#Objects of Despair: Mirrors

[luxe-pauvre]

The internet is one endless hall of mirrors where the line between our selves and our shadow souls is blurred. We guard against it with the flimsiest of talismans—Twitter’s blue checkmark, handles that insist upon “The_Real.” The most horrific moment in mirror fables comes when the hero realizes that his reflection is indestructible: to kill his double would amount to suicide. Now we have created a place where death is virtually impossible, where we are denied even the simple dignity of what the EU calls “the right to be forgotten.” (How many bloggers have deleted their archive only to find that it has been replicated in its entirety on a mirror site?) This is not to say that we are not complicit. All of us have entered willingly into this bargain with the devil, who knows better than anyone that our weak spot is vanity. Our online reflections—the idealized images that appear in Google image results—are largely the objects of our own creation, more real to us than our fragmented bodies. We have become the pale custodians of these digital eidolons, the marionettes of our shadows.

Meghan O’Gieblyn, Objects of Despair: Mirrors

[moonlightwritingf1]

Back to You | LN4

💥 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, heartbroken after Lando vanished nine months ago, sees a tabloid photo of him with another woman. Determined for answers, she flies to Monaco. Their confrontation turns heated, months of tension igniting into passion. As anger and desire blur, they realize they still want each other

💥 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💥 word count ━━━━━━━ 6.6k

💥 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex

Based on this request.

Y/N sat alone in her apartment, the twilight sky outside mirroring the quiet desolation inside. The low hum of the bustling city seeped through the large windows—a constant reminder that life was moving on outside, even if her own world had come to a standstill. Every familiar sound—the distant rumble of traffic, the soft murmur of pedestrians, even the clink of glasses from a nearby rooftop bar—seemed to mock the heavy silence of her phone. For nine long months, ever since the argument that had shattered what little connection they once shared, Lando had vanished without a trace.

Her heart ached with each morning that began the same way: with her eyes opening to a screen filled with unanswered messages and missed calls, a relentless echo of his absence. She found herself mechanically scrolling through old photos on her phone—captured moments of laughter, shared secrets, and the tender surprises he’d sent her. Each image was a bittersweet reminder of a time when his presence had been a balm to her insecurities, when his gestures of gifting exquisite perfumes and designer handbags made her feel seen. Now, every memory only deepened the question that tormented her:

Was I ever enough?

She recalled his words, once so full of promise: “You’re incredible, Y/N. There’s something about you I can’t explain.” That text, once a spark of hope, now felt like a relic from a life that had slipped irretrievably away—a promise broken by months of silence. The very thought made her eyes sting with unshed tears and her chest tighten with a mix of sorrow and anger.

Just as she was about to sink deeper into despair, her phone vibrated—a sharp, unexpected buzz that sliced through the stillness. The notification was from a mutual friend, and the message appeared with an almost aggressive urgency:

Friend: “Hey, have you seen the tabloids? Lando was snapped outside a club last night in Monaco with a girl. They’re saying she was with him as he left.”

The words hit her like a cold splash of water. Her stomach churned, and a bitter taste spread across her tongue. The image of Lando—whose eyes had always held a spark just for her, even amidst the glitter of glamorous company—transformed in her mind into something unrecognizable and distant. So this is how you treat me? she thought bitterly. Ghost me for months, and then let a rumor paint you as nothing more than an option.

Her mind reeled with memories of their past—the whispered promises during quiet evenings, the extravagant gifts that had arrived like tokens of an unspoken devotion, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Yet here she was, feeling discarded and small—a solitary soul amidst a sprawling metropolis that had once held so much promise.

The room felt colder, the familiar surroundings now tinted with the sharp edge of betrayal. Every object in her apartment—the well-worn armchair by the window, the stack of books on her coffee table, even the gentle hum of the air conditioning—seemed to conspire with the silence of her phone, reminding her of the void Lando had left behind.

A surge of determination began to kindle within her, battling the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. I deserve better than this endless waiting, she resolved, her voice barely above a whisper. The sting of betrayal was too raw, too painful to let fester in isolation. She needed answers, a chance to reclaim her dignity, and perhaps—most of all—a way to understand why the man who had once made her feel like the center of the universe had chosen silence over solace.

Her thoughts churned as she considered her next move. Confrontation was daunting, yet the idea of sitting in perpetual uncertainty was unbearable. With a mix of trepidation and fierce resolve, she decided that the only way to mend the fractured pieces of her heart was to face him directly. Without a second thought, she booked a flight to Monaco—a place that now symbolized both his presence and her desperate need for closure.

As she closed the door behind her that evening, leaving the familiar comfort of her apartment, every step she took was laden with a heavy mix of sorrow, anger, and a spark of hope. The bustling city around her might have been indifferent to her inner turmoil, but within her burned a singular determination: to shatter the barrier of silence that had grown between them and to confront the man who had left her questioning her very worth.

—

The air in Lando’s apartment in Monaco was heavy with tension, the kind that could only come from weeks of silence and unanswered texts. Y/N stood in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her breathing shallow but steady. She had flown from London on a whim, driven by a mix of anger, hurt, and something she couldn’t quite name. That something had brought her here, to his doorstep, uninvited but unyielding.

Lando leaned against the kitchen counter, his expression unreadable. He wore a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to style it all week. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and warmth, were cold now, distant.

“You can’t just show up here, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

She laughed, but it was hollow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have sent you a text? Oh wait, you’ve been ignoring those for months.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had replayed their last argument in her head a hundred times, each time feeling the sting of his words cutting deeper.

“You’re acting like a child,” she said finally, her voice shaking. “Ghosting me? Really? Is that how you handle things now?”

Lando’s eyes flicked up to hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he said, his voice flat. “I just needed space.”

“Space?” she repeated, incredulous. “You mean you needed to go out clubbing with some random girl while I was left wondering if I’d done something wrong?”

His expression darkened. “That wasn’t what it looked like. I wasn’t with her. She just happened to be—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I don’t care about the details, Lando. I care about the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me. You just disappeared.”

He pushed off the counter and took a step toward her, his voice rising. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to walk away? You’re so damn stubborn, Y/N. You push people away, and then you act surprised when they leave.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she felt the familiar ache of insecurity creeping in.

“I don’t push people away,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he shot back, his voice softening. “You keep everyone at arm’s length because you’re scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable. But guess what? I’m scared too.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of losing you,” he admitted, his voice low and raw, his hands dropping from her face to hang at his sides. “But it’s more than that. That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I care about you—more than anyone else. But sometimes, I felt pressured to prove that I could have you. And I...I got scared.”

His words burned through her, their weight pressing against her chest. Her jaw tightened, her emotions twisting into something sharp and defensive. “You felt pressured? To prove what? That you’re worthy? Or that I’m just another conquest?” 

He stepped back, his face hardening. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.” “Do I?” Her voice cracked, anger and hurt colliding in a storm that threatened to spill over. “Because that’s what it sounds like. That’s always what it sounds like with you. Like I’m just some prize you’re trying to win.” 

“Stop twisting my words,” he shot back, his voice rising. “You’re not a prize. You’re not something to be won. But you keep pushing me away, acting like I’m some shallow, unfeeling idiot who doesn’t know what he wants. And it...it pisses me off.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “I’m scared too, Lando. I’m scared that I’m not enough, that I’m just the girl no one truly wants. I see the echoes of your past—the women you once admired so freely—and I can’t help but wonder if I’m merely another fleeting distraction in your life.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step forward, his tone simmering with frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re not a distraction. You’re not some temporary fling. God, Y/N, how many times do I have to say it before you believe me? Before you stop comparing yourself to people who don’t matter?”

“Don’t matter?” she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. “How can they not matter when they’re a part of you? When I see their faces every time I close my eyes, wondering if that’s what you really want? Wondering if you’re just settling for me because I’m the one who said no?”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. You think I’m here, now, because you said no? That’s what you think? That I’m just some egomaniac who couldn’t stand the idea of a woman rejecting him?”

“I don’t know what to think!” she shouted, her hands flying up in frustration. “Because you’ve never made it clear! You’ve never given me a reason to trust that this is real!”

“I’ve tried!” he roared, stepping closer, his chest heaving. “I’ve tried everything to show you how I feel, and all you do is shut me out. You don’t let me in. You don’t let me love you!”

She stared at him, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, her heart pounding so loudly it felt like it would break free from her chest. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved.” 

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice rough and desperate. He closed the distance between them, his hands grabbing her face with a force that sent her head tilting back. And then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding, a storm of anger and longing tangled in one desperate gesture.

For a split second, she froze, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to push him back, to protect herself. But then something inside her snapped, and she kissed him back with a ferocity that matched his own. Her hands fisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer as the fight dissolved into something far more primal.

Their lips moved in a chaotic rhythm, anger and passion combusting into something undeniable. His hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping her so tightly she stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud. He pressed into her, his body pinning hers, the heat between them unbearable.

“You’re not a distraction,” he murmured against her lips, his voice fierce and unyielding. “You’re the only damn thing I’ve wanted in months.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was kiss him again, her hands clawing at the fabric of his hoodie as if she could tear it away. The anger, the fear, the doubt—it all melted into the heat of his body against hers, the truth they’d both been too scared to admit finally breaking free.

And in that moment, she stopped fighting. Against him. Against herself. Against whatever this was that had always terrified her. Because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Their lips crashed together again, hungry and desperate, a tangle of anger and need. His hands were everywhere—her hips, her waist, her back—pulling her closer, tighter, as if he could erase the distance that had grown between them. She clawed at his hoodie, her nails digging into the fabric, her voice breaking as she gasped against his mouth, “Take this off. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he pulled the hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, his chest heaving as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with a mix of rage and desire. “Happy?” he growled, his voice rough.

“No,” she shot back, her hands immediately finding their way to his bare skin, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back as she pulled him back into the kiss. Her lips were demanding, bruising, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that made him groan.

He lifted her effortlessly, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as he carried her to the sofa, their lips never parting. The moment her back hit the cushions, he was on her, his body pressing into hers, his hands roaming wildly as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “Every moment without you was torture.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her top, his movements hurried and impatient. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Or because you don’t believe me?”

She didn’t answer, her breath hitching as he finally managed to get her top off, his hands moving to her bra. He undid the clasp with ease, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple in a way that made her cry out.

“I’ve craved your kiss in my darkest moments,” he murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. “I’ve been longing for your touch.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as she tried to push him away, her body a contradiction of anger and need. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his lips trailing up her neck to capture hers once more. “But it’s a damn good start.”

His hands slid down her body, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them off her hips along with her panties. She kicked them aside, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moved between them, his own jeans and boxers discarded in a heap on the floor.

When he finally entered her, it was with a deep, urgent thrust that made her moan, her nails digging into his back. He paused for a moment, his breath ragged as he looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve missed feeling your pussy wrapped around my cock,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Her body tightened around him, a visceral reaction to the way his cock stretched her, filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive nerve she had. The friction was electric, his thickness pressing so deep it felt like he was stealing the air from her lungs. His thrusts were relentless, hard and furious, the kind that made her bones rattle and her mind go blank. Each time he pushed into her, his hips slammed against hers, the force of it sending shockwaves through her body. She could feel the anger in his movements, the pent-up frustration of weeks without her driving him to fuck her with a ferocity that bordered on savage.

Her walls clenched around him, slick and tight, her body betraying her mind as it welcomed the invasion. The pleasure was unbearable, every stroke of his cock inside her sending her closer to the edge. She hated how good it felt, how much her body craved him even as her mind screamed at her to resist. “I hate you for this,” she gasped, her voice trembling, her nails digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. “You don’t get to just— fuck your way back into my life.”

“Yes, I do,” he growled against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her hips higher, angling himself so he could plunge even deeper. The tip of his cock brushed against that spot inside her that made her vision blur, her breath hitching in her throat. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how much you want to deny it, your body knows it. I can feel it—how wet you are for me, how fucking perfect you are.”

She hated how right he was. She hated the way her pussy clung to him, pulsing around his cock as if it had been made for him. The stretch of him, the way he filled her so completely, it was maddening. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slid in and out of her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting through her body. Her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, the rhythm wild and unhinged, her body moving on instinct, chasing the release she so desperately needed.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. His hands tightened on her hips, keeping her in place as he drove into her again, the slap of their skin echoing in the room. She opened her eyes to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made her stomach clench. “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Every goddamn second without you, I’ve wanted to be inside you, to feel you come around me.”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. “I hate you,” she whispered again, but it was weak, half-hearted, her body betraying her words as she arched into him, her walls fluttering around his cock. “I hate that I need you.”

“Say it again,” he urged, his lips brushing against hers, his thrusts slowing slightly, becoming deeper, more deliberate. The tip of his cock pressed against that spot inside her again, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Say you hate me.”

“I hate you,” she said, her voice breaking as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her, her body clenching around him so hard it was almost painful. Her head fell back, her back arching as she came, her pussy pulsing around his cock, pulling him deeper.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice ragged with need. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me. So fucking perfect.” His thrusts became erratic, harder, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. “I’ve missed feeling you come around me. Missed the way you squeeze my cock like you never want to let go.”

She could feel it—the way his body tensed, the way his cock pulsed inside her, thick and heavy, as if it were demanding every drop of her attention. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow and uncoordinated, and then he was there, right on the edge. His hips jerked forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and she felt the first hot surge of his release flooding her, filling her in a way that made her toes curl.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice guttural, almost animalistic, as his cock twitched and spilled inside her. She could feel every pulse, every jet of his cum, hot and insistent, coating her walls. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His hands, which had been gripping her hips so tightly she was sure she’d have bruises, now trembled against her skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

“Y/N,” he whispered, her name sounding broken on his lips, like a prayer and a plea all at once. His body shuddered against hers, his cock still throbbing inside her, the warmth of his release pooling deep within. She could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself up, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, tangled together in the aftermath of something that felt as raw and unrelenting as the fight that had brought them here.

His breath was warm against her neck as he finally stilled, collapsing half on her, half beside her, his cock still buried inside her, softening but undeniably present. She could feel him there, a heavy, grounding weight, and for the first time in weeks, there was a strange, unexpected sense of completeness. But it was fleeting, and as her fingers traced the curve of his spine, she knew the fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing ragged, sweat slicking their bodies. He didn’t pull out, his cock still buried deep inside her, as if even now he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not again.”

She closed her eyes, her body still trembling, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but for now, it was muted by the sheer liquid heat of what had just happened between them.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin.

She didn’t respond, her eyes still closed as she tried to process everything that had just happened. The anger, the passion, the way he had touched her as if he never wanted to let her go—it was all too much.

He shifted slightly, pulling her closer as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not giving up on us.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, longing. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intense as he looked at her. “Then let me earn it,” he said, his voice steady. “Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t answer, her heart torn between wanting to believe him and the fear that he would only hurt her again. But before she could say anything, he was kissing her again, his lips soft and gentle this time, a stark contrast to the earlier frenzy.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low but firm, laced with a quiet desperation that she hadn’t heard before. His forehead pressed against hers, their bodies still tangled together, his hand gripping her hip like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

She let out a bitter laugh, her chest rising and falling as she stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “You told me that before. And then you disappeared for months. Just vanished. Like I meant nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the anger in her tone breaking open to reveal the raw hurt underneath.

His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against her skin. “I didn’t vanish. You threw me out. You screamed at me to leave, Y/N. What was I supposed to do? Stay and beg?” His voice rose, frustration seeping into every word, but there was something else there too—something vulnerable, almost pleading.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body tensing beneath him. “You were supposed to fight for us! Not ignore my calls, not ghost me like some coward. Do you know how much that hurt? How many nights I laid awake wondering if you ever even cared?”

He flinched, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting hers again, his eyes dark and burning. “Do you know how much it killed me to stay away? To see your texts and not respond, to hear your voice and not answer? I hated myself for it, Y/N. Every single day. But you... you made it sound like you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely think. “You were supposed to come back,” she whispered, her voice trembling now, the fight draining out of her. “You were supposed to come back and tell me you weren’t done with me.”

His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, his touch gentle despite the storm raging in his eyes. “Because I’m not,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not done with you. I’ll never be done with you. You’re it for me, Y/N. You always have been. Even when I was being an idiot, even when I was fucking things up—it was always you.”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to look away, but he didn’t let her. He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, his expression torn between anger and adoration. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t shut me out. Not again.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared you’ll do it again. Scared you’ll leave me.”

His lips crashed against hers then, fierce and desperate, his arms wrapping around her like he was trying to merge them into one. “I’m not leaving,” he said when he finally pulled away, his breath hot against her skin. “Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands fisting in his hair as she pulled him closer. “I hate you,” she muttered, but there was no real venom behind it—just vulnerability, just fear, just the truth of how badly she wanted to believe him.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead, his tone soft but defiant. “Hate me all you want. But you’re still mine. And this time, I’m not letting go.”

Their breaths tangled in the air, heavy and uneven, the room humming with the echoes of their raw intensity. Lando’s body hovered over hers, their skin still fused together with the heat of what had just unfolded. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself out of her, his cock slipping free with a wet, unmistakable sound. A trail of his cum followed, trickling down her thigh, marking her in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Don’t move.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but it carried a weight that made her obey instantly. 

She stayed still, her body limp against the cushions as he slid off the couch, his movements deliberate. He didn’t look away from her as he walked to the bathroom, his eyes lingering on her sprawled form, the way her chest rose and fell, the curve of her hips glowing in the dim light. The room felt smaller with him gone, the air heavier, as if it were waiting for him to return. She could hear the faint sound of water running, the rustle of a towel being pulled from the rack. Her skin tingled where he had touched her, where he had been inside her, and she fought the urge to reach down and feel the warmth he’d left behind.

He returned with a warm towel in hand, the soft fabric damp against his palms. Gently, he knelt between her legs, his touch reverent as he cleaned her, wiping away the evidence of their shared desperation. His fingers brushed against her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache, his focus entirely on her, on the way her body responded to his care. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, her eyes fixed on him. His face was softer now, the edges of his earlier intensity smoothed by something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze traveled over her, savoring every inch, every curve, every imperfection she’d tried so hard to hide. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice breaking the quiet, his hand pausing over her hip as if he was memorizing the feel of her under his touch. “Not a single part of you that isn’t mine.” Her breath caught, her chest rising sharply as his words sank in. She wanted to argue, to push back, but the way he looked at her—so soft, so full of something she couldn’t quite name—left her paralyzed.

He sat down on the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions, his bare skin still glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. She shifted awkwardly, pushing herself up from the sprawled position she’d been in, her back leaning against the soft fabric of the sofa. He didn’t speak, didn’t move to help her, just watched as she settled into a seated position, her legs crossed loosely in front of her. The cool air of the room brushed against her naked skin, raising tiny bumps across her arms and thighs, but she barely noticed. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on him. She still hadn’t uttered a word, her anger simmering just beneath the surface, a heated pulse that made her chest tighten every time he glanced at her.

He reached over, his fingers brushing against the underside of her thigh, a feather-light touch that made her breath catch in her throat. His eyes darted down, sweeping over her body once, twice, his gaze lingering long enough to send a shiver down her spine. She clenched her jaw, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest, her legs pressing tighter together. His calmness grated on her nerves. It was infuriating how gentle he could still be, even now. He kept his hand there, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on her skin, like he was memorizing her, like he needed to touch her to believe she was real. She wanted to shove him away, to snap at him, but her own body betrayed her, leaning into his touch just enough that she cursed herself silently.

Something flickered in his eyes—something deep and unspeakable. It didn’t matter that she was angry, that she was conflicted, that she hadn’t said a word since it happened. He was still there, still touching her, still looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. Her heart pulsed in her chest, a heavy, uneven throb that made her stomach twist. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice low. When she finally did, his eyes were earnest, a soft warmth chasing away the last vestiges of the cold distance she’d seen earlier.

“I swear to you,” he said, “the woman in those pictures is no one. She isn’t some new fling or anything like that. I didn’t even catch her name. We just happened to leave the club at the same time, and I guess the paparazzi decided to make it a story. I—I would never—” His voice tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he shook his head, as if trying to fling away the mere thought of betrayal. “I’d never move on like that. Especially not after everything with us. You have to believe me.”

She heard the raw plea in his voice, and it squeezed her heart. She wanted to cling to her anger—it felt safer, in some warped way—but her body and soul knew the truth: she still loved him. Even after all the agony and heartbreak, even after the months of silence that nearly broke her, part of her wanted to trust him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she whispered, her eyes drifting down to where his fingertips rubbed soft, comforting circles on her thigh. “Why let me think the worst, after I flew all this way?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his messy curls. “I panicked,” he admitted. “I thought... maybe you’d already decided I wasn’t worth it. Or that you’d never forgive me. When I got your messages about the tabloid story, I—I freaked out. I’ve handled everything so badly, Y/N. I know that.”

She studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit. But the exhaustion and remorse in his gaze looked painfully real. “You hurt me,” she said plainly, not as an accusation but as a truth that hung between them.

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “It kills me to know that. But I’m here now—and so are you. And if you’ll let me, I want to make it right.”

The anger in her chest wavered, replaced by a tender ache. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m tired of fighting you,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “Tired of feeling like I’m chasing ghosts in my own head. You shut me out for so long, Lando. I thought... maybe you’d moved on. Or you realized I wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flared with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he murmured, reaching to cup her chin and guide her gaze to his. “You’ve always been more than enough. You’re my reason. You think I spent those nine months partying or living it up? I was miserable without you. I was just too proud—too damn stupid—to admit it.”

She felt her defenses begin to crumble. The sincerity in his eyes made her chest tighten, and despite the chaos that still swirled inside her, a quiet warmth began to spread.

He dipped his head closer, voice husky with emotion. “I’m not here to give you excuses. I’m here to do better. If you’ll let me.”

Something in the way he said it made her pulse stutter. “I don’t know how to fix us,” she whispered.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles—hopeful, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. “We can figure it out, one day at a time. I’ll give you all the space you need, but I won’t vanish again. That’s a promise.”

Y/N let her eyes slip shut for a moment, recalling the jarring stillness of her apartment, the sense of betrayal when she’d read that tabloid message, and the constant, relentless question of her own worth. Then she thought of his texts from long ago—the sweet promises he used to make, the way he’d spin her around his apartment in a spontaneous dance, the unexpected, thoughtful gifts that were more about making her smile than showing off.

She opened her eyes again, looking into his. “If you ever disappear on me again...”

He shook his head, already understanding the weight of her threat. “I won’t.”

A fragile moment of silence passed, and then, quietly, she slid closer. It wasn’t the desperate need from earlier, but a gentle, tentative reach for comfort. His arms enveloped her, and for once, she let herself sink into him—breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Each thud was like a quiet pledge that he was still here, that he wasn’t running.

“You really don’t know her?” she asked after a moment, referencing the girl in the tabloid photos. There was no bitterness left in her tone—only a vulnerable request for the truth.

Lando snorted softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise you—I have no idea who she is. The tabloids saw a chance to stir drama, and they took it. But if I could rewind time and see the flash of those cameras, I’d have run in the opposite direction just to spare you that pain.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “So dramatic, Norris.”

He grinned, a flash of his usual mischief finally returning. “You know me. I’m a sucker for the dramatic.”

Something about that smile, about the lightening of his mood, allowed her to hope. She lifted her head and traced a finger along his jaw. “You’re a fool,” she said softly.

“But you still love me anyway.” He caught her hand, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, remembering her self-doubts, her fears. “I do,” she admitted, voice hushed. “And I hate how much I do.”

His fingers interlocked with hers. “I’ll do my best to make you hate it less. Starting now.”

Slowly, he guided her to sit up, then reached for the blankets crumpled at the edge of the couch. Pulling one around her shoulders, he tucked her in gently, his gaze never leaving her face. There was a sweet, soothing quiet in the gesture, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged between them just moments before.

He cleared his throat, looking almost shy. “Look, I—I’m sorry if this is too soon, but... I can’t let you stay in a hotel tonight. Stay here.” When he registered her sudden tension, he shook his head. “I’m not asking for—any of that. I just want you close. Let me prove that I’m serious about fixing this, about us.”

Her mind flickered with a thousand possible retorts, but instead, she simply nodded. “Okay.”

A small, relieved smile touched his lips. He bent down, scooped her clothes from the floor, and handed them to her with uncharacteristic care. As they dressed in silence, the conversation that still needed to happen—about the past, about forgiveness—hovered unspoken, but for once, it didn’t feel insurmountable.

When they were both clothed again, Lando reached for her hand, leading her to the bedroom. The lights of Monaco glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the space in soft gold and silver. She hesitated at the threshold, her heart pounding. But he just guided her to the edge of the bed, turned down the blankets, and held them open for her.

The gesture was so gentle that fresh tears stung at her eyes. She slid beneath the covers, and he lay down beside her, maintaining a careful distance until she inched closer, bridging the gap. His arm went around her shoulders, and her head found its home against his chest.

They lay there, the tension of the night still throbbing in the background, but now there was something else—a quiet, cautious kind of peace. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

“Lando,” she whispered, “I don’t know how we move past everything that’s happened. But for tonight... can we just be here together?”

He pressed his lips to her hairline, his breath warm against her skin. “Tonight, tomorrow, every day after if you’ll let me,” he answered softly. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

She felt a tear slip free, but it wasn’t one of sorrow. In the glow of the Monaco lights, pressed against the warmth of his body, she found the faintest flicker of hope flickering in her chest—a fragile promise that maybe, this time, they could find their way back to each other.

“I believe you,” she whispered, letting herself relax into the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed a small, hopeful smile to curve her lips. “And I’m tired of pushing you away.”

He tightened his hold on her, his thumb tracing idle circles on her arm. “Then don’t,” he murmured.

She sighed, contentment blooming slowly in her chest. “I won’t.”

In the quiet that followed, there were no more words—just the soft cadence of their breathing, the hush of the night sky outside, and the unspoken vow settling between them. No matter how broken things had seemed, they would try. And for now, that was enough.

[hwasoup]

Tale As Old As Time

Playlist !!

songs used for inspo: Prologue (the enchantress), Main Title: Prologue, Act 1 Pas d'action rose adage

art credit goes to Marbipa

Warnings: none for now

words: 518

chapter 1>>

Prologue

Once upon a time… in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a beautiful castle...

The prince was spoiled, foolish, arrogant, and unkind. He exploited the nearby villages to fill his castle with the most beautiful things whether that would be jewelry, furniture, and women. He would have extravagant balls in his castle and even mistreated the servants who served him…

It was a cold and snowy night. It was the prince’s 20th birthday; he held a party with all the riches anyone could imagine. He danced, wined, and played around with his objects. The prince enjoyed his birthday lavishly while not caring that his servants were being almost trampled on. The party continued on for hours until there was a knock on the castle doors, he opened the door and looked down to see a poor beggar woman. “Please sir…accept this single rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold” she weakly said. The prince huffed and laughed in her face “As if, I don't need a rose from such an old woman from you…besides I have all the roses that I could ever have...” 

The guests in the party laughed along as well as they mocked the beggar woman. Before the prince was even able to close the door on her, she muttered something softly “do not be deceived by appearances for beauty is found within...” The prince looks at her annoyed and dismisses her again. Then all of a sudden, a bright light emanated from the old woman, her ugliness melting away, her form changing, her appearance suddenly becoming more youthful to reveal a beautiful, giant, and terrifying enchantress. The prince in shock fell on his knees and stared in awe as all of his guests screamed and ran away from the castle, away from what the enchantress might do. “NO, NO... Please… HAVE MERCY ON ME... I WAS WRONG” the prince said, as he wept and begged for forgiveness. However, it was too late…the enchantress could see that there was no love in his heart, she pointed the rose at him and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast. The prince cried in agony as his limbs and appearance changed, he became larger, furrier, his hands became paws, his crimson eyes became red, his cries became roars. The enchantress also placed a powerful spell on the castle and on all who lived there. 

Ashamed of his horrid appearance, the prince shunned himself inside the castle with only a magic mirror as his only way to peer into the world outside the castle. The rose that the enchantress offered, was in actuality an enchanted rose which would bloom for many years. If the prince learned how to love someone and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell from the rose, the spell would be broken. If not…he would be doomed to become a beast for all eternity. As the days turned into months and eventually years… the prince fell into a deep despair and lost all hope 

.....For whom could ever learn…to love a beast?

[headlinxr]

( 疼痛 ) CHXSE, N. NI-KI ، ꒱⸰ֺ ࣭•

𓏲 ┈─ ៵ i'll follow you every fucking day, just too see your face. ุ๋ ⸱ 𓄰

̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ 𓆸 TO THE OTHER SIDE ⸝⸝ Ni-Ki wants you to be his, but you already belong to someone else ˖ ៹

𓈒 𓄹 ⊹ , 夫妻 Ni-Ki x fem!reader × ִֶ

𓆤 ; 廣告 IN THE NIGHT, I SPILL THE LIGHT ຳ the reader is hee seung's partner, Ni-Ki can't stand seeing you with him, Ni-Ki deals with suicidal thoughts . 𓏲

٬ ៶ ૂ 通告 , This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ༉‧₊˚

៹ 𓂃 HEADLINXR ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ 為了你，為了我 ؛ ៹

His room was dark, the light barely dared to enter. Ni-Ki felt trapped. The walls, like silent guardians, seemed to close in more and more, pressing on his chest with an unbearable weight. With each heartbeat, his heart resonated like a war drum, marking a battle rhythm that freed his inner self. He felt enveloped in a mantle of fresh mist, making each breath feel like a failed attempt to free himself from his invisible chains. In his mind, images of you danced like in a ballet, recalling everything about you, and the little he truly knew. With trembling hands, he searched for that object; a small leaf, cold and shiny, that promised him temporary relief. He stared at it, as if it were a mirror. When the steel touched his skin, it was as if the silence broke the mantle that covered him. The sensation was bittersweet, as if each cut were a grain of sand falling from an hourglass, marking the time slipping through his fingers.

Twilight finally seeped through the cracks in the room, tinting the atmosphere with a cold hue that accentuated the chill of the wooden wall against which he leaned. Without a shirt, his skin bristled at the touch of the rough surface, as if each splinter reminded him of the harshness of his life. With an impulsive gesture, he lifted his gaze, and what he found was a mosaic of memories clinging to the wood; thousands of photographs of you.

Each image was a glimpse of your essence: Captivating smiles, looks that bestowed joy, and moments frozen in time. But in each of those snapshots, there was an element that drove him crazy, a piercing reminder of his tireless devotion: Hee Seung. his heart contracted in an act of rebellion, as if a serpent coiled within him began to squeeze with ferocity. Rage erupted within him, igniting his mind with a torrent of distorted thoughts.

─Why... Him?─ He wondered, as his gaze lost itself in the abyss of jealousy that slowly devoured him. The obsession settled in his chest, a parasite that fed on his despair. Your image, an intruder in the world he imagined, became a ghost that haunted him, a constant echo reminding him of his own inability to be the center of his own universe.

The wall, now a canvas of his torments, seemed to mock him. Each photograph was a poisoned dart, a vivid representation of the happiness he longed for and yet slipped through his fingers like sand in an endless desert. The helplessness enveloped him like a dense fog, and his mind spun in circles, trapped in a labyrinth of dark thoughts.

With a deep sigh, a silent scream of frustration, he stepped away from the wall, leaving behind the gallery of broken dreams. He knew that his obsession was a mirage, a distorted reflection of a reality that refused to be his. However, the echo of his desire resonated within him, and although the coldness of the wood reminded him of his loneliness, the image of her continued to burn in his mind, inextinguishable and desperately beautiful. He set the blade aside, and with trembling but determined hands, he tore down one by one the photographs that adorned the walls, images that, at another time, evoked laughter and shared promises. Now, each portrait became a piercing reminder of what once was and what could never be. The fragments of paper fell to the ground like withered leaves, symbolizing the death of a love that had blossomed in the garden of his heart, only to wither before the cruel experience.

In his mind, a storm of emotions was unleashed, a whirlwind of anger and sadness that threatened to consume him completely. He wished, with an almost visceral intensity, to erase from the map of his existence those who had dared to stand between him and his deepest desire. Your life, a beacon that once illuminated his path, had now become a darkness that enveloped him, and in his mind, a revenge was brewing that seemed as seductive as it was lethal.

Remember that sunny day, and the air infused with the fresh scent of spring. Jake said you were his sister, an ethereal figure dancing between laughter and dreams, dazzling in your innocence. Your laughter was a melody that resonated in his chest, and every word you spoke became an enchanting whisper that hymned in his mind. So irrevocably patriotic that it would make the national anthem stutter.

He wanted to trust in the sudden emotion he felt every time he saw you, he would trust that you would place perfectly carved sea crusts in the palms of your hands after searching for them for hours. He felt like a child, his heart racing, but fate was capricious, and you chose the young and handsome boy, finding yourself trapped in those nets that had ensnared thousands of girls like you. That betrayal, subtle as poison, was the stigma that marked his soul.

As the photographs fell, the echo of your laughter transformed into a lament, a symphony of what could have been. The anger turned into a fire that consumed him, fueled by memories that could not be undone. You were more than just a simple girl; you were a symbol of everything he longed for and couldn't have. He longed to be the protagonist of a forbidden story with you, where he imagined touching your soft skin and feeling the heat of your body against his.

With each passing day, Ni-Ki wished to become bolder, trying to let desire guide him down paths he knew were dangerous. Each chance encounter turned into a game of tension-filled glances, where he allowed himself to dream of an accidental brush, a whisper in the ear that would never materialize. In his mind, the line between admiration and harassment blurred, and his obsession became a thousand-headed monster that devoured him from within. The routine had become a sacred ritual. With a fixed gaze, Ni-Ki ventured into the streets you usually roam. His heart beat at a frantic pace, pumping a cocktail of adrenaline and desire. The city transformed into a labyrinth of possibilities, a stage where destiny seemed to whisper his name in his ear.

Ni-Ki tried not to be discouraged; for him, the possession of your heart did not depend on reciprocity, but on the fervor of his devotion. In his mind, you were his, a star in his personal firmament, and even though there were others around you, your essence remained unchanging, destined to join his in some corner of the universe.

Each chance encounter, each smile he managed to catch, was a brick in the construction of his obsession. Ni-Ki became a master of the art of invisibility, a ghost slipping through the crowd, always at the right distance, always at the right moment. His life turned into a dance of shadows and lights, where his only purpose was to be a silent witness to the joy you radiate.

The chase, for him, was not a mere act of following; it was a form of veneration. The mere act of contemplating you, of absorbing your essence, filled him with an almost mystical ecstasy. In his mind, each day was a new chapter in an unfinished novel, a story where the protagonist pursues a love that, though distant, beats with intensity in his chest.

Who would you call if he took you? When your back is against the wall, who would you turn to? He wishes he were the first one you thought of. When you are running down the corridor, it will be him who cuts the path. You will hear the sirens, but they will never hear you.

You splash through the puddles on the road, he hates running in the rain. You turn around, and see that he's coming for you. There's no one there for you, so you mustn't fall. Because you are his to take. Only from him.

[cheeseborgorbord2]

𝓘 𝓑𝓮𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓸𝓰𝓼

Season 2 Vi x (afab, latina) doggirl reader

Warnings: dead dove content, violence, abuse, alcoholism, euthanasia mentions, pet names, brief piss, distress, injury, good ending.

Dividers by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Doggirls and dogboys barked and approached the cage doors as Vi walk by browsing for the perfect one to adopt.

Vi had been feeling lonely lately. Her breakup with Caitlyn was left on a sour note. She'd been missing the warmth of another body on top of her, but she wasn't ready for a relationship yet. So, she figured she could get a pet, a human pet.

None had caught her attention. While many of the doggirls were cute, they weren't perfect. Vi had walked several rows of the shelter, growing frustrated that she would have to go home alone again. But as her hope had dwindled, her eyes landed on what seemed to be an empty cage until her orbs caught the curled-up figure lying on the floor, covered under a blanket. The doggirls had been fed during the past hour, but the bowl was full to the brim with kibble.

Vi's hands gripped the cage bars as she stared. She could sense the hopelessness and despair radiating from the doggirl she was staring at. She couldn't help but feel her heartache. Another creature like her, alone and suffering.

She was perfect.

"Excuse me!" Vi called out to a shelter staff member who so happened to walk by. "Can I adopt this one?"

The staff member walked beside Vi to see what doggirl she wanted but gave a face of uncertainty.

"Oh, sorry. But she's not adoptable. She's bit too many of our staff members, myself included. Nearly grabbed my fingers when feeding her. The poor girl was rescued from fighting rings, and was a champion too."

Vi listened intently as he spoke.

"She was in terrible condition when taken into custody by enforcers. She had tangled hair, outgrown nails, and cuts and bruises. She has a lot of scars from those brutal fights. Doesn't get along with the other doggirls either. Unfortunately, we might have to put her down for her own well-being. She hasn't eaten and hardly moves from one spot. I'm surprised she even drinks water," he continued.

Vi's heart was completely shattered at the information, "she must be so afraid."

"I bet," he replied. "Not much we can do. We're going to schedule her to be put down on Friday."

"What!? No, you can't do that! That-that's not fair!" Vi's voice boomed, the panic and anger not subtle.

"I'm sorry!" The staff member put his hands up in defense, "there's nothing I can do!"

"I'll adopt her! I don't care if she's dangerous or aggressive, I'll take her."

He momentarily stared in disbelief at the woman in front of him. "You still want to adopt her? She's far too aggressive. She can cause some serious injury to anyone."

"She's scared," Vi objected. "I know what it's like to be scared too. To hate everyone and everything." Her eyes filled with sorrow stared into the cage.

She remembers the heartbreak of her breakup and how she coped with it.

Being abandoned by Caitlyn changed her severely. Vi fought in Zaun's pits, drowned her pain in copious amounts of alcohol only to puke it up later, the cycle repeating every single time. Just like with Caitlyn, she was falling hard, and fast.

It took one long look in the mirror to make herself realize this wasn't what she wanted. No longer recognizing her own reflection, she broke down. Screaming, sobbing, taking her anger out on the punching bag in her cell-like room. Soon enough, she collapsed on her mattress in exhaustion.

She was going to change herself, no matter how difficult it was going to be.

She just had to.

Vi spent the next few days collecting as much as she could to buy what you needed. Food, toys, pillows, blankets, clothes, and a large and slightly expensive cage for you to sleep in.

She pushed the doors to the shelter lobby open before slamming an envelope of money on the receptionist's counter, "I need to adopt a doggirl before she gets put down."

The receptionist looked up at Vi, taking a sip of her coffee, "The adoption fee is 80 dollars."

"80 is in here, now where is the ex-fighting doggirl before you guys put her down!"

The receptionist raised an eyebrow, "The ex-fighting dog? Oh, honey, she's already been put down."

Vi's heart sank. She was a day early to get you, but they had moved your euthanasia to today, Thursday.

"No, that can't be! She was scheduled for tomorrow!" Vi screamed. "I was her last chance!" Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

"That's how it is, honey. A lot of these girls deserve a second chance, but not all of them have the strength to go through that second chance. She was old and severely injured." The woman said before tying onto her computer.

"Wait a minute," Vi paused in thought, "she wasn't old. The one I saw looked younger."

"There is no other..." the receptionist took a second to think, "Oh! My bad, there are other ex-fighting dogs in here. The recently rescued, right?"

"Yes! Them!" Vi nodded eagerly.

"Oh, I see here. The one you're talking about is still here. Scheduled for euthanasia tomorrow," the woman turned the screen to Vi to a displayed schedule of appointments and putdowns. "This one, right?" She hovered the mouse over your ID number, a photo showing above it.

"That's her!" Vi pointed at the digital photo.

"Are you sure? She an aggresi-"

"I don't care. She's the one I want to adopt," Vi interrupted. "I'm her last hope."

The receptionist gave her a bit of a judgemental stare before shrugging, "you're brave. I'll get someone to get her for you. In the meantime, you'll need to fill out paperwork. Should take at most an hour."

"An hour?" Vi questioned.

"Yes, an hour," the woman spoke as she browsed through files before picking yours up. She typed a few things into the computer, papers calmly escaping the printer. "Here," she handed Vi the stapled stack of papers and a pen.

Vi quickly filled out the papers, scratching out any mistakes, desperate to take you home. Once she finished the papers, she shoved the clipboard in the receptionist's face.

"There, done, now get here so I can take her home."

The receptionist scans over the paperwork, "everything seems in order. They'll bring her in about 10 minutes. Here are copies of her medical records. Bring her in a few months for a check-up."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Vi kisses the papers as she sits back down to wait for your arrival.

20 minutes had passed and you haven't been brought to her. Vi's foot tapped impatiently. Just as she was about to get up and find you herself, two staff members were dragging and pushing you into the lobby.

"Sorry it took so long, we had to put a muzzle on her. She's surprisingly strong," one of the two staff members spoke, tugging the leash that connected to the collar around your neck.

You growled, using all your weight to push back against the pulls like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But your protest was futile with the second member pushing you from behind.

Vi stood there watching as you struggled against them, a black muzzle encasing your face. She could see the fear in your eyes, the way your cropped ears tilted back. You were terrified, and they read it as anger and aggression.

"Stop, you're scaring her," Vi stepped in front of the two members. "Take that muzzle off her."

They looked at Vi like if she was waving a gun around.

"Are you crazy, lady? She'll bite you!"

"She's my dog now. Take it off," Vi demanded. She wasn't the type to easily back down, further deepening the comparisons you two shared.

"Yeah, no." The second member answered.

Vi saw red.

"How dare you! Take it off of her, now! She's scared, not aggressive. I don't care if she bites me. Give me that," Vi snatched the leash out of their hands before reaching down to take off the muzzle.

In your eyes, you saw an angry hand reaching to hit you, like in the pits. You yelp, pulling against the leash, the flimsy material snapping, giving you the perfect opportunity to run. You use your legs to dash forward towards the door, clawed hands reaching the handle.

"Hey! Stop!" Vi called out as you ran out the lobby.

The moment you stepped outside, you were met with all sorts of sounds and smells unfamiliar to you. You was overwhelming, scary even.

You could hear Vi and the staff members coming after you. You couldn't get caught, not again.

You ran into the streets, nearly getting hit by bustling cars. You ran one way, then the other, frightened by the cars, the sun, the stench of gasoline, and the asphalt burning your feet. Next thing you know, you feel the impact of the car, finding yourself lying in the street. You can hear the screech of tires and Vi's screams as your vision blurs. Your ears rang, your hair draping over your face, as the world went black.

The beeps of machines entered your ears as you woke up from anesthesia. Your tongue lazily hung out the side of your mouth. You tried sitting up, your arms giving out easily, your upper body making a soft thump in the vet's recovery cage. The sounds of your awakening caught the attention of a nearby vet tech.

"Hey, good girl," the vet tech approached the cage, crouching down. "How you feeling? You got hit pretty hard, but luckily there was hardly any damage. Your owner's really worried about you." She opened the cage door and gently pat your head.

You flinch, falling forward when trying to escape her touch.

The vet tech quickly withdrew her hand, "okay, okay. I won't touch you. I'll let your owner know you're okay." She leaves, letting you wobbly crawl out the cage. The tiles are cold under your hands and knees. Your ears perk up at the sounds of Vi's heavy boots and the waiting room door creaks open.

"Here she is, up and ready," the vet tech announced to Vi.

Vi walked in and immediately sat your level, "hey, angel, you ready to come home?" She offered her palm out for you to sniff, but you backed up, tripping on your arms. She gasped, picking you up with ease, "I think it's time we go to your new home."

She carried your conscious but weak body to her car, placing you in the back seat. The back seats had soft blankets covering the cush leather. She clipped your shelter collar to the headrest before getting in the driver's seat.

"Relax, I'll take care of you."

Vi had carried you to her apartment, gently placing you in your new cage. She placed your head on the pillows, next to the stuffed animals she bought. She filled heart shaped bowls next to the cage with food and water as you slept. She watched from a distance at how you curled up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if protecting yourself from harm. She couldn't imagine the abuse you must've faced, but she could imagine the time she'll spend gaining your trust.

It had been hours since you hadn't bothered stepping foot out of the cage. Your tail stayed tucked between your legs as you watched every movement Vi made, growling and barking your teeth when she got too close. Every 30 minutes, Vi threw bits of treats into the cage, hoping to get you to eat. But you didn't eat in front of her, only when she left you alone. It stung but she understood the lack of trust you had with her.

She left the cage door open when she went to bed, giving you free access to roam the apartment. When you heard the click of her bedroom door close, you cautiously poked your head out of the cage. You looked around cautiously, your hands trembling as they touched the wood floors. They creaked under your weight, scaring you back into the cage. It took awhile until you tried again, your feet touching the floor. Your ears stood tall in alert at any small sound. Your nose found its way the the bowls next to the cage: beef patty and kibble. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the food. You sat in front of the bowl, leaning down carefully, your tongue licked out to taste the food. You could feel your tail wag as you chowed down. This was the first time you had good food since being taken from your mother as a wee pup.

You hardly let your guard down as you ate, checking your surroundings every few minutes. Once you finished your chow, you drink the water and go back in the cage.

Morning rolls around. Vi stretches, sitting up in bed bed dragging herself to her bathroom. When she steps into the hallway, her foot steps in a puddle, a bit warm to the touch, the aroma of urine hitting her nose.

"Oh, come on!" Vi growls in frustration, but her disgust subsies when she hears your whine at the entrance of the hall, ears back in shame. "Hey, sweet girl. Had an accident? It's okay, I'll clean it up. I should've had pee pads out for you." Vi hopped on one leg to her bathroom, washing her foot. When she steps out of the bathroom, there's already a roll of paper towels on the floor. She chuckles, picking up the paper towels, and cleaning the puddle.

You went back into your cage, lying down in shame. You were used to releasing youself on floors, had been kept in a dirty cage, neglected despite being a top fighter. You paced around her apartment, trying to find a spot. The carpet? No, the smell would linger and the carpet would stain. On the balcony? No, it would leak down to the neighbors downstairs. Your cage? Definitely not. The floor was the last option.

The bouncing of kibble against ceramic broke you out of your head. Vi poured your kibble into your bowl in the kitchen. She added the pieces of beef patty and sprinkled some supplimentary powder. She brought the bowl and placed the bowl at the entrance of the cage.

"Hey, mamas, hungry? I saw you ate your dinner. Good girl," Vi praised. Your tail wigged at her words. She smirked as she tested the waters with pet names. "You like being called a good girl? Yes, you do! Who's my good girl? You are!"

Your tail wagged faster, thumping against the cage sides, your backside wiggling. You let out a few whimpers, looking up at Vi with puppy eyes.

"See, there's nothing that can hurt you, my good girl," Vi slowly reached a hand towards you. Your body visibly tensed, preparing for a strike, only to receive soft strokes against your head. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."

She watches as your body slowly relaxes under her touch. Her chest fills with a fuzzy feeling of fulfillment and pride. She studies your face, noticing a few scars: one across your cheek, a cut on your lower lip, and a bite along your jaw.

"Poor girl, you must've been through a lot," Vi commented. "Must've experienced hell and back...a lot like me. Everyone gave up on us," she sat in front of the cage, still petting you.

You moved your head onto her lap, seeking her comfort. The heat radiated off her body and like a moth to a flame, you couldn't help but go towards the light.

You felt loved.

"I bet on losing dogs because they deserve a fighting chance. I couldn't leave you behind. You needed me, and I needed you."

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

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓮.

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽. 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭.

🄼🄴🄽 🄰🄽🄳 🄼🄸🄽🄾🅁🅂 🄳🄽🄸

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (1/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

______

He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth, he would finally get everything he deserved − a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.

He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.

He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.

The woman was a fucking widow.

Already intimate with another man who had taken her maidenhood, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.

He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.

However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.

Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.

Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.

He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.

Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.

As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.

The colour of the Targaryens.

He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.

He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.

He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.

He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.

With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.

She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.

She seemed so innocent.

They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.

He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.

He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.

He felt like his head was going to burst.

They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.

He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.

"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.

He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.

"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.

He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.

He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.

"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.

She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.

Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.

For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.

He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.

He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.

He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.

She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.

"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.

"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.

"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.

She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.

His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.

"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.

"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.

She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.

"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.

She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.

"Pathetic."

He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.

"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.

"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.

"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.

She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.

"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.

They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.

"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.

"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.

It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.

"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.

"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.

His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.

"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.

He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.

"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.

"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar

[dancing-dawn]

atsushi for the ask game 🙏

Oh my darling boy, my sweetest joy, oh, how this ask has brought the brightest smile upon my face. Hihi this is gonna be a long one, I tried my best to restrain myself, I swear!

Favourite thing

Boldsushi! SASSUSHI! I love how unapologetically cocky and no-bullshit he gets when surrounded by utter madness and at some (many) points he feels like the only reasonable person in the room. He is also literally the most unique and lovable (once you get to really know him) protagonist I've ever read. My boy is so complex and to me, out of the whole cast, he feels the most like a real person.

Least favourite thing

Atp I adore canon Atsushi so much, the only thing I dislike is his fanon perception. In particular - people who just do not get why he's a compelling protagonist and not a "weak pathetic crybaby." I am pointing knives at everyone who still dares to STILL utter those lies this after recent chapters.

Favourite line

*clears throat*

"Away with you... you fool."

...but! Considering that is not an original thought but a shamelessly stolen flirty dramatic ass pick-up line from our second best boy xD I'll give you another, the silly and the serious:

"All this cause of Dazai, well, Dazai, my ass!"

-> oh the amount of times I have rewided to hear this over and over, laughing hysterically every single time, oh dear

Ok now for the serious one:

"Akutagawaaaaaa!"

"People need to be told they're worthy of being alive by someone else or they can't go on."

-> I love this one because of how blatantly wrong he is. And by wrong, I mean having an unhealthy mindset plagued by deep-rooted trauma, and this being the only way he's learned to cope. That's why he's a fascinating character. He's not saying this as a "lesson" or "moral" to the audience, nor as an objective truth - he's simply stating what he believes in and what drives him to keep going. Obviously this is an incredibly dangerous life policy to have because if you surround yourself by people who don't have your best interest in mind, and you rely on them to tell you what your worth is and why you're allowed to live - then you're just doomed, you're playing with the hazard of life and walking the thinnest line between hope and despair.

I can get into how this also connects to Akutagawa’s influence on Atsushi as he, subconsciously or not, helps him grow in the direction of living seperately from his past and abiding by his own ideals (something that is mirrored by Aku's own struggles), seeing his self-worth and taking action EVEN if faced with his biggest fear of being alone, even when the world is against him and there's no one there to pat him on the back and tell him he did a good job, even when everything and everyone has fought for is gone and he's left to pick up the pieces and he needs to believe his strength goes beyond the tiger's prowess, that he exists for a reason and he is enough, he is allowed to believe himself worthy of going on...

...but this wall of text is gonna have no end, so maybe another time!

brOTP

Kyouka & Atsushi. There is just no stronger familial relationship than those two and their influence on each other's lives is very sweet and very important. For me this hits especially hard in Beast and makes me tear up, just a bit (totally). I also regularly think about the crepe scene and it fills my heart with warmth and joy. Big brother Atsushi, my love, I will die for you (im almost starting to sound like yk who, jesus).

OTP

Ahem, *clears throat again*

*picks up the microphone* *leans down and whispers*

"Skin Soukoku."

*the crowd claps and cheers, showering me with bouquets of daisies and black roses* *i bow and take my leave, the faintest trace of a smile on my face*

nOTP

mmmm I actually don't have one, I think?? Even tho I will die on my sskk hill, I respect all ships with Atsushi because they're just wholesome and fun if you imagine then in an alternate universe (where Aku somehow doesn't exist *cough*) I guess if you're fooorcing me to choose, I will have to say Dazatsu because it just doesn't make sense to me, I cannot even see it making sense in any universe or scenario - for me they are simply mentor and mentee, barely even friends at max. The hierarchy gap here is just too large, I feel. But I enjoy some cute fanarts here and there for fun nonetheless <3

Random headcanon

He is absolutely ogling every single cutesy tiger-themed article of clothing and furniture he sees but needs to restrain himself due to the imaginary flies coming out of his wallet. Kyouka notices this someday and buys him a baby tiger plushie or some cartoony tiger bedsheets (*cough* which I may or may not have already written into my wip *cough*).

Unpopular opinion

Considering my only habitat is sskk circles with very insighful people who understand his character mmmm it's a bit hard for me to know what is unpopular. But I'm gonna say that his flashbacks to the orphanage are not reduntant at all, no matter how repetitive they get, because it honestly feels like how a real person would experience trauma. It's not sugar-coated or glorified for the interest of the story, it just feels genuine yk?

Song I associate with them

Lacy - Olivia Rodrigo, because of this gorgeous animatic by @piedpip3rrr

For the love of everything, please just drop everything for a minute and watch this, if you haven't already.

Everything about it is sheer perfection - the storytelling, the relation of the characters to the lyrics, the incredibly expressive and gorgeous drawings, the coloring (that has a storytelling of its own even!!), the subtle motions that just pull on your heartstrings with every single beat. I love this thing <3

Favourite picture

*pushes my sunglasses slightly over the bridge of my nose and slides this across our imaginary table*

*disappears into the shadows*

...

*feral shouting resonates through the aforementioned shadows*

Ok OK LIsteN. I think, and I am correct, that we as a fandom have failed spectacularly by getting over this panel WAY so soon. Yes, I have the "you fool" one printed out at my desk and I stare at it lovingly every half hour or so, but THIS ONE! Oh, this belongs in a museum. I would pay money if I had to, just to rest my gaze upon it for a mere second. I believe I need not express myself on why it's so magnificent... but I'm gonna do it anyway, becuz who's stopping me, my blog my rules woooo! :D

1. Peak of Harukawa's new art style. Hands down. The softness of his features. The tender look in his eyes. The composition is strikingly dynamic and just heartbreaking to take it all in. There is a dream-like quality to it that makes it feel ethereal, yet it depicts a living nightmare.

2. Oh, the hand reaching out for Aku. The way he turned his whole body to face him mid fall. As if he's seeking comfort because he's scared to die alone and he's scared of leaving his partner, no matter if he knows his strength and believes in him with his whole being. The way there is not an inkling of regret in his eyes, because he's finally done the right thing. It's his closure, his retribution, his response to a sacrifice in his own name that he didn't believe himself worthy of. But now he understands. Need I say more?

P.S. Link to the Aku sequel because they shall always come as a pair <3

[n-e-t-t]

“Is this because of the Ribbon?”

Marauders-Era | Fluff | Slight Smut (lol oops) | Language

Marauders x F!Reader, She/Her (implied Remus x Reader, with unhinged Sirius vibes), one shot

Wardrobe Malfunctions, Ribbon Kink???Friends to Lovers to Crisis

James Potter cursed your wardrobe as a joke, turning everything you owned into clown costumes right on time for the Hogsmeade trip. Lily Evan’s saves the day, in more ways than one.

—————————————

You weren’t planning to scream bloody murder before breakfast.

But here you were, standing in front of your wardrobe, shaking with fury and dressed in what could only be described as a sexy victorian clown costume, complete with frills, lace, and a corset that audibly squeaked when you moved.

A screech clawed its way out your throat, echoing through the entire Gryffindor Tower like some tragic banshee of fashion betrayal. Several second-years cry. A suit of armor on the seventh floor faints. Somewhere, Filch drops his mop.

You stormed into the hallway in full horror-clown regalia, dragging your wand behind you like a medieval weapon. Doors cracked open. Sleepy heads poked out.

“POTTER!” you bellowed, the frills on your sleeves shuddering with rage.

“I CAN EXPLAIN!” he shouted from two floors down.

“I’M GOING TO SKIN YOU AND USE YOUR CAPE AS A DISH TOWEL!”

—————————

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting on the edge of Lily Evans’ bed, fuming and half-naked.

“I’m going to kill him,” you muttered. “I’m going to drag him to McGonagall’s office myself and tell ‘er James Potter has been smuggling black-market prank curses into the castle.”

Lily was already rummaging through her wardrobe like the goddess of divine intervention she was.

“You’re not killing him,” she said casually. “He’d haunt you. Badly. Like, blood dripping from the ceiling, your shampoo smelling like vinegar, bad.”

You groaned. “I was supposed to be hot today.”

“You still can be.” She turned around holding a soft, floral dress in pale blue. Like right out of an advert for baby powder or laundry detergent. “Wear this.”

You blinked.

Lily raised a brow. “You want to go to Hogsmeade looking like Ronald McDonald’s mistress, or do you want to look like someone Sirius Black would walk into a lamppost over?”

You blinked again. “…I’ll take the dress.”

She grinned. “Thought so.”

—————————

Twenty minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, unrecognizable.

Soft dress. Babydoll shoes. No smoky eye. Hair half-up, secured with a simple little white ribbon Lily tied with practiced fingers.

You looked like you were about to write poetry in a field and then stab a man behind a rose bush.

You twirled once.

You looked… pretty. In a different way than usual.

And you could practically feel the chaos building like storm clouds outside.

You smiled to yourself.

“Let’s go emotionally devastate four boys.”

—————————

The boys were already waiting when you arrived.

James was showing off his new broom catalogue to Peter. Sirius was lounging on a stone bench like the sun was contractually obligated to shine on him. Remus was reading (shocking), sipping something warm and absolutely not ready for what was about to hit him like a rogue bludger to the groin.

Then you walked out.

Soft dress. Bare legs. Ribbon in your hair. No eyeliner. Lip gloss. Cheekbones from heaven. A literal angel sent to punish them all.

James looks up. Drops his broom catalogue. A look of sheer disappointment and despair in his eyes. “Oh no.”

Peter gasps audibly.

Remus spits out his tea. Coughs. Whispers something that sounds like “fuck” in four different languages. Looks back down at his book like it might physically protect him.

Sirius stands up too fast. Regrets it instantly. Adjusts his trousers like he’s hiding a cursed object. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Says nothing. Just vibrates.

“Morning, boys,” you say, voice dipped in honey and war crimes.

James chokes. Lily hits him.

Sirius, dazed. “Where… where did your eyeliner go?”

“I killed it.” You said bluntly.

Peter. “She’s a bloody threat to society. With that… bow?”

You lean over to Lily and whisper. “I feel like I could kill a man. But like… politely.”

—————————

You walked out of Honeydukes holding a small bag of sweets and a dangerous amount of confidence. The soft skirt of Lily’s dress swayed with every step. The ribbon fluttered in the breeze like a personal attack. People stared. Whispers followed you like perfume. Some poor fifth year tripped over his own feet and hit a lamp post.

You didn’t even notice. You were too busy existing.

James, eating a Fizzing Whizbee too fast to avoid having to speak keeps muttering to himself, “She’s literally a clown. She’s a clown. I cursed her into a clown. What is this. What IS this?”

You leaned over. Smiling. “Say it, Potter. I wore your curse better than you expected.”

James softly spoke, staring into the void. “You wore it like vengeance and sugar. I regret everything.”

Sirius walks two paces behind you like a guard dog who keeps forgetting his job.

Keeps looking at your legs and then up at the sky like it might smite him. At one point, you laugh too loud and he walks into a flower cart. Full impact. Petunias everywhere.

Lily was far from pleased.

Remus has gone full “rebooting Windows 95”. His mind going that quickly that he thought of something that hadn’t even been invented yet. He stares for too long. Blinks twice as often. Keeps looking down at his shoes like they hold the answer to why his friend looks like a blooming poem.

“Remus, you alright?” You ask over your shoulder, canines on show.

Remus, lying through his teeth. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be? This is fine. Everything is fine. The air’s just different today. Wetter. Wetter air.”

Sirius butts in, flower petals in his hair. “You’re sweating.”

Remus snips. “It’s the dew point, Sirius. Read a book.”

—————————

When they returned back to the castle, Lily is half-crying, half-wheezing on her bed while you pace around still in the dress, arms flung wide like you’re giving a monologue on a west end stage.

“I felt like a woman, Lily. Like a 1950s housewife who hides arsenic in the lemon drizzle.”

Lily, wheezing. “You BROKE them.”

“I liberated them.”

“I didn’t even know Remus had tear ducts.”

They collapse into giggles. Ribbons and victory strewn everywhere.

Meanwhile, in the boys dorm,

Sirius is laying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it just told him he’s going to die alone.

James, from the corner. “You okay, Pads?”

“She wore a ribbon, James. A ribbon.”

Remus. “It was… nice.”

Sirius sits up violently. “It was spiritual.”

Peter. “Do you think she’d let me be her footstool? Like in a respectful way?”

Remus. “Shut the fuck up, Pete.”

—————————

The next morning, you walk into the common room like it’s just another day. Casual. Hair tied back. Smoky eye back on. She’s back, baby.

But the ribbon?

It’s dangling from your fingers. The same one from yesterday. You’re chewing gum and humming something vaguely catchy.

Remus is on the couch, book open, legs crossed like he’s got composure and dignity left in his life.

He’s wrong.

You flop down beside him, legs tucked under you like a cat. You fiddle with the ribbon now, twisting it between your fingers.

“I was gonna give this back,” You say, holding it up, “but then I thought… you’re sentimental, right? You’d appreciate a relic of the day I emotionally dismantled you all.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t dismantled.”

You smiled. “You sneezed into your Butterbeer when I winked at you.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back at his book like it’s going to save him.

Then—you take his wrist.

No warning. Just gentle fingers and firm intention. And you start tying the ribbon around it. Soft. Precise. A little bow.

“Now you can be the pretty one today.”

You don’t think anything of it. You just grin and pat his hand before hopping up to go bother James about the latest Quidditch drama.

Remus sits there. His own voice talking to himself in his already damaged physique.

Oh my God. She called me pretty. She tied the fucking ribbon. Like fucking bondage. Girly, feminine bondage. I can never take it off. This is a relic now. This is a horcrux of lust and longing. I’m going to die in this fucking ribbon. I’m so fucking touch starved-

I just—did I—did I actually—

Oh no.

I JUST BUSTED IN MY TROUSERS.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHO AM I. I AM A MONSTER.

Sirius, from across the room, squinting.

“Why is Remus sitting like he just got hit by a Confundus and an orgasm at the same time?”

“She touched him. With the ribbon.” Said Peter.

Sirius. “WE NEED TO BAN THE RIBBON.”

—————————

You’d already left for class when James strides up to Remus, parchment under his arm, halfway through a random conversation. “Moony, come on, we’re gonna be late for—why are you sitting like you’ve just committed a felony?”

Remus doesn’t even look up. Just mutters:

“No.”

James. “No?”

Remus, faint, distant. “I can’t go. I’m sick. I have… I have diarrhoea.” Great one Remus absolutely brilliant well done where’s the fucking confetti?

James blinks. “Mate. Are you okay?”

Remus, dead serious. “It’s violent. Sudden. I don’t want to talk about it.”

James. “We literally have five minutes before Flitwick locks the door—”

Remus, more intense now. “James, I’m actively unwell.”

James, visibly concerned. “Should I—should I get Pomfrey? Is it the full moon stuff? Do you need your calming draught?”

Remus, eyes wide, sweating. “NO. No. No Pomfrey. Just—just leave me. Let me die in peace.”

James, whispering as he walks away. “Is this what happens when we let him read Austen before bed?”

—————————

You’re outside the classroom, twirling your wand, looking mildly annoyed.

“Where’s Remus?”

James stopped next to you, frazzled. “He said he has diarrhoea.”

You still your fingers. “Since when does he announce it?”

Sirius, in a grim, yet oddly husky tone. “Since you tied a fucking ribbon on him like he’s your little house-elf boyfriend and called him pretty.”

Peter, quietly. “He hasn’t moved since. It was… intimate.”

—————————

Remus Lupin has locked himself in the bathroom. The door is warded. The windows are fogged. He has not emerged in 42 minutes.

Rumors are rampant. Lily knows. Marlene knows. The Fat Lady knows. Peter thinks he’s died. James thinks he’s having a nervous breakdown. Sirius knows exactly what happened, and is considering sending him a sympathy potion with a little umbrella in it. And an invitation.

And you?

You’re done playing games.

You stomp up to the bathroom door, arms crossed, expression set to “emergency nurse meets furious ex-wife.”

“REMUS. MOONY. HELLO. Is this because of the ribbon?! They’re saying it’s the ribbon?! I’m- I’m sorry Remus-“

“NO. I HAVE FUCKING DIARRHOEA, SWEETHEART. IT BURNS. PLEASE JUST PISS OFF, YEAH?!” Shouted Remus, muffled through the door and his own self loathing.

James, from down the hall. “Love, just walk away. He’s not coming back from this.”

Sirius, leaning casually against the wall. “He’s never been this dramatic. And this is a man who wrote a ten-page essay on how his tea went cold too fast last week. On the different places the drafts come through the stonework, right up against the coffee table-“

“Was it the ribbon?” You snipped at Sirius.

“Oh, sweetheart. That boy came unhinged the moment you tied it. That ribbon saw more action than anyone in this castle. Apart from me, of course,” Sirius spoke through his smirk.

Remus, screaming, somewhere between humiliation and actual death. “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKS!” His voice broke.

You yelled through the door.

“Just say it, Lupin! Say it was the ribbon! Say it and I’ll bake you a chocolate pie!”

“FUCK YOUR PIE!”

—————————

Remus finally emerges. Disheveled. Pale. Emotionally bankrupt. More than usual.

The ribbon?

Still on his wrist.

It was like his limp never existed, the way he all but teleported down the hall.

Sirius leaned into you real close, his smoke breath on your ear as his eyes bite into the back of Remus’ head. “Teach me your ways, please?”

James walked up.

“I can’t believe I accidentally created this timeline by charming her wardrobe. I am a god.”

………………………………

Sorry about this okay byeeeeeeee

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Okay so like the thing is that I adore both allosexual and asexual Cat King interpretations/fics but I would just like to babble for an instant about my asexual Cat King headcanon.

So, I just have a lot of personal feelings about an asexual cat king interpretation where it is literally his job to perform desire and strike bargains based on it but feels no desire himself and how he CAN have sex (most of the time when I do write asexual Cat King in fics, I write him as sex-neutral asexual) and even do it well but get no real pleasure out of it and how he yearns for something more than that (you cannot tell me that the cheek kiss didn't undo him more than any other interaction in the show, because it is a moment of intimacy outside of the context of desire, strictly through the avenue of human fucking connection, one soul seeing another soul for the loneliness, the ACHE, that exists mirrored between them).

Like, the idea of a creature built to make bargains out of desire, having to BE a subject of other people's desire, even cause other people's desire due to his very nature, and yet have no desire in and of himself. Always subject, object, never king of his own want. As I mentioned before in one of these metas, something something being an embodiment of desire at the cost of his own despair.

[luxe-pauvre]

What we see in a mirror is always an illusion. Lacan demonstrated that our identification with our reflection relies on méconnaissance, or misrecognition. When we look in the mirror, we see a pleasing image of wholeness and project onto it a mental fantasy—the ego ideal. If you watch someone gaze at themselves in a mirror, you can glimpse this fantasy in action. Some people suck in their lips. Others elongate their neck, or tilt their head into a more flattering light. I am as curious as anyone about the nature of people’s souls, but I can hardly bear to see the naked longing concealed in these gestures. Dickens captures it memorably in Nicholas Nickleby when a servant observes Miss Squeers gazing at herself in a mirror. “Like most of us,” the servant notes, “she saw not herself, but the reflection of some pleasant image in her own brain.” Until recently, one did not find this look in photographs. Unlike the mirror, which flips our image horizontally (an illusion we’ve come to prefer), photos show us how we appear to others. Perhaps for this reason, the expressions we assumed for cameras have traditionally been closer to the affable, unselfconscious face we showed to the world. This has changed, owing to the invention of the smartphone and the new form it has spawned—the selfie—which allows us to watch ourselves as our image is captured. To scroll through the feeds of Instagram and Facebook is to see a gallery of Lacanian méconnaissance; the private longing once reserved for the bathroom mirror has become our most public face. And yet these photos are never as pleasing as we’d like them to be. The forward-facing camera mimics the reverse image we recognize from mirrors, but once the photo is taken, the technology flips the image as it would in a traditional photo. As a result, the still images always strike us as slightly askew: our eyes uneven, our parts reversed, our faces bulging on one side. The popularity of the mirror selfie — the selfie taken in a mirror — speaks of our desperate need to preserve the delusional image, the ideal I that exists in our heads.

Meghan O’Gieblyn, Objects of Despair: Mirrors

[hayatheauthor]

Crafting Sad Scenes: Writing Tears and Emotional Depth

Creating authentic emotions is vital for immersive storytelling, which is why I decided to make this series on how to write different emotions. After exploring rage, it's now time to delve into sadness!

When it comes to portraying sadness, delving into various aspects of your character's behaviour and environment can deepen the emotional impact. Here's a guide on how to evoke sadness in your writing using different elements:

Facial Expressions

Downcast Eyes and Furrowed Brow: Describe how their eyes lower and brows crease, reflecting inner sorrow or distress.

Quivering Lips or Trembling Chin: Note the subtle quivers in their lips or chin, indicating emotional vulnerability or the effort to hold back tears.

Pained or Distant Gaze: Highlight a gaze that's distant, unfocused, or filled with inner turmoil, showing their emotional detachment or deep sadness.

Tear-Streaked or Reddened Eyes: Mention tear tracks or reddened eyes, portraying recent or suppressed crying, enhancing the visual impact of their sadness.

Hollow Cheeks and Sunken Eyes: Describe physical changes like hollow cheeks or sunken eyes, reflecting fatigue, despair, or prolonged emotional distress.

Body Language and Gestures

Slumped Shoulders and Hunched Posture: Show their dejected stance with slumped shoulders and a hunched posture, conveying a sense of heaviness or defeat.

Fidgeting or Clasping Hands: Detail how they fidget nervously or clasp their hands tightly, indicating inner turmoil or a need for comfort.

Absentminded Touching of Face or Hair: Mention absentminded gestures like touching their face or running fingers through their hair, reflecting introspection or sadness.

Slow or Listless Movements: Describe their movements as slow, lethargic, or lacking energy, mirroring their emotional state of sadness.

Avoiding Eye Contact or Retreating: Highlight how they avoid eye contact or retreat from interactions, seeking solitude or trying to mask their emotions.

Dialogue and Inner Monologue

Subdued or Monotone Speech: Show their dialogue as subdued, with a monotone delivery or pauses, conveying emotional restraint or inner pain.

Expressing Regret, Loss, or Longing: Use dialogue to express their regrets, sense of loss, or longing for something or someone, adding depth to their sadness.

Internal Conflicts and Self-Reflection: Delve into their inner monologue, revealing their conflicts, doubts, or self-reflection, showcasing the complexity of their emotional journey.

Using Metaphors or Symbolic Language: Incorporate metaphors or symbolic language in their dialogue or thoughts, enhancing the poetic or introspective nature of their sadness.

Environmental Cues and Setting

Bleak or Desolate Settings: Set scenes in bleak or desolate environments, such as abandoned places or dimly lit spaces, amplifying the sense of isolation or melancholy.

Rainy Weather or Gray Skies: Describe rainy weather, gray skies, or somber atmospheres, mirroring their emotional state and adding a reflective tone to the setting.

Diminished Colors or Lack of Vibrancy: Use descriptions of muted colors or a lack of vibrancy in the surroundings, reflecting the character's subdued mood and emotional depth.

Actions and Reactions

Withdrawing from Interactions: Show them withdrawing from social interactions, seeking solitude, or avoiding activities they once enjoyed, highlighting their emotional withdrawal.

Seeking Comfort Objects or Routines: Describe how they turn to comfort objects or routines, such as listening to music, writing, or engaging in familiar activities, as coping mechanisms.

Emotional Outbursts or Sudden Changes: Portray occasional emotional outbursts, sudden changes in behavior, or moments of vulnerability, revealing layers of their sadness.

Impact on Relationships and Interactions: Explore how their sadness affects their relationships and interactions with others, showcasing the dynamics of empathy, support, or misunderstanding.

Types of Tears and Emotional Triggers

Watery Eyes: These tears often accompany moments of deep emotional pain, such as hearing hurtful words, experiencing profound disappointment, or feeling overwhelmed by sadness. Characters may blink rapidly or struggle to maintain eye contact as tears well up, indicating their struggle to contain their emotions.

Quiet Tears: Quiet tears are silent and discreet, often shed in moments of solitude or introspection. They may occur when a character reflects on past memories, grapples with internal conflicts, or experiences a poignant realization. These tears are a subtle yet powerful expression of inner turmoil.

Full-On Sobs: Full-on sobs involve audible crying, heaving breaths, and visible emotional distress. They typically arise from intense grief, loss, physical pain, or overwhelming stress. Characters may find it challenging to speak coherently or control their emotions during such outbursts, revealing the depth of their emotional turmoil.

Tears of Joy: Tears of joy occur in moments of immense happiness, relief, or heartfelt connection. They often accompany scenes of reunions, achievements, or profound expressions of love and gratitude. These tears symbolize emotional release and the overwhelming experience of positive emotions.

Tears of Empathy: Characters may shed tears of empathy when witnessing others' suffering or hearing poignant stories. These tears reflect their compassion, sensitivity, and ability to deeply connect with the emotions of others, adding layers of empathy to their characterization.

Writing Prompts and Exercises

Write a scene where your character experiences a sudden wave of sadness in a public setting, struggling to conceal their emotions.

Craft a dialogue between two characters, one trying to comfort the other who is deeply saddened by a personal loss or disappointment.

Describe a setting that reflects the mood of sadness, using sensory details to evoke emotions and create atmosphere.

Explore a character's inner monologue as they reflect on past regrets or missed opportunities, expressing their profound sense of sadness.

Create a symbolic object or motif in your story that represents your character's journey through sadness, using it as a recurring theme for emotional depth.

Incorporating these elements can enrich your narrative and evoke powerful emotions in your readers, fostering a deeper connection to your characters and their emotional journeys.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader x Geto "Squid Game"

Warning: [This story contains yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, graphic violence, gunshots, and blood]

Materialist

Part 2

In a deadly game where survival is the only option, Y/N, with a painful injury, relies on her two protective boyfriends, Satoru and Suguru, to navigate the perilous chaos, unaware that the true threat lies right beside her

My face fell as the votes were tallied. We were staying. The majority had chosen to keep playing, and my stomach churned with despair. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them down, refusing to let anyone see me break.

Suguru’s voice sliced through the fog in my head. “Idiots. Every last one of them,” he muttered, his hand settling firmly on my shoulder. The weight was grounding, but the tension in his grip betrayed his barely contained frustration.

“It’s fine,” Satoru said, his signature grin intact, as if we weren’t standing on the brink of death. “You just stick to your hottest boyfriend and ignore Mr. Broody over here.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me like this was some kind of field trip.

Despite myself, I let out a snort. “Hottest? Says who?”

“Every mirror I’ve ever looked at,” Satoru shot back.

Suguru rolled his eyes, muttering, “God, give me strength.”

But their banter only served to remind me of the crushing guilt clawing at my chest. This was all my fault. My mom and little brother had been in the hospital for two years after a car accident, and the medical bills were an endless, suffocating nightmare. Desperate to help, I’d called the number on a mysterious business card. I thought I’d been discreet, but clearly not discreet enough. Because when I woke up in this hellhole, both of them were right there—furious, protective, and unwilling to let me face this alone.

Now, they were stuck here because of me.

Before I could spiral further, the robotic voice boomed overhead: “Please follow the guards for the next game.”

The room buzzed with despair. Some players prayed under their breath, while others wept quietly.

Satoru, as always, couldn’t help himself. “Seriously, how much does this game cost? Let’s just buy it and call it a day.”

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t buy a death game, Satoru.”

“Sure I can. Money solves everything.”

Suguru sighed, too exhausted to argue with someone so egotistical.

Six-Legged Pentathlon

The air was thick with tension as the announcer’s voice rang out, announcing the start of the next game: Six-Legged Pentathlon. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought the overwhelming urge to panic. The weight of my injury, a painful gash on my left leg from a previous round, made each step feel like I was dragging a heavy anchor behind me. I could barely put pressure on it, and the thought of failing in front of everyone felt unbearable.

The rules were simple: Teams of five. And there was no way I was going to let my injury hold me back, no matter how much it hurt. I just had to push through.

As soon as the announcement finished, people scrambled to form groups. A petite girl, bloodstains staining her clothes, walked up to us with a coy smile, trying to flirt despite her obvious exhaustion. She was practically dripping with desperation, but I couldn’t spare the energy to feel jealous. I was too focused.

“We need two more person. Please join us” she said, glancing between Satoru and Suguru, clearly hoping for their attention.

Suguru didn’t even look at her, his expression cool and polite. “Sorry, we’ve got our group already.”

Satoru, ever blunt, added, “Doesn’t matter who it is, as long as they don’t slow us down. We need a team of five, not a liability.”

I bit my lip, glancing down at my leg. They had already decided who would do which game. Suguru would take the Gonggi, tossing and catching small stones in complex sequences. Satoru would do the Jegi, keeping a shuttlecock-like object in the air with precise kicks. As for me? I’d take on Spinning Top, where I had to spin a top using a string, making sure it stayed on the ground without falling over.

Just as we were about to move, a young boy with pink hair approached me.

“Hello, miss,” he said, his tone polite and sincere. “I’m Yuji. I was wondering if me and my friend could join your group?”

His manners made me smile despite the situation, and I opened my mouth to answer, but Satoru cut me off.

“Who the hell is this? Another colored-hair guy?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, but the boy flinched, looking like he didn’t belong here in the slightest.

I felt a protective urge rise in me. “Quiet, Satoru. Let’s take them. That makes five of us.”

Satoru was about to protest, but the voice on the loudspeaker cut through, announcing that group selection was over. I shot Satoru a look, and he rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue further.

The other girl in our group, Nobara, had been assigned to Ddakji a game involving flipping tiles while Yuji would handle Flying Stone, tossing stones into the air and trying to land them into a target.

The Game Begins

We lined up, and I could barely keep my focus on the game as my mind raced. The pain in my leg was unbearable, but Satoru and Suguru flanked me, their presence somehow making the ache more bearable. They carried me subtly, a steady, quiet support. I knew they were trying to keep it low-key, but the gentle pressure on my shoulders and waist was a silent promise that they wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

First up was Nobara. Her cursing could be heard from a mile away as she struggled with the Ddakji, trying to flip the tiles. “Come on, you stupid thing!” she shouted, frustration and anger mounting.

The crowd watched, quiet for a moment, before she managed a successful flip. The roar of cheers, including mine, echoed through the space. I smiled despite the situation, but my heart was still heavy with the weight of my leg injury.

Next, Yuji stepped forward, ready for his turn with Flying Stone.

“Get this right, dude,” Satoru muttered under his breath, a touch of seriousness in his voice that I wasn’t used to hearing.

To my relief, Yuji nailed it on the first try. “Yes!” I cheered, feeling a spark of hope. He beamed, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of him.

Then it was Suguru’s turn for Gonggi. We all knelt, waiting. Suguru was in his element, his expression calm, almost serene.

“Get this done quick, or I’ll have Y/N all to myself,” Satoru teased, though the tone held a sharp edge that caught everyone’s attention.

Suguru shot him a small smirk, but his eyes were focused as he began the game. The speed with which he completed it took everyone by surprise, myself included. No one expected him to finish so fast, but in moments, it was done. The crowd erupted into applause.

Now, it was my turn.

I shook as I approached the Spinning Top. My hands trembled with every step, the pressure of the game and my injury weighing heavily on me.

“Don’t worry about the time, sweetcheeks,” Satoru’s voice whispered in my ear. I could feel his eyes on me, watching closely.

“Take your time, as long as you need,” Suguru added softly. His voice was steady, but his concern for me was evident.

I knew they were trying to reassure me, but I also knew that the longer I took, the harder it would be to hide my failure. I took the string, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I tried to get the top to spin.

The first time it broke. The second time, it didn’t even roll.

“Seriously, bitch? You’re making this a burden,” someone muttered, and I froze. The words cut into me, and panic surged.

Satoru’s voice, low and dark, echoed in the room. “Someone will die tonight.”

I couldn’t tell if he was talking about me or the person who dared to criticize, but I felt the weight of it. I couldn’t let them down. I couldn’t make them feel like this was a mistake.

With renewed determination, I took the string again, gritting my teeth. This time, the top spun perfectly. It stayed on the ground, spinning in place.

“Good job, baby!” Satoru cheered, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

We moved quickly, the next round ahead of us. Satoru didn’t even break a sweat as he completed his round, effortlessly performing Jegi with precision.

“I did better than Suguru, right, baby?” Satoru grinned, pride in his voice.

I smiled despite the exhaustion, the weight of the game, and my injury. The tension was far from over, but I knew with Suguru and Satoru by my side, I’d survive anything.

And together, we’d make it through to the end.

Unbeknownst to everyone, after the game, muffled screams echoed from the restroom. The agony in the voice was unmistakable a high-pitched wail that quickly turned to sobbing.

“P-please stop! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” The girl’s desperate cries grew weaker, punctuated by the sickening sound of a body hitting the wall.

“Should’ve thought of that before calling her a bitch,” Satoru’s voice drawled, laced with venom. He sounded almost bored, but the intensity in his eyes as he leaned over her trembling form told a different story.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Suguru added quietly, his tone cold yet calm as he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before running your mouth.”

A sharp, bone cracking snap echoed through the room. The screaming stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Blood pooled on the floor, stark against the restroom’s cold tiles.

Satoru stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Well, that was satisfying,” he said nonchalantly, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

Suguru adjusted his tie, his demeanor as composed as ever. “More money for us, I suppose. Not that we need any,” he remarked, glancing at Satoru before turning to leave.

Before exiting, Satoru shot a glance back at the lifeless body. His tone shifted, soft yet dripping with possessiveness.

“No one disrespects our girl and walks away. Remember that, sweetheart.”

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Two

cw: dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, emotional distress Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi again! I'm back with the second part of this series and its another long one🤭 I really wanted this chapter to focus on Logan's emotions and inner turmoil. I'm working on the third part already and hoping to have it out soon...stay tuned! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪. Summary: Logan wakes up in the past, grappling with the contrast between the peaceful present and the grim future he left behind. He struggles to focus on his mission to prevent the Sentinel program while being haunted by memories of you and the dystopian world he must change.

(Part Three)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Logan’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him came rushing back in a disorienting blur. The sharp scent of fresh linens, the warm touch of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant hum of a city that was alive and thriving—all of it was jarringly foreign, and yet achingly familiar. For a moment, he simply lay there, his mind grappling with the surreal contrast between the present and the grim future he had just left behind.

He could still feel the phantom ache of the battle-scarred wasteland, the oppressive weight of despair that had become his constant companion in those final days. The memories of that desolate future clung to him like a second skin, refusing to be shaken off even as he tried to focus on the present. He blinked hard, trying to banish the images of burning cities and fallen comrades, forcing himself to breathe, to center himself in this time, this place.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing with the urgency of the mission that had brought him here. The room he found himself in was modest, cluttered with remnants of a simpler life—a life untouched by the horrors he had witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden furniture and worn, familiar objects. It was a world that should have felt safe, comforting even, but to Logan, it was nothing but a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm.

He rose from the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath him almost startling in its normalcy. As he moved, the sensation of the sheets, the cool air on his skin, the scent of life outside the window—it was all too vivid, too real, reminding him that this was not some fevered dream. He was truly in the past, in a world that still had a chance, and that realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

But with that realization came the crushing weight of what was at stake. The future he had left behind was teetering on the brink of extinction, a future where you were still fighting, still struggling to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. The thought of you, alone in that doomed timeline, fueled his resolve. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail. Every second here mattered, every decision could be the difference between salvation and destruction.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall, and the sight was almost jarring. Gone were the lines etched by years of battle and loss, the gray that had crept into his hair, the weariness that had settled into his bones. He was younger, stronger, unburdened by the physical scars that had marked his body in the future. But the weight of his mission was already visible in his eyes, a dark shadow that lingered, a reminder of the impossible task that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Logan began to dress, the familiar movements grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He slipped into his worn jeans and boots, each piece of clothing a small comfort, a tether to the man he had been before the world went to hell. But even as he moved through the motions, his thoughts were drawn back to you—your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him in those final moments before he left.

The memory of your kiss, fierce and desperate, lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow keep him from slipping away. It had been a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say, everything you feared you might never have the chance to say. The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice, was a cold, sharp pain that cut deeper than any wound.

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for distractions, no time to dwell on the past—or the future. He had a mission, and he had to stay focused. If he let his mind wander, if he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of what he had left behind, he would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when the stakes were this high.

The streets of the city were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolation he had grown accustomed to. People moved about their daily routines, unaware of the dark future that loomed on the horizon. It was both a comfort and a torment, this vibrant world that still held so much promise. Logan’s heightened senses picked up the sounds, the smells, the pulse of a city that was very much alive, and it almost overwhelmed him. The laughter of children playing, the scent of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby café, the distant honking of car horns—it was all so normal, so ordinary, and yet it felt like a world apart from the one he had left.

But beneath the surface, there was tension. Logan could sense it, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that ran through the city like a barely contained storm. The mutant crisis was already brewing, the seeds of hatred and fear being sown by those who sought to control, to dominate. And at the center of it all was Bolivar Trask, the man whose assassination would set off a chain of events leading to the creation of the Sentinels.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he thought of Trask, the man who would become the architect of so much death and destruction. He had to stop the assassination, prevent the creation of the Sentinels before it was too late. But how? Every step he took felt like walking on a razor’s edge, the consequences of even the smallest mistake echoing across time, threatening to unravel everything.

He made his way through the city, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan. He needed allies, people he could trust, but the X-Men he knew in the future were not the same people they were in this time. They were younger, unscarred by the battles to come, and convincing them to join him in this mission would be no easy task.

As he walked, Logan’s thoughts kept returning to you. He could still hear your voice in his mind, your whispered words of encouragement in the dark, the way you had held him close that final night. The memory of your touch, your warmth, was like a balm to his soul, giving him the strength to keep going, to push through the fear and doubt that threatened to overwhelm him. But it was also a torment, a constant reminder of what he had left behind, and the fear that you might not be there when he returned gnawed at him relentlessly.

Logan’s steps slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and determination. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if he failed, couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that you might be lost to him forever. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on the mission. But the weight of the future, of the memories that haunted him, pressed down on him like a crushing burden.

He found himself in a quiet park, the sounds of the city fading into the background as he took a seat on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The park was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned inside him. For a moment, Logan allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the scent of grass and earth, to let the sounds of birdsong wash over him. It was a small respite, a brief moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, the memories wouldn’t leave him. The faces of those he had lost, the screams of the dying, the endless battles that had worn him down to the bone—all of it played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. And at the center of it all was you, your face etched with determination and pain, your voice a constant whisper in his ear, urging him to keep going, to fight, to survive.

Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and loss, and yet the thought of losing you was the one thing he couldn’t bear. It was a fear that gnawed at him, a cold, relentless terror that gripped his heart and refused to let go.

But then, in the midst of that fear, he remembered your touch, the way your hand had rested on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken love that had given him the strength to keep going, to fight for a future that seemed all but lost.

“You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The memory of your words, spoken in the darkness of that final night, echoed in his mind, and Logan felt a surge of determination wash over him. He couldn’t afford to let fear control him, couldn’t let the weight of the future crush him beneath its burden. You were counting on him, trusting him to change the course of history, to save a world that had been doomed by the actions of a few. He couldn’t let you down.

With a deep breath, Logan opened his eyes, the peace of the park settling into him like a soothing balm. He had a mission, and he would see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, he would succeed. For you. For the future. For the world that had not yet been lost.

As he rose from the bench, the weight of the future still heavy on his shoulders, Logan set his jaw in a firm line. The fear of losing you would never leave him, but he would use that fear, channel it into the determination to succeed. He had to. 

 Logan walked through the bustling streets, he couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at him—casual glances, indifferent stares, eyes that held no recognition of the man he was or the battle he had fought. To them, he was just another face in the crowd, a man with no past, no future, only the present moment. It was a strange, almost liberating feeling, to be anonymous in a world that had once known him as a warrior, a survivor. But the weight of what he knew, of what he had seen, anchored him, kept him from fully embracing the illusion of normalcy.

The city around him thrummed with life, every corner turned revealing something new and unfamiliar. It was as if the world itself was trying to distract him, to pull him away from his mission, but Logan’s resolve was unshakable. Each step he took was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to do. The mission was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the ordinary, by the lives of people who had no idea what was coming.

Yet, despite his determination, there was a part of him that longed to stop, to sit down in one of the quaint cafés he passed, to sip a cup of coffee and lose himself in the mundane. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he was just a man living in a world at peace. But he knew better. The illusion of peace was just that—an illusion. Beneath the surface, danger lurked, and it was up to him to ensure that danger never became reality.

Logan’s thoughts drifted back to you, as they so often did. The memory of your voice, your laughter, your touch—they were the only things that kept him going, that gave him the strength to face the daunting task ahead. He could almost hear you now, teasing him about his gruff demeanor, laughing at his grumbles and sighs. 

But it was more than just your laughter that kept him grounded. It was the memory of your strength, the way you had faced the end with courage and determination, never wavering in your belief that there was still hope, still a chance to turn things around. You had been his rock, his anchor in a world gone mad, and now, more than ever, he needed to hold on to that memory. It was all he had left of you, all that kept him from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume him.

The sun was beginning to set as Logan made his way to the edge of the city, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink that seemed almost surreal in their beauty. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t been so focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when so much was at stake.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done, of the people he needed to find, the alliances he needed to forge. There was no room for error, no time for second-guessing. Every move he made, every decision, had to be precise, calculated. He had to be perfect, because the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But as much as he tried to focus on the mission, his thoughts kept returning to you. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you had looked at him with those eyes that had always seen right through his tough exterior. You had known him, truly known him, in a way no one else ever had. And now, with you gone, he felt a piece of himself missing, a void that nothing could fill.

He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of a small clearing, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to imagine that you were there with him, your hand in his, your presence a comforting warmth against the growing chill of the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered, and he was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the crushing weight of the mission that lay before him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, on what might have been. The future was all that mattered now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that future was one worth living in.

With a deep breath, Logan set off once more, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He had a world to save, a future to rewrite, and he would stop at nothing to see it done. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many battles he fought, you would always be there with him, a guiding light in the darkness, a reminder of why he couldn’t afford to fail.

And so, with the memory of you burning bright in his heart, Logan pressed on, determined to change the course of history, to save the world from the fate that awaited it, and to find his way back to you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Taglist: @angelofthorr @swthxrry @alex21705 @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @hughverine @ayamenimthiriel

(If you'd like to be tagged just let me know <3)

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 5 - I Remember Everything

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand and Y/N rush back to the River House to find the aftermath of Azriel’s bloodlust. Y/N comforts Azriel as she grapples with the memories that have begun coming back to her.

Part 3 ~ Part 4/Prequel - Neon Moon ~ Masterlist

warnings: non-con/dub-con elements (please be advised as this will be an element going forward as we work on unpacking Felina / Y/N’s past), sexual content, blood (vampy things), language, MDNI, 18+

“Azriel” I whisper.

My mate is in a corner, bound by his own shadows, barely visible through the stray ones obscuring him.

Feyre, fortunately, is fine. I hear voices behind me. My brother checking that his mate is truly well and unharmed. A feather in his jaw is the only sign of his true state of despair as he tries to remain composed before her and myself. I’m sure Azriel will get a tongue lashing later, but for now, all I care about is his own well-being.

I step into the shadows with Azriel, kneeling by his side. His body quivers, tensing as I lean into him, “Don’t.” He chokes out.

“Azriel.” My palm lays flat on his forearm, his cool skin blending in with the chill of my own. Damned Vampyr blood, I miss the warmth of my fae blood coursing through me.

“You won’t hurt me. I am not afraid of you.” His teeth grit but he looks to me, pupils blown so wide that the golden-flecked hazel of his eyes has nearly dissipated. “It was blood-lust, a matter which you have no control over. Everything is alright now but we need to get you upstairs.”

He’s silent, head hanging low, entire body still quivering. A small shake of his head barely registers as he succumbs to his own self-loathing. The shadows beneath his eyes mirror the despair flowing from his end of the bond. “Feyre is okay. You, too, will be okay. But you need to feed now or this will get so much worse.”

Before he can object, my fingers gently grasp the mottled, tan skin of his wrist and I winnow us to our room.

“It’s okay, Azriel.” I whisper upon deaf ears. “You can’t help this. It will be fine.”

The shame that now radiates freely through our bond nearly causes me to stumble. The noble Shadowsinger, protector and defender, succumbing to the basest of instincts that are hard enough to quell for a well-controlled vamp, let alone one as recently turned as he. This isn’t his fault. Once he’s fed, we will speak on that but for now…

“Azriel. I need you to focus on me.” His gaze meets mine and this time it holds something else. His nostrils flare, scenting me and the familiar fragrance of our chamber that he’s become so accustomed to recently. My hands guide him to sit on the edge of the bed and I straddle his lap, his hands instantly grip my hips, pressing me down against him. One would think the move was sexual, but I was well-aware it was the grip of a predator entrapping his prey.

“Feed.” I whisper.

A brief flicker of question crossed his steely gaze as he fights the urge to latch on desperately.

“Azriel. Now.” The authoritative tone in my voice seems to do the trick as before the command has finished crossing my lips, his elongated canines flash and he’s on me.

“Take what you need, Az.” The brief sting of his fangs puncturing the pulsing, delicate skin of my neck elicits a slight gasp from my throat. With a deep suck and a needy whimper, Azriel begins to feed, his tongue lapping at the blood pouring from my skin.

His hands roam fervently, the lack of control apparent as they can’t seem to settle on where to rest. Eventually one scarred hand reaches my breast, squeezing and caressing, his fingers tweaking and pulling a nipple until it’s peaked.

The frenzy begins to affect me, a wash of euphoria leaving a light geeling - a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the day.

In moments, I’m lost to it, fighting to stay present as Azriel’s laps grow vigorous. With a flip, he has me on my back, pinned beneath him on the bed, he takes a particularly long draw of blood ending with his hips grinding into me.

Eventually, his feeding becomes slightly more relaxed and less frenzied, the more primal kind of lust only beginning.

I dig my fingers into the raven locks of his hair, focusing on the sensation, steadying myself against the intoxicating blend of lust and hunger.

The warmth of his tongue against my neck is like electric to my nerves as jolts of pleasure course down my torso and straight to my core.

I need him. Fuck. I need him so badly.

No, I don’t need. I want. And there’s a difference between the two.

Just like in the days after he’d turned, after we’d accepted the bond, the urge to feed and claim wash away any semblance of reason or control from my mate. But I’ve been turned long enough, I can ground us and prevent it from going too far. For once, I have the freedom of control. I wasn’t always so fortunate.

“Az” I whimper as a finger slips under the panties beneath my skirts. He groans at the wetness he finds awaiting him. I rock my hips against his hand in a plea for more friction but he pulls it back, adjusting himself between us until I feel the girth of his head prodding at my entrance. He withdraws his mouth, wings flaring slightly with the motion as he stares into my eyes, so deeply I swear he can see straight to my soul, and all the darkness lingering within.

Without breaking eye contact his hands grip my waist and spear me down the length of him. I throw my head forward, letting out a muffled scream into his shoulder. I stay still, chest heaving as I catch my breath, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, his size is jarring in the best of ways.

“Perfect.” Azriel growls when I give a little shift of my hips. His hair tickles my ear as he leans in to press a surprisingly tender kiss to my neck.

I lean back, the motion sending crashing waves of bliss through me. I meet his eyes this time only to find that his gaze has now softened, his pupils not quite as wide.

“Welcome back.” I whisper, brushing aside the stray hairs that have fallen over his forehead, marveling in the beauty of my mate.

He blinks and I could almost swear that tears cast a watery glaze over his hazel eyes.

“I’m.. so sorry.” He choked out.

“We’ll talk later, Az. Right now it’s just you and me. What do you need?”

I start to lift off of him giving him the space he needs to collect his thoughts but he grips my hips even more firmly.

“Stay?” He requests.

My smile doesn’t meet my eyes as the pain in his own cracks the armor over my heart. “Always.”

I loop my arms around his neck and he loosens his reign on my hips, instead wrapping his arms tightly around me and pulling me to his chest. I rest my head against the muscle there, soaking in the moment.

The kind of moment I now remember that I wished so desperately for centuries ago.

I won’t focus on the sting of the memories that have recently come back to me. We will have time to talk things through and I haven’t been able to discuss much without losing myself to trauma yet. I’d much rather soak in this moment than ruin it with my hyperventilating. I close my eyes and revel in his grip.

“My mate.” Azriel whispers. “I’m so grateful you’re here.”

I won’t let him see the way the words impact me. The hell that I went through to be here in this moment. The way that his hold leaves me entertaining the thought that it could possibly have been worth it all. The way that thought itself slices deep through me.

Stray tears fall over my bottom lashes onto his chest. If he feels them he doesn’t say anything. He knows I’m not in the right mindset yet and won’t press. Another reason that I’m so grateful for this male.

Instead I close my eyes and focus on the two other words he’d whispered. “My mate.”

I replay it over and over in my head until I drift off to sleep, my mate still buried inside me.

———————-

“The child is yours.”

“Impossible.” The cold voice replies, grating against the very marrow of my bones.

“You know very well that it’s possible.”

A discontented hiss crackles through the tension filling the space between the beautiful, cruel male and myself. His ethereal features the mirror opposite of his rotten insides. I wonder if death would have been kinder than this.

“I hardly imagine that a fetus could survive what I did, let alone the agony of being made into..” I swallow the lump of disgust in my throat, knowing better than to push him too far. “This.”

A cruel grin crosses his face, his freezing palm caressing my jaw, razor tipped nails break the skin of my cheek and I can smell the iron tang of the blood droplets forming beneath them. “and what exactly did you go through, my dear?”

I furrow my brow, trying to remember who and where I was before him. I know there was life before this but the memories are so blurred. I don’t know what’s real and what is fabricated. I remember waking knowing I was carrying a child but I remember nothing of the conditions leading to it, of whom had fathered it. It wasn’t the bastard before me, but if this child has any hope of survival, then I’ll have to play his game.

He only lets out a bone-chilling laugh, squeezing my cheeks tighter and pressing a kiss to my lips. His sharp fangs piercing my lower lip as he nips.

I resist the knee-jerk instinct to pull back.“Centuries here have been rather dull, I suppose I’m due for an heir at some point or another. It could liven things up in this space.” He gestures to the darkened cave, illuminated by fires and littered with ornate cob-web dusted trinkets he’s seemed to have collected over the years.

A knot forms in my stomach, clenching tightly. Let him believe the life I carry belongs to him, survive, it’s the only option. It’s the only way this child survives.

“Feed, dark one. You seem to be getting quite insolent in your current state.”

I hesitate as a small show of defiance before his voice gains a sharper edge.

“Feed.” He commands.

We feed and fuck for hours until he tires of me.

It feels good, physically, but it’s empty. Void of emotion. Much like me.

Warmth envelopes me and I drift away from that wretched cave, into starry skies twinkling in and out of dancing shadows.

——————————

I wake from my memory-infused dream state, opening my eyes to find Azriel’s wings draped around me. His muscled chest rising and falling in steady breaths against my back. At some point he must have removed me from his lap. I have no idea what time it is and I don’t care to find out.

I’m not in a cave. I’m safe and I imagine if a crevice formed between his wings I’d see his shadows dutifully cocooning us as well. I inhale the mist-chilled cedar scent of my mate, taking slow, steady breaths.

I am not in a cave with my captor.

I am safe.

I am home.

Tomorrow I will share what I can remember with him. I will tell him of my daughter. My eyelids grow heavy once more and I drift back to sleep.

No dreams plague me this time.

——————————————

Tags

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboys @hauntedpiratenacho @i-am-infinite @agirlwithwifiandalaptop

[eddiediaaz]

Hiiiiii! After the ask you answered about Merthur fics, I was wondering what are you fav Buddie fics and what have you reread? Thanks ❤️❤️❤️

omg i have so many dsakjdsdsf, i'll list some of my faves that i've gone back to multiple times:

tell me about despair by hattalove

hurt locker by bvckandeddie

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars

yet to come home by withoutthetiger

still by brewrosemilk

show your cards by extasiswings

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

what we deserve by alkaysani

bare essentials by tawaifeddiediaz

i love you (and i like you) by withmeornotatall

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

stranger sunlight, still by mmtion

What is Love For $2000? by fayevian

i got all my sisters with me by ipretendtobesane

Buck Down Under by scarletmanuka

Mr LAFD Updates Man by hammersmiths

Those Two Firefighters by DarkFairytale

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates

Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine

would you lie with me and just forget the world by colonoscopys

Pulling Different Colored Threads to Weave Our Own Tapestry by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

ripples all the way down by iriswests

Falling Slowly; Sing Your Melody (I’ll Sing It Loud) by Princessfbi

keep me as your finish line by thatbuddie

no one quite like you by hammersmiths

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania

smile to hide the truth by fallingthorns

round and round by calvingseason

Kiss Me Before it's Over (If Only for a Minute) by Bob_loblaws_lawblog

......i'm sorry i went a bit overboard. yes i have read all of these fics at least twice or more and yes i have issues. the way i could list more lol

[estcaligo]

Sebek's ears

x reader *slight angst

"Sebek, put that down!" a worried shout pierced the room. Doctor Zigvolt dashed towards the boy, but it was too late - the child had already nicked his ear. It wasn't a serious injury, thankfully, but blood stained his son's ear, neck, shirt, and his mint hair.

Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Zigvolt hurried into the room. "Darling, what's-...!!!" Her voice caught in her throat, turned into a scream of shock that thundered throughout the household, startling every bird in the vicinity into a flutter of panic, as if sensing an imminent danger. 

But there was no danger. Only blood. And tears. And a kid in front of a mirror with a kitchen knife in his hands.

"Sebek, let me take a look. You might get an infec- " Mr. Zigvolt tried to approach Sebek gently, but the boy pushed him away, sobbing loudly.

"This is your fault! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!! I HATE YOU!!!" Sebek cried out in despair, tears streaming down his sorrowful face as he ran past his parents. Mrs. Zigvolt could easily treat any wounds (it was one of the reasons she had been accepted to work at her husband's clinic despite lacking medical training), but now was not the time - Sebek wouldn't listen. So she just stood beside her spouse, watching their youngest son run away, not daring to break the silence. Words were unnecessary; they both understood. Sebek, despite being only 5, had already expressed a grand displeasure towards his human side. The destructive prejudice he had acquired not without help…

…

"A kitchen knife?... Back in Briar Valley, my grandfather would always look displeased whenever I entered the kitchen. So, I'm entirely unfamiliar with all cooking implements." Sebek said to the ghost chef.

"Oh? Why is that?" the chef asked.

"I have no idea... But he especially kept me away from sharp objects, like knives." he replied, examining the object in his hand.

"Well, mastering this skill is necessary for the course, so do your best!" the chef cheered, floating next to him.

"YES, CHEF!" Sebek boomed, making all the pans and pots shiver, and got back to cooking his dish.

…

It was rigorous but rewarding training, Sebek reflected, slowly washing his hands. Days spent in the kitchen were filled with various instructions and orders from the ghost chefs, requiring quick reactions, but due to their ghostly nature their words often faded, lingering in the air, so a regular human would have trouble hearing them. BUT NOT SEBEK ZIGVOLT. He had perfect hearing, his ears were sharper than...

…Sharper than what?....

He looked into the mirror of the Diasomnia dorm's bathroom, coming to wash away the smell and smudges from the Master Chef course. His face darkened once again as he lingered too long on his right ear. He remembered that day vividly. When he, a young and immature kid, tried to... tried to become a fae? Tired of being bullied by those around him, he believed that if he changed his ears - made them pointy like everyone else's - it would help him fit in. But now he understood how foolish it was.

Yet still. What makes a fae?  A pair of pointy ears? “Not necessarily” is what his mother always used to say Be blessed by night, but don’t forget about the day And he remembers, and he knows No need in those Yet still.

A bitter feeling of unfairness washed over him as he was drifting off to sleep.

Why? Of all human qualities, why did he have to have round ears? He had asked himself this question a million times. And it wasn't as if he lacked fae qualities - his hearing surpassed any human's, and he could even hear and understand the fae language, something no human could do due to its nature. He possessed all these abilities, yet they were overshadowed by this small, bitter nuance - his appearance. Genetics had played a cruel joke on him, he thought. Despite his efforts, he will always look like a weak, useless human.

Speaking of weak humans.

You and Sebek had arranged to meet at the gates to head down to Foothill Town today. Rumor had it that the famous bookshop there had new arrivals, and you were eager to take a look. And since Sebek was so knowledgeable about books, you invited him along. Of course, it wasn't like he really wanted to go with you! He had far more important matters to attend to. However, he couldn't risk you selecting subpar books that you might later mention in conversations with Master Malleus - Sebek couldn't let your lack of discernment in literature reflect poorly on the Young Lord!! So, he was coming with you, for that reason alone, nothing more! … The road wasn't long, and once you arrived at the shop, you began browsing the shelves. The selection was vast: novels, scientific works, poems, historical texts, dictionaries, even books in languages you couldn't understand. Unable to decide, you grabbed a handful of books that caught your attention and retreated to a quiet corner to examine your finds.

“Get on with this human, I don't have all day” he said, standing next to you, arms crossed.

“Ok ok, how about this one?”

"It looks fine. You can keep it, I suppose."

"Great! And this?" you showed Sebek another book, but he frowned slightly.

"It doesn't seem like a decent book to me. Better put it away."

"Why? It's about knights. What exactly do you dislike about it?"

"The cover doesn't look appealing. As if they didn't put much effort into designing it properly!" he declared loudly enough to draw a few judgmental glances from the other customers.

"And that's it?" you blinked at him. "But the plot itself must be good!"

"I've given my opinion, do as you wish, human!" he huffed, turning away.

"...Oh, Sebek. Never judge a book by its cover."

…

In the end, you purchased quite a few books (Crowley had been unusually generous this month, providing you with some extra money), and Sebek helped you carry them back to the Ramshackle. As a thank-you for accompanying you, you offered to share a cup of tea together and he agreed. 

...However, for the two of you, it was never just "a cup of tea".

As usual, you found yourselves engrossed in intimate conversations, drawn close to each other.

Grim was absent, so it was just you and him on the couch in the spacious Ramshackle hall. Two cups of tea, long forgotten and gone cold, sat on the table.

Sebek rested his head on your lap, as he often did during your moments together, rambling about the books, his duties, or about Malleus, speaking quieter than his usual self. And you just patiently listened, knowing how hard he worked every day and wanting him to have some rest once in a while. The fact that he could relax in your presence made you genuinely happy.

Wrapped in serenity, you gently caressed his mint hair, occasionally running your fingers over his ears. You had grown accustomed to seeing them very clearly, as Sebek wore his hair swept back all the time. But when he was with you he sometimes let his hair loose and his ears became hidden amidst the soft waves of green, looking like two small islands surrounded by endless grassy seas. Or like curious animals peeking from the leaves. It was both adorable and endearing, and you couldn't help but giggle quietly. “Human! Is there a problem with your ears?! I'm talking to you!” Sebek's loud voice brought you back from your daydreaming.

“Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment.” 

“Hmph! And what was so captivating that you ignored my question?”

“Oh... er... your ears” you smiled shyly.

“My... what?”

…

“Your beautiful, lovely, adorable ears" you laughed at his reaction, showering him with compliments before placing a kiss on his right ear - the one he had once tried to...

A wave of strange warmth suddenly flushed through his body. Why would you say such things about his terrible flaw?

All his life, people around him in his homeland had diminished him because of his round ears. On Sage's Island, people just ignored this feature, so he assumed they wouldn't comment on the obvious. But you? The way you touched them, the way you kissed them - without revulsion, without hesitation, without doubt.

For a moment, he felt something unfamiliar - like nothing else mattered. An unusual feeling, one he only experienced by your side. But he liked it.

Who cared if he didn't have pointy ears? Who cared about others' judgments?

You were right - only fools judge a book by its cover.

“Sebek, do you hear me?” you were the one asking this time.

“Yes. Yes, I can hear you very well, dear human” he said, leaning in for a kiss.