#where's quiet when you need them 😔 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosedom · 1 month

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AHHHH HELLOOO sorry i usually dont request much, haha this is actually my second request in all of my tumblr story ever but...i saw you decided to write for gaming and i just couldnt resist, i love your writing a lot and i just think its so immaculate hahaa. Could you write an scenario where male reader is stressed from work (imagine he has an important job like a doctor or something whatever you want is fine :)) because he has been working days nonstop, so much that his boyfriend is all worked up and horny for him so when reader comes back he finds himself straddled by him while hes begging for fucking? With cockwarming, breeding kink and cowgirl position. Could that be with Gaming, Lyney and Gorou? SORRY IF IM ASKING MUCH I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER😭😭 i just dont know how to request but thanks for reading all of rant. And again, thank you and sorry for bothering😔 have a nice day/afternoon/night!

"an unnamed player has invited GA-MING, LYNEY, and GOROU to play . . . an apple a day

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, vaginal sex & riding, breeding kink + creampies, creaming (lyney), gratuitous praise + petnames .

A/N : aa u are never a bother !! i am SO SORRY this took so long for me to get to, omg . . . but i had sm fun with this (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Patient after patient after patient, each one with a more downright stupid trouble than the last. Your day had started with a young man, clearly fresh out of Millelith training, complaining of a tummy ache, of all things! He had clutched his stomach and moaned and groaned, and all you could prescribe him was bedrest. It’s not like you were going to waste medicine—medicine that some people needed—on someone who ached because he didn't eat fucking breakfast.

The next patient was an older woman, here only for her biannual check up. You'd greeted her, said a sweet, “Good morning, madame,” but all she did was turn her snobby nose up at you and demand you not waste her time.

“Madame, you have a serious—”

“I know, young man.” You had heaved a sigh, letting her boss you around for the length of her appointment before sending her off with the exact same specifications as last time: take vitamins, get ample rest, stop talking back to people just doing their jobs. (Though, that last one there was merely something you wished you had said.

Too bad the customer—in this case, patient—is always right, huh?)

But, by the end of the day, you wish, instead, that you had simply elderly after elderly; their disrespect pales to the absolute headache that the rest of your patients put behind your eyes, pounding at your skull—bam, bam, bam.

Wham bam-thank-you-ma'am, all throbbing incessantly behind your eyes and making you wanna hurl—except, god, you’re the fucking doctor, and who’s there to take care of him when he’s a little under the weather? You’ve got your boyfriend, of course—your perfect boyfriend, light of your life, apple of your eye, yet he’s home, and you’re here, and you’re bloody exhausted.

“I need to go home,” you murmur—quiet, lest your own voice make you lose the last of your thin-threaded sanity—, already stripping yourself of the itchy scrubs you wear during the long days.

“But sir—” the nurse asks, meak, but her voice is still too loud, too shrill for right now.

You huff. “I’ve worked for fourteen hours.” The tired gruff to your own voice makes you cringe. You can feel the way it tumbles from your chest, rattling you, your overly sensitive eyes and brain and head and fuckin’ everything, at this point. “Refer to the doc on duty, now.”

The nurse nods, once. “Have a good night, doctor.”

You bid farewell—a kind apology with a promise to make it up to them, to bring them coffee, maybe, or some cookies—, and you take the slow walk home. The sky is dark and the fireflies are out, the gentle glow illuminating the path. With nothing but your own thoughts and the night to accompany you, you feel your headache gradually ease. It throbs, still; but each bump in your skull is gentler, now: it’s easier to ignore.

Although the porch light is too strong—the lantern bright and attracting the nighttime bugs and moths—, the foyer of your home is dark. Your aching head is grateful for the reprieve—for the silence that envelops you in totality the second the door clicks quietly shut behind you—, but something other than tiredness pulls at your heartstrings: your sweet boyfriend, clad in only a shirt of yours, toeing into the entryway.

“Honey?” He wipes the sleep from his eyes, softly smiling at you. “Hi.”

“Ga-ming, honey—” honey, because Ga-ming unabashedly stole the pet name from you, first, “—you didn’t have to stay up for me.”

As if on cue, his jaw cracks open in a yawn: this, you do not need the lights on to see. Your heart aches with your head, knowing that he had stayed up just for you. “Honey,” you repeat, sliding off your jacket and stepping up to him. You take his waist in your hands, bunching up the shirt he stole from your closet.

“Quit with that,” he murmurs, tilting up his head for a soft kiss. You grant it; but when you go to pull back, to keep the kiss gentle and chaste, Ga-ming presses forward, darting that little tongue out to lick at the seam of your lips; his hips, too, come bumping against yours, pressing into your thigh, pant to skin—

“Ga-ming?” you repeat, breath leaving you in a low huff. “You’re—” bare.

Utterly, wholly bare: an expanse of warm, slick skin against your clothed leg. “‘m ready,” he mumbles while he takes to mouthing at your throat. His lips soothe you, somehow; it’s a reprieve, a stark contrast, to the pounding at your skull.

“Ready?” you whisper, tilting your head back, letting your hands guide the steady roll of his hips onto your lap.

He nods. “Ready for you,” he enunciates as he softly whines.

Ga-ming—your Ga-ming—, your boyfriend, your love and light of your life: right here in front of you, on you, all needy for you, offering himself to you, wholly ready for the taking.

“So please,” he continues, his cock dragging heavy across the seam of your pant; “fuck me.”

“Oh, honey,” you murmur; then again, an “oh, honey,” because you’re still half-dressed up in your clothes—though they’re only soft and bland, made to fit under the rough scrubs you had abandoned at the office—, and Ga-ming is naked save for the shirt draping across him, the low hemline covering the absolutely sinful way he grinds down. It’s a dirty move, a down, down, down that gives his sensitive cock friction against your pelvis.

“Please, please, ‘m ready, I said—” his words abruptly drop off, a high cry in his throat that sends him to hide his overly-warm face in your neck. His skin burns against you, a feverish-hot that makes you chuckle, makes the throb in your head go away, just-so. “I said I-I was ready, so, please!”

You coo, quiet, bumping your hips up once. The jerking motion makes him cry out, but he manages to keep himself upright, right-side up but entirely unmoored on your cock. “Go on then, little lion. Take what you need, yeah?”

Whimpering a quiet, “Y-yeah,” he begins riding you, slow, steady—but slightly off-balanced—rolls of his hips that makes him whine, makes you groan low n’ deep in your chest. You let your hands rest on his hips, the fabric of his shirt falling over your wrists, and gently guide his motions. Once you’ve helped him establish himself, he begins riding you harder, more desperate.

Silent tears—though, are they truly silent, loud as he is moaning out for you?—dribble down his cheeks, falling to his shirt and soaking the collar of it in salty evidence of his abject pleasure. His abdomen is tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing again, all in a rapid loop, in and out and in n’ out, and then there’s a fucking bulge right below his navel when he sinks down hard n’ deep on your cock; and you’re sent over the edge at the sight, moaning through your teeth as you fill Ga-ming up with hot, sticky cum.

“Oh, oh—” he cries, grinding down harsh to get all your cum in as deep as possible, deep ‘nuff to breed him— “bred me, bred me so well, oh—” You groan at his desperate babbling as his thighs jerk around your hips, just before they give out on him entirely. He falls bodily into your chest, heaving through his own orgasm as weak mewls tumble from his prettily parted lips. Each sound is smeared into your throat while you laugh, light and breathless, jostling his overly-sensitized body and making him flinch.

“Sorry, honey.” You kiss at his temple, and, the whole while, his small cunt is left to unconsciously milk your cock, left to assure that loud, insecure part of his brain that he’s wanted, that he’s bred all nice n’ full because he is loved. You’re long done, now, but the undulations make your body warm, soft, safe—just like Ga-ming is, comfy in your lap and wholly protected. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head against you, nuzzling into your throat with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have—hafta thank me,” he mumbles, a lick at your Adam’s apple to seal the deal. “I wanted ta.”

Tucking up the blankets around him, you grin. “Then can you warm my cock, lil’ dragon? Just for me?” You run your fingers lightly up his clothed spine, delighting in the shiver you can feel, one that runs the length of your cock as he’s snug on it. “Since earlier was all about you?” You raise the end of your sentence in a lilting tone, meant to tease, and Ga-ming huffs at you.

And, n further retaliation, he clenches around you; the soft squeeze—all wet n’ warm, smearing your own cum across the base of your cock and leaving the mess of both of yours to dribble down the minute space between your bodies—forces you to calm your breathing, to take in the delicate scent of what is undeniably Ga-ming mixed with the smell of your own shirt, your own cologne.

You laugh, then. “‘m sorry,” you say again amidst giggles, ones you’re careful you confine only to your upper chest lest the movement be too uncomfortable on both of your oversensitive groins.

He doesn't reply, snuggled up comfy on your lap and stuffed full of your cock n’ cum both. Instead, he only noses into your neck further before his breathing steadies, lulling you to sleep, too.

It’s in your final moments of consciousness that you realize your head no longer hurts.

(You suppose you now have the evidence that, yes, an orgasm is sufficient enough a cure for headaches.)

Under Lyney’s palm, a small floor lamp clicks silently on. The light is admittedly dim, but, to your sensitive eyes, the bulb is blinding. You cringe and cover your eyes; but it only serves to shield you slightly, because you’re still upright in the foyer, and your body is rather weak. “Lyney,” you tiredly murmur, lifting your palm just enough to see the ground lest you trip.

You bump into him, laughing lightly, but his worried hands jump to your arm. “Hey—”

“I’m okay.” You’re quick to calm him, placing your free hand on his in a tender gesture as you make way to the living room. “Just a headache, ‘s all. Ya shouldn't have stayed up f’r me.” Earlier, it hurt to even think; but here, with him, the pain is easy to ignore, in the face of his own self destruction.

He grumbles at you, though, says something you can’t quite catch and drops his hands, pads over to the lamp to flick it off. The return of darkness is soothing.

He smiles at you, then; or, at least, you think he does. It’s difficult to see in the dark, and you can’t strain your eyes without hurting yourself. “I wanted to!” He takes three long strides before he’s standing in front of you, draping his arms across your shoulders. The position makes his (your) shirt ride up on his belly, and— ”I missed you, y’know,” he murmurs, suddenly all soft n’ deep, looking up at you and bumping his forehead against your chin. “A lot, really.”

“Lyn—”

He quickly silences you with a kiss. Against your lips, he pulls back, murmurs, “I missed your cock, especially.”

Laughing against him, you lean up ‘til he can no longer reach you. He pouts at you when you reply, faux-snark, “only my cock, huh?” Your bottom lip juts out—a mirror of Lyney’s own, a magic trick of his you took for your own; it’s a devilish trick, one you play right alongside puppy-dog eyes you know he’s soft to. “How cruel.”

He huffs at you, pulling you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss the mirth off your lips. “I was tryin’ to be seductive,” he grumbles, knocking against your chin and beginning to push you backwards into the living room. “But nevermind!”

You want to say, “Hey, now:” disagree with him and keep on pouting and go, “hey, hey, hey,” all offended, but the backs of your knees come into contact with the edge of the sofa, and you’re well and sufficiently distracted from that idea.

“Sit,” he gently commands you—merely the illusion of choice—, giving you no choice in the matter with the way he’s pressing you down into the cushions. You go easily; you sigh in relief when the softness begins enveloping you—a pillow’s snug right in the middle of your back, and you briefly wonder if Lyney had planned this. He murmurs, “there you go,” quiet n’ soft, and you’re taken by the way this man gives to you.

He wears his heart on his sleeve, truly; except, right now, the sleeve is yours (just like his heart belongs to you and yours to him in turn), and it's bare, and so is the expanse of his long, pale thighs, the hem of his boxers peeking out beneath the shirt. He stands in front of you, between your legs, makes sure you’re down and that you’re gonna stay down, but your eyes aren’t really tired, not anymore, staring at Luney—your Lyney—before he huffs and sits bodily onto you, straddling your lap with his knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you.

“Lyney,” you murmur, reaching out to take hold of his thighs. The position makes the shirt rise up on his belly, exposing the soft, rippling muscles there; but, in the dark, all you can go by is what you feel against your own stomach, his bare skin pressed to your thin shirt. “I was kiddin’, sweetheart.”

“I know you were,” he snaps at you, mean-like, but he brings his arms around your shoulders all sweetly and nuzzles into the side of your head. “But I wasn’t. I—I really did miss you; and your cock. If you—if you wanna, of course.”

“Of course I want to, Lyn,” you mutter, tilting your head up to kiss beneath his chin. “I’m just a little tired.”

“A little?” He huffs, again, before sighing. “Just—let me do the work, alright? I’m already...” he pauses, tilts his head to the side, breathes in and out sharply.

You hum at him to go on.

“‘m already prepped.” Oh.

“Oh?” You grin, bringing your tired arm up to cup his cheek. He leans into your palm and his eyelashes flutter, brushing against your skin. “Go ahead then, sweet thing.”

And go ahead he does, smiling into you before he abruptly leans back ‘nuff to chuck off the shirt. You whine, say, “hey!” but there isn’t any bite left on your tongue when Lyney starts tugging his boxers down, too. He’s impatient, pulling at the seam and groaning curses at the fabric—as if it’s the damn boxers’ fault that he’s in a position that prevents him from taking them off.

He relents, tilting this way and that and finally—after painstaking minutes later, ones that, under no circumstance, should be arousing, but the anticipation, the wait: it all makes your dick chub up in your own pants—Lyney’s left naked in your lap. The fabric hangs off his foot, and you reach down to tug it the rest of the way off for your sweet boyfriend as he busies himself unbuckling your own belt, loosening the tough leather enough for your pants to droop and enough for him to reach a hot hand into your briefs.

“Eager, huh?” you tease, lifting your hips—and, subsequently, him—to let him get your dick out of your pants. Neither of you bother pulling down your own pants, not after Lyney spent so long on his boxers alone. He doesn’t dally. “My sweet Lyney.”

He sighs, again—he’s rather dramatic tonight; but, then again, when isn’t he? It wouldn’t quite be your Lyney without some theatrics—, spitting into his palm and lathering up your cock with it while he makes to straddle you more fully. “Thought you were tired,” he grumbles, hovering his, indeed, wet n’ slicked up and entirely prepped cunt over your thick cockhead.

“Mhm.” You set your hands on his plush thighs once he hooks the head of you into his loosened hole, groaning low and pleased in your throat while he softly whimpers at the barely-there stretch. He prepared himself well. “But when you’re lookin’ so pretty for me, I can’t help being wide awake. Wouldn’t wanna miss this sight for the world.”

With your eyes now adjusted to the light—and, oh, you consider how the throb of your head is a bygone memory now—, you can see the way his cheeks darken just-so, puffed up in exertion as his groin meets yours. You’ve got your cock stuffed up balls-deep in him, and he leans into you once he’s fully settled.

He moans, less out of outright pleasure and more out of total contentment, comfy and warm on your lap as your arms knead at his thighs. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, and he quietly asks, “Gimme a minute.”

Nodding, you simply bask in the steady heat of him, letting him adjust and recognize that, yes, you’re home, now, and you hadn’t really left him at all. “I missed you,” you murmur rather suddenly, your voice quiet but still stark in the silence of the night. “Thought about you durin’ my shift.”

“You did?” His voice is rough but wispy, a little out-there and entirely gone. He’s slipping into that mindset he always does when he’s left to warm your cock—regardless of if it were by his volition or your own—, but he begins to subtly grind his hips against you, mewling at the hot sparks of rapture from his cock rubbing just right against you.

“‘Course I did,” you continue, moving your hands to his hips instead to help move him along. His arms tighten around you and he moans directly into your ear.

From then on, it’s quiet: quiet, that is, save from the obscene slick noises of the lube Lyney used to prep himself earlier with his own slick, your pre-cum mixing up and making a mess of thick liquid between both of your thighs. His moans are barely audible, these soft, gentle lil’ uh, uh, uh’s punched out of him with each tender grind down.

You think, even, that you’ll both cum like this: quiet, nothing but the sounds of your connection and heavy breaths, moans, groans as you fall over the edge. But then Lyney starts bumping his groin against yours even harder, grinding down deep on your cock and rubbing against your full balls, and he starts babbling for you to “breed me! Please—”

“I-I’ll breed you,” you groan, leaning your head back into the sofa cushions and chasing your release, chasing the release you both want, the one he wants so desperately stuffed up deep inside him. “Gonna fill you right up, just like you want, sweetheart.”

He babbles more—a mix of syllables and words, more pleas for you to breed him—until he’s silenced by his own high-pitched whine, cumming around you and slathering you in creamy-white. The steady clench and release of his cunt forces you to your own end, thick cum slowly leaking out from the edges of his cunt and your cock. (You can hardly tell what’s your leaking cum and what is his own.)

“Thank you,” he mumbles, already beginning to doze. “Th’nk you:” quieter, more muddled against your ear.

You grab the throw you have across the sofa’s armrest, rucking it up around the two of you; you cocoon Lyney safe in your arms and on your softened cock. He’s nodded off, now, and he misses your words: “You don’t have to thank me,” you say anyway, even if he doesn’t hear you, “I love you.”

The cum’ll be sticky, later, when you wake up; but for now, it’s perfect. It’s perfectly warm and entirely cozy, wholly snuggled up with the love of your life. Your headache, the stressors of the day—they’re all forgotten in his presence.

You’re so, so glad to love him.

“Hi, puppy,” you coo. The sound of your own voice grates you, but you ignore it to sweetly smile at your beloved. He stands there, motionless for a moment right there at the threshold before the foyer, until he shakes his head with a barely-there laugh. “Gorou?”

He tilts his head to the side—this you can see, the silhouette of him in the moonlight—before he takes a tentative step forward.

Then another. And another. Another, another, another, ‘till he’s standing in front of you and leans up to kiss your jaw. “Hi,” he repeats, voice ruff (hah!) and hoarse, a little too much so. “Missed ya.”

You tilt your head back to let him mouth at you, and your hands subconsciously come to clutch at his hips, and— “Oh, Gorou,” you mumble, pleasantly aghast, because your hands come into contact with bare, slick skin. “Pent up?”

With a quiet whimper, he tilts his hips forward, into you, pressing against the contact of your fingers on him. You slowly slide your one hand around, sneaking a large handful of his ass before you dip into his cleft, shuddering when your fingertip easily glides across his slicked, open cunt.

“I-I wanted you, so bad,” he starts to mumble, shy, tucking his head into the meat where your shoulder meets your neck. Without any prompting, you adjust your stance, pressing your knee into his cock and making him jerk forward with another whimper high in his throat. “Oh!”

Slowly, his hips begin grinding—it’s a weak movement, testing, making sure you're really okay with this, right now. He moves unsure against you until you begin bumping your knee, letting his slick make a mess of your pant leg. “Go on,” you goad him on, soft, holding him snug against you. You can feel his cunt clench even through the fabric of your pants, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat against you that is oddly reminiscent of the headache you can feel begin to dissipate. “Take your pleasure, pup.”

He nods vehemently against you, beginning to hump as his tail swishes side to side, side to side, hypnotizing you just slightly. It’s hard to parse it out in the dark, but the shadow of it is undeniable behind him. Each bounce of your leg makes Gorou whimper, and he’s quick to crane his neck up for a kiss to muffle himself. You grant his request easily, but only for a minute; after, you gently part from him to murmur, so quiet that only he could possibly hear, those big, soft ears of his twitching as he strains, “What else do you want, honey?”

“Want you,” he whines, grinding harshly once, twice. “Want you inside me, want you to breed me.”

You didn’t expect that, but you’re a doctor, after all; it’s kinda in the job description to roll with the punches, so you do. “You wanna get fucked full of pups?” you ask, teasing and light, but Gorou’s mouth parts as a loud whine crawls out of his chest.

“Yes! Please.” Thick tears begin to drop from his eyes, saltwater dribbling onto the bare skin of your throat. “Now, now—breed me now,” he begs, and you coo at him, bringing your hands to curl into his hair, rubbing soothing circles into the base of one puppydog ear.

“Patience, pup.”

And, because he’s Gorou, and Gorou is nothing but a good boy, he nods, rapid-quick movements of his head, and begins to slow on your thigh. Heat shimmers low in your belly as he steps back from you on shaky legs, a wet splotch across your leg from his cunt. You bring a hand down, meaning to scoop it up off your pant, but your finger brushes two distinctly different textures: his natural slick, and fuckin’ lube. “Did you prepare yourself for me?”

“Y-yeah,” he mutters, tail tucking itself between his legs. You almost cringe at that, knowing he’s smearing himself into his own fur, but if he doesn’t mind, then you won’t either; besides, it’s hard to truly care when your boyfriend is so bashful in front of you. “I—I missed you, ‘nd wanted to be ready for you.”

The image of Gorou, ass up on the bed with four of his fingers stuffed up inside of himself flitters across your mind, makes your cock throb in your britches. Your erection was easy to ignore, earlier; but now it’s abject torture.

However, it’s not nearly as torturous as it was for your boyfriend, and you know this. You know he didn’t cum, know his fingers are far too short to truly reach in deep and press against his g-spot, know his wrist can’t comfortably bend to jerk himself off and finger himself at the same time. So you coo, soft, “Sweet boy. Where’s your toy?”

“Charging,” he mutters.

You grin at that: it’s perfect. “Can you go get it then, puppy?”

With an audible swallow, he nods, rushing for your bedroom. You follow behind him, lethargic but so, so turned on; and while he’s grabbing the vibrator from the corner, you shuck off the rest of your clothes and plop yourself down on the edge of your bed.

He must not expect you to have followed him, however, because once he turns around, he jumps, ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. You only laugh and pat your lap. “C’mere.”

Quickly—and toy in tow—, he shuffles over to you. He stands awkwardly in front of you for a moment before you murmur, “I said c’mere,” and tug him to straddle your lap. The position immediately forces his cock—slick n’ thick, out of its hood and throbbing incessantly—against yours, and he mewls helplessly for a moment, grinds once, twice again, before he grabs the lube to the side of you.

You hadn’t even noticed it there, but now that he’s grabbed it, pointed it out, you feel other wet spots beneath you. He fuckin’ masturbated here, right on the duvet you both sleep under, thinkin’ about you and only you. You’re taking out of your musings when he slathers up your cock in lube, messy and sloppy, and then he’s rising, positioning you, and sinking right on down.

“Mm!” he cries out, swiveling his hips to take you in deeper, deeper, deeper. You groan at the lube-slick combination that smothers your cock in Gorou, Gorou, Gorou. “Breed me, breed me!” Each meak plea makes your cock pulse inside him, and he mewls at each throb inside him. “Please!”

“I got you, pup,” you murmur, your edge so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. “Just make yourself feel good, and I’ll breed you, okay? Okay, puppy?”

“Okay, okay—”

You grin. “Good boy,” you say, and then he’s tumbling over the edge and bringing you right down with him. You groan into his throat, feeling the vibrations of his whimpers n’ whining moans as he’s getting thoroughly bred. Your hands ruck up his shirt to hold his sides and soothe him down from his high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Bred you just like I promised I would, hm?”

He weakly nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles, nosing at your throat.

And, well. You’re bloody exhausted, and you promised to breed him, and he can’t keep on being bred if you pull out. You tell yourself you’re only upholding your promise as Gorou falls asleep on your cock, breathing deep on your lap: tell yourself that it’s the lingering tiredness that suddenly seems to hit you in full-force that keeps him warm and snug on you.

Really, clean-up can wait.

i got a lil' carried away on lyney's part ,, o(*^＠^*)o also, none of these were really cowgirl 'cos reader was sitting up for it . . . i couldn't think of how to have him lay flat in these scenarios LOLL

13 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#i used to have very frequent headaches and the only way i could abate them was:#1) midol (god's gift to earth i stg)#and 2) jrking off.#so !!#sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub gaming #gaming x reader #sub lyney #lyney x reader #sub gorou #gorou x reader #lord .#top reader #dom reader #amab reader #male reader

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cheolslz · 2 months

Text

maybe getting mad at your boyfriends over something petty wasn't the best idea.

pairing; 95line x fem!reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

w/c; 2.1k

a/n - based on this request. this is not proofread at all so ignore if any grammatical errors 😔 it's my first full fic so I'll appreciate any and every feedback!

smut warnings under the cut!

warnings; mentions of a creep at a club, poly, established relationship, dom!95line x sub! reader, degradation, petnames (babe, love, princess, cockslut), unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (m. receiving), double penetration, anal, creampie, slight chocking, fluff at the end. lmk if I missed anything!

It's 8pm. You haven't checked your phone all day. you were supposed to be off work 2 hours ago but your boss decided today would be the perfect day to ask you to do their monthly statistics compilation.

As you make your way upstairs the tiredness of the long workday finally kicks in. you sigh when you reach the door, wanting nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home and your three boyfriends.

Hard days like this were guaranteed with a high profile job but you knew no matter what happens you’d always come home to the loves of your life.

As you open the door, the smell of your apartment fills your heart with a fuzzy warmth. You walk in and close the door behind you and it slowly hits you.

It's quiet.

Now living with 3 other people, there was always some form of noise in the house. Whether it be Jeonghan's tv show marathons, Joshua's guitar or Seungcheol listening to music, there was always some sound to fill the empty feeling in your ear.

A look around you can see that no one was at home. At first you assume Seungcheol was finally able to convince Jeonghan and Joshua to join the gym with him. You open your phone to see if any of them texted you their whereabouts.

[5:27]

Seungcheol : babe when are you off work?

Seungcheol : we were thinking of going to a movie

Seungcheol : i know you said you weren't interested in this genre but we really want to watch it

Seungcheol : text us when ur done?

[6:07]

Jeonghan : babeee the movie is at 6:30 you’re supposed to be off work by now where are youuuu

[6:24]

Joshua : hey we’re at the movie okay?

Joshua : we came without you because you said you last week that you weren’t that interested in this

Joshua : we’ll see you in 3 hours <3

Oh. They went to see a movie. Without you.

They’re not wrong, you did say war centric and movies more than 2 hours weren’t your thing but, they could’ve waited right? It's not like it's only going to play at the theatre once. They could’ve easily waited for you and asked?

You're not the type of person to get mad about things like this. Usually you'd brush it off and move on but maybe it's the mixed frustration of work and your boss that you decide to make a phone call

“Hey are you free clubbing tonight?”

So, this was a really bad idea. It's 9pm, you're at a shady club and your friend ditched you to go hook up with someone. When you initially called chan he was constantly reassuring you that he’ll be with you all night because you need it.

His bad jokes and humour for a second did make you feel better but the minute you guys entered the club and he laid his eyes on this girl, it was game over.

You can't blame him, she was pretty as hell. If he wasn't rushing to get alone with her you would’ve asked her where her eyeshadow was from. Now you're alone at the bar, staring at the drink in your hand. Your phone keeps lighting up with notifications but you don't respond.

[8:50]

Seungcheol : babe where are you?

Seungcheol : we left early because the movie was boring you were right

Seungcheol : please respond to us

Seungcheol : i know you're mad at us im sorry

[2 missed calls from Seungcheol]

[1 missed call from Jeonghan]

[3 missed calls from Joshua]

[1 missed call from Seungcheol]

You feel bad. You should respond, you should let them know you’re safe but for this once you feel like proving something to them. What exactly are you proving? Well, you haven't really figured that out yet.

You're staring at your phone when a voice interrupts your thoughts

“Hey, what's someone like you doing here alone?”

You look at your side to see a tall man in all black. He has short bleached hair and a pretty face. You laugh off his comment, not wanting to interact with anyone right now.

“Im mark, i couldn't help but notice how pretty you are” he smiles and extends his hand which you accept with a smile.

A few minutes of talking later, you start getting uncomfortable. Mark keeps trying to get you to leave with him even though you stated you had a boyfriend. He shrugs it off, his hand sliding to your waist and talking to you about how that doesn't matter.

You laugh nervously and excuse yourself to the bathroom, clutching your phone in your hands. You call the first person who shows up and he picks up in half a ring

“y/n? love where are you we’re worried sick”

“Seungcheol…im at levels bar please come pick me up there's someone making me uncomfortable”

You hear some shuffling in the background and Seungcheol reassures you that they're on their way.

About 20 minutes later you get a text from Joshua saying they're outside. You have to convince them not to come into the club, not wanting the situation to escalate or get worse. You successfully sneak out of the club, thanking your luck that Mark was now occupied with some other girl.

As you spot your boyfriends, you see relief wash over them. They bombard you with questions and when you confirm you’re okay, they help you in the car and drive back.

The air in the car is a little tense, no one clearly wants to bring up the topic of why you were at a club alone. Seungcheol had a rule you all followed - if there was something to talk about, you’d do it at home.

Once the car is parked, the four of you silently walk to your door. Jeonghan opens the door and lets all of you in. you take off your shoes and go sit on the couch, preparing yourself for whatever they’d ask you.

“Well? You want us to start?”

“I'm sorry” you say immediately, looking at the floor beneath you. You hear someone walking towards you.

A soft hand trails your face and lifts your chin to look up. Seungcheol has a small smile playing on his lips when he asks “what are you sorry for?”

“For getting mad at you guys and going to the club. I should've just told you i was mad at you” Seungcheol gives you a satisfied grin, his hand still forcing you to look at them standing over you

“We were worried sick, you know? You really almost gave us a heart attack” Joshua sighs looking at you. You give him a sad smile

“I'll make it up to you” you say and Jeonghan laughs loud, his voice echoing through the room

“Trust me you will” he says and walks over to you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he smashes his lips onto yours. He makes you lean back on the couch as he hovers over you, his lips moving in sync with yours as his tongue explores your mouth.

you feel the couch sink beside you and before you can see who it is, Joshua pulls you onto his lap, His firm body pressed on your back. You whimper as you feel his cock straining against his pants on your lower back.

It doesn't take long before they’ve helped you out of your clothes and all four of you are naked. Jeonghan goes to the bedroom to grab a bottle of lube.

You turn your face to kiss Joshua, slowly grinding your ass on his cock as Seungcheol sucks on your neck. His hands fondle your breasts, squeezing the pinching your nipple to hear those oh so sweet sounds you make. your moans muffled by Joshua's mouth.

You moan into Joshua's mouth as you feel Seungcheol trail his kisses down to your breasts and suck on them.

Jeonghan walks back in and tosses the bottle to Joshua. Joshua pours some on his fingers and circles your rim

“Gonna take me properly love?” Joshua whispers in your ear and you nod, unable to form coherent sentences. Joshua slowly aligns his cock with your rim and pushes in. The stretch hurts at first but the pain fuzes into a cloud of pleasure for you.

As Joshua slowly lowers you on him, Seungcheol aligns himself with your cunt. Unlike Joshua, Seungcheol isn't soft in the bedroom.

He knows exactly how to push you far enough for it to feel best, so he waits until you're fully lowered on Joshua's lap and he slams his entire length inside you.

His tip his your cervix perfectly, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“F-fuck.. So..fu-full” you moan out.

You take a moment to regain your breath, back arched on Joshua as groans in your ear.

Jeonghan, clearly feeling a bit left out, tangles his hands in your hair and pulls your face off of Joshua's neck. He slaps his cock against your cheek and lips as he smiles down at you

“Open up” he commands.

As you open your mouth and suck Jeonghan's tip, Seungcheol takes the initiative to move. He slowly drags his cock out and thrusts his full length into you again making you moan on Jeonghan. The movement makes Joshua hit deeper in you.

Both of them start moving inside you. Seungcheol and him have a mismatched pace making you see stars as you suck Jeonghan harder.

Jeonghan holds the back of your neck and thrusts into your mouth, making you take him deeper as tears well in your eyes. He throws his head back and fucks your mouth.

The room is filled with groaning and skin slapping as Jeonghan hits the back of your throat with each move.

“Such a pretty fucking cockslut. You like us filling you up like this huh?” Seungcheol grunts and moves his hips faster. You try to respond but the cloud of lust fills your mind as you feel yourself reaching your edge.

Joshua, the ever observant slides his hand down to your clit and slowly rubs his thumb against it. The sensation makes you moan against Jeonghans cock, the vibrations making him moan your name.

After a few more thrusts you feel his movements stutter as he fucks your face.

“Want me to cum in your mouth princess?” he groans as you slip him out of your mouth to answer

“P-please Jeonghan..ne-need it”

Your pretty face begging for him is all he needs before he cums in your throat with a final thrust, painting it white. He pulls out and watches you swallow with a satisfied grin before collapsing on the couch next to Joshua.

The other 2 are not too far behind to follow, their movements becoming more erratic as they reach their highs. Joshua cums with a loud groan and throws his head back on the couch.

His hands keep moving on your clit as he comes down his high, his breathing heavy and inconsistent.

“Gonna fill you up so well you wont even fucking think about pullling this shit again” Seungcheol curses and his hand wraps around your neck. The slight cut in air with the stimulation on your clit makes you fall off the edge as you cum on Seungcheol’s cock, his orgasm following yours.

Your releases mix together inside you as he rides out his high. You lay back on Joshua as he and Seungcheol slowly pull out. The emptiness and the feeling of their cum spilling out of you makes you whimper. Your thighs sticky with your mixed releases.

You slowly feel yourself coming down from that cloud as Joshua pats your shoulder

“You okay? Did we go too hard on you love?” he asks with slight concern in his voice but you shake your head no. They could never hurt you.

The three of them help you get up and take a shower, laying out clean warm clothes for you and helping you lay on the bed. Jeonghan lays down next to you and pulls you into a warm hug.

“Don't do that again okay? You really had us worried” he whispers in your hair.

“Im sorry, i shouldn't have disappeared over something so small”

you say quietly but the 3 of them hear it, they always do.

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your forehead as Joshua rubs your back.

“We love you, don't forget that okay?”

738 notes · View notes

alastor-simp · 3 months

Text

Sensitive Soul😔 - Alastor x Reader

Requested by @ju1yyyzzz

The Hazbin gang were all lounging around the lobby, minding their own business. Charlie was reading a story book, definitely romance. Vaggie had her spear in her hand, practicing her moves. Sir Pentious was observing her. Apparently Vaggie wanted to teach him some physical combat, since he relied too much on his gadgets and egg minions. He was sloppy, but he had a lot of confidence, which Vaggie respected. Angel dust was chatting away at the bar with Husk. Their relationship had improved a lot, leaving you feeling very happy to the point you cried. Zooming sounds were happening all across the room. It was Niffty, chasing after the insects with a knitting needle. The look in her eye was crazy and glad she was aiming it towards the bugs, and not you. Alastor was relaxing against a chair, legs crossed while sipping from a coffee mug. The hotel radio was playing a broadcast from the human world. The fact that it could pick up stations from the living world was insane. Must have been Alastor's doing since he always looking for more entertainment.

The phone in your hand was your source of entertainment for the time being, as you kept flipping through Sinstagram. Static emanated from the radio, beginning to play a broadcast in regards to some sort of pandemic happening on earth. The grin radiating on Alastor's face was nerve wracking, as he continued to listen in on it. "HAHA! How utterly entertaning! Makes me remember the good old days during the Great Depression! So many orphans!" It felt like you had been punched in the stomach. 'How could he find that entertaining'. Your thoughts were becoming depressing, and tears began to appear in your eyes. Charlie took a break from her book, and looked up, noticing your sad expression. "Y/N, Why are you crying?" Realization hit you as you touched your cheek and felt wetness. The room got quiet, everyone gazing at you with concerned looks including Alastor. "I-I'm I-. I need to be excused." Jumping from where you were sitting, you rushed out of the room, leaving everyone confused. Angel was the first to speak up: "What the f✪✪✪ was that about?"

Charlie felt the need to comfort you, but she concluded that your probably needed a minute to calm down. She looked around the room, observing everyone. "Did any of you say anything to them?" Everyone shrugged their shoulders, stumped. Niffty zoomed next to Charlie, wanting to tell her something. "She started to cry when Alastor was laughing about something on the radio." Eyes all turned to Al. Alastor still had a smile on his face, but mentally he was riddled with confusion. "I was only reminiscing about the past! My words did not bare any insults towards them!" A spear was drawn at his face, causing him to arch an eyebrow. Ohh how scary he thought. Vaggie was fuming, nearly about to strike Alastor. "Whatever you said apparently made them upset! Now go and check on them, bastardo!" The air grew ominous, as Alastor powers began to expand, clouding the room with black mist. The smile on his face began to grow monstrous, as his eyes turned into radio dials. "Now Vaggie! There is no need for threats! But I advise that you lower your w̶͈̒͜è̶̫̤͖̃̀̔̋́a̴̝̮̾̽̋̌̈́̎̍p̵̳̟̩͈̬̹͓̔̀͌ó̸̟̃ṇ̵̹̻̽̉ ̶̩̞͓̃̓͌̈́ȍ̷̬ṛ̸̨̡͈̹́͜ ̵̡͈̰͎́̚ḛ̴̞̯̭̥͊̅̇̃̎̆l̵̖̔͑͆̿s̸̙̐̌̐̆̓͠è̵̛̻͑̓̊͠!" Charlie jumped between the both of them, wanting to appease the situation. "Vaggie Stop!" Charlie words reached her girlfriend, causing the spear to be lowered, as she crossed her arms. Charlie then looked at Alastor, who had managed to calm down slightly, yet the air was still tense. "Alastor. Could you please check on Y/N?" A shook of his head, brought him back to normal, as he stood up from the couch. "All right!" The staff in his hand at appeared, giving it a twirl before he stood up from the couch, walking away with his hands behind his back.

"Now where could the little darling have gone?" Alastor announced to himself, as he ventured down the hallways. His first place to look would be your room. Giving a rhythmic tap on the door, he waited for you to open the door. His ears twitched, trying to pinpoint any sounds from the other side, but heard none. "Hmm. Not here." Alastor continued to look for you. The last place to look was the hotel garden. It needed a lot of weeding and pruning when he first arrived at the Hotel. Niffty and you were able to fix it right up, planting certain hellflowers and fruits and vegetables. Sounds of sniffling reached Alastor's ears, "Ah so you were here!" he thought. He found on curled on the ground, laying on the concrete ground, admiring the flowers. His eyes noticed the tear streaks that were still prominent on your cheeks. Turning your head around, you saw Alastor standing next to you, before looking away. "Why the long face my dear?" Alastor chortled to himself, while you remained silent. Your lack of silence bothered Al. He still couldn't piece together why you were crying in the lobby? He snapped his fingers, causing a cushion to appear on the ground. He didn't want to dirty his pants. Plopping down, he continued to look at you. His smile stayed the same, but his eyes were looking at you with slight concern.

"My dear, what has you so upset? Was it something I did in the lobby that bothered you?" He patiently waited for your answer. Wiping your tears with your sleeve, you turned your head towards him. "You didn't do anything Al. It was the topic you brought up that got to me!" Cocking his head, he pondered what you said. A lightbulb flashed in his head. "Ahh yes! The great depression!" His smile became giddy. His entertainment for misery was appearing again. "Yes. I know to you it was highly entertaining, but to others it wasn't. It just made be think about all the hard-times during that time, and the orphans and what-not. I know its stupid to cry over something like that, but certain things or topics I'm very sensitive too. Often times it results in my breaking down in tears like you just saw." Alastor continued to stare at you, while you talked. He was relieved he didn't cause something directly to upset you, but it did stun him a a bit at your reasoning. His years being a radio host/serial killer harden him, to the point certain depressing topics became utter joy for him. It gave him a bit of realization that subjects like this were very bothersome to others, including you. "I apologized if I worried you and the others. Just didn't want to cry in front of all of you over something stupid. Wish I wasn't such a cry-baby." Casting your eyes down, you gazed at ground.

A fluffy material touched your cheek, causing you to jump. Looking at Al, he was cleaning your face with a handkerchief. His signature smile, had dropped. It wasn't a frown, but he was a full on smile either. More of a slight grin. "Y/N, there is nothing wrong with crying over stuff like this. My time in Hell has made me immune to depressing topics. This doesn't make you a cry-baby, it just means that you have a pure soul. You care about the well being of others greatly, to the point of tears. It is quite alright my dear, and I would like to give a proper apology to you." His words were insanely sweet. More tears began to pour out your eyes, shocking Alastor even more.

"My dear?! What did I say? Why are the tears still coming from your eyes?" His actions were frantic, as he continued to wipe the tears from your eyes. The tears still flowed, but a smile was on your face. "Hehe, I'm sorry. Your words were very sweet and just made me very happy that I wanted to cry." Alastor gave a chuckle as well, shaking his head. "My my what a strange demon you were. Still, you were very adorable." He thought to himself. Soon the handkerchief had removed all of the tears that were flowing down. The signature grin he wore returned, as he got up from his position, snapping the cushion away. His hand extended out to you, allowing you to grab it. Being pulled up, you got up off the ground, and stood in front of Alastor. His other hand was placed on your cheek, giving it a stroke before returning back to him. "Shall we head back my dear? The others must be getting worried!" He smiled down at you, to which you responded back with a nod, as the both of you walked together out of the garden to rejoin the others.

~END~

*Tagging*

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen , @aceofcards0-0 , @jyoongim , @saturnhas82moons , @unholycheesesnack, @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah , @cookiekyo , @iiotic , @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie

405 notes · View notes

faeryarchives · 3 months

Text

loved by the moon (riddle, leona, and azul x f!reader)

requested by @lydiacallas: Can i ask for a Moon Goddess like!Fem!Reader? Like they have magic linked to the moon, they have like- this ethereal, pure and calm vibe of the moon itself and their voice is calm too. Maybe their hair is a bit glow in the dark? With Malleus, Azul, Lilia, Riddle and Leona, please and thank you very much! 🥺✨ warning: minor spoilers to book 6 + somewhat long imagine note: reader uses she / they pronouns + is in the same grade as the boys !! this is very overdue im sorry 😣 and i based some characteristic and abilities to moonlight cookie and princess luna guilty as charged 😔 + malleus and lilia part will be in another post! recent fics: happy birthday (malleus x reader) & when your hopeless streamer gets a girlfriend (ace x reader) & its you, it always had been you

·˚ ༘ riddle rosehearts (2nd year ramshackle dorm leader)

"the decision of all professors and staffs of night raven college falls in favor for miss (name) (last name) to enroll here - exempting them from the all-boys rule. she will be in charge of the ramshackle dorm during her stay here."

riddle does not understand how on earth were you able to stay in the school and always hold yourself with such grace, he couldn't explain why your presence seems to be similar to vil like you were oozing of calm vibes

you were the total opposites - he is more accustomed to fire while you specialize in water magic*. he lose his rationality quickly while he had never see you even falter during the time you two were classmates + he always abides by the rules while you do what ever you want

"you are not allowed to sleep in class!" "it's not sleeping, i am just resting my eyes..." "you must not pick flowers from the garden on wednesdays." "riddle, i am not under the queen of hearts rules."

and riddle actually holds a one sided grudge against you for that + makes it his mission always to remind you of the rules, going on about mini rants to which you nodded to while reading your books

typically, riddle would've mention something about the rule of the queen of hearts but he was strangely quiet. you see him looking down at his notebook, lost in his world. and that surprised you because never you would've thought you would know this side of him. "no rule trivia for today?" "...huh?" "there is something on your mind, no? why don't we talk about that instead our usual trivias."

as time passed by, you and riddle gradually close friends to the point that heartslabyul treats you like their saving grace whenever riddle goes on a rampage, even more when you became second years

when the first overblot happened, it was the first time he saw your face, usually so calm, crumbled like dust when the blot manifested into a large phantom

"hahaha! the law in this world is me! not even you, (name), can stop me!" "i'm not letting you go so easily, riddle. rules are meant to protect your people, but you don't realize you are using them to suffocate them. you even hurt my dorm mates, enough of this!"

riddle was sure you wouldn't speak to him again because you weren't there the moment he woke up. he tried asking trey and cater if you were avoiding him, but they could not answer him. the next few days, he didn't even get to talk to you.

then he found himself admiring nrc at night time, breaking his own rules, maybe it's okay to let is slide for now. as he needs some time to think

absentmindedly wandering around the school grounds, letting the cool breeze feel his skin, riddle had his hand brushing through the thick bushes until they got pricked by a stray thorn "ah-" he hissed, holding up his pricked finger. it was just a tiny injury that's nothing to worry about. the injury was nothing compared to what he saw next "riddle? what are you doing this here at this hour?"

riddle spotted you sitting under the tree where silver usually takes his naps, surrounded by bunnies as they piled around your lap.

after days of not seeing each other, riddle thought he was going crazy because the last time he saw you, he knew pretty sure that your eyes and hair do not have that silver glow - it was like you were the moon itself

"is it my fault that your eyes and hair changed?" "oh, this is awkward... " you look at the bunnies trying to hide behind you, being scared of riddle's sudden appearance, contemplating about something before sighing in defeat. "i think i owe you an explanation. but first, can you keep a secret?" this confused riddle very much. what do you mean explanation? did something happen while he was out? before he could even think of it, you were already in front of him - your point and middle finger placed on his forehead. 'the moon has come out to play, now bid your worries away.' a comfortable feeling of cold wrapped around riddle's body, feeling the fatigue from his overblotting disappear, the weight on his shoulder being gone and his pricked finger healed. while riddle stared at you in shock, you finally reveal your true appearance and float around him like a curious child. "would you believe me if i told you i am the descendant of the moon goddess?"

... oh. OH !!

prepare for him because this little goldfish right here is most likely a fan of reading books about your kind + cue the sparkling eyes

and oh my god are those butterflies he can feel in his stomach? or maybe he is just hungry but he only feel that way around you though. oh well !!

** okay so i think reader will be compatible with water magic because the moon has this gravitaional pull right which cause the high tides and low tides... and riddle is fire!

·˚ ༘ leona kingscholar (3rd year transfer student)

"kingscholar, think of this as your punishment for the spelldrive incident. i would gladly take miss (name) for a tour but alas, there are countless of papers that needs my attention."

leona knew that there is something like a cloak of mysteriousness around you the moment you appeared in the college mid-year as a transfer student from rsa

just you don't interfere with his plans and he will also stay out of yours but it turns out he was assigned by the crow to take you around

"... wow, do i look like a punishment worthy chore?" you sigh, shaking your head in disappointment before turning to leona and he could swear he could see your eyes glowing for a moment when you stare at him. "i take it that the dorm leader of savannaclaw will be my tour guide?" "just don't lag behind." giving you a shrug before he started walking ahead of you. despite his short descriptions and tour around the school, leona is thankful that you didn't seem to be a nosy type of person, just a little on the calm and reserve type than most people he knew.

doesn't understand how people seems to look starstruck whenever you walk by them i mean you are attractive yes but not being able to move? that's different

it also turns out you share most of your classes! maybe crowley was really punishing him for the incident as he was stuck with you, being your babysitter.

but you almost look like his babysitter + quickly became one of the most tolerable people in the school and he doesn't mind having you around

"leona? let me bother you for a moment, can you help me with this problem?" "oh that?" the lion lifted his head and stared at the paper you were holding before waving his hand in dismissal. "remember the activity we did as partners? that's the one." "..." you squinted your eyes and leona could see them literally glow in purple light causing him to blink several times if he was seeing it right but it disappeared quickly. "oh i get it now, thanks." "do your eyes really glow like that?" "huh? i don't know what you are talking about."

you were not the nagging type - letting him hide and snooze off behind you during class and surprisingly, you were fun to spar with during practical exams + too smart for your own good

he had never seen any kind of fighting similar to yours like your fighting style is only yours to begin with - not only you excel in defending, you never seem to get tired despite being a speedy defender.

you and the savanaclaw dorm leader spent the whole afternoon sparring with each other and by the time you notice it, the sun was already setting. "aren't you tired yet, leona?" "you better tell me how you manage to keep up with me all this time." you did say to keep up with you the first time we met." you twirl your spear around you before stabbing it on the ground, leaning on it and grinned at leona. "i'm just keeping my promise."

now leona was pretty sure you are not a normal transfer student + especially after fighting with you in the island of woe and it was pretty interesting how you unexpectedly exposed yourself in front him and jamil.

the moment you, who was assigned to be in the front of the group due to you having the most capable defensive powers, entered the room on the current sector, leona and jamil look at your back in surprise. "(name)-senpai?" "what's up, jamil?" "... is that a normal thing for you?" the room was oozing with the presence of phantoms everywhere and there was no source of light - aside from your hair locks that are now shining like a billowing night sky of twinkling stardust, borne in a void of black and fading in an indigo moonset "oh that's normal, we can just use it as source of light. save your magic for now." "no wonder your magic feels different from everyone else - you are a moon goddess, right?"

leona is not blind, he just need a solid evidence to confirm his gut feeling. unique magic spells + signature spear + glowing eyes and your hair locks literally looking like that?

while fighting along side each other, leona could literally leave his back open because heknew and trust that you always have his back and vice versa

"leona-senpai, watch out-" before jamil could jump in between the incoming attack and leona, you pulled the second year by his hood deflected the attack with your spear so effortlessly. "it's fine, moon fairy here got our backs." you hear leona said proudly before landing a critical hit on the phantom. "aren't you glad you're stuck with us?"

everyone in school knows how two of you would make an unbeatable duo when it comes to strategies and games

and not going to lie, leona thinks so too! you are strong, smart and everything above + treats you life his closest friend and respects you a lot but you do things sometimes that are not really necessary

"are you done yet?" he couldn't help but ask, his tail thumping on the floor with annoyance while you tried braiding some parts of his hair.

you peek over his should and smiled, trying to show him the small braid that you did on the side. "yeah, it's fun braiding your hair!" after your identity being revealed, you let yourself relax more around him - when you express happiness, your hair starts glowing as it did before and small crescent like moon thingy start appearing around you

... leona find that cute + now he understand why people become starstruck when it comes to you

**you know how moonlight cookie's hair color looks like? yeah that's the one!

·˚ ༘ azul ashengrotto (2nd year ramshackle vice dorm leader)

"did you hear about the rumors? recently, students are saying that when you go to the botanical garden at night and stand under the moonlight - all your questions will be answered!"

the fact that rumors like that exists made azul irritated because it means he got competition. and having competition in the thing he do best is not fun.

so he and the twins went to investigate - how and where the rumors first started and who are most likely to be involved in the case

surprisingly enough, it all leads to a certain ramshackle vice dorm leader aka you + azul already knew you due to being the same year and his 'rival'

he considers you as his rival because you two always seem to fight for the top 2 and 3 spot every exam but for you... i think he would be hurt if you say that you like to aim for the top spot because it's fun 🤩

it was during lunch time and you were planning to eat with yuu, grim and the others when all of a sudden, someone blocked your way out by leaning on the door. "(last name) can i ask a bit of your time? i would like to ask you regarding an important matter." the ever so charismatic azul asked, his usual charming smile on as if he wants to do business with you. "oh, hi azul. what is it about?" "how delightful! do you happen to know the rumor about your unanswered questions will be answered as you stand under the moonlight?" "there is a rumor like that? under the moonlight? why the specifics?" one thing that azul observed about you is that your emotion reflects on your eyes. call it his gut feel but just one look and he already knew you were telling the truth "a pity... it seems like i am back to square one." "... maybe i can go help you out? i am not that busy these upcoming days."

and so azul's little group grew in numbers consisting of him, you, yuu, grim and the twins. oddly enough, it was actually fun to hang out with you

azul never got to interact with you that much before and only knew information about your through papers and from what he heard from people but being with you right now exceeds his expectations

"if headmaster crowley is similar to crow... do you think he likes to hoard shiny things?" you suddenly whispered it to azul one day in class, your mind clearly wandering and not paying attention to what professor trein is writing on the board. "what is with the random thought?" what is we leave a trail of shiny things and create a trap, that would be really funny."

you were an oddball. sometimes you will joke around with him and trying to make him laugh during class. there are also times where he couldn't explain the calming feeling he had whenever you are around + he could never even feel any other intentions from your actions as if you genuinely want to become his friend

it took him a while to notice how you always seem to stand out and become the embodiment of grace and elegance - a confident yet modest person who knows what you want

you always help him out in solving the rumor mystery but there is something that made you look suspicious → you always go back to your dorm before sunset

it's not that he wants to take up all your time but the way you stand firm of not being able to join them during night time and saying how dangerous it is made him suspect you of something

so he went alone wearing his ceremonial robes (the twins are taking over his duties for a while i know very unbelievable but imagine) to investigate the botanical garden and there he saw you run inside - a trail of silver light following you behind

and when azul went inside to stand in the spot, trying to think of what to wish until he hears a familiar voice ringing in the building

"say your wish out loud and the moon will light its way to you." "well, now this is marvelous. can i see one guiding my wish for me?" azul looked up, trying to call out for you, even looking around to see signs of you. there was a moment of silence before he heard you sigh and in an instance, you appeared before him, avoiding his look. "i thought i told you to let it go?"

after finding out you were his competitor - he didn't really feel annoyed at all! rather he was intrigued on how you were able to do it ...? you help the students find the answers on their own in their dreams?!

seeing your hair glow in silver light in the dark reminds him of himself as some octopus also glow in the dark just like him!

"azul, do you know that i really admire you?" "me? what is there to admire about me? i do nknow i have a remarkable potential but compared to y-" "no, seriously. you don't need to compare yourself to me. having to do all these business related work AND studying at the same time? you should appreciate yourself more."

... do you want to make him cry on the spot? hearing such words makes him happy but hearing it from you aka one of the people he really admire and yes he admits he admire you as a rival - his emotions are going haywire.

even if he is smart, it will take time for azul to realize that his admiration is just growing stronger and stronger each day and bloom into something else

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #twst imagines #riddle rosehearts #riddle roseheart x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #faeryarchives #a.twst #a.heartslabyul #a.savanaclaw #a.octavinelle #twst x reader

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elllisaaa · 9 days

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the new hoon x bookworm reader post made a new thought pop up in my mind seconds after i read it…. eli why are you so good at writing this and HIM overall i can’t bare the emotions anymore 🥺

hoon fucking you against a bookshelf in the public library 😳 you came just to return some books and pick up new ones but he got bored from waiting for so long for you to choose new titles… just imagining his quiet voice whispering the filthiest things at your ear while you bite on his shoulder to repress your moans 😔 (and what if he’s wearing those glasses? you know which ones)

i think the reason is just that i need him so bad i'm projecting all the things i want him to do to me lmaoo i love everything that comes out of your mind whenever it comes to him i could pay you for sending me these asks, i'm not kidding.

SUNGHOON is always willing to drive you to the library because as stated before, he's obsessed with you and your undying love for books. he finds it so cute how you always come up with a little list of the books you want to pick up to not get distracted and spend hours between the shelves.

you always tell him that he can stay in the car and that you're not going to take long, but sunghoon insists on coming with you every time. except that today, you didn't make a list because you didn't have the time. which means you will be wandering around to get your books for a long time. you feel a little bad for your boyfriend this time because he had things to do today - he even still has his glasses on - but you can't just choose your books in two minutes, right ?

sunghoon follows you everywhere you want to go, walking slowly behind you. and his eyes cannot help falling onto your ass with every step you take, your cute little skirt moving along with the swaying of your hips. and he's starting to get frustrated because he didn't expect to spend his afternoon only able to look at you and not touch you.

he knows it's wrong, but he also knows that it's what you like. so when you walk into an alley where there is no one and that is far enough from everything else, sunghoon corners you against the nearest bookshelf, pressing his whole body against your back. you can feel his hot breath against your ear, and his semi hard on against your ass. "hoon ? what are you doing ?" - "you're taking too long doll, so let me have my fun too okay ?"

you can only nod weakly because how could you say no to your sweet boyfriend ? his hands quickly drag from your waist to your asscheeks, kneeding the flesh under your skirt. he adored them, it made it so easy for him to fuck you everywhere he wanted. "you're so good to me baby, always wearing your little skirts for me, right ?" - "yeah, know you like them." - "that's right, you know i do. so you're going to let me fuck you there ?" - "yes, please…"

that was all sunghoon needed to turn you around and kiss you hungrily, smearing your lip gloss but he couldn't care less when you were pulling him even closer to you. he tried to get away to take off his glasses but you grabbed his hands to stop him : "no ! keep them on, you look sexy with them." a smirk played on his lips immediately, he loved when you were so blunt about your desires. sunghoon grabbed you by your thighs, lifting you from the ground, his boner pressing on your wet cunt still covered by your panties. "yeah ? i should wear them more often if it means you'll let me fuck you everywhere then."

and you did let him fuck you, let him wrap your legs around his waist, push your underwear to the side and ram his cock into you. sunghoon is grabbing the bookshelf behind you like his life depends on it and making it shake, and it doesn't matter if it alerts someone because he knows you like the thought of being watched. you're holding on him tight, head thrown back as you struggle to repress your moans.

"you're such a slut, letting me fuck where everyone could see you. but that's what you like, yeah ?" "fuck, your little cunt is squeezing me everytime someone walks by." "you hear how wet you are doll ? you're so fucking dirty."

sunghoon keeps whispering the nastiest things in your ears, and everytime a word leaves his mouth, it becomes harder to quiet down your noises. you can't even answer him because you feel like you might cry out some begs for him to make you cum. so you bite his shoulder instead, soaking his neat white shirt with your saliva. "you're making a mess doll, everybody's gonna know what we did if you keep biting me like that." but in the end, sunghoon's loves it, and when he paints your cunt white with his cum, he struggles to keep his voice down too. and he loves it even more when you go to register your books, with his cum staining your panties, your hair still a little messy, and your gloss on his lips stretched out with a proud grin.

#this idea of fucking in a library will not leave my head #might include it into my sunghoon college fic who knows ?#eli answering your questions #eli's moots #dinna's asks #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #sunghoon hard thoughts #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut

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borathae · 8 months

Text

“Yoongi joins you in your bath and you talk about your days.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff

Warnings: casual & intimate nudity, Yoongi being the cutest bean in love

Wordcount: 1.3k

a/n: I lose a lil bit of my sanity each time I write fluff. I can handle anything, but fluff always ruins me 😔 i love them so much 😔

You spent the day working in the gardens. It was a very rewarding day and left you feeling utterly content.

Content, but also very exhausted and very dirty. So you hopped into the shower for a quick rinse off and while you did, let the bathtub fill with the hottest water. You used some of the lavender oil you made with your flowers and then lit some candles to set the mood. Ten minutes later, you were boiling in your little lavender soup, getting rid of all the tension in your muscles.

It is another ten minutes later when a faint knock on your door rips you out of your relaxation.

“Yes?”

“It’s me”, Yoongi says.

“It’s open.”

The door opens and in steps Yoongi.

“Oh? Sorry”, he gasps, turning around, “why didn’t you say something?”

“Why are you turning away? You’ve seen me naked a million times before.”

“I don’t know, just don’t wanna be rude.”

You laugh, “you’re so weird”, you chuckle, “what’s up? Do you need help with something?”

“No it was…no it’s fine, it was dumb”, he dismisses you.

“No, it’s okay. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I’m dumb, just wanted to ask for, you know…”, he lowers his voice to a whisper, making it unable to understand him.

“I didn’t get the last part.”

“I just wanted to…”

“Yoongi, you are talking too quietly. I can’t understand you.”

Yoongi whips around, “I just wanted to ask for cuddles!” he blurts out and pouts, “it’s dumb, okay?” he adds in a shy mumble and his eyes flitting to his feet.

“Aww my love, it’s not dumb. You’re so cute”, you coo, resting your chin on the edge of the bathtub, “do you wanna hop in here? The water’s so nice.”

He rubs his tummy, inspecting you with his head tilted to the side.

“Mhm?”

“I guess”, he mumbles, “if you’re asking.”

“Yeah? That’s so awesome. Hop on in here then.”

“Look away.”

“I’m even closing my eyes. See?” you say, closing your eyes with a faint smile on your lips.

You listen to him get undressed. Silence follows where he walks to you. You are aware that his nature helps him stay quiet. A soft knock against the tub makes you open your eyes.

Yoongi is looking down at you with his hands gripping the edge of the bathtub and one leg pulled up.

“Don’t look”, he whines.

“I’m not, I’m looking at your eyes.”

He mumbles something, which is most definitely a shy complaint. Then he finally steps inside.

“Oh geez", he gasps, lowering himself slowly, "what the fuck’s wrong with you? Why would you wanna boil yourself like that?”

“What do you mean? It’s not even that hot”, you say in a laugh.

He lowers his butt into the water and tenses up.

“Yes it is”, he complains, “you’re gonna get cooked ballsack for dinner, like fuck.”

He cracks you up to the point where you snort ungracefully. In the time you spend laughing your ass off, Yoongi lowers his own ass into the water, submerging himself in the lavender warmth.

“Don’t laugh”, he nudges you with his foot, “if I knew Imma get boiled, I’d have declined.”

“Oh you dramatic baby”, you snicker, closing the distance between you and him, “and yet here you are. You just like to complain”, you say, cupping his cheeks even if your hands are wet.

Yoongi doesn’t mind, leaning into your touch.

“I guess. I’m getting used to it”, he smiles boyishly, “and I thought that I take hot baths.”

“You gotta admit though, once you’re used to it, it feels amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Relaxing. That’s nice.”

“Yeah right? And your ballsack isn’t boiled either, is it?” you tease.

Yoongi snorts and chuckles.

“No, it’s good. It just expanded twice its size.”

“Oh you”, you laugh. Yoongi does too. “Don’t talk like this, it’s nasty.”

“Why? It’s natural”, he laughs.

“I guess, but it’s so weird", you tease.

“You regularly tell me about your shits. I don’t ask for these kinda updates either, but you tell me”, he throws back, making you laugh.

“I guess, yeah”, you snicker and then lean in to peck his cheek, “you’re wonderful.”

Yoongi leans in for another kiss. One you give him gladly. He returns the favour afterwards. Two kisses on each cheek. He ends all of them with a soft kissing sound. It borders the sound of “mwuah”, just shorter and tinier. It feels so good to receive.

“Did you scrub yourself already?” he asks afterwards, massaging your waist gently.

“Yeah in the shower. I took a shower to wash off the day. I wanted the bath to be solely for relaxation.”

“Mhm, I see. That’s good.”

“Why? Did you wanna scrub me?”

“No, it’s fine. Just thought you needed help.”

“You can still touch me, you know? I like it when you do.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. Your touch is gentle and loving. I stopped being touch starved because of you.”

Yoongi lowers his eyes shyly.

“Me too”, he confesses, “yeah. Your touch is nice too. I like it. It feels good. Yeah.”

“Yeah? Should we touch each other, my love?” you suggest.

He nods his head and opens his arms, scooting closer. You understand. You close the distance and allow your bodies to connect in an intimate hug. No barriers of clothing between your skins, hot water to warm you up and the relaxing scent of lavender in your noses. The hug feels especially wonderful like this.

Yoongi hides his nose in your neck while you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. His arms cradle you just as much as yours cradle him. Your middles are touching, your chests are melted together and your legs are never breaking contact. It’s so utterly vulnerable and yet healing. To be able to hold him like this is medicine to your heart. You don’t even need to be sad for him to heal you. His hug is so powerful that it will heal even the parts which were never broken.

“This is so nice”, you whisper, having your eyes closed.

“Yeah”, he sighs, enjoying your hug with closed eyes.

“Did you have a good day, my love?”

“It was okay”, he says.

“Yeah? Did you manage to finish the song?”

“Not yet. I got stuck on the bridge. I don’t know what to do. So I stopped and did something else.”

“Mhm I see. I bet you’ll get it soon.”

“I guess. Can you help me with it tomorrow? Can you listen to it?”

“Of course my love, I’d love to do that”, you say, rubbing circles into his back, “can you help me with the garden? I need to carry the palm trees to the terrace, but they’re too heavy.”

“Of course, I’ll help”, he says, drawing senseless patterns on your back.

“Thank you, my prince.”

“It’s fine yeah”, he says and nods his head. Then he nuzzles closer, kissing your neck gently, “you smell so good.”

“It’s the lavender oil.”

“No, not the oil. You smell nice. Happy.”

“I am happy”, you say, “and you? How are you feeling?”

“I’m happy too”, he says.

You shimmy back so you can look at him, but he whines and pulls you back.

“Don’t do that, it makes me sad.”

You snicker, “forgive me for wanting to kiss you.”

“You can do that later. I wanna hug.”

“Okay, fine. I can very gladly live with this deal.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have let you leave either way.”

You laugh, “oh wow okay, I see how it is.”

He snickers and nods his head, kissing your neck afterwards.

“My love?” he whispers.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I keep going?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I keep kissing your neck?”

“Of course you can. You don’t have to ask.”

“Okay. Mhm, you’re so perfect”, he whispers and begins kissing you, purring quietly as he does.

You watch a movie once you finish the bath, relaxing on the couch with cups of tea and your bodies snuggled close. Yoongi falls asleep with his head on your chest, but denies it once you wake him up. Then later in bed you kiss his face until he falls asleep and you follow him seconds later.

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ghouljams · 2 months

Note

Regency soap is a fucknasty bodice ripper, pulling his mean ol darling aside to fuck some manners back into her and make her walk back into the party with his cum dripping out of her. Her pretty dress is all ruffled and her hair is a little mussed and he just watches with a shiteating grin as she tries to compose herself and make it look like she didnt just get her brain fucked out😔

-maus🐭

I love a good bodice ripper tbh, and that is the genre that Regency Soap has landed himself squarely in. Which is so good for me. I mean, so so good. God I actually have two ideas for fic, I might noodle on the other one later but here's the first

Johnny's fingers fumble with the knot on your stays, thick fingers and blunt nails digging into the lacing with grumbled swears. Your skin prickles with heat, he's so close to you, just a breath away really. Your body reacts to him so quickly, so greedily, he's only just gotten back to town and you ache for him more than you had in the month he was gone. You're glad he hauled you off to your room, though you're loath to tell him that.

"Bloody fucking bust," He grumbles, his nail slipping against the tight knot again.

"It's not a bust," You tell him, smoothing your hands from his biceps to try and take over, "they're stays."

"Don't need to know what it is," He shifts his grip, grabbing either side of your ribs to hold you still. He presses his mouth to the lacing, teeth scraping the strings, biting them with a tight hold. Your fingers grip his hair, your breath coming quick, you can barely feel the warmth of his mouth through the fabric but his teeth? You can feel the dull pressure of them, just at the same moment you feel Johnny jerk his head and hear the tell tale sound of ripping fabric. Johnny's breathing hard his eyes dark, when you look down at what remains of your laces. "Just need to know how to get it off," He breathes, his eyes fixed on your chest, "Oh my bonnie love."

You don't have time to snap at him, or really respond at all before his he's grabbed your chest in two big handfuls. He pushes his face between your breasts, turning his head to kiss the swell of one, then the other, as your stays are forced open.

"You're paying to fix that," You try to keep your tone annoyed, try to grumble and push at his head. You can feel Johnny smile, before his mouth opens and he's sucking at the soft skin of your chest, his fingers squeezing your breast tight enough to ache. He tips his head, moving to suck at one of your nipples, and you let out a short quiet whine.

"Shouldnae be wearin' 'em," He murmurs, laving his tongue over your nipple, pinching the other between calloused fingers, "shouldnae be wearin' anythin' when ya greet your husband."

You open your mouth to respond and he bites you, your back arches to force your chest further against his mouth, your lips closing tight to stem off the noise you make. Heat pools between your legs and Johnny hums, letting go with a chuckle. You don't have a moment to collect yourself, he pulls away only enough to squat down and grab you around your middle, lifting you quick to toss you on the bed. You scramble not to roll off, scramble to get your bearings as he grabs your ankle and drags you back where he wants you. You push yourself up onto your elbows as he parts your legs, forcing your chemise to pool around your hips.

"Johnny, wait, my parents," You push at him with your foot, your voice dropped to a whisper. Johnny pushes your legs apart again, and clicks his tongue admonishingly.

"Now, now, wife. I have to check, make sure you've been taking care of my pussy properly." He grips your hips tight and pulls them to the end of the bed, "if you're worried about your da hearin', ya might want to be quiet."

You smack your hand over your lips, just in time for Johnny to lick a hot, wet, stripe over your cunt.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #f!reader #oc: moon #regency au #call of duty fanfic #john mactavish #johnny mactavish

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starpunkssgalaxy · 15 days

Text

another sbg headcanons post 🤝

- ash will randomly get the shakes after everything that happened in the phantom dimension, if you look through her phone camera roll a lot of the pictures are blurry because she cant stop her hands from shaking

- ^ aiden lends her his rubix cube (other fidget toys) to try and help her calm down and give her something else to focus on

- taylor lovesss rollercoasters and will always drag tyler along, tyler isn’t terrified but they’re definitely not his favorite

- logan has a pair of converse that he needs to retire so bad, these shoes are hanging on by a thread its so bad 😭

- aiden can fall asleep anywhere, like tf are you doing in the sink??? (if he didnt have insomnia. we all seen those eyebags he dont sleep lol)

- ben is really quiet when he walks so sometimes he’ll just appear behind you and scare the shit out of you

- when the group needs bait/a distraction everyone always turns to tyler and taylor. they use the “get help” strategy, its usually tyler leaning on taylor like hes hurt and taylor screaming for help (guys say yk what im talking about 😔, thor and loki?)

- aiden trying to lighten the mood after being in the phantom dimension: so.. smash or pass?

everyone else: 😐

- aiden the type to tell the exact same story 15 times to the group forgetting hes already told them the story but they listen every single time too

- logan knows how to breakdance??? he just busted it out randomly one day and everyone was floored 😭💀

- when ben is mad/annoyed he does that thing cats do where he’ll just slowly slide something off a shelf or table onto the floor

- group went roller skating once and obviously ash was amazing at it, and ben, taylor, and logan were pretty good as well but meanwhile aiden and tyler were just either tripping eachother, holding on to eachother for support or dying laughing when one of them fell and ate shit

- in class they were assigned those fake babies you have to take care of, logan? amazing at it but was so tired afterwards. ben? pretty good but is a heavy sleeper so slept through the baby crying. taylor and tyler made a good team but tyler almost lost his mind when the baby would just non stop cry. ash evil eyed this thing the whole time, would carry it around by the head 😭 also had her headphones on 24/7 because she couldn’t stand the noise. aiden left his in the freezer, and then couldnt find it for days.

- ben is INCREDIBLE at carnival games, even the rigged ones. the people that own the game booths have genuine beef with ben lmaoo

#sbg headcanons #aiden sbg #ashlyn sbg #logan sbg #sbg (webtoon)#sbg ben #sbg tyler #sbg taylor #school bus graveyard

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stickyspeckledlight · 3 days

Text

Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun. A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.

Ao3

Word count: 15.4k

TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved

Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower.

It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.

You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog.

It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed.

You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much.

You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on.

The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought.

You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.

The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—

“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.

Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—

You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation.

Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack.

“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.

Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away.

You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip.

“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.

“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.

“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much.

The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die.

“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it.

You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this.

The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower.

“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”

The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible.

“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!”

Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you.

“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.

Everything stands in place. “What?”

“I’m not gonna arrest you!”

“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!”

You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”

Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”

“Who said the law needs to be followed?”

“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?”

You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?”

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”

“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.”

“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment.

That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard.

“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”

You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”

That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”

“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”

“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”

You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.”

“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.”

“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness.

It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…”

“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?”

“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”

You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there.

Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen.

You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”

You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”

He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”

“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…”

“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.

You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)

“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.”

You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)

And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces.

“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.”

“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.

You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet.

But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing.

“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection.

If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak.

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)

He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life.

The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back.

(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)

He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck.

“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic.

And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him.

Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece.

You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?

(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)

“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.”

“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway.

(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)

He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”

Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.”

“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”

You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”

“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”

You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”

“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

(He’s a bit jealous)

“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”

“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either.

“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter.

“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.”

“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”

You frown. “Well…I…”

“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”

You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”

He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)

—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard.

[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?]

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him.

“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.

“Hmmm…how about no?”

“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.”

(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)

His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—

“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—

“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”

Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine.

(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)

He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.

You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”

“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it.

(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze)

“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank.

“Yep.”

You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.”

He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains.

His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.

He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it.

[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]

Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.

“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims.

(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)

He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat?

[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]

The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.

You’re beautiful.

It’s an honor, he thinks.

(And stand so highly elevated)

Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.”

He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea.

(It reassures him, in some strange way)

You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn.

Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now.

You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.

“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground.

His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease.

(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind)

“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.”

(He hides his arm behind his back)

Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two.

—

You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh.

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these.

You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?”

Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer.

“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you.

Your mind, badly addled, nods.

He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.”

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—

He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight.

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.

It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—

You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you.

Your body becomes lead.

Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done.

Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.

And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.

When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up.

His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade.

“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it��ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”

Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.

Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you.

—

When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.

[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]

—

His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop.

But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears.

Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.

And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—

A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried.

“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”

He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now.

Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?”

Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either.

It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike.

Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him.

“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes.

His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert.

He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then.

—

When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out?

You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note.

Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)

A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)

Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart.

Love, Aventurine.

You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.

Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway.

It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.

That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—

You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.

You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.

You never attempt it again.

—

He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours.

(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)

He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time.

The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving.

You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.

(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.

As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life.

He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”

You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger.

You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know.

“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains.

“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—

No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago.

“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it.

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.

He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle.

You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp.

His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization.

“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated.

But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.

“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him.

[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.]

And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.

And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.

His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”

[Took you long enough.]

“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).

The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.

It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:

You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.

If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.

It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.

(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)

[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]

But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it.

[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]

But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:

Happiness.

[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]

And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.

He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union.

You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from.

—

You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.

It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love.

He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to.

The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty.

Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that).

He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.

(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)

However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge.

When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.

Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.

(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)

But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.

You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno.

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.

But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so.

(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.

(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)

His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.

(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you.

He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make.

“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…

I love you.”

He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there.

Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.

(What does his face look like?)

You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.

Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too.

[And it’s lovely.]

And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart),

To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.

#yandere #yandere hsr #yandere aventurine #destroyed onset #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere x you #yandere hsr x reader #tw noncon #tw suicide #next fic is gonna be sitcom esque #the calm before the storm 😉#and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a #not fucked up way LMFAO

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overtail · 19 days

Note

Hey!! Loved your last Zuko smut it was so great! Could you please make another smut where zuko joins gaang but he isn’t fully trusted yet by everyone (except from reader who saw good in him from the beginning) so every night one person keeps an eye on him and when it was reader’s turn thing turned out spicy

I would like female reader who is flirty and teasing because she alert always found him attractive

It’s okay if you don’t want to write this I just saw you asked for requests

Thank you in advance<3

THANK U FOR REQUESTING MUAH MUAH

anyways id love to do that for you hehe :3

sorry if it took a while i was sick when i got the request 😔

got silly while writing this

...

I know you - Zuko x Reader🔞

Summary: She was from the fire nation, he was the heir of it. She grew up thrown to the side, not ever accepting her true powers. When her and the Gaang take in Zuko so he can teach Aang firebending, she trusts him more than the others.

Trigger Warning: NSFW, flirting, arguing, slight bottom Zuko, Semi-public sex, both reader and zuko are awkward turtle ducks

Reader Info: Firebender who can't bend, Female intended, headstrong, flirty

...

"I really don't want to supervise Zuko tonight." Sokka grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ever since Zuko saved Aang and his friends from 'Combustion Man' or better known as 'Sparky Sparky Boom Man', nobody trusted him to sleep around them without supervision. Well, except (Y/N), but they thought she had some bias since he was fire nation.

Nobody had a single drop of respect for him. Even though he insisted that he, 'was good now', everyone believed he was a spy.

But nobody could blame them.

"I need my beauty sleep." Sokka mimicked a beauty guru as his hands framed his face. "The ladies appreciate a pretty boy."

Katara groaned, rolling her eyes. "It's your turn, Sokka." She crossed her arms, pursing her lips at him. "No one else is gonna-"

"I'll do it!" A voice quickly interrupted. Everyone turned to look at (Y/N), who was standing stiffly. She smiled awkwardly. She pinched at the hem of her pants, stepping forward. "I don't mind doing it.."

Sokka crossed his arms, raising a brow at (Y/N). Everyone was aware of the little 'crush' she had on Zuko. I mean, he was cute, he was angsty, and he was strong. Extremely short, but strong. She always took the chance to tease him.

"I mean, if you insist." Sokka walked away towards his tent, sighing softly in happiness. Rest was one of his most appreciated things in life - behind stuffing his face in food. Maybe it was because he liked the feeling of waking up in the morning, or the interesting dreams he had at night.

No one knew.

"Thanks, Sokka!" She said with a smile waving goodbye to him. "I-I mean, I'll do the job.."

As everyone headed off to their respective sleeping spots, (Y/N) listened to the quiet chirping of the crickets, looking up at the night sky as the stars glimmered. She considered whether or not she should g into Zuko's tent to check up on him (more like poke fun at him.)

While she ended an ear to the sound of the crackling flames coming from. the vampire, she heard the sound of shuffling coming from her left. (Y/N) glanced to the side, seeing Zuko climbing out from the flaps of his tent.

"Oh. Hi." He said awkwardly, holding his hand up in place of a wave. "What are you doing out here?" He questioned, wondering where Sokka was. Zuko was aware of the rotation for their watch party; Aang, Katara, Sokka, and then (Y/N). Toph didn't have the responsibility of watching Zuko since her feet were still injured from when he jumpscared him that night.

"Watching you." (Y/N) tried to play it cool, but a pool of desire filled her heart as she watched Zuko's dark hair fall in front of his amber eyes. He looked so pretty as the firelight shone on his pale skin. She started to grow pink under his gaze.

"Isn't it Sokka's turn?" Zuko stretched, his shirt lifting up to expose his stomach. (Y/N)'s eyes widened at the sight.

"Yeah, but he begged me to take his turn," She lied, rubbing the back of her neck. "he's awfully tired."

Zuko nodded. He began to walk over to the log (Y/N) was sat on. (Y/N) watched as he sat next to her, his pale fingers grazing the hard bark of the seat. It was extremely cold in the area, especially since they were in a semi-cave. After the failed invasion at the palace, they had begun to stay at the western air temple. The infrastructure was odd - upside building lining the roofs of the cave.

"I'm sure you won't mind hangin' out with me." She elbowed him, smirking. "Us being fire nation and all."

Zuko turned to look at her, a brown raised in confusion. "You're from the fire nation?" He asked, tilting his head. It was as if he was inspecting her. "You don't seem like it."

(Y/N) shrugged, glancing up at him. "Yeah. I mean, my family was banished when I was pretty young. But I'm still fire nation." She sighed, resting her chin on her hand, Her elbow dug into the skin of her knee, but she didn't mind. "Do you know Gender Jin?" She asked.

With a nod, Zuko said, "Yeah, why?"

Genera. Jin had been banished from the fire nation twelve years ago, whe Zuko was four. He had committed treason against Azulon, Zuko's grandfather, for having a child with a waterbender. Apparently, he was also accused of planning attacks on the fire nation with the northern water tribe during this time. It was never confirmed, but the speculation was brought up a whole lot.

"That's my Dad." (Y/N) said, sighing softly, Zuko let out a small 'oh', surprised at this.

"Are you-"

"The infamous forbidden child? Yep. Yes-sir-ee." (Y/N) interjected. She already knew what he was going to say. The word was passed around almost the whole world when it happened, since the fire nations grasp infiltrated every nation in some manner. She knew what her name was. She knew what people thought of her.

"The rumors of me being a firebender and a water bender aren't true." Zuko looked at her, surprised that she knew this. "I'm just a plain ole' firebender."

There was an awkward silence between the two. There was not much to say, at least off the top of their heads.

(Y/N) perked up, looking over at Zuko. "Do you think you could teach me some tricks?" She said excitedly. Zuko was caught of guard by this.

"Tricks? What do you mean?" He asked, wanting her to elaborate. He was looking for practice with a firebender lately, so this might be fun.

"Like, could you teach me?" (Y/N) looked away with an embarrassed face. Her father never told her firebending; he wanted her to live a normal life as a kid.

"You mean you don't know anything?" Zuko laughed in disbelief. "Anything at all?"

"Yeah.." (Y/N) grumbled, pursing her lips slightly. "I'm ashamed of it - I can admit it. But I wouldn't mind if you taught me some things." She wiggled her brows, smirking slightly as she glanced at him. Zuko flattened his lips.

"I mean, I don't have much to do." Zuko pushed off of the seat, leaning forward and standing up fully. He glanced down at (Y/N). He reached his hand out, offering it to her. "Come on."

...

They walked into a small clearing, the cold night wind blowing their hair back and forth. They had climbed above the cliff the western air temple hung from, where a large valley rested.

Zuko had removed the robe that hung over his clothes. His arms were exposed, small goosebumps lining his arms.

(Y/N)'s eyes graced his body, her face growing red from both the cold air and his body.

"Already undressing?" She teased, crossing her arms and grinning. "Take me out to dinner first."

Zuko glanced over to her, a frown appearing on his face. "W-what?" He said, shifting uncomfortably.

"I mean, I get that I'm the prettiest girl here - no offense to Katara." (Y/N) walked over, smirking. "but you barely know me Prince Zuko." She poked him on the chest jokingly. (Y/N) leaned on her legs her hip popping out.

Zuko huffed out a fiery breath (no pun intended), looking to the side. "Do you want to learn or not?"

(Y/N)'s eyes widened. She stepped back, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, yeah." She shook her arms nervously, stepping back and getting into a fighting stance.

"Fire bending is all about- what are you doing?" Zuko stopped mid sentence, looking at (Y/N).

"Uhm, getting into a stance?" She said awkwardly, looking to the ground.

"No, no. You're to open." Zuko stepped forward. He grabbed her wrists, pulling them down in front of her chest. "You're leaving your body open to hits." He walked behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

She shivered, the feeling of his fingers gracing her skin. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, his palms touching the lower part of her shoulders. "You opponents have the opportunity to knock you to the ground." Zuko placed his right foot on the inside of her legs. The toe of his shoe pressed against the heel of her foot, pushing it slightly.

"You want to be low.." He whispered into her neck, pushing her shoulders down so she was more level to the ground.

Was he doing this on purpose? (Y/N)'s heartbeat was audible in her ears, but she wasn't the only one who's blood was pumping from this interaction.

As she moved down her backside rubbed against Zuko's crotch lightly. He let out a small gasp, his eye twitching at the feeling.

(Y/N) smirked at the sound, realizing the affect she had on Zuko. What could she do with this? A lonely teenage boy? She was sure he wouldn't mind.

"Ope, sorry Zuko." She said slyly. She bent her knees even more, her ass pushing onto Zuko's growing erection.

Zuko shifted back uncomfortably, their contact breaking.

(Y/N) turned around, standing up fully. "Oh c'mon Zuko, i need you to show me how to do this." She smirked, her foot digging into the grass.

"I know what you're doing." Zuko said, his face growing red under the pale moonlight. His eyes scanned her, and unimpressed looked overcoming him.

"What am I doing?" She teased, a finger pressing onto Zuko's chest. "Tell me."

Zuko's face held a look of frustration. His eyes met hers, his eyebrows furrowing together. There was a hot tension between the two of them, healing the goosebumps on their skin from the cold night air.

The digit placed on his chest soon turned into (Y/N)'s entire hand. She took a step closer to him, causing Zuko to let out a shaky breath.

Even with her confidant pseudo, (Y/N)'s stomach was filled with a nervous sickness. She had no idea what she was doing - letting her desire lead her.

"You're trying to turn me on." Zuko muttered, keeping his voice low.

"It's working though, isn't it?" (Y/N) barked back.

Zuko's face flushed slightly, clearly caught off guard by your boldness. "I assure you, that wasn't my intention. Now if you'll excuse me..."

"No. Zuko, come on.." She said, a shaky breath huffing from my red nose. "Were so alike."

Zuko hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the ground. "How so?"

"Were both refugees from a country that thrived on evil." Her arm traveled from his chest to his arm. (Y/N) watched as he flinched slightly. Her eyes made contact with his. "And you know what Sokka says about us behind our backs."

Zuko swallowed hard, his heart racing as he felt your touch. He knew what Sokka thought of them - that they were both damaged goods from a twisted world. Despite the danger and uncertainty, there was something undeniably compelling about this connection.

"I like you Zuko." She said, smiling softly. Her seductive shell cracked, shower her sweetness hidden inside.

Zuko looked into her eyes, feeling a familiar pain in his heart. Here was someone else who knew what it was like to be an outcast, to carry the burden of a nation's sins. "I like you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I trust you, too." She sighed, squeezing his arm gently. "They didn't trust me either at first."

Zuko's heart skipped a beat at her words. Trust was a rare and precious thing in their world, where betrayal lurked around every corner. But she was offering it to him freely, without judgment or fear. "Thank you," he breathed out softly.

She leaned forward, placing a soft peck on Zuko's lips. A warm feeling flooded through their bodies, the world around them feeling almost unrecognizable as they sat in the moment.

Zuko froze for a moment, shocked by the unexpected kiss. But as he felt her lips on his, he found himself responding, leaning in to deepen the kiss. The warmth spread through him, filling the cold void that had been there for so long.

She grabbed his face, bringing him down to kiss Zuko deeply. (Y/N) let out a huff from her nose, letting her fingers comb through Zuko's dark hair.

Zuko's hands found their way to her waist, pulling (Y/N) closer as he kissed her back with all the pent-up longing and desire that had been building inside him for so long.

As the kiss deepened, Zuko felt a fire ignite within him, burning away the coldness and isolation that had defined his life for so long. He wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling her closer still as he explored her mouth with his tongue, tasting her sweetness.

As she broke away from the kiss, their breaths mingled in the air between them. Zuko felt his heart racing, a wild and unfamiliar sensation.

Zuko looked into her eyes, seeing a reflection of his own turmoil and desire. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he didn't want it to stop. His hands roamed down her back, pulling her even closer as he whispered, "I need you."

"Show me." She whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.

Zuko dragged her onto the grass with him, never breaking the kiss.

Zuko pulled her onto his lap, cradling her body against his as he deepened the kiss once more. His hands trailed down (Y/N)'s sides, pushing up her shirt to reveal her soft skin beneath.

Feeling emboldened by her invitation and his own burning need, Zuko slid his hands underneath her shirt, tracing circles on her bare back. His lips moved hungrily against hers as he lost himself in the sensation of her skin against his fingertips.

Zuko's hands continued their exploration, moving lower to grasp her hips as he pulled her even closer. He could feel the heat between her legs, and it fueled his desire even more.

With a groan, Zuko slipped his hand beneath her shorts, feeling the softness of her thighs and the wetness between them. He couldn't believe how much he wanted her, how badly he needed to be inside (Y/N).

"Shit, Zuko.." She said between heated kisses, fingers pulling at his soft hair.

Zuko growled against her lips as he continued to touch her, his other hand sliding up (Y/N)'s leg to knead at her ass cheek. He could feel himself growing hard against her leg and he knew he had to have her soon.

"This isn't how I expected this night to go." She played with Zuko, his lips connecting with the soft skin of her neck.

Zuko chuckled breathlessly, his lips trailing down her neck to nibble at her collarbone. "Neither did I," he admitted, his voice husky with desire.

"Is this how you practice back home?" (Y/N) said, her feet digging in the dirt behind Zuko.

Zuko laughed softly against her skin. "No," he replied, his voice still rough with lust. "But I think I'd like to make it a regular practice here."

(Y/N) moaned slightly when Zuko's hips bucked into hers. "Ill watch over you more often then."

Zuko's eyes darkened with desire as he heard her words, and he couldn't resist bucking his hips against hers a little harder. "I'd like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

As she pulled back a little, Zuko took the opportunity to stand up, his hands sliding up her back to grip your shoulders. He looked down at her with an intense gaze, his eyes full of the burning passion that had overtaken him. "Take me to your bed,"

"We can't. We'll wake the others." She smirked, grabbing onto Zuko's wrist.

A growl rumbled in Zuko's chest at the reminder of their surroundings. But he knew she was right. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Then we'll make do with this," he said, reaching down to scoop (Y/N) up in his arms.

Zuko's heart was racing as he carried you deep into the nearby forest, away from the edge of the cliff. "To a quiet spot," he replied, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "A place where we can be even more alone."

He came to a small clearing where the trees thinned out, revealing a bed of soft moss and leaves. Gently, he lowered (Y/N) down onto it, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he joined her, pressing his body against hers.

(Y/N) pulled down her shorts and underwear, the cold hair hitting her exposed sex.

"Just get on with it, Zuko." She groaned, rolling her eyes.

Zuko chuckled softly against your lips before pulling back slightly to give you a teasing grin. "Always so impatient," he teased as he slowly unbuttoned his pants, sliding down his pants along with his boxers. He sprang free, a bead of pre-cum on his tip.

"Spirits.." She whispered at the sight of him, how he was throbbing at the sight of her.

Zuko's gaze locked onto yours as he positioned himself between her legs, his hard length rubbing against her slick entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You tell me."

With a groan, Zuko pushed forward, slowly entering (Y/N). Her tight heat enveloped him, and he fought the urge to slam all the way inside. Instead, he began to move in and out of her slowly, enjoying the sensation of being joined with her.

(Y/N)'s hands found their way to his chest, and she leaned into him, moaning softly. The feeling of being filled by him was indescribable, and as he picked up speed, driving deeper inside her with each thrust, she felt herself getting closer to the edge.

She could feel Zuko's muscles tensing as he neared his climax, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. His other hand found its way to her clit, massaging it gently as he continued to pound into her. "I'm close."

"Already?" She teased, trying to maintain a sarcastic demeaner as she let out erratic moans.

With a chuckle, Zuko leaned down to kiss her again as he pulled almost all the way out of her before slamming back in. "You like that?" he asked breathlessly.

She screamed, her nails scratching at Zuko's back until white marks appeared - lighter than his skin.

Feeling her nails dig into his skin, Zuko lost control completely. With a primal growl, he pushed her down onto the ground and continued to pound into her, taking what he wanted with no regard for her comfort or pleasure.

He was like a rabid animal, like this was the thing he needed to live.

Her screams of pleasure and pain echoed through the forest as Zuko continued to take her roughly, losing himself in the sensation of being inside her. He could feel his release building, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"Zuko!" She clenched around him, being pulled over the edge as she shook. Her orgasm washed over her, (Y/N)'s eyes clenching tightly.

Feeling her walls clenching around him, Zuko let out a guttural moan as he emptied himself inside her. His thrusts became erratic and forceful, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm.

Finally, Zuko's movements slowed down, and he collapsed beside her, panting heavily. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal as he nuzzled into her neck, still inside her. "That was... intense," he whispered against her skin.

"Ya think?" Her chest rose up and down as she still huffed. (Y/N) tried to catch her breath, but she was sweating from the intensity.

Zuko chuckled softly, feeling his cock twitch inside her. "I think," he said with a smirk. After a few moments, he pulled out of her and rolled onto his side, still panting heavily. "So... how do you feel?"

(Y/N) faked a deep thought for a moment, looking away from him. "Eh. It was fine." She smirked at him, causing Zuko to roll his eyes.

"So.. you were scratching at my back because you hated it so much?" He played, kissing her neck softly.

"For sure." She sighed, playing with his hair.

The two teens lay there, panting heavily as the moonlight illuminated their skin. Their bodies were tangled but not in a hurry to separate. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, their need for each other overruled everything. They could return in the morning, nobody would notice - right?

...

#avatar the last airbender #fandom #fanfic #smut #zuko x reader #atla zuko #prince zuko #zuko #training

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 months

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IM BACK FOR ANOTHER ASK!!

Okay so Hero who got hurt in a fight with Villain and Villain who is deeply in love with the hero. Villain helps patching up the hero, but hero absolutely hates depending on anyone and doesn’t quite trust the villain at first 😔

“I…” The villain stared at the worryingly red skin on the hero’s arm. They knew a hematoma would stay, a nasty bruise that would make the hero wince every time they moved their arm in the next week. “I didn’t mean to…”

They didn’t dare to touch the spot, didn’t even want to look at it. The villain swallowed.

Controlling themselves on the battlefield was difficult enough and when the hero kept jumping up and down in front of them, injuries were unavoidable. They loathed that part of themselves, that part that couldn’t be denied anything, that part that took without thinking.

On some days, they blamed their past, on others they blamed their present. Either way, the villain wished to leave all of this behind.

“Oh, spare me.” The hero pulled their arm away, squeezing their eyes shut in pain.

“…it was an accident—”

“Accident?!” The hero wiggled out of the many blankets the villain had thrown onto them in a panic. It had rained the entire day and the hero was as cold as ice by the time the villain had brought them to the car. “You looked quite determined to eliminate me.”

Their eyes drifted to the car’s door but the villain had already locked everything. Their gaze wandered back to the villain, as if they were going to open the gates of hell in order to get out of here. However, in the end, it was just the two of them. In the backseat. In an alley.

“I’m sorry.” The villain wasn’t really keen on talking. “It’s hard to control sometimes.”

“Hard to control, huh?”

The villain didn’t answer. They looked at their own hands, rough and scarred. Quickly, the hero stared at the door behind the villain.

“So, this is a kidnapping?” the hero asked.

“No…” The villain tried to look at anything but the hero. However, it was a little difficult, considering that the car wasn’t that big and that the villain was basically in the hero’s personal space.

The hero studied them.

“What is it then?”

The villain didn’t answer. Instead, they opened the first aid kit that had become their best friend throughout the last weeks. Most of the bandages were used already but that didn’t hinder the villain from refilling it. Carefully, they took the hero’s hand and bandaged it, making sure that their red knuckles had some stability.

“What are you doing?” The hero didn’t pull their hand away but they seemed to accept the villain’s help rather reluctantly.

“You need to stabilise your knuckles. Better for healing,” the villain said. The hero’s hand was still cold. Yet, it was softer than the villain had expected. Their memories haunted them. The hero on the floor, breathing heavily.

The villain had to stop this. Somehow.

“If you’re trying to kidnap me, then just tell me. I’ll escape either way.” The villain cocked their head, as if it was a challenge.

“Don’t worry, sunshine. I’m almost done.”

Apparently, the hero couldn’t say anything to that. Whether they liked it or not was a mystery to the villain. They were quiet and watched them, almost as if to figure out where to put their next chess piece.

After carefully wrapping the bandage around the hero’s hand, the villain unlocked the car’s doors but the hero didn’t leave. Surprisingly enough, they didn’t even move when the villain opened the door for them, revealing the pouring rain outside.

“That means you can go,” the villain said.

“You’re the one they experimented on,” the hero said quietly, as if that changed anything. Again, the villain didn’t answer. This time, it was out of embarrassment. “They told me you’re a monster. I didn’t even realise they talked about you…”

“You can go,” the villain said softly. “I’m not kidnapping you.”

The hero’s eyes were fixed on them.

“Hey, look-”

“Please just go.”

#if you want it you already got it if you got it it better be what you want #dunno what this is it’s 2AM don’t expect anything from me #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 3 months

Text

ToA Fic Recs!!!

Tag List: @itscharliebabey

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!

I probably forgot a LOT but these are the ones I tracked down via bookmarks and frantic searches upon realizing they Were Not bookmarked rip 😔

AND ALL ORGANIZED!!!! :DDD

OneShots

Apollo & His Kids

A Heart Heavy With Memories by @summerbummin

After reclaiming his godhood, Apollo visits his children often, and on one of those visits he tells them about their mortal parents. He shows them memories of their time together. And ends up reminiscing a little more than he bargained for.

How I Met Your Mother(s and Fathers) by NebuchadnezzarII

Around the Cabin Seven table, Apollo tells each of his six children how he met their parents.

Through The Son's Eyes by @literallyjusttoa

A journey through Asclepius' relationship with his dad, from Ancient Greece to modern day.

demand nothing less (than transformation) by tissuebocks

Dad is quiet for a moment, stroking her hair. Then, with a surge of his usual flamboyant excitement: “At what time is your date?” Kayla blinks. She pulls back a little to look at Dad. He’s still a little blurry from the tears, but she feels much calmer now. “He’s picking me up at six. …Why?” Dad’s eyes—cobalt blue—sparkle. Literally. “We’re going to dress you to the nines.” (or: apollo loves his daughter. he also loves fashion. even better is when the two intersect.)

@tsarinatorment

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

Naomi Solace is performing at a black tie event, and neither her son nor his boyfriend know much about formalwear. Day 2: Black Tie Event

Fatal Flaw

Every demigod had one, and every demigod had their trial where they had to face it head on and hope they had the strength to defeat it before it defeated them. Day 24: Injuries Beyond Healing

A Right To Emotions

Apollo had abandoned his son when he needed him, and the worst thing was that he’d never realised until Nico told him. Day 30: Forgiveness In A New Day

Childhood, Or A Lack Thereof

Demigods grow up too fast. Day 23: How long does youth last for?

Memories of Sunflowers

He first met his dad in a field of sunflowers. Day 2: Alone in a Sunflower Field

Shuttered Heart

Apollo loves fiercely and his losses hit all the harder for it. It's a trait his children inherit.

Daughter of Archery

If there’s one thing Kayla knows, it’s archery. Day 17: Perfection Is A Must

Apollo & Meg

Movie Night by @falconfrost

Meg and Apollo attend a midnight horror movie showing. Everyone likes clowns, right?

yesteryear by @m-arnie-xx

yesteryear (noun) — last year or the recent past, especially as nostalgically recalled; often a period in the past with a set of values or a way of life that no longer exists. Or, There is eighteen hours, thirty-five minutes, and nine seconds, between when Meg last sees Apollo, and when Artemis sends a sign to Camp Half-Blood to tell them that he has survived and defeated Python.

lesterlicious by apopcornkernel

yazz_ • 1 week ago This dude is straight up LARPing as the god Apollo or something 4.7K likes REPLY View 25 replies

Meg & Apollo's Highly Limited Roadtrip Playlist by Curioser

Fourteen hundred miles. Four radio stations. Two friends trying hard not to kill each other, or to acknowledge the fact that in less than a week, they may never see each other again. And Lizzo. So much Lizzo.

visions of beasts by UKULELEchildren

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the dark haze. A vague smudge of purple appeared. His cloak. “No.” I whispered. “You’re dead.” What would Meg have visions about?

Apollo & Olympus

Beneath the Rhododendrons by Lepidopterrain

Carefully, she slipped past the hyacinths that had popped up around the bush like a small protective wall. They'd been the only reason she'd looked down at that spot really, and noticed the flash of gold curls amongst the pinks, reds, and purples of the rhododendrons. Artemis let her fingers linger on the petals of one of the small little guardian flowers, just for a moment. She'd never been sure if her brother had noticed just how little control he actually had over hyacinths, for a flower that was supposedly 'his.' She suspected Demeter and Persephone knew, if anyone. But neither goddess had deigned to talk of such matters with Artemis. Perhaps for the best, Artemis wasn't really sure what she would've said if they had tried to bring the subject up. There's a very good chance she wouldn't tried to shoot one of them and then escape while they were distracted. Emotions weren't her forte. She was grown enough to admit it.

@tsarinatorment

The Older Twin

Apollo could lie all he wanted, Artemis was the older one. She’d never felt that as keenly as she did now. Day 26: Missing You

Third Strike

Zeus loved Apollo, once. His favourite son, his golden child. His greatest threat. Day 19: And So The Sun Sets

Ancient Greece

A Sun's Forgiveness by @hazardous-lightdas12

“Mortals die Artemis,” Apollo whispers. “Their lives will forever wax and wane. Like the moon. The ebb and flow of Uncle Poseidon’s waves. But us. We are eternal. You must remember that.” Her brother sounds like he has said the words to himself too many times. – Apollo does not scream when the lightning bolt strikes him. -- Alt Summary: Fathers make mistakes sometimes. Hippolytus’ father has made the teensy, easily understandable and forgivable mistake of beheading his son due to unproven and untrue allegations. Artemis grieves. Apollo tries to make everything all better, and somehow ends up making everything worse. . Zeus is so good at daddying! Admetus worries about the logistics of cow-herding

Of ravens and songbirds by Cassiethewriter

The godling whimpered and fought, and Python refused to let the hiss of frustration fall out. “Quite understandable, too.” He said, coils growing tighter and making the godling cough again. “Poor fair Leto being hunted by the issued Hera, the Queen of Olympus and the only child raised by Rhea. You heard of Leto’s suffering from day one, and sought to bring justice to it. Very brave and god-like.” Python snorted again. “But I’m afraid this is where you myths start— and end. Right here, right now. Like a moth to the sun.” Or, The battle with Python.

Phoenixrising007

Party On Olympus (gone wrong)

Mother’s hand was holding onto him firmly. Probably to stop Hermes from running down the hall and around the finely carved pillars decorating the sides of the palace. Despite the fact that if he were a mortal he would not even be walking yet, he already got himself into trouble recently.

Puppies (and why they can fix anything)

"Aww look at the puppy!” He raced forward, voice an octave higher than usual. As is normal when speaking to such an adorable creature.

Apollo & His Lovers

Naomi Solace

thinking about it, had a breakthrough by @thesungod

“I’m Naomi Solace!” “Okay?” “The singer?” Fred shakes his head, a smug smile on his lips. “Never heard of you.” “As Long As The Sun Shines? It was number 1 on the billboard for like, a month!” Hating herself, she starts mouthing the melody. There’s no way this asshole doesn’t know her stupid song. Naomi Solace meets an arrogant, young producer that she really wants to kick in the balls. Unfortunately, he seems to know what he’s doing.

Solar Powered by @curseofdelos (:D Glad to see you reblogged this hehe here's a tag :3)

Apollo, god of music, was how he had introduced himself. Naomi had assumed he was joking, and he didn't correct her. She had dated musicians and poets before. They all had an ego, and those same words would not have felt out of place from either of her exes. She merely downgraded Apollo from potential boyfriend to potential fling, and didn't think twice about it. Now though…. Now her son could heal wounds with a single touch, and her world was tipping on its axis.

Daphne

Plaything of the Gods - Daphne's Story by @the-primordial-archivist

When Apollo finally decided to wear a crown, it was her leaves that topped his head. But it wasn’t just he who wore her branches. Winners had her leaves on them too. Laurels. The symbol of victory.

Hyacinthus

You make a fool of death with your beauty (and for a moment, I forgot to worry) by @ukelele-boy

Sometimes as a god you lose track of time. With all his prophetic powers, Apollo never saw it coming.

His Flowers byshotar1s

Meg notices her servant, Apollo, is quieter than usual. Oh, the flowers in his hands explain why.

Frey

I Woo The Asgardian Hipster God by ladanse

"Another time, in a Stockholm tavern, I met this god who was smoking hot, except his talking sword just would not shut up." -The Hidden Oracle, Rick Riordan

(sidenote: WE NEED MORE FREYPOLLO)

REVOLUTION

Conversations (regarding a certain half-brother) by Phoenixrising007

Walking out of the council meeting Ares did his best to make sense of what just happened. Apollo was there. Back just like Athena said he would be. She won the blasted bet. Again.

@tsarinatorment

The Sun

Apollo plays the role of an idiot well enough that often, it’s forgotten that he’s one of the most powerful gods - and one of the most wrathful. #140: Setting Heaven on Fire

Seven Days and Seven Nights

A warning, a storm, and Will’s world gets flipped upside-down. Day 11: Storming

MultiChaps

Secrets of the Sun by @sierice and beta'd by @ukelele-boy

“No, that kid is too similar to me… way too similar... Almost like he’s…” Apollo’s eyes widened. “Like he’s you from the future?” Persephone finished. Dionysus asked incredulously, “You don’t seriously think that right? There’s no way you would ever dare to look like that!” -------------------------- This is literally just a Trials of Apollo reading the books fic. Hope you enjoy!

time eats all his children by IzzyMRDB

There is something sickly in the passage of time. Time is a rot. A disease or a plague, a festering in your very being that blurs the past until it is tainted with the present. Until the present is tainted with the future. The Greeks were well aware of this sickness, for all their depictions of time, while divine, were also rotted. AKA Apollo is the god least touched by the passage of time, yet the one most affected by it. There's so much of the present that he could change. AKA Time Travel with Post-TOA Apollo

Flowers For Apollo by @soleil-in-retrograde

As far as Lester Papadopoulos was concerned, he was seventeen years old and lived at home with his elderly mother just outside of Tampa. He had a(n older? younger? twin?) sister who visited regularly and a baby sister(?) in California who called him her dummy and would help out with his mother's garden when she visited and he was teaching piano to. He also had a myriad of cousins who went to a camp up north he wrote constantly. He didn't know what he wanted to do with the life stretching in front of him. ----- The God Apollo has a bad habit of not telling people when something is wrong. It doesn't help he doesn't quite remember until it's too late. It's not his fault.

Over The Palisade by @aeithalian

This was an old dream. He’d had it many times before. Jerry, standing before the Roman Senate. Mars, waving his hand. A lyre, appearing on Jerry’s arm. Jerry’s prophecy: “Crowns will fall to ash.” Jupiter, standing between the new augur and a towering statue of himself. Apollo, standing between his father and his son. Olympus, Apollo on his knees, trembling, electricity jumping over his arms. A stranger’s face, dark and stony. He says something, but the words are quiet. The doors of the Palace of the Sun. Chained shut. Or: Apollo has been missing for two and a half years, and there may or may not be an impending apocalypse.

Sunrise by IcyDreams_and_FieryWishes

At 10,000 years of age, Apollo falls to Chaos. With the last of his strength, he sends his memories through the fabric of Space-Time. At 1 day of age, Apollo refuses to let the story be the same as last time. Vi Va La Revolution. SkyFall: Season 1, Arc 1- The Rising Sun. In which Apollo lives through his early life, forming alliances and rewriting mythological history while striving to keep his siblings and family safe from threats outside and within their home. Will he succeed? Or will Fate prevail once more? One thing is for sure, Apollo remembers. And he will take his vengeance.

@tsarinatorment

THE MUST-READ Eclipse!!!!!!

According to the prophecy, Will has to go to on a quest to Tartarus. According to Apollo, that isn’t going to happen, even if it means he has to break the Ancient Laws.

The Stolen God is a ToA/MCatGoA crossover!

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus?

@flightfoot

Memories of Godly Selfishness

Chapter 1: Apollo and Meg watch Apollo's interactions with the demigods (and Grover) in Blood of Olympus and the Singer of Apollo. They don't like what they see. Chapter 2: Apollo, Meg, and Percy watch the fight with Otis and Ephialtes in Mark of Athena. Apollo gains new perspective on gods’ relationships with demigods. Chapter 3: Apollo, Meg, and Annabeth watch the final battle against Kronos and the aftermath, with a surprise guest later on. Chapter 4: Apollo and Meg watch “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood”. Apollo gives a long over-due apology. Chapter 5: Side Story - Satyr School: Apollo teaches some young satyrs. Chapter 6: Apollo, Meg, Thalia, and Will watch Thalia's and Luke's encounter with a certain son of Apollo.

A Convergence of Apollos

Percy had been hoping for a quiet afternoon celebrating Grover's birthday with him. Then Apollo arrived, and their peaceful afternoon got a lot less peaceful. It got even weirder when two kids popped out of thin air who both seemed to know him.

@falconfrost

Apollo & The Aftermath

The Roman emperors and Python have been defeated, the oracles reclaimed, and Apollo restored to godhood. He's having somewhat of a hard time adjusting to being back among the gods, which is understandable after his six-month grow-a-conscience speedrun. But something else is rotten in the state of Olympus, and before it can really feel like home, it's going to require some serious renovation.

The Tail of A Pollo

The hunt for the Teumessian Fox hasn't been going great, but thanks to a new prophecy (of sorts), it looks like Apollo may be key to aiding the Hunters of Artemis in the beast's defeat. In like, a super badass, heroic way, of course. Actually, on second thought, maybe just imagine the monster's defeat in your head. You definitely don't have to read this. I'm certain you get the gist of it already. You can simply exit this tab real quick, no biggie. Have a lovely day!

Bad Sons by @thesungod

Hades turned to the demigods that were still kneeling. “I need to speak with Will Solace,” he said to the shocked room, in the tone he could have used to say “I came to ask if one of you could lend me a pen.” “Alone,” the god added after a moment, staring right at Nico. Or, Will and Nico go on the stupidest quest ever. And it’s all Apollo’s fault.

Curioser

Fall of The Sun

Five times Apollo fainted and one time he didn't.

The Trials of Apollo: The Forgotten Acres

When their truck breaks down on the way to New York, Apollo and Meg get a few days of downtime in a refuge called the Forgotten Acres. While there, Apollo confronts a decision he's been putting off for weeks, and finds that it's one of the hardest choices he's ever had to make.

RavenWingDark

Kill The Sun

Even restored to godhood, Apollo still wants to be around his friends and mortal family, even at the risk of Zeus'...dissatisfaction. This is the four times Apollo got away with helping his demigods and the one time he didn't.

Mourning Sun changed my brain chemicals

Percy has the Chalice and all he has left to do is hand it over to Ganymede. Then he notices Ganymede might not be the only one being mistreated by Zeus. Apollo's at brunch, too.

Series

the grace of gods is a grace that comes by violence by @californiannostalgia

Were I That Burning Star, the first fic in the series, is an absolute Must Read imo

An old panic gripped me—the breathless fear of being forgotten, being lost. Would anyone remember me when I was gone? Would someone think to lay a flower down on my grave and say some fond nothings like, “Was a pretty cool guy, that Lester,” while wiping off a single dramatic tear rolling down their cheek? Oh, who was I kidding. So what if no one remembered? There wasn’t much I was proud to be remembered by anyway. After defeating Python and bringing down Nero, Phoebus Apollo reclaims his godhood. He is glorious once more. But for some reason, he can't quite make himself go back to how things were before. (A Character Study of Various Gods, including but not limited to: Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares, Athena, Hephaestus, Dionysus, and maybe Zeus)

Gods' Eye View by @flightfoot

Carefully, I picked out Apollo’s string. It glowed vibrantly, as the strings of all divine beings do. Mine most brilliantly of all, of course, though Apollo’s always seemed to be trying to outshine it. I firmly grasped hold of it, matching its own glow with my own. Slowly, I exerted my will, my power, pressing my radiance against the manifestation of Apollo’s, slowly increasing my light until it overpowered his. Yet, it resisted me, its glow strengthening, refusing to surrender. I grit my teeth. “I am Zeus, King of the Gods, and your father. Submit to me.” ----- Zeus tries to turn Apollo into a mortal. It does not go as well as he expected. That only incenses him further.

The Hidden Oracle+1 spin-offs by @garecc

Artemis falls to earth with Apollo in the hidden Oracle. Flames streamed off her body as she fell. Features sibling banter, protective Artemis, and far too many headcanons. ON AN INDEFINITE HAITUS.

rip hiatus😔

Memories of Dust and Gold by @moodyseal holds lots a variety of fics!

Companion Fics

The Healing Sun by ReadTheBooks. Companion to Eclipse

You are Asclepius. You are 9 and just want to help people. Your father is kind, and warm, and you love him dearly. Or, a look at a relationship hindered by loss but persevering through love. Asclepius and Apollo throughout the ages.

Other, But During ToA

A Single Drachma by @tsarinatorment, podfic by @stereden

Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he’s running out of time, and he’s only got one shot at calling for help. He’s got to make it count.

In Dreams by @m-arnie-xx

Zoe did not like Lord Apollo. He was too arrogant, too vain, and flirted with her and her fellow hunters incessantly. He always appeared in their camp at the most inconvenient times, offering archery tips that no one wanted and being a persistent source of annoyance to Lady Artemis near constantly. Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but sometimes, when Zoe asked a Hunter how they knew something they couldn’t have possibly found out by themselves, and they told her about their dream, she would look up at the sun, and she would wonder… or Zoe did not get demigod dreams… until she did.

Hunger Games AUs

Bloody Eclipse by AmeliaAndreas3

The Sun Must Go On by @please-help-this-little-lesbian

The Golden Gates by SAM_42

Still The Mockingjay Won't Sing by SunnySky_11

The Copollo Masterlist - Collection of Ao3 & FF.net fics of Apollo & Commodus </3 Trainwreck beloved

And of you'd like, my fics:

The Works of Apollo - Canon Compliant Fics!

Alder's Mess of ToA AUs - AUs!

Adventures in (Grand)Parenting: Featuring Koios - My obsession with Koios spawned this!

The Crew of Dodona - Pirate AU! Random fic ideas written whenever the itch strikes!

#FEAST MY FRIENDS FEAST!#fic recs #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #toa apollo #pjo apollo

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