was terrified of offending one of them, but Nemi found herself splaying her arms to the breeze and feeling a strange tranquility bracing on the dragon's neck. She slept more soundly that night than any at Fortemps Manor or, the past five years.

Nemi awoke with high hopes for the ascension into the Churning Mists...

#hw #story #ysaylenemi #//...#..///#estinien #alphinaud

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jordhansamuels-blog · 10 months

Text

The Old Me Is Gone

I guess this is it; this is where it ends for me. I’m tired of it all. Let someone else take control. Let someone else take over. I’m done with it all. Over the years, I have tried my very best to be good and to do good. Always the optimist, I put my heart into everything I do. These things that they call feelings and attachments only lead to disappointment and pain. I cared too much; I got used to taking advantage of my good deeds. And in the end, I was left to pick up the pieces, and then something inside me snapped. I was pushed over the edge by this world for being too nice and too caring. I always go above and beyond when I know they won’t have done the same for me. This is where it ends; maybe that’s what I get for being too weak because I cared too much. What I was taught is that love, compassion, and good will are enough to get you through this world. But that’s all a lie. Why is it that hate is praised while love is scorned? I get it now, so that’s how it works, and then I’ll turn to the darkness and let it lead me. I want to put all my feelings in the deepest depths of this world, so that I will simply not care anymore—no affection, no remorse, no love, no nothing—just be pure cold-hearted. Family, friends, love interests, co-workers, and everyone else will mean nothing to me anymore. And after all that is said, the tiny fragments of the old me still want to be saved by someone or something. I hate that feeling. I don’t deserve to be saved. I don’t want to be saved. All I want is to be alone. Maybe all that’s left for me is death. The thoughts of suicide fill my mind, and when the moment arises, I can’t go through with it. What’s stopping me? What kind of attachment is holding me back? So, I continue to live in this world with a cold heart because the old me is gone. Why would God create me? I ask myself, What purpose is there for me? I prayed and read the scriptures, but my guess is that God is covering his ears. They say patience is key. Hold on a little more, I told myself. Guess I didn’t have enough faith; guess I didn’t pray enough; guess I didn’t believe enough, always doubting. I guess that’s the lesson to learn from this. It’s too late for me. I don’t want the old me back because all he ever did was bring hurt and pain upon himself because his heart is too weak and he simply cares too much.

#lostsoul #pain #im hurtin

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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Hey, I adore your work; you are so very talented!! ♡ Would you mind writing a continuation of 'Reverse Your Regret,' in which Sapnap gets possessive over the reader? Perhaps, after their ex arrogantly reaches out to them, asking for forgiveness, the reader thoughtlessly brings it up to the incubus .. I hope that makes sense .. Anyways, wherever you decide to take this AU (if anywhere), it will be magnificent. Just wanted to share a passing thought. :)

I love this. I absolutely love this. Also this request.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊. ⛧ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬!𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚𝐩 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: incubus!Sapnap x afab!reader

warnings: smut (18+), biting, possessiveness, Dream being an asshole, language, mentions of God and angels

previous part

You furrowed your brows slightly as a knock came to your door. Checking your watch briefly, you swiveled around the corner from your campaign of rifling through the fridge. You were hesitant to peek at who it was, mainly because of the time of night. You stood on your toes, peering through the peephole until your eyes focused on a familiar head of blond hair.

You slumped back against the door, feeling out of breath, and paralyzed with shock. What was he doing out there? You scorned, trying to remember if you had recently texted him when you were drunk, or if he had come on his own accord.

You twisted the knob slowly before inhaling and opening your door to face him. Clay’s eyes met yours, his weight leaning on his hand propped against the threshold lazily. His towering frame blocked most of the hallway light from spilling into your apartment. “Hey,” he greeted easily, voice raspy and low. It had once been your absolute weakness; how simply he could make you unravel by just whispering in your ear or making a snide comment.

You moved an inch to let him into your apartment as if you were on autopilot from his previous actions. After you shut the door behind the two of you, you shoved your hands in your pockets, your fingers brushing against the cardstock that had brought Sapnap to you. His voice seemed to flash into your head when you touched it as if he were consoling you.

Clay leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as he surveyed your body as if he were looking for something in particular. He wet his lips, furrowing his brows. “I really miss you,” he mumbled, looking at you with a softer expression. “I really have no idea what was going through my head when I broke things off,” he apologized.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “I’m not…” you answered, the hesitance in your voice demonstrating your disbelief. “I mean, we really… weren’t healthy…” His eyes drifted to your floor in front of him before darting back up to your gaze.

He stiffened slightly as if noticing something about you. “You look different,” he muttered absent-mindedly. You pinched yourself, wondering how you could have ever vied for his gaze and attention. You used to yearn for him to scrutinize and nit-pick, but now you knew what it was like to have a man that earned your respect, even if he did own you. Clay only took it.

You shrugged slightly, unsure of how to answer him as the pads of your fingers traced the raised print on the card. “I haven’t done anything differently,” you answered, averting your stare to bounce around at his clothing.

He tsked lowly. “No, something is definitely off about you.” He stood, walking to plant himself in front of you. He slowly reached a hand toward you, brushing your hair off your shoulder before gently dipping his fingers between your collar and moving your shirt to expose one of your shoulders. You hated yourself for wanting to lean into his touch and bury your face in his chest.

His fingers brushed against a sore spot on your skin, and you knew instantly what he was looking at: a bite from Sapnap.

Something dark flickered across his expression and he seemed almost fearful as he took a step back from you. He smirked slightly. “I see how it is,” he nipped mockingly, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I knew your eyes seemed a bit dead, I just didn’t think you would have gone that far.”

You quipped an eyebrow in his direction, your hand moving to rest over the mark. There was no way he could have been able to tell what it meant. Your heart thumped in your chest as you wondered what Clay would have thought of you.

Before you could ask, he spoke again. “I just came by to check up on you. I heard you’d been acting strange.” He chuckled shortly. “I get why now.” You weren’t sure why he was so bitter, in fact, even when the two of you were at your worst, he never spoke to you with such malice. He began to back out of your apartment. “Just be careful. You don’t seem like the type stupid enough to get into that stuff, but from the looks of it, I might be wrong.”

You furrowed your brows, watching him leave as you stood there in shock, unable to piece together what had just happened. You weren’t sure how long you have been standing in the middle of your apartment with your mind running blank.

“What is that smell?” Sapnap’s voice boomed from one corner of your room, making you jump to look at him, your heart seemingly restarting. His face twisted in some kind of angry disgust.

You exhaled. “Jesus! You have to stop doing that!” You bit back as he seemed to further investigate whatever was bothering him, even going as far as opening a window. When you realized how much I affected him you self-consciously sniffed yourself. You smelled fine. “What are you smelling?” You queried, watching as he scoured your living room.

He stopped, looking at you with gleaming eyes. Something seemed to click in his mind and before you knew it, he was standing before you, hand resting on the side of your neck as he took a whiff of you, nose brushing against your neck. You inched away from him out of confusion and discomfort. “You’ve had an angel in here haven’t you?”

You were taken aback, to say the least. “I- what?”

“Who just left?” He asked, covering his mouth and nose as if you were repulsive to him.

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest, and folding in on yourself. “I don’t know… It was just my ex-boyfri-“

He cut you off. “Are you fucking serious?” You nodded slowly, wondering where he was going with this, and if these pieces of your story were de-cluttering his puzzle. “That’s why you were so uncomfortable, and why you smell overwhelmingly like rotting flowers?”

You tilted your head. “Rotting flowers?”

Sapnap rubbed his chin slightly. “He could probably tell. Mortals lose a certain light in their eyes after giving themselves to a demon,” he muttered, watching your expression shift. “Those fucking God cops are always in our territory.”

You wet your lips. “Speak plainly, Sapnap,” you insisted, breath becoming shallow.

He smugly grinned at you. “You were prime angel real estate before I came along, baby,” he answered snidely, making heat spread across your body. He got closer to you, pressing his fingertips against the portions of your skin that Clay had grazed over just moments prior as if he were spreading his own scent to cleanse Clay off your skin. “Now, not even God can help you,” he gleamed, teeth tugging at his lip before leaning towards you and pressing his mouth to yours. He broke the kiss only to hover near your ear, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. “Your soul’s mine.”

His body was intoxicating, and while you knew it was dangerous to be with him, you felt safer with Sapnap even if he was blatantly telling you just how damned you were. The news was easier to swallow with his tongue slipping into your mouth and his voice whispering sweetly possessive venom into your ear.

You ground your hips against him as he pressed his lips against your neck, teeth trailing after his contact, fingers digging into your skin or the leather couch beneath you. Your hair tangled with his movements, clawing at his back as his teeth clicked against your chest. His tongue darted over his previous bite that you figured would end up scaring; a permanent homage to him on your body.

He had known the adrenaline rushing through your veins at Clay’s arrival. He’d known the discomfort and the borderline fear you had to edge yourself off of earlier, therefore as he kneaded the flesh of your thighs in his hand, he was sure to validate that Clay could threaten you all he wanted, but while Sapnap was around, he couldn’t hurt you. He had explained in the past that you were his personal plaything, and thus you had gained his protection and respect in an almost sadistic way.

You moaned as his fingers slid beneath your shirt, tugging it over your head while you pulled his own off, letting his lips attack your neck again. You brazenly ground your hips up against his, wrapping a leg around his thigh in a desperate search for more friction.

You knew the heated mix of Sapnap’s possessive urges and your determination to please him would have your knees shaking in no time as he dragged your pants down your legs, fingers clawing at the now bare skin of your thighs as you, carded your fingers through his hair, tugging at his roots and swallowing his moans.

The two of you rushed into your pleasures, letting him push into you and send your mind spending. You were forgetting Clay’s name with each punctuated thrust of his hips as he bottomed out in you. You clenched around him, making him groan into your shoulder, teeth threatening to mark you again.

He pulled out of you, only to flip you onto your stomach, jutting your hips up and against his as he drove himself into you again, pressing your shoulders into the couch. You bit down on your bottom lip preventing yourself from moaning out his name as his fingers dug into your shoulders, teaching you just how much he liked to use your body. With how good he was making you feel, you didn’t give a damn.

He panted out your name, his voice low and gruff as he nearly commanded and controlled your orgasm. You whimpered at his antics and he chuckled darkly. “I should be ripping you apart after you let that thing into your apartment,” he threatened seductively. You moaned out and apology as his lips and tongue met your shoulder blade, fingers tracing the length of your spine. You could feel the pads of his fingers circling each of your vertebrates as he drove himself deeper into you, reaching just where you needed him.

You came undone quicker than you had expected, moaning as he picked up his pace to bring himself to finishing, your vision blurring from the stimulation as he used you. His hand gripped onto your hips as his paces stuttered against you, a groan hissing through his teeth. His hand laced with yours momentarily before the two of you straightened yourselves up.

You pulled your knees to your chest, watching him rebutton his shirt. You slipped your arms further into your hoodie and he looked at you with a small perk of his eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?” He asked.

You chewed the corner of your mouth. “What do demons smell like to angels then?”

“Charcoal,” he answered plainly. “Sometimes just burning.” He sat beside you, pulling you to his side. You snuggled into his warmth, resting your head on his chest.

You inhaled sharply. “So… Clay’s an angel…”

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his eyes began to glow at the mention of the other species, especially the man you’d been associated with. “Yeah, they call him Dream.” He hesitated slightly. “He’s one of the worst.”

You felt like you were walking on eggshells to ask him more. “Did you know him?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before I got kicked out,” he joked, covering the obvious hurt in his voice.

“Kicked out of where?” You probed, already somewhat figuring you knew the answer.

He was quiet. “Heaven.”

Sapnap Tag List:

@bobbyftmydad

#mcyt x you #mcyt smut #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #sapnap x you #sapnap smut #sapnap fanfic #sapnap x y/n #sapnap x reader #incubus!sapnap #demon au

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Kiss me quick

Pairing: Spike x Summers!reader

Request: Hi! Can I request a Spike x Summers!reader, where the reader is trying to keep their relationship on the downlow since none of the Scoobies really approve, but after a big win the reader finally kisses him in front of everyone, proving that they do care deeply for one another and everyone just has to accept it.

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Reader gets injured but nothing serious. sex references/implication of sex.

You looked out into dimly lit street, the dark had surrounded you now but ever since you had been meeting this way you couldn’t help but smile whenever the sun began to descend from the sky. You were stood, under a streetlamp, three streets away from your house. Just far enough where nobody from your household would catch you meeting him this way. You had been meeting like this for a while now.

He got a kick out of coming up behind you and immediately pressing you against the nearest wall and crashing his lips to yours. His favourite greeting entailed leaving you breathless and ready to pull him closer no matter what your surroundings were. He often mumbled his hellos through stolen kisses. His passion never died, he was all in. Completely yours.

You couldn’t shake this feeling. That you were completely in love. You had silently tried to fight it to begin with, knowing that those around you wouldn’t approve. That Spike himself may not even reciprocate your feelings. But soon it became clear that there was no hiding these feelings that always bubbled to the surface whenever he was near.

You had started fooling around to begin with, before it all changed. For the better, both of you agreed. Your feelings had taken hold of you both, fuelled by the touch of skin. The depth of mind. Unspoken emotions kept the two of you in a chokehold before you finally spilled your feelings for the other.

Ever since you quit college, you had spent all of your free time sneaking around with Spike. It was, honestly, as thrilling as it was annoying. As much as you wished you could just tell everyone how much you loved Spike - how amazing he was with you, you couldn’t. You had to hide it, the implications of your friends and sisters finding out would be a fate worse than death. In fact, for spike it may mean actual death this time.

Unfortunately, you were the middle child. You were a year younger than Buffy and she never let you forget about it. Meaning, Buffy thought she was the boss of you. Not to mention Dawn basically clung onto your leg to stop you from leaving the house (and thus, preventing you leaving her behind where she couldn’t follow you around). This meant that, often, you didn’t get much spare time for sneaking around with Spike. But, God, did you make it your biggest priority. After… saving the world… obviously.

When you did manage to share these intimate moments, it was everything. It felt as if you were the only people in the world. The only people that had ever felt anything close to this. Nobody had loved this deep. Cared this much. You were both so sure. These feelings, they were eternal. He vowed it to you, one early morning you had spent with your naked bodies pressed together, baring your souls well into the night.

Any emotional scars you harboured seemed to heal just by speaking to him. By having that soothing voice share his own darkest moments with you in return. How that voice, those eyes could have seen and done so much and still make you feel undeniably safe you weren’t sure. But, you trusted him. Even if danger appeared to surround him at every turn. You wouldn’t change him for anything. You loved the good, the bad and the oh-so-attractive parts of him.

Vulnerabilities turned to strengths when you were together. Rough edges appeared smoother. Promises held meaning. You adored him and he confessed to you that he had never been so comfortable in a relationship. He could be himself, could express his feelings without being concerned you would turn away from him.

The first night you invited him into your home made him elated. You had to make him swear not to tell Buffy because you knew she wouldn’t take it well. Like, at all. As much as he would have loved to rub it in the slayer’s face that he had been given access to her house – he loved you too much to even think to upset you in this way. So, you carried on this way, unable to keep your hands and lips from each other for more than an evening at a time. This meant mostly, he stayed at the Summer’s residence or you left to the crypt. Sometimes, you even went for real dates – so long as you were sure that everyone else you knew would be busy elsewhere.

Tonight, you were going to the Bronze together. It was a little more of a risk than usual, but he had insisted on taking you somewhere he knew you would enjoy. Muttered something about not keeping you in the shadows before taking your hand and leading the way. The truth was, Spike was in fact just very smitten with you. And he pretty much wanted everyone to see that you were with him. This was ‘everyone’ except the scoobies and any family members you happened to have crawling out of the woodwork. It was safe though, everyone else was going to some college party and Buffy had told you that it was uncool to have her younger sibling come along.

Buffy was the only one that viewed you as the ‘younger sibling’ the others were friends with you because they were fond of you. Because, well, sometimes you appeared more mature than Buffy did – not that they would ever say that to her face. Although there was always that slight worry that if they hadn’t been friends with Buffy they wouldn’t have been as close with you. You were barely a year younger than Buffy but she was still incredibly protective of you as she was the oldest.

What you hadn’t banked on, whilst you rubbed Spike’s thigh under the table, was that Xander hadn’t been invited to the party. He saw you immediately and made his way over to you with Anya close behind. You almost choked on your drink as you saw them come up behind Spike. You snapped your hand away in shock much to Spike’s displeasure.

“Hey, Y/n-” he started and then stopped when he saw Spike’s presence, “He bothering you?”

“No, he’s just-”

“Warming you up, right pet?” His eyes glistened as he spoke, an eyebrow raising which made Xander scowl. You tried your best to hide the smile at your boyfriend’s words as Xander looked between you both. Xander liked to think of himself as your older brother and had decided you needed defending. You opened your mouth to say otherwise but ended up being cut off by a very urgent ex-vengeance demon.

“It doesn’t matter that they’re dating right now, we are all going to get ripped into pieces if the demon finds us!” Anya shouted. You hadn’t been as secretive as you thought then.

“An!” Xander hissed, sharing a look. At the exact same time you and Spike shared a look too. You wondered who else had seen straight through your sneaking around and longing glances you shared through scooby meetings.

You were sharing looks for different reasons though. They had obviously discussed what not to say beforehand and Anya had characteristically ignored his warning. There was some kind of demon threatening the town. Again.

“What’s going on, Xander? Anya?” you tried for your ex-vengeance demon friend when Xander didn’t speak. There was definitely something odd going on. At her name being called, despite Xander’s warning, she launched into an explanation.

“Xander got annoyed at our sex-spell and ripped a page out of my very rare copy of ‘magic, sex and me’ which ruined our entire evening!” She scowled and crossed her arms before continuing, “Now we have to kill it instead of having our sexy time” she pouted.

“We’ll pretend we didn’t hear about a sex spell-”

“Well, I want to hear about it. Can’t get it up, mate?” Spike taunted which only made Xander redden further after Anya’s admittance. Xander stepped as if to hit your vampire but you stepped in the way and wheeled Xander away, changing the subject.

You asked instead about what this demon was like. Anya explained that it was a Scorn-demon. Ridiculously hard to kill and bound to the pages of a book as no mortal prison can hold it. It looked as if you were in for a long night. Which is exactly what you and Spike had planned although for a very different reason.

“If all of us are looking, we’ll find it quicker” You offered, Xander had been embarrassed to explain because of the reason they were doing a spell. But now Anya had told anyone anyway, he was grateful of the help. You got to your feet, ready to follow them out as Spike got up beside you.

“Looks like no bugger’s getting any tonight” Spike muttered, rolling his eyes as you apparently volunteered you both to assist your friend.

“Just working ourselves up… right?” You offered which made him smirk. God, he had been rubbing off on you. You almost felt yourself mirroring his smirk at your words. He wanted to pull you in and kiss you until you admitted just his presence could get you worked up enough alone, but he knew the importance of hiding this from your friends. Which, really was the only reason he didn’t take you right there in the middle of the Bronze.

Instead, you just trailed behind Xander and Anya’s bickering and tried to locate this demon. You called Buffy’s cell and left a message. You knew this was probably going to end with a battle you were unequipped for. You just hoped that you ran into your sister before you ran into the demon. By all accounts he sounded nasty.

As you walked, you and Spike kept sneaking glances at the other when you hoped the others weren’t looking. It was hard, having to maintain this distance when all you wanted to do was reach for him. Show him your affection freely. When you caught the other’s eye, you couldn’t help but smile. You felt so lucky, to have someone that cared so deeply. Someone who wasn’t afraid to share their love so freely.

You wanted to slide your hand in his, tell him just how lucky you felt. Just how much you felt for him, although you were sure he must be sick of how often you told him you loved him. He never was, of course. It was the sweetest music hearing that phrase from your lips. He kissed them a thousand times just to catch the remaining sweetness from your tongue. With those words, nothing should be wasted. He wanted to savour every syllable of your love.

You kept walking until you had to come to an abrupt halt. Dawn turned a corner and crashed straight into you. Turns out, your hopes came true: you did come across your sister first. It just happened to not be the one you expected.

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were ready for, like, double dating yet” Dawn teased. She, too, had decided that you and Spike had to be dating. She often brought it up to annoy you but she believed it all the same. Spike never corrected her and you had stopped bothering too. You would only come off as defensive and she would tease you for that. You honestly couldn’t win living under the same roof as Dawn, she could be relentless.

Spike leaned in to whisper something in your ear, his lips so close to your ear you could imagine the way they would feel if he leaned in further and pressed against your skin. You smiled at his comment, he always made you laugh. He liked to hear your laugh and it passed the time while he waited for the fight that was coming.

When you looked back up, Willow and Tara had caught up with your group. They gave you a knowing look at how close you were stood to Spike. You wanted to lean on him, inhale deeply and press kisses against the curve of his neck. You loved the way he gripped you closer when you did that. But you had to snap yourself out of this thought at the arrival of your sister. Buffy immediately started giving orders, not before she gave you a warning look for letting Dawn come with you after she scowled at Spike for his mere presence.

“I brought the research – I think there’s a spell, but we’ll have to weaken him first” Willow muttered, frowning at Anya and blaming her for this spell and putting her best friend in danger.

“The spell needs lovers to complete it. Do you think you could help us Anya? Xander?” Tara asked softly, “But I’m not sure if that’s enough to hold him”

Because the demon was attracted to love and sex, couples were needed to cut off his power at the source. It fed from lovers and by concentrating that power it could reverse and thus weaken the demon within a certain spot.

“Well, if we need couples we have at least three pairs here. Maybe that would be enough?” Willow asked. Making everyone look around to count the pairs. Everyone’s eyes then landed on you and Spike. The last to look was Buffy who raised an eyebrow between you both.

“Does everyone know we’re dating?!”

“Pretty much, sweetie” tara nodded.

“We just didn’t wanna embarrass you. It’s… Spike” Buffy cringed at even the thought of it, “I, uh, thought you would have kinda got it out of your system by now though” Buffy hitched her nose up at the idea of the two of you, but shrugged. She saw it as a meaningless relationship. The kind she had with Parker in her first year of college but more often.

From what you gathered as they didn’t correct her, nobody really thought Spike capable of any kind of meaningful relationship. And with him not being able to actively harm you, they just decided to avoid the topic entirely until one or both of you got bored of the sex. The only one that hadn’t thought anything of your sudden proximity with Spike every time he turned around, was Xander. He really would have said something if he had known. But he still wasn’t convinced now – no matter how often Anya insisted.

You slid your hand into his, now that everybody appeared to know that you were together at least. He smiled at this, looking down at your hands back to your face. This smile, it was softer than he would usually show in front of the Scoobies, it was one only for you. Where he felt such genuine happiness. Such adoration.

As usual, nobody really wanted to discuss your love life (rather just ignore and hope it went away) and so began to look away from you and discuss the demon again. You began following the trail of destruction. He wasn’t so hard to locate really and Buffy immediately attacked him as Willow and Anya set up in a large triangle around the fight. Each couple was at each point of the triangle as the recital occurred. A flash of light surrounded the demon and Buffy before it faded, showing the demon now fighting sluggishly.

You tried to protect Dawn the best you could while Spike and Buffy took it in turns to throw punches at the now marginally weakened demon. You and the others helped when you could but he was so strong even now the spell had worked, that humans barely affected him.

Somehow the demon broke from Spike’s hold and started for Dawn - who he had sensed as the weaker member of your group. You charged in front of your younger sister to try and distract him. This lead to him twisting you and throwing you into the air and crashing into a nearby storefront. You were flung straight against the wall and hit your head quite badly. He watched you falling like a ragdoll, appearing limp due to the blow.

His gut dropped. He left Buffy to the fight. All that mattered now was that you were okay. He had never been so scared. Spike rushed over to you, dropping to the floor so that he could cradle your head in his lap. There were a few seconds where he didn’t know what to do.

But then just as he thought he may have lost you, hope was restored again. You open your eyes, your smile a little dazed as you looked at him from your position in his lap. He looked up to the sky in relief, as if silently thanking the powers. His eyes danced with emotion as he looked back into yours. He wouldn’t know what he would do without you. Couldn’t even imagine it less his heart would begin to ache with phantom loss.

He was so overcome by the thought of losing you that he immediately caught your lips with his. Pouring every single feeling he had ever experienced for you into that one kiss. His hand cupping your cheek, the other on the small of your back – pressing you closer to him. As if this kiss may well be your very last. You reciprocated without hesitation, your lips felt as if they had been moulded just for this very moment. This kiss, it said everything. Promised everything and you smiled into it. Your lips moving against his urgently, insisting he feel your love for him. Even in your weakened state, all of your energy went into kissing him.

In the same moment, Buffy managed to finally slay the beast and Tara and Willow muttered some words that sent him into the book he would now again call home. Buffy whipped around to catch you both kissing so desperately. The rest of the group stopped still and staring too. Every mouth agape in shock. At just how much you appear to feel for the other. This wasn’t just a quick shag when the feeling struck. One wasn’t taking advantage of the other. This was love. The truest kind. And nobody could deny it now, not even Xander.

After you parted, reluctantly on both parts, he took on your weight as you all walked back, everyone except him in silence. He doted on you, pressing a kiss against your temple every few paces – just because he could now in this company. He wanted to offer you all of the comfort he could. He was whispering to you trying to make sure you didn’t fall asleep. He was sure you had a concussion (I mean, you kissed him that way in front of all of your friends without any worries after all).

Buffy didn’t even object when it appeared that Spike was walking their way home. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Everyone could see just how deeply you cared for each other. It was undeniable, even to your older sister.

Spike was just pleased you would make it and be okay. And… he began to get smug that he was finally able to show the slayer that he could access her house this entire time.

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