#please bear with me as i don't write M very often

[serenpedac]

Metamorphosis

Words: ~800

Rating: Teen and up

Relationship: Mina/Mason

Warnings: None

On a star-filled and chilly night, Mason finds Mina watching out over the bay near Wayhaven.

Notes

For @lovelyfoolish, because you’re a wonderful person and I wanted to give you a little something. I hope I did Mina and Mason justice <3 

There are many versions of myths surrounding Orion. In this fic, I’m referring to this one.

*~*~*~*~*~

The moonlight glitters on the rippling water of the bay. The onset of a breeze scatters the moving mosaic further, the light breaking, refracting patches of silver against the darkness of the water. 

Mina pushes her hands deeper into her coat pockets at the stinging chill in the air. The wind is stronger here, on top of the cliff that shelters Wayhaven’s bay. She hadn’t noticed how it had picked up, shielded as she had been, first by the houses of the town, then by the narrow patch of forest, as her feet trod the familiar path of one of her old routes. 

There is no real need for her to patrol, not with Unit Bravo stationed here, and not with how quiet things have been as of late. A quietude she should be grateful for—she is, she is—yet she can’t help but feel like it’s little more than a superficial stillness, like the mesmerising surface of the water of the bay hiding the currents below. Too much has happened, too much has changed, for her to trust she can rest now.

She startles at the sound of footsteps on the seashell path and twists around to find Mason several steps away. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asks, closing the remaining distance. His shoulders are tense as if he would fight off the cold. 

She lifts a shoulder in something like a shrug. “This used to be the outermost part of my rounds.” 

It’s not really an answer, and, eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown, he examines her, relaxing a fraction when he finds— She’s not sure what he sees on her face, but it’s enough for him to join her in her silence.

As the moment stretches on, her gaze is drawn to the horizon, where the bay opens up to the ocean. There’s a tug in her chest, a feeling of falling, or maybe of the currents pulling her along out into those unknown depths. 

A glance to her side reveals Mason with his hands pushed into his pockets like a mirror image of her. Unlike her, his gaze is fixed up at the stars speckling the sky. High above the dark water of the ocean, the three stars of Orion’s belt burn a cold blue-white.

How fitting, she thinks, that he would look up to the sky with its near eternal stars, while she would be tied to the deep waters here, earth-bound and mortal.

“Did you know,” she begins, her voice soft, “that according to the legends, Orion was the son of Poseidon, god of the ocean?”

Mason doesn’t turn to her, but his hand skims hers. Once, enough to let her know he’s listening.

“It’s said that he was killed by the hand of his lover, Artemis, while swimming in this very ocean. Her brother had tricked her into doing it out of jealousy. Heartbroken, she placed Orion in the sky to grant him immortality, even if it meant they couldn’t be together anymore.”

“That’s a pretty depressing story, sweetheart.”

It is, isn’t it? She hadn’t meant for it to be. “It’s a story about love,” she says, though what was maybe meant as reassurance is tinged deeply with melancholy. 

Mason scoffs, looks at her. His grey eyes are swirling with— something. It reminds her of how he had looked at her months ago, that look that had drawn a confession from her, her hands shaking as she uttered how she didn’t want to die. He had told her she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her die. Is he thinking about those words now?

Moving slowly, he reaches out to push her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along the shell of her ear until reaching the small hoop of her earring, where he pulls back. She exhales at the loss of contact.

“It’s a story about some gods and their foolish quarrels.” Pale moonlight and shadows play over his features. Barely visible against those stark contrasts are the freckles dotting his skin, little flecks that soften the sharp lines of his face.

Mina strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, and his eyelids flutter closed for a moment at her touch. Cupping his jaw, she leans in to press her lips against his wind-chilled cheek, feeling the way his mouth curves into a smile. When he wraps his arms around her, she slips her hands underneath his jacket to tangle her fingers into his shirt, the delicately woven fabric soft and warm. 

Mason’s head is tipped down, his hair falling forward to tickle her face as she leans her forehead against his. Breathing in the same air, they stay like that while the stars wheel overhead and the tide of the ocean ebbs and flows.

#please bear with me as i don't write M very often #serenwrites

[bizaar]

enjolras x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only - piv smut, oral (f receiving) handjob (m receiving) - general talks and mentions of sex/smut, lovemaking, breeding kink if you squint - mentions of concubines and usage of the word "whore" (reader is a sex worker so proceed with caution), general tooth rotting fluffiness, forbidden love is my bread and butter

word count: 8k (I'm so sorry I'm incapable of writing anything short)

a.n.: This is my first smut so go easy on me :D also, apologies if I didn't do Enjolras justice, I watched clips from BBC Les Mis on Youtube for days and got sort of generally stuck on how to write him talking about anything besides the revolution when ALL he talks about is the revolution - PLEASE BEAR IN MIND THAT READER IS A SEX WORKER so don't come for me tumblr prudes I don't want to hear it.

A chorus of high voices calling your name summons you to the top of the stairs, and it’s there you find him, idling in the foyer below — Enjolras.

Just to see him kicks up a storm of giddiness swirling in the pit of your stomach and you have to resist the urge to say something smart about finding himself in a brothel so late in the evening, just to defuse the tension.

He wouldn’t like that.

Be sweet, Mon Cher, he’d implored you recently in the midst of an intimate moment— stroking your face and breathing hard against your mouth, your legs wrapped around his canting hips, holding him to press tight against your core as he slipped in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

That had been six nights ago — Six nights too many, you think as you pinch your thighs together and feel the first stirrings of arousal in your belly.

Now, the other girls stand around him in a throng of giggling fillies, touching and flirting — the teasing only amplifies when they see you standing there, not so subtly gripping the banister.

“Your man is here —” One of them sings, her voice dripping with a condescending edge as she braces her hands on the flare of her hips and leans into him, very pointedly presenting her ample bosom, spilling out from the top of her stays.

To his credit, Enjolras pays her no mind, he is far too busy gazing up at you with all the reverence of a man set to worship.

Still, the gesture brings a hot flash of jealousy to your cheeks and you scowl at her as you begin your quick descent of the rickety steps. They creak under your weight, despite the way your stockinged feet make no noise against the brushed wood — your worn dressing gown trails behind you like the train of a fine dress.

Enjolras watches you approach, a gentle smile spread over his handsome features that you pretend not to see as you hit the last step and reach for his hand.

He gives it to you.

“Haven’t you all got better things to do than stand around gawking?” You hiss at the silly creatures, pulling to lead Enjolras back up the flight.

“Better things, for sure,” someone muses, “But no better men.”

They kick up with a chorus of raucous laughter and you tighten your grip on his thick fingers like you’re half afraid they’re going to steal him from your grasp if you aren’t quick to get him up the stairs.

The girls all call their teasing, singsong goodbyes to Enjolras as you mount the steps and disappear into the belly of the brothel.

You quietly thank God that the Madam is not home. She would not stand for such idle foolishness, nor would she stand to see you whisking Enjolras off to your room. The girls are all enamored with his soft eyes, kind speech, and good looks — the Madam only cares whether or not he can pay for your company on his meager salary. More often than not you do not even bother charging him, as his company is payment enough — much to the Madam’s chagrin.

How she does like to tell you that time given away is time wasted, and the Madam does not stand for that kind of frivolity.

Your room is at the far end of a long hall of open doors. To peek through you might have seen the other courtesans busy with their own individual fancies between suitors — playing at cards, drinking wine, gossiping — that is if they had not all gathered down in the foyer to fawn over the handsome guest in their midst.

It is strangely quiet for this time of night, though you expect that is likely to change soon enough.

The hard thumps of Enjolras’s footsteps as he follows wordlessly behind you beat in tandem with your heart, and you silently wish to be anywhere but here, where this didn’t have to feel so mercantile, where intimacy could live and breathe without the ever-present guillotine of payment hanging over your heads. You wish it were enough to be lovers and not just a favored whore.

You know he would reject that thinking, despite how true it is.

How many times has he told you he loves you? How many times have you rejected that affection on principle?

You cannot afford to love him while you are so deeply indebted to the Madam… and yet…

Through the door you go, startling the two young girls who have taken refuge in your room. They sit crowded at the vanity, their faces done up in powder and rouge, one wrapped in your fine silk shawl as if they’d been playing at dress up.

Their wide eyes flit back and forth between you and the man you have in tow with a patent unease, like they have been caught red-handed at something.

“Marie, Clotilde, get out.” You say sharply, addressing the girls by name.

They remain staring at you, at Enjolras. Everyone knows about him, the revolutionary — your little pet — you imagine they have heard as much talk of him as anyone else in this house.

They are younger than the others and thankfully have not been set to working just yet. As such they are comparatively harmless, but you are no less inclined to let them share in what little time you have with Enjolras.

He is yours and you intend to have him before the Madam returns.

You clap your hands sharply, snapping the girls to attention and pointing to the door.

“Alons-y! Go!”

They scramble to collect their things and get to their feet before scurrying past you, heads dipped sheepishly as they go through the door.

“Is that him?” You hear Clotilde whisper before shutting the door.

Somewhere behind you, Enjolras sighs.

“They are much too young for this life.” He says, his voice a low timbre that sends shivers through your body.

“No younger than I was when it found me.” You mumble bitterly. “Paris is a cruel city for girls with no means…”

The stillness that falls over the room is but a calm before the storm — you survey the mess, discarded stays, skirts, boots, and petticoats, your delicate shawl lies pooled at the foot of the bed where it was hastily discarded.

You heave a sigh and cross the room to retrieve your most precious trinket from the floor.

“How was your meeting?” You ask idly, desperate to cut the tension over the bleakness of life in the underbelly of Paris.

Enjolras likes conversation, particularly with you — he likes to pretend this is anything but the transactional exchange it really is, so as not to cheapen his feelings for you — your feelings for him.

“It went well, I think.” He says, “There were more people there tonight than I’ve seen before—"

You hum thoughtfully as you uncork a bottle of wine and pour yourself a glass.

You watch, half mesmerized by the swirling dark liquid, and feel the heat of his gaze on your back as he continues.

“People are coming from all over Paris. It feels as though they’re finally ready to stand up for something.”

“For the revolution you mean?” You ask, sipping the wine.

Your tone is decidedly more condescending than you’d intended and Enjolras doesn’t answer. You half expect him to admonish you for mocking his cause, but he remains quiet.

Behind you, you hear the telltale click of the door lock sliding into place and feel butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach — the Madam does not abide a locked door in her house, but you cannot presently bring yourself to care.

His silence would be enough to unnerve you were you not so entirely certain of his gentle nature, his kindness, his affection for you.

When you turn to look at him, you find that he has crossed the room to stand behind you, his body blocking your view. His hands come up to trail feather-light touches up the length of your arms. You feel his breath fanning the back of your neck.

“I missed you tonight.” He murmurs.

You breathe an easy laughter through your nose and shiver under his touch. He takes the glass from your hand and drains it in one gulp — it clinks softly as he sets it down on the dressing table before you.

His arms come up to snake around you and pull you close, the rumble of his contented sigh vibrating through your body.

“How can you miss me when you have your good lady Madam Révolution to keep you warm?” You tease, leaning back into his touch.

“I always miss you when you’re not there.” He says ever so softly, dipping to press a gentle kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder. “You could come with me, you know. To the meetings?”

“I’ve been to your meetings.” You remind him, turning your head to rest against his shoulder, tipping back into the crook of his neck as his free hand moves to splay out across your belly.

Thick fingers press you back to lay flush against his body and you smirk as you feel the faintest impression of his cock stirring there.

You rock your hips back tentatively against him.

“They weren’t for me.”

“The meetings…” he insists, brushing his plush lips across the highest point of your cheekbone, your temple, your hairline, “…Are for anyone who yearns for liberation.”

You mean to roll your eyes, but arousal has beat you to the motion as the hand on your stomach slips down to cup you between your legs. Thick, calloused fingers draw a slow line over the clothed seam of your pussy and your eyes roll back in their sockets at the sensation it elicits, lips parting ever so slightly on a breathy moan.

You certainly do yearn, though not presently for liberation.

You had meant what you said, though — you aren't expressly unwelcome at the meetings, but nothing deters the good citizens of Paris from turning their noses up at the presence of a common whore in their midst.

You’d met Enjolras at one of his citizen’s meetings, and spent the duration of it being sneered at by the upstanding proletariat in attendance. You hardly cared. You’d been there to work, not to be inspired, but then you’d caught Enjolras’s gaze and found yourself struck, and like a bolt of lightning, you forgot all other men but the brooding revolutionary with the dark eyes.

He was similarly affected by you.

You don’t believe in such fanciful things as love at first sight, and yet you’d spent the evening circling one another, stealing glances and shy smiles before you’d shocked yourself by sitting and listening to him give speeches about liberty and equality among the people.

You would not consider yourself a patriot by any stretch of the word, and as such you didn’t retain a thing Enjolras said that night, only the way he’d said it, and how he'd spent half as much time undressing you with his eyes as he did rabble-rousing.

You thought he was marvelous, and that was dangerous for someone like you.

In some small hope of retaining what shred of good sense you had left, you quietly took your leave before the cheering and songs were finished, as if somehow you knew you were going to fall in love with him if you gave him the chance.

He, in turn, had stolen away from the budding revolution to follow you nearly halfway across Paris, just to ask your name.

It was a gesture romantic enough to make your knees tremble.

For all his serious talk of liberation and freedoms, you were surprised at his secret romantic inclinations — though, of course, you suppose all revolutionaries are romantics at heart.

It takes a great passion to care enough about the plight of the lesser man to want to change things, after all.

Enjolras had asked to walk along the Seine with you and watch the sunrise, and you’d told him he couldn’t afford to buy that much of your time, hoping that knowledge of your profession might deter his pursuit of your affections.

It did not and, against your better judgment, you’d let him kiss you as the sun rose over the river.

He has held your heart ever since and you have not known a day of peace for it.

Nevermind your profession, there is no room for love in the midst of a revolution — to make one life more precious than the lives of the masses is antithetical to everything Enjolras proselytizes … and yet…

His eyes are dark, satin pools, pupils blown wide with desire, staring through you to the depths of your soul. You could come apart under those eyes, even without the help of his fingers, probing experimentally at the growing slick between your legs.

Enjolras kisses you then, a soft, languid slanting of lips that breathes warmth into you all the way to your core. He holds you tight as you turn over in his hands, twisting until you are facing him, only parting so that he can lift the thin cotton shift you wear over your head and cast it aside, leaving you bare but for your stockings.

He takes your face in his hands and catches your mouth hungrily, coaxing you to open up for him just a little more with a heady swipe of his tongue. You make quick work of unwinding his dark crimson cravat to reveal the hard lines of his neck and fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, desperate to undress him despite how he has not yet even shed his coat.

You breathe hard into the heat of his mouth as big hands roam the length of your body like Enjolras cannot decide where it is he would like most to touch you — the supple swell of your breasts or the soft dip of your waist.

He settles finally on the gentle curve of your rear, cupping you there and lifting you easily so you might wrap your legs around him. It is only as you settle in his strong arms that you finally feel the full press of his hard length digging into your hip, making his trousers all too tight.

You shudder against him and breathe his name, gripping needily at his neck and shoulders as his mouth moves down to leave searing crescent moon shapes over your jaw and the tender columns of your throat. It’s been no less than a week since you’d last been under his bruising touch, but it may as well have been a lifetime for how you yearn for him.

“Enjolras…” you whine.

“Hmm?”

“Make love to me,”

You feel the curve of his broad smile against your flesh and the rumble of gentle laughter in his chest, and you are nearly undone by the warmth swelling beneath your ribs as you are filled to the brim with emotion.

“As you wish, Mon Cher.”

It is only a few minutes more of fumbling, reverent touches and searing kisses before you’ve discarded the last of his clothing and he has you laid out on the bed.

He relieves you of your stockings one at a time, slowly peeling the thin material down your legs, kissing the soft mailable flesh of your thighs as he comes down to settle between your spread legs. You gasp when you feel the scrape of teeth on your inner thigh and push up on your elbows to watch as he settles there.

Searing breath fans your slick folds, a startling contrast to the chill that sends a shiver through your body as he pushes your legs up and out to spread you that much wider, exposing your dewy core to the air. You fist the bedsheets, watching him lick his lips, eyes bright in anticipation of the meal he is ready to make out of you.

The first tentative swipe of his tongue has you jumping, jerking at the wet heat slipping through your folds and drawing teasing circles around your opening. The little kitten licks that follow have you sinking back into the pillows, soft lilting sighs slipping from your mouth to fill the room and match the pleased, hungry sounds he is making from between your legs, muffled by the mouthful he has of your pussy.

His mouth is a sinful thing, all tongue and lips and the slightest hint of teeth, worshiping at the altar of your body with broad flat strokes up and down the length of your slit and teasing flicks to your tender nub. In no time at all you’re writhing against him, rocking your hips in search of more friction, tiny lilting sounds spilling from your mouth in an unending tide of praise and encouragement.

You tremble as he pulls back from your folds with a vulgar wet smack only to press the tip of his tongue to that little bundle of nerves throbbing with inattention. You moan, a high sound of needy ecstasy as he pulls it into his mouth and, ever so tenderly, suckles at it, sending a sharp spike of pleasure lancing you through your midsection.

You card your fingers through his hair, careful not to tug too hard as you guide him to where you need him most, which, at present, is on his back fucking up into you.

You are all too aware of how empty you are, clenching down pitifully on nothing at all.

What you don’t realize, however, is how you’ve been begging for him until he’s crawled up to meet you. He licks a fat, wet stripe up the length of your torso, over the swell of your breast and the pebbled bud of your nipple as he makes his way up. You jump under the sharp sensation as he nips at you, taking your breast between his teeth before soothing the offended flesh with a balm of his tongue.

A trail of searing wet kisses leads him further to your lips, the heat of his ministrations punctuated by the murmured assurances he showers you with. You can taste the sharp tang of your slick spread over his mouth and tongue as you suck his lower lip in past your own and let yourself be drawn up into Enjolras’s lap as he sits up and rocks back into the sea of pillows at the head of your bed.

You settle there, already flushed and a little lightheaded and having to brace yourself against his chest to stay upright as he lays back.

Once you have your bearings, you push up easily on your knees and take his rigid cock in hand, throbbing beneath your touch as you pump the length of him for good measure — not that you need to, he’s as hard as you imagine he can be, with the way his purpling tip responds to the way you swipe the pad of your thumb over his leaking slit.

When you turn your gaze back to watch him, you see his eyes are half hooded and his mouth has fallen open in a wanton panting, he hisses with pleasure when you squeeze and twist the head of him on the uptake, and suddenly his hand flies out to catch you by the wrist and still your motions.

He forces out a breathless laugh.

“Mon Cher — you’ll wring me out before we’ve even begun.” He warns you, and you click your tongue at such a thought.

“What’s got you so sensitive?” You tease, drawing featherlight touches up and down the thick vein throbbing on the underside of his shaft.

He grits his teeth and breathes out hard through his nose like he’s working hard at putting all his energy into keeping himself from spending over your fist. Enjolras shakes his head and forces himself to open his eyes, chest heaving.

“I told you — I missed you.”

Which is to say he’s more than likely been half-hard all evening in anticipation of this moment.

You find that to be immeasurably pleasing, picturing him sitting stoically amongst his compatriots, discussing revolution and democracy and the makings of history, all the while burning with unbridled lust and shifting awkwardly to conceal its effect on him.

You smirk as you lean forward to press a chase peck to the end of his nose.

“Darling, you don’t have to miss me when I’m right here.”

And then you press him to your core and sink down onto his length in one, swift motion that draws a shared groan of relief from the both of you. He’s sheathed in you to the hilt in a matter of moments, the heat of your walls clenching down and drawing him in like it’s desperate for every inch of him, hungry for more even as you’re filled to brimming with him.

It is all-encompassing, the way he clouds your senses, and anything witty you might have said dies on your tongue as you swallow hard, your nails scraping down the length of his heaving abdomen. The heady burn of how he stretches you is almost too much, and for a moment it is all you can do but sit there, speared on his cock and trembling as it presses bruisingly against your furthest wall.

Enjolras grips your thighs like your flesh is all he has to keep him grounded, throwing his head back into the pillows as he does his best to quell the gentle, unconscious rocking of his hips until you’re ready. For half a moment, you wonder if he is about to cum and if, as he’d prophesied, all of this will end before it’s even started.

You wait for his grip to ease up as he comes back to himself, and you breathe out a shaky sigh, nodding reassuringly when you feel him gently tap his fingers on your leg, silently asking after you.

Always the gentleman, checking on you in spite of his state, you could kiss him, but you’d have to rock forward to do so and you aren’t quite ready to move just yet.

You know he must be desperate to take you by your hips and rut up into you until he finds his release, but you also know he would rather cut off his own hand than do anything without your permission, so he waits, and you watch.

Oh how he suffers, your poor idealist.

You think perhaps you could tease him a little, draw this out for as long as possible, but you’d only be torturing yourself — there is no denying that you are as eager for him as he is for you, and your quick and fevered fingers drawing circles over your bud with thoughts of him are nothing compared to the real thing.

Finally, you push up on your knees again, keening at the thick drag of him against your tender walls, lifting almost to the point of dislodging him before dropping back down. Again. And again, until you’ve found a steady rhythm that has your skin crawling with ecstasy.

His isn’t the largest cock you’ve ever had, but you find that it fits you best, like it was tailor-made for you. It is certainly your favorite, though you are, perhaps, at least a tad biased when it comes to him.

Enjolras’s big hands grip and pull at you as you ride him, like he is caught again in the dilemma of where to touch you, how best to hold you. The filthy wet sounds of lovemaking fill the air, commingling with your soft moaning and the creak of the bed frame beneath you. It is the soundscape of any number of brothels across Paris, but between the two of you, it is like music.

And then, without warning, he braces himself against the mattress and cants his hips up to meet yours as you come down again. You yelp, from alarm as much as sensation, and the momentum of his sudden thrusting nearly dislodges you to send you toppling over.

You brace yourself on one arm to keep from falling, though by then Enjolras has sat up to catch you, holding you in his arms while he fucks up into you, just like you’d wanted. You curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and swivel your hips in perfect time to each of his thrusts, and you move together like a well-oiled machine.

This is how you like it best, straddling him with his arms wrapped around you, forehead pressed against his, inhaling his exhales — pure bliss — you bite your lower lip and smirk as you try to suppress a burst of joyful, breathy laughter.

“What’s funny?” He asks, his voice thick and strained and tinged with the slightest trace of humor.

You shake your head because it feels silly to tell him it’s nothing, only that this is your favorite thing in the world — bouncing on his cock — and you just wish you could do this forever.

Funny to hear someone who fucks for a living say something like that.

You just smile at him.

“I missed you,” you hum, in a gentle mockery of how he had said it before.

He still his motions ever so slightly as his face splits into a big, broad smile of his own, dimples pulling tight to indent his cheeks as he surges forward to kiss you again.

Your heart thumps solidly in your chest and you think perhaps that he is what all those poets must have been talking about when they wrote their sonnets and songs of love.

You think Enjolras must be the envy of the Gods of old, and somewhere, wherever they are, they stand weeping over his beauty because they will never have him.

Say what you will about his devotion to Madame Révolution, right here and now Enjolras’s heart belongs entirely to you, and you’re half inclined to think he might make a romantic out of you for it.

It takes no effort at all for him to roll you, and suddenly you’re pressed into the mattress below him. There is only the briefest moment’s pause in rhythm as the momentum of changing positions causes his length to slip from your heat. You whimper at the loss of him, and he shushes you, petting your face to soothe you because, of course, he is coming right back.

You gaze up at him, beautifully flushed and disheveled, openly panting but still smiling as he kneels over you, supported on one strong arm and readjusting to compensate for the new angle. You splay your legs open wide to allow for him to slot in as close as possible against your core, letting him spread you a little further past the point of comfort with a gentle hand on your knee before hitching your legs up and around his hips.

You only briefly feel the broad flare of him at your entrance as he lines himself up before seating himself in you once again. He pushes all the way to the root in one quick snap of his hips that has you throwing your head back and arching into his touch with a loud, wanton moan.

He is suddenly so much deeper than he was before, thrusting into you, and you feel ready to come apart at the seams as he sets an agonizingly slow pace— pulling almost all the way out before snapping back again, each hungry thrust of his hips slamming home up against that most tender spot at your furthest wall to make you see stars and colors.

It’s punishment for how you teased him before, you know it must be, but this is how he likes it, painfully slow and hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall.

He likes to take his time while he dismantles you, but you are impatient.

You’re fisting your hands in the sheets and lifting your hips up off of the bed, trying to meet his every thrust despite how he pushes you back down with a strong hand and holds you there firmly. It is only enough to keep you teetering on the torturous edge, never enough to send you over, never too little to draw you back.

You can feel the litany of desperate noises tumbling from your lips more than you can hear them over the vulgar squelching sounds that fill the air with every pass of his cock against your sticky walls, the harsh slap of skin on skin, his soft grunting and moaning filling the room as he moves. The slick mess that drips down your thighs makes for a smooth glide in and out of you — you could almost blush to imagine how it must be pooling in your bedsheets and making a sopping wet mess of him as well as yourself.

It’s enough to make your toes curl and your walls flutter and clench over the length of him, drawing a low rattling moan from deep within his chest.

You’re only vaguely aware of the things Enjolras says to you, the little rhetorical questions and naughty phrases to which you can only nod along in affirmation, too drunk on the delicious sensation of being so perfectly stretched by him to form coherent thoughts or responses.

Yes, it feels good — so, so good. Yes, you like it when he fucks you like this —faster, more. Yes, you’re his good girl, taking him so well — don’t stop — yes, yes yes yes…!

The vice he has on your hips is a bruising thing, and where before there was the painfully slow in and out and in and out, he snaps his hip again, and suddenly he’s hilted in you to the base, pelvis pressed flushed to yours as he begins a slow, rutting grind, just the perfect amount of friction against your swollen, needy bud to have you writhing under his weight.

Your eyes roll back and slide shut as you press your head into the pillows, exposing the tender columns of your throat and mewling at the sensation of being so full.

“Oh— f-f-uh—!” You bite the curse off with a shrill gasp, one hand flying down to grip his wrist as his big palm splays over the lowest point of your belly, applying pressure there like he is in danger of bursting through your abdomen and means to contain himself. “E-Enjolras—please!”

You can feel the vibration of his gentle laughter buzzing into you through his cock and it’s nearly enough to make you seize.

“Yes, my darling?” He teases, “What is it?”

You’re not sure you could have answered him at that moment if your life depended on it, you aren’t even sure what you’re asking of him. You’ve suddenly got your lower lip pulled so tightly between your teeth that you half expect to taste blood as the heat in your abdomen quickly begins to wind itself into a tight, quivering coil.

The unconscious canting of your hips to rock against his ministrations is a desperate thing as you try to chase more friction and bring yourself to climax.

And then you feel his movements growing lax, slower and slower until his hips still entirely. It draws a pitiful whine from deep within you as the orgasm you’d been balancing on the edge of turns gossamer and slips through your fingers.

A calloused hand comes up to settle over your jaw then, and rubs tenderly up over your cheek. You feel his thumb brush away a dewiness you hadn’t been aware of forming on your lashes and suddenly the plush spread of his lips is at your throat.

“Open your eyes, mon amour —” he whispers, kissing the tender spot just beneath your ear, “Look at me.”

It takes some effort, but eventually, you obey, chest heaving and eyes blurry as you gaze up at him, suddenly leaning over you on his elbows. You reach up to brush stray curls from where they stick to his sweat-slicked forehead with a shaking hand and feel your chest swelling with emotion again.

He is so handsome and so kind, and he could so easily be yours — he would whisk you away from all this if only you would let him.

How you wish you would let him.

There are tears in your eyes then, spilling over your lashes and down your cheeks to pool at your jawline.

Enjorlas’s brows come together in tight-knit concern and the thumping of his heart against your own is almost enough to make you forget he’s still got his cock in you.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, so gently you could fall apart beneath him as he brushes the pad of his thumb over the spread of your lower lip, like a key unlocking the chest where you keep your most precious secrets.

The words tumble foolishly from your lips before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you gasp.

The confession is shocking, like the clanging of a bell. Ever so briefly, you watch something closer to hurt than you like to see on him flash across his dark eyes, shifted nearly black with wanting. The pained look is gone in an instant, replaced instead by a crumpled smile, like he can hardly believe he’s heard you correctly.

He’s professed his love to you a dozen times over, in and out of the heady spell of lovemaking, and you’ve dismissed the notion a dozen times again.

You’re both all too painfully aware of the hideous cliche you’ve found yourselves in, a man falling in love with a whore, begging her for her fidelity where she cannot offer it, making a thousand promises of the honest life they could live together if only she’d give herself over to him.

You’ve had countless other men make you similar, needy promises in the heat of the moment, caught in the vice of your pussy and teetering on climax, but those intentions always fade to dust the moment they spill over and come back to their senses.

Enjolras has never once gone back on his word, whether he is in his right mind or drunk on your flesh — you’re half inclined to believe he could deliver on those promises, make an honest woman of you, take you away to live with him in some little cottage where he would marry you and you’d raise a brood of wild children together.

You’re almost foolish enough to believe you could be happy together for more than a few fleeting moments of frenzied fucking. Still, your heart throbs in your chest for the impending consequences of what you have just done — you aren’t allowed to love him.

He searches your face for the answer to a question he has not yet asked as he draws an invisible tear down the side of your face with the line of his smallest finger.

His voice is thick and heady with indiscernible emotion when he speaks.

“Say it again.”

You shouldn’t. You ought to shut up, send him away, implore him to forget he ever learned your name, but you cannot.

You push up on your elbows to slot your mouth against his — kissing him to make him believe you, to somehow pass through him and whisper the closest kept secrets of your heart to his.

You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself to him, feeling the sticky drag of his chest hair against your peaked, sensitive nipples as he moves to snake an arm around your midsection.

“I love you,” you breathe against his lips. “I lov-”

He surges forward and kisses you again, a bruising press of his lips hard enough that you can barely move your mouth to return the gesture.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he suddenly rolls his hips, drawing back and thrusting in once more as he falls into a punishing pace, spurred into action by the admission — the reciprocation — of your feelings.

You brace a hand against the rattling headboard, clanging against the wall in time with the jostling of the bed frame, your high breathy voice answering the deeper timber of his own as he fucks into you in desperate search of his climax.

The coil in your belly grows tight and white hot again and you can feel the muscles in his abdomen growing tense against you.

In no time, his thrusting grows sloppy and erratic as he nears his finish and you grow eager for your own. He banishes your fingers with an aggressive swipe as they scrabble down to brush tight circles over your swollen nub, electing to get the job done himself. You jolt up needily against the calloused flesh of his thumb, abusing that tender bundle of nerves at a rapid-fire pace.

It boils over all too quickly.

Before you can think to open your mouth, warn him of your impending climax, you’ve come up and over, and the coil in your belly snaps.

Your body goes rigid, and you tremble with the agony of your ecstasy, washing over you like the surf, wave after powerful wave knocking you back again before you’ve had time to take a breath. You gasp out a strangled cry and dig your fingers into his arms, Enjolras’s pace only briefly faltering as your walls clench on him like a vice. He continues to fuck into you through your orgasm, stretching the release as far as it will go until you’ve strayed the line of overstimulation and you’re scrambling to try and get away from his punishing touch.

Thankfully, he is not far behind you.

He rolls his hips one, twice, thrice more before he’s pulling you as tight to him as he can manage, burying his face into the expanse of dewy flesh between your heaving breasts and spilling into you with a low guttural moan.

It’s almost enough to have you climaxing again, and you would have cried out at the bright, warm sensation flooding up against the quivering walls of your heat, if your voice were not trapped in your throat. He rolls his hips with each ropey spurt he leaves in you until finally he is spent and he collapses on top of you with a sigh of relief and the dead weight of his whole body.

Time ceases to matter, stretching infinitely before you as you lay together, breathing in tandem. Your lungs protest as they fight to expand, crushed into the mattress beneath him as you are, but you ignore their haughty complaints.

You consider never getting up, letting him slip beneath your skin and live like this in the bright, hazy moments of afterglow with sweat drying tacky on your bodies, the evidence of your joint efforts oozing from out between your legs around his softening cock. You sigh out your contentment, drawing lazy patterns across his back and relishing in how perfect this moment is, without the world pressing in on you.

Enjolras’s chest expands against you as he breathes deep and exhales, and you imagine the exhaustion tugging at him, threatening to lull him to sleep in your arms. You card your fingers through his hair, petting him and listening to the little pleased hums it draws from the hollow of his throat.

You could let yourself love him like this, almost imagining that you are in the life he’s promised you, tucked safely away in a little home, far removed from Paris and the troubles of your lives. Still, nothing lasts forever, and the gentle nagging of consequences begins to tug at you.

You can suddenly hear hushed, giggling voices outside your door and you grit your teeth against the violent feeling they stir in you.

Nasty little voyeurs.

You drum your fingers gently over Enjolras’s bicep and apply the slightest amount of pressure, prompting him to roll off and away from you so that you might sit up. You shiver at the jarring emptiness of his slipping out of you and you push up from the bed, crossing to the wash basin on shaky legs.

In your perfect life, you wouldn’t have to be so quick to wash him from you. You could relish in the sensation of being filled, the possibility of bearing his children, but this is not your perfect life, so you wet a rag and make quick work of cleaning yourself up.

You fetch your dressing down from where it lays discarded on the floor and shrug into it.

“Do you want me to go?” You hear Enjolras ask then, his voice thick and raw.

He’s sitting up against the headboard, breathing a little easier now though still so beautifully flushed. You watch him reach up and brush his hair back from his face with a boyish nervousness that plunges a dagger into your heart.

Of course, it occurs to you now how it might seem like a rejection, so hastily sloughing him off.

You smile and cross back to the bed, sinking down into the mattress and tucking yourself in against his body to banish the notion.

“No,” you purr, taking his face in your hands, “I want you to stay.”

The relief that passes over him is palpable as a tension you hadn’t been aware of until that moment clears.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks you, the rawness of the question so painfully sweet it puts a lump in your throat, “…that you love me?”

Your heart seizes in your chest, because how could he ask you such a question?

As easily as you can fool yourself into thinking it was true.

You watch him watching you, waiting for the faintest hint of a response, and you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. A brief, chaste peck that ends too soon and leaves you wanting to do it again and again.

You could waste the night kissing him like that, like bright notes of honey you are entirely too greedy for.

His hand flies up to shadow yours against his face, keeping you there as he turns into your touch and presses a gentle kiss to your palm.

But now you’ve left the question unanswered too long, and the faintest hint of that hurt look is back in his eyes.

“Do you love me?”

You hate to do it, but you have to address the consequences of your actions. You have to be practical for both your sakes.

“Of course I do, mon Chéri,” you sigh, “And you love me, but what does it matter when you have the revolution? Your citizen meetings and all the people who look to you for guidance?”

“What has one got to do with the other?” He huffs, “I love you independently of my duty to the revolution–”

You furrow your brow, because one has everything to do with the other. You are surprised at how he could be blind to that.

You think that perhaps it is a willful blindness.

“My love, you do nothing independent of your duty to the revolution when you are its leader.”

His jaw tightens and his brows come together as he immediately rejects the notion.

“I’m not–” he snaps, then takes a breath, taking up your hand as he corrects himself and speaks a little more gently, “No, I’m not … there are no leaders among us.”

You do your best to ignore the hurt that flashes across his face when you take your hand back.

“Oh no? And who do you think they’ll come for when the city is burning and the aristocracy cries out for someone to hang? Will you send someone else to the noose?”

He shakes his head in a way that you think is perhaps too petulant for someone in his position, with his resolve.

“It won’t come to that.” He says.

“Won’t it?” You press, and then you add with a biting tone, “Are you so unwilling to be a martyr to your cause?”

Enjolras levels you with an incredulous look, something almost halfway to hurt as he turns those big dark eyes on you. He is looking at you like he can’t believe what you’re saying, like you’re rejecting him.

“Why are we talking about this?” He implores, “What does it matter?”

“It matters if you love me. There is no room for love in revolution — you’re the one who preaches that.” you press, leaning into him when he looks away, defiant of his own words.

“I preach nothing.” He says sullenly.

“Don’t make yourself a hypocrite, Enjolras. Don’t give them that to use against you.”

You know he knows this, and were he not so caught in the vice of his feelings he would agree with you, but you also know he doesn't want to hear it anymore than you want to say it.

The silence that blooms between you is tense. You watch him flex his jaw and listen to him breathe, and you wonder if you’ve gone and ruined a perfectly splendid moment for nothing.

Then again what do you know about martyrs and causes? Perhaps you are wrong and it is not impossible, simply improbable.

Somehow you highly doubt that.

You sigh and bring your knees up to hug against your chest.

“Forgive me…” you begin, “It’s not my place to say it. I shouldn’t—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“Would you come away with me if I asked?”

It is another shocking, bell-clanging moment, along the same vein of your own confession.

You’re fully aware of how you’re gawping at him, but you can hardly believe he even said it as the question lingers between you. The sudden change has you laughing, for shock rather than unkindness.

He remains steely in his resolve and waits for your answer.

“Come away with you?” You echo, and your heart thumps in anticipation of the answer you cannot give him — yes of course.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted. Still, humor is the soothing balm to the way your heart cries out in protest because you cannot go, no matter how desperately you want to ... and yet...

Not impossible... simply improbably...

“What could you possibly offer me enticing enough to abandon my life here, living in the lap of luxury?” You ask, beaming as you gesture grandly to the modest room, with its peeling wallpaper and holes in the ceiling.

In a strident contrast to the way you poke fun, Enjolras is serious as the plague as he takes up your hands again.

“I would offer you everything I have.” He says earnestly, “My life — my fidelity.”

The heat of his gaze is intense enough to have you turning shy and looking down at your hands, at the way he’s caressing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You're laughing again, suddenly giddy with possibility.

“Your fidelity? You would abandon your true love? All your work for the revolution? For me?”

He nods.

“For you, I would leave tonight.”

You hum thoughtfully, dropping your chin to the sinewy muscle of his shoulder.

“What about life and liberation of the working class?”

His voice is soft when he answers, rattling in his chest with a deeply tired sigh, like he hasn’t slept in months. You have to wonder whether he ever rests outside of your company.

“Let someone else fight for a change.” He says, his eyes growing distant. It is entirely uncharacteristic of him, and enough to make you think he might be serious.

He would leave — with you, no less — leave all that he knows behind for a love that is forbidden. How wonderfully uncharacteristic of him.

What a story yours is. A common whore and a jaded revolutionary.

How terribly cliche.

And then like a proposal, he moves so that he is kneeling in front of you, his soul bare for you to judge and do with what you like.

“Come away with me.” He says, “Be my wife.”

You cannot speak, your tongue has suddenly turned to cotton in your throat. You imagine saying yes, leaving tonight, but your heart is torn.

You could marry him, but with what money? He cannot afford to keep you and without an income, you cannot afford not to work. And what would leaving mean for the lives you left behind?

What would happen to girls like Marie and Clotilde without your guardianship? How many revolutions have died in their infancy because lesser men than Enjolras decided to leave the fight to someone else?

Amidst all these worries and questions, another series springs to the front of your mind and branches out, growing wild with reckless abandon.

Why does it all rest on your shoulders?

Why is it not enough just to be lovers?

It is a pretty dream, your other life in a little house, married happily and rearing curly-haired children with their father’s dark eyes — why should you be doomed to live your life resigned to dreaming?

Why? Why why why? ...Why not?

For half a moment, you watch Enjorlas crumple before you, like he is anticipating the rejection.

Your heart breaks for him.

How conflicting it must be to balance his two selves, the stalwart revolutionary with the desperate romantic.

If only his compatriots knew how he suffered for the revolution, you fear they would tear him to pieces.

You would shield him from that if you could.

You bring your hand up to cup his jaw on one side, and then the other, and you draw him to you.

"Your fidelity won't put bread on my table," you say softly, "But I would take it if you let me, if only because you offered it to me."

His eyes widen ever so briefly, and his face splits into that big, shining grin again. He laughs, too struck to speak like he had already resigned himself to the slow death of your impending rejection, and to hear the opposite has wiped clean the slate of his mind.

You love it when he's speechless.

You can’t stop your lips from quirking up into a shy smile. “Unless you didn’t mean it–?” You tease, but he doesn't let you finish, crashing forward to press a bruising kiss to your lips.

“I meant it.” He says quickly, breathlessly between kisses – his hands come up to grasp your shoulders and hold you to the spot, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t have a hand on you, you’ll slip away.

You smile against his lips.

“Then I will come away with you.”

You let him kiss you and bask in the unbridled warmth blooming in your chest because now you never have to stop.

There is nothing more to keep you apart. He is yours to have as you please forever, and you are his.

Somewhere, in the belly of the house, you think you hear the slamming of the front door, the telltale commotion of the Madam's return, but you can't make yourself care. This is the last night you'll spend in this wretched place, the last time you'll have to steal for a moment of intimacy with the man you love. You think on what Enjolras said before, about letting someone else fight for a change, and while you know he won't stop his fighting, you resign yourself to letting go of your own battles with a strange lightness.

You know he won't give up on the revolution. She is the other woman in his life, after all, but you are pleasantly surprised to find that you don't mind sharing him.

You’d been so worried he would make a romantic out of you, you’d never once considered he might make a revolutionary out of you.

A courtesan turned revolutionary’s wife — how perfectly wonderful.

#bbc enjolras #enjolras x reader #bbc les mis #enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras x you #reader insert #not gonna outright put this in the general les mis tag because ya girl knows better #i'm not super happy with how this ended but I needed it to end because I'm incapable not not writing long fics #and this is about the smut everybody please #if you find typos no you didn't i've been staring at this so long i've gone cross eyed #can you tell i wrote this in a fever after rewatching moulin rouge? #its about the yEARNING #it's about the FORBIDDEN LOVE

[welcometololaland]

Binged Read "living at the centre of would...." tonight, and i am in tears, I just love love your writing so damn much Lola 🫶🏼 You grip on Characters and their Characterization is so strong. I have read every single of your Lone star fics till date. You are my Favorite author!! I have specially made a tumblr account to reach out to the beautiful writers of this fandom and appreciate them and let you'll know that you all matter so very much to us!!!

Can't wait to read what more beautiful things you put for us, i m specifically so intrested in ALTA ( just genuine excitement and want to share the Excitement , no pressure, please take your time,m very patient lmao)

Never Understood Grief so wonderfully and truthfully before!

Thank You <3

(ALTA SNIPPET BELOW CUT)

Thank you so much! The honeymoon fic was difficult for me to write (because I don't often write angst), but it was also incredibly cathartic. I think it helped me process a lot of my own feelings about season 4 episodes 17 and 18, and also made me think deeper about Carlos in particular and his state of mind in these episodes.

I feel honoured to know you have read so many of my stories! I hope they brought you joy <3 I think it's awesome you made a tumblr account to tell people that you like their work!

ALTA is finished, but it is in beta-phase. I'm not sure when it will be ready but I'm hoping to post ch 1 soon(ish). This fic has been so fiddly and difficult, I don't think I've EVER spent so much time nitpicking. I've re-written and re-worked the chapters so many times it's insane. Never write a mystery, guys. It's HARD lol. Here, have a snippet (it's unbeta-d, don't judge me).

Summer Break, June 2015

“Carlos,” TK sighs, sliding himself into the passenger seat of Carlos’ car, jiggling the ancient manual windows to wind them down, allowing fresh air in. Carlos knows he’s going to have to get a better car one day – he can’t keep driving around in something that has no AC in the middle of Texas – but he’s also a broke student and his father isn’t a movie star. Not that he’ll be reminding TK of that, lest he turn up to TK’s house one day and find himself presented with a brand new Range Rover.

Although, given recent events, he’s never going to be able to set foot in TK’s house again.

“Carlos,” TK repeats with a little huff, leaning back against the seat as Carlos backs out of Owen’s driveway. “Why are you so mad? It’s not like this is the first time this has happened—”

“TK,” Carlos exclaims, one hand tapping the steering wheel in exasperation. “Your dad walked in and we were—”

“My dad has walked in on us loads of times,” TK argues. “He has no sense of privacy, you know that.”

“Yes, but—”

“One time he caught me practically giving you a blowjob, remember?” TK interjects. “I think it was the first time you met him, actually—”

“TK!” Carlos practically cries. “How are you not more concerned about the fact that your dad walked in while you were riding me?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know,” he replies, infuriatingly calm. “We’re adults and adults have sex, right? I don’t think anyone in the Strand household is under any illusions as to why the pool house was out of bounds for six months straight.”

Carlos has a sudden urge to take a random left hand turn and drive them into another state. He’s not sure he can bear to be in the same timezone as Owen Strand, knowing that he’s seen them in such a compromising position. On second thoughts, Carlos wishes he could drive to Antarctica.

“Seriously, baby,” TK says, holding his palm up on the centre console, begging for Carlos’ touch. “It’s going to be okay. I bet my dad won’t even say anything. I mean, he might make an awkward joke about it but trust me, he doesn’t care.”

Carlos blows out a breath. “I don’t know,” he replies with uncertainty. “I’m beginning to think we should move out.”

Out of his peripherals, he can see TK practically bounce in the passenger seat. “Some place other than your college dorm?” he asks. “Carlos, that would be—”

“I’m not serious,” Carlos interjects, then feels terrible about it when he looks across at TK’s face and sees it fall. “Wait, hang on, I didn’t mean—”

TK retracts his hand and brings it to his face, covering his mouth as he turns to look out of the passenger-side window. 

“TK,” Carlos calls, sighing as he pulls over to the kerb and throws the car into park. “TK, look at me.”

TK turns back slowly, a sad frown etched into his features. “I get it,” he says, a little despondently. “I mean, I’d be terrible to live with. I know you think I’m spoiled and I don’t know how to do anything, and I do hate chores but I’d do them if it meant I got to live with you.”

“I don’t think any of those things,” Carlos says softly, reaching across the space between them to rest his palm on TK’s leg. “Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to live with you—”

“I do hate chores,” TK admits. “Come on, that part is true.”

“Okay,” Carlos concedes, allowing his lips to curl into a smile as he watches TK’s do the same. “If we’re being honest, you suck at chores. But I’m sure you could get good at them, with practice.”

“Maybe,” TK says, wrinkling his nose. “I hear you’re a pretty good teacher.”

“I am,” Carlos replies seriously, leaning halfway across the console to kiss the tip of TK’s nose and then his lips. “I want to live with you, TK,” he says. “I just can’t afford that right now. Plus, we’re young. Maybe it’s a good idea to wait until we finish college at least.”

“And give my dad more opportunities to walk in on us?” TK asks, arching an eyebrow. “Your funeral, Reyes.”

Carlos shrugs, trying to school his expression. “Oh no, that’s not happening,” he says smoothly. “We just can’t have sex at your place anymore.”

“What are you suggesting?” TK scoffs. “That we have sex in your dorm room? Because Darren is gonna have to get real cool with some stuff pretty quickly…”

Carlos shakes his head. “I was thinking more like abstinence.”

TK chokes. “Abst— No, Carlos. Abstinence does not work when your boyfriend looks like this.” He flourishes his hands in Carlos’ direction, motioning to the entire top half of his body.

“Was thinking we could wait until marriage,” Carlos teases, turning the ignition back on as TK squawks. 

“Okay,” he says, “I guess we’re getting married tomorrow.”

“Not legal yet,” Carlos points out. “Guess we’ll have to wait a while.”

#ALTA #tarlos #tarlos fic #snippet #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #anon ask #answered

[kitcattales]

Something There - Akaza x Fem! Reader Chapter 1: Something There

Author's note: So, I'm trying this for the first time, please bear with me for any mistakes, but PLEASE read the warnings and tags before reading as this fic d o e s touch on very mature and sensitive topics in mental health ;w; My purpose in writing this series is to tell a story as well as to give readers a relatable, realistic experience with bad mental health struggles along with a loving message in regards to that, so please be sure you're doing alright enough to proceed ;w; <3 I've never shared any of my fanfics on Tumblr before nor am I super apt at using this platform, so I'm not sure how this will turn out, but I thought maybe I should give it a try ;u; I hope you guys like the first chapter to my Akaza fic! ;w; <3

If you'd like to continue onto the next chapters available so far, you can find the rest of my fic cross-posted on AO3, FFN, Wattpad and Quotev! Links are down below! c: <3

Synopsis:

Loneliness and guilt can lead people down a painful spiral of darkness which is often times difficult to crawl out of. It can be suffocating to the point of which your thoughts are no longer your own. At least, they're not what you would recall them to be now that the person you once were is gone. Mourning and grievances can escalate and deepen the slope of self-destruction and self-loathing, pushing you further into an abyss of quicksand your fingers can't claw into no matter how hard you try to pull yourself out to make things right.

No matter what _______ did to reconcile for her mistakes, nothing ever made the emptiness and hurt within her go away. Life lost its meaning, and with it, the Slayer's will to continue had faded as well.

She had become so desperate, she convinced herself a demon of the twelve Kizuki was her only solution to make the torment end; to pull her from the quicksand and let her slip in a senseless dream.

To most, it would have been crazy, but to her? It was the last chance she had to make things right and to pay for the sins she could never undo.

Funny how a demon was the answer to prayers like that.

Rating: M for Mature.

Warnings:

THE FOLLOWING FIC CONTAINS THOROUGH DIALOGUE ABOUT SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND TENDENCIES ALONG WITH DIALOGUE OF SELF-LOATHING. IF YOU'RE IN A DARK OR VULNERABLE PLACE RIGHT NOW, PLEASE DON'T CONTINUE PASSED THIS POINT.

This fic also contains depictions of violence and gore. Don't know to what extent I should label it, so I'll just say that it's definitely in there (not that it would really stand out in a series like Demon Slayer).

The fic also goes into details about the Mugen Train arc so, spoilers ahead. It also slightly hints to stuff about Akaza's background - not in tons of detail, but there's hints.

CHAPTER TWO

Word count: 9,671

Cross-posts: AO3, FFN, Wattpad and Quotev (I am most active on AO3! <3)

Chapter 1: Something There

There was a light breeze this evening, blowing with the lovely scent of not-so-distant blooming wild flowers. The sky was cloudless, unobstructed and ornamented with an endless array of dazzling stars which freely blinked with detached innocence amongst their vast, endless world of obsidian depths. The moon – large and full – rested right in the middle of the spectacle, shinning its soft, ethereal light onto the earth’s plane of existence like a blanketed gift from Heaven. Underneath its brilliant light was an open plain of grass, long and feather-like with the blades which fluttered and danced hand-in-hand with the wind whom swept them from their rooted dance floor. All the while, from a distance, an audience of ancient cedar watched, their leaves restlessly enthused to join and encourage the ballet from where they stood so admiringly.

In all respects, the setting was awe-inspiring. A place most people would envision when thinking of a landscape bathed in peace and serenity. A place one could run away to so as to fall amongst the swaying blades, to roll along with them in their reality and giggle out joyous fantasies with the nearby cedar in a private, heavenly world of their own. A place where one could lay back, arms splayed, eyes to the sky, dreaming of an exciting, blissful (maybe even euphoric) future.

It should be a place drizzled in otherworldly wonder.

It should be a place of refuge.

A place people can go to by choice for a night of delight and mindful wondering – but there on the ground, viewing it all from a perspective so polar opposite from the view from Heaven, the scene came off in a completely different light.

The grass was coarsely grabby, edged with sticky little weeds which clung at her clothing as she dragged her feet across the hardened soil. Her body screamed cries of overexertion, protesting wildly and cacophonously against its owner, begging for a rest like the one the stars and moon dreamed of, but she knew she was beyond that point of grace.

The soft, white glow from the seemingly engorged moon only served to illuminate her path. It was leading her towards a destination every sane thought in her head told her to run away from, but the stronger voice in her edged her to strive for even beyond the painful exhaustion she felt seeping into her very bones.   

The stars may as well not even be there. To her, they certainly weren’t. She never bothered acknowledging them when she stepped onto the plain. She knew they were there, by logic, but to see and actively acknowledge them would be a cruel reminder of the beauty of life that was so fleeting.

The sweeping wind reminded her of that sense of inescapable mourning for something that was lost long ago, the way it pushed through the spaces between her fingers even as she let them hang loosely by her sides, mocking her weakness and fragility. It reminded her of the things and moments she allowed to slip through those very gaps time and time again before this very moment in time within that desolate field.

The audience of cedar, much closer now than they had been before, swayed in precarious gestures, almost as if whispering amongst themselves before – suddenly – waving at her with urgency as a warning not to enter the land they shielded her from.

She, however, paid no mind to the warnings they attempted to heed her. Her eyes, though vacant and void of emotion, simply stared forward beyond the gaps in between their thick, barky bodies into the inky black deep within the land of densely packed cedar. The only time she listened to her aching body to stop for a moment was when she reached the edge of the forest.

Her right hand weakly pressed against the bark of the nearest tree, rough against her palm. Her body greedily leeched off of the support the chivalrous cedar provided by collapsing against it a mere second or two afterwards. She whimpered pathetically as her battered side collided with the rough bark, her breaths coming out heavier for a moment while she tried with the miniscule amount of willpower left in her to compose herself.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

Her teeth gritted painfully, her eyes shut tight, but she focused her breathing. She focused effectively, just as she had been taught and trained to, successfully alleviating some of the pain which screamed from deep within her core. When the world around her began to make more sense to her sightless senses beyond that of the pounding in her ears is when she allowed herself to gaze into the darkness once more.

Likewise, it was then that she had picked up on the pungent scent of blood creeping into her reality like invisible tendrils of poisonous vines come to destroy the idea of anything like a flower in a world like hers.

Flowers.

HA!

What a silly idea for something like that to exist in a moment like this.

Still, she was undeterred by the iron-noted scent. She had grown eerily accustomed to it over the course of time she had dedicated within her uniform. It was simply a sign of a cruel world; a reminder of how temporary everything was.

She was well aware the scent typically spelled out ‘danger’ and a definite threat within the near vicinity, and for a person like her who was so worn and tattered, it urged for her to turn back to run almost in an audible whisper.

Was it the cedar talking in the blood’s behalf? The chitter-chatter of their leaves fluttering deterrently, begging for her to reconsider?

Blatantly, she ignored.

She pushed herself off of the tree she leaned against and forced her body to continue forward. Quickly, as she slipped beneath the thick canopy of the forest, the moon and stars ceased to exist. Though she hadn’t actively acknowledged them when passing through the field, their absence was prevalently notable as soon as the branches of cedar roofed her within their mysterious home. The world around her grew as dark as the one thriving in her head, teeming with a life she was unaware of and instinctually afraid of.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

The fear was quickly swallowed up by the inky sensation of disassociation. It had only served to exist a few moments in the back of her head, wondering aloud what she might run into on the way to the finish line she had drawn for herself, but it just as quickly fell to a numbing silence. Her head filled with fog and quiet, aiding in the subsiding of the gooseflesh which had momentarily sprouted along the length of her arms.

There was nothing to be afraid of. She had planned this shortly after she found out about what dwelled in this area. For a long time, she had been dreaming of a way out of the nightmare that is her daily life she could not escape from, and just like that, as destined by fate, the solution had fallen onto her lap through speculating whispers and murmurs from people in the nearby village about the things which sometimes dwelled in the cedar forest. It had been a hunch, a possibility with an equal possibility of it being something else entirely which the villagers spoke of, but something inside of the young woman told her this was definitely what she had been hoping for since everything had first started going downhill.

As she dragged her feet and trudged deeper and deeper into the abyssal world she walked through like a stranger in a town she didn’t belong in, she picked up on the sounds of creatures moving in the dark. Creatures she didn’t come here to see today. She could sense their presences in her flesh and bone, humming and vibrating with their being to force her awareness on them. She, however, chose to force her awareness of them into silence.

No, she didn’t come here for just any demon.

She came here tonight for a very specific one.

One she knew was stronger than any other she had ever faced or heard of thus far.

The one that would be the perfect and quick solution to her problem.

I could just stop walking, she thought as she dragged the top of her foot along the dirt beneath her to force it in front of her for another agonized step forward. It hurts to walk, anyway. I could just stop here, let any of the ones following me right now do away with me. End the nightmares already…She shook her head, forcing her steps to gain a bit of haste, though she made no move for her Nichirin sword sheathed at her side – her only true form of defense in the midst of an infestation like the one she ventured into. No. The weaker ones are cheekier than all hell. They like to play with their prey and food. They’ll make it worse for me than it needs to be. No, I’ll get to him and have him do it fast. I’m fairly certain he does it for sport, and with a demon as ridiculously strong as him, I probably wouldn’t even feel it when it happens. If the worst happens and the rumors are wrong…well…the others still remain an inescapable option at this point. One way or another, I’ll be able to pay for my weaknesses. I’ll make it up to them all. The nightmares will end and I’ll slip away like I should’ve so long ago.

The thought caused her brow to furrow as the sorrowful emotion she seemed tied to the hip with washed over her. It felt suffocating, like she had been forced down a waterfall and the harsh waves just kept battering onto her over and over, leaving her sore in every possible way. Before everything got as bad as it had, when everything was still so fresh and explicit in her mind, the feeling would’ve caused tears to surface in her eyes. She would’ve collapsed and bawled, a soul-raking kind of cry that shook her to her very spirit, rattling the human frame caged within her skin. A mournful sound and act of hopelessness to help her cope and allow her body to wash out the pain that was so endless and vast.

Not this time, though.

She hadn’t cried like that in a very long time.

The last time she had shed those kinds of heartbreaking tears was when her best friends had died on the field, a small group sent out to protect the very village she trekked from right now. There were demons terrorizing the villagers for weeks, people going missing in the forest leaving nothing behind but their screams in the night. Her squad arrived, eager and confident in their abilities to aid the people they had been sent to save…Yet, in the end, the ones who needed saving were them.

She could remember it as though it had happened just yesterday. The blood of her friends slowly dripping from her hands as she had desperately tried to stem their bleeding when the demon had coward off because of the rising sun. She could remember how loud she had cried for help to the point that her throat felt bloody and raw, how desperately she had begged with her friends not to die on her. Not to leave her. Not to let her weak and feeble attempt at protecting them and the villagers be the reason they were going.

Not to let them jumping in to save her be the reason they died in her arms.

Unfortunately, it was a request neither of them could fulfill for her.

By the time help arrived, they were gone. Nothing left but corpses in her arms staring blankly towards dawn.

She cried harder than she ever had that day. The only people she had ever considered family – the only people she had close to her left in a world so bleak – had been ripped away from her when they came to her aid; all because she couldn’t defend herself.

All because she allowed herself to believe she had the upper hand.

All because she allowed herself to get cocky.

All because she left her blindside wide open.

PATHETIC, PATHETIC, PATHETIC! You don’t deserve to be alive! It should’ve been YOU who died that day, not THEM!

Her head lulled from side to side as the harsh thought rang in her mind, reminding her time and time again that she wasn’t worthy of their sacrifice; that they had bestowed a value on her insignificant life she had no clue what she did to earn.

“I know…” She sucked in a harsh breath, her eyes fluttering for a moment from the pain radiating in her with each step she took. The recent fight to defend the village from demons had left her body a tattered and bruised mess beneath her uniform, barely able to do anything without nearly collapsing every few minutes. It had been going nonstop for many nights now, these harsh, numerous battles. Battles she felt tied to finish in memory of the ones she lost during the original mission. A sort of reconciliation she was aware would never amount to wash away the sins she’s committed towards the ones who loved her most, but the beating her body received every night…it felt well-earned.

“I know…” She repeated, her lip quivering as the shaken breath left her. “I-I know I don’t…”

The forest around her began to giggle and chuckle through the dark. Cheeky, mischievous whispers floated from cedar to cedar as the sensation of a million pairs of eyes staring her back down crept through her veins. By instinct, her senses had heightened again, becoming more and more aware of the things following her and gossiping about her, laughing about how easy it would be to rush in and end her right there, but deciding to play around with their food to prolong the inevitable through a torturous mind game.

I’m not scared to die. I haven’t been for a long time. I’m not afraid. None of this scares me. They can’t do anything to me I haven’t felt already in a million different ways. I. Am not. Afraid.

The laughter in the woods grew louder, almost as though they had peeked into her mind and read her thoughts. Mocking her. Gossiping about the reality she tried to hide behind her lies.

She tried her best to ignore the gossip. Her nails dug into bark as her hands pressed and pushed her feebly from tree to tree, each one she passed by close enough aiding on her course of self-destruction despite their previous warnings. The grass and weeds around her feet clung to her clothing just as they had done on the open plain, tugging at her harder and with more persistence the deeper into the void she propelled herself. Her dragging feet pulled away from them each and every time, deadest on reaching the end of what the woods attempted to protect her from.

Nothing could deter her from her quest, and the only thing which caused her pause and hesitation in her trek so deep within the darkness was the sound of a collapsing cedar a short distance away.

The timber was dissonant and jarringly crackling like booming thunder. When the massive cedar collided with the ground, the entire forest appeared to shake and tremble in protest of its fallen extremity. The living cedars chittered and waved in anxious, shrill cries before the world around her plummeted into deafening silence. Even the laughter and gossip had ceased from the demons she knew remained close by. She was sure they had been toying with her, but from the sound of the collapsing cedar, it appeared she had found what she sought, and the affirmation of his existence deep within the desolate forest forced them into fearfully respectful silence.

She stared ahead, leaning against a tree once more, watching intently through her vacant gaze for further movement. Her panted breath was all she could hear for a few moments, and her heart had plummeted into the abyss of her stomach when a thought crossed her mind.

Maybe it was just a random tree that was about to fall. Maybe nothing really caused it to fall other than an old injury to its bark. Maybe the rumors are just that: rumors. Maybe I’m stuck with my terrible plan B after all.

The thunderous sound of yet another falling cedar, however, told her she was wrong. The quick succession didn’t sound natural, nor did the way the woods reverberated with the collapse. There was something else there, something else that caused a third tree to quickly fall right afterwards as well.

Her heart jumped to her throat with anxious hope that the rumors were true after all. The silence around her from the demons whom followed her up to this point also inclined her to believe it to be so.

It has to be him. She pushed herself off of the tree she rested against, quickening her steps towards the trembling trees and earth-shattering commotion ahead. Please let it be him. Please don’t be another lesser demon. Please don’t play with my emotions like this. Not now. Not again.

Her breaths puffed out faster now, shaken with the effort from her quaking, hobbling form. She could barely keep going. If this wasn’t him, whoever it was would have to do away with her, because her body couldn’t carry her much further. No one would miss me, anyway. The village would be better off with a different Slayer there to defend them. I’m useless to them. I’ve been able to keep the demons at bay thus far, but I can’t anymore. They’ll be fine until they send someone else tomorrow. I would be a hindrance if I had stayed behind. At least with me being here, the demons can entertain themselves watching me with him instead – or coming after me themselves if it really isn’t him. GOD, please let it be him.

Unsettled by her desperate thoughts, she shook her head as firmly as she could before forcing herself to focus once more so she may sense the beings in her surroundings. As soon as she did, the vibrations in her bones shook her like an earthquake, nearly toppling the already beaten woman onto the forest floor like the falling cedar ahead. She reached out, clawing her nails deeply into a nearby tree one more time, her arms hugging tightly around it as her knees buckled beneath her. She whimpered with struggle, trying with all her might to stay on her feet against the mighty cedar, but through it all, her eyes had stayed fixated on the area the fallen trees were plummeting from. The strength of the demon ahead was…terrifying. She knew he had to be, considering he was of the higher ranks of Muzan’s twelve Kizuki, but that it felt like this without any kind of confrontation? For a second, it caused the thought of reconsideration to cross the woman’s mind as freezing fear raced through her being to solidify her in place. Her eyes were widened despite their vacant state and her teeth clattered and chattered together with her trembling.

Remember what’s waiting for you outside of this forest even if you do somehow manage to make it out alive. The life you chose to leave behind. None of it is worth it anymore. You’re pitiful to feel this damn afraid of something you’ve plotted so thoroughly, but it’s a natural response. I can’t think of many people who wouldn’t shake at the sense of this ridiculous amount of demonic presence…

She took a deep, calming breath at the thought, the sound of the falling cedar becoming background noise to her. Nodding slowly to herself, she pushed forward one last time and began to drag her feet towards the man she now had no doubt was there. No lesser demon would even come close to the essence she picked up on, so at least that thought was calming in its own regard.

Keep walking. Keep going. You’re almost there. You won’t feel this pain or fear for much longer.

She pushed herself through a few bushes now, her shoulder bumping against another cedar as a small clearing gradually came into her line of vision through the foliage ahead of her.

Within the clearing was the finish line.

The demon she had come here to see.

The end of her quest.

The answer to her prayers and the consequence of her sins.

Akaza.

The name rang in her mind from memory at the sight of his muscular frame and head of short, disheveled salmon-toned hair. His back was facing her, his concentration mainly set on the cedars before him which his fists continuously connected with, causing for them to fall one after the other. Sometimes, he’d mix things up with kicks as well, his form rock solid and unmovable with each strike he landed. It appeared as though he were training a form of martial art which, in retrospect, came off rather odd to her if she really thought about it. A demon training his skills as though he were human when the amount of strength he actually harbored was beyond humanity in all definitions of the word? Maybe it was just something he enjoyed to do, beating the life out of tree after tree. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter. What mattered is that he was really there. The rumors were true and the finish line was now within reach.

She had heard of his battle and unfortunate victory against the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku, through her Kasugai Crow. It had been widespread news when it happened. It spread like wildfire from Slayer to Slayer, the heartbreaking loss of a man so kind and great like Rengoku leaving a gaping hole many knew not how to fill.

In all regards, she should hate him. This demon. This disgrace and mistake on the face of the planet which only lived to cause pain and suffering to humanity. She should despise him with every fiber in her being – and when the news first reached her, she did. She wanted nothing more than to gain news of his defeat and demise while she mourned the death of the Hashira amongst fellow Slayers at the time.

Right now, however?

He was an antidote to her.

A sweet remedy she was desperate to taste.

A consequence she knew she fully deserved – and the desperation she felt for him to give it to her already only made her feel even less worthy of living on than she already did.

How could she want this so badly?

How could she be this desperate?

How could she be so disrespectful to the memory of Rengoku and the entire Demon Slayer Corps as to seek this demon out for the sole purpose of taking away the breath from her lungs?

Something anyone who knew him would quickly give up in return for Rengoku’s life.

If I could, I would trade places with him in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even have to think about it. I know I’m unworthy and completely incomparable to him, but if it were possible, I would give my life in exchange for his. He deserved to live. He deserved a happy life. He deserved a lovely future. He deserved every good thing in the universe because of how much of an amazing man he truly was. So, why is it fair that an extraordinary person like Rengoku had to die, but a pathetic excuse for human life like me is allowed to keep going? It isn’t fair. God…please let me trade…Take me instead. Give us back Rengoku, let me rewind time, put me on the Infinity Train and let me take his place against Akaza. Let me give the world that kindness before I go…

Alas, even if it were possible to do as such, she knew Rengoku would’ve never allowed it. He would have saved her just like he had everyone else on that train.

Just like he had given his life to accomplish for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

I’m sure if he were alive, he’d probably scold me for the thoughts I’m having. He’d probably start giving me one of his zealous pep talks, too, about not giving up so I can keep moving forward in the memory of them…He always had such a warm energy to him…So much hope, courage and perseverance in a world so bleak and scary. I wish I could’ve been like you. I’d like to believe I might be lucky enough to meet you in the afterlife…but…I don’t feel like I deserve to go where you’ve gone.

Her head lowered in shame, the quivering of her lip returning with vengeance. It was then she noticed just how many fallen trees were scattered in this clearing Akaza was training in. So much so, it made her believe the small clearing only existed because of him now, quickly growing in size with each massive cedar he brought to its knees. From up close, the shattering wood caused her ears to ache, the actual quaking fall forcing a flinch from her out of reflex.

Looking up from the litter of fallen trees, she watched as the demon stood up straight and rolled his shoulders after the last cedar he had beaten into submission. He turned his head to one side with a satisfying crrrrrack before turning to the other with the same result.

In his momentary pause, she found the will in herself to force her feet to walk forward again. She found it a bit difficult to maneuver around the fallen trees, her aching body screeching at her now with painful protest each time she jumped herself over one of them. There was no way at this point that the demon of the Upper Moons hadn’t become aware of her presence. She was sure he knew she was there long before she even showed up at this clearing he was making, but if he hadn’t, the raucous of her fumbling over logs and crunching leaves and twigs beneath her feet had certainly alerted him of her approaching presence.

She could tell, because he made no move to continue his training against the cedar no matter how much closer she got to him.

No, he didn’t move until she was right behind him, having somehow managed the hurdle of the final cedar at their feet.

If she hadn’t been before, she was definitely passed the point of no return now.

From up close, she could take in his details a lot better. Markings ran all across his skin, many of which disappeared under the cover of his baggy clothing. From behind, the ones which caught her attention most were the rings encircling his throat, visible still from the back of his neck. That, and the stained ends of his fingers and bare feet, his nails all tinted in a deep red color. All of it contrasted heavily with his pale skin tone and softly colored locks of hair which swayed just the smallest bit with the light breeze sweeping through the woods, offset even further by the reddened pearls ensnared around his ankles.

It was an odd thought, but the combination of his natural colors was a pleasant one. It was a strange sentence which floated in her mind for several moments because of how bizarre it actually was.

She supposed if she would give herself up to a demon, she would rather he didn’t look as terrifying as they come.

At the very least, there was something soothing about the softness in his palette. It almost felt like he belonged in this landscape, really, jumping out of the scenery like a painting in a black and white book.

“This is a surprise,” His rough, masculine voice broke through the silence, causing for the woman’s eyes to shift sharply to the back of the demon’s head. “You Slayers sure are interesting. Coming after me in my own domain like this? Can’t say you’re very good at sneaking up on the enemy, though. Might want to work on that.” He remarked, noticeably disinterested.

Why would he be interested? He didn’t even need to look at the Slayer to know they were weak. Their sounds of struggle as they traversed the fallen trees behind them told him all he needed to know. He had never been interested in fighting weakened opponents. Where was the fun in that? No, he wanted a challenge. Always seeking a new rival to combat and train with for years to come.

It’s a shame those damn Hashiras never chose to turn.

They really would’ve made the centuries so much more fun.

“I’m not interested in facing off, if that’s what you came here for.” He blatantly remarked. “You’re not worth the time, I already know that. If you want to pick a fight, have at it with any of the others in the woods, human.” With that, he readied his fighting stance once more, just as he had prepped himself with earlier. A few seconds after, quick as lightning, he struck the tree directly in front of him with his fist. No sound of effort emitted from him, but the mighty cedar fell backwards with agonized creaks and shatters from the single strike.

She, once again, flinched from the sound of the fall, her eyes turning to look at the defeated cedar before turning back to Akaza once more. A part of her was somewhat surprised that he didn’t care that a human was standing behind him as a perfectly easy target, but another part reckoned that might have been to be expected from someone of his prowess.

It simply reaffirmed the facts she already knew to be true.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do next. Something in her hadn’t expected to make it this far. She had been convinced, in the back of her mind, that the night would end with her devoured by some random lesser demon in the woods before she could ever hope to stumble upon Akaza. Somehow, someway, fate had listened to her begging and delivered, but now that she found him, what exactly was she supposed to do? Wasn’t this supposed to be as easy as she always envisioned it to be? Wasn’t handing herself over to a demon supposed to quickly fall into the same pattern of blood, violence and gore?

Another tree fell in the midst of her thoughts, this time vanquished by a curt kneeing from the demon. This time, she didn’t flinch, stuck in her head, her eyes focused on the markings on the back of Akaza’s neck.

“You’re still here.” He remarked with a deep sigh, annoyance laced in his tone as he straightened to stand up tall. “Why are you still here? You’re no challenge to me. I assume you got business with me, but let’s be real here, you and I both know how things will end if you really want to try, little Slayer.”

“I…I-I do. That’s why I’m here…” She finally found her voice, deciding she would follow the flow life decided to toss her way right now.

Akaza’s entire demeanor shifted at the sound of her. He startled in place, stiffening from the unexpected feminine voice which carried itself so dimly through the breeze. By instinct, he had assumed the Slayer whom came to so (stupidly) boldly stand before him was a man looking for a fight. He had made a few short guesses in the moment he had spoken to her, wondering if maybe it had been someone from the Corps come to avenge someone he had taken down. He wouldn’t have been surprised; it’s happened before. Nevertheless, he certainly did not expect a woman to approach him for battle tonight.   

Slowly, he turned on his heels, his odd, golden hued gaze, marked by the beast, coming to meet with hers. It didn’t take him long to take in the state she was in and to guess she was in no condition to put up any kind of fight, let alone with him if that’s really what she came out here to achieve. She had a noticeably heavy limp, most of her body weight balanced on her left foot. Her facial expression looked worn, spent and drained of all energy. Her Nichirin sword, a blade lethal to demons like him, remained sheathed at her side and she showed zero interest in pulling it out in any form of defense. Her uniform was one he was all too familiar with, having already guessed she was a Slayer long before he ever came to face her because of the distinctive scent of the cloth and the sound of her blade hitting her leg with each move she made.

Despite the roughened exterior, she was extremely feminine. A woman in all forms of the word. Her face was full, cheeks lusciously round with large doe eyes adored by long, fluttering lashes. Her lips, though pulled into a desperate frown due to the state she was in, were plush and pink, lightly pursed with the face she was making. Her hair was thick and tinted in (hair color) which shimmered in the light from the moon he had allowed entrance into the forest within their plain. Her uniform consisted of a knee-length skirt and the typical top he was accustomed to seeing on the Slayers, though it definitely filled out more with the curves of her womanly figure, the color of her legs contrasting heavily from her attire as well.

A woman. He thought to himself, dumbly.

He remained silent, completely taken aback by this predicament. He simply stared at the woman with his widened dual-colored eyes, trying to figure her out from where he stood.

“I know I’m no challenge for you,” She eventually spoke up again, her voice quiet, just there for him to hear. “I know you could…so easily do away with me…You could just…j-just end it all in a second if you wanted to, really…” She muttered, trailing off for a moment as her gaze shifted to the side despondently. “But that’s why I’m here. I…I-I don’t want to put up a fight…” Her gaze shifted back to look him in the eye, her composure quickly faltering and falling as she, quite literally, stared death in the face.

“I want you to kill me…Do what you will, eat me or just do it for the sport of it, b-but…kill me…”

Tears were beginning to surface in her eyes now, quickly blurring her vision before overflowing down the curve of her cheeks. All the while, her expression fell with them, her lips pulling into agonized whimpers as she forced the words out of her raw throat.

“I-I don’t want to be alive anymore,” She openly sobbed at the demon, a creature she knew wouldn’t care, but letting out the thoughts that had been screaming in her head for so long to anyone who would listen was better than letting them die in her head with her. “I d-don’t deserve to be alive, s-so just do it…Do it…!” She was sobbing now, her knees buckling heavily, causing for her sword to clatter loudly at her side. Out of desperation, she reached out to tightly grip at the demon’s loose haori in both of her fists, her legs finally giving out from underneath her.

Just like the mighty cedar, she collapsed with a loud thud that caused her world to quake, and through her blurred vision, she stared up at the man who would finish the job to let moonlight shine through when she was gone.

“K-kill me, take away my breath, wipe me out of existence! P-please, just make it stop! M-make the pain stop! I should’ve died ages ago, but I’m here and it isn’t fair! I don’t deserve to be here! Please, p-please…! I came to you myself, o-on a silver platter, it w-would be so…s-so easy to make it all end here tonight…! PLEASE! DEVOUR ME!” She pulled tightly on his haori, her eyes never leaving his in her pathetic state. She pleaded with him in all ways she thought she could, hoping to elicit some excitement and thrill of the kill in the powerful demon she clung to.

Anything to make the pain stop.

Anything to do away with the agony.

Anything to make the nightmare end.

Anything to stop the loneliness and guilt.

Anything to get what she so rightfully deserved.

Akaza, in turn, stared down at the human woman feeling an uncomfortable sense of foggy nostalgia. It wasn’t in the things she was saying or the desperation in her pleading, but from the tears and the hopeless look in her eyes. There was something…there. It was just out of reach in his mind, tickling his memories, whispering to him of times that never came to be nor came to exist. Yet, the nostalgia still rang.

Why did the nostalgia ring?

He didn’t know, so he continued to stare at the young woman, at a loss on how to react or respond. He made no move to touch her, simply looking down at her with an unreadable expression which more so teetered in the direction of bewilderment. After a moment’s consideration, he raised his hands hesitantly, confused on what he was supposed to do about the sobbing woman who now lowered her head deeply towards her chest as her body curled closer to the ground. Her arms remained outstretched above her, clinging to his haori as she openly cried her tears into the grassy ground of the woods.

He thought about removing her hands from his haori, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His hands lingered just above hers, his tainted fingers slightly trembling with indecisive energy, but he couldn’t bring himself to place them on hers to pry her off of him. In all his years of living as a demon, he had never had anyone so desperately seek him out to kill them like this. In battle, sure, when his opponent was mangled yet conscious enough to feel it all, but never so forward, out of the blue nor on purpose like this.

His lips parted with the attempt of speech, but no sound came from him. His mouth simply remained slightly agape before coming to a close a few seconds afterwards. The woman’s sobs had grown louder now, letting everything out she had buried within, and the sound of her heartbreak and loss of a will to go on caused for him to feel an incredible sense of growing unease and discomfort.

Was it pity he felt? He didn’t know, but he definitely felt something through this moral code of his.

Despite her distraught and the odd sensation it caused to bubble in him, Akaza had still caught on to the stirring of life in the woods around them. The sound of the woman must have caught the attention of the demons nearby. Did they really think it was such a good idea to encroach in his space? Apparently, at least one of them did. His eyes darted to the left as it shifted fast through the foliage before leaping out a second after in a bellowing flash of mindless hunger.

The sound of its heavy footsteps and soul-shattering bellow reached her viciously, jarring her in place as her eyes widened to stare at the ground beneath them through her constant tears. She only had seconds left to look up and see the beast that was running towards the two of them on all fours, all sense of sanity completely lost from the monstruous maw it held outstretched and salivating for her flesh.

Its fingers dug deeply into the ground each time its palms slammed onto it, booming repeatedly like massive drums straight out of the deepest depths of Hell. Its skin was covered in bulging, bright red blisters, pulsing and shifting with its savagely brusque movements. When its feet propelled it forward, it caused the fallen trees in its way to scatter wildly on either side of its massive rampaging form, slamming into the sides of the standing cedars near its position. It had three eyes – two where you expected them to be, and the third on its forehead, all of which stared wildly ahead of it. It sunk and registered in her the moment she saw them that its sights were primarily set on her, the only human in the forest, frail and vulnerable like a newborn lamb with a broken ankle left for dead.

Plan B was literally stomping towards her at the speed of sound and brutally forcing itself into her reality, whether she wanted it to or not.

In those split seconds before the collision, Akaza had moved before either of the two could notice. He had found the nerve in him to push her hands off of his haori for the sole purpose of planting his feet wide and strong on the ground in front of her. The sound of the earth cracking beneath his soles filled the air as his face morphed to one of sickened anger and his breath steadily left him through his nostrils. His hands moved so quick, their figures seemingly disappeared into thin air until they came to grapple onto one of the charging, deranged demon’s reaching arms. Without flinching, he lifted the massive creature into the air with little effort, the veins in his muscular arms bulging underneath his skin as he turned and slammed the beast into the cemetery of fallen cedar beside himself and the woman at his feet. A massive crater formed beneath its bulky, writhing body when it landed, the impact forcing the shattering of the earth beneath them to deepen and worsen dramatically.

With ease, he tugged strongly on the demon’s arm until it riiipped and tore from its socket. The atmosphere filled with its ear-shattering screech as blood splattered through the air with his curt yank of its enormous arm, but Akaza was unconvinced. He tossed the dismembered appendage into the woods as the beast roared in outrage and began to stand itself up, but before it could get itself very far, he had stomped his foot down ruthlessly on its chest, crushing bones beneath its skin from the force of the leisure blow. He pushed and pushed until the struggling monstruous being was buried in crackling earth. Meanwhile, its remaining arm attempted to reach for him and the woman while the other slowly began to regenerate at the bloodied stub. Promptly, Akaza gripped at its wrist, his fist crushing the bones in the demon’s arm as he, once again, ripped it from its socket as easy as ripping a paper in two.

“You’re new,” He let out in a low, husky, rough tone, eyes wide and staring into the mindlessly violent gaze the demon stared back into his as its own blood steadily began to pool in its crater. “So, I guess your stupidity in thinking you can rush into my space to take something from me is something you can do without an issue makes sense – but that isn’t the case anymore, is it?” He cocked his head to the side, raising his foot and stomping it back down onto the struggling, incoherent demon beneath him. Its bellows had never stopped from the moment Akaza had pinned it to the ground, the sound rattling the foundation of the forest, but it didn’t affect the Upper Moon in any way other than through annoyance and rage.

“I should give you a warning,” He mused, tutting as his foot stomped into the beast once again, forcing its chest to cave in on itself, blood pooling much faster in its crater; a morbid puddle of grotesque proportions. “Let you off with a tap on the wrist,” He reached down, eyes widening up further as the frown on his face deepened when his hand came to grip at the demon’s scraggly head of hair. It came off as though it had been a man before it was turned, and naturally, that made it even more enraging to him. Roughly, he tugged on the demon’s hair, forcing it to raise its head to properly look at him in the midst of its feral, bloody struggles. “That sounds fair, doesn’t it? Maybe I would have if it had just been me. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about you. Maybe I would have let you scurry off without a second thought – but it’s not just me, is it? No, it isn’t. You came out here and charged at her, didn’t you?” He nodded his head, answering his own question as he reached down with his free hand to grip onto the beast’s jaw which hung wide at its snapping, open maw.

“Yeah, you did.”

Mercilessly, his grip tightened on its jaw and yaaanked backwards, tearing the bone and flesh right off of its skull in his iron grip. “You wanted to attack her, didn’t you? Eat her alive? Swallow her whole? Alleviate that disgusting salivation dripping from your mouth? Can’t say I’m surprised, but really,” He laughed humorlessly, tossing the bloodied jaw in his hand into the forest. “You should seriously know better with me here.” Pulling his bloodied foot out of the demon’s concaved chest, Akaza let out a heated breath and scowled deeply. “You sicken me. I hope your regeneration is quick,” He remarked, looking towards the stubs of the demon’s arms and the unnatural groove in its chest where his foot had once been. They were yet to heal, leading him to believe its regenerative abilities were not that strong. A lesser demon in all regards. “You’re gonna need it. Now,” He reached down and grabbed at its twisting body, listening to the gurgled sounds it produced with the lack of a lower jaw. Lifting the beast into the air on both of his hands, Akaza planted his feet firmly on the ground once more, facing the forest ahead.

“Get the hell out of my sight!”

With a mighty heave, he sent the demon hurtling forward through the air, quickly colliding with a path of cedars, easily smashing right through several rows of the thick, ancient trees long before the beast came to a brutal stop a good distance away. Akaza maintained his readied fighting stance, bringing his hands to the ready in front of him in case the demon was senseless enough to look for an actual fight.

It seemed that the beast was smarter than he thought, though, because as soon as it landed, it scrambled on its pathetically bubbling limbs before rushing into the forest to disappear in the dark.

After that, the world plunged into silence once more.

Not even the sound of insects minding their business in their microscopic world could be heard.

The young woman stared up at the Upper Moon’s back with a widened, horrified gaze. She was a crumpled heap on the forest floor, completely at this demon’s mercy, and the spectacle he had shown the Plan B demon was something that caused ice to crystalize through her veins. If he could be that vicious to one of his own kind, what’s to say he wouldn’t be equally as cruel with her? What’s to say he wouldn’t toy with her and inflict as much pain on her as he could just to watch her writhe and cry until he eventually got fed up with her enough to let her die? He was enraged so easily, so quickly…How would it feel? To have his strong hands wrap his ink-dipped fingers around her extremities similarly to how his pearls ensnared his ankles until he crushed her bones? To have him stomp down on her until parts of her caved in? To have him hurtle her through bark and cedar until she was nothing but a mess of human flesh and blood being soaked up by the soil?

She came to Akaza for a quick, painless death – but had she miscalculated?

Would a lesser demon like the one he just pulverized into submission have been more merciful?

Will a confrontation with him be unbelievable agony?

Would she feel every single thing he did to her until the life seeped out of her, or would adrenaline sink in and numb some of the pain by the time things got that bad?

The tears started flowing again, dripping down her chin and clinging to her eyelashes until she blinked them away. Her body started trembling violently as Akaza straightened to stand normally once more. When he turned to face her, a pitiful whimper forced itself out of her lips, her instincts making her kick her heels into the dirt to push her a few feet away from him uselessly.

COWARD, COWARD, COWARD! THE OTHERS HAD IT A MILLION TIMES WORSE THAN YOU! FACE YOUR FATE! ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES YOU SO RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!

When he started walking towards her, easily stepping over the carnage of blood and cedar, her heart sank for the millionth time tonight. It was happening. It was finally happening. He was going to heed to her request. He was going to give her what she came to him for – whether it was for better or for worse. Her crying came out broken and choppy now, her chest quickly puffing in and out from how hard it was for her to maintain a composed breath. When he was standing right in front of her, she shut her eyes tightly and allowed her head to hang low again, her shoulders heaving as she waited for the inevitable.

Several long, agonizingly slow seconds passed where nothing happened. She felt nothing, sensed nothing, heard nothing. She didn’t know what was scarier – the actual act of the kill or the anticipation for the blow that was to come. She supposed it wouldn’t matter either way soon enough.

The sound of crinkling leaves is what first broke the silence. The sound of movement. It was abrupt and didn’t last very long, but it was there and it was definitely caused by Akaza. Then, all of a sudden, in the dark of her tightly blocked vision, she felt his hands gently brushing his fingers along her wet cheeks until her face was cupped in a pair of roughly calloused, warm palms slickened with blood. A moment after, the feeling of his thumbs brushing her skin and painting it red tantalized her senses, causing for the eruption of gooseflesh to spread all over her arms. Despite the morbidity of it, the gesture from the demon somehow felt so…gentle. Soft. Tender. Almost…kind.

Could that even be real? Could that seriously even happen? A kind demon? A demon kind towards a human?

She knew of Nezuko’s existence, but from her vague understanding of the circumstances, she was a special case.

Akaza was in an entirely different category all on his own, not to mention his ranking with the twelve Kizuki.

No, this kind touch has to be a cruel joke…His palms, rough-skinned from his training and stained crimson from his brief, sadistic fight, cupping her tear-stricken face with this level of…compassion? Comfort? She didn’t even know how to label the feeling, but it was definitely something she had never envisioned herself labeling upon a demon’s touch.

Was he toying with her? Giving her a false sense of safety before he’d rip her head clean off of her body the way the Slayers’ blades cleanly sliced those of the demons off of theirs? After all, through the touches, she still felt that blood being caressed softly on her face, a cold and honest reminder of what exactly she was dealing with. Though the thought terrified her of the unknown oblivion which waited beyond living, curiosity bested her fear and willed her to open her eyes to look upon the world one last time.

Before her, Akaza had gotten on his knees to better stare down onto her frightened expression with a look of perplexed curiosity of his own. She struck what felt like olden memories in his head by the way she cried and sniveled. The sound strummed cords in him he didn’t know existed, long since dissolved in a past he couldn’t be entirely sure was once reality or something his dreams came up with when he rested in refuge away from the light of day – and now, as he gently stroked the skin of her face out of his own curious nature, the feeling brought other unknown instincts to life in him.

It had always been his moral code not to involve himself with human women. He wasn’t to fight with nor eat any of them, because that was simply the way he chose to live his life. It was a moral code he fiercely followed – what first brought it upon him, he wasn’t so sure. When he looked at the Slayer before him now, however, the image of her crying, frightened state answered a few of his questions in choppy phrases. Nothing linked quite well just yet, but he knew from the look of her that she came off…defenseless. He knew there had to be something strong in her by human standards, of course, that would amount to her becoming a Demon Slayer, but it was more than that. It was just…something else he couldn’t put his finger on. A strong desire to save the life she was so desperate to throw away.

Why would I want to do something like that? His brow furrowed slightly at the thought, his perplexed expression deepening. I don’t know you. You’re just some random human woman who stumbled into me with a ridiculous request. Why would I care? If you were anyone else – any other man I’d faced – I would have ended you on the spot…but there’s something in your eyes. Something…there.

But it was gone before he could grasp it in his mind. The memory dissipated like dust, drifting into the dark of his subconscious, leaving him only with the woman in front of him to make sense of the strange, growing protective feeling he had swelling in his chest.

“No.”

“…N…N-no…?” She repeated meekly, her voice forced out of her throat in a cautious, shaken tremble.

“No, I won’t kill you.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion and her lips parted, taken aback, surprised by the sudden answer to what she had begged him for. She stared at him for numerous, silent moments through the blurring tears in her eyes, unable to shake off just how bizarre that sentence sounded coming from a demon’s lips. Any demon would’ve leaped at the easy catch she came to offer tonight – one of which quite literally did. She had been completely positive that Akaza would have been similar. Maybe not as mindless nor deranged, but she had been convinced he would’ve reveled in the chance to play with easy prey. So…

“W-why not…?”

Akaza didn’t respond. He simply stared at her, one of his bloodied hands sliding further back on her cheek to allow his fingers to weave through her (hair color) locks. His striking dual-colored eyes practically stared right into her soul from how intently he observed and drank her in.

“Relax,” He spoke in a soft murmur. “I won’t hurt you.”

As the words left him, he pulled his hand back from her hair and stiffened it tightly, fingers straightened, before bringing it down firmly over the back of her neck.  

She barely had a moment to really register what had just happened. The only thing she was able to notice in those few seconds before she lost consciousness was the powerful blow to her neck and the gentleness in the demon’s eyes. After that, the world slipped out from under her, gravity taking its toll and greedily pulling her towards its core. Akaza, however, caught her against his chest, having brought his arms down to wrap them around her waist so he could properly hold her to his larger figure. For a moment, he just held her, staring at the forest floor as his bloodied hands stained her uniform and her head lulled onto his shoulder. Again, there was something there. Something poking at his subconscious. Knocking at the door of his mind, cooing at him in seductive whispers to open up, but the door disappeared as soon as he attempted to reach out to let it in.

He turned his head to look at the woman in his grip and he squeezed her in closer to himself. This human woman felt…soft all over to hold. Warm. Plush. It was something he was unused to in contrast to his rigorous training, finely toned physique and all of the battles and missions he had been sent on over the course of the centuries he’s lived through. She was the complete polar opposite of everything he knew, really.

Not wanting to dwell too long in the confusing thoughts, he shook his head clear of them, bringing his focus back to the here and now. He stood up with her in his arms, shifting her in his grasp until he had her cradled in both of his arms up against his chest with her head resting on his bicep. Once he carefully settled her in, he began walking deeper into the forest of whispering cedar.

Any other demon would’ve devoured her on the spot, but he had no such desire.

For now, he had to get her the hell out of the forest to start saving her life.

Saving her life…What a strange thing for a demon to consider.

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

Thank you so very much for making it this far! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter to my fic! c: I appreciate it tons and I hope you're all doing well on your ends of the world and that you guys have loving support systems <3 Much love and hugs, God bless you all! \nwn/ <3

#akaza #akaza x reader #akaza x y/n #kny #kny akaza #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu akaza #akaza comfort #comfort #depression #suicidal thoughts triggers #please read the warnings #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3 author #ao3 link #read on a03 #read on wattpad #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #akaza fanfic #angst #angst and comfort #kyojurou #kny kyojuro #demon slayer kyojuro #rengoku

[twotwinks]

p3 and M, I, N, A, T, O :)

this made me smile so much it's so smart i love you

M - Say something genuinely nice about a ship that you don’t ship (or its shippers, or anything related to you)

while i may not be into it, i will say the ryominas popped off with the aesthetics. everything that i've ever seen for those two absolutely fucks, even the sweet fluffy stuff that isn't meant to look cool is so chef's kiss thematically. if i were to ship them i'd be eating good

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

.....that being said, ryomina also happens to be one of the very few tags i have blacklisted on tumblr dskhld the ryominas are just too prolific. every other p3 post i see is about these bitches (affectionate) i see cool art of minato and thanatos and think ooh this fucks and then i see the tags and discover that it's also meant to be ryomina and i'm like aw man. Every Time!

also unrelated to p3 but ace attorney

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

minato's hair drawn correctly (i.e. not symmetrical or so aggressively parted that you can't tell it's supposed to be hanging over his eye)

the protagonists together! i see a lot of matching art of them but i don't really see them actually being together often. i love to see them all hanging out i think they should all be bestest friends. as an extension of this, i also want to see more bankita of course. and more specifically of minato and minako together, especially as twins because that's my jam

more art of minato and thanatos that isn't meant to be ryomina akjds i don't say this to be hostile i just think thanatos's design fucks and i want to be able to interact with art of him without encroaching into a space i don't belong

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

bankita! bankita forever raaaaaah! they make me craaaaazy send help. i think i've probably already said everything i need to say about them multiple times over but i just really like them a whole lot. i've even started to drift away from souyo, which was my main ship involving yu, in favor of this one. it's also my only ship involving minato who is my favorite so i guess it gets priority dfkljhd

i'm also quite fond of akishinji, and it's even better if you throw minako in the mix! it's not an ot3 i was expecting to have, but her romance routes with both of them are really sweet and i already shipped them together, so. i was happy to find that there's at least a few other people out there who ship them too!

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)

i'm not really aggressive about my headcanons dhkld they're headcanons for a reason. that being said i guess i did try to start a fight with p3re's first cutscene for making a minor change to minato's reaction to the dark hour which didn't work as well with my headcanon that he believes the dark hour to be a series of hallucinations and nightmares. he does actually have recurring nightmares too, the dark hour just doesn't happen to be one of them. i'm writing a whole fic about this, please wait warmly.

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

this one's mean. do i like put my spotify on shuffle or what.

untranslated liz triangle song...a minute-long reprise from a musical...an instrumental from a different musical...sappy country song that i could probably apply to a ship but is too generic to hit right...greensleeves...oh alright here we go

this one isn't quite as perfect as some other kairiki bear songs like heart nonsense and batten but i will say it's very baby minato core. to me. i dunno i think a lot about how none of his relatives ever wanted to keep him for very long and what that must have been like for him as a little kid. more thoughts about this will also appear in the aforementioned fic!

#mt answers #thank you for enabling me as always! love getting to talk about my boy 💚 #persona 3 #badgerhuan #roch

[little-yugi-muto-rp]

Rules

This will probably go through a lot of changes, as I've never made one of these before, so please bear with me here.

No godmodding - This should be common sense by now, but I'll put it anyway. There can be exceptions (since we are dealing with magic here) for hypnosis and mind control and such if we've discussed it beforehand

Replies/Responses - I try to respond to everyone as soon as I see your notification. Nine times out of ten, if I haven't responded, I haven't seen it yet (though Tumblr sometimes eats my responses). I'm also a working adult.

Absence/Reduced Activity - I sometimes go away for horse shows out of state. I will do my best to announce ahead of time when these will be, and I will either be scarce or absent altogether during these.

Reminders - Please wait at least 24 hours before sending a reminder about a thread.

Content - There is almost nothing I won't do, and I do make exceptions on some things, so it's best to ask me first. But as a rule of thumb, I will not do incest, underage (at least one character is 15 or younger), vore, or pedophilia. (*Also, even though this is a Yu-Gi-Oh blog, I will NOT write out entire duels. I just find it extremely frustrating to try and do. That said, I may write a highlight of a duel, such as the appearance of a specific monster or someone being hit by an attack, if I get inspired to or if it's something important to the story we're doing. But I will not write an entire duel. Just no.)

Sex and Violence - These will both happen on here. Don't like, don't read.

Tags - I'm working on getting better at tagging, especially when a content warning is needed. I will make a separate list for my tags that explains them, as there will be triggering content such as violence and rape/non-con on this blog. I will do my best to tag everything correctly, but if I miss something please don't hesitate to discreetly tell me about it (no need to publicly shame me for an accident)

Crossovers - I'm open to doing them, but only if I'm familiar with both fandoms. This is so I can get a good feel for what the other character* is like, otherwise I'm not going to be able to write with them very well, and that's not fair to you. If you want a crossover, just pitch me your idea and I'll tell you if I know the fandom or not (letting you know in advance: I don't know any videogame fandoms, so I likely will not do those.) *Alternatively, please provide me some information about the character

Interaction - Non selective, I'll RP with anyone. I do ask that you respect my wishes if I tell you something is making me uncomfortable and I'd like to change it/drop the thread. This goes both ways. I will respect if you say this to me

Changing or Dropping Threads - i have no problem if you need/want to change or drop a thread. All I ask is that you tell me. This is especially important if you want to drop a thread. You don't have to tell me why (unless you want to), but just say you want to drop it so I'm not looking for a response that isn't coming.

Ask Box - It's always open, and I love love love having stuff in there! I reblog a lot of memes and things, send me as many as you want! Also, you are more than welcome to turn my responses into threads (because nine times out of ten, they're already a thread in my mind.)

Memes - You can send me memes from any time, even holiday memes. I will answer. All I ask is that you tell me what meme it is. This is especially necessary for symbol memes, as the same symbol often appears in multiple memes.

Magic Anons/Asks (M!As) - I do accept them, as long as the ask adheres to my rules. Same rules as memes (tell me what M!A list it's from, especially if it's a symbol). Please specify the duration (how long the effect lasts) in number of posts instead of an actual time. I find this to be a more manageable way to do these. Also, you do not have to send it on anon.

Reblogs - Please do not reblog any RP thread you are not a part of. You are welcome to like the post and leave notes on it, but do not reblog it. Any non-RP post you are more than welcome to reblog unless the post or its tags says not to

Changes - I will announce when I change something on any of the Important Information pages. The announcement will include a link to the updated page.

No hate - Please be considerate and respectful to the mun. If you have any issues, please DM me. We don't need to make a public scene out of things.

Misc. - If there's anything I missed or any questions you have, you are more than welcome to IM me or send an ask. I will help you as best I can. (Keep in mind that the Rules page is still a work in progress and will probably go through a lot of changes before its completely done)

Be creative and have fun! That's why we're here after all.

Now that's done, it's time to duel! (Or do whatever else our characters decide to do)

[spaceshipkat]

At this point I don't really care if I sound snarky, but I'm very much bothered by the sudden influx of stantis and stans that tag their posts with both 'anti-sjm', 'anti-acotar' and 'acotar', 'sjm'. It dimishes the whole purpose of why those hashtags have been created and I've already seen one stan enter our tags to tell the anti-community to stop being so negative since these posts keep appearing on their regular hashtags. Some of these stans create posts that do actually fit into the anti-community, however for some reason they insist on tagging their posts with the regular neutral sjm and acotar hashtags. It frustrates me knowing that it's only a matter of time before regular stans invade our tags again since those few 'stantis' don't properly tag their posts. And we're gonna be the ones that will bear the brunt of their anger

yes, i’ve seen that happening and it’s definitely worrying. in 2018 and 2109, @polysorscha and i worked really hard to separate the spheres of antis and stans, to try to make our community as safe as possible and help stans figure out how to avoid looking at our tags bc antis were being attacked due to stans feeling antagonized bc our posts were bleeding into their community and a few antis (who are no longer part of our community—the big one being a person who left the community by attacking the POC in it), but in 2020 she and i have stepped back from posting in the tags as often as we used to and that’s for no reason other than our blogs expanding what we talk about. we both still love the community and what’s talked about in there, and how many new antis have come into it.

however, that also means these new members don’t know what the tags used to be like and how often we had stans in our tags and inboxes, and that the few stan interactions antis currently deal with are few and far between to what it used to be like. that’s not to diminish what antis deal with bc any interaction with stans isn’t great, but it used to be a lot worse—and i can see those times returning bc, as you say, anon, so many people are posting with both anti tags and stan tags, and that’s going to cause a lot of shit to arise and a lot of stans to invade our tags and flood our inboxes. obviously i can’t control what happens in the tags, nor do i want to bc the array of conversation in the tags is what makes the anti sj///m community so wonderful. but our community is only as good as the tags we use, and using stan tags is the wrong thing to do. the anti community exists bc stans aren’t open to conversation that’s critical of what sj///m writes bc they don’t agree that what she writes merits conversation, merits critique. they don’t agree it’s problematic and dangerous. if they did, our community wouldn’t have to exist.

to conclude this ramble, i’m simply asking antis to stop using stan tags for the reasons above and to keep our community safe. we can only exist by respecting stan spaces by using our tags exclusively and never using stan tags bc that feels like antagonizing to stans—and, in a way, it is. stans have to seek out what we say by their own choice, so please stop posting with stan tags as well as our own. it’s the only way our community can stay safe.

#ask #anonymous #anti sjm

[the-rovarians]

Rules

This will probably go through a lot of changes, as I've never made one of these before, so please bear with me here.

No godmodding - This should be common sense by now, but I'll put it anyway, as it's especially important with these being my OCs. There can be exceptions (since we are dealing with aliens here) for hypnosis and mind control and such if we've discussed it beforehand

Replies/Responses - I try to respond to everyone as soon as I see your notification. Nine times out of ten, if I haven't responded, I haven't seen it yet (though Tumblr sometimes eats my responses). I'm also a working adult.

Absence/Reduced Activity - I sometimes go away for horse shows out of state. I will do my best to announce ahead of time when these will be, and I will either be scarce or absent altogether during these.

Reminders - Please wait at least 24 hours before sending a reminder about a thread.

Content - There is almost nothing I won't do, and I do make exceptions on some things, so it's best to ask me first. But as a rule of thumb, I will not do sex stuff on this blog. (It's physically impossible for these people anyway, without turning them into humans.)

Tags - I'm working on getting better at tagging, especially when a content warning is needed. I will make a separate list for my tags that explains them, as there may be triggering content such as violence on this blog. I will do my best to tag everything correctly, but if I miss something please don't hesitate to discreetly tell me about it (no need to publicly shame me for an accident)

Crossovers - I'm open to doing them, but only if I'm familiar with both fandoms. This is so I can get a good feel for what the other character is like, otherwise I'm not going to be able to write with them very well, and that's not fair to you. If you want a crossover, just pitch me your idea and I'll tell you if I know the Fandom or not (letting you know in advance: I don't know any videogame fandoms, so I likely will not do those.)

Interaction - Non selective, I'll RP with anyone. I do ask that you respect my wishes if I tell you something is making me uncomfortable and I'd like to change it/drop the thread. This goes both ways. I will respect if you say this to me

Changing or Dropping Threads - i have no problem if you need/want to change or drop a thread. All I ask is that you tell me. This is especially important if you want to drop a thread. You don’t have to tell me why (unless you want to), but just say you want to drop it so I’m not looking for a response that isn’t coming.

Ask Box - It's always open, and I love love love having stuff in there! I reblog a lot of memes and things, send me as many as you want! Also, you are more than welcome to turn my responses into threads (because nine times out of ten, they’re already a thread in my mind.) **This is a multi-muse blog. If you don't specify a muse when you send me something, I will pick one randomly**

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Be creative and have fun! That's why we're here after all.

Now that's done, it's time to do.......uh.........whatever our characters decide to do

[aresrl]

I hihi I am!!! A little nervous w/ doing this bc I've never done this b4 so please bear🐻 w// me💦 May I request a match up? A vision, a romantic partner and maybe a friend and/or enemy? If that's too much feel free to just assign me a vision + partner, ehe/// Preferably male for a romantic match-up, but either gender is fine with a friend and enemy match-up^^ I tried to be as detailed as possible but I think I ended up just ranting, so im v v sorry if it's long! I sort of fluctuate when it comes to being an introvert/extroverted. W// strangers and irl, I'm very introverted and shy!! Rarely speak and if I do it's just the usual "Hi how are you? That's good. I'm good too, thank you for asking:)" yeayea I'm not too. Keen on social interaction irl. But I always do my best to be very nice!! I never wanna come off as mean bc wow what a bad first impression that would be. But with friends / ppl ik online?? Whew I am very very friendly n chatty ^^ Either very high energy or very chill, there's rarely any inbetween. Sometimes I like to jokingly tease my friends but I'd never go too far / make them uncomfortable!! And if I do I always apologize right away!! I like to say that I'm affectionate?? My strongest love language is def physical affection, if not quality time. Idk man there's just something about vibing with someone or hugging them that just aaaaa/// Although I usually display affection w// words of affection bc. Literally most of my friends are online friends so I can't actually hug them, sad times. Idk if this is needed/important info but I just remembered: I'm 5'6 around??? Need glasses bc. Whew i am blind (near sighted), I'm poc (specifically black) anndd, hm. Actually I think thats it for this section, aha. As you can see I'm, not really all that organized. Also I don't have the best attention span - while writing this I'm circling between 4 different apps - and I'm a bit of a mess. And also a little stupid. Just a smidge dumb. But I have my moments - I solved like. 2 puzzles in Inazuma by myself so I think that counts for something. I also find that I tend to talk a whole lot when I have an idea or smthn to say abt a thing I'm super interested in!! That's info-dumping. I info dump. Yes. I also really like to listen to other people talk abt things they like!!!! Its so nice :) I'm protective over people I care about!! I've never done it but 100% would bark at someone who messed with someone close to be. Arf arf yaknow. I tend to he impulsive. I'll do something, and be all "YEAH>:D" and then regret it later. And then I'll do it all over again in a fun little cycle :) I consider myself an optimist, but quickly turn into a pessimist whenever it concerns myself. Fun funfun. Should probably mention that I am. A very insecure person w/ dangerously low self esteem, which is super fun esp when you mix that with the fact that I'm rarely ever motivated to improve. Yayayay Also sort of a pushover?? Like most often than not I'll be convinced to do something, even if I'm not too keen on doing it. Also afraid of confrontation when it comes to my friends and strangers (that is, if it's concerning me!! I'll order smthn for my friend but if I need to order for myself?? uhh stutter time aha). I'm also a mega simp ahah! Srsly though if I fall for someone/get infatuated with someone I. Will be so obvious abt it even though I try very hard not to be. Would gush over that person probably. I don't really like mean people tbh. Like yes I'll be nice and civil with them but!!! I cannot stand!!! Rude people!!! Esp when they're mean for no reason like sir??? maam??? homie??? chill pls ty<3 People who aren't necessarily mean, but moreso have bastard energy and are just really "hehe>:D" but playfully are p poggers tho!!! I think I get along with kids!! I have a little sister,, around like. Nine? And we get along really well!! I also try and match a kid's energy whenever I'm tasked with looking after them. I take pride in the fact that kids like me >:].... even if they sometimes scare me-- Ok, interest time!!

I like art!! Quite a bit!! Less of a realistic artist and more of a cartoonist!! Idk there's just something fun abt drawing cartoons, hehe. I also like self ships - I have quite a bit of them, actually ! Idk its comforting drawings your fictional crushes loving you idkidk. I like writing too! Both original stories, and one-shots or personal fics that are associated with already created media!! Writing character backstories and personalities and stuff is also fun too! I've even made my own fictional world with a full fledged backstory n everything! It's very fun to think about. I'm a day dreamer!!! Yea remember when I said I write stories? I day dream abt potential stories even more. Mmm daydream world so nice so warm so fun I read aswell!! Mostly fantasy books, or stories where animals are the protagonists. Think Warrior Cats. But my favorite book series has got to be Guardians of Ga'Hoole. Fantasy owl books, anyway! X Readers are also things I enjoy reading :) Again, s I m p Also gaming!!! Is something fun I do sometimes!!! Although it's usually Genshin Impact, or Wii Sports/Resort w// my little sister. Oh, also pokemon! I rlly like Primarina, Vaporeon, Sylveon and Vulpix/Ninetails! I absolutely adore sweet foods, and baking is smthn I'm def interested in! Don't like foods w// weird textures though, like beans or mashed potatoes. Also I. Love spice so much. Mmm love it when my mouth burns so bad. Don't have a favorite animal but I've had three cats in my lifetime (btw not important but my current cat is named Sylvester and. He's my baby boy) so I am. A very big cat fan. Probably not needed but I really like sword and claymore characters. Literally all of the characters I main are either sword or claymore users. Although I did get Diona, so I miiight start forcing myself to learn how to aimmm. I see that I tend to like people/characters that are a little more extroverted than me. Upbeat, happy type beat!!! Nice sunshine babies, :) I think thats it! I hope this was good enough? Again, first time doing this (at 2am nonetheless) so forgive me if I got too rambly or did anything wrong ^^ Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this! And I hope your day is good / you had a good day, depending on when you read this, ehe!

Hey! Sorry if the wait has been long! I also love Warrior Cats (I promise myself, one day I'll finish it.)

You received... A Pyro vision! Optimistic, enthusiastic, impulsive, reckless, and a lot of energy are the general characteristics held by the Pyro vision. • I hesitated between the Pyro and Hydro vision, but your energy distinguishes you from the Hydro vision. • You said you were impulsive, always doing something you might regret later but still doing it. • You react quickly: as you said, if somebody hurt someone you love, you won't think twice before barking. Your partner would be... Xingqiu! “This feeling was unexpected.” • At first, you were just friends, and Xingqiu really loved to tease you. Actually, you both teased each other. But eventually, a feeling of love towards you grew into Xingqiu. And that was reciprocated. • Your relationship is filled with teases, jokes, and good/funny moments where you mostly share what you commonly appreciate. • He also knows when to get serious: for example, he does everything to support you during your moments of struggle concerning your self-esteem. Your friend would be... Childe! “Luckily, I'm here!” • You two also share funny moments, especially during situations where your “stupidity” is overtaken by his insight. • Sometimes, he finds you cute. • He likes the fact that you get along well with kids. It leads you to great moments with him and his siblings. • You're quite the opposite in terms of self-esteem. I think it's a good thing because it makes you complementary. Your enemy would be... Albedo! A misunderstanding. • You wouldn't hate each other, but I think Albedo wouldn't like the way you use your energy, and when you're more in a chill mood (meaning you're more available for him to talk), he could get pissed at how much times he'd have to repeat himself for you to understand something. • He's very patient, but he understood quickly that his interests would maybe not be within your reach. • You would just be too different. Worth to mention • You and Venti are like drama queens in Mondstadt. You are good friends. But you both know that you can't be more, as it would eventually both drag you down (because of similar problems). • Klee is also your best friend: both of you share decisions that you definitely will regret later. Or maybe not. • Hu tao and you are kinds of silently competing over who's the best tease, and she beats you. My goal is definitely not achieved. I hope I can catch up tomorrow. And don't worry, it was surprisingly good for a first description!

#genshin request #genshin matchups #genshin #genshin impact

[nitewrighter]

I don't know what Omegaverse is but at this point I'm terrified to find out

I saw the words “I’m terrified to find out” and my brain interpreted that as “Nitewrighter, please inflict this eldritch fandom knowledge upon me.”

The truth is you don’t need to look very far to find Omegaverse stuff--scroll down the AO3 listings for any popular M/M pairing and you’re bound to find at least one. It’s also called A/B/O, but since that combination of letters is also an Australian slur for an Aboriginal person, people make a point of including the slashes. A/B/O stands for “Alpha, Beta, Omega,” and it refers to a body of tropes that first appeared in slash fiction. Essentially, it’s a kink trope that has unfolded into a common Alternate Universe or, as we in the fanfic writing business call it, “AU.” The defining elements of this trope/AU is that it entails the present of sexually aggressive and dominant “Alpha” and a sexually submissive “Omega,” with “Betas” in between--but really, the Alpha/Omega relationship tends to be the star of the show.

 It’s different from your average dom/sub AU in that these sexual roles are treated as a sort of biological imperative that also affects the social structure of the universe, and these roles are highlighted as being animalistic in nature; characters go into heat, they possess anal glands like dogs or wolves that have identification/aphrodisiac/lubricating qualities, they undergo coital “Knotting” (that is, being unable to “detach” their genitals until they complete mating--which of course lends itself to a whole lot of dubcon implications because if you can’t stop the sex until the sex is done, That’s Not Good), and MPreg is pretty much a staple, with Omegas being the exclusive male capable of child-bearing. This fic trope first started emerging in the Supernatural fandom, and rose to prominence/popularity with a very specific kink meme in 2010, but it has since expanded to be present in numerous fandoms and is still a common fic trope today. You can check out more about it on Fanlore.

TL;DR, and or “Too long and I got too horrified to keep reading midway through”: People got horny and applied malformed theories about wolf hierarchies/weird complicated feelings about pregnancy as a biological imperative (???) to M/M slash and now there are fics where the word “gland” pops up WAY too often. 

[dedkake]

Your new series, sound great so excited for it! Will John be portrayed as ace in any of them? And if so they will be tagged for it right?

hi, friend!

thank you so much! i hope you like it :)

this is a tricky question that i actually asked myself a number of times while writing this series me, to me: why are they making out all the time?????????? and i have a lot of very complicated, over-thinking feelings about it. so bear with me through this answer that's probably longer than you wanted.

first: please please please always feel free to read any john i write as ace whether he’s tagged ace or not--because i probably do, too!

(re: this: i definitely think of john in my vegas fic as ace lsdfkaj;sla)

writing ace stuff, particularly ace get-togethers, is very personal and often emotionally intense/draining for me--and that wasn't what i wanted to experience while writing this series. i wrote the series simply as a way to process and play with the content of the episodes.

there are definitely going to be some of these where john could easily be seen as ace! however, i don't think any of them are about john being ace--so i probably won't tag them that way.

(tangent: i don't necessarily think ace!john sees asexuality as that big of an identifier for himself, so it's not always the first thing on his mind.)

most of the fic in the series are first kiss scenes. if you're good with ace kissing (which, i think a canon compliant ace!john would be), there's no reason they couldn't be ace!john! there are more than a few fic here where they do not kiss and I will likely tag those ones similarly to how I tag my qpr-verse. only a handful will receive an m or e rating not that those couldn't be ace!John, too!

so. tldr: you can probably read most of these as ace!john, but they aren't written about asexuality the way my other fic are.

if you (or anyone else!) would be interested or want warnings for particular content, i can add extra aro/ace commentary when i post them to tumblr and in the notes at the end of the fics on ao3. just let me know. i’m always 100% ready to talk about aro/ace john ldskjfa;

#anonymous #someday i will finish #the fic i wrote concurrently #with the season 1 part of this series #in which john is explicitly ace #and trying to start a relationship with rodney #badly #while remaining canon compliant #SOMEDAY

[castielinparadise]

Don't Forget About Me

Summary: Cas forgets who Dean is, and leaves him behind.

Word Count: 1,523

Warnings: alcohol, temporary amnesia, sad Dean, drunk Dean, slurred speech, slight angst (I guess??), etc.

A/N: So this is my very first Destiel writing! Yay! I came up with this idea when I woke up the other day. Apparently I had been dreaming about Destiel, which makes sense because I fell asleep after reading a Destiel fic. Anyways, I hope this is good! I like it, and I hope you all do too!!! Any spelling or grammatical errors are all my own!

This is going to be a part of a collection of oneshots/drabbles, so send me an ask if you want to be tagged when I post the next one! I will also be taking some requests after I write a few of these. If you send one in, I will add it to a list!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He couldn’t remember. He tried, and he tried, but he could not remember who the green eyed man in front of him was. He could remember that his own name was Castiel and that he was an angel of the Lord, but the man’s name was unknown to him. He looked at the man and found that his eyes were filled with desperation. Whoever he was, he must care about Castiel a lot.

“Cas, what do you mean you don’t know who I am?!” the man said, his eyes going wide and full of panic. Castiel didn’t understand why this stranger cared so much about him knowing who he was. The only conclusion that Castiel could draw from that was that this man was in-

“Cas!” the green eyed man said, snapping Castiel out of his mind and back to reality. He looked at the man and tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. He only looked, not saying anything. The man’s face started to scrunch up in anger. He watched the man turn around in a huff and decided that this was a good time to leave. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and then opened them, revealing trees with a slightly-obvious neon sign behind their leaves. Castiel didn’t know where he was, just that his mind immediately went to this place when he thought of where to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean turned around and opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped when he saw that his angel was no longer here. His eyes shot all over the place as he yelled Cas’ name.

“Cas!?!?!” He waited for a response, but when he didn’t get one, he felt fear pang in his chest. Dean fumbled with his phone, trying to call Sam. The dial tone rang in his ears as he paced back and forth, anxiously awaiting Sam’s voice. When he heard his brother ask what’s up, tears filled his eyes and a breath caught in his throat.

“Sam,” Dean croaked, his breathing becoming erratic. A concerned Sam listened on the other line, nodding his head as Dean told him what had happened.

“He just.. left?” Sam asked, confused as to why. Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but it didn’t work. He fell to his knees and let out a sob that broke Sam’s heart. He knew how much his brother cared for the angel ever since Dean came back from perdition.

“Dean, where are you?” Sam asked, grabbing his keys and standing up from his chair. When his brother didn’t respond, he asked again, this time more stern. He managed to make out the word “park” through Dean’s incoherent babbling, and he set off in the park’s direction.

When he got there, he found his brother hunched over, sitting on his legs, and crying into his hands. Just the sight of Dean like this made Sam feel bad for him. Sure, he cared about Cas, but in a friendly way. Even though Dean didn’t admit it, Sam knew that Dean felt something deeper and stronger for the angel; this was a prime example of that.

Sam walked over to his crying brother and squatted down to hug him. As soon as his arms were around Dean, he felt his brother cry even harder, letting loose all the tears he had been holding in. Sam had never seen his brother like this. His brother always kept this mask on, holding in all his bad feelings. He knew Sam was always there for him, but he felt like showing his emotions was weak. His dad’s fault, most likely, but Sam didn’t blame him

“Dean, it’s alright. We’ll find him. He has to be somewhere,” Sam said as he hugged his brother. He hoped he was right about then finding Cas. The last time they had to go looking for him, it took weeks to find him. It was probably some of the worst weeks the brother’s had ever had.

Sam gave Dean a reassuring squeeze and stood up, offering his hand to his brother. Dean looked at Sam’s hand with sad eyes and grabbed his brother’s hand. Sam pulled him up into another hug; he felt like Dean needed another one. When they pulled apart, Sam saw his brother’s face and almost cried at the sight. Dean’s eyes were puffy, his cheeks a shade of red, and his face streaked with tears. He put one hand on Dean’s cheeks and made Dean look him in the eyes.

“Dean,” he said, “we’ll find him.” Sam gave Dean a sincere smile and stood up, holding his hand out for Dean. Dean reached up and grabbed his brother’s hand. He was so thankful to have someone like Sam as a brother. Sam always took care of him, and he to Sam. Their relationship did get rocky quite often, but Dean always forgave Sam.

Sam pulled Dean into another hug, and Dean was glad he did because Dean had almost started crying again. His brain kept repeating what Cas had said before he had disappeared. “I don’t know who you are.” Dean hated the blank expression on Cas’ face when he said that. Sam must’ve been able to tell that Dean was thinking about it because he headed towards the Impala, yelling back something about getting drinks to take Dean’s mind off things. Dean really did want to get his mind off Cas. Just the angel’s name made the pit in his chest grow larger, consuming him into an abyss of nothingness. Dean followed, letting Sam drive because he obviously wasn’t capable, and they headed off to the nearest bar.

Dean didn’t know how much he had drank, but he knew that it was enough to make hiss body buzz, speech slur, and mind foggy. He hadn’t thought about Cas at all since they arrived at the bar and had ordered two rounds of their strongest alcohol. It burned as Dean drank it, but he didn’t care. At least he was feeling something. After a few more rounds, Dean started feeling nauseous, so he told Sam that he was going to get some air, assuring him that he was fully capable of taking care of himself.

When Dean stumbled out the doors to the bar, cold air smacked him in the face, cooling him down. He stood with his eyes closed, just letting the wind do what it pleased with his clothes and hair.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel didn’t know who he was expecting to walk out of the building with the neon sign, but it definitely wasn’t the man with the green eyes. Castiel stayed hidden in the camouflage of the trees and watched as the man stood with his eyes closed, clothes and hair flapping in the wind. He hadn’t wanted to, but Castiel found himself walking towards the man, slowly, as to not startle the man.

To Castiel’s dismay, the man opened his eyes, snapping them in his direction. Castiel froze, looking at the green eyes staring back at him. The man stumbled over to Castiel and crushed him in a bear hug. Castiel smelled alcohol on the man, which explained his behavior. He must’ve realized what he was doing because the man quickly let go of Castiel and took a step back.

“M srry,” he slurred. “I ddn mean to do tht.” Castiel realized the man was way more drunk than he had originally thought. He felt cold without the man’s arms around him, and before he could think twice about it, Castiel hugged the man. The drunk stranger didn’t hug back at first, but soon softened into the angel’s arms. Castiel felt a tingle run through his entire body (technically the vessel’s body, but we won’t go into that), and was shocked when he started remembering things.

He remembered the man’s name: Dean. He remembered meeting Dean for the first time after he dragged him from perdition; he remembered Dean calling him Cas for the first time; he remembered watching as Dean softened up to him, eventually falling in love with him; he remembered their first kiss and the first time Dean said “I love you” to Cas. All these memories came flooding back to Cas, sending a feeling of warmth to his cheeks as tears filled his eyes. He touched Dean’s temple, sobering him up with his angel powers.

“Dean,” Cas said, feeling Dean tense up and then shiver as he said his name. His shoulder started to feel wet, being soaked with Dean’s tears. Dean couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that his Cas was back. He nuzzled into Cas’ neck, placing a light kiss on it.

“Cas,” he mumbled, smiling as he felt Cas shiver from his breath on his skin. He felt Cas push him back lightly, and let out a sigh as the angel’s lightning blue eyes came into his line of sight. They were similar in height, so they stood almost eye to eye, which allowed Dean a perfect view of the angel’s eyes.

“You’re an angel, Castiel,” Dean smiled as he watched Cas blush. “Yes” was all Cas could say before Dean’s lips were on his own.

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

Tagging @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms and @pretttypadalecki to help spread the word and because they seemed interested!!! Also @trash-of-the-fandoms because I can lol

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #dean winchester x castiel #destiel oneshot #destiel drabble #supernatural #my fics #my posts