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sprout-fics · 2 months

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Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: None Tags: Greek Mythology AU, Greek God inspired, Human sacrifice reader, God of death and wrath Ghost, Size difference, Size kink, Praise Kink, (Marriage kink if you squint?), PiV sex, Aftercare, Eros and Psyche inspired, Cliffhanger A/N: Part two dependent on reception

They call your fate a tragedy.

It’s a necessary one, the temple priest says, as you weep at the steps leading up to the grand mausoleum- inlaid with gold and obsidian. You wrap your arms around yourself as they tell you of your duty, inform you of your sacrifice. The statue of the god of wrath and death looms tall and menacing behind him, his bone white mask a single flash of pale amidst the dark, swirling robes that cover his limbs. You shiver as you look upon it, flesh cold as you imagine your final moments pleading at his feet.

A sacrifice, they say.

One to appease the god as death ravages your city, an holy offering innocent, beautiful and pure to quell his anger and rage. Eyes rest upon your trembling shoulders in a mixture of hope and pity, and you know even if you cry out none shall aid you. Your destiny is to die at the hands of a god so that they may live, and if it means your life is called for, they shall offer it for you.

You do not scream or struggle as they take you into the temple, you do not speak as they wash you and smooth aromatic oils into your shivering skin. You do not even look at them when they clothe you in a dark chiton and allow a veil to flutter over your despairing, tear-rimmed eyes.

When they close the altar doors behind you, you dare not throw yourself against them in one last bid for freedom.

The altar is dark, black marble columns stretching high above you and vanishing into a ceiling that the candlelight doesn’t reach. Lanterns litter the steps leading up to the sacrificial altar, with opulent offerings of jewels, weapons, and polished bones stacked high. Shadows dance between them, casting long and sinister against the temple walls. Your bare feet skim the cold stone floor as you ascend, tracing your hand against the frigid, dark mirror surface of the altar. You were not told what to do, only to wait.

So you wait, and you wait longer, sitting upon the edge of the altar, trembling and holding in your cries until they break apart inside your throat. The chamber is silent as the grave, with not a breeze or whisper of warm air to comfort your frigid flesh. Eventually only the sound of your hiccuping sobs fills the emptiness, as you weep for your fate, for the tragedy that has befallen you, for how they shall remember your name in poems, until at last you fall asleep splayed upon the dark altar and awaiting your demise.

As you dream fitfully of the ever after, the candles waver and snuff out with a cold gust of wind. Dark eyes regard your pliant form prone atop the piles of offerings.

and quietly, arms reach forward and cradle you to him as you are taken away.

---

When you awake, it is in somewhere new.

You come to far more gently than you anticipated, soft dreams still clinging velvet to your slumber. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re no longer curled tightly atop the hard surface of the altar, but rest instead upon silk sheets and soft, plush bedding. The veil still drapes across your face, and as you delicately lift it, your surroundings are revealed to you.

It’s a large chamber, far larger than the temple, but sparsely furnished. You lay upon a bed fit for a man larger than any you’ve ever laid eyes upon, adorned with dark sheets and embroidered with gold thread. Torches flicker with a strange black light against the walls- silver dancing along the outer edge of flames. The blazing hearth does the same amidst a mantle of dark stone, stretching upwards into a ceiling you’ll never reach. A mirror and a basin stands in the corner, and beside them curtains blow in from the balcony, where dawn glows yellow against the horizon.

You’re alone.

You’re careful as you creep from bed towards the balcony, the wind ruffling your gown as you stand at the precipice. Below, a stark mountain valley yawns dark and fathomless without end.

The door groans as it opens.

You flinch away from the sound, spinning and feeling terror pool low and vile in your stomach at the sight that awaits you.

It’s him.

Taller than any man, a being of pure power, the god Ghost stands at the doorway clad in billowing dark fabric, his dark eyes boring into your shivering form from behind the stark white of his skull mask. The sheer size of him is enough to send goosebumps racing down your spine, his immortal stature ensuring you scarcely come up to his chest. The strength of his limbs is curled in tight muscle discernible even with his cloak, and when you meet his eyes you think of the space between stars- a void into which no light escapes.

He takes only three strides to cross the chamber.

You cower backwards until your spine hits the railing of the balcony, and as you glance over your shoulder the valley wind roars from the depths. You wonder if it is a more fitting end to hurl yourself from here than face whatever slow death the God of Wrath has ordained for you.

He stops just at the threshold, regarding you as you look up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. At this nearness you can sense the pure energy that rolls off of him in waves, a strangeness that speaks of something far from human, an unfathomable power that your mortal soul will never fully understand.

“Don’t.” Is the first word he ever says to you, looking past you to the valley. He reaches out his hand, not an inch of his flesh visible beneath his gauntlet of white bone. “Come.”

You stay where you are, heartbeat fluttering as you eye his outstretched palm.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep.” He intones, voice deep like distant, rolling thunder. There’s a strangeness to it you cannot place, the tone of it ringing between your ears in a distant echo, otherworldly.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Are the first words you return to him, desperate as a thing wheezes from your lungs.

Ghost stares at you unblinkingly, and despite the black ichor that paints his gaze, his eyes look almost kind.

“Come away from the balcony.” He tells you, his voice softer.

You cast another glance down at the dark valley, swallowing hard, before at last reaching your hand forward and settling it in his cold palm. He draws you inside, out of the wind, and you find yourself hovering near the hearth with its strange, dancing flames.

“Your name.” He tells you, watching as you hesitantly warm yourself, carefully looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

When you tell him, he repeats it. Slow, purposeful, as if tasting a foreign fruit for the first time. It shivers through you, as if he somehow has wound magic through the sound alone.

“You will stay here.” He tells you under no uncertain terms. “In my palace. No harm shall come to you here.”

You blink at that, face falling open with confusion as you turn to him fully.

“Why...?”

Ghost regards you coolly, but when you focus on his eyes you can swear they crinkle with a wry smile.

“I have no reason to hurt my bride.” He explains simply.

“Your...” You echo, blinking. “I...”

“You were given to me.” He tells you, advancing upon you until he’s mere inches away, one arm braced on the hearth so he bends over your smaller, mortal form. “As a sacrifice. I saved you. Your life is mine by rights.”

Fear pulses bright through you, limbs awash with dread as the blood drains from your face. You had expected death, but the daunting reality of this, of being given to a god as a bride...

Ghost must see the terror in your eyes, for he removes himself from you, striding towards the heavy, ancient door.

“I will not touch you unless you ask.” He states, voice lower. “You are free to roam this palace as you like. There is food in the banquet hall.”

He pauses, observing you as you hesitate near the hearth.

“I will return at dusk.”

and with that, your new husband vanishes.

----

True to his word, no one stops you from roaming the palace.

It’s a massive structure, with towering black columns and high ceilings. Obsidian, marble, and gold accentuates every corner, and you find treasures and trophies displayed at every turn. You are entirely alone as you wander, bare feet skimming against the cold tile as you take in your new home. Each room reveals a new wonder. A bath with glimmering water that billows steam from golden fountains, a garden with dark roses that creep along stone walls, a library with scrolls in tongues you don’t understand, and a banquet hall filled with food that doesn’t seem to rot.

You eat until your stomach is full, and with every bite the food tastes more delicious than the bite before. You scrub yourself in the bath, and when you exit you find fresh garments awaiting you, embroidered with glimmering thread. The finery is beyond anything you dared imagine, and quietly you feel your reservations departing you as the thought of possibly escaping ebbs slowly from your mind.

Dusk finds you back at his chambers, watching the shadows grow long against the walls as slumber slowly descends upon you.

You’re on the brink of sleep when the bed dips, and a bare hand curls gently against your cheek. In your half-dreams, you nuzzle into the touch with a languid sigh, feeling the air fan across his palm. Ghost is silent as he lays beside you, observing your restful face with half-lidded eyes. His mask lays on the table beside him, disposed along with his cloak and armor.

You see nothing when you’re roused by the sensation of him tucking you against him, the world engulfed in darkness. Hypnos whispers across your senses as your eyelids flutter, trying to discern the shape of him as he presses in close behind you. Ghost tucks his legs under yours, his massive frame curling around you and his nose burrowing into the junction of your throat and jaw, where he draws in a heavy breath.

“Sleep, mortal.” He whispers there, one massive arm wrapping across your front.

True to his order, and engulfed in the warm sensation of his body pressed against yours, you find the gossamer veil of sleep draw over you once more.

He’s gone again come morning.

You awake alone, and find yourself missing the presence of him.

The banquet hall is refreshed with food of all kinds- delicacies from far lands you’ve never traveled to. You spend an exorbitant amount of time in the baths, dozing gently as steam billows around you. In the library you find a collection of war poems that you devour with eager eyes until the sun begins to slope towards the horizon, and oddly you do not find yourself entirely bored despite being alone in the massive pantheon to which he has left you.

Yet as darkness descends, you find yourself awake in his bed, waiting for him.

When he at last appears, as the moment where all light has drawn away from the horizon, the dark candles snuff out in a cold billow of wind. Plunged into darkness, the only sensation available to you is a hand caressing your cheek.

“Little bride.” He rumbles as the bed dips before you. “Were you so eager to see me you chose to forego sleep?”

Hesitantly, you raise a hand to press his own against your face, feeling the immense size of it dwarf your own.

“Yes.” You tell him in a scarce whisper, as if you’re revealing a tender secret. Your heartbeat thrums loud in your ears, fluttering inside the cage of your ribs as he draws closer. You try to remember the words you had meant to say- a thank you for saving you? Awe at the splendid riches allowed to you? A quiet plea to leave, one which you don’t truly mean?

You reach forward in the darkness, finding the shape of him broad and strong against your palm. There’s smooth skin of scars that litter his immortal flesh, across the wide breadth of his chest, down to his waist, traced across his arm and shoulders and the massive span of his back. He’s bare to you, and you can’t suppress a shiver at the mere thought that you are laying with a God.

“You’re frightened.” He notes at the shake in your hands, attempting to draw away from you.

“No.” You tell him, a hand gripping tighter to his to prevent his retreat. Words clog your throat, lips parted with breath as you feel his coal-dark eyes bore into you in the inkinesss of his chambers.

“Touch me.” You whisper instead.

When he bends to you, he swallows the sigh that pours past your lips.

Ghost defiles you in the way warriors do- pure strength tempered by careful restraint. You splay under him bare, his hands smoothing over your flesh like admiring a masterful weapon. He memorizes the curves and softness of you, humming notes low and deep into your skin as he drinks in your scent like ambrosia. He spends his time admiring the outline of you in the darkness, fingers dipping between your legs and spreading you over large, calloused fingers until you mewl and grip at the fine silk sheets.

“Sweet little thing.” He rumbles, pleased, as you offer him high, keening moans, head tossed back against the pillows. Wetness dribbles down your thighs, coats his hand just as he licks greedy and hot into your open mouth that chants his name. His towering frame bends over you, hauls you to his waiting hands with hardly any effort. Your hands scrape against his shortly shorn hair as he lays claiming bites across your throat and collarbone and Ghost moans against your skin like the pain and pleasure are twin beings.

“Ghost.” You chant in a hymn as his worshipers do when his clever tongue drinks down your arousal at your entrance, and the answering growl that he responds with sends pleasure fissuring down your spine like the earth split open. His hands hold you still as you buck and writhe with your climax, broken sounds filling the empty chamber so loud you think your shout can be heard at the far reaches of the palace.

He shushes you when at last he sheathes himself inside you, the girth of him splitting you wide enough you whimper into his chest. Yet he holds you to him, noses into your hair and whispers low, soothing words as your legs quiver.

“Good.” He purrs as you go pliant against him with a keening sigh, arms looped around his neck and nails digging into the flesh of his spine. “Perfect little bride. They were right to offer you to me.”

You think the nectar of the gods must taste like the glide of his tongue when he kisses you.

Ghost plays the symphony of your flesh like poets play the harp. His massive frame hunches over yours, the sheets tangled around you and his fingers entwined with your own. Each roll of his hips has you choking on a plea, has him huffing hot breaths and growling filthy praises in your ear.

“Made for me. Just me.” He groans, voice grinding deep in his chest as he ruts into you. Slow, measured, infuriatingly not enough. The drag of him inside you threatens to pull you under into madness as you mewl and squirm, desperately chasing the touch of him. “Made to take me, made to be in my bed, in my palace.”

It’s possessive, almost wild with the force of his claiming you. You go to him willingly, tears watering your eyes as you choke on a sob of pleasure. Yet it’s not enough, as he draws your pleasure higher, higher, burning you alive like the inferno of the heavenly sun but refusing to push you over the precipice. You plead his name, dig your fingers into the dip of his spine, ask for divine mercy that he keeps just beyond your mortal reach.

“Say my name.” He tells you, the sound of your coupling echoing out into the chamber- wet and debauched along with your desperate gasps.

“Ghost.” You sob, clinging helplessly to him, laying kisses upon his bare face in the darkness as an offering to the altar of him. “Ghost.”

In return, Ghost bestows upon you your own name, snarling it wild and feral against your lips as you at last fall apart beneath him. You choke on a cry of his name as something great and tender snaps abruptly inside you, races outwards along your limbs with such sudden ferocity you wonder for a moment if you’re been burned alive. Yet the pleasure itself drowns you like the deep and bottomless ocean- a surrender where you try to claw your way to the surface and instead allow the depths to take you.

Ghost growls as he buries himself fully inside the wet clutch of your heat, emptying inside your heaving form with a long, low groan. You feel the spend on him leak from your joining, collapsing against him as you try to remember how to breathe. Ghost adjusts so you lay sprawled atop his broad chest, rising slow and purposefully beneath you as you tuck your head under his chin. A war-worn hand strokes lazy paths against your skin, and you hear him hum with a deep satisfaction at your consummation. You feel claimed in the best of ways, not as one of his beloved war trophies but as his.

When you finally grow restful against his chest, you prop your chin up and try to find the shape of him in the darkness. He’s absent of his mask, you know, and curiously you try to discern his features in absolute blindness. You wonder if he’s as handsome as you dare to dream.

“Why can I not see you?” You ask in a whisper, and Ghost’s hand stills where it traces along the ridge of your spine. He’s tense, and it startles you when he speaks with his voice pitched low, authoritative in a way he’s never spoken to you before.

“As long as you remain here, you will never see my face.” He tells you, his chest vibrating under your palms. “I will care for you, protect you, and you will be mine, but you never see me. Understood?”

You don’t, really, understand. Confusion wrinkles your brow at the enigmatic declaration, but Ghost eases under you as you nod anyways, and the comfort of his gentle touch resumes, and assuages you of your worries until you fall asleep.

In the morning he lingers in your marital chambers, the pale light of dawn glinting off the armor he has donned before you awoke. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bone white gauntlet stroking with surprising gentleness across your brow. You catch it with your palm, kiss across his ivory knuckles as he huffs a warm breath of affection.

“I will return.” He tells you softly, and steps towards the balcony, only to vanish in a billow of smoke.

You lounge in bed in his absence, feeling the pleasurable soreness of your lovemaking imbue itself in your muscles and limbs. Even after a full rest you find yourself exhausted, and it isn’t long before you curl back into the sheets until the chariot of the sun reaches its zenith. Even then, you wince to yourself as you creep from bed, roused by your empty stomach and the mess between your thighs. You don’t make it farther than the basin at the edge of the room before your legs threaten to fail you, and you resign yourself to a few sips of water and washing what you can before collapsing back into bed.

You’re still there when he returns, and Ghost pauses when he hears your empty stomach, hums with dissatisfaction when you tell him of your troubles. With no effort at all, he lifts you into his arms and walks in the way gods do- only several long strides before you find yourself at the baths. Candles cast shadows against the walls, dancing hypnotically as Ghost deposits you at the edge of the water, pausing to disrobe himself of all but his mask before once more lifting you and walking into the baths with you in his arms.

The moan that bubbles up your throat at the heat that ensconses your weary limbs prompts a laugh from the God above you, who releases you only enough to reach for oils at the tiled edge. Ghost is careful, deliberate as he washes you, and despite your protests he insists, as if the act itself is another means of proving his devotion. Yet he can’t resist grazing a rough thumb over your nipples until you squeak, dipping his fingers between your thighs in slow, lazy circles until your legs tighten around his wrist.

Ghost takes you like that, holding you flush to him as his fingers work deftly inside of you, plucking at something bright and powerful until your voice fills the chamber with gasping, wanton pleas. You grip at him as you gush over his palm with your climax, a whimpering sound caught in your chest as he lauds affections into your slick skin.

When you are at last clean and sated, Ghost wraps you in his own cloak before you find yourself in the banquet hall with grapes being lifted to your lips. You know the tale of the goddess taken to the netherworld and having eaten the fruit there, know it meant forever tying herself to a place of death. Yet as your lips close around his fingers as the morsels are fed to you, you can think of no other realm in which you’d rather be.

and silently, you wish you could see the face of the man who has taken you as his bride.

The days are spent as such. You become accustomed to the palace, teaching yourself its interior so you can navigate it blind. You spend hours in the baths, dozing with your head cradled by your arms on the tiled edge. You devour the poems in the library and write your own thoughts on parchment beside them which you find in boundless supply. In the afternoons before Ghost returns you walk on long strolls through his gardens which seem ever changing, blooming with iridescent blossoms and fragrant lilies bright like starlight. You find a harp which seems to offer no sour note despite your lack of familiarity, and wind beautiful music through the obsidian and onyx halls of his home. You find yourself wanting for nothing- not food or shelter or finery of any nature. In return, you offer your love to the God who has claimed you, and to you he returns the same.

Ghost returns to you at sunset, and most nights find your form tangled with his as he takes you whimpering and breathless against the sheets. He seems to know your body like a swordsman knows his blade, invents new ways to pluck at your desire until the only thing you can offer him is reedy, desperate sounds of his name, reminding him you are his. Afterwards he tends to you, and even then you kiss the other shell of his mask as steam billows around you in the baths as your bare bodies embrace.

You find yourself increasingly nocturnal if only to spend the long hours of darkness in his company, talking and touching in the absence of any illumination. You ask him of the poems in his library, of the trophies that adorn his palace, of the emptiness between these walls and how he bore the loneliness that came before you. You ask him of the offerings given to him by his worshippers, of immortality and all things of a god-like nature.

You never ask him to show his face.

Instead you map it with delicate touches in the darkness, trying to instill in yourself an image of his likeness behind the mask. His jaw is strong, and along it you think you feel the smooth skin of another scar that snakes up towards his ear. His hair is short, and you wonder if it is the same dark color as his ember stare. His lips are soft as they press to your skin, as if he himself is the acolyte to your divinity.

As the weeks turn into seasons, and the high winds of autumn reach the mountaintop, he tells you of how he became a God.

Gods are not born. They are chosen, he says. Those of great valor, of devotion and strength are lifted into the pantheon and blessed with immortality, with divinity beyond that of human comprehension. Outliving those who once knew them as human, their legends are inscribed in the songs and poems, spoken of in many tongues until their following becomes great and loyal.

When you ask him with quiet reverence how he became immortal, Ghost’s form goes rigid with something you think can only be fury.

“I was betrayed.” He tells you, voice filled with murderous intent.

He tells you how he was once a soldier- a warrior that some claimed was already a demi-god. Yet he was mortal when his commander betrayed him, abandoned him on a hill of battle upon which Ghost was buried beneath a pile of rotting corpses, slowly suffocating under the weight of dead men. He had clawed himself free with savage intent, feeling rage become the only emotion known to him. It had taken days for him to free himself of the putrid flesh and decay that surrounded him, and it was only once he stood upon the pile of death that he breathed in his first gasp of immortality. The wrath became him, and he became wrath, or so the legends are said.

When you ask him how long ago this was, Ghost does not answer you.

You try not to think of what will happen when he witnesses your final, mortal breath.

and you try not to wish to see his face before you die.

“Are you hideous?” You ask him teasingly, drawing circles on his bare chest as his fingers idly soak themselves in the spend between your legs.

“Far from it.” He replies dryly, and you place a giggling smile upon his grinning lips.

You try not to dwell on it. There is so much you have to be grateful for, after all. A warm bed, a blazing hearth, clothes, a home, food, endless entertainment, and most importantly a husband who swears his devotion to you every sunset.

Yet in the daylight you find yourself missing him, and in the hollow place of his absence you try not to let temptation take root in the emptiness.

It’s on a cold morning when you find a snake in the garden.

You’re bent over a swath of coal-dark dahlias when you hear it slither behind you. When you turn, you’re greeted with mahogany dark eyes and shimmering green scales. Yet even as you flinch away the serpent doesn’t deign to chase you, regarding you curiously as it speaks in sibilant, seductive words.

“I see the God of Wrath has found himself a muse.” A feminine voice purrs, amused. “Which mortal realm did he steal you away from?”

“I wasn’t stolen.” You retort, shying away as the snake curls closer around your bare feet. “I was an offering.”

Sinister, the snake laughs at you. “And has he refused to let you leave? Are you too afraid to try? He may kill you, hermosa.”

“He wouldn’t.” You manage, tucking yourself up on a pedestal where your dress drapes over the edge. “He loves me.”

“Oh?” The snake asks, curling around the base of the stone, where the light reflects upon its shimmering body. “Are you sure, little muse?”

“Of course.” You reply quickly, even though a shadow casts longer upon your heart with every word spoken by the serpent.

The snake hums thoughtfully, winding itself around the stone slowly, until at last it raises its smooth head to the level of your gaze.

“Then why hasn’t he shown you his face?”

You falter at that, hugging your knees defensively and brow furrowing with dismay. The serpent plucks at the secret doubt inside you that you quietly tuck away at every sunset, that you feel thrum under your fingers as you trace the planes of his face in darkness. You try to conceal it, hardly ever speak of it, but you can’t help but wonder why Ghost refuses to show himself to you.

“Maybe he’s a monster.” The snake goes on. “Grotesque and rotten. The only way he can have your love is if you never see him.”

That can’t be true. Your husband is beautiful and strong, and you know even if he was hideous you would still love him for his fierce protectiveness and tender care. Even if his visage was obscured by scars of battle past, you would still love him.

“He doesn’t trust you, little muse.” The snake hisses quietly, and it sounds strangely pitying, a sadness which you feel plays upon the harp strings of your ribs. “Can you truly be wed to a man who does not believe in you?”

“Ghost loves me.” You repeat in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

“If that were true, he would love you even if you saw his face.” The snake offers, tongue flickering in your ear.

Something dark and viscous simmers in your stomach like tar, and you further hunch in on yourself, uncertain.

“Away with you.” You say at last, refusing to look at the serpent, who laughs wickedly as she winds herself into the bed of dahlias, and vanishes.

That night, when Ghost lays with you, the whisper of his affections feels sour against your skin.

You lay awake even as he sleeps behind you, his massive form curled around you and bracketing you in his warmth. The darkness looms long inside your thoughts, where the words of the serpent echo into the void where light fails to illuminate the face of your husband.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Yet you know of Ghost’s warning, his oath that you will no longer be his if you see his face. To risk the love he has given you for such a temptation seems sacreligious, a sin for which there is no return.

He doesn’t trust you, the snake whispers.

In the morning, you feign sleep while you hear him depart to realms unknown.

He’ll return after dark. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You do not find the snake in the garden.

He doesn’t trust you.

“You’re mine.” He huffs, dark and deep against your lips in your bed that night, and you shield your cry of desperation behind a moan. You give everything to him, your entire being, lay it bare before him as the offering you are, knowing he will keep you safe and love you with fierce devotion the way warriors love their oaths.

He loves you.

He leaves at dawn.

but he doesn’t trust you.

The wick burns against your fingertips as you light it.

You approach the bed with silent steps, your bare feet skimming across the stone as they did in the temple at the altar as you’d sacrificed yourself to him.

He loves you.

He’d taken you, spared you, made you his bride. He gave you his palace and all the treasures within, and with it came his love.

You see the broad, scarred plane of his back as you draw closer.

He hides behind a mask, refuses to let you see the one thing that nobody else has ever seen. Not even you, his offering, his bride, his muse, his beloved.

The candlelight illuminates his face.

and you feel your breath catch tightly in your chest.

He’s breathtaking.

The word ‘divine’ does not compare to his likeness, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in sleep. His alabaster skin shielded from the sun is written with scars, but the stories told by them seem like the songs of great poets, wild and magnificent in the way of feral things. Long, blonde lashes swoop gently over his cheeks, still rosy with the exertion of your lovemaking, face slack and open in his slumber.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

Even when his dark eyes open, look upon you with despair, he’s still beautiful.

“No.” Ghost speaks in a tone you’ve never heard, full of grief, and it stabs through you like a blade. “How could you?”

“Ghost-” You try, reaching for him as he raises himself from bed, drawing to his full height and towering above you. Yet your fingers are just short as he draws away, towards the balcony.

“Leave.” He tells you, his voice hardening with fury as a cold wind begins to billow around his form, cast in starlight.

“No-” You try, panic bubbling up your throat as you try to move forward to him, pleas for forgiveness upon your lips. “Ghost-!”

“LEAVE.” Ghost bellows as smoke churns wildly about his immortal form, the cold wind slicing against your skin and preventing you from drawing near.

“I love you!” You cry in desperation as tears form, and the mantle of his cloak descends upon his shoulders, bone white replacing his face.

Ghost doesn’t respond, not as he becomes wrath, not as his eyes look upon you with betrayal and despair. You try to move forward, to touch him once more, but when you reach out your hand, skim your fingers against the outline of him-

He’s gone.

As the cold wind retreats, and with it your husband, you collapse to the floor and wail with your despair.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #my fic #my writing #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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sfehvn · 6 months

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new religion

Description: AU- Astarion is enamored by you, and while he fights it at first, he may have just found his new religion. A/N: Just a tad bit of sweet smut to be honest. This was my listen while I wrote if you were curious. Enjoy! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,069 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

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From the moment Astarion had seen you, he knew he had to have you. Walking through the animated city of Baldur’s Gate, your radiant smile was the first thing that had caught his eye. Flowing hair kissed your shoulders adorned with freshly plucked daisies. Your aroma was the most intoxicating scent that had graced his nose in all of his years. Your rose-tinted cheeks teased with the blood flowing beneath your flawless skin. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, reflecting the rays of the sun above. He had never been a believer in the love at first sight nonsense, yet there you were. If his undead heart could beat, he was sure it would be skipping against his ribcage. It was the only time the vampire had found himself utterly speechless.

For months, he watched from afar, finding excuses to go into town. Not that he had to excuse anything to anyone, but the newfound feelings were frightening, to say the least. Alas, day after day Astarion went out, whether for a drink or an unnecessary shop trip, and he would wait to get even the slightest glimpse at you. He was aware that this obsession was snowballing out of his hands as he fell harder and deeper. Hells, he had never even spoken to you. Yet he knew nearly everything there was to know.

He knew every other day you made your way to the apothecary to pick up medicines for your sick father, whom you cared for. He knew once every fifth day, you picnicked in the graveyard next to your mother’s grave. He knew your favorite color was yellow because it reminded you of the summers you spent with your mother before her untimely passing. You had six siblings: an older brother and five young sisters.

Astarion had also realized that you had a death wish, apparently. You were constantly staying out past sundown, running errands or helping neighbors. Did you even comprehend the dangers? He would often think to himself. Of course he had to follow you home to ensure you made it inside safely. You were becoming a liability to him, and quite frankly, he was terrified of how you made him feel. Just when he had decided to end this one-sided arrangement, there you were. Sat on the side of the road with tears pooling rivers down your cheeks, his body felt out of his control as he approached you.

He stood in front of you, his words caught in his throat. You stared at him with those big doe-eyes, and his knees felt like jelly. “Are you alright?” He finally managed out. Gods, what am I doing? I should just sink my fangs into her and be done with it. It’s just bloodlust. This was something he had tried to convince himself of many times already- a lie.

“Oh, yes.” Voice sweet and smooth, like the finest honey gold could buy. “Just this silly book.” You giggled, holding up the novel you had previously been engrossed in before Astarion had found you.

“Right. Good.” He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure and still his spinning mind. “I’ll just be on my way then.” You nod, gifting that sweet smile to him. Astarion felt his legs would give out beneath him if he stayed longer, but he didn’t move an inch.

The man intrigued you, ruby red eyes and skin pale as the snow that fell during winter. He was gorgeous. An aura of mystery surrounded him, and you were keen to discover those mysteries. “Say, you live in that big fancy manor?” You question, breaking the awkward silence that had befallen you two.

“I do. Why?” Skepticism was palpable in his tone.

You disregarded his tone, and he believed it to be your naive nature. “You have the most exquisite daffodils blooming alongside your walls. I didn’t want to pick them without asking.” Your smile is sheepish, innocent. Astarion doesn’t speak, his face unreadable. “I-I enjoy putting bouquets together. I don’t mean to-” He already knew this, obviously.

“They are yours.” Astarion can’t contain the smile that tugs the sides of his lips.

As you two stroll to the location of said flowers, Astarion finds himself loosening up in your presence. He watches you intently, the way you move your hair from your face as you carefully pluck a few from the group. He urges you to take more.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother. These are plenty.” You assure. In response, he crouches down next to you to help pluck the remaining flowers.

After walking you home, Astarion ordered flowers to be planted around the grounds. With the help of just a little magic, within weeks, roses, peonies, sunflowers, and carnations bloomed healthily. You would come with a fresh serving of food, a bouquet as thanks, and collect the flowers. As naive as you were, you could recognize what Astarion was doing. The daffodils were a one-off in that area, but now flowers surrounded the entirety of his property. The rate at which they grew, too; you were aware some effort went into getting them to blossom so hastily. At every mention of a new flower, the next time you came, they were miraculously in bloom.

This compromise had been in full swing for months when you finally questioned him about it. Astarion was on his knees as he snipped red roses from the bush, insistent on doing it himself so you didn’t prick yourself on a thorn. “Why are you doing this?” You question, a wicker basket that was already overflowing held firmly in your hands.

“I told you, you’ve nabbed yourself on these blasted thorns one too many times.” His reply came without a look in your direction as he continued to snip the stems.

“That’s not what I meant.” A soft chuckle emanates from behind closed lips. He looks up at you in realization, his hands coming to a halt. Your breath catches in your throat as he stares at you wordlessly, longingly. Standing slowly, he takes a step closer to you. He drops the roses into your basket before cupping your cheeks, closing the distance between your faces. The kiss is electric. You drop the basket to your feet, arms snaking around his neck while he presses your body tightly to his, clinging to you like a prayer. His lips were a colder temperature than you expected, but they were soft and hungry.

That’s how Astarion ended up with you in his bed. As he eagerly ripped the pale blue dress from your body, you took note of the bouquets around his bed chamber. Every single one you had gifted to him was on display and in perfect condition. Your heart flits in your chest, eyes closing in ecstasy as wet kisses trail up the inside of your thighs. A soft moan is elicited from you as his mouth reaches your warmth, his tongue flicking teasingly along your slit. Your fingers thread into his stark white hair, instinctually tugging with every contact against your clit. Colors explode behind your eyelids from the euphoric excitement.

He pulled away briefly, with his starving mouth against your thigh, he spoke muffled words, “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve been waiting to hear that, darling.” Your breathing quickens as you look down at him between your thighs with hooded, lustful eyes. His mouth returns to your clit and he suckles lightly, two fingers dipping into your dripping center. The sensation brings your back into an arch, aching to feel him deeper inside of you.

The swirling motion of his tongue brings you close to the edge, your legs shaking mercilessly. Astarion’s free hand moves between his torso and your legs, holding them steady as he continues his work on your body. Just as you are about to cum, he places a final kiss on your mound before his eyes meet yours. “You’re much naughtier than I thought.” He tsked, crooning his neck at you before moving up your body.

Your lips meet passionately, his tongue slipping effortlessly into your mouth to meet your own. He creates a gap between you as one hand holds him up, quickly removing his trousers and undergarments with his other hand. He pressed his bulge down onto your warmth, hitting your sweet spot as he grinds against you. “Do you taste how lovely you are?” He murmurs, plunging his tongue further into your mouth. You can only let out a delighted moan in response.

Once he breaks the kiss, you press your slippery core harder against his erection. “Please fuck me.” You whimper lustfully, “Please-” Your words are cut short by the sensation of him rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, causing a delicate moan to leave your throat.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, my darling.” He coos. As much as Astarion wanted to continue to play with your body, he needed to be buried in you as quickly as he possibly could. He slides the head of his member from your clit, pushing slowly into your welcoming embrace. He savors every sensation as he enters you. There is a momentary flicker of pain on your face as you adjust to his size, and he falters for a moment.

“Have you done this before?” He asks quietly, pressing his forehead to yours, avoiding your throat to save himself from temptation. He cursed himself inwardly for even asking; he shouldn’t care. This woman brought a side out of him he had never met before- a softer side. The scariest part is he actually, well, liked it.

You wavered for a second before shaking your head, confirming that he was indeed the first man to have ever been in such a position with you. The thought makes him feel feral. Such a sweet flower trusting someone like him to take your virtue; he would never admit it to anyone, but honor and pride swelled in his chest. He nodded in acknowledgment, “We’ll go slow, pet.” He reassures, hips rocking delicately into yours as he fills you with as much of him as he can manage without causing you discomfort. He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead as your pain turns into pleasure, still-shaking legs wrapping to engulf his hips.

“A-Astarion.” His name sounded like a hymn gracing his ears from your mouth, and he wanted to devour you right there and then. It took everything in him not to plow you into the bed. His hand rests on the bedframe as he finds a comfortable rhythm, eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to soak up every reaction to his touch.

“You drive me crazy, pet.” He grunts as his pace quickens, gripping the mahogany wood tighter at the magnetic pleasure buzzing through his body. He uses his free hand to effortlessly move you further up into a slightly seated position as his thumb once again finds your clit to draw purposeful eights over it.

“I-I’m- Oh my gods-” The moan is loud, music to his ears as your walls tighten around his cock.

“That’s right. Be a good girl and cum for me.” It’s a stern demand, all to mask just how close Astarion was himself. His words push you over the edge, your body clinging to his for support as the euphoria rushes over you. Every hair on your body standing on end, you throw your head back and scream Astarion’s name thrillfully.

With you coming undone, he allows himself to reach fruition, his seed filling you to the brim. His hand on the frame loosens, and his head hangs, face full of gratification. He looks down at you, pulling his now-soft member from you, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you stretch contently, much like a cat. Your eyes were droopy, a giddy smirk on your face as you fought to keep them open. Astarion chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You can sleep, my darling. I’ll wake you in a little.”

Astarion swore he felt the tiniest tinge of warmth in his heart at the sight of you so comfortable cuddled into his side as you dozed off. This could be a welcome change. Maybe his undead life just needed his very own light, his own sun. All he knew was that he was done fighting it. One weakness couldn’t hurt.

#ascended!astarion x tav #astarion x tav #ascended!astarion x reader #astarion x reader #soft!ascended!astarion #ascended astarion #astarion #smut #x reader #tav #reader #bg3

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months

Note

Hello again! I am that Anon that requested the Reader is a Smiling Critter and blah blah, I need more and thank you for making these, my heart is filled <3

This is gonna be quite detailed, feel free to change it!

Note: This might be a lil ooc or perhaps more of an AU?? Ah yes, Dogday's legs aren't gone, still attached just for the sake of the nature of the dynamics here.

The reader is a Smiling Critter once again, they had a dream about their old friends ( ex: Smiling Critters or maybe the other toys ). After they woke up in tears, soon they decided to go around the factory in hopes of finding the mini toy versions of their old friends, something to hopefully lessen the ache in their heart. Yeah, they also forgot to tell Catnap where they went and uh the living mini toys noticed their absence and reported it to Catnap 💀

Catnap ain't happy about it, he finishes up whatever he was doing and went on to find the Reader himself ( we're special jk- ). Later, he finally found them, whatever he felt at that time came to halt as he saw the Reader sitting down on the floor, in a pile of toy versions of their old friends, HIS old friends, their old friends, silently weeping to themselves. Without a second thought, he curled up around the reader, patting their head as if to silently reassure them it'll be okay, Catnap was actually genuine about it though the reader knew that it's not that simple ( with the whole prototype and how Catnap just listens to him 💀 ). But in their sadness and loneliness, they let their guard down and sink into the giant cat's affection, feeling nostalgic as they remember they always used to do this during naptime, with THEIR old friends.

After the reader fell into a deep sleep, Catnap decided to just stay where they were even with second thoughts in his mind, in this very moment, the old Catnap is back, not the one that follows the Prototype like a lost puppy. The Catnap his old friends know, the one Dogday knows, the one Reader knows. But he snapped back to his senses, deciding to rest his head on top of the Reader's in order to shutdown all those thoughts, purring while at it. This is ALL FOR THEM, FOR JUSTICE, TO END THE MADNESS, the Prototype promised him.

.....

Dogday is silent as he listens to his " former " friend talk about the events that occured a few hours ago. Catnap has decided to visit Dogday, free him from the belts to eat the food he brought. Dogday silently took the food and ate them as he listens Catnap's talk, understandably hesitant to butt in. It was more than weird, Catnap changed so suddenly and drastically, but recently he was softer, more like the old Catnap, albeit still threatening.

" Dogday... " That made the giant dog snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing his name, his eyes met with Catnap's. Before letting out a surprised yelp as the cat pounced on him, Dogday was terrified for his fate until he felt long arms curled around him. Catnap was hugging him tightly. Read that again. Hugging him. The so-called heretic. Dogday now knows what his friend ( Reader ) felt when Catnap helps them get back to sleep.

This is the Catnap they knew, the actions speak louder than words one, he wasn't truly gone after all.

Night Befallen

Note || I cast brain rot upon ye 🤲

WC || 1,384

Sypnosis || Maybe, just maybe knowing what one can know now—your old friend isn’t entirely stolen away from you.

You had found yourself immersed in a poignant dream, revisiting cherished memories of old friends. Awaking with tears lingering on your lashes, you felt an insistent pull to embark on a heartfelt quest. Determined to reconnect with the essence of your past, you resolve to venture into the depths of the factory, in search of the miniature toy replicas of your beloved originals. With each step forward, anticipation intertwined with nostalgia, guiding your path through the echoes of your cherished history.

You just wished things had truly stayed the same, why did it all happen before–this, Hour of Joy–whatever it had been. CatNap, the same cat you came to cherish and love had been completely twisted, viewing Prototype as a god?

It just made no sense to you, everything is madness.

For now, perhaps you could absolve in finding peace with your recreational little toys, shadows of former friends they may be of course.

“Tch-” You snorted, trying to keep yourself from breaking down in the face of your tiny little friends that are piling up around you. Just like all the old times before, the times… before. All the tiny smiling critters were just plain adorable though, so that was advantageous.

Beyond the shadows, some creeping figures watching you took notice of your absence. No, not in CatNap’s home, nothing goes one without CatNap knowing of anything.

A small critter skittered away, you didn’t notice—you were far in too deep to properly take recognition of anything happening, only mourning your former friends. Who knew trying to take a look at the essences of your past, a past of once where you were happy, content. You were just doing your job as a fellow critter, you loved your job. You loved being a critter, you loved your friends.

“You guys are so cute..” You smile softly, hugging them close in spite of the few stray tears streaming down your face. Normally, you’d wipe them away, but right now you just wanted to stay in the moment.

Stay with all your old friends, even if they weren’t your real ones.

You could be allowed the peace of illusion, atleast.

To say he was furious was an understatement, what had the tiny critter meant by your absence?

In CatNap’s eyes, this was unacceptable.

One should remain where they are, they are not to derail from their paths. You shouldn’t be derailing from your path. No matter the reason, he will quickly finish his patrolling, and come straight to you to put you in your place. Mostly, being stern.

Should he allow you that courtesy? Yes, CatNap should. You are his old friend, you were so kind as to work with the Prototype (even if you were completely against it), CatNap will be lenient with you.

Suddenly CatNap had gotten lost in thought, and lifted his paw to see what he was doing. Oh yes, he was killing a human survivor for their incompetence – that is what was happening. He repeatedly shook his paw to get the remains of the human off his claws and paw as well, the blood remained on his fur unfortunately. CatNap can find some way to clean that off later.

As if he was sighing, CatNap’s mouth emitted a large breath of Poppy Gas, something of which he used sparsely; only when he wanted to block out people from areas he didn’t want them in. CatNap admittedly felt as if what he was doing here was wrong, but it was only in the name of the Prototype.

CatNap finally went on his way once he cleared his head of these troubling thoughts, he was going to deal with you and he wouldn’t delay it any longer.

He always had eyes all around Playcare, did you really think you could get away with this so easily? Prototype is leader, god. He would not allow anyone to defile Prototype’s name, not even you.

No matter, he was going to make this quite clear.

It seemed the small smiling critters had felt his immense aura for bloodlust, causing them to skitter away from whence he came. CatNap without a shadow of a doubt, can be terrifying.

CatNap simply paid no mind, and continued on making his way toward you.

Even in all the rubble and dust, one clear distinction his keen ears could pick up was reminiscent of crying. To the normal ear, one would not be able to hear this. It was so silent, was it out of a fear that you were crying so silently?

No, it was because of the smiling critters, the smaller bodies. Merely replicas, but so well done for just being copies of the original critters. Shadows always danced in CatNap’s headspace, perhaps he could make it out the same within your case. He had always crossed his heart, locking it away in soul and key. CatNap deemed it all unnecessary. Yet, with you it was recurring.

Slowly enough, whatever emotions – whatever anger he had before was fading away. CatNap was overcome with a sense of sympathy, he wanted to comfort you, his friend. Now he just came to a complete halt, trying to figure out what was wise on what to do.

CatNap felt pitiful, sounding low when he remembered those very screams.

You have seen just as much as he did.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward, CatNap didn’t want to frighten you out of your stupor. His long elongated tail wrapped around your being, calmly re-adjusting you with a steady stance. CatNap laid down, folding his back legs and crossing his front ones. He so suddenly cuddled up against you, patting your head to reassure you silently.

You nodded your head, snapping to the attention of CatNap’s presence. You knew otherwise that he wasn’t being as genuine, in spite of it being real in his eyes.

Otherwise, you didn’t feel as on guard. You weren’t stressed or protesting in any case, you felt as if you were falling asleep. You began to fall asleep, CatNap sensed this, curling up against you to feel more comfortable.

That was in your sadness and loneliness, had sleep finally claimed you – purely out of nostalgia that you had used to do this during naptime, with your old friends.

Abornormally enough, he didn’t feel so angry. CatNap felt more as if he was at peace with you, even with these thoughts. How the Prototype had promised him justice, to end all the madness, just for you… for all of them.

In a moment soon enough, CatNap had promptly followed you into sleep.

If death was a choice, then he rejects it.

Silent and contemplative, DogDay listened as his "former friend" recounted the recent events, memories of comforting you when tears flowed and offering solace in the embrace of sleep. CatNap's unexpected visit and the subsequent act of liberation from his restraints were met with wary acceptance as DogDay consumed the offered sustenance, his attention captured by CatNap's unusual demeanor.

It was a peculiar sight, witnessing CatNap revert to a semblance of his former self amidst the oppressive atmosphere of their surroundings. Despite the underlying threat that lingered in CatNap's presence, there was a glimmer of familiarity in his actions, stirring a sense of unease within DogDay's battered psyche.

“This isn’t his usual behavior,” or “He’s just now had a revelation?”

Lost in his thoughts, DogDay was abruptly pulled back to reality by the mention of his name, a sharp reminder of the precariousness of his situation. Anticipation coiled within him as CatNap lunged forward, bracing for the inevitable retribution that awaited him. Yet, to his astonishment, instead of aggression, he was enveloped in an unexpected embrace.

Stunned and bewildered, DogDay felt the weight of CatNap's arms around him, a gesture of affection that defied all expectations. In that fleeting moment of connection, DogDay experienced a revelation, a glimpse into the profound bond shared between you and CatNap, a bond forged amidst the chaos and strife of your shared existence.

As the echoes of their encounter lingered in the air, DogDay found himself grappling with newfound understanding. The warmth of CatNap's embrace, though fleeting, offered a glimpse of redemption amidst the shadows of his past transgressions. And in that moment, DogDay realized the profound impact of companionship, transcending the boundaries of fear and prejudice.

#poppy playtime chapter 3 #dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime dogday #catnap poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #x reader

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peachdues · 2 months

Text

HALL OF GILDED BONES — NSFW TEASER

Yandere Seelie!Kyojuro x Reader • Victorian AU

A/N: a little teaser of the absolute psychological fuckery that will be my next monster-fucking fic. Not proof read in the slightest.

Be warned: this is a yandere fic. Very dark themes ahead.

CW: READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS • Dead dove, do not eat • yandere!Kyojuro •reader is asleep the entire time • non-consensual oral (F!receiving) • non-consensual somnophilia • masturbation • non-consensual fingering

this is all thanks to @kentohours

It is hot, even for late summer. The air is thick and humid, and it seems no one can escape the constant sheen of sweat that clings to everything and everyone like a second skin.

The night offers little relief. And so, even those who make up London’s high society risk leaving their windows unlatched, desperate for air to circulate through their stuffy homes.

Kyojuro smirks to himself as he silently floats down to Y/N’s small balcony from the spired roof of her family’s magnificent townhouse. Never before has he been so grateful for such an unprecedented heat wave to strike the city, for he is able to stride into his beloved dove’s bedroom with ease, for once not having to use his magick to push her window open and allow him entry.

The moon hangs fat and silvery in the sky, and its watery light illuminates his way as he crosses over the threshold into Y/N’s bedroom. Kyojuro summons a silent wind to push the doors of her window shut, a silent click of the latch confirming that his nightly visit with her will not be disturbed.

He’s as quiet as a mouse as he steps down from the small ledge of the windowsill. His ochre eyes glow in the dark as they scan the room for her, narrowing when they find her sprawled out across her mattress, atop her blankets.

The poor thing; even she, too, seems to be struggling with the abnormal heatwave that’s befallen the city.

He already finds himself growing hard with each step as he draws closer to her sleeping form. His mind is wild with options for the night — shall he take his cock out of his trousers and hold it to her lips like last time, or shall he tease both her and himself by ghosting his fingers over the sumptuous planes of her body, never allowing himself to fully touch her, yet still giving himself a sinful taste of her skin?

His nostrils flare, eager to scent out her intoxicating perfume, but then his eyes widen, and he swears he feels his pupils blow wide.

The heat has made her scent all the more potent, and Kyojuro feels drunk as he approaches the edge of her lavish bed.

A simmering fire courses through his blood at the sight of her legs, parted and open, and the papery linen sheath she’d worn as a nightgown that has ridden up her hips. A thin sheen of sweat coats her skin, making it shine in the moonlight, and her cheeks are flushed from the heat.

Devilish girl, he thinks as he perches one knee carefully at the foot of her bed. How can she expect him to be restrained when she has quite literally spread herself out for him, in offering?

The mattress dips slightly below his weight but his love does not stir, too lost in the deep throes of sleep to sense his presence in her chamber — in her bed. Carefully, so carefully, he climbs onto her bed, mindful to keep his weight off her, though everything within him screams at him to lay out atop her and take her once and for all.

But he won’t; not yet, not when the sight of her maiden’s blood on her fine sheets might give rise to alarm among her servants. He will not risk her being sent away before he has properly seeded her, and so, Kyojuro will be patient, even if it kills him.

Besides, he thinks as he settles at her feet, his nose skimming along the length of her calf. He wants to know her body thoroughly before he gives her his cock — he wants to know every sensitive spot, to know how to make her gasp and twitch and beg for him to gift her release.

His hand ghosts up the inside of her right leg, pushing it gently. It falls to the side, bent at her knee, and she is now spread for him, ready for him to feast.

His mouth waters at the sight of the thatch of curls sitting at the apex of her thighs. With a shaky exhale he surges forward and presses his nose right against his center. The scent of her sweet musk sends his eyes rolling back in his head, and he feels a slight dribble of saliva escape his lips before he can stop it.

His hands curl under her thighs, holding them wide open as Kyojuro exhales softly against her, allowing the moisture of his breath to dampen her skin. He runs his nose along her center one more time, and then, with the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips, he traces up her slit in a single, tender stroke.

One hand leaves her thigh to fist at her sheets. His skin stretches taut over his knuckles as he fights to keep his moan locked tight in his chest, lest he risk waking the entire household. Beneath him, Y/N twitches, something like a whimper vibrating in her throat.

His eyes flick up to her face, wide in disbelief. Even in sleep, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her pretty lips are turned into a pout as her body spasms again.

Quickly, he brings his mouth back against her and repeats the movement, licking up her seam with more pressure before he lets his tongue circle the small pearl he knows lies right at the very top of her beautiful sex.

This time, Y/N’s hips jolt, almost as though in demand. Below the diaphanous fabric of her nightdress, her breasts pebble, and a soft moan slips out of her mouth as she bucks again.

He can hardly contain his excitement. Very well, my dove, he thinks with a soft chuckle. I shall give you what you desire.

His golden eyes lower to her center and his nostrils flare wide. There, mixed in with his own saliva, is a wetness of her own.

The scent is unmistakable; her pleasure.

A low growl hums in his throat as he surges forward and latches his mouth against her. He pushes her thighs over his shoulders, one by one, and when his hands are free they join his mouth, parting the lips of her cunt, spreading her wide for him to feast.

And feast he does; every lap of his tongue, every movement of his jaw and his lips fills his mouth with more of her honey. His tongue sinks into her entrance and Kyojuro nearly comes apart right then; her muscles instantly close around him, sucking him into her heat and the thought of her walls clenching and tightening around his cock sends him into a frenzy. His hips grind hard against her mattress in time with the fierce movements of his tongue. Above his mouth, his thumb swirls around Y/N’s sensitive little bead, gathering and spreading more of her wetness with each fevered rotation.

Y/N’a breathing gradually becomes labored as he works, until she is panting and writhing against her bed. Distantly, his ears pick up on the increased tempo of her heart as it flutters like a bird against her sternum.

Rationally, Kyojuro knows he should tread carefully — that if he continues this impassioned frenzy of his mouth against her cunt, he risks forcing her awake and will reveal himself far earlier than he intends.

His greedy hands begin roaming her body, groping and smoothing over her soft curves. As one palm flattens against her stomach, he can feel her muscles clench and flex as the movements of his mouth and tongue intensify. Soon, she is vibrating beneath his hands, and as taut as a bowstring.

Blissfully, she remains asleep despite how her body draws closer to its release. He’s thankful; he’d always known that one could dream vividly of pleasure and feel its effects in reality, but he’d always assumed there was a limit; a point at which the brain would force the body awake, to realize that the intense pleasure it was experiencing was not, in fact, real but a trick of the mind.

But this lovely little human was living proof that his theory had been wrong; for she remained steadfastly asleep, her eyes moving quickly behind her lids as she dreams even as her body bucks and twists under his ministrations.

Besides, he thinks as he presses the tip of his nose flush against her sensitive nub, his mouth continues to work steadily at her. Her pleasure was not mere fantasy — it was real, and it was because of him.

The slick walls of her heat begin to flutter and pulse wildly around his tongue, and Kyojuro knows she is only seconds from release. He drags one hand to her lower abdomen, his palm resting flat and pressing down as he rocks his face harder against her, the other resting on her hip to keep her locked against him. Between his own legs, his cock has grown painfully hard, and the Seelie prince cannot stop himself from grinding into her mattress, desperate for friction and relief.

The thumb of the hand on her abdomen stretches and presses sharply down on the little pearl at the top of her sex. With one, muted grunt, Kyojuro plunges his tongue as deep as it will go into Y/N’s cunt and curls it, and it’s over.

His darling little dove arcs sharply away from her mattress, a faint cry falling from her lips as Kyojuro feels her release slam into her. The walls of her cunt seize around his tongue and pulse, and he greedily laps up every drop of her sweet wetness that gushes into his mouth.

Her climax is his heaven; his eyes roll back into his skull as he loses himself in the heady scent of her, mouth noshing away between her legs in an effort to make it last as long as he can afford. He fights the urge to sink his teeth into the meat of her thigh, desperate to mark her, but unwilling to drag his mouth away from paradise that is her sex.

Finally, the last wave of her climax rolls through her, and Y/N collapses back against her bed, limp. Kyojuro tears his mouth away from her center with a ragged pant, his eyes round and full of awe as he gazes upon her sleeping face.

Magnificent; she is utterly magnificent. The sweetest little creature in all the realms, and utterly and completely his.

Shakily, he rises to his knees, a storm of devotion and adoration churning violently within him. His eyes drop to the seat of his trousers where his own desire for her stands painfully proud. He grimaces; now is not the time for him to take her, but neither can he go back to fucking his own hand as he stands beside her; not after experiencing the euphoria of her sweet sex.

His gaze lowers to the sacred place between her thighs, and his cock throbs. Before he can think the better of it, his hands are fumbling with the fastening of his trousers and he pulls himself free, his length springing against the taut muscles of his stomach. A bead of wetness has already gathered at his tip, and he hissed as his thumb swipes over it, sensitive and desperate.

He gives himself a gentle pump and shifts, positioning his knees on the outside of either of her thighs, still spread against her bed. With a shaky breath, he lowers his cock to her center, and nearly swears at the heat that pulses off of her, practically singing for him to cast aside all reason and plunge himself into her.

A curse burns in his throat as his teeth sink into his lower lip, a metallic tang coating his tongue. No, Kyojuro will hold back — he must.

Below him, his beloved’s breathing has evened, signaling that she has slipped back into her oblivion once more, and her lack of awareness only makes him harder, makes his balls feel heavier and fuller.

Slowly, he traces the aching, swollen head of his cock up and down her cunt, her wetness gathering at his tip. With a shudder, he begins working his cock, his hand spreading her slick along his length until he, too, is covered in her release.

Kyojuro presses the tip of his great length flush against her nub and grinds. Instantly, Y/N’s legs twitch once more, and another surge of her wetness gushes forth and coats him as he continues fisting at his cock. The added lubricant results in a dull schlicking sound that joins his quiet pants he pumps away at himself, his eyes steadily trained on his sleeping dove’s face.

The devil in his mind whispers how it would be easy, so very easy to slip inside her. The thought of her warm, tight, dripping heat clenching around him makes the muscles of his abdomen flex, the knot deep within his stomach seizing painfully tight.

His eyes drop down to his cock, aching and shiny with Y/N’s wetness. Just a little, that tricky voice urges, just enough to sate his own curiosity, to know how her body would feel parting around him —

But the question of whether he’d have the self-restraint not to sheathe himself inside her enticing heat, goes unanswered for now. For it takes only two, hard pumps of his hand to make the coil in his gut unwind.

His free hand flies to his mouth just in time for Kyojuro to quiet his own, deep groan. His teeth sink hard into the flesh of his knuckles as his release barrels through him. Hastily, he presses the tip of his cock flush against his sleeping lover’s entrance just as thick, hot ropes of his seed spurt forth, coating both his hand and her cunt in white.

The vision of her face fades to black for a moment, replaced by stars as bright as those which had dotted the sky the very night the universe had gifted her to him. In the back of his hazy mind, Kyojuro remembers to clench his jaw shut, to keep his lascivious moans and curses locked within him as he pumps himself through his climax.

Every muscle in his body is tight, his limbs rigid as he continues to spill over his fist and against Y/N’s slick heat. When the last, dizzying echo of his release finishes reverberating through him, Kyojuro nearly crumples against his love’s plush mattress. He manages to catch himself at the last second, a hand shooting to grip at her blankets as he pitches himself to the side, narrowly avoiding disturbing her body with his own.

He curls into the bed, smothering his shuddering breaths against her sheets. A long moment passes as Kyojuro regains control over himself, and then he pushes himself to his knees, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, to survey his work. Something prideful and smug roars in his chest as he beheld the mess of white left between Y/N’s supple thighs.

As he admires the sight of his mess dribbling down Y/N’s sex, an idea, a wickedly mischievous idea, took form. Though he would remain committed to restraining himself from claiming her until the time was right, that did not mean he had to let his seed go to waste.

His heart thrums wildly as he brings his fingers against his little dove’s beautiful cunt, gathering his own spend around his digits. Her cunt parts easily around him as he pushes it into her, swirling his fingers inside her to ensure his seed thoroughly coats her walls. He repeats his movements again and again until he is satisfied that all of him is inside of her, with nothing remaining on her thighs or the bed below her.

Though asleep, Y/N’s thighs flex around him as he withdraws his hand from her cunt, her body subconsciously wanting to cling onto him, keep him there, between her legs where he belonged.

He huffs a quiet laugh. Precious, he thinks as he runs an affectionate hand over her stomach. Such a precious little thing, his dove is.

“Do not fret, my love,” he murmurs as he lowers himself to impart one, final kiss against her dampened flesh. The combined scent of her pleasure mixed with his nearly catapults him back into a frenzy, but Kyojuro forces himself away.

He stands and tucks himself back into his trousers. Just outside her great window, the sky has begun to lighten, and soon, dawn will spill over the spires roofs of London, and a new day will commence.

And he will return to her, his darling human, wearing the mask of a courtly suitor once more.

He leaps to her windowsill and unlatches the great glass doors, letting them swing wide. He pauses, turning back to cast one last look at Y/N, still fast asleep in her bed and no wiser to his presence than she’d been when he’d first arrived.

He smiles, content. “I shall see you soon.”

banner from @ benkeibear!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny smut #kny rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku #kny kyojuro #demon slayer kyojuro

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ask-observer-wally · 9 months

Text

Greetings! It seems some strange anomoly has befallen on one of the empty televisions, much to observers dismay, voices seems to be whats come about it, voices with many questions, quations he prefers to not answer

now, who is observer?

observer is a variant of the well known Wally Darling, he exists at a place know as ''Out of bounds'' and is assumed to have existed for a very longe time

his task is to observe and maintiain the multiverse, keeping the shows [also known as Variants/AUs] from ever going offscript, he is also tasked to fend of beings who may cause harm to any of these shows

he may come of as a distant grump, but bug him enough he may just become even grumpier ahah

his reference!

Bounderies and Heads up! before asks!!

I do not own Welcome home and the character Wally Darling, this is simply a multiversal AU, I have made for the sillies

I made my own set of rules for my Multiverse AU lore, so uhh if ya'll end up liking these rules you can follow em too! but please don't boss anyone around about how things should go, alright? everyone can have their own interpretation and rules for the multiverse concept.

Although this blog is mostly for the silly interactions if lore related stuff pop up, there may be a bit of spoopy stuff like horror and gore, and may be some heave stuff, maybe.

I won't be as frequent with replies, but I will try to answer them when I can ahah!

as for bounderies, I don't have much, just in General stuff of what not to do, and you know.. not be too weird pls.

--------- side note ---------

this blogs and a few wh multiverse blogs are going on a on going story which the official cast are :

disclaimer some asks post are part of the lore and some are just for fun interaction

#wttmvlore and #funinteractions will be the indicator of what will be canon to the on going story or not.

I would like to note that we're still working on the wttmv, so I hope that you all will have patience with us and at least enjoy the blogs that are currently active

#welcome home #welcome home au #welcome home puppetshow #out of bounds au #wally darling #observer wally #wh multiverse

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ectofright · 1 month

Text

sorry for the inactivity! here's the first 6 pages of our Befallen AU!

#dave and bambi #befallen au #my art

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ddejavvu · 10 months

Note

Okok. A little Dbf hotch scenario I thought of🤭

Imagine the reader occasionally smokes weed with friends and she can always get past her dad high without him noticing. But when she gets dropped off this time she comes home to Aaron and her dad having a drink… and he immediately knows she’s high.

Do with that what you will!

- eloise!!💌

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

this post is 18+ (because of an age gap and drug use), minors dni.

You don't think anything will be different about tonight than any of the other nights you've come home high. Because your dad never notices, and you don't linger in his study when you announce your return home. You're not quite perceptive enough to pick up on Aaron's prolonged stare on you as you greet your father and his guest, but you do happen to notice when Aaron steps into the kitchen behind you not a minute later.

"Y/N," He announces his presence, and you turn, trying to keep your mind solely focused on him. It's hard, it wants to wander into a foggy haze, but Aaron's a treat to look at, so you start there.

"Hi, Aaron," You hum, a glass of water in hand to take back to your room, "Did you want water too?"

"No," He doesn't stop in the doorway, instead he makes his way over to you, stopping slightly too close for normal conversation. You lean back slightly out of instinct, though if you had your way you'd lean closer, and he studies your face.

"How much weed have you smoked?" He asks a moment later, interrupting the thick beat of silence that had befallen the cramped kitchen.

"What?"

"You're high," He raises a hand to your cheek, tilting your head down so that he can get a better look at you, "Your eyes are red. And you're spacey; you're high."

"I am not!" You feel petulant, like a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar, "I'm not high, I just- I've been crying."

"Really? About what?" He hums, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as he stares down at you, your chin still held in his large hand.

"Um- I broke up with my boyfriend," You fib, because you didn't have one in the first place, "And I'm just sad. That's all."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Aaron croons sympathetically, then drops his hand from your face so that his wrist hovers in front of your nose.

"What time is it?"

You squint at his watch, confused, "What?"

"Tell me the time," He urges, angling the face of his watch towards your own, "If you're not high, you'll be able to read my watch."

"But-"

"Come on," He murmurs, and the smooth tone of his voice sends your insides whirling, "What time is it, sweetheart?"

You don't know. The numbers just aren't making sense, and you're more focused on the dark hair lining his thick wrist than you are on the hands of a clock.

He gives you ten seconds, longer than he needs to know, really, then sighs.

"That's what I thought. Drink this, all of it, and go sleep it off." He gives you an unamused glance, lips turned down as he taps at the rim of your glass, "And don't ever let me catch you coming home high again, do you hear me?"

He seems to take your stunned silence for an answer, and relaxes slightly, backing away. But you find your voice before he's gone, "You're not my dad. You don't live here," And he's stiffening again, turning back to face you.

"I'm not your dad," He repeats, eyes a shade darker than they normally seem. "Your dad's so unobservant he wouldn't notice if you got a face tattoo. But I would. I know you, I notice you. And if it takes me moving in to stop you from smoking, I'll be here every night, sweetheart."

He lets his words hang in the air, exhilaratingly firm. It's a thrill to be noticed by him, even if it means he wants you to stop smoking weed. You watch him with parted lips, not a gawky gape to your mouth, but just enough for a soft intake of air to hit your lungs. You're speechless, and this time silence is your answer.

"Drink your water, and go to sleep," He instructs you, nodding towards the glass as he makes his way back to your dad's study, "Don't let me catch you again."

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squishycheekanon · 3 months

Text

Limerence | Three

C H A P T E R T H R E E

limerence / lim-ê-rêns / (noun)

“Obsessive romantic attraction towards another person”

Summary: In which the owners of Jujutsu Incorporated, the Ôgami brothers, are suddenly interested in you.

Pairing: Alpha!Sukuna x reader, Alpha!Itadori x reader, Alpha!Gojo x reader, Alpha!Geto x reader, Alpha!Nanami x reader, Alpha!Kenjaku x reader

Status: Ongoing.

Genre: werewolf au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics.

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, insecurities, some descriptions of reader’s body, mention of possible ED, omegaspace, domdrop, swearing, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, Alpha tendencies.

Chapter Warnings: Omega’s being abused and killed, swearing, scent description, size difference - I’m not sorry Kenjaku is the biggest Alpha here and I’m not willing to argue about it, dark themes, Kenjaku kills someone but what else is new, self deprecation, anxiety attack, pup - yes that’s a warning.

Masterlist | Chapter two | Chapter four

Taglist: @better-imagination-9 @tiredjuniper @jjkz @honeybeeboobaa @cherryblossomdelusion @dependsonthedream @alluresenses @qardasngan @imcamboaf @ondragonhonour @misscaller06

Taglist is open.

————————————————————————

Previously on Limerence:

“I can’t do this!” You screeched hands gripping at your hair in frustration, “why would I of all people be gifted six alphas?!” You cried desperately wanting to know the answer. Gifted. He guesses that’s a good sign, at least you thought of a mate as a gift rather than a curse.

You blink up at both men and realise, your living room has never looked so small, they take up so much space. With just two of them the place is tiny, how’s it going to look with six of them? Your mind bounces around, worry still present and spinning you into a tizzy, yet you practically preen when Kenjaku’s eyes travel over you like he can see underneath your clothes. It makes a tense feeling in the pit of your stomach start to form, a feeling you’re not familiar with.

You suddenly wanted to be wrapped in their strong arms, you note that they both look like the warriors the news makes them out to be. Huge, brawny and very attractive. How were they yours? How were you worthy of this? And how were they going to ever love you when they find out what you did?

The world had changed a lot since 2013, the year werewolfs came into existence. Before they were just made up, thought to only exist in really bad movies paired with an emotionless vampire, that or Reddit forums.

Mass panic ensued with the werewolf epidemic but the world did what it had to and adapted. Around nine months later, Alphas began presenting. And the whole world literally went to shit. Going from humans to werewolves was one thing, everyone’s DNA literally changing yet people adapted. The world was still in the early stages of adaptation when suddenly men’s personalities, needs, desires, the way they think, eat, sleep. All of it, changed by becoming Alphas.

Their instincts were out of control. Being confused and unable to understand what was happening to them. However, trying their best, they continued to live their lives as usual. And as if it was a series of cruel tricks, the last trick was played on mankind, omegas began presenting. Once again things changed.

It had the Alphas going crazy. Omegas were pushed into heats the longer they spent around undated Alphas in an attempt to push out their pheromones so their mates could find them. This only made things worse. Dazed and delusional Omegas coming onto Alphas were beaten black and blue, some were killed. The Alpha’s inner wolves becoming angered by an Omega who wasn’t their mate trying to breed with them, this was left unchecked for far too long until Kento created Jujutsu Incorporated in 2017.

Kento remembers the exact moment he decided he was going to do something about the destruction that had befallen the world. The news was playing on the television, he and his brothers watching intensely as the news anchor reported that in the last week twenty seven Omegas had been abused and fourteen had been killed by unhinged Alphas. Kento ignored the jagged inhale from one of the pink haired men on the other sofa watching too, instead he got up and headed straight to his study. The idea had come to him and he had to write it down, he had to plan.

The company’s main purpose was to train Alphas to hone their werewolf instincts and abilities. For man to create a peaceful bond with beast in order to control them so the abuse of Omegas would be stopped. At first it was only worried parents sending their newly presented aggressive sons to the training compound thinking it was some sort of correctional facility and in a way it was.

Soon grown men decided signing up, then men who had committed crimes against Omegas were court sanctioned to go. Before long it became mandatory for every male who was of age to be sent there and trained. Now every year when Alphas present they are instantly signed up to be sent to Jujutsu Incorporated.

Seven years, fifty two awards, millions given by governments all over the world and some failed attempts from other companies to try and recreate what they made, later, Jujutsu Incorporated saved the world and they are thanked everyday for it.

While Sukuna and Kenjaku tried to calm you down and reason with you to meet the rest of the pack. Kento, Yuji, Suguru and Satoru were slowly, but surely, loosing it. The longer they were away from their mate after the bond snapped into place, the more aggressive they became. Their body temperatures rising, all their sweet scents turning sour as the stress increased.

Since Kento caught a whiff of your sweet vanilla-cinnamon scent on Sukuna’s clothes, he couldn’t get the sweet smell out of his head. He’d give anything to bury his face in it. It would be so much better than the awful smells surrounding him at this very moment. Baring in mind that on a good day Kento’s scent was usually the sweetest chocolate fudge cake, but with the growing need to have his mate with him not being sated, it had spiked to a burnt over cooked type smell. Yuji’s went from honeyed strawberry milk to wet dog. Suguru’s went from a delightful caramel coffee to rotten food. Satoru’s went from freshly baked cookies to sewers on a hot day.

The office reeked.

Kento felt the tension in the room, worry crawling up his throat as he had the realisation he might have to scruff one or two of his pack mates if they don’t calm down soon. There are several ways that pack alphas can control their packmates, with pheromones is one of them, but scruffing is easily the most effective. Scruffing is distinctly pack alpha behavior. The inherent dominance in one alphas pheromones over another is essential for a pack alpha.

He remembers growing up he was never really the leader type, instead he was rather shy and withdrawn. He didn’t have many friends nor did he wish to make any, much preferring to be alone with a good book. Kento became even more withdrawn when his father died of a heart attack. It was a shock to the system and instead of the brothers banding together to help one another grieve they all mourned alone.

When Kento made the change into a werewolf he loved it, becoming a werewolf only amplified who he already was yet somehow when he discovered his role as packleader he stepped into it like he was born to lead. Kento figured out his role in the pack when Yuji and Satoru were scrapping each other and it got a bit too violent. Without meaning to he used his Alpha tone on the boys and they instantly stopped to obey him. It was strange, the brothers tried to use their own Alpha tones on each other though the experiment had no results. Only Kento could do it.

Another reason Kento loved being a werewolf was that it brought his broken family back together as one. As a pack. They lived together, ate together, trained together, shifted together and ran together as one. It gave him a profound sense of love and happiness that he was able to have his brothers back in his life, though there was always something missing. You.

Kento had to pacify his desire to run out of the room straight to you. He was sick of waiting. His wolf just wanted to bring you to their house and give you everything you could ever want. You would never need to leave the nest he would lovingly watch you build. You would be provided for, protected, and sated, all while you’d have prettiest smile on your face. His wolf chirped happily simply thinking about being in your presence and caring for you. He was eager for you to be here with him.

And as if by magic, the office doors opened Sukuna strolling inside with a shit eating grin on his face, Kenjaku not far behind with the cutest little omega clinging onto the sleeve of his arm. You were here.

It wasn’t the sweet the way you were basically hiding behind his brother that disarmed him, it wasn’t even the way your pretty wide eyes stared up at him with a spec of fear shining in them. But smelling you in person, fuck, breathing in your invigorating scent the way he needed to, letting it swirl around him and leave him feeling hazy and high, all his thoughts disappearing. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

You do have to admit it was a rash decision to come here and meet the rest of the pack, it took a lot of convincing and encouragement by Sukuna and Kenjaku before you hesitantly said yes. And it was very hesitantly. The whole car ride there was silent, Kenjaku sitting in the back with you as Sukuna drove to Jujutsu Incorporated Headquarters. Subconsciously your omega was drifting towards the stoic black haired Alpha. Your Omega knowing that Kenjaku’s wolf was the scariest one out of the two just meant he was the best to protect you. His dominant aura was something you definitely didn’t want to mess with. So when you arrived and you were unsure wether you wanted to get out the car or not, all he had to do was offer his hand and send you a look and you were scrambling out of the car quickly grabbing onto him. He looked down at you letting out a grunt of disapproval when you let go of his large hand but seemed satisfied when you gripped onto the sleeve of his black leather jacket instead. You found yourself looking up at the big Alpha for his approval before you could stop yourself, even when you shook your head at yourself and looked away it was too late. Kenjaku had already grunted out a good pup that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

The praise had you holding onto his jacket the whole walk to the elevator, the whole elevator ride and all the way into the office where you now stood trying to use Kenjaku’s big muscular body to hide from the four new pairs of eyes trying to catch a glimpse of you.

The fact that you, such a fragile small thing compared to him, was using him as a shield instead of running scared from him was baffling. Kenjaku was never a very nice guy, even as a child he was dubbed as the emo kid who you should never approach. Always getting into fights at school and that was before his father died, Kenjaku only go worse when he did.

And when Kenjaku became a werewolf he was even more violent than before, his vicious tendencies heightened along with his senses. He remembers all the bar fights, forest fights, street fights he go into finding a thrill within the rage. The night more vivid than all the fights though, was the night he killed another Alpha. And liked it.

It had been an accident, the man had started a fight with him and he was clearly drunk. Sober Kenjaku had only tried to defend himself but after pushing the drunken werewolf away he kept going, it snapped something in Kenjaku and he saw red. He beat the man to death and his wolf glowed with pride, the primal instinct to be the top Alpha male coming to light. He didn’t want to like it, but he did. That night he had buried the man in the forest with his bare hand, hours later he returned home caked in dirt, blood and sweat. He confessed to his brothers what he had done.

From then on he trained with Sukuna who taught him control over his wolf and his aggressive side, spending years dedicated to learning to control himself, still Kenjaku is easily the scariest and strongest Alpha in the pack. That’s why he was made The Ghost, The Shadow, The man behind the scenes who takes care of troubled Alphas. Also taking care of any crimes or accusations against the company.

The Killer Alpha. And you were choosing him to cling to, to protect you, this had his chest puffing out with pride. The little Omega and the big bad Alpha.

You were completely stuck to Kenjaku’s side as you started to let your anxiety turn your mind against you. These men were your mates? They all wanted you? Impossible. You couldn’t do this. Fuck sake, you had taken a big step coming here and you were just back to where you had started an hour ago. A numb feeling taking over you, your brain’s way of saving you from the stress of this situation.

The big man you were clinging to was towering over you with worried eyes as your short panicked breaths filled the room. “Princess?”

“Is she okay?”

“Are you okay?”

“Bunny you good?”

You were clearly having a moment of panic, not answering any of them. Their questions making you more antsy by the second. Everything felt like it was upside down at this very moment in time. Like the world was spinning.

Your other hand came up to grip onto Kenjaku’s jacket, desperately trying to use it to ground yourself. “Fuck I-“ you shivered, stumbling over your words as your couldn’t breathe properly.

“What is it pup? Hmm, what do you need princess?” Kenjaku remembered your reaction to the pet name from earlier instantly stepping into roll as the Alpha you needed surprising his brothers though they all knew with you around now, they’d be displaying sides of themselves they’ve never seen of each other before.

“I-I can’t,” you shook your head falling to your knees, Kenjaku fell with you holding you up, “I. I c-can’t, I can’t, I can’t do this.” You hiccuped at the end of your broken sentence, your fingers gripping so tightly onto the Alpha while your whole body shook.

“I know.” His words had your head shooting up, tear filled eyes meeting his, “but I’m going help you. If this is too much, then we will only do what you’re comfortable with. We just want to make you happy pup.” His body made him say the words, and he was glad it did. You were nodding as you listened, eyes focusing on every detail on his face while he spoke, his brown almond shaped eyes, sloped nose, the light freckles under his eyes, his plump lips.

“I don’t know how.” There was a hidden meaning behind it and all six alphas desperately wanted to know but they knew now was not the time. They could wait. Right now they had to focus on calming you down, getting you to relax.

Kenjaku felt his heart ache at the sight of your wobbly bottom lip all jutted out, you tear filled eyes and red face. You were so precious. Then and there he swore to protect you at all costs, even if he had to sell his soul, as long as you were safe. That’s all that mattered to him. “It’s okay pup, I’ll show you how.”

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sweetchildcloud · 19 days

Text

He already lost so much but now he lost everything.

Tags:angts,death,no comfort,GetoxGN!reader,heartwrenching,regret,depressed,Student!Au

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

Suguru's face contorts with a new level of pain. His grip around your body tightens even further, his mind filled with fear, shock and dread. The thought of losing you, his precious Bun Bun, in such a horrible way, hurts him greatly. The curse had robbed him of yet another precious thing from his life, taking away yet another person that he truly loved.

Anger, despair and sadness all flood out of Geto as he holds your broken body in his arms. He holds you closely to his chest as tears begin to run down his cheeks. Suguru buries his face in your hair and lets out a heartbreaking cry. He can't contain the overwhelming sadness and sorrow that fills his body, the pain and despair he's feeling. He holds you close, trying to shield you from the harsh world, wanting to protect you from the cruel fate that's befallen you. His body shakes as he cries, his hold on you growing increasingly tighter.

"Why..."

Suguru says with a low, broken voice as he gently kisses your forehead, his eyes filled with tears. He can't believe you died so unfairly, taken away by that stupid curse he should've killed a long time ago. His hold of you tightens and his grip moves to the back of your head, the only thought in his mind right now is to protect your body and never let anyone hurt you again. He won't let anyone else have you. Suguru cries silently as he buries his face into your hair once more. Tears pour down his cheeks as that intense and possessiveness he's felt toward you only grows stronger. The intense grief and sorrow he's experiencing is unbearable, and he finds himself hugging you tighter. He's unwilling to let go of you now that you're gone. He keeps whispering your name over and over again, his voice low and choked with emotion.

"Don't leave me."

Suguru whispers, his voice sounding broken as the reality of your death hits him hard. He holds you tightly to his chest, refusing to let go of you as the tears continue to flow. The possessiveness he's felt toward you has only intensified in light of your tragic fate and he finds himself squeezing you in between his hands. He's going to do everything he can to protect your body, refusing to let anyone have it or abuse it ever again.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru is standing next to your coffin, his usual stoic expression has been replaced with one filled with absolute misery. His eyes are red and puffy, it's obvious that he's cried his heart out since you left. Every little thing he sees reminds him of you, and all the memories of you that he's cherished for all these years seem to have been magnified even more in his mind. His grip on your coffin is very firm, it's clear that he doesn't want anyone else to touch it. He stares down at your casket with a mixture of sadness and rage. Every time someone approaches his side, he stares them down with his intimidating gaze, as if he's challenging everyone not to get any closer to your body. A sudden urge to protect the casket at all costs overcomes him, like he's afraid someone will touch it or move it. He glares at everyone who's present, daring them to come near your beloved body. He's unable to control the possessive feelings that are overtaking him.

Once it's just him standing by your casket, he leans down close, his voice soft with a mixture of pain and grief. He gently touches your cheek, his fingers brushing over your soft and delicate skin. His breath hitches, the sight of your body in that wooden coffin breaks his heart. His eyes are filled with tears and he keeps his hands on your face, cherishing your presence, even when you're no longer here. He can't help but feel a sense of possession over your lifeless body.

"This can't be real..."

He whispers to himself. His voice is broken as he gazes at your lifeless face, his fingers tracing your soft facial features. In his head, he's hoping this is just a nightmare that they'll both wake up from any moment. But then reality hits him as hard as ever and he can't help but shed more tears. His grief is overpowering as he caresses your face one last time, wishing that things could've been very different. Instead, he's left standing alone by your casket, trying to accept the situation as it is.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru is now seated in his own home, the days have passed since you passed away. He's still grieving the huge loss as he sits alone in an empty room, staring at a picture of your face. Every once in a while, he grabs the picture before burying his face into it and crying softly. He constantly talks to himself, whispering your name and the things he used to do with you. The room is quiet and lonely without your presence. He's filled with emptiness and pain and doesn't know how to deal with it.

He tries to keep himself busy, trying to do things that would help him distract himself from thinking about you. But it's hard to keep his memories away from his mind. He constantly imagines what would it be like if you were still there, still alive and in good health. He wishes more than anything that he had done things differently. He thinks back to the things he had said to you and regrets not spending enough time with you. The silence and loneliness are making him go crazy. He's missing you more than ever.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

The days keeps passing and Suguru is slowly learning to cope with the loss. He's still grieving and missing you terribly, but he's trying his hardest to get through it all. He spends time with friends and family, trying to surround himself with loved ones to help him through this difficult time. Though the emptiness he feels without you is still hard to ignore, he's slowly starting to move forward. He's learning to slowly accept the reality of your passing, but there's still a part of him that can't let go. He keeps your picture with him everywhere he goes. After a few days, Gojo finds Suguru seated alone in his room. He's looking at a picture of you and sobbing softly. Gojo steps inside the room, a worried expression on his face. He takes a seat next to Sugru and waits for him to calm down a bit. Once Gojo sees that Suguru is no longer crying as hard, he speaks up. "Hey."

Suguru's face is still tearstained, he immediately looks up at Gojo with puffy eyes. He looks away quickly, not wanting to talk yet.

"I know things have been really tough for you since..."

He pauses, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to give Sugru time to collect himself. He notices how he's still holding a picture of you and the sorrow in his eyes makes his pain obvious. Gojo continues to try and cheer him up, his voice becoming gentle and sweet.

"I know you're still hurting and there's nothing I can say that can make it any better right now. But I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk or vent, I'm always here."

"I appreciate that, Gojo."

Suguru continues to look away, his expression is still soft and vulnerable. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to get himself together. He wants to pretend everything is back to normal, but it's impossible when the person he cared about the most is gone.

"It still doesn't feel real..." "I know..."

Gojo leans closer, speaking in a soothing tone. His touch is light as he places his hand on Suguru's shoulder.

"It's going to take some time to get used to the new reality, you're going through a lot right now. I understand that. Give yourself time. This is the toughest thing you're going to have to overcome. Allow yourself to grieve, allow yourself to feel the pain you're experiencing. Trying to suppress your emotions now will only make things worse for you in the long run." "Yeah..."

Suguru nods, staring down at his feet. He seems to be listening intently to Gojo's words, but the pain he's experiencing is overwhelming him. Gojo's hand on his shoulder is comforting though, a bit of a relief from the intense sorrow he's feeling. He knows Gojo is right, he just needs some time. But it doesn't make it any easier for him. Sugru sighs softly and speaks gently.

"It's just so hard without..."

"I know. I can't even start to imagine how lonely it must feel. You've lost someone very close to you, that pain can't be described. Especially when it's so sudden and unexpected. It's only natural to miss and mourn for the person you've lost."

Gojo's hand lingers on his shoulder, his touch is gentle and his gaze is kind. He can see the sorrow and hopelessness in Sugru's eyes, it's making him worry for his friend. He wishes he could just magically make him better, but he knows it's not that simple.

"Mhm..."

Suguru is silent for a while, he's thinking about what Gojo just said. It does feel empty and lonely without you, it's hard to accept the reality of your absence. But he knows that he'll have to do it eventually, he has to learn to move on for his own sake. Suguru looks back up at Gojo, noticing the worry in his eyes. He gives him a weak smile as he speaks up again.

"I appreciate you coming here, Gojo."

"Of course, it's the least I could do."

Gojo's smile is gentle and reassuring, he wants to be there for Suguru at this difficult time. He remains next to your friend, giving him the support he needs in this time of need. Suguru is still trying to keep his composure, he's grateful for Gojo's presence. Gojo's presence alone is slightly lifting his spirits.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru and Gojo visit your grave together. They're both standing in front of it, silent and solemn as they stare at the flowers and other mementos laid down on your body. Suguru is quiet, his head lowered low as he looks at your grave. His expression is still sad and troubled, he's finding it hard to believe that you're really gone. There are still some tears in his eyes, but he's trying his best to suppress his sorrow. Gojo's eyes are on the grave as well, a slight sadness noticeable in his gaze.

Suguru's gaze is still fixated on the grave, his lips are pressed together as he stands there quietly. He takes a breath, trying to stay calm and collected, but the reality of your passing hits him hard. His eyes are still filled with sorrow, he couldn't believe that you're really gone. It's just so surreal... Suguru's hands are clasped together tightly, he's still trying to make sense of everything that happened.

Gojo's gaze is still on the grave as he remains there next to Suguru, trying to keep his thoughts to himself as he doesn't want to add to his friend's sorrow. The two of them stay silent for a while, neither speaking as they continue to stare at your grave. It's a somber and depressing scene, the silence is only interrupted by the occasional sound of the wind.

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hisui-dreamer · 1 year

Text

our twisted threads of fate

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: When you finally meet your soulmate in Twisted Wonderland, you realise the bond is only one sided. He's your soulmate, but to him, you're just someone from another world.

Tags: soulmate au, pining, crushes, friends to lovers, canon divergence, spoilers for Ch2 and up, reader has a soulmate mark and cooks, bot proofread

Word count: 3.3k+

Notes: Wrote this fic in one night and it's basically my love letter to Jamil's character oop. This is Day 20 of the 30-day April event held by @twistedchatterboxed. So glad to be taking part in this event <3 Make sure to check out everyone's work too!

Masterlist

"So? Why are you asking about my accident?"

The moment the words left his lips, you could feel a strange feeling course through your veins. A warm, tingly sensation could be felt on your collarbone, as no doubt the words written there were reacting to the presence of the man sitting before you.

It had been terribly exhausting adapting to Twisted Wonderland, given how chaotic your new friends were and how incredibly run-down Ramshackle Dorm was. Not only were you now expected, to keep up with the curriculum of NRC, but also be the headmaster's errand-runner. Which brings you back to the current conversation.

After the numerous accidents that had befallen several promising players for the upcoming Spelldrive tournament, the headmaster requested, no, ordered you to investigate the suspicious circumstances. So here you are, after having investigated several students who had gotten injured, standing in the cafeteria with your friends, asking the second-year student what exactly happened during the incident in the kitchen.

What you didn't expect, however, was to find out that Jamil Viper, the person who got injured in said incident, was your soulmate.

Another joke fate played on you, was that soulmates didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland. They were nothing more than a trope in fiction, poetic devices used to dramatise romances. But for you and your world, finding your soulmate is something so tremendously precious, it's considered the best thing that could happen to someone. Most people had "hello" or "hey" written as their mark, you were fortunate that your mark was something so identifiable.

'So? Why are you asking about my accident?'

You had always hoped to find your soulmate, the one who would be your other half, only you didn't expect the bond to be one-sided.

You took a deep breath and try to compose yourself before meeting his charcoal eyes. "We're here at the headmage's behest."

Jamil hummed, crossing his arms and contemplating. "The headmage?" he mumbled quietly. "Huh... Well okay."

He continued recounting the events of the previous night, while Kalim interjected occasionally, eager to join the conversation. But you found yourself lost in Jamil's voice, smooth like honey, flowing with a baritone richness that sent shivers down your spine. His eyes, sharp and glinting with intensity when he was deep in thought, held your attention like a mesmerizing spell. The way his dark hair fell neatly, framing the right side of his face, added to his undeniable allure.

The thrumming sensation on your collarbone persisted, as if your soulmate mark was screaming at you to take action. And you wanted to. You wanted to tell him, tell him how much he means to you, but you knew that he wouldn't be able to understand or reciprocate.

"Because we're not talking about me here!" You're broken out of your trance as Jamil exclaimed, flustered by Kalim's words. From there, your focus is back on the new clue Jamil has given you, and with an inkling of who the culprit might be, you left the cafeteria with the group in search of a certain hyena.

Days turned into weeks as you got wrapped up in the shenanigans of one dorm after another. It was frustrating and draining, and it didn't help that you were also trying to balance everything while getting used to the strange land.

Having found yourself growing increasingly conscious of your spending habits, given Crowley’s tight budget for Ramshackle, you decided to start cooking dinner for yourself and Grim in the cafeteria kitchen. Crowley had graciously given you permission to use the school kitchen after you made very valid points about how unusable the Ramshackle kitchen was, while making you promise to keep your gremlin cat out of the kitchen for safety. And with Sam generously giving you discounts on groceries knowing your situation, you found yourself frequenting the kitchen. It was rather calming and helped you unwind after a stressful day.

It also helps that your soulmate also frequented the kitchen.

It all came as a shock when you discovered that he was personally in charge of preparing each meal for Kalim and testing for poison. It seemed so bizarre, so different from what you were used to. You had known that he was Kalim’s caretaker since they were children, but you couldn't fathom how he managed to handle everything as a student, let alone when he was younger. But like everything else in Twisted Wonderland, you learned to accept it. This wasn’t a fantasy novel where characters had tragic backstories for the sake of character development; this was their real life, and you couldn’t just impose your values on them.

Still, you can’t deny that Jamil working in the kitchen is a delightful sight. He moves with precision and grace, like it’s a dance he’s practised a thousand times before. You can see the passion in his eyes as he creates his culinary masterpieces. He takes pride in every dish he makes, and it shows in the way he carefully plates each one. You can tell that he's been doing this for a long time, and he's become quite skilled at it.

As he finishes up his dish, he offers you a taste, and it's impossible to not be impressed by the explosion of flavours in your mouth. You compliment him on his cooking skills, and he smiles, seeming genuinely pleased by your words. In return, you often let him taste your creations as well, and as you started exchanging compliments and criticisms with each other, a gentle friendship between the two of you started to form.

You’re not sure if it’s from the soulmate bond or your personal interest in him, but undeniably, you find yourself eagerly soaking up every piece of information you could find on Jamil like a parched sponge absorbing water after a long drought.

Every little bit of him makes your heart soar, like how despite his reserved demeanour, there's a quiet confidence about him that's hard to miss, how he handles unexpected situations with ease, or the glimpses of a mischievous glint in his eye when he thinks no one is looking, but you notice it easily because your attention is on him invariably. You adore how naturally he shows his care for others, including you: the tender hand he places on shelves or tables to prevent you from hitting your head when you get up, the kind cautionary warnings he gives you when you’re using a knife or cooking, his soothing touch full of patience as he takes care of your injuries when you’ve gotten too distracted by him.

Your heart yearns to see more of him, to learn every single thing about him.

You are deeply in love with him.

But the gravity of your soulmate bond wasn’t something you could tell him. You don't want to pressure him into feeling a certain way or risk changing the dynamic of your relationship, especially with his already long list of worries. So, you decide to simply keep it to yourself, content with the friendship the two of you currently have.

Jamil Viper found that fate was incredibly unfair.

Being born into a family of servitude, it was a necessary skill to be able to blend in with the crowd. While there had been many times when Jamil wished he could break free from the mould and show his true potential, it was ingrained in him to never outdo Kalim and to constantly keep his family's position in mind. He was used to living in the shadows, never drawing attention to himself.

So, when someone from another world began to show an overwhelming amount of interest in him, Jamil was taken aback.

Things started to change when he started cooking in the cafeteria kitchen with you. He had enjoyed taking his time and working without interruptions in the kitchen; it was a rare moment when he could be alone with his thoughts. And while that changed when you started showing up in the cafeteria kitchen more often, Jamil also found himself enjoying the small talk and banter that would occasionally happen between the two of you while cooking. He had been startled when you started talking to him and asking him questions about his life, but you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. It was a new feeling for him, and he didn't quite know how to respond.

He notices how you would watch him intently as he cooked, pleasantly surprised by your apparent admiration for his culinary skills. Your praises gave him the feeling that his efforts were truly acknowledged. He even found himself looking forward to the times when you would show up, excited to see what new recipes he could whip up with your assistance.

But what surprises him the most was that your attention is always on him. Even when other people are around, you seem to be looking at him, and it makes him feel seen in a way he never had before. He doesn't know why you were so interested in him, why you seem to support him no matter what, there to offer a kind word or a helping hand reassuringly. Without a doubt, he is grateful for your presence, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to your kindness than met the eye.

You are different from anyone else he has ever met. Coming from a different world, you don't care about his family's position or his connection to the Asim heir. You see him for who he is, and that makes him feel seen and appreciated.

Your attention had made him uncomfortable in the beginning, but now he can't deny that he likes it. He likes being noticed by you, being acknowledged, and appreciated for who he is.

It's not until one day that the truth hits him like a basketball to the face.

He's in love with you.

He yearns to spend the rest of his days making you happy, to create a future with you that was filled with love and warmth. He envisions days spent cooking together, the aroma of spices and flavours melding in the air as you laugh and savour each other's company. He finds himself craving your presence like a parched wanderer in a desert that craves water. He wants to hold your hand, to wrap his arms around you, to claim you as his own in a way that was both tender and possessive. His love for you has bloomed into a magnificent wildflower, bursting with vibrant colours and life, but also carrying a touch of greed. Like a protective vine, he curls around you, unwilling to let anyone come too close, fearing you'd wither in their presence.

He wants you to be his, desperately so.

But as much as he wants to express his feelings, he knew that it wasn’t the right time. The friendship that had blossomed between you two was something too precious; he didn't dare jeopardise his bond with the one person who made him feel like he mattered.

And so he keeps his feelings to himself and continued to come to the kitchen every day, cooking and chatting with you, content to just be near you, helping and caring for you in whatever way he could. Helping you wash the dishes, learning your favourite foods so he could make them for you, getting extra ingredients for you, he puts his mindfulness to full use when it comes to you. He cherishes the precious and fleeting moments you spend together, fearing the day you leave and go back to your original world.

One night, you walked into the kitchen looking troubled and lost in thought. Jamil couldn't help but notice something was amiss. You didn't even acknowledge his presence as you went straight to the fridge to grab some ingredients for cooking. Concerned, he speaks up. "Is everything okay?" he asks, "You look a bit troubled, is something bothering you today?"

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him. "Not really. I just couldn't fall asleep last night, so I'm a bit sleep deprived," you replied.

Jamil nodded in understanding. "I see. Hmm… I can brew tea that can help improve sleep quality. Would you like to try some?" he offered.

"Are you sure? I know you're very busy," you said, not wanting to be another burden on him.

A wry smile appeared on his face as he walked closer to you. "You're too considerate," he said as he playfully poked your forehead. "I have plenty of time to brew tea, so don't worry about it." He smiled as he started boiling water. "By the way, if you don't mind me asking, what’s on your mind? It’s unlike you to lose sleep unless something's bothering you."

You hesitated, knowing full well that he was what had kept you awake last night. While you wanted to be content with your current friendship, you suppose it was in your nature, given the soulmate bond, to be incredibly greedy. It was selfish of you to hope, but you yearned to be bonded to him like lovers were. "Well, it's a long story," you eventually answered.

"I don't mind listening. You can tell the story while I'm making the tea," he replied nonchalantly. "Just tell me whatever you’re comfortable with sharing."

Well, here goes nothing.

"Uhm... To start, have you ever heard of soulmates?"

Jamil thought for a bit before nodding. "I've heard of them, yes," he answered as he poured hot water into a teapot. "It's where two people are 'destined to be with' each other, right? I've heard of them before. Why do you ask?" he turned to face you with a curious expression.

You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to approach the subject. "It's just, in my world, they’re a very real thing." You took a deep breath and began to explain to Jamil about soulmates in your world—how it's believed that every person has a special bond with someone else, their soulmate, and that when they meet, they just know that they were meant to be together.

Jamil listened intently as you spoke, noticing the wistful look in your eyes as you talk about soulmates.

"At first, I wasn't sure about it either," you admitted. "But then... I met him."

Jamil's expression changed, a bitter wave crashing over him as he realized that you've found someone who had captured your heart. He had been content with being just friends, never daring to hope for more, but now it seemed that you had found someone else who made your heart sing.

"I see," he said, his movements a bit stiff as he poured hot water over the tea leaves. "It sounds like a beautiful thing, to be so connected to someone else," he commented, albeit a bit stiffly.

This stiffness goes unnoticed by you though, as you nodded, feeling a little embarrassed for bringing the conversation up. "Well, the thing is, I had hoped to find my soulmate. And... to have found him here in Twisted Wonderland, yet my connection to him is one-sided... I'm sorry; I know it sounds silly... It's just been on my mind a lot lately," you admitted.

Jamil shook his head. "Don't apologise. I'm glad you told me, it must be really important to you." He said, distracting himself by pouring the tea into a mug. "Here you go," he said, handing it to you. "It’s chamomile tea. I hope it helps you sleep better tonight."

"Thank you," you replied, taking a sip of the warm liquid. It's fragrant and soothing, and you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

Despite the sharp pang in Jamil's chest as he came to terms with the fact that you belonged to someone else, he couldn't help but be captivated by the image you paint of your soulmate. His heart clenched with bittersweet emotions as he pushed aside his own longing, resigned to the reality of unrequited feelings, as he had always done. He looked at you and asked, "So, what is your soulmate like?" His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil of emotions within him.

You hesitated, torn between revealing the truth and keeping your feelings hidden. But as you met his intense gaze, you felt a surge of courage well up within you. Taking a deep breath, you described the person who holds the other half of your soul.

"He's incredibly responsible and resourceful," you said, your words tinged with a shy vulnerability. "He's always looking out for others, taking great care of the people around him. He's thoughtful, kind, and selfless."

As you spoke, Jamil's mind raced with a mix of emotions. He couldn't help but see himself reflected in the description you gave, recognizing the qualities that you admired in your soulmate. Could it be possible that you're describing him? His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he tried to keep his excitement in check. He cleared his throat and asked, "And... what about their hobbies?"

Okay, this is it. "He enjoys basketball and dancing quite a lot."

You watched as the gears turned in his head, his eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat as he realised what you had said. "Me?" he asked, his voice barely audible as a flush settled across his face, his emotions swirling like a tempest within him.

You nodded shyly, confirming his suspicions. Jamil's heart skips a beat, and he could hardly believe his luck. "I... I'm your soulmate...?" he stammered, his voice barely audible, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable.

You nodded again, hesitating for a moment before speaking, "I... I’ll show you," you said as you start to unbutton the top buttons of your uniform. He raised his eyebrows in alarm, his gaze flitting between your face and the wall, seemingly flustered by your words. You could barely hold back a laugh at his adorable reaction, but you composed yourself and pulled down the collar of your shirt, revealing the words written neatly on your collarbone in a familiar handwriting—his handwriting.

Jamil stared at the mark, his expression unreadable. The words written there are in his own handwriting, unmistakably so. He reaches out tentatively, his fingertips grazing the letters as if trying to confirm that what he's seeing is real. He feels as your body thrums at his touch, and a wave of possessiveness washes over him, seeing his mark on you as if you belonged to him. For the first time in his life, something, no, someone, finally belonged to him completely.

"This is what I meant," you said quietly. "It's my soulmate mark. The first words you ever said to me."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "I... I can't believe it," he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. "This is... this is incredible."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your chest. "It's real, Jamil," you murmur, cupping his hand on your collarbone. "We're soulmates."

He nodded slowly, still unable to take his eyes off the mark on your skin. "I never imagined... I never thought it would be like this." He looked at you with a newfound sense of possessiveness, as if he was realizing for the first time that you were truly meant for each other. "You're mine," he said in a low, husky voice. "My soulmate."

Your breath hitched at his words, and a shiver ran down your spine. You could feel the depth of his emotions, the intensity of his love, and it left you feeling weightless. "Yes, Jamil," you said airily. "I'm yours, and... you're mine."

He smiled tenderly before leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, yet possessive, kiss. It feels like fireworks going off in your head as you realise that the bond you had been searching for your whole life has finally solidified. You deepen the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him closer, lost in the moment of pure connection. When you finally pull away, both of you are left breathless, smiling widely at each other.

Jamil had always thought fate had pulled a cruel joke on him. But if fate had brought him a soulmate from another world, maybe it wasn’t such a bad joke after all.

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