#thread; a certain step towards falling in love
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thefloatingstone · 1 day ago
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"And Then There was Silence" by Blind Guardian is a 14 minute song that documents the events of the Iliad poem by Homer.
Although the song shifts POVs multiple times throughout it, it's meant to represent the Prophet Cassandra's premonition of the fall of Troy.
Somebody actually combined the song with lyrics on screen with the movie "TROY" which is NOT a good movie (if only because it completely leaves out a lot of the gay relationships of the original) but it helps explains the lyrics within context of the Iliad itself.
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The OP says: "The lyrics also mention some scenes from the Trojan cycle which did not make it into the movie. Most notably, these are the sacrifice of Iphigenia (1:21) and the Judgment of Paris (5:16). I considered using classical paintings and mosaics to illustrate these scenes, but in the end I decided to keep a more consistent imagery by only using scenes from the movie."
Lyrics in text below the cut because it's FOURTEEN MINUTES LONG
Turn your head and see the fields of flame
He carries along From a distant place, he's on his way He'll bring decay (Don't move along cause things they will go wrong The end is getting closer day by day) In shades of grey We're doomed to face the night Light's out of sight
Since we've reached the point of no return We pray for starlight, we wait for the moon The sky is empty, alone in the unknown We're getting nowhere
We have been betrayed by the wind and the rain The sacred halls empty and cold The sacrifice made should not be done in vain Revenge will be taken by Rome
We live a lie Under the dying moon Pale faced laughs doom Indulges in delight It's getting out of hand The final curtain will fall Hear my voice There is no choice There's no way out You'll find out
We don't regret it So many men have failed, but now he's gone Go out and get it The madman's head, it shall be thine We don't regret it That someone else dies hidden in disguise Go out and get it Orion's hound shines bright
Don't you think it's time to stop the chase Around the ring Just stop running, running Round the ring Don't you know that fate has been decided By the gods Feel the distance, distance Out of reach
Welcome to the end Watch your step, Cassandra, you might fall As I've stumbled on the field Sister mine Find myself in darkest places Find myself drifting away (Death's a certain thing) And the otherworld, the otherworld appears
Find myself, she dies in vain Cannot be freed, I'm falling down As time runs faster, moves towards disaster The ferryman will wait for you, my dear
And then there was silence Just a voice from the otherworld Like a leaf in an icy world Memories will fade
Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)
Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright
The newborn child would carry ruin to the hall The newborn's death will be a blessing to us all
Good choice, bad choice? Out of three you've choosen misery Power and wisdom you deny Bad choice, bad choice War is the only answer When love will conquer fear
So the judgment's been made To the fairest, the graceful says Badly he fails
(Warning) Fear the heat of passion, father king Don't let him in, don't let her in Desire, lust, obssession, death they'll bring We can't get out once they are in
She's like the sunrise Outshines the moon at night Precious like starlight She'll bring in a murderous price
In darkness grows the seed of man's defeat Jealousy I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now
The thread of life is spun The coin's been placed below my tongue Never give up, never give in Be on our side so we can win Never give up, never give in Be on our side
Old moon's time is soon to come
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand We'll face the storm created by man
Roar, Roar, Roar, Roar
(Troy, Troy, Troy, Troy) And as the lion slaughters man I am the wolf and you're the lamb
Hallowed Troy shall fall Round the wall Faith is shattered, bodies fall
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand It's all for one and one for all All we live for will be wiped out
I feel that something's wrong Surprise, surprise they're gone Full moon, your time goes by A new moon's still kept out of sight
(We live) Misty tales and poems lost (We die) All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)
Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright
Roam in darkness Spread the vision We will be lost if you truly believe
Troy in darkness There's a cold emptiness in our hearts That they've gone away And won't come back
They'll tear down the wall to bring it in They'll truly believe in the lie Lie, lie With blossoms they'll welcome the old foe
The vision's so clear When day and dream unite The end is near You'd better be prepared
The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear Come join in our singing and dance with us now The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear The war, it is over, forevermore
No hope, the blind leads the blind Carry on, though future's denied Mare or stallion, there's far more inside We're in at the kill We'll cheerfully die
Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end (Iliad)
Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright
Holy light shines on
So the judgement's been made We're condemned though the trial's far ahead The crack of doom Father, your handsome son is heading home
Still the wind blows Calm and silent Carries news from a distant shore (Heading home) (repeat 2x)
Out of mind Can't get it Can't get it out of my head Sorrow and defeat Sorrow and defeat
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thehazbins · 1 year ago
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A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love || Thea & Phel ( @keeperofquestions ) Event; Pride Ball
Thea was dressed to the nines. A long gown with a black top that stopped at a V shape at her waist. The skirt was grey into white with a purple belt, each representing a color on the demisexual flag. She had bracelets on that were blue, pink and a different shade of purple, lighter shade. Though they didn't seem too off base in their layout. A necklace rested on her neck that was a simple, iridescent and thus, subtle rainbow pendant.
"I'm so excited!" She clapped as they stepped into the ball room. "Aren't you? Our first event together! Your first event!" She looked over at him, beaming. "
Her eyes lit up as she looked at him, filled with an old adoration but there was a tinge of a newer fondness that was growing by the day. She had never denied it, she just might not have told him yet. Though she doubted he was unaware that her feelings weren't lingering in the past. She just didn't want to push him too much should he not be ready to acknowledge them.
"You look really handsome, by the way, Phel."
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tellingtell5 · 25 days ago
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Prompt
Not even a title, just wondering—if the ones Remmick turns feel his pain… do they feel other things too?
No plot, just porn.
“So…”
You move toward him, slow—not with confidence, but with need. Drawn, not certain. Like something inside you is pulled by a thread only he holds. You ache already, and you haven’t even touched him.
He doesn’t look up. He keeps carving, the knife you gave him glinting softly in the low light. That blade—he never uses it for anything but this.
His hands are steady. Strong. The way he turns the figure, considers it, breathes lightly over it—it’s reverent. And you wonder, for just a second, what it would feel like to be touched like that. To be held in those hands, examined like something rare.
You feel him. The heat of his body. The way his shoulders tighten, the slow, deliberate way he doesn’t react. But you know. He feels you. He’s just pretending not to. That string between you isn’t subtle tonight. It’s thick with tension, thrumming like it might snap from how much it’s holding.
You want him to look at you.
"What were ye sayin’, love?"
His voice is sin in velvet. Slow, amused, full of heat.He didn’t stop whittlin’, but turned his head toward you, lettin’ you know you had his attention.
"Can you feel what I feel?"
Your voice is quieter than you meant it. Not seductive—yearning.
His carving slows. His brow draws, eyes flicking toward you without lifting fully.
You step closer. Close enough that your breath might touch his skin if you exhaled too hard.
“I mean…”
You touch your neck.
Slow.
Your fingers trace the hollow of your throat, then drift lower—softer than breath, more dangerous than promise. You feel your own skin tighten as you move. Down over the sharp bone of your clavicle, across the curve of your breast. Just enough pressure to make your nipples tighten. Just enough to make your breath catch.
" If I do this..."
You let your fingertips brush over the curve of your breast. Not to tease, but to ask. To test some invisible line. And then he looks up.
His eyes find you like gravity. And for a heartbeat, neither of you breathe. There’s something wild in him now. Raw. Like your touch called it up from somewhere deep. And yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
You stroke lower. Tease the edge of your bodice with your nail. You hold your own gaze. Let your lips part. Let your breath go ragged.
"Can you feel that?"
Your voice trembles. You hate how much you need his answer. He exhales—slow, like he’s trying to cage something.
"Aye, I feel it”
The sound he makes is not human. It’s a growl buried in laughter, a sound that tastes like need.
“Straight in me bollocks, darlin’."
The words are rough. Hot. But behind them, there’s something else. Something startled.
He grins, slow and sharp. But his eyes—they betray him. They’re dark. Hungry.
"But not quite the way you think."
You don’t answer right away.
Your breath stutters in your throat, soft and ragged. Your chest rises and falls in shallow waves, thighs pressing tight together like you could dam the flood building deep inside you. But the ache’s no longer shy. It throbs. It opens like a bruise. It begs.
You only meant to tease. Just play with the edge of the bond. The thing growing between you—raw and thrilling, strange and new. You only wanted to know: if I touch myself... will he feel it?
But that’s not what happened.
He moves with no rush. No shame. Just purpose. The carved wooden figure drops to the table, forgotten. He unfolds to his full height, that lazy, devastating grace. Storm in a man’s body. His eyes pin you, and you feel the room tilt—air thick and slow like honey over heat.
“Aching, are ye?”
His voice slips through you like smoke, warm and dirty, velvet soaked in whiskey. It lingers. Clings. Your skin prickles in its wake.
“You did that to yourself, love...” He took a single step forward, and it was like the air itself bent around him. “Thought you were being clever, hm? Testing the thread between us?”
Your mouth parts, but your voice is gone—lost to the hitch in your breath, the pulse in your throat. Your eyes are blown wide, your hands gripping the edge of the table like it might keep you grounded. Like you’re not already lost.
“But it’s not your touch I feel.”
He smiles then. Slow. Sinful. And it’s not just confidence—it’s intent.
Then, without looking away, he brings his hand to his own chest. Not careless. Not hurried. Every movement is measured—performed. For you.
You watch his fingers graze the hollow of his throat, glide over his collarbone. Down the center of his chest. Over the tight muscle hidden beneath soft cotton. He exhales, low and knowing.
You feel it.
Not just like a phantom echo. No. Like it’s yours.
Like your hand is sliding down your own body.
Like you are dragging fingers across your chest, teasing your own skin until your nipples stiffen and your stomach tightens and your legs try to close around nothing.
He keeps going. Lower. His palm glides down over the front of his trousers—slow—and presses.
And your world splits.
The pressure, the heat—it strikes through your core like lightning. Your gasp is helpless. Your hips twitch forward. Your spine bows. You nearly moan his name but it dies in your throat, torn apart by pleasure.
He rubs—not hard, not fast. Just enough. Enough to torment. Enough to unravel.
His breath hitches. Yours follows like a shadow. Because it’s you. It’s your palm feeling him.
He watches your every twitch, every broken breath. Watches the way your knees weaken. The way your lips part in disbelief at the depth of sensation. Then, still watching, he pushes his shirt up with his free hand—just enough to show skin. The faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband.
Then—he rolls his hips into his hand.
And your body detonates.
You cry out. Not polite. Not pretty. It tears from you, raw and ruined. Your thighs are soaked. Your vision blurs. The table behind you groans beneath your grip.
And he moans, soft but unfiltered. Not performative—offering. He strokes again. More pressure. More drag.
You feel every ridge of muscle flex under your ghosted palm. Feel your grip tighten. Your wrist flick. Your pace build.
Except it’s not your hand. It’s his.
And he’s doing it for you.
His head tilts back. His throat arches. His breath grows heavier—but never wild. Always in control. Always intentional.
“See, mo chroí…”
His voice is reverent now. Worshipful. Thick and low and meant to ruin you.
“When I touch me...”
Another stroke. Long. Deep.
“…you feel it.”
You can’t breathe. Can’t speak. You’re caught in him—through him. Everything he does coils inside you like heat and hunger made flesh.
“That’s the thread. That’s how deep it runs.”
He steps closer. You feel it in your bones.
“You don’t push it outward, love...”
Another grind into his palm. Another gasp from you.
“You receive it.”
He’s in front of you now. Heat radiating off him in waves. You can barely stand it.
“If I ache... you ache.”
He strokes harder. Rougher. And your legs shake.
“If I burn…”
He growls—deep, primal. You scream. Not loud. But wrecked.
“…you blaze.”
Then—closer still. His mouth at your cheek, his breath hot. His lips barely brushing.
“So be careful what you start, sweetheart.”
His voice is sharp silk.
“Because I’ve got centuries of hunger in me…”
He pauses. Waits for your breath to catch. Watches your body fall apart.
“…and now, so do you.”
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jenosonlywife23 · 5 months ago
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Paint me in your colors
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request;hiii can I request friends to lovers with jaemin idol au pls(^ω^) Hope you like this anon!!!
The world knew him as Na Jaemin, the idol. The sweet talker with the dazzling smile, the performer who made hearts race on stage. But to you, he was just Jaemin—your best friend, the boy who used to sneak into your apartment at midnight with takeout and stories from his never-ending schedule. The boy who, despite the flashing cameras and screaming fans, always came back to you.
Lately, though, things had shifted. The playful teasing, the lingering touches, the way his gaze felt heavier when he looked at you—it was different. And it scared you. Because Jaemin wasn’t just your best friend. He was the person you couldn’t lose.
“Are you even listening?” His voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring at him for too long.
You were in his studio—his creative hideaway, a place far removed from the chaos of the industry. His latest project, a massive canvas propped against the wall, was a riot of colors. Swirls of red, blue, and gold covered the surface, but somehow, the real masterpiece stood in front of it, dressed in a simple hoodie and sweats, his hair still damp from practice.
“I was just... admiring the art,” you said quickly.
Jaemin smirked, setting his paintbrush down. “The canvas or me?”
You rolled your eyes, masking the way your heart hammered against your ribs. “Your ego is unbearable.”
“And yet you’re still here.” He took a step closer, and your breath caught. “Come on, help me with this.”
“Jaemin,” you groaned. “You know I can’t paint.”
He reached for your wrist, pulling you toward him with ease. “You don’t have to. Just—” He dipped his fingers into a tray of paint and, before you could react, swiped a streak of yellow across your forearm.
Your gasp was immediate. “Jaemin!”
“What?” He grinned. “Now you’re part of my art.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but the warmth of his fingers still lingered where he’d touched you. And when he handed you a brush, his gaze expectant, daring, you found yourself giving in—like you always did.
You dipped the brush into blue and dragged a line across his cheek. “Now you’re part of mine.”
Jaemin froze, his smirk faltering just slightly. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up. And suddenly, the teasing energy between you shifted, like a thread pulled too tight.
You swallowed hard. “Jaem...”
His voice was softer now. “You know, I could have anyone paint with me, but I only ever want you here.”
Your heart clenched. “Jaemin, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His fingers brushed yours, smudging paint between your hands. “Tell you the truth?”
You took a step back. “You’re an idol,” you said, the words heavy. “You have the world at your feet. I’m just... me.”
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You think any of that matters? Do you know what I do after every stage, every tour, every exhausting practice?” He took another step forward. “I come here. To you.”
Your breath hitched.
“You keep me sane,” he murmured. “You make me feel like Jaemin, not some idol everyone expects me to be.” His fingers tilted your chin up slightly. “I don’t care about the world. I just care about you.”
Everything inside you screamed to stop this. That loving an idol was a losing game. That one wrong move could ruin everything.
But then Jaemin smiled—soft, certain. Like he already knew.
And when he leaned in, you let yourself fall.
The kiss was slow, careful, like he was memorizing every second of it. His hands cupped your face, his touch warm despite the paint smearing between you. When you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, laughter bubbling in his chest.
“So?” he murmured. “Ready to be my masterpiece?”
You smiled, your fingers tracing a smudge of color across his jaw.
“Only if you let me paint you back.”
And in that moment, with the world outside fading away, you realized—Jaemin had already painted himself into your heart long ago.
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terriblesoup · 3 months ago
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Beneath the maple tree
A/N: what do you mean it's sylus' birthday and I write nothing of it, that is unacceptable. I wanted to write something because the birthday trailer showed this card like the happy version of what could have been for that shared dream in "where drakeshadows fall"
Synopsis: Mc surprises sylus by remembering their past on his birthday
Words: 1.8k
tags: sfw, fluff? it's soft.
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The day unfolded like a slow breath, golden light pouring down from a sky as soft as milk and honey. In the far corner of a garden dressed in late spring, beneath the proud arch of a maple tree just beginning to turn amber at its tips, she worked.
Her hands moved with the quiet joy of someone preparing something sacred. A table stood under the tree's watchful limbs, draped in pale linen and ribbon, the edge dancing in the wind. On it, she had placed everything he loved: pancakes warm and dusted with powdered sugar, a stack of honey-buttered toast, little glass jars of wildberry syrup, a cake nestled in cream and rose petals. There were cups, two of them, porcelain with blue ivy around the rim. Flowers had been gathered, roses the color of blushing peaches and soft butter, scattered about like offerings.
Beneath it all, at the foot of the table, a blanket spread wide upon the grass, where blossoms had already fallen and mingled with the woven threads. She knelt there for a moment, smoothing it, tucking the corners like one might a cradle. Her heart was light in her chest, thudding fast and full. Her hands smelled faintly of syrup and blooms.
She looked up the path every few minutes, listening. She had told him to meet her here, had said only that she wanted to give him something gentle, something meant for him alone. No city lights, no mission clocks ticking behind his back. Just her, and sweetness, and the rustle of wind through maple leaves.
A bird sang above, trilling soft and clear. She turned toward the sound, then back to the path. The waiting, in truth, was its own kind of delight.
Because she could already picture him, head tilted in wonder as he approached, eyes softening as they always did when he saw her, the ghost of a smile pressing into his lips as he realized she had made all this, for him.
And when he came, because he would come, and soon, she would take his hand, sit him down among the flowers, feed him strawberries and maple syrup from her fingers. She would lean her head against his shoulder and let the breeze carry their laughter far beyond the trees. And when the sun began to dip, and the sky melted into violet, she would press her lips to his ear and whisper a wish only he would hear.
But for now, she waited, sunlight on her face and hope blooming in her chest like the roses around her.
It was his day, and she had made a world of it just for him.
She heard the faint hush of footsteps in the grass, and when she turned, he was there, Sylus, his frame framed by the dappled shade, eyes catching hers with a light she’d never seen anywhere else. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more a breath of feeling, too full for words.
"You found me," she said, voice warm as the honeyed air.
He stepped forward, and she met him halfway. Standing before him, her hands sought his, lacing her fingers through his with the care of someone handling something precious. His hands closed around hers, slow and certain. He looked down at her, at the brightness in her gaze, the way she nearly bounced on her toes, and leaned forward until his forehead touched hers.
Then, a gentle nudge: his nose brushed hers, tender and quick, a silent greeting too dear for words. Her breath caught in a laugh, and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in all day.
"Come on," she said, tugging his hands. "There’s something I want to show you."
And so she led him, step by step, toward the table she’d made for him, toward the sweet, syrup-laced dream she had woven from love and maple leaves and red rose-colored joy.
The afternoon drifted gently into memory, its edges soaked in amber and the soft perfume of flowers, but Sylus would hold it whole for a long time yet. Even now, as dusk stretched her arms over the sky, he could still feel her fingers wrapped in his, the imprint of warmth lingering where their palms had met.
He had not known what to expect when she told him to meet her in the gardens. He had walked there with quiet steps, mind full of shadows, memories of long nights where he had once imagined her voice turning sharp with disdain, imagined her gaze pulling away, unable to bear what he was. And yet, it had been her gaze that held him today, steady as a sunbeam, full of the gentle ache that only love could wear.
She had made a world for him beneath that maple tree. Every detail sang with her care, from the ivory ribbons tied around the cake stand to the way she had spread the blanket with hands that trembled ever so slightly. For him. She had done it for him. And he had never been more aware of the miracle of her forgiveness.
There was a time he would have believed himself ruined in her eyes, that the weight of what he had done, of what he had been shaped to be, would drive her away. But today she had held his hands as though they had never been used to harm, only to hold. She had smiled at him as if there had never been a time he had doubted her heart, or his own.
And when she stood before him, eyes bright, her fingers catching his as if she’d waited lifetimes just to do that, he had felt something inside him ease. He had leaned into her like he was falling into something soft and safe, and she had let him. Her lips touched his, and in that fleeting touch, the years of hunger, of aching to be near her, finally softened into something tender, something real.
She had fed him strawberries and syrup, laughing each time the sweetness stuck to his lips. He had wiped it away with the back of his hand until she caught it and did it for him, her thumb warm, her gaze unflinching. He had let her. That alone, letting her, was more of a gift than he could ever name.
He had spent so long thinking he must atone, endlessly and alone. But here she was, giving him her day, her time, her joy. Celebrating his existence. When once he had thought himself unworthy of being seen, she had looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
He took pride in how easily she fit into his arms now, how easily she smiled when she caught him staring. Pride in being allowed to touch her hand without hesitation, to feel her lean into his shoulder like she belonged there.
And she did. She did.
As the sky grew dark and the first stars scattered across the velvet sky, Sylus let his eyes fall closed, her laughter still curling in the hollows of his chest. There had been a time he thought she might never forgive him. Now, she sat at his side, humming soft, her fingers carding through his hair.
He didn’t need to ask if she meant it. He could feel it. And in that feeling, he found peace.
For once, he did not yearn. He simply was. And she was with him.
Wildflowers bloomed in quiet riot around them, lavender and blush-pink, a little overgrown but gentle under their feet. The air carried the perfume of new grass and warm bread, and somewhere in the distance, a stream murmured like a lullaby only the earth knew.
Sylus sat beside her, one arm behind her on the blanket, fingers occasionally brushing her hair, her shoulder. She brought more than food, more than the small gifts tucked into the basket. She brought something more fragile, an ache buried deep beneath his ribs, something he couldn’t name.
He didn't know when it began, only that it stirred in him when she laughed softly and reached for the fruit he had sliced, or when she leaned into his side like it was the most natural place for her to be.
This meadow, this light, this moment, it felt like a memory not of this life, but one long folded in time.
He looked around them and felt a ghost rise: the dream. The one they’d shared once beneath moonlight and figment, standing in a place so much like this one, endless red blooms, wind full of petals, the hush of time pausing to watch them. A dream he’d clutched to himself for longer than he cared to admit. A place he had always feared was only ever real within sleep.
And yet… here they were.
He picked up a small piece of the red feather-shaped cake she had prepared, the fork cutting neatly into the soft glaze. He brought it toward her with care, his other hand steadying the plate in his lap. But just as she leaned in, she smiled softly and set her hand on his. Gently, she took the plate and placed it aside.
Her legs, already tucked beside her, shifted. She moved closer, her knees brushing his thigh, then resting there, her skirt folding between them. She came to rest so near he could feel the heat of her skin through the summer air.
He welcomed it.
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer still, cradling her easily, instinctively. She brought her hand to his cheek, her palm warm and sure, her thumb brushing beneath his eye. And when she spoke, it was with a voice tender as a secret:
"I'm glad this is no longer just a dream."
He stilled.
The words fell like petals, weightless yet heavy with meaning.
And slowly, like dawn seeping into night, realization bloomed across his expression. The parting of lips. The slight tremble of his gaze.
She remembered.
Not just the dream, but before that.
His heart thundered, soft and reverent.
She remembered the way they were. Once, long ago, in a life steeped in magic and fate. They had defied time and prophecy, drawn together by a love the stars themselves tried to smother. Their union had sparked doom, their closeness a curse. And still, he had looked at her then as he did now, with that same aching tenderness, the same reverence that had always made her heart falter.
And now, here she was, flesh and real and warm against his side, her fingers cupping his face like he was something precious.
He turned his face slightly into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. A small, almost disbelieving smile lifted his lips, touched with awe.
He didn’t need to ask.
He didn’t need her to say more.
In this moment, cradled between sun and shadow, surrounded by the flowers of their dreams, he knew.
And he held her closer.
Because finally, finally, they were not dreaming.
And neither of them had to wake.
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dividers by @saradika-graphics
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ddejavvu · 2 years ago
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heyy mei :)) could you maybe write something for lover boy james where reader is starting to get out of her comfort zone a bit and wearing tighter clothes that show of her little tummy pudge and/ or thicker thighs?? i’ve myself am currently trying to get to this confidence level and I know jamie would be the biggest supporter ever <34
as someone who beat the baggy clothes plague i wish you well on your journey my love <3 tw for self-image issues, don't read if you'll be uncomfortable.
You're already awaiting a dramatic reaction when you step out of the bathroom. James Potter never does anything by halves, and you know whether he likes your outfit or not he'll make a scene. Oh, god, if he isn't dramatic at your reveal, if he's measured and controlled and contained- well, that would be worse than if he wrinkled his nose and told you that your outfit was too tight. That would be an outright lie, and you'd rather him just be mean, although you're not sure unprovoked cruelty is a quality that James Potter possesses.
You haven't worn anything quite this snug in a long time. A dip in your self confidence correlates with an increase in your clothing sizes, not because you've gained weight, but because you're not eager to show off the weight you already have. You're particularly sensitive about the shape of your body, how it hangs, how it squishes and warps within tighter clothing, but you're taking steps to conquer your fears, and tonight you've chosen a snug leotard tucked into jeans. There's no hiding your waistline, which is something you're not accustomed to. Your hand wants to subconsciously cover your stomach but you force it into your pocket, stepping out of the bathroom with all of the courage you've got in your body.
James glances up at you as you come out, one sock on his foot and the other perched precariously on his toes. He's tugging it over his sole when he notices your tight-fitting outfit, and his eyes drop to your stomach.
You feel naked, even though the whole issue is over your clothes.
You get the dramatic reaction you'd expected.
He charges towards you from his spot on the bed, and channels his never-ending supply of energy into a truly extravagant display: He drops to his knees, sliding painfully over the hardwood to reach for your waist and shove his face into your stomach. You yelp at the sudden movement and try to shove him away but he latches his grip around you quite firmly, groaning into your stomach like he's repenting at the altar of god.
"Oh, gorgeous," He moans, and you're truly saddened for the theater medium, as they'll never experience dramatics quite like James has to offer, "Oh, darling, it's out. Your stomach is out, I can see it, I can-" He curls his fingers into your belly, nails pricking at miniscule threads in the fabric, "-feel it, I can scream into it!"
It's really a pathetic display. You can't find it in yourself to be critical, though, not when he's so effectively sweeping away any negative thoughts with the way that his lips plunge hungrily into the flesh of your stomach, over and over again complete with sounds you're certain a starved animal makes when it sinks its teeth into game.
Perhaps if you loved him less, you could hate this more. But you don't, so you can't, and you let James lift you from your spot, heaving you right over his shoulder so that he can still turn his head to the side and nip lightly at the pudge of your stomach while you struggle in his grasp.
"You look fantastic, darling," He gushes against your belly, beelining for your bed, the covers still unmade and very inviting, "Unfortunately, our plans have changed. Shame we can't go out tonight and show off your outfit, but I just remembered I have to kiss you until my lips fall off."
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wispitty · 2 months ago
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mihawk x reader | “venus & mars” {ch.2}
summary: you're a member of the cross guild. one night, in search of a quiet place to fall apart, you slip into the garden—only to end up in the arms of a certain swordsman... however, despite the way your heart aches for him, you refuse to fall in love with dracule mihawk. you know it could never work. you're venus, and he's mars. you were never meant to be what the other needs.
...right? tag list: mihawk/you, slow burn, mutual pining, soft angst, made from mihawk brainrot, cosmic metaphors, enemies to lovers (kinda) chapter list:
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
Chapter 2: Too Cold. No Fire.
The main hall of the Cross Guild was alive with noise again—mercenaries clanking weapons, Buggy yelling about something inconsequential, and papers fluttering like feathers in the aftermath of chaos. And you—dressed, poised, and in control—moved through it all like the eye of the storm.
On the outside, you looked fine.
Hair brushed (mostly). Voice clear. Shoulders back.
But Mihawk noticed things others didn’t.
The faint tension in your fingers when you flipped through a report. The way your smile lingered half a second too long when addressing a subordinate. How your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes when Buggy made some absurd declaration of dominance.
He said nothing.
He stood off to the side, reading a bounty sheet with one hand, a half-filled goblet in the other. Calm. Observant.
But he never took his eyes off you.
Not since you walked into the room.
Not since you looked right past him with that carefully rebuilt mask stretched over your face.
Eventually, he spoke—without looking up.
“You missed a signature.”
He didn’t say where. He didn’t need to.
His voice wasn’t condescending. Just… still. A ripple across glass.
And beneath it—a weight only you would feel.
“Did I? My apologies, sir. I’ll have it fixed right away.”
At that, Mihawk finally looked up.
Not sharply. Not smugly. Just… fully.
Eyes catching yours like a blade catches light—without force, but impossible to ignore.
“‘Sir,’ now?”
A brow lifted, faintly amused. Faintly disapproving. Not at your work—but at the distance you’d just put between you.
He let the word hang there, testing the weight of it in the space between you.
Sir.
You’d never called him that before. Not like that. Not with that glassy, brittle politeness that tasted like poison in his mouth.
He took a slow sip from his glass, then set it down with precision. Still watching you.
“You’re efficient today.”
Another pause. Intentional.
“Too efficient.”
And though he didn’t say it aloud, the unspoken part of that sentence lingered like incense in the air.
You're hiding again.
His tone remained perfectly even. But his gaze didn’t waver for a second.
“I’m... doing my best to be.”
He tilted his head slightly at your slight frown—like he could see the threads holding it together. Not in judgment. Just... in quiet knowing.
“Yes. I can see that.”
He stepped forward—not far, just enough to close the kind of space people didn’t usually notice. But you did.
You always noticed him.
He folded his arms, posture relaxed, voice low enough that no one else in the room could hear—just you.
“You held the line last night. Then picked up the pieces before morning.”
A beat.
“But you forgot one.”
He reached into his coat, pulled something small from his inner pocket, and held it out to you: a neatly folded handkerchief, faintly wrinkled.
Yours.
Left behind.
Tearstained.
“Next time,” His voice softened ever so slightly. “Don’t forget what you’re not allowed to leave with me.”
“Hmph! Stealing a lady’s handkerchiefs now, are we? How crude.”
He didn’t so much as blink at your accusation—or even the way you pouted and snatched your handkerchief back, stuffing it into your pocket.
Though the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like a man secretly pleased to be scolded.
“I was under the impression I was returning missing property.” Deadpan.
A glance toward your pocket. Then to your face.
“But I suppose if it flusters you this much, I should’ve kept it.”
There it was again—that infuriating calm, laced now with the faintest undercurrent of something playful. Barely there. But there.
He let his arms rest loosely at his sides, gaze never straying.
“You’re pouting again.”
Beat.
“…I see the pieces are still there.”
His voice dipped lower—quieter, warmer. Enough to reach only you.
“But so is the woman strong enough to carry them.”
“Yes, which reminds me.”
You turn over to your bag and pull out a bottle of wine wrapped in a delicate bow.
“I asked Mr. 1 and Crocodile for some advice, and they recommended this brand. Frankly, I don't drink, so I haven't the faintest idea what it tastes like."
A pause, followed by a sharp inhale.
“If it doesn't suit you, feel free to spit it out and dump it in the sea. Regardless, it's a gift. For you. For… yesterday.”
A soft sigh.
“...For a debt I wanted to repay.”
He watched you in silence as you presented the bottle—wrapped, bowed, deliberate. And though Mihawk was many things—refined, unshakable, precise—he was not immune to grace. Especially not when it was offered like this: awkward, honest, earnest.
He accepted the gift with the same careful hands he’d hold a sword with—never casual, never careless. His fingers brushed yours only for a breath, but it lingered all the same.
He looked down at the bottle in his grasp, then back at you. Something unreadable passed through his eyes—like he'd just been handed a piece of something fragile. Something rare.
“A debt.” He repeated, quietly.
He turned the bottle in his hand once, then lowered it, holding it respectfully at his side.
“There was no debt.”
And yet, he didn’t refuse it. Didn’t diminish the gesture.
He simply met your eyes with that same, maddening steadiness. Like he saw something in you now that he hadn’t quite allowed himself to admit before.
Then—almost imperceptibly—his expression softened.
“...Thank you.”
Two words, simple and unadorned.
But from him? They carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.
He paused, as if debating something further, then finally added:
“Next time you fall to pieces, I’ll bring the wine.”
A beat.
“…You bring yourself.”
A scoff leaves you at that.
“I'll be fine on my own, thank you very much! My pieces will not be falling for anyone's eyes to see anymore."
A beat. A narrowed sneer.
"In fact, if I recall, you just happened to take a midnight stroll through the garden with… very unfortunate timing. But rest assured, it won't happen again."
His brow arched, just barely—but the silence that followed wasn’t surprise.
It was amusement. The kind he never let fully reach his lips. The kind that lived behind his eyes like a storm held at bay.
“Unfortunate timing, was it?” he repeats, coolly.
He stepped just close enough to remind you he was taller. Calmer. Unfazed by your little declarations of independence.
“Then I suppose I should be more considerate with my midnight strolls.”
A pause. His voice dipped.
“Though if I recall correctly... it wasn’t the timing that made you fall into my arms.”
He watched the heat creep up your cheeks, slowly, deliberately—as though he’d already predicted it down to the second.
“But don’t worry.”
A slight tilt of the head.
“If you truly never intend to fall again…”
He stepped back, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips now, elegant and infuriating.
“I’ll simply be there to catch someone else.”
A sharp glare follows, only offset by another scoff from you. Louder, more offended.
However, the red in your cheeks and the annoyance in your eyes betray you. As does the slight crack in your voice.
“F-Fine then! Be my guest!” you flail dramatically.
“Go find yourself a Mercury or a Jupiter. Maybe even a Neptune, I'm sure a fastidious planet like you could use some cooling!”
Another sneer. Followed by a turn and a brisk walk past him.
“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to work.”
He didn’t stop you.
Didn’t block your path. Didn’t reach for your wrist or call your name.
But oh—he smirked.
Just faintly.
Just enough.
“I never liked Neptune.” Low, near your ear as you pass.
A pause.
“Too cold. No fire.”
He let you walk off with that. With the weight of that quiet jab tucked into your already-flustered chest, where your heartbeat was already misbehaving. He didn’t follow.
But his gaze?
Still on you.
Tracking every flounce. Every stubborn step.
And if you’d turned back, you’d swear for just a moment—you saw it.
That rarest flicker of something not composed.
Something wild. Unspoken.
And it was all for you.
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aventurineswife · 6 months ago
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Omg so I have been SCOURING the entire internet for a fic where Aventurine and reader are dancing together (with Aven leading the dance) at a fancy event (a bit like black swan and acheron in the one animated short) and I have not found a single one 😔 It’s just been on my mind so much recently and I’d love to see it written out. Bonus points if he’s wearing the suit from the Final Victor light cone.
You’re an amazing writer and patience breeds success so please take your time and make sure to stay hydrated!
A Dance With The Devil
Summary: At an opulent event, the air is thick with intrigue, and the spotlight falls on you and Aventurine. As the music begins, he takes the lead in an intimate dance, his presence overwhelming yet captivating. The atmosphere is charged with unspoken tension as you’re drawn into his world of elegance, calculated moves, and dangerous charm. In a moment of sensual elegance, your every move is mirrored by him, and the dance becomes a game of its own—a game that may leave you questioning who is really in control.
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sensual Dance, Romance, Ship Tease, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn.
Warnings: Sensual themes, Flirtation, Light teasing, Possible manipulation hints.
A/N: 🧍‍♀️I'm not good at describing dances and uh outfits most of the time but I tried my best describing the Final Victor outfit even tho I can't tell the colours properly 💀 also thank you for your kind words, I hope you enjoy this!! 🤧💖🫶
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The grand hall was alive with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, yet all eyes seemed to be drawn to the centerpiece of the evening: a lavish ballroom where the finest of the elite gathered in their best attire. The chandeliers above flickered with an ethereal glow, casting soft shadows over the polished floor. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and expensive cologne, and the atmosphere teemed with an unspoken tension—one that was both thrilling and dangerous.
Aventurine stood in the corner, his presence enough to command attention. His attire tonight was nothing short of breathtaking—his teal-colored dress shirt was immaculate, paired with a diagonal striped black-and-white/gray tie that accented the sharp lines of his suit jacket. Gold accents glittered in the dim light, tracing the edges of his jacket’s lapels and outlining intricate patterns that added an air of regality. Black gloves graced his hands, and his eyes—those unwavering eyes—roamed the room, scanning, assessing, always playing the game.
But it was you he saw.
You, standing by the edge of the crowd, nervously adjusting your attire. There was a certain pull to you, something that made his smile curve slightly—dangerously so—as he pushed himself off the wall and moved towards you, his footsteps steady and purposeful.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost a whisper, but commanding nonetheless.
You looked at him, surprised, then caught the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. A gamble—he always liked to push boundaries. The gentle touch of his fingers against your arm as he guided you to the floor was enough to send a shiver down your spine.
He led you to the center, the spotlight now on both of you. His movements were effortless, calculated—he knew the steps without having to think about them. His hand was warm, encircling your waist with a precision that spoke of experience, while his other hand gently grasped your own, guiding it to his shoulder.
Aventurine’s eyes locked onto yours, his lips curving in a slight smile. "You seem out of place here," he mused, his voice a velvet thread in the tense silence of the room. "This world of pretense, it’s not for everyone."
You hesitated, but his steady presence made you feel as though the weight of the world was momentarily lifted. "And what makes you so certain I don’t belong?"
"Because you’re not playing the game." He swirled you gracefully, his fingers brushing against the curve of your back. You followed his lead effortlessly, your steps in sync, though his hold on you was firm—intentional. Every move, every subtle adjustment he made in his grip, seemed deliberate. He wasn’t just leading the dance; he was guiding you through a maze of temptation.
The rhythm of the music was slow, sensual, every beat punctuated by the close proximity between you. His body was a constant presence, so near yet never too forward, his touch light but possessive. His chest brushed against yours as you turned, the heat from his body seeping into yours.
"You play by a different set of rules," Aventurine said softly, his lips mere inches from your ear. His breath was warm, teasing the sensitive skin there. His voice was low, almost inaudible over the music, but it sent a thrill down your spine.
Your gaze flickered to his hand at your waist, feeling the steady pressure of his touch, his thumb moving in soft circles over the fabric of your attire. His gloved hand, resting on your back, slid up, almost imperceptibly, as if claiming you. It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected, nor the kind of connection you’d imagined. There was an unspoken invitation in his movements, a pull that was irresistible, yet layered with danger.
You found yourself pressed closer to him as the dance continued, his body a constant heat against yours. The rhythm quickened, and so did the tension. His movements became even more intimate, calculated with a precision that left no room for escape. Your heart raced—part fear, part exhilaration—as his hand slid down to the small of your back, his fingers just grazing the edge of your spine.
Aventurine’s smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what effect he was having on you. His eyes never left your face. "You feel it too, don’t you? The game." He pulled you in closer, so close you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your own.
In that moment, everything was suspended. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you—entangled in a dance that was both a test and a temptation. Every step, every shift, was a challenge, a calculated move in a game you didn’t fully understand, but one you were now unwilling to escape.
"You could walk away," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, "but where’s the fun in that?"
The music reached its crescendo, and for a brief moment, you were lost in the dance, caught in his orbit. The thrill of the gamble was intoxicating, and as you danced with Aventurine, you realized that you were no longer just a player in his game—you were part of it.
And neither of you were willing to lose.
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criticallyinneedofadar · 9 months ago
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Beyond Hope
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Author's Note: I'm in denial.
WARNING: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT
Pairing: Adar x reader
______________________________________________________________
The moment you see him, you forget everything else. The stillness of Valinor, the golden light that wraps around the edges of the horizon, the gentle whisper of the sea—they all fade into nothing as you run toward him.
“Aruvian,” you whisper, breath catching in your throat.
He stands, the familiar, angular face that has haunted your dreams now softened by the weight of death, but the sight of him—alive, whole, no longer burdened—makes your heart race. You see it in his eyes, too, the disbelief, the raw ache of too many lifetimes apart, and the quiet realization that you are here, in front of him, after all this time.
He startles at the sound of his old name, the one he left behind millennia ago- left you behind.
His children—the ache of their betrayal and despair at their fall to Sauron—seem distant now, muted. The scars of battle, of the millennia he spent fighting in vain, have faded. Only peace remains here.
You hesitate, for just a moment, wondering if he will blame you for leaving him in his darkest hours, not that you had much of a choice. You stop a few steps away, running your eyes over his form again and again. Tracing his features and scars-some new and some you know the very texture of.
Adar- your Aruvian, takes a step back, fear flickering across his face and for a moment, terror grips your heart that he does not remember you. You bow your head in acceptance of his hesitation, but then strong arms are around you, pulling you into him with a force that feels like the world itself is righting all the wrongs it has ever known.
“It is truly you,” he breathes into your hair, his voice cracking. “I never thought...”
“You’re free,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, letting the warmth of him melt away the fear that he might reject this, reject you. “The Valar have granted you peace. For what you tried to do—for them.”
He pulls back, looking at you, a question in his eyes. “For my children?”
You nod, tears in your eyes. “Your efforts, your desire to give them something better, to find them peace... it granted you clemency. You were not forgotten.”
A flicker of sorrow crosses his face—old pain, wounds that cannot be erased, even in this place. But then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile, and it is as if the very light of Valinor burns brighter, casting golden rays over everything.
“I was never certain I could be forgiven,” he says, voice rough. “I was ready for oblivion, for anything but this.”
“You’ve earned it,” you reply softly, touching his cheek. “And you’ve earned us.”
He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, the weight of eternity does not feel heavy. It feels like home.
“I waited,” you say, voice trembling. “So long, I waited.”
“I know,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And I searched for you in every shadow, in every moment of despair. But you were here. All along.”
There are no more words. Only the sensation of him, whole and real in your arms once again.
The air between you hums with unspoken words, the ache of centuries, the longing that held you both through lifetimes apart. Again, his forehead rests against yours, and for the first time in so long, the ache begins to ease.
His lips hover near yours, breath mingling, and he catches your eye- almost asking permission. You smile up at him and gently grab his wrists were they frame your face. When his lips finally meet yours, it is soft at first—tentative, as if he still cannot believe this moment is real. But then it deepens, and the gentle hesitation gives way to a flood of emotions, overwhelming and fierce.
Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss is a reunion of souls, a desperate claim on the love that has been denied for too long. He kisses you like a man who has wandered through endless darkness and finally found his way back to the light.
There is no more space between you, no more doubt. The warmth of him wraps around you, grounding you, reminding you that you are here—together, after everything. His hands hold you like you are precious, like the very idea of losing you again is unbearable.
When the kiss breaks, you’re both breathless, foreheads still resting together, hearts pounding in sync. He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw.
“Gi melon,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion, and you know it’s true. You’ve found your way back to each other, and nothing will ever separate you again.
He leads you down a quiet path where the soft hum of life continues, the breeze gentle, fragrant with flowers that never fade.
Finally, you are home.
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hongjoongscafe · 1 year ago
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Bloody Love...
Chapter: IX-Cello-
♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)
♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).
♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."
♠︎Word count: 2.4k+
♠︎Warning: manipulation, spirits.
♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!
♠︎Masterpost
♠︎Serieslist.
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(Please please please listen to this playlist I found. Play Ghost song at first and then just let it shuffle. Trust me you won't regret it. This is a violin and cello playlist that I luckily found. Please, do play. It will set the perfect mood for this chapter.) (this is the melody that His Majesty is playing. Listen to it once.)
Melancholy. The melody was melancholy as it vibrated through the air. The cello played a tune that earned the cries of demons.
The forbidden notes danced across the air, twirling around like handsome lovers in the ball, lost in their own tune, away from the forbidding eyes, claiming their love against the world.
The world moved along the tunes, in steady steps, crossing the lovers as they looked at them with disgust. The women hid their disgust behind the dirty, torn hats. The men spit on the polished shoes of the lover for intimately touching His beloved.
The melodies swirled around her, pulling her out of her slumber, begging her to move her feet with the music and dance for her saddened lover drowning in this forbidden love.
They manipulated her senses, holding her hand and waist closer to them as they danced toward the edge of the cliff. The wind threaded through her long locks and caressed her skin harshly. Even the winds stood against them. The sky growled at them. The thunder poured on them, trying to pry them apart. To break them. To hurt them. To make them fall… to never be loved by each other.
There was a striking scent in the air, different from the rotten stink of the slammer. It was roses mixed with a certain musky scent. The very scent that sent chills down Coronis’ spine. They complimented the melancholy of the notes and mixed them with the harmony. Even the scent was manipulated by the force of the power of the melodies played by the lover.
She shifted as she felt the soft mattress under her fatigued body, her head resting on the spongy cushions. It was as if she melted into the bed and was one with them. The silky cover covered her. Her long black hair was scattered around her.
Her eyes behind her lids fluttered and slowly opened.
Unhurriedly, she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes out of blurriness. The darkness of the bedchamber cleared in front of her eyes, pushing her back to reality and yet her mind still sucked into the manipulation of the cello. She was dazed. The magic of the music captured her. As if they cuffed her hands and feet down to the reel world of forbidden love.
The purple of the chamber with dark gold furnishings was reflected in the burnt orange of the hundreds of candles burning on the candelabra and the chandelier above. The thorny black and red roses taunted her from the sides of the bed. The purple of the silk sheets and the bed hangings turned her into the royal of the heart of the devil.
The devil who sat at the far end, near the large windows, the manipulator of the music. His broad shoulders curved under His thick clothing. His arm swiftly manoeuvred the melody into the roundness of lugubrious.
The side of His face glowed under the candles, reflecting His static emotions. Deep into the heart He was lost. As if His inner voices consumed Him, whispered to Him.
The sounds still danced around the chamber, twisting and turning like a hazy aura.
Softly she stepped off the bed. Steady feet, she tiptoed towards Him as her heart thumped heavily inside her chest, aching for something she never craved. Her mind was blurred under His spell.
She swayed and danced slowly closer to Him. Deep into her daze, her eyes followed His sight, who was looking deep into the curves of the redness of the gigantic moon outside the window.
Her eyes filled. Her mind numbed. Her small hands fisted in anger.
The hatred of the unknown filled her. Who were those who forbid the love of the forbidden?
The cries of the spirits echoed in her mind. They screamed and sobbed painfully.
In a heavy daze, her foot thumped against the table, shattering the glass full of wine down the rug.
The spell broke.
The cello stopped.
The eyes of the Lord returned back to reality.
Coronis woke up from the blur of the spell. The hazy melodies in the air fell down and vanished. The sensibility dawned on her. Her feet stopped and her eyes widened.
The event of the slammer roughed around her head, scratching the membranes of her brain. The horror skimmed into her nerves as she gasped and harshly stepped back. She stumbled and fell on the rug and crawled backwards, away from the King.
His Majesty stood up and settled His cello down on the chair. He adjusted His clothes and looked at Coronis. His eyes softened and His shoulders relaxed.
“You are awake,” He said as she trembled like a dying bird on the ground. “I was worried you weren't waking up. It has been two nights.”
Her breath hitched. Two night? I remained asleep for two night? Did I sleep in His bed all this time? What did he do to me? Did he touch me? The worries crawled under her skin as disgust filled just like the people in the daze.
He walked closer and closer and kneeled down in front of her petite form. The back of His fingers gently caressed her pale cheek. “You don't look as good, my beautiful. I must feed you something. You have lost weight and look queasy.”
Coronis's teeth cluttered as she tried to move away from His warm, bloodied hands. “Please,” she begged weakly.
The palm of His hand softly held her cheek as His thumb rubbed the high of her cheekbone. “Why, my little birdy. Why are you begging me? What is it you need?” He spoke like a lover to His beloved.
“Let me go,” the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Let me go back.”
She didn't catch the subtle twitch in His jaw. “Do not ask for the impossible, my little birdy. The moment you stepped into the clutch of my palace, you became mine. And I will not let go of what is mine.” He looked to the side and said, “Jimin, Ana.”
Coronis now noticed the guard by the door who opened the door slightly and forwarded the command to the guard outside the chamber. She gasped when she felt The King picking her up and taking her to the bed and resting her there. He covered her legs with the sheet and sat facing her on the edge of the bed.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, wearily. She did not understand why The Lord was being so gentle with her as if she was a delicate glass. But if that had been the situation then why did he bring her here at all? Why didn't he just let her be free?
He chuckled, breathy and licked His lower lip before he spoke. “I can't punish you more than I already did,” the honey poured from His voice. “You are mine. And you belong here, right next to me. Not somewhere like that,” His eyes were burning with menace. The orange of the candle and the red of the moon painted His face into the depth of the details.
Her brain was spinning in her skull. Her thoughts were mingled. All she could see was a monster in a handsome body. “It’s not right,” she whispered, scared to even breathe in His way.
He scoffed, softly as he tipped her chin with His finger. His eyes looked into hers. “My beautiful,” he muttered, His face only inches away from hers. “you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong.”
Her eyes widened but before she could speak, the door to the Chamber opened. A lady in a long maroon gown, with her head bowed, stepped inside the room. Her hands were busy with a wide tray.
“May Your Highness live long,” she paid her courtesy to Him. She moved like a ghost to the table in front of the sofa, placed the tray on it and waited.
“Ana,” His Majesty began, still looking deep into the voidful eyes of Coronis. “She is soon to be Queen Consort. Treat her like one,” His pupils dilated as he said the next thing. “If not… I won't care if you are a man or a woman…”
He got up and moved away. His heavy presence followed His steps. He nodded at Jimin once and left the chamber altogether but not without having one look of her over His shoulder.
Her eyes stayed on the door as the lady, Ana, tended to her needs.
As Coronis was deep into her mind, the impression of His Majesty flashed in front of her eyes when He was playing the cello. His black, still expressions were raw. He was consumed by the powers inside Him.
There was more to Him. More than the ruthless demeanour he carried.
In the end, no one is born a villain.
The night went by like the good times. His Majesty did not return back but the guard– Jimin– stayed there the whole night.
In the early moments of dawn, Ana came in and guided Coronis to another chamber. “This is where you shall live until His Majesty commands otherwise,” said Ana as she guided her to the adjoining toilet. There was a big tub in the middle, surrounded by the candles. The petals of roses in the cloudy water were pretty.
“Your highness, His Highness has demanded your presence in the court, this gathering. We must prepare you for the formality.” there was a beat before she whispered “Please do not make this harder. For you and I, it will not end pleasantly… now if we have your permission.” She featherly took hold of the dress she was wearing.
That left no choice behind so she hesitantly nodded. There were two more girls slightly older than herself waiting in the tub. Ana helped her into the tub and the others cleaned her.
She silently waited for them to be done, accepting this as her life for now. Knowing that fighting against the word of The Lord won't end anywhere near joyously.
In a few, she was all dolled up for The King. Her hair was pinned up, her body was clad in a beautiful black gown. Its heavy georgette trail draped behind her and her head was covered with a black fine net veil.
Walking down the corridors of the palace, the eerie-ness shadowed her. Like a blur, everything passes by. A true feeling realizing that her life was never hers. Even living in the village was for His sake.
No one was alive who didn't work for him. Alive had a purpose… a purpose to worship His Highness. Nobody worked for themselves but Him. His command was their purpose. He was the one who owned her, and let her live.
Everything was his. The air, the ground, the animal, the human, the right to live, the right to die… it was all his.
He was the Giver.
And He was the Grim Reaper.
A lonely tear silently rolled down her cheek under the veil. Defeat.
The heavy cold gust narrowed down the T-point. Ana stopped Coronis from stepping forward. They, Ana and three other girls who were escorting her bowed down as the steps of the cold huddled through the path.
“Bow down, and close your eyes,” Ana whispered to her. She bowed, her head and her eyes closed.
There it was… a heavy presence of a spirit in front of her that stopped. They made their presence known. She felt the eyes of the spirit taking her in. There was a cold feeling lingering on her cheek and then on her head, and then it felt as if they held her hands in their cold ones.
“For He is wicked, you shall be the cure…,” A whisper barely made it into her ears. A shivering spark travelled down her spine.
The clicks went farther away. The hushed whispers dissolved in the air, away from them.
Coronis opened her eyes and her sight fell on her hands. The streaks of red painted her skin and a lone petal of black rose in her palm.
The sorrow of the spirit…
She clutched the petal in her hand. Something in her telling her to not let the mournful go.
For He is wicked, you shall be the cure…
The Lord was on His throne, ever so pridefully, looking down at her as she paid her curtsy to Him. He had never seen a sight so beautiful. So delicate, and yet so powerful.
She reminds Him of Her. She was delicate and yet She held Her head high up. Like the queen She was, She never bowed down… Until…
But even She wasn't as beautiful as His birdy was.
His lips stretched into a thin smirk. Coronis was His.
“My beautiful birdy,” he rasped. “Have I ever known there was such a beauty living in the village of rotten, I would have chased you long ago. I could have taken you under my wing and kept you like a princess all along.
“Poor, my heart, craved for you and didn't even know,” he continued. “And today, here you stood… attired like all mine.” His eyes took in the length of the court, looking wickedly into the eyes of the voiceless ministers, passing the silent threat of never daring to look at his princess birdy who stood there like a delicate flower… like a delicate rose.
He took a deep breath, feeling prideful for what He was about to say.
“I hereby announce the wedding ceremony with my bethorled. We shall tie the knot on the sixth night from today. There shall be no delays and no antagonism regarding the said shall be endured,” His voice was loud and clear.
For ages, He wandered around the palace and His life. Not once did He find His peak interest. But now he understood that his miserable life was meant to be bound with her. She was His purpose. To keep her. To protect her. She was what His interest peaked in.
He saw how her body froze. Then she shook. She was breaking down right there as everyone saw it unfold.
Rising from His throne, he descended down the stairs and stood toe to toe with his Queen-to-be. Holding her left hand in His, “Today I put my ring on your finger as a promise to tie a knot in six nights. I mark you as mine as the witnesses witness my word,” He said as he slipped the black diamond ring. His hand disappeared inside his Mantle and pulled the familiar bone necklace out. “And from now on,” He slipped his hands under the veil and tied the necklace. “This remains around you. Only when I say, you will put it away.”
He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. The black of the kohl smeared along with them. He wiped them with his thumb, cupped her face and made her look into his eyes through the veil.
“Beautiful…” Coronis’s eyes widened as He whispered. “My heart breaks every so little when I look into the depths of your beautiful eyes. No one was born as beautiful as you are, my little birdy.”
He admired her, taking every inch of her face. The perfect slope of her nose. The perfect plum lips. The enticing scent of her skin. “Take my love back to her chamber. And start preparing for the ceremony,” he commanded Ana and kissed the ring on Coronis's hand before letting go.
He watched her retreat. The trail of her gown flowed before him.
For a few, the chaos in Him tamed down and gazed at her. They starved to devour her and love her. Caress her soft skin under His fingertips and give her the taste of the pleasure he craved.
Six more nights.
Six more nights.
Six more nights.
He repeated again and again until His mind fell numb.
“Six more nights… and nothing will take you away…”
Taglist:
@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae @demonshauntingthedoves
@darkuni63 @mageprincess7 @whipwhoops @ackercute @ane102 @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @unhingedgf @jungkooks21 @namjoonscrabjuice @yluv-damara-13 @jksgirlhere @lavenderymoons @passionandsuga @posionapple24 @blueberry711 @shawtylilsalty @gukiebaby @vantelover07 @douknowbts @andioppsworld @xicanacorpse @ttanniett @koohrs @crazy-eight17 @jesshujk @sadxaries @fantasticwarl @catlove83 @iveivory @lippynabiii @igotnojamsz @deadgolgibody @jjk174 @captainengineer-trixie @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @kosmosjkookie
Have a nice day/night💓
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melk-maid · 5 days ago
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warnings: everyone is aged up 21+, afab/gn reader, mentions of canon typical violence, canon manga events, mild manga spoilers, non-con, pathetic higuruma, blood, murder confessions, forced entry, established relationship synopsis: hiromi returns home covered in blood that isn't his own, insisting on your comfort and warmth no matter how uncomfortable you are. something lurks deep within him and he needs you to help him feel better.
note: this is a commission for the ever so lovely @nanamis-bigtie!! thank you so so much for commissioning me again and taking my hiromi virginity hehe it's my first time writing him and i had a blast!! please mind the warnings and enjoy~♡ minors & ageless blogs dni - you will be blocked
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Hiromi barely remembers the journey home.
There's a throb in his head but it's not like his usual headaches, the ones that appear when he's pushed himself a little too hard, clocking in less hours of sleep than normal. Those headaches tend to linger in certain areas, bordering a migraine. This one isn't as painful as it is disorienting. He can hardly acknowledge the fearful and disturbed stare of a young woman who climbs onto the train, quickly scuttling towards the next carriage.
He feels free…but it's not as peaceful as he once hoped.
Something is missing. The smell of your perfume and natural musk after a long day, the press of your body against his, fingers threading through his thick hair, scratching his most vulnerable spots as he decompresses in your hold. Hiromi's fingertips buzz, like static beneath his skin. It shifts when he clenches his fists but the feeling doesn't disappear, nor does the tension that resides in his shoulders. He leans back against the window, watching through the opposite window, bright lights of the city passing by.
Still, a small sense of satisfaction lingers in his chest. It's not something he allows himself to indulge in. He knows it's fleeting. It comes when he's successfully completed a client's case, washing his hands of their paperwork, and hopefully never crossing paths with them again. He should be relieved, going out for nomikai with his associates to celebrate another case closed. This time, he'd much rather come home to you.
When Hiromi steps through the door of your shared apartment, his heart flutters, hearing you roaming around and knowing your presence is here fills him with peace. Just the idea of you existing, being there for him to come home to, sometimes it's the only satisfaction he needs after any of his cases. You call out to him first as he pulls his shoes off at the genkan, neatly tucking them away.
"Hiromi? I didn't expect you home this early, I've only just started making dinner." He follows the sound of your voice, trailing slippered feet through the small home. "I assume all went well with the retrial of that guy—"
Clang. The kitchen knife in your hand falls to your feet.
"What the— Hiromi? What happened?"
His eyes follow yours down to his white dress shirt, of which was decorated with blood. It had blended so well with the black fabric of his jacket and pants, he hardly noticed the striking colour that stained his front. "Oh, this?" Hiromi hums and plucks his shirt between finger and thumb, rubbing over the blood, still wet and sticky. "There was an accident at work."
That was a light way of putting it.
He can feel the weight of the gavel in his hand; how it enlarged at his silent command, how it tore through the air when he swung, how the cracking of the judge's skull vibrated back into his arm. Blood sprayed on the walls and pooled on the floor, surrounding two lifeless bodies. There's a newfound feeling that sits beneath his skin, something he can't even begin to describe. Something was with him in the courtroom and it followed him home, as though it belonged to him, tied to his very being.
Hiromi doesn't want to think about any of that. As satisfying as it was, he grows more hollow by the moment. He yearns for your touch and comfort.
"It's been a long day." Hiromi sighs, trying his best to offer a small smile to counter your visible worry. "I just want to spend the rest of my evening with you."
You furrow your brows, visibly shaking, and you instinctually take a step back when he takes one forward. Words are caught in your throat, lost in your lungs as your mind tries to rationalise the situation; it's Hiromi, your partner of many years, why are you so scared? It was an accident at work, he said.
Except lawyers don't tend to have accidents that result in them being covered in blood.
Red is painted across his features like the flick of a paintbrush on canvas. His body practically drenched in the substance, as though he was up close and personal with the incident. There's a look in his eyes that sets you on edge. Brows upturned in his natural, weary look; his eyes were dark and unnerving. This isn't your Hiromi.
He calls your name, a soft and tired tone, one he tends to use when he wants attention. Instinctually your heart melts at the sound but you pull back when he reaches for your arm. Almost like a scolded child, he frowns and looks to be on the brink of tears.
"What happened? What kind of accident would happen to cause…this?" You gesture to his blood stained clothes, crossing your arms and readying to pull back at any moment.
"Someone didn't agree with the judges decision at the second trial—I'm fine, by the way."
A sneaky, nasty move. One that worked.
You deflate, arms falling from their tense position over your chest. Hiromi could see the worry leaving your body as you sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm…I'm glad you're okay." You approach but you're cautious about touching him. "You just scared me, that's all."
While you seemed unsure, Hiromi needed to feel you. Without hesitation, he pulls you in close, planting kisses on your wrist. You showered today, he can smell it on your skin, your shared bodywash that brings him more comfort than you could ever know. He holds you close, an arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your chest into his before leaning in for a kiss. Your grimace goes unnoticed, a selfish act that he will no doubt feel guilt for in the future.
Cooling blood soaks the thin fabric of your own shirt, the scent of copper overwhelms your senses, creating a dangerous concoction of nausea to swirl through you. Even the slightest push back results in Hiromi holding you tighter, humming into your lips as though there was nothing wrong.
This is what he needs right now. Your sweet comfort and embrace, how warm you are under his touch, cradling you in his arms with such a secure grip. He steps forward and forces you to move back until you collide with the counter, ingredients for dinner long forgotten as heat stirs up between you.
Hiromi's lips travel around your face, kissing the corner of your lips, your nose, your cheeks. Some of the blood on his own face transfers onto yours — entirely ignoring your own blood soaked shirt — and he groans at the sight, an act of disappointment that he'd gotten you dirty.
"I'm sorry," He whispers against your lips, "I would've cleaned up as soon as I got home if I didn't need you right now."
It's all so familiar, painted with a sinister brush of red across the whole scenario. Your heart can't help but flutter; his body pressed flush against yours, a thigh nestled between your own, his hot breath fanning against your face, a hunger in his eyes that you know so well. Amongst it all was the sickening squeeze of fear, highlighted when you inspect all the dry flecks of blood that seeps into the pores of his face.
He drags a thumb across your cheek through the blood, leaving a streak of pink in its wake. Hiromi doesn't think about what he's doing when he proceeds to run that same thumb across your closed lips, sliding into your mouth when they part for him.
You watch him the whole time. Your heart races, threatening to give in at any moment. For the first time in your relationship, you're terrified of Hiromi. All the while, he's enamoured with the blood on your face, biting his lip ever so slightly as his thumb disappears behind your lips. Pupils darken and swallowed what little colour surrounded them. Something has overcome Hiromi and you can't begin to imagine what.
Copper sits on your tongue with a controlled grimace; Hiromi feels unpredictable and you're not sure how far you should let this go. He's never acted this way before, so sexually charged and dangerous. You're uncomfortable but you daren't fight back. Instead, you warn him, teeth pressing into his thumb, just enough pressure to convey a message.
The warning fails miserably, however.
Feeling and seeing your lips wrapped around his thumb has Hiromi pulsing with desire. You look at him with those eyes that beg for more. So hot pressed against him, each small shift of your leg is like electric against his cock, rubbing and pressing against his crotch until he's rock solid. His own heart beat is rapid but it's out of love, adrenaline and lingering bloodlust.
Pulling his thumb from your mouth, he presses the wet digit to your lips, continuing to smear the blood as though it were lipstick.
"You're so beautiful."
Such a compliment normally has you flush in the cheeks, thanking him or returning the compliment before offering your gratitude in kisses or loving touches. And while your heart still sang as a result, you can't help being critical and untrusting of his intentions.
The hand that cradled your face while smearing blood travels south, over your breasts and past your tummy to find the waistband of your pants. Fast as lightning, Hiromi is quick to press his weight further into you, forcing his hand beneath your pants and underwear, slipping his fingers through coarse pubes and between your lips. You gasp at the sensation, though it was one out of surprise rather than pleasure.
"Hi—Wait! I don't—" You stutter, your mind ablaze with panic and confusion. The way you grasp his arm to pull him out doesn't deter him, nor does your forearm against his chest. Trapped.
Hiromi moans, his lips hardly touching yours, low and gutteral. His fingers easily find their way to your clit, gliding through your folds he'd had the pleasure of knowing intimately. Your strength is no match for his, not when throes of delight burst through you with each swirl of your awakening clit. A sickening feeling forms in the pit of your stomach.
Spontinuity has never been an issue for you; some of the best moments you've had with Hiromi have been when both of you are going with the flow and acting on desires. This wasn't one of those times; both of you are now covered in blood — someone else's — and your partner doesn't feel like your partner. This isn't the same man you kissed goodbye to this morning, half asleep and still in bed, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him there for more kisses, tempting him to come back to bed. Something about him is different and it makes you sick.
You whimper as his fingers slide into you. It's ignored in favour of a kiss, sloppy and desperate and entirely unreciprocated.
Hiromi watches the way tears begin to form in your eyes, and he can't help grinding his bulge against your thigh as he does. An arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, kissing away the tears on your cheeks as though he isn't the one inflicting them.
It tears him apart, even if you don't see it.
His heart twists painfully, bile sitting in the back of his throat, burning and lingering. Hiromi wants you — needs you, why can't you understand that? Don't you see how torn up he is? How bloody, sad and worn down he is?
Each whine of his name, bubbled sob, it makes him harder and that much more depressed. You push and fight to be let go. Gasping and blocking each moan that's dragged out of you, to keep him from believing you want this. Hiromi knows you too well — how you tick, where to press, how to push and pull, just how to grind the palm of his hand against your clit, to make you rock your hips into him against your will.
The world is rotten, he thinks, pulling his fingers out from you and forcing them into your mouth. No matter how much he tries, sometimes it's impossible to ensure justice is carried out correctly.
He swallows thickly watching you wrap your lips around his digits, a hand cradling the back of your head, tears shining in the artificial lighting of the kitchen.
What's the point of rules if there's no one to enforce them, truly? If the highest order doesn't bother to follow rules themselves, then why should anyone else try?
Tears begin to brim in Hiromi's eyes. The constant thrum beneath his skin grows.
"I'm sorry."
He needs this to feel normal again, to feel you and release the adrenaline that lingers within lest he do something drastic again — as though forcing you to turn around and lean against the counter isn't just that.
You didn't have much leverage before when fighting Hiromi off of you, but now you have even less as he pulls your pants down over your ass. It's happening so fast that you barely have time to beg and plead, gasping for air between sobs. Hiromi is hot and hard pressing against your hole, forcing his way in as he says, "I'm so sorry, darling."
The worst part was that you believed him.
His voice was broken, choked; you can't see the sorrow on his face. One that was decorated with flushed, pink cheeks.
It hurts as he pushes himself inside of you. Despite the fingering that loosened you up, you're still tense and tight around him, reluctant to take him even with force. Your breath is caught in your throat as you cry into the counter, a lone sob eventually making its way out. The way Hiromi moans in relief behind you shouldn't be as pleasant as it was. His fingers are still gentle on your waist as he holds you in place, thumbs caressing you as though it would soothe the pain.
Hiromi's head swims. So tight around his cock you're almost suffocating — if he's not careful, he's going to cum two strokes inside of you. He's forced to take a breath, move slowly as he pulls out and sinks back in, shivering with delight as he watches himself disappear in your warmth.
At the same time, guilt swallows him whole.
Tears burn in his waterline; they're consistent no matter how many times he tries to blink them away. Like a boulder sitting in his chest, it grows in size with each sob and cry you muster, a plea of his name to stop and let you go. He didn't want to do this, never does he want to hurt you—not on purpose. Nothing feels real anymore, nothing truly matters because there are no consequences. You'll forgive him for this, hopefully. He needs to be selfish; just this once, just for now.
You accept defeat when Hiromi shows no sign of letting up, barely pulling out and keeping you pinned down with a hand between your shoulderblades — one that soon crawls up towards your neck. He can't bear to look at your profile like this. It only floods him with guilt and self deprivation, a feeling he doesn't want to acknowledge right now. Not when your pussy is squeezing him so tightly.
"Don't be mad at me…" Hiromi huffs between thrusts, a rhythmic sound of slapping skin merges with your sobs and his moans. "Please…I needed this, it's been…A long day."
Each word hits like a knife in your heart. It's hard not to blame yourself; he has been going through hell and back the last couple of months but that doesn't mean you should negate your own comfort. It's so very hard not to feel your own sense of guilt when he wraps his arms around you, resting his head between your shoulderblades where his hand once was, pressing his full weight into you. A comforting embrace with shallow thrusts of his cock inside you.
This was all he needed to rid himself of the sadness that overshadowed his heart. The thrum under his skin slowly dissipates, replaced with the buzz of pleasure. Your comfort is unlike anything he's experienced before. It brings him a sense of peace, warmth and happiness he can't find elsewhere. He just conveniently ignores the sobs of his name that made his core tighten.
It's painful just how much your body reacts to the stimulation. Your mind is torn with a back and forth argument, determined to remind yourself that you don't want this, that your partner isn't himself and it scares you. All the while, your legs shake with pleasure. It's sickening how waves of desire flow through you with each thrust, every moan forced to stay behind closed lips when Hiromi hits your most sensitive areas.
"Please stop." You whimper, reaching back to hold onto his elbow wrapped around your waist. He moves but he doesn't stop, doesn't seem to directly acknowledge your request. Instead, he gropes your chest between the counter; fuel to the fire.
When Hiromi pulls out, you can't help but let out a breath of relief. One that stems from the release of his body pressed against you and the pain of him forcing his way inside. You don't question what his plan is, you don't have a chance, because as soon as you push yourself up from the counter, Hiromi is manhandling you once again. Twisting you back around and pulling you up onto the counter with a small huff, he treats you like an overgrown doll who can't think for themself. At this point, you'd given up fighting him, allowing Hiromi to pull your pants off the rest of the way, eagerly slotting himself back inside your pussy.
He's feral as he fucks you like this. Faster and harder, his hands cling to you like a lifeline, fingers melting into the soft flesh of your belly. Hiromi kisses you desperately, uncaring of how you feel or what you want—not that he seemed to care, to you. Tongue forcing its way into your mouth and ravaging your own, he cries and whimpers against your tongue.
With your lips barely a breath apart, he whispers, "Forgive me, please. I need you to forgive me for this."
It's hard to respond when it feels like he's fucking your guts. So fast and hard you can barely take a breath. The way you voluntarily wrap your arms around his neck is confirmation enough. Silent forgiveness—or at the very least, acceptance.
Hiromi whines and groans, sloppy kisses against your lips and across your face, continuing to smear what blood was left on his face against yours. Your chests pressed together create a cold, wet friction that makes you grimace, but you hold Hiromi close nonetheless.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats like a chant, quiet as though he doesn't want anyone else to hear. "I'm so sorry."
With his head buried in the crook of your neck, you hold him close. Your grip on his jacket tightens when you cum, though it's not a dramatic display and you're sure he doesn't even realise. It only causes guilt to flood through you, a fresh set of tears flowing down your cheeks and melting into the taut fabric of his suit jacket. All the while, Hiromi continues to beg you, his own tears lost in the fabric of your shirt.
He's so close and grief begins to take over. A swelling of regret that slowly overshadows the pleasure that's built up, the tightness in his balls and core; it even overwhelms his orgasm that he'd been so desperate for. Hiromi squeezes you tight. He daren't look at you. The post-nut shame is alive and well.
"Forgive me. Please, forgive me." Hiromi repeats into your skin, as though it will come true if he begs just enough.
Your heart twists in your chest, gripped by his own hands, squeezed until you can't help but forgive him. It's not his fault, you tell yourself. Grasping onto him tightly, you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling Hiromi closer and allowing him to truly melt into you. Tears still linger in your eyes and you fear they'll never disappear.
"It's okay, Hiromi." You finally whisper, your voice giving away just how insincere your forgiveness is. "I forgive you. It's okay."
That thrum of energy lights up inside of him. Electric. His tears dry quickly, disappearing as his skin burns hot, gritting his teeth before pulling away from where he was hiding. "It's not okay," Hiromi spits, "It's not…"
This new man is so confusing — you've never seen Hiromi like this before. So dark and sinister and vulnerable, even he doesn't know what he's supposed to be feeling. You watch as his face softens from his frustration, eyes quickly growing glassy again and he swallows a sob. His cock was still settled within you, his seed burrowed deep, coating your walls as a reminder of what you endured. Tear streaks paint your cheeks, Hiromi acknowledges the pain in your eyes that he never, ever wanted to see, there's blood all over your beautiful body.
All because of him.
"Why should I follow the rules? Why should I try to enforce them and defend those accused of breaking them?" You don't answer; only waiting patiently for him to get everything out of his system and comfort him where necessary. Hiromi sighs in frustration, kissing you quick and finally pulling away enough that his soft cock falls — he doesn't move far from your comfort, though. "I know everyone breaks the rules, but if people can get away with it or be treated unfairly, why doesn't everyone break them? Do whatever they want? It feels good to break the rules…"
It's as though he's talking to himself, voicing his thoughts, like he didn't just force himself on you. And you comfort him all the same.
"I think you should lay down for a—"
"No." Hiromi snaps. "No," He repeats softer while holding your face in his hands. "I…I just want you right now. Please."
You're still trapped, even if it's not entirely intentional. Hiromi presses himself between your legs, pulling your face into his for another kiss; slow and sensual, it was out of love rather than desire, but it still created the bubbling of nausea within you. It sends sparks through your body for the first time since he came home, since you kissed him that morning before he left. Part of you was healing, perhaps. Coming to terms with who he is.
"I killed them." He whispers against your lips, his eyes still closed while yours open wide in shock. Your blood runs cold and Hiromi continues to kiss you, forcing his way between your teeth and moaning as he grows hard again. "I killed them and it felt so good, darling."
You grip onto Hiromi's shirt and struggle in his hold, pushing his chest and trying desperately to pull his mouth from yours. When you're finally free, you gasp, "You killed who?"
Hiromi looks at you like a scolded puppy, his head bowed as he looks up at you beneath his brow, fingers holding onto your shoulders so tight they're likely causing bruises. While it explains his insane behaviour, it also amplifies the anxiety in your chest.
"They changed their verdict," Hiromi sighs your name, pleading. "I got so angry, I don't know what happened; something has changed, I can't explain it. Japan has been so crazy since Halloween in Shibuya that something came over me."
The tears form in his eyes again and when you finally see a single tear fall down his cheek, your resolve collapses instantly.
"I'm sorry." A mantra at this point, one of the only phrases he knows. Hiromi leans in to kiss you and to his surprise, you don't try to pull back. One kiss, two. "I'm so sorry." Three, four. You feel his cock growing between your legs, pressing up between your folds. "Please, please forgive me, I love you."
When you finally kiss him back, you whisper sincerely against his lips. "I forgive you." 
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ohsayge · 1 year ago
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School Bus Graveyard but make it Percy Jackson & the Olympians
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Cabins:
Aiden: Cabin 11- Hermes Ashlyn: Cabin 6- Athena Ben: Cabin 7- Apollo Logan: Cabin 6- Athena Taylor: Cabin 10- Aphrodite Tyler: Cabin 10- Aphrodite
Abilities/Roles:
Aiden: Pickpocketing Master Ashlyn: Leader Ben: Musician Logan: Battle Strategist Taylor: Charmspeak Tyler: "Curse" (cursing two people to fall in love no matter what)
Ashlyn and Logan walked through the woods, they were playing Capture the Flag with the rest of the camp. Although they weren’t really paying all that much attention to the activity.
“Hey, you guys,” A voice called behind them. It was Aiden, one of the Hermes’ cabin boys. A boy who really liked to hang around Ashlyn for some reason, Ashlyn had yet to figure it out yet.
“What do you want Aiden?” Ashlyn asked, hiding Logan slightly behind her so he could run if need be.
“Nothing. I’m just bored,” Aiden smirked his usual smirk. He was wearing his armor incorrectly over his orange camp tee-shirt and jeans. His knife hung down on his side and his badly bleached hair fell down into his eyes.
“Well, go play the game then,” Ashlyn told him, stepping back. Her hand drifted to her sheathed sword.
“Hold on, I’m not going to hurt you,” Aiden laughed putting his hands up defensively.
“Aiden!” A hispanic pair of twins walked up, “You can’t just run off.” The male one said, as his sister panted from running. Ashlyn recognized them as Tyler and Taylor, two of Aphrodite's kids.
"Why are you chatting with the enemy?"
“He’s not!” Ashlyn assured them, both her and Logan started to slowly back away.
“We were having a great conversation,” Aiden's smirk widened at her reaction. Ashlyn felt Logan tug at her shirt, nodding his head towards where their flag was.
Ashlyn turned, keeping her gaze locked on Aiden and his companions until she was certain they wouldn't follow. Then, she quickly shifted her attention to Logan, their silent communication fine-tuned from years of friendship.
“Hey! Why are you running off?” Aiden laughed, smiling rather weirdly.
“Follow them you idiot! They know where their flag is!” The male twin called.
Ashlyn swore under her breath before she and Logan picked up speed. “I didn’t think they actually had brains,” She told Logan causing him to laugh.
The pair darted through the forest, maneuvering around trees and leaping over rocks with ease. Ashlyn’s long red hair whipped behind her. She could hear Aiden and his companions threading their way clumsily through the underbrush in pursuit, their laughter and banter echoing through the trees.
Looking at Logan, she raised her brows in a silent question. He nodded back, understanding her unspoken query. As they neared a river that bisected the camp, Logan jumped over the bank, followed closely by Ashlyn.
But before she could fully get across a hand grabbed her hair, pulling her back over. “Ow!” She exclaimed, before whipping around and slamming her foot into the side of Aiden, the culprit.
Aiden gasped, doubling over from the impact. His grip on her hair loosened, allowing Ashlyn to yank herself free. “What is your problem?” Ashlyn asked him, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
Aiden staggered back, wincing in pain and holding his side. He looked up at Ashlyn, his red eyes narrowed and his smile a forced shadow of its usual cockiness. The twins ran up behind him.
“Why would you pull on her hair? That’s not very nice, Aiden. Now stand up and get over here,” Taylor said, Ashlyn could tell she was using her charmspeak on the blonde.
Hearing Taylor's command, Aiden stood slowly, grimacing but maintaining his challenging grin. "Well, it's not very nice to kick people either," he retorted, trying to deflect the blame. But the scowl on Tyler's face made it clear that he wasn't buying Aiden's excuse. He grabbed his teammate’s arm and started pulling him away.
"You idiot!" Tyler growled. "Can't you just play the game like a normal person?" Aiden shrugged him off irritably, but didn't resist as they moved back towards their side of the woods.
Aiden struggled to keep himself up as Tyler dragged him away, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "You guys are no fun," he complained, rubbing his side where Ashlyn had kicked him. His affected bravado was marred by the wince that twisted his features.
Ashlyn watched them retreat, her green eyes flashing with indignation. Beside her, Logan was checking their surroundings, his gaze alert and searching. His light brown hair appeared reddish under the rays of the setting sun filtering through the trees. When he saw that they were alone again, he turned to Ashlyn, offering a comforting smile.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched in his soft blue eyes.
"I'm fine," she replied curtly. She brushed off a few leaves that had stuck onto her orange camp shirt and adjusted her armor. Logan could tell she was shaken up by Aiden’s ambush, but he decided against pressing the matter further.
Instead, he pointed towards the western part of the forest, where their flag lay hidden amidst the foliage. "We'd better get moving. Taylor and Tyler might come back with reinforcements."
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fidesvirtusobsession · 4 months ago
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Echoes of a Thousand Nights
Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader
Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8
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Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.
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The car rolled to a slow stop, against the cobblestone streets. Alaric, (Y/n), and Elera stepped out into the cool night air, the grandiose sight of the manor before them illuminated by flickering torchlight. The estate stood tall and imposing, its black stone walls bathed in the glow of soft golden light spilling from the windows. The smell of fresh roses from the garden mixed with the faint scent of blood from within, and the distant hum of conversations echoed out across the grounds.
Elera was the first to step out of the carriage, grinning as she took in the lavish scene. She loved these kinds of gatherings. "Well, well, looks like the night’s already buzzing." She cast a knowing glance at Alaric before turning to (Y/n), her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine."
Alaric had his gaze trained on the doors, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the sea of vampires walking about in their evening attire. He adjusted his coat, checking to ensure everything was in place before he offered (Y/n) his arm. “Shall we?”
Her heart skipped at the gesture, though she tried not to show it. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the vast estate, the sounds of laughter and music mixing in the air. There was a certain heaviness that clung to her chest, the memory of the auction house whispering in her mind like an old ghost.
“(Y/n)?” Alaric’s voice brought her back to the present, and when she lifted her eyes to his, she saw nothing but sincerity.
“You’re safe here,” he said softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
Her breath caught. She knew the truth of his words, but something still lingered, a thread of doubt gnawing at the edges of her resolve. She looked away for just a moment before taking his arm, offering him a small, yet grateful smile. “Thank you.”
Together, they walked toward the entrance, the sounds of the night becoming clearer the closer they got. Music spilled from inside, a delicate waltz that blended perfectly with the soft murmur of voices. The doors opened before them, revealing a grand hall, its walls adorned with fine art and gold-trimmed chandeliers.
The other guests were already mingling, the air thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Vampires and humans alike, although the majority of the guests were of the former, had gathered in their finest attire. Women wore dresses that shimmered in the dim light, their jewels catching the glow. Men in tailored suits and long coats stood in small clusters, discussing matters of business and politics.
As they entered, Elera gave (Y/n) a knowing wink, clearly enjoying the discomfort (Y/n) couldn’t entirely hide. Alaric, too, could sense her unease, though he remained close, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as they moved deeper into the ballroom.
Once inside, a vampire attendant came over with a polite smile, greeting them and offering them refreshments. Elera, ever the social butterfly, immediately began to mingle, leaving Alaric and (Y/n) to navigate the room.
“You look beautiful,” Alaric said quietly, his voice low, just for her. “I’m glad you decided to come.” He wasn’t sure if it was more for her sake or his, but as he said it, his fingers brushed against hers in a subtle, reassuring touch.
(Y/n) smiled faintly, grateful, but still on edge. The laughter and music felt distant to her, as though they were on the outside looking in. She felt out of place, like an intruder.
"Let's just take it slow," Alaric murmured, sensing her discomfort. "We can stay here for a bit and then leave whenever you're ready."
It wasn’t much of a plan, but the reassurance in his tone made her feel a little lighter.
They made their way to a quieter corner of the ballroom, where a small group of vampires stood conversing. Alaric kept a protective but subtle distance from her, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd, always vigilant. And though she hadn’t realized it yet, the tension in the air began to slowly dissipate, her heart less heavy now that he was close.
But it wasn’t until he looked at her, those dark eyes of his soft and filled with something she couldn't quite define, that (Y/n) realized she wasn’t as alone in this space as she thought. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a place here, beside him.
The soft strains of the orchestra filled the air, the music floating like a dream, weaving through the room in delicate waltzes. Alaric and (Y/n) found themselves drawn to the dance floor once more, the atmosphere around them feeling almost surreal. The crowd moved in fluidity around them, but for a moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them, surrounded by the hum of the music and the quiet click of their shoes on the polished floor.
Alaric held her close, his hand steady on the small of her back as they moved together, a practiced ease to his steps. His presence was like a steady anchor, keeping her grounded, and despite her initial nerves, she found herself relaxing, letting the rhythm take over.
"How are you finding it so far?" Alaric asked, his voice low, just for her. His eyes never left hers, watching her closely as if gauging her every move.
She took a breath, glancing around the ballroom. It was opulent, grandiose, but it also felt overwhelming, the sea of vampires swirling around them, all with their own intentions and secrets. "It’s... different," she said, a hint of nervous laughter in her voice. "I never imagined I'd be at a place like this." She caught his gaze, her lips quivering into a small smile. "Not in a million years."
Alaric’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I can imagine this is quite the contrast from where you were before." His eyes softened, though a faint glimmer of something darker flickered beneath the surface. "But I’m glad you’re here."
She nodded, her eyes moving back to the sea of dancers. The chandeliers overhead cast golden light, and the dark windows revealed the moonlit night beyond, but all she could focus on was the sensation of Alaric’s touch, the warmth and steadiness of him guiding her through the dance.
“I never thought I would be able to walk into a room like this," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes it still feels like I'm pretending."
Alaric’s gaze softened even further, and for a moment, he said nothing, simply guiding her through the steps, as if the act of dancing itself was a form of reassurance.
"You’re not pretending," he finally murmured, his hand tightening slightly on hers. "You belong here, (Y/n), just as you belong with me." His voice held a certain gravity, a sincerity that was impossible to mistake. "This... is your life now."
She didn’t know what to say to that, and the only thing she could offer him in return was the gentle squeeze of his hand, her heart fluttering with a feeling she hadn’t been ready for.
They danced in silence for a moment, the music shifting subtly, becoming a little more lively, the rhythm quickening as the tempo of the orchestra increased. Alaric’s steps became more fluid, more precise, as he led her into a lively spin, her laughter breaking free as she followed his lead.
For just a moment, she let herself go, letting the music carry her, feeling as though she were floating on air. Alaric’s hand never wavered, always steady, always guiding.
As the song swirled around them, they found themselves at the edge of the ballroom, the music fading into a soft background hum, leaving the two of them momentarily alone in their small bubble.
"Alaric," she said, her voice almost uncertain, "do you ever feel... like you’re being watched? Like everyone in this room knows something you don’t?"
His lips curled into a subtle smile. "I’ve been alive long enough to understand that everyone in a room like this is watching, whether they admit it or not."
A flicker of something passed through her, and she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "And you don’t mind it? You seem... unbothered."
He gave her a brief, knowing glance. "I don’t mind it because I know how to handle it. And besides..." His voice dropped to a near whisper, a playful gleam in his eyes. "There’s only one pair of eyes I need to worry about tonight."
Her heart skipped a beat. The words were gentle, almost teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in them that sent warmth rushing to her cheeks.
Before she could say anything more, a soft chuckle broke through their bubble of quiet. Elera, who had quietly approached them during their dance, was now standing at the edge of the floor, her smile wide and full of amusement.
"Don’t get too comfortable, Alaric," Elera teased, her voice light but knowing. "I’m sure there are plenty of other ‘watchful eyes’ here for you."
Alaric shot her a look, his posture stiffening slightly, but there was a calmness in his eyes that told (Y/n) he wasn’t truly concerned. His gaze remained locked on her, the playful edge in his expression never fading.
"Let them watch," he said, his words soft but firm. "But I’m only dancing with one person tonight."
Elera let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes rolling playfully as she shook her head. "Of course, of course. But just remember, you’re not the only one who has a claim to her."
With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, leaving them to continue their dance in peace.
(Y/n) blinked, the fluttering in her chest returning, though now it was mixed with something else—something deeper, something unspoken. As the music swirled around them again, she felt more certain, more grounded than she had in a long time.
At this moment, nothing else mattered. It was just her and Alaric, moving in time with the music, lost in the rhythm of their own world.
The music gradually slowed, the tempo easing into a peaceful lull as the dance came to its natural end. Alaric’s hand remained on her waist, his fingers warm and steady, keeping her close even as the final notes of the orchestra filled the air. The room around them still buzzed with energy, but the intensity of the dance had left them both slightly breathless.
"You’ve been amazing," Alaric said, his voice soft, almost in awe as he gently guided her away from the center of the floor. His touch was comforting, reassuring, as if the dance had left him in need of grounding as much as she did.
She laughed softly, her breath still coming in little gasps from the exertion. "I think I was stumbling around more than anything."
He gave her a look—half teasing, half indulgent. "Hardly. You were perfect."
They made their way toward the edge of the ballroom, where a quiet alcove had been set up with plush chairs and soft lighting. The soft hum of conversation drifted in the air, and the smell of various delicacies being served wafted toward them.
Alaric paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before turning to her. "You’ve danced long enough for one evening. Let’s eat, and then perhaps you can rest for a bit."
She nodded, grateful for the suggestion, feeling her limbs finally beginning to grow heavy from the evening’s events. "I don’t think I could dance any longer even if I tried," she admitted, a small chuckle slipping from her lips.
Alaric smiled warmly, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary. "Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to." He offered her his arm, a subtle but inviting gesture that she gladly accepted, her hand resting gently in the crook of his arm.
Together, they walked through the opulent halls of the manor, the sound of their shoes echoing softly in the quiet space. The more they moved away from the grand ballroom, the quieter it became, and soon they were outside in the cool night air, walking toward a secluded garden area just behind the manor. A long table had been set up under the stars, decorated with candles and flowers, the scene looking more intimate and peaceful than the lavish festivities inside.
Alaric gestured toward a seat. "Please, sit. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve earned it." His voice held a subtle tenderness, one that was rare and genuine.
She sat, feeling the warmth of the night’s atmosphere settle around her like a soft embrace. As she glanced up at Alaric, she couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed he seemed in this quieter setting, away from the eyes of the grand event.
"You’ve been running around all night," she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you’re not tired?"
His lips quivered upward, though his gaze softened with affection. "I’m more concerned about you, (Y/n). Tonight’s been a lot. You should take a moment to rest. You’ve been amazing."
Before she could respond, a servant appeared with a plate of delicate food, placing it before her with a small bow. She smiled politely, the simple act of kindness reminding her of how different her life had become since coming here. Alaric had made sure she felt comfortable, safe, in a way she hadn’t known in years.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude she didn’t often voice. "This is nice."
Alaric took a seat beside her, his presence comforting, like the calm after a storm. He didn’t speak at first, letting her enjoy her meal in silence. The soft clink of cutlery and the distant hum of the party was all that could be heard between them.
After a moment, he glanced over at her, watching her carefully. "How are you feeling?"
She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a thoughtful look. "Better. The dancing… It was overwhelming at first, but you were right. I’m glad I did it." Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of genuine warmth there.
He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest, but his eyes never left her. "I’m glad, too. But remember, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Take your time."
She nodded, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his words. The calmness between them felt different than it had before—more intimate, more genuine. She realized that, despite the layers of history and tension between them, Alaric had somehow become a constant presence in her life, a steady force she hadn’t realized she needed.
The evening carried on with ease, the food and wine softening her nerves further, and soon the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They spoke of everything and nothing, the quiet rhythm of the night lulling them into a comfortable familiarity that neither had expected but both appreciated.
As the night deepened, the sounds of the banquet softened in the distance, and Alaric offered her a final, lingering glance, his gaze filled with affection. "You can rest here as long as you need. No one will disturb you."
She smiled, feeling a sense of contentment she hadn’t known in a long time. "Thank you, Alaric. This... this has been a strange night, but I’m glad I’m here."
His smile, though small, was soft and full of understanding. "I’m glad, too."
And as they sat in the tranquil garden, the world seemed to pause around them, leaving them both in a quiet space of peace—just the two of them, sharing an unspoken moment of calm amidst the chaos of the evening.
The music swelled around them, a soft, melodic flow that was almost hypnotic. The atmosphere of the banquet was supposed to be soothing, yet Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with (Y/n). Her posture had stiffened again, her gaze flicking to the crowd, a subtle unease taking hold of her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes darted from face to face in the crowd, though she wasn’t truly seeing them.
Alaric, ever watchful, noticed the change in her immediately. He had been so absorbed in the way she looked tonight, the way she glided effortlessly through the crowd beside him, that he hadn’t noticed the discomfort that was growing in her. The smell of blood—the deep, intoxicating scent of vampires—had shifted, and he realized she must have caught the scent too.
He took a step closer to her, his voice low and gentle, careful not to make her feel singled out.
“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” His tone wasn’t a question; it was an observation. He could feel the tension radiating off her.
She hesitated, glancing up at him briefly, her eyes betraying the quiet battle she was waging within herself. There was a flicker of fear in them, quickly masked by a forced smile.
“I’m fine, Alaric,” she said, but her voice lacked its usual strength, a note of uncertainty creeping in.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the ballroom. It was too easy for a human to feel overwhelmed here, surrounded by so many vampires, many of whom had no care for how their presence affected someone like (Y/n). The scent of blood, the hum of conversation, the overwhelming pressure—it was a lot to take in, especially for someone who had lived through the horrors of being sold like cattle.
He could smell the blood rising in the air as more vampires filtered through the room, each one more intoxicating than the last. He knew it was difficult for her to be here, with that lingering fear still gripping her heart from the auction house.
Before she could protest, Alaric placed a gentle hand on her arm, his touch grounding, steadying her.
“Let’s take a walk, hm?” he suggested quietly. “A scroll outside, perhaps. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”
She looked at him for a moment, as if measuring his sincerity, before nodding. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her as she followed him out of the ballroom. They made their way toward the grand doors leading outside, Alaric’s hand never leaving the small of her back, guiding her with careful precision.
As they stepped into the cool night air, a slight breeze ruffled (Y/n)’s dress, and for the first time since they’d arrived, she felt her shoulders relax. The suffocating weight of the banquet hall lifted off her chest. Her breaths came a little easier, her heart rate steadying.
Alaric slowed his pace, letting her catch up with him as they moved toward the garden that stretched out before them. The sounds of the banquet faded, replaced by the chirping of distant night creatures and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now, no longer commanding or imposing, but quiet and sincere. “I should have noticed sooner. I don’t want you to feel trapped in there.”
She looked at him, surprised by his empathy. It was rare for someone in his position to even notice the discomfort of a human, let alone try to soothe it.
“I didn’t want to ruin the night,” she admitted, her voice small. “I’ve never been to something like this... it’s overwhelming.”
He nodded, understanding. “It’s a lot to take in. No one should have to endure that feeling. Not if they don’t want to.”
They continued walking through the garden, the soft light of the moon illuminating their path. The night air was fresh, and (Y/n) felt herself starting to relax again, the tension in her shoulders easing with each step. She was grateful for Alaric’s presence, his quiet understanding.
She glanced up at him, her voice steady as she spoke, “Thank you.”
Alaric smiled faintly, a rare softness in his expression. “You don’t need to thank me. Just promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable again. I’d rather take a walk through the gardens than watch you suffer in there.”
She smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she felt truly cared for—not as a commodity, not as something to be used, but as someone who was seen and protected.
“Deal,” she said, looking up at the stars.
They walked in silence for a while, the atmosphere around them calm and peaceful, before Alaric finally spoke again, his voice quieter than before.
“If you ever need to leave early... or if this all gets too much, we can go. You don’t have to stay here longer than you’re comfortable with.”
(Y/n) looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making her heart flutter. “I know. And that means more to me than you realize.”
As they continued their stroll, the night felt less suffocating, and for the first time, (Y/n) felt like she could breathe again. And it was because of him—Alaric, who had noticed, who cared.
The garden stretched out before them, bathed in the soft light of the moon, the air cool and fresh against their skin. The scent of roses, lavender, and damp earth filled the air, grounding (Y/n) with every step.
She walked in quiet comfort beside him, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound accompanying them. There was no pressure, no looming expectations—just the serene peace of the night around them.
Alaric kept his gaze ahead, though his attention was clearly on her. He knew this was a delicate balance—allowing her to have space without losing sight of her, ensuring she felt protected, not confined. His stride was slow, purposeful, and he glanced at her every so often, watching as her tense shoulders gradually relaxed, her steps becoming more measured, more confident with each passing moment.
“You look better,” he said after a few moments, his voice a bit quieter, softer in the calm of the garden. “A little more at ease.”
She didn’t respond right away, her eyes drawn to the delicate flowers in full bloom around them. She let herself enjoy the simple beauty of the garden, the peace it offered. It was strange—she had never felt such a deep sense of comfort in such a place before, especially not in the presence of someone who could be so intimidating if he wanted to be.
“I’ve never been outside like this,” she finally admitted, her voice thoughtful. “Not without fear of... someone chasing me. Or hunting me.”
Alaric’s gaze softened, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. It wasn’t lost on him how much she had been through. He had learned bits and pieces of her history, the darkness that had followed her, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine the weight of it all.
“You’re not being hunted here, (Y/n),” he said gently, his voice almost a whisper. “Not by anyone. Not by me.”
She glanced up at him then, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There was no jest, no challenge, just pure sincerity. And there, for a fleeting moment, she saw a side of him she hadn’t quite expected—a quiet, unspoken depth, one that held the same weight as the vows of protection he had made to her earlier.
“Thank you,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Alaric gave her a small nod, his hand brushing gently against hers for just a second. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out fully, but he didn’t. He respected her space, and perhaps, that was the most intimate gesture of all.
The silence that followed was comfortable, soothing. They continued walking through the garden, side by side, each step taking them further away from the chaos of the banquet. (Y/n) felt herself unwind more, the tension in her chest slowly dissipating.
“It’s... beautiful out here,” she said quietly, her voice a little more relaxed now. “I didn’t expect this from a place like this.”
Alaric glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “There’s more to this place than what you’ve seen so far. I could show you the entire estate, if you’d like. Some of the rooms inside, the view from the tower—there’s much more than just the halls of that banquet.”
She smiled back at him, the idea of exploring more of the manor appealing to her. But it wasn’t just the idea of the estate that drew her in; it was the simple, shared moment between them. It wasn’t about the opulence of the place or the politics of the vampires. It was about this—the peace, the quiet, the chance to be herself, without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“I’d like that,” she said, glancing at him with a soft, genuine smile.
For a long moment, they simply walked, enjoying the quiet stillness of the garden. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows and highlighting the soft curve of flowers and foliage. The scent of the earth and flowers was calming, reminding (Y/n) of simpler times, of places she had never known but somehow longed for.
As they reached the far end of the garden, where the path curved to reveal a small, tranquil pond, Alaric stopped, glancing at her with a careful expression.
“You know,” he began, his voice low, “you don’t need to pretend with me. I can see when you’re not comfortable. And you don’t have to force yourself to be okay all the time.”
Her gaze flicked to him in surprise, his words striking a chord within her. She wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was the honesty in his tone or the kindness he had shown her since she arrived—but for the first time, she felt like she could actually trust someone to not see her as fragile. To not view her as something to be fixed.
“I know,” she whispered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a nearby stone. “But sometimes, I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve always been.”
Alaric’s gaze softened further, and without thinking, he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, a firm, reassuring touch. “Then let me show you another way. You’re not alone anymore. Not here.”
Her breath caught in her chest at his words, and for a moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of them, allowing herself to believe—if only for a fleeting moment—that maybe she wasn’t alone. Not really.
They stood there for a while longer, the quiet hum of the garden surrounding them as they both silently processed the rare peace between them. And in that moment, (Y/n) couldn’t help but feel a small shift within herself. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live again.
The cool evening air had begun to settle, the warmth of the banquet now a distant memory. (Y/n) shivered slightly, the chill of the night seeping into her bones as they stood by the pond, the moon reflecting off the still water. She wasn’t used to being outside for this long, especially in the presence of so many unfamiliar things. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the garden was comforting, but the cold had a way of creeping in, reminding her of the world outside this sanctuary.
Without a word, Alaric glanced down at her, noticing the subtle tremor in her movements. His eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he moved closer. He had been silent for a while now, lost in thought as he watched her, and he wasn’t sure if it was the cool night air or something else that had caused the shift in her demeanor. Either way, he wasn’t about to let her stand there in discomfort.
Before she could say a word, Alaric reached for his coat. In one swift motion, he draped it over her shoulders, the fabric warm from his body, and she was immediately enveloped in its comforting weight. The deep, rich scent of him lingered in the coat’s fibers, a reminder of his presence.
“Here,” he said softly, his voice low as he adjusted the coat around her shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he did so, a fleeting touch that left an undeniable warmth behind. “It’s not much, but it should help.”
She looked up at him, surprised by his thoughtfulness. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t,” he interrupted gently, his hand lingering on the coat for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze softened, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “But you shouldn’t have to feel cold.”
The sincerity in his tone was impossible to ignore, and for a moment, (Y/n) felt an overwhelming sense of safety and warmth radiating from him. The coat was heavy, but it was more than just the fabric that provided comfort. It was the quiet protection that came with it, the unspoken promise that he would ensure she was taken care of.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked down, her fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as she instinctively pulled it tighter around herself. “Thank you, Alaric.”
His gaze softened, and there was something almost unreadable in the way he watched her, his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long. He had been doing his best to maintain control, to keep his distance and remain composed, but seeing her so vulnerable, so genuine in that moment, made it harder than ever.
He cleared his throat, pulling himself out of the trance he had fallen into. “Let’s get you back inside,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I think you’ve had enough of the cold for tonight.”
As he guided her back toward the manor, his hand brushed against hers for the briefest moment, a silent reassurance. He couldn’t help but feel the desire to protect her, to make sure she was safe, and that feeling seemed to settle deep within him as they walked in step.
The grandeur of the banquet hall loomed ahead, the doors opening in front of them, and yet, despite the overwhelming luxury and the crowd of vampires waiting inside, Alaric found that he didn’t mind the quiet of the garden so much. He didn’t mind the peace they had shared in those fleeting moments, away from the expectations of the night.
As they stepped through the threshold, Alaric’s hand once again brushed against hers, guiding her inside. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill of the garden, but the presence of the crowd, the vibrant energy of the banquet, didn’t seem as important now. Not with her by his side.
“Ready to head back in?” he asked, his voice softer, almost as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them in that moment.
She gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his. There was something different in her expression, a quiet understanding that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was the night, the solitude of the garden, or the kindness he had shown her, but whatever it was, it had allowed a crack in the wall she had built up around herself.
“I think I am,” she replied, her voice steady now, more at ease. She smiled up at him, her fingers still lightly gripping the coat around her.
Alaric’s heart gave a small, almost imperceptible lurch at the sight of her smile, and for the briefest moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to trust him—just a little more.
And as they walked back into the heart of the banquet, he felt a quiet contentment settle in his chest. Whatever the night held, whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them all by her side. And that was enough.
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The grand ballroom was alive with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, the soft strains of the orchestra weaving through the air. Elera stood by the edge of the room, a glass of wine in hand, her eyes scanning the crowd. The flicker of candlelight on crystal chandeliers reflected in her amused gaze as she observed the various guests mingling and exchanging pleasantries. Despite the vibrant atmosphere, she seemed detached from it all, her focus narrowing on a single person.
Alaric.
He had been dutifully playing his part, moving among the guests with a perfect air of grace, his gaze flickering back toward (Y/n) now and then, a soft tenderness in his movements. But it wasn’t long before Elera’s sharp eyes caught the moment he and (Y/n) quietly slipped out of the ballroom, walking away from the cacophony of conversation, slipping into the garden outside.
Elera couldn’t help the small, knowing smile that tugged at her lips.
She didn’t need to follow them; she knew exactly what was happening. Alaric was smitten—utterly. And (Y/n) was beginning to fall, whether she realized it or not. It was sweet, really. The way the two of them danced around their feelings. But there was something oddly tragic about it too.
She took another sip of her wine, continuing to watch them as they disappeared into the night. The warmth of the room, the chatter, the laughter, all faded into a soft hum in her ears as her attention remained focused on Alaric and (Y/n).
It wasn’t long before Elera felt a presence beside her. She turned to find Ericsson standing by her side, a quiet smile on his lips as he studied her quietly, his eyes flickering to the couple who had just left the room. His gaze lingered for a moment before meeting hers.
“Still watching them?” he asked, amusement evident in his voice.
Elera’s smile only widened, her gaze never leaving the door they had exited through. “I think you already know the answer to that,” she replied, the words almost playful, but there was an edge to them. “It’s quite a show, isn’t it?”
Ericsson chuckled, swirling his glass of wine. “Quite the spectacle. Though I never understood Alaric’s obsession with the same woman. Why keep chasing her? Time and time again, with no hope of ever truly having her.”
Elera arched a brow, her expression both curious and slightly teasing. “And you think you would fare any better?”
Ericsson gave a small, sardonic grin, his gaze turning thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his glass again, watching the liquid move in the crystal. “Not the point. I don’t think he’ll ever truly get what he wants. Why waste so much time, so much patience? He’s already poured years into this.”
Elera's lips curled up into a knowing smile, one that held a quiet sympathy. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ericsson. It’s because of his patience that he’ll succeed. It’s what makes him... Alaric.” She gave a light shrug, her fingers gently holding the base of her glass. “He’s not the sort of man who gives up so easily. And (Y/n)... well, she’s beginning to notice him.”
Ericsson scoffed lightly. “I’m not so sure. She still looks at him like she’s studying a foreign creature, unsure of whether it’s safe to approach or not.”
Elera sighed dramatically, her eyes rolling slightly. “She’s scared, yes, but what does that matter? The truth is, deep down, she’s already become fond of him. She’s just too proud to admit it. But give it time,” she said with a soft smile, her voice gentle, almost affectionate. “They just need a little nudge. That’s all.”
Ericsson’s expression darkened slightly. “And what if that nudge... that patience... is wasted? What if it ends up in ruin for them both?” His voice lowered, a hint of bitterness seeping into his words. “He’ll continue pouring all his devotion into someone who will never be his. It’s almost pathetic.”
Elera met his gaze, her expression shifting into something more contemplative. “No, Ericsson. It’s not pathetic. It’s love, in its rawest, most honest form. If you ask me, it’s beautiful.” She looked back towards the door, her smile still small but knowing. “And if he has to suffer for it, then so be it. What is life without sacrifice?”
Ericsson was quiet for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. His gaze, cold and sharp, turned once more to the doorway where Alaric and (Y/n) had disappeared. “Perhaps. But you and I both know that this kind of love can destroy a man.”
Elera looked at him then, her eyes soft yet unwavering. “Then let it. At least he will know he gave everything he had. And that, my dear Ericsson, is something that cannot be taken away.”
Her voice had softened, but there was an undeniable strength in it. A conviction that was rare to see in her.
Ericsson stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a small, resigned sigh. “I still don’t understand it.”
Elera chuckled lightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You don’t need to. Sometimes, it’s the things we can’t understand that make life so very interesting.”
Elera continued to sip her wine, her gaze focused on the doorway where Alaric and (Y/n) had just exited the hall. A small, amused smile played on her lips as she watched their retreat. The atmosphere was buzzing with laughter and music, but her attention was elsewhere.
He leaned casually against the pillar beside her, his eyes tracing the path Alaric had taken. “Seems like Alaric’s finally figured out that he can’t hide his feelings for her,” he commented, a slight smirk on his face.
Elera didn’t immediately respond, but her smile deepened as she took another slow sip of her drink. Finally, she turned toward him, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“You have an awful way of trying to catch my attention, you know?” she said, her voice teasing but also carrying a note of something more serious. “Pushing Alaric’s buttons like that. It’s almost like you enjoy watching him squirm.”
Ericsson’s expression didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, feigning innocence. But the edge in his tone gave away his true feelings. “I’m just... encouraging him to wake up and face reality.”
Elera raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Encouraging him? That’s one way to put it. You know, if you weren’t so determined to make everything a challenge, maybe he wouldn’t be so... restless.” Her gaze drifted back to where Alaric had vanished with (Y/n). “He’s been holding back for so long, and you’re only pushing him further.”
Ericsson didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed to weigh her words before speaking again, his tone quieter. “You really think he’ll ever have her? She’s... human. And he’s a vampire.” His words dripped with a certain bitterness, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
Elera’s smile softened, and her voice dropped to a more serious note. “Alaric doesn’t think like that. He doesn’t care about the barriers. If anything, the fact that she’s human makes it all the more...” She paused, her words lingering in the air. “...complicated. But that’s what makes it real.”
Ericsson scoffed, but there was a crack in his demeanor, an unspoken doubt. “It’s all just a game to him. All this chasing and waiting. She won’t last, Elera. He’ll lose her in the end, and he’ll be left with nothing.”
Elera looked at him thoughtfully, her gaze softening. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t a game. It’s never been for him. And it won’t be for her either. They—both of them—they’re real with each other. And sometimes... sometimes, that’s enough. Even if it hurts.”
She took another sip of her wine, as if savoring the thought of it all, before adding with a quiet but knowing smile, “But, of course, you’ll never get it. You prefer to be the one who stirs the pot, not the one who’s standing by when it finally boils over.”
Ericsson’s lips tightened, but his expression remained unreadable. He looked away, his gaze scanning the crowd. “I’m just saying... sooner or later, they’ll both realize how foolish this all is.”
Elera shook her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You have no patience, Ericsson. It’s not about ‘getting it’ right away. It’s about the slow burn... and Alaric’s been patient enough to wait. He’s not going anywhere.”
With that, Elera turned her attention back to the hallway, her thoughts lingering on Alaric and (Y/n). A moment passed before she spoke again, her voice almost gentle. “You’ll see. In the end, it’s always the quiet devotion that wins out.”
“Alaric’s patience is something, isn’t it?” Ericsson said, appearing beside her, his gaze following the same path she’d been fixated on.“There’s nothing special about it. People always think they can wait forever, but eventually they’ll get tired of it.”
Elera leaned against the railing, her eyes dancing as she watched Alaric and (Y/n) from afar. They were talking in the garden, the soft moonlight accentuating the elegance of their movements. There was something magnetic about the way they were together, something that made Elera’s smile linger.
The familiar sound of footsteps behind her reached her ears, and a slight smirk curled her lips. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Ericsson stood beside her, his gaze following hers. “You know,” he began, his voice low and measured, “you’re awfully fond of watching them.”
Elera arched an eyebrow, her smirk never fading. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”
Ericsson’s lips twisted into a knowing grin. “It’s quite obvious. You admire them, don’t you?”
Elera took a slow sip of her wine, not taking her eyes off the pair in the garden. “Admire?” she mused, her tone playful. “I suppose you could say that. They make a rather… beautiful picture, don’t they?”
“Is that all?” Ericsson's voice was laced with sarcasm, his eyes glinting with challenge. “I would think you’d have more to say about it, considering how much time you’ve spent keeping an eye on them.”
Elera finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. Her smile widened just a fraction. “Oh, I’m sure you’d like me to say more. You’re always so eager to get a rise out of me, Ericsson.”
He leaned in slightly, his presence magnetic as he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. “I’d like you to be honest with me. What do you really think about them?”
Elera’s eyes twinkled as she replied, “I think Alaric has the patience of a saint. He’s been chasing her for weeks now, never giving up, even when it’s clear she’s hesitant. It’s sweet, in a way. Devotion like that doesn’t come around often.”
Ericsson let out a small, bitter laugh. “Patience? Chasing the same woman over and over again? Sounds like a fool’s errand to me. There’s nothing special about it. People like that always end up disappointed.”
Elera’s smile turned playful, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “You’re awfully bitter when it comes to matters of love and devotion.”
Ericsson straightened, a challenge flashing in his eyes. “And what about you, Elera? What do you know about devotion?” His voice was almost teasing now, his proximity causing a spark of tension between them. “You seem to have your own little ways of playing games, don’t you?”
Her laugh was soft, but it held an edge of confidence. “I play my games, but not in the way you think. I know what I want, Ericsson. I just don’t need to prove it to anyone.”
“Is that so?” He leaned in a little closer, a half-smile on his lips. “Maybe you just enjoy keeping people on their toes. Maybe you want them to think you’re untouchable.”
Elera’s smile didn’t falter. “And maybe I just enjoy keeping you guessing.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes held a challenge in them. “After all, it’s so much more fun that way.”
Ericsson’s grin deepened, his eyes narrowing. “You know,” he said, a trace of something darker in his voice, “you’re not quite as elusive as you think. I can see through the games you play. You want something more.”
Elera tilted her head slightly, her gaze never wavering from his. “Perhaps. But I don’t have to tell you everything, do I?”
The air between them seemed to crackle with tension, the flirtatious rivalry undeniable. Yet, even as they exchanged playful barbs, their eyes never strayed far from Alaric and (Y/n), who were now walking back toward the banquet hall, the moonlight casting a soft glow on them.
Elera’s expression softened just slightly as she watched them, her smile more genuine. “But you’re wrong about Alaric,” she said quietly, her voice almost tender. “He’s not a fool. He’s devoted. And that’s something you’ll never understand.”
Ericsson’s gaze followed hers, but his words were quieter, almost regretful. “I understand more than you think, Elera.”
For a moment, the two of them stood side by side, the air between them charged with the unspoken history of their rivalry, their flirtations, and their shared admiration for the couple in the garden. Yet, there was a lingering sense of something more beneath it all—a mutual respect, perhaps, or maybe something more complicated.
As Alaric and (Y/n) reentered the banquet hall, Elera’s smirk returned, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I think we’ve both said enough for now,” she said, her voice light. “Come on, Ericsson. Let’s see how this plays out.”
Ericsson didn’t respond right away, but as he followed her inside, there was a trace of something thoughtful in his eyes—something that might have hinted at a shift in his own perspective.
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Taglist : @yune1337 @mybones537
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adoreispunk · 30 days ago
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Out of Reach (joel miller au)
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“Because I meant it. Because somehow, after the worst day I could remember. After being yelled at, after feeling completely unwanted—he was still here. The way he looked at me tonight, the way he held me like I was something worth protecting. I didn’t have to second-guess it anymore.”
wc: 3.8k
an:we’re nearing the end fr fr pookies. this honestly was a longer fic than I anticipated to write but I hope you guys like it:)
masterlist (22)
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twenty two
In the car, Joel’s hand didn’t leave mine. His palm was warm, fingers threaded tight through mine like he was afraid I might float away. Every few minutes, his thumb would brush over my knuckles. Or he’d reach across with his other hand and run it slowly over my thigh, fingertips tracing light circles like he was trying to soothe something deeper than skin.
It worked.
I'd told him I loved him. Quietly. In the dark. Just before we got into the car.
It hadn't been planned. It wasn't some dramatic, tearful admission. It came out small, like a breath I'd been holding too long. I didn't expect him to say it back. I didn't even need him to. Not tonight. I just needed him to hear it.
Because I meant it. Because somehow, after the worst day I could remember. After being yelled at, after feeling completely unwanted—he was still here. The way he looked at me tonight, the way he held me like I was something worth protecting. I didn't have to second-guess it anymore.
I loved him.
And maybe he hadn't said it out loud, but I felt it in everything else. The way his thumb kept brushing over my hand. The way he drove in silence but didn't let go of me once. The way he just... stayed.
Somewhere deep down, I knew he felt it too.
He didn't speak. I didn't either. But he was there. And that was the only thing keeping me from spiraling.
I stared out the window and thought about what it would feel like tomorrow. What it would be like to face the mess I'd made. My chest ached at the memory of my dad's face, how fast he'd changed, how much he'd looked at me like a stranger.
I didn't know how we were going to come back from that. But I knew I wasn't going to be tonight.
Joel's thumb swept over my leg again. I turned toward him, letting my head fall softly against his shoulder. His lips pressed to the top of my head without a word.
When the car finally slowed and pulled to a stop in front of the house, my stomach twisted again.
The porch light was off but the living room light was still on. My heart sank a little.
"Shit," I whispered. "Is she awake?"
Joel followed my gaze through the windshield and exhaled slowly. "Looks like it."
He opened the door and stepped out first, coming around to help me out of the car like I might break if left to my own devices. His hand found mine again as we walked up the driveway. 
The porch was quiet. The air smelled like warm concrete and honeysuckle from the bushes nearby. A dog barked in the distance.
I stopped him right before we hit the door. "Joel, are you sure? I can just go home. I don't want her to think—"
"She won't be mad," he cut me off, soft but certain. "Sarah's not like that."
"I know, it's just..." I hesitated, heart thudding. "I don't want her to feel like I'm intruding. Or disrespecting her. Or you. I didn't even bring anything. I look like I just got kicked out, because I kind of did, and—"
"Liv."
Joel leaned in, eyes meeting mine. "Trust me," he said. "She'll understand."
I held his gaze for a beat longer. Then nodded.
We stepped inside.
The soft glow from the living room lamp spilled out onto the hardwood. Joel's house smelled like pine and soap and something warm. Sarah was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked up under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes tired but alert, phone in one hand, a paused TV show on the screen behind her.
She looked up when we walked in. Her eyes flicked from Joel to me.
I froze in the doorway. Everything in me wanted to disappear.
Joel gave her a quiet nod. "Hey."
"Hey." Sarah looked at me again longer this time.
"Sorry," I blurted. "I didn't mean to—this wasn't planned, I just—"
"Liv," Joel said gently.
Sarah stood, placing her phone on the coffee table. "It's okay," she said, cutting through the tension like it wasn't as heavy as it felt.
She walked over slowly, eyes soft. "Rough night?"
I nodded, unable to speak. Her kindness hit harder than anything else would've.
She glanced at her dad and then back at me. "You staying here tonight?"
"Yeah," Joel answered before I could.
Sarah just nodded. "Cool. Do you want tea or something?"
That almost broke me.
"I—yeah, that would be nice," I said, my voice catching.
She offered me a small smile. "Chamomile or peppermint?"
"Peppermint."
"I got you," she said, already turning toward the kitchen.
Joel watched her go, then turned to me. "Told you."
I looked up at him, heart aching, relief flooding in.
Joel went upstairs to grab something. I stayed behind in the kitchen with Sarah, standing awkwardly near the counter. My fingers were tight around the edge of the mug she'd handed me, the peppermint tea inside barely touched.
Sarah was sitting on the counter across from me, a tea she made for herself in hand. "So," she said, drawing out the word, "I'm guessing that talk with your dad didn't go great."
I let out a breath, setting the mug down on the counter before I spilled it.
"It was awful," I admitted. "Worse than I thought it'd be."
Sarah nodded like she'd been expecting that too.
"He flipped?"
"He... lost it. I tried to explain, but it didn't matter. He lost it on your dad too." I trailed off, shaking my head. "I don't know if he'll ever talk to me again."
Sarah winced sympathetically. "He will. Eventually. Maybe not the way you want, but he will."
I blinked. "You really think that?"
"I know dads," she said dryly. "Mine, at least. They love hard and stupid. Especially when it comes to their daughters. Doesn't mean they're right. Doesn't mean they don't hurt us. But they always circle back."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It felt permanent."
"Yeah, well." She shrugged. "Feelings are dramatic. Doesn't mean they're forever."
We were quiet for a moment. Then Sarah tilted her head at me. "So... are you okay?"
I hesitated. "I think so. I don't really know yet."
She nodded slowly. "Well. I'm glad you came here."
I looked at her, confused. "You are?"
"Yeah," she said. "Being home would have driven you crazy. And both of you didn't run away from each other in an already tough situation. That means something."
"Thanks," I said softly. "That really means a lot."
Sarah shrugged. "You were honest. That's more than most people."
Footsteps creaked on the stairs, and Joel reappeared, holding a folded blanket under one arm and rubbing the back of his neck like he'd been trying to give us space.
"You girls good?" he asked, a little cautious.
Sarah glanced at me, then back at him. "We're fine."
Joel nodded, then hesitated. His eyes flicked to the living room.
"I was gonna put something on," he said. "You wanna stay up? Watch a movie or something?"
Sarah's brow lifted. "One of the classics?"
He gave her a look. "I ain't watching Twilight, if that's what you're angling for."
Sarah grinned. "I was thinking The Thing."
Joel glanced at me. "You good with some Kurt Russell?"
I smiled, a little surprised by how normal this felt, how invited I suddenly was. "Yeah. I'm in."
Before we made it to the couch, Sarah paused, glancing over at me with a small frown. "Wait—do you want pajamas? Or like makeup remover or something?"
I blinked. "Oh—I mean, I didn't bring anything. I'm fine."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "No you're not. You're in a dress and eyeliner that's halfway down your face. I'm not gonna be comfy until you are."
I flushed, instinctively brushing a hand under my eye.
"Come on," she said, already heading toward the stairs.
I followed her up, a little hesitant. Her room was down the hall from Joel's, tucked into a corner. When she opened the door, I felt something tight in my chest.
It looked different but not completely. There were still touches of the old house. A framed concert poster I remembered from middle school. The same record player in a new corner, though it had new stickers on it now. A worn fleece blanket I recognized from sleepovers.
Sarah moved easily around the room, opening drawers, grabbing a pair of soft plaid pajama pants and an oversized band tee. She handed them to me along with a fresh pack of cotton pads and some micellar water. "Bathroom's across the hall, but if you wanna change in here, that's cool too."
"Thanks," I said quietly, hugging the clothes to my chest.
She stepped out, pausing at the door before she pulled it mostly shut behind her. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"
I nodded, and she gave me a soft smile before disappearing down the hall.
For a second, I just stood there, I didn't feel like I deserved this much grace tonight but I was grateful for every bit of it.
I folded my clothes up in a neat pile and set them in a clear corner on the floor. Trying not to take up as much space as I already felt I was. I made my way to the couch and Joel gave me a reassuring look as he walked into the living room.
Sarah shifted to the center of the couch and tossed a pillow toward the armrest. "You can sit, y'know. We're not gonna bite."
Joel handed me the blanket, then dropped down beside his daughter, remote in hand. I tucked myself onto the end, careful, still not quite sure where I fit but grateful to be asked.
We settled onto the couch, the room dim now except for the soft flicker of the TV. Sarah curled up beside Joel like it was muscle memory, her head against his shoulder, knees pulled in beneath the blanket he'd handed her. Joel didn't miss a beat; he shifted slightly to make room and looped an arm around her, pulling her in like it was the easiest thing in the world.
I watched them for a second, this quiet, unspoken routine between them. Something about it made my chest ache in a good way. The way he held her, how instinctively he made space for her, how safe she looked tucked against his side it was the same Joel I'd always known. Joel the family man.
They started chiming in as the movie played, quoting lines under their breath like they'd seen it a hundred times. Probably had. Sarah called out to me once or twice—"Okay, this is the best part, pay attention" and Joel would nod, eyes on the screen but a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
I smiled back, nestled into the far end of the couch with my blanket pulled up to my chin. I don't know when it started happening, but somewhere toward the end of the movie, my eyes started to droop. I glanced over and saw Sarah was doing the same. She'd slipped further down, head now resting more on her dad's chest than his shoulder. Joel hadn't moved. He just let her be.
I didn't mean to fall asleep. I only closed my eyes for a second.
But then I felt it, Joel's hand brushing my shoulder, warm and gentle. I blinked awake to a quiet room, the TV off, only the soft whir of the house settling around us.
"Hey," he said quietly, crouched down beside the couch.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly, trying to shake the fog from my brain. "What time is it?"
"Late," he murmured, glancing toward Sarah, who was still out cold, curled into the crook of the couch like a cat.
I started to move. "Should I—?"
Joel gave me a small smile, one corner of his mouth tilting up. "Might be best if you sleep down here. Just for tonight. Just to be respectful."
I nodded, not offended, not even surprised. I got it. I really did. "Yeah. Of course. I understand."
He leaned in a little closer, his voice low. "But you know where to find me... if you need anything."
I smiled, heart tugging a little, and whispered, "Okay."
Joel brushed a quick kiss over my forehead—tender, almost too brief to feel. But I felt it.
"Goodnight, Liv."
"Goodnight."
He stood and looked down at Sarah, still curled up and half-buried under the blanket. For a moment I thought he might pick her up, but then she stirred slightly, eyes cracking open just a sliver.
"I'm good," she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "I'll probably wake up in a bit and go to my room."
Joel nodded, brushing a hand gently over her hair. "Alright, Kiddo. Goodnight."
She was already halfway back asleep.
Joel glanced back at me one more time before heading for the stairs. I watched him go, the quiet click of his door a soft end to the night.
I curled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket tight around me. The pillow still smelled like fabric softener and something faintly like cedar. And for the first time that day, I felt like I could actually sleep.
The clatter of plates was what woke me. I blinked against the light streaming in through the windows, groggy and disoriented for a second before everything clicked back into place.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes as the muffled sound of laughter drifted in from the kitchen.
"Shit—sorry, sorry!" Sarah's voice, followed by another clang.
"I told you to flip it sooner," Joel's voice rumbled back, dry and amused.
I turned, still nestled in the blanket, and peeked into the kitchen.
They were both still in pajamas. Joel in a worn gray t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, Sarah in the same hoodie from last night, her hair piled in a messy bun. The stove was going, two mugs sat on the counter, and there was smoke curling from a pan that Joel quickly removed from the burner.
He spotted me stirring and smirked.
"Well look who's finally up," he said, voice warm and teasing. "I was about to check if you were still breathing. You hungry? Joel asked, stepping over to the fridge and pulling out another carton of eggs. "We're doing round two. Less charred this time."
"Yeah, thank you." I said, sitting up straighter. "That sounds great."
The smell hit me then eggs, something sweet like cinnamon, filled the whole house. Joel motioned toward the counter. "Come sit. I'll make you a plate."
I stood, folding the blanket and draping it over the couch before padding into the kitchen.
They had already set three mismatched plates out, a half-empty bottle of syrup, a bowl of cut-up strawberries that Sarah was picking at between flips. Joel handed me some coffee, and I took it with both hands, letting the warmth sink into my fingers.
"Extra sugar." he added, making me blush.
"We're just staying in today," he said, cracking another egg into the pan. "Didn't have much planned. But if you wanna hang out longer before heading back, you're welcome to."
I blinked at him, caught off guard. "Really?"
He glanced over his shoulder at me, something soft in his expression. "Yeah. You don't have to rush out, Liv. If you want to stay a while... stay."
Part of me wanted to say yes immediately. To melt into this place where everything felt warm and easy and normal. But the rest of me knew I couldn't hide out here forever.
"I... I'll probably head back after breakfast," I said gently. "Just so I can talk to my dad. Or at least try."
Joel gave a quiet nod, not pushing it. "Alright. Just figured I'd offer."
I looked at him, trying to find words for the way that made me feel, how much it meant, but they didn't come.
Instead, I gave him a small smile. "Thanks."
We ate together at the table. Joel dishing out perfectly cooked eggs and fresh pancakes this time, Sarah dramatically proclaiming hers a redemption arc.
Afterward, I slipped upstairs to gather my things. The clothes Sarah had lent me  neatly folded at the edge of the bed, and my own dress was still where I'd left them in a careful pile. I changed quickly, brushing out my hair with my fingers in the bathroom and stealing some of their mouthwash.
When I came back down, Joel was already by the front door, keys in hand. Sarah leaned against the banister, sipping the last of her coffee.
"You sure you're okay to go?" she asked, eyes scanning mine carefully.
I nodded. "Yeah. I think I need to."
Sarah stepped forward and gave me a quick hug. Joel opened the door, letting the morning light spill in. "Ready?" he asked.
I took a breath, steadying myself. Then nodded.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's go."
The car was warm from the morning sun, the leather seats heated just enough to make me sink into them with a soft sigh. Joel waited until I'd fastened my seatbelt before sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine, one hand resting loosely at the top of the steering wheel.
We didn't pull out of the driveway right away. He just sat there, looking over at me like he was searching for something in my face.
"You good?" he asked, voice low.
I nodded, slow. "Yeah. Just... nervous."
Joel studied me a second longer, then shifted in his seat. His hand left the steering wheel, moving to rest gently on my thigh. "Come here."
I turned toward him, confused for a split second—until he leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first. Warm. Measured. Like he was reminding himself it was allowed now, that he didn't have to pretend he didn't want this. But then his hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in just a little closer, and the kiss deepened—slow and aching and full of things he hadn't said last night.
When he finally pulled back, he let his forehead rest against mine.
"I missed you in my bed last night," he murmured, his breath brushing my lips.
I smiled, eyes still closed. "I did too."
Then I opened my eyes and tilted my head just enough to look at him. "But I was more than comfortable knowing I was in your house. With you. And Sarah." My voice dropped, soft and sincere. "It meant a lot. Really."
Joel brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the pad of his thumb grazing my cheekbone. "She likes you, y'know."
"I like her, too," I said. "I'll make sure she knows how grateful I am. For everything."
He gave me a quiet look—something like pride mixed with affection—before finally pulling away and shifting the truck into gear.
We started driving.
The roads were quiet this early, a few joggers out, the occasional dog-walker. I kept glancing at the window, watching the neighborhoods blur by as the real world slowly crept back in. My heart started to thrum heavier in my chest the closer we got to my house.
Joel didn't say much, just let one hand linger on the center console, close enough to touch. I held it for a while, fingers laced with his.
Then we turned onto my street.
And I saw him.
My dad, standing at the edge of the lawn in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, hose in hand, watering the ferns near the walkway. He hadn't seen us yet. But he would. In about five seconds.
"Fuck," I breathed out, sitting up straighter. "Fuck."
"I—" I let out a shaky laugh. "I was hoping I'd have, like ten minutes. Just ten minutes to fucking compose myself."
Joel's jaw flexed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
Joel pulled up to the curb, parked.
That's when my dad looked over. Saw the truck. Saw us inside.
We locked eyes. A long, tense beat passed. Then he dropped the hose and started walking toward us.
"Get out," he said, eyes on the both of us.
My chest seized.
Joel looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us moved for a second too long.
Then I forced the door open and stepped out into the heat, gravel crunching under my boots. Joel followed, slower.
Dad met us halfway down the walk. His face was unreadable. And aimed directly at Joel.
I swallowed hard, preparing for the worst. A punch. A blow-up loud enough to bring the neighbors out onto their porches.
My dad looked between us then let out a long breath.
"I had a lot of time to think last night," he said, voice low. "More than I wanted."
I didn't dare say anything. Neither did Joel.
"I was pissed," he admitted, looking at me first. "Seeing you leave like that. With him."
His eyes shifted to Joel. "With you."
Joel didn't flinch. He just nodded once, steady.
"But I get it," Dad continued. "It wouldn't've been pretty if you'd stayed, I know that. Hell, I was halfway there already."
The silence sat thick around us, heavy and taut.
He rubbed a hand down his face like it pained him to say the next part. "Look, I don't like this. I don't," he repeated. "I can't pretend this is something I'm okay with. You and him."
His gaze snapped back to mine, eyes sharp but not cruel. "But you're not a kid anymore, Liv. You're a grown woman. Making your own life. I don't get to control that."
My throat tightened. I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this strange acceptance.
Dad looked back at Joel, "I'm not gonna sit here and pretend we're gonna be one big happy family. I can't fake that. But I'm not gonna be the guy standing in the way either."
He crossed his arms. "So here's what I'm asking—no, telling you, Joel. You take care of her. She deserves that."
Joel met his gaze, eyes steady. "I will."
Dad nodded once, clipped. "Good. Because I realized something else last night."
He looked at me again, something softer working into his expression. "You've been figuring yourself out lately. Working harder than ever. Your photography, this whole career thing—you've got more direction than I've ever seen in you. And I had to admit to myself, that's not because of me."
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ravelsquadespresso · 5 days ago
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Chaos WIP DONE: Manticore Dormant
Reporting for socialist genestealer yaoi duty and bringing food: @shock-centurion @nusaran @avalost @galahadiant @vspin @redstairs @lizziemajestic @fourraccoonsinacoat @nadas-dirthalen ---- your comments, prompts and discussions made this possible, Omnissiah bless you!
Read full here: Extinguished Star, Reversed - Chapter 8 - quadruple_espresso - Warhammer 40.000: Rogue Trader (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
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You are not dying. You're just having a strong emotional reaction to void-smog. --- Nemi Monteg's notes.
Gold on blue.
The flames coil down the corridor, brilliant, lucid, scorching out the lumen-strips. Sinuous and radiant, they curl and shimmer—no rage left in them.
The manticore retreats, dissolving into the radiance, its predatory gaze lifted.
And then I see him—the changeling amidst the flames, walking carefully toward me, growing more distant with every step.
The fire parts for him, curling like cloth drawn aside at a shrine—golden folds trembling in reverence. His body is a prayer answered too literally, unkind, terrifying in its symmetry.
Skin: tempered bronze. Veins: silver alloy. Blood: sacred acid. His hair, rubedo—heavy curls matted with soot and wire, ringlets knotted with glass beads and copper threads.
His face—sculpted, delicate terror of concord.
His eyes: of clear aqua.
He glances down; the fire stirs with him. His lips move.
A whisper. A name. Mine?
The words fly off—an inferno on the brink of tranquility. I can’t hear them. I would give anything to. It’s not the elusive sound that unmakes me—but the shape of it. The way his mouth parts, soft and assured, like he’s spoken to me a thousand times before. Like he’s said my name in a place I’ve never been, beneath a sky I’ve never seen.
Sky—something you fall into if you’re careless.
The breath catches in my mask.
I love him.
I need—
I need to touch the air he’s just shaped.
There’s something cruel and knowing in the curve of his lips—as if he’s expected me all along. As if he made me for this.
And I remember—the old tale, told in the fire-seer’s tremulous whisper.
A noble boy, thrown into the underdeck flame-pit. The Lord Captain watched, certain he would die.
But the fire refused the flesh. The fire loved the boy.
And someone else walked beside him—the one the fire could not burn.
He walked among flames and was not consumed. And the Lord Captain wept, and changed.
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thepaintedlady00 · 5 months ago
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Cursed
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Part 1 | Part 3
The Cursed Meeting
Helllooooo!!! It's been a hot minute y'all! 😅 I swear I've been working on the huge list of projects I have and hopefully I'll be able to start posting more regularly once I get things to a spot I'm comfortable with. Until then I wanted to (finally) share part 2 of the Cursed series. I know a lot of people have been waiting for this since part 1 was posted, sorry it took me so long 😅 Hopefully the following parts won't be so far apart. I hope you all enjoy part 2! I know I'm absolutely falling in love with this story 😊
The music was loud, too loud for you to find anything to enjoy about it. You'd found that it all sounded the same if the volume was high enough. Still, you danced just as you promised your friends you would when you'd caved under the mountain of their endless pleas.
“Come on, you never come to the club with us!” Vivian had whined.
“You skipped out on my birthday party last year, remember? You owe me!” Alison added.
“It won't be as fun if it's not all of us,” Bree finished with a flutter of her big teary green eyes and staring back at all of them, shoving through your front door you suddenly couldn't get the words out of your mouth. 
As you dodged sweaty body after sweaty body you silently cursed yourself—no thanks, guys. I'm not feeling it tonight, sorry! It would have been so easy! Yet here you were, the only one wearing pants that fit you, deaf, and covered in other people's sweat. Just how you'd wanted to spend your night off.
A body shoved you to the left, your face landing dead center into another person's chest. The chill that swept over you brought goosebumps to your flesh as the distantly familiar smell of poppies and lavender washed over you. Mortified, you quickly tripped over your own feet to step away from the blurred figure with a very embarrassing squeal of “I'm sorry!” As you scurried towards the door.
The chilled night air offered you some relief as the noise faded behind the thick door to the alley behind the club. To the left, you saw a few huddled groups passing a cigarette between them, but as you pressed your back against the cold brick you couldn't bring yourself to care. It was quiet and right now that was all that mattered. 
You were a simple person. You liked the quiet of your apartment. You liked your books and your soft music and your simple job at the flower shop across the street. It was predictable. Safe. And you liked safe. You liked it more than anything, or, almost anything.
A thud drew your attention to the right where a small cat had fallen from its perch along the dumpster and quickly skittered beneath it. Everything else faded away as you dropped to the dirty pavement in the alley and met the small felines frightened eyes. 
“Hello,” you’d whispered as you flattened yourself against the pavement.
The cat hissed back at you, curling in on itself.
“You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself,” you said as you slowly let your hand drift closer, hoping it would somehow be able to sense you meant it no harm if it could smell you. The scratch was immediate, but the sting had not deterred you. With a sigh, you retracted your arm and began thinking of other ways to gain the little creature's trust.
Entirely unbeknownst to you, this cat would lead to the end of your predictable, safe simplicity. Fates threads pulled taut around you like a noose as the ink of Destiny’s pages dried.
*
Dream didn't know why he'd agreed to this. His sister had pulled him from his important work and somehow talked him into accompanying her to The Waking World to be among the humans. Again. Though he couldn't complain about the first time now that he'd - unwillingly - admitted that Hob Gadling was his friend, he could certainly complain about this.
The lights were dim and the humans congregating here were even more so. If he'd not been an anthropomorphic personification he was certain his hearing would have been lost after enduring the loud ruckus droning through the speakers the humans had hanging from every wall and light fixture. And if that wasn't bad enough there were people. So. Many. People. The crowd of undulating humans looked like a sea from the stairs he hovered in front of.
“Come on,” Death urged from the bottom step, hovering on the precipice of the endless carnal abyss.
“Absolutely not,” Dream grumbled.
She huffed, cocking a hip and holding out her hand to him. “You promised you'd try it.”
“That was before I knew you meant to writhe with the mortals in this…” He looked around with a sneer of disgust, “cesspool.”
“It's a club, Dream,” his sister corrected with a bright smile. “And it's meant to be fun.”
Fun? He felt insulted on behalf of anyone who thought this chaos was fun. With a sneer set upon his face, Dream relented. He had promised, after all. The reward for this was almost instantaneous. His feet flattened against the floor among the moving bodies of mortals, Death happily venturing forward into the masses without trouble, yet the moment he’d moved to lift his foot a body slammed into his own. 
He held in the disgruntled noise as a small, feminine form grasped onto his coat for a moment to find her footing. He noted how different she looked from the rest - or rather, how her clothes seemed to actually fit her. It was but a moment, a fleeting one, that she’d been pressed against him before she lifted her eyes and stumbled away from him with a bumbling, “I’m sorry!”
Death was not easy to find, as she’d moved deep within the crowd. But, when he finally found her she was beaming at him with that look of hers. “She was cute.”
“Can we be done with this place?” Dream asked, bypassing her statement entirely.
“We’ve only just gotten here.”
“And yet I’ve my fill of it for the next century.”
With a glare, his sister shook her head, “Fine. We’ll go. But, next time you come with me I intend to get a dance out of you.”
Dream scoffed as they turned to make their way out of the crowd. “That is unlikely.”
“Unlikely things happen all the time little brother,” she assured him as she led them out a different door than they’d come in at.
He rolled his eyes and greeted the quiet that awaited them as they stepped outside. Whatever humans had been lingering in the alley took one look at him and quietly departed. It was normal, he supposed, their ability to sense the otherness of him. Death had been walking among the humans before he’d even existed, and more so in recent times, she’d been warmer to them than he had. All mortals beheld him with a reverent fear of the nightmares they saw within his dark starlit eyes and he’d been grateful that this was the case on most occasions, though he did sometimes feel a twinge of something far beneath him. Disappointment.
“Come on little one,” a voice cooed to the side of the alley. His head turned, eyes casting down to the pavement beside mountains of garbage where a girl was lying, one arm extended beneath the garbage bin. Her hair fell over her shoulder, onto the filthy ground, yet she didn’t seem to care about the dirt and grime as she shuffled closer to the garbage. “It’s going to be a cold night. We should find you somewhere warm, don’t you think?”
A hiss echoed to his superior ears and piqued his interest. Stepping away from Death’s side, Dream of the Endless moved to stand closer to the girl until the feline beneath the dumpster could see his sleek black boots. Fear radiated off the animal, twisting its thoughts and perception of the world around it. Through the cat's eyes, the girl looked like one of his nightmares, dark eyes and clawed hands. This is not reality, Dream spoke to it.
The cat, sensing the power of the famed Dream Lord, quickly darted out from beneath the dumpster and ran into his boots. Its eyes were wide and its bony stomach moved with its quickened breaths as it gazed up at Dream in awe and fear. Before he could urge the small creature to calm it darted away toward the mouth of the alley. The girl stumbled to her feet, rushing past him after the cat as he darted out into the road. “Wait!”
Headlights caught in its eyes, flashing for a moment as the small thing froze in either shock, fear, or fatigue. Dream began to turn his head, not wanting to watch the scene undoubtedly about to unfold, but then he saw the girl step out into the road and couldn’t help but stare at her as she curled her body around the cat like a protective cocoon. He’d seen humans behave in every manner of ways, but so rarely did he see them prepared to sacrifice their own safety to shield the innocence still left in the world from harm. 
Dream didn’t notice Death take a step toward them, he didn’t notice anything as his feet moved of their own accord until he too stood in the street beside the girl and the cat she cradled. The car honked and the headlights drew closer as he took the girl by her shoulders and moved her out of harm's way.
*
Well, your night certainly wasn’t going as you’d hoped. You should have stayed home. You should have left the club as soon as you were able to. You should have done a lot of things differently, and yet there you were on your knees in the middle of the road hunched over the stray cat that hissed and clawed at you as you shielded it from the car speeding towards you both. It would be just your luck that the one night you strayed from your simple little life would also be your last.
It all happened so fast that you didn’t even really know if it was real or not. Cold hands pulled you up by your shoulders and soft fabric wove around you as you were pulled into the body of a stranger and turned away from the car as it blazed past. The sound of the tires squealing and honking died out as it vanished into the night. Was this Death? You wondered, cradling the angry cat tighter in your arms as the smell of poppies and lavender engulfed you.
A pale hand settled over the cat's head and the creature calmed beneath it. You followed that hand up, your racing mind taking in every detail of your savior far quicker than it could even process them. He was tall, towering over you like some giant made of midnight and moonlight. You could feel the muscle that lined his thin frame, and see his strength in the way he held himself high, higher than everyone else. His skin was pale, glowing in the night like a precious gemstone, and contrasted against his ink-black hair that messily framed his perfect face. His high cheekbones and strong jawline made his face the most beautiful you’d ever seen, putting even the marble statues of ancient sculptors to shame, but it was his eyes of deep sapphire blue that enchanted you.
The cat purred as the stranger gently stroked its mangled fur with a slight frown. “Are you injured?”
“No,” you answered without thinking, drawing the stranger's eyes to your own and nearly causing your heart to stop in your chest. He looked at you curiously, as if he hadn’t expected you to answer him, and as your mind caught up to everything else you quickly realized he might not have been speaking to you at all. The cat was, still in your arms. “Oh,” you sighed, casting your eyes down far from his burning gaze as heat rose to your cheeks. “You meant the cat.”
Just as you’d opened your mouth, ready to assure the stranger standing far too close that the cat seemed unharmed his hand lifted from the creature's fur and gently tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. Perhaps it was the shock of it all that gave you the courage to meet his gaze again, or maybe it was just that enchanting pull he seemed to have, either way, you found yourself staring into his eyes counting the stars within them as he spoke again in that voice softer than silk, “Are you injured?”
“No,” you said again, softer this time, as you glanced back at the road, the shock of it all seemingly catching up to you as a chill swept through your body. You’d been closer to Death now than ever before - in more ways than you even knew. Yet, the only words you could stumble out to your savior were, “You’re really fast.”
Idiot, you scolded internally.
The stranger, however, chuckled. “I am simply glad you and your friend are safe.”
Friend? Right. The cat. You pulled the too-thin creature closer, quickly examining the scabby skin and the missing chunks of fur. “Oh, you poor thing.”
Though the cat now accepted your hold on it more comfortably, the bite marks and scratches that marred your arms burned in the chilled night air. You tried not to take it so personally, after all, what mattered was the cat was safe now. You weren’t an expert in caring for animals, but you’d taken in many strays before this one and done your best to give them a long, happy, healthy life. If the ornery creature would allow it, you intended to do the same now.
As if the stranger could somehow read your thoughts - could hear the mental notes you took of the condition of the cat's skin and wounded ears and fleas - he asked, his tone one of utter disbelief, “You truly intend to care for this creature?”
Looking back up at him your brows furrowed. “Of course I do.”
“After all the trouble it’s caused you?”
You laughed then, shaking your head with a modest shrug. “There are few things in this life that don’t cause trouble. Besides, it’s not the cat's fault. It was scared, probably rightfully so after all it’s been through.”
He said nothing more as a woman with beauty that matched his stepped beside him and looked at you with a curious sort of smile. She felt familiar, her face one you’d sworn you’d seen before, the sound of her voice one you somehow knew before even hearing it. “And you said the night was going to be dull.”
The stranger rolled his eyes and glared at her. “One eventful moment does not erase the senselessness of this outing.”
A sudden feeling of embarrassment filled you as you realized just how close you stood to the man who had saved you - the man you did not know. This is probably his girlfriend, your thoughts betrayed you, making that feeling amplify as you nervously took a step back, nearly tripping over the curb. The stranger caught you effortlessly, a cold look of confusion marring his stoic face as you shrugged off his touch and found your footing. “I should go. I’ve caused you enough trouble.” You turned, hurrying away before turning around again and offering the only thing you could think of to repay the kindness he’d shown you, a smile. “Thank you, for… being fast.”
Before he could reply you were practically running away, your face burning hot and your gut twisted in embarrassment. Idiot!
*
Dream watched the girl flee, the image of her soft lips curved upwards stuck in his head. Mortals rarely smiled when they saw him, they often feared him the moment they laid eyes on him, but not this mortal it would seem. She’d been shy, and timid, but not afraid.
Death leaned against him, watching the human fade into the night. “That was interesting. So, you gonna follow her? Get her name?”
“Yes,” he’d said without thinking, quickly rectifying his mistake by fixing his coat and shrugging his sister off him to give her a bland look. “To ensure she truly does not mean to harm the creature.”
Her grin was more smug than he’d seen in eons as Death nodded, “Of course.”
The two siblings eventually bid one another farewell and as Dream returned to his realm to sit upon his throne Matthew had just arrived at the correct apartment. He’d peered in through the windows, finding the girl hunched over the bathtub with the cat flailing in her arms as she rinsed out its fur and diligently combed the bugs within it. The task had taken her hours, and after she’d attempted to dry the cat's fur the creature had taken refuge beneath her couch as she tended to the cuts on her arms.
Dream watched as the girl lay down on her floor, much as she had in the alley, offering what assurance she could to the cat. Humans were confusing creatures, so much so that Dream of the Endless often found himself gladly staying far from them. This human seemed different, though, intriguing and sincere… something he’d not experienced in well over a century. And so, the mighty Dream Lord found himself in the library, pouring over every book he could find depicting the girl's dreams and nightmares, learning all he could about her until he could no longer deny the urge to see her once again.
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