#but they say if you stare into the abyss...it might stare back...

[soupdweller]

day 6: abyss...

[awearywritersworld]

do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you

sukuna x reader summary: the higher ups succeed in kidnapping you and sukuna doesn't know if he'll get you back alive. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: fluff and angst. reader is kidnapped and gravely injured. depictions of blood. canon typical violence. "good girl". cursing. ft gojo. aged up!yuuji. fem!reader. not canon compliant. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: and finally folks, we've reached the climax of the series. there will only be one more official chapter after this one, so i hope this lives up to expectations. this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it's certainly better when serving as a culmination to the other chapters. i'm a little nervous posting this, so i'd love to hear your thoughts :) series masterlist // masterlist

brontë

sukuna isn't sure at first why the name is familiar, but he soon realizes that a great many of the books on your shelf are authored by women of that name, including jane eyre.

though he finds your copy of wuthering heights, written by an emily brontë, tucked away in the drawer of your nightstand, the headphones you'd asked him grab lying on top of it.

he pulls the book from its spot with care, as the cover is worn and frayed at the edges. flipping through the pages, there are quite a few quotes underlined and countless scribbles in the margins.

while you'd forced him to read jane eyre, he tucks wuthering heights under his arm of his own volition. he isn't sure if it's because you've kept this one separate from the others, or because it might give him an opportunity to know you better, or because he's positive it will make you happy, but he does it all the same.

when he steps back into the living room, he drops your headphones in your lap and takes the seat beside you, wasting no time in beginning the first chapter.

"what've you got there?" you eventually question, even though you know the answer.

he doesn't spare you a glance when he responds, "a book."

"oh, yeah? what kind of book?"

he elects to ignore you, which only serves to encourage your mischievous tone. "i thought romance novels were beneath you and your refined taste."

finally looking at you, he narrows his eyes at your childish taunt. "do you want me to read it or not?"

"of course—"

"then i suggest you be a good girl and behave yourself."

your mouth snaps shut so abruptly that your teeth click as they meet, something sukuna takes note of with a raised brow. you're thankful when he returns to reading rather than saying anything more.

so without any additional interruptions, he delves into the tragic story of heathcliff and catherine. or more precisely, the pain and destruction that follows it.

the further he reads, the better he discerns that while you seem to have a penchant for the brontë sisters, they seem to have a penchant for writing about men that are wicked and callous.

the very notion makes him chuckle.

maybe it explains why he's sitting here with your feet in his lap, while you try and fail (rather cutely) to stifle your giggles at some stupid youtube video.

"what?" you ask, taking out one of your headphones once you notice he's staring at you with a small smile.

"nothing. just enjoying the story."

the way you beam in response makes his mouth go dry.

"hah! i knew it! you're a romantic at heart."

you make a big show of pressing your hands to your chest and swooning.

"settle down there," he chides, his hand patting your thigh. "you're getting ahead of yourself."

two days later, sukuna feels that something isn't quite right. it's barely perceptible, nothing more than a minute shift in the atmosphere, but it grows more palpable as time stretches on.

yuuji's mission takes him farther from home than usual, to a little town about two hours outside of the city.

the curse he exorcises upon his arrival is much weaker than he's grown accustomed to, probably only a third or fourth grade.

yuuji doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or at least, he pretends not to. sukuna thinks that's the problem with optimists— they don't take action quickly enough, too busy wasting their time hoping for the best.

when he returns home late that afternoon only to find your apartment door slightly ajar, his hand hesitates before pushing it open.

he discovers that the living room is littered with residuals, but it's eerie how nothing else is out of place... save for you, who is no where to be found.

in a disbelieving panic, he begins checking all the rooms, not hearing sukuna's frantic voice even though it's coming from inside his own head. "she's not here... idiot, she's not here. we have to go. we have to go now."

he eventually finds a note lying on the coffee table, but even this he hardly processes— something about surrendering himself and sukuna to the higher ups at headquarters in exchange for your life.

"listen to me, brat... you're wasting time... idiot!"

"what?" he barks abruptly.

"she isn't far, a couple blocks to the east at most—"

"it doesn't matter. headquarters is to the west. that's where we need to go."

"have you failed to comprehend a single thing i've said about the higher ups?" sukuna sneers. "they'll kill us, then kill her too. she knows too much about jujutsu society. they won't let her live, and that's if she's not... if she isn't already..."

he can't get the word out.

"no... no, they wouldn't..."

"now is not the time for your blind faith in the integrity of others." sukuna tries again and again to assume control of his vessel, and while the force behind it makes yuuji's head pound, it's no use. "for fuck's sake— please, yuuji!"

it's the first time he's heard the curse occupying his body say his actual name or use the word please, and in a strange way, it seems to ground him to some degree.

itadori yuuji has always been uncannily fast, but as soon as he makes his way out onto the street, it's like his feet aren't even touching the pavement. he appears as a blur to the people he passes by and it happens so briefly that they more than likely disregard it as a trick of the light.

the ruby decorating your neck leads them right to you, a low hum of frequency that only sukuna can hear.

yuuji comes to a stop in front of an old warehouse building. there are several wooden boards nailed across the main entrance, which splinter and fall to the earth under the impact of his impatient fist.

although the people down the hall quiet themselves upon hearing the crash, he can still sense their energy. he just can't seem to pick up on yours.

maybe sukuna is wrong? maybe you're not here after all.

"no," comes sukuna's voice, cold and hard. "she's here."

he makes his way down the stretch of hallway and to an open door where he stops, both of his feet planting firmly on the ground. everything appears to be frozen as he stares at ten sorcerers who quietly stare back.

it's clear they were not expecting yuuji, but he knows the higher ups assigned so many sorcerers just in case he did somehow figure out where they brought you.

he recognizes many of their faces and even knows some of their names, their familiarity no doubt intended to discourage him from engaging them.

after a few moments, yuuji's eyes land on your figure— motionless on the floor.

he has to admit, the higher up have put together a fairly sound plan. it's just that there's one small detail they failed to account for.

a curious and constraining sensation erupts from the center of his chest, and yuuji doesn't quite understand what's happening until he registers he's no longer the one in control of his body.

the king of curses remains completely still as he studies you from afar with a slight tilt of his head, his mind refusing to believe the scene right before his eyes.

when the gravity of the situation finally settles in, a gut churning agony blossoms in his stomach and bleeds into every part of his body. every bone. every pore. every vein.

the entirety of him burns, both inside and out.

the air in the room is heavy, overburdened with hostility and raw power. it makes the sorcerers' knees buckle and they nearly collapse beneath the immense pressure.

as sukuna takes a step toward the nearest person, the edges of his vision turn white.

he moves with deadly precision, at a speed which very few people on earth could even begin to comprehend.

it's a joke how quickly it's all over.

some of them are in pieces. others have exploded into nothingness. a few are burnt to ash.

in his haste, sukuna nearly misses the final sorcerer. he's probably the youngest of them all, cowering in the corner of the room. his eyes are wide with horror and his body shakes with fear.

"p-please, spare m-me. i didn't touch her," he sputters out.

the laugh that follows is utterly humorless. "do you actually believe that makes a difference to me?"

"i told t-them not to hurt her! i swear. that's how i got this." he points to his bottom lip, busted open and swollen. "she even told me she was sorry that i got hurt... that i didn't have to defend her."

this gives sukuna pause and his jaw clenches as he considers what you would tell him right now were you conscious.

so even as every fiber of his being screams at him to end the sorcerer's miserable, pathetic life... he restrains himself and pins him to the wall instead, pressing a forearm to his throat.

"go back to the higher ups. go and tell them that if anyone lays a hand on her ever again, i will ruin them," he spits, venom lacing each word. "i'll slaughter every last one of them. i'll level their homes. i'll take everything from them. tell them this is a promise they shouldn't take lightly."

when sukuna takes a step back, the young sorcerer crumbles to the ground. "i- i- i will."

"then get out of my sight," he growls.

returning his attention to you, his demeanor shifts in every respect.

you're going to be okay. you're going to wake up. he's going to take you home and it will be like none of this ever happened.

but when he falls to your side, his knees meeting the ground so brutally that it cracks beneath his weight, his conviction falters.

your blood is spilt onto the concrete. your skin is cold. he can't tell if you're breathing. he can't feel your heartbeat.

he determines that the gash across your side deserves his attention first and his hands tremble as they move to cover it.

he puts every ounce of power he has into his reverse cursed technique, but your eyes don't flutter and your chest doesn't rise nor fall.

his palms stain crimson, and while blood has never bothered him before, the fact that it's yours forces the bile to rise from his stomach and into his throat.

and his face is wet.

why is his face wet?

why are his lips trembling?

why is his vision blurred?

he wipes at his cheeks, leaving a trail of your blood across his face in the process.

"no," he chokes out. "please, don't do this. you're fine. please, you have to be fine. please."

the king of curses begs, but he has no idea who his desperation is directed toward. maybe it's you. maybe it's the gods. maybe it's some entity that's unknowable to him.

hell, maybe it's just whoever will listen to him. there has to be someone out there, right? something.

unbeknownst to him, and poetic in sorrowful sort of a way, his next pleas are reminiscent of heathcliff's after he learns of catherine's death.

"be with me always"

"stay with me, angel. please don't go."

"take any form"

"hate me for this if you want, for being the reason you're in this mess. you can't hate me anymore than i already hate myself."

"drive me mad"

"i'll read every single stupid romance novel on your bookshelf. i promise i'll play all of your ridiculous card games."

"only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!"

"just don't leave me here without you. i don't want to be here without you.

"oh, god! it is unutterable!"

"please," he whimpers.

"i cannot live without my life!"

"you're everything. you are everything. you can't leave me with nothing."

"i cannot live without my soul!"

"i love you," sukuna laments. "i love you."

he doesn't even comprehend the words that have been tumbling past his lips, because they're coming from a part of himself that he long believed to be dead and buried.

it's the part of him that can feel suffering and regret and loss and love.

it's the part of him that you've been painstakingly unearthing whenever you send a smile his way. whenever you curl into his side. whenever you press your lips to his.

and he's so undeserving of it each and every time. he's known that. god, has he known that.

he thinks bitterly of the night you'd walked to the park together hand in hand— when you told him the universe had sent you to knock him down a peg.

turns out you were wrong.

the universe gave you to him, but only so it could take you away too.

and it won't just knock him down a peg. it will fucking destroy him. it will completely and irrevocably destroy him.

this is what he does deserve.

how is it that you can be both his salvation and his undoing?

"i love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

it's ironic that the three words he's never once said in his entire life are the only ones he can manage in this moment.

he hears a quiet sigh escape your lips, but he knows that it's just his imagination— nothing more than the universe playing its final sick joke.

the sun is out and its rays are peeking through the window of your bedroom. sukuna thinks it's despicable.

everything should be cold and dark today.

you're lying in bed half dead and the only thing keeping sukuna's sanity intact is the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

he should go to jujutsu headquarters and deliver a slow, painful death to every single person involved in yesterday's events. then he should turn their headquarters to ash and stand there watching until the wind blows every last bit away.

but more than that, he should be by your side, so that's where he's remained.

it's been nearly a day and you still haven't woken up, so he's taken to performing reverse cursed technique on you every few hours.

yuuji had shoko come by last night and she assured him your body just needs time, but sukuna doesn't intend on taking any chances. aside from the brat, there isn't a single sorcerer he trusts.

so naturally when gojo teleports directly in the middle of your living room unannounced, sukuna moves swiftly to his feet and blocks the doorway to your room.

gojo regards him nonchalantly, hiding his surprise that yuuji is not the one to greet him. "what are you doing... out and about?"

"that's none of your concern."

"right. well, i came to check in."

"that's not necessary."

the two men watch one another carefully, before gojo eventually chuckles. "god, you actually care about her. i guess the whole soul thing should have been proof enough, but i couldn't bring myself to really believe it until now."

sukuna doesn't respond, so the other man continues. "you should know that the threat to her has been... dealt with."

"that so?" sukuna asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"mhmmm. word of this spread to the three clans and they agreed civilians have no place in jujutsu politics if it can be helped. not to mention your little... messenger. it all caused quite the ruckus for the higher ups."

"i don't think ruckus is enough to deter them." his tone makes it clear that he feels gojo is wasting his time.

"this isn't the heian era anymore, you know. the higher ups may still be the figureheads of jujutsu society, but they have little say when all three clans concur on a matter." receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he adds, "besides, i'm rather fond of her myself, so i may or may not have made certain threats of my own."

sukuna's eye twitches. "anything else you feel compelled to share before you leave?"

"can i at least see her before i go?" gojo questions, peering over sukuna's shoulder.

"if you do not value your life, i welcome you to try."

a sly grin breaks out on gojo's face.

"eager to make good on your promise of killing me from all those years ago?" he pauses, his hand coming to rest on his chin as if he's pondering something of great importance. "as much as i'd love to see you try, we shouldn't wake our precious sleeping beauty before she's ready, so maybe another time."

with that, he disappears, leaving a very irritated sukuna in his wake.

"our," he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "that unbearable imbecile."

when he turns on his heel, however, the malicious look is immediately wiped from his face because you're awake.

you're awake and peering at him from behind heavy lids.

"hey," you greet in a small voice.

his eyes grow impossibly soft and he sits on the bed beside you, his hand moving to caress your cheek. your skin is warm again.

"hey, angel."

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[ghouljams]

More Viking!Soap because I couldn't think of anything to beat knight!Ghost with and I need something to be cathartic no matter how small that catharsis is.

It takes another day to reach the coast. The waves beat against the cliffside, Mactavish’s hand is tight around yours as he helps you down the rocky path. Your feet ache, and you do your best not to stumble. His hands grip your hips, lifting you up off a rock he’d jumped down from. As easy as moving a child. You’re set back on uneven ground and he doesn’t look at you. Singularly focused, you think to yourself.

You understand why. Down at the beach you can see men, fire, a long ship with a curling bow. You grip Mactavish’s hand tighter, a small comfort you cease as soon as you start. He doesn’t comment on it, except to squeeze your hand quickly in return. 

“I should have asked earlier,” He mumbles, “you’re a healer, right?”

You feel your heart tumble into your stomach. That’s right, you’re only alive because you’re useful. Only brought along because he had no other options after your village was burned. 

“I’m still learning,” You tell him quietly. He lets out a breath, nods shortly.

“Know more than the rest of ‘em, I’d bet.” He assures you with a smile. “Say yes the next time someone asks, you’ll live longer.”

It’s not a threat, not from him at least, but it’s a guarantee. Healers live longer, and you have nothing else to your name to defend yourself with. He certainly isn’t going to defend you. You think it might be a chill from the sea air that makes you shiver. 

Mactavish walks in front of you down the beach. He keeps hold of your hand, as if you had somewhere to run to, and keeps you behind him as he approaches the other vikings. You peak around him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen men so big as them. The furs and paint on their faces denote their trade as easily as their braided hair and combed beards. Walking behind Mactavish you can see the tiny braids that wind through his hair as well, the small shiny beads and clips of metal hidden within the woody brown. 

One of the men near the edge of camp spots you both and makes his way towards your companion. Your hand is dropped to clap into the waiting palm of the other viking, who embraces Mactavish with a smile.

“What took you? Thought we’d have to send out a search,” The man laughs. He feels friendly but his eyes, a warm russet against his dark skin, sharpen when they touch you. “Just the one?” He asks, “Thought there’d be more willing to work.” Your shoulders stiffen, your arms close against your sides. Danish, you think, maybe. You know it well enough to keep your mouth shut. Mactavish glances at you.

“They were burning by the time I got there,” He says quietly, the danish feels so foreign on his tongue after hearing him speak gaelic. It breaks your heart anew to hear your tragedy described so callously. It helps seeing the other man’s eyes soften. “Tell Ghost not to scare ‘er, had enough of that for a lifetime,” Mactavish finishes, and you feel something squeeze in your stomach. The other viking nods.

“Happy to have a healer aboard again,” The viking tells you, his accent is pretty decent, the gaelic smooth on his tongue. “She’s pretty,” He mumbles to Mactavish, switching back to danish as quick as could be.

“Leave it,” Mactavish warns, his teeth bared with a flash of white. You tune him out, translating is making you tired, and look around camp. The fire is roaring, and men stare at you with open curiosity. Their interest makes your skin crawl. So many men, unfamiliar men, with the same propensity for violence as all vikings. You can’t think of a deeper abyss to throw yourself into, more bears to surround yourself with. “You alright?” Mactavish asks you, the gaelic snapping you from your thoughts.

“What do you care?” You snap at him, trying to keep your barbs sharp in the hopes others will see your bite. Maybe it will keep you safe. Mactavish’s eyes slide from yours, looking at the other men in camp.

“They won’t hurt you,” He tells you. What does he know? Men never think their peers are capable of the things women warn each other about. You say nothing, and after a moment Mactavish moves. Out of the corner of your eye you see him unfasten the pin holding together the fur around his neck. He’s quick to wrap it around your shoulders, hardly bothered you haven’t tilted your chin for him as he fastens it to your earasaid. “Gods if I ever have the time,” He mumbles to himself, his fingers toying with the pin. You get the feeling he’s not used to his gaelic being understood.

“You’ll what?” You challenge, eyes still fixed on the camp. His fingers hold your chin, dragging your attention back to him. It’s a gentle movement, but you tense at his touch. He’s quick to release you.

“Court you properly,” Mactavish clears his throat, fingers fixing the fur into place, “but this’ll do for now. You have my word-” his eyes are more serious when you meet them, “-no one will touch you.”

Sure, you tug yourself from his grip, you’ll believe that when you see it.

[mellifluouaamor]

MASH BURNEDEAD, FINN AMES, LANCE CROWN, DOT BARRETT, RAYNE AMES, ABEL WALKER, ABYSS RAZOR, WIRTH MADL, CARPACCIO LUO-YANG, ORTER MADL (SEPARATE) ⍣ GENDER-NEUTRAL READER

synopsis. his reaction to you asking him, “what if i suddenly disappeared one day?”

author's note. reader's relationship with the boys is up to your interpretation! but reader is implied to be orter's betrothed here c;

as a blank look crosses his face, MASH almost drops the cream puff he was eating upon registering your question. he stops for a moment to think what exactly made you ask him that, but when he can't come up with any reason he decides to ask you a question of his own. "did something happen?"

when you don't answer him, he clenches a fist beside his head. someone must be threatening you - why else would you ask him that out of nowhere? "tell me his name. i'll punch the stuffing out of him so he doesn't bother you again."

mash is puzzled when you wave your hands around frantically, claiming that nobody is bothering you. "i was just curious!" you exclaim, "don't think about it too deeply. i just wanna know how you'd feel and what you'd do if it happens."

he hums thoughtfully as he continues eating his cream puff. the thought of you suddenly disappearing makes his chest feel heavy. losing you is like losing his pops - but ten times worse. he visibly deflates and stops eating, which worries you. when you place a hand on his shoulder, mash grabs that same hand and pulls you towards him.

"if you suddenly disappeared one day... i'll be sad. but i'll find you," he says, cupping your cheek which grows warm under his touch, "and i'll keep trying until i do."

FINN would stare at you like you've just told the entire world his deepest and darkest secret. a few seconds pass, and the freckled first-year then clings to your sleeve as if he's a child about to be left behind by his mother. "wh-what? why would you ask that? where would you go? why would you go? is... is everything okay...?"

you could tell that he's becoming more anxious with every second that ticks by from the way he's clenching his fists against your robe. you reassure him that everything is okay and he relaxes a little, but he's still bothered by your question.

"then why are you asking me...?" he asks, trailing off. he's starting to think that you're actually hiding something from him and becomes jittery again. he grips your arm tightly, afraid that you'll disappear into thin air if he doesn't, and you wince; you swear that he's cutting off the blood circulation in your arm.

when you tell him that you're only asking for fun, that does little to ease his nerves. "but i can't get it out of my head! i'm scared- i don't want you to disappear without a trace!"

for the next few days, finn would become extra clingy and glue himself to your side whenever he can. lance and dot would cast judging looks his way, but he couldn't care less. as long as he's with you, there's no way you'd suddenly disappear, right?

LANCE rolls his eyes at your question. "like that'll ever happen. you don't even know how to cast the transportation spell properly." despite his words, he's a bit concerned that something might be happening to you behind his back or you're sick, and you're not telling him about it.

"oh come on, you know that's not what i meant!" you exclaim, "just answer my question!" he lets out a quiet sigh. folding his arms over his chest, he stares straight ahead and thinks about what he'd do if you were suddenly gone from the academy one day.

"there's not much to do except to ask your friends and teachers where you went. if they don't know, then i'll search for you myself." there's a pause, and you tilt your head curiously as he looks down, his bangs casting a shadow over his eyes. "i'll keep looking until i find you." after that, lance doesn't talk to you for the rest of the day.

the following morning, your friends tell you that lance was borderline interrogating them about your private life last night, making you internally question his intentions. you can feel someone's gaze on your back as you go about your day, making you scared of the prospect of someone stalking you.

you also notice that lance has been overly attentive towards your activities over the course of the week, asking questions such as, "where's your next class? which friend are you going to sit with? what class do you have after that?"

DOT doesn't think much about it at first and just laughs. "disappear? where are you even planning to go?" with a beam, he slings an arm over your shoulder. "don't think of going anywhere without me! wherever you go, i'll follow!"

you laugh along, unable to continue the conversation with how much of a cheery fellow he is.

later on, dot's mind would drift back to your question. he knits his eyebrows together, wondering why you would even ask him that. is someone bullying you? or maybe... he stands up abruptly and slams his hands on his desk, disrupting the class as he shouts, "I OFFENDED THEM WITHOUT KNOWING?!"

even when he's told to stand outside of the classroom until the class ends as punishment, he couldn't stop thinking about it. he's itching to barge into your classroom to ask you, but holds himself back from getting into further trouble.

during one of your breaks, dot would pull you aside and hold your shoulders firmly as he stares into your wide eyes. "look, i'm sorry for whatever i did. i'll apologise a thousand times if i have to," he says, and after a brief pause he adds, "just don't go anywhere i can't follow."

RAYNE is immediately alarmed by your question, and he turns to face you with his usual frown deepening. he then grabs your arm to prevent you from leaving and asks, "what do you mean? spit it out. what happened?"

he won't let you go until you tell him everything. he doesn't even bother hiding the fact that he's worried, and the worst case scenario keeps surfacing in his mind. this is why he didn't want people knowing that you're close to him; you might be used against him, or even worse, hurt because of him.

"please, (y/n). tell me if something's wrong," he implores. he can't bear the thought you disappearing right before his eyes, and he really thinks that your life is in danger. even when you say that you're asking the question in a general sense, he's not about to take any chances.

rayne would ask max to look after you in his place and to keep tabs on your activities, as well as the people you'd frequently interact with. max thinks that he's overthinking but does it all anyway because he understands rayne's concern for your safety and well-being.

rayne would also make an effort to spend more time with you outside of classes so that he can guard you himself. you'll have to give him plenty of reassurance to convince him that nobody is out to get you.

ABEL drops his doll; that's how shocked he feels when you asked him that haunting question. why would you ask him that, knowing that he had lost his mother when he was a child? do you want to torture him by disappearing without a single trace of your existence?

you immediately regret asking him that and try to apologise. before any words could leave your mouth, abel pulls you into a tight hug with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other around your shoulders. his gesture catches you off-guard, rendering you speechless.

"please don't," he whispers, "i feel the safest with you. if anyone or anything tries to take you from my side, i swear i'll take you back." without you, abel would truly be a lost child searching endlessly for the warmth that had left him.

the following day, you'd find abel and abyss as your scary dog privilege on campus.

"... are you actually scared of me?" ABYSS gives you a melancholy smile as he asks you a question of his own. he had always dreaded the day that you would admit your fear of him because of his evil eye; although he knew that you would never leave him simply because of that, he still can't help but be scared of the slightest possibility that you might.

he slowly reaches for your face and gingerly cups your cheek, as if he's scared that you might reject him and pull away from his touch. he lets out the bated breath he didn't know he had been holding when you don't, and caresses the soft skin with his thumb.

"i know it's selfish of me to say this... but please don't leave me. you're all that i have, and life is only worth fighting for when you're there," he admits. abyss had a rough past where he was unloved even by his own parents, so when you approached him with a smile that shines like the light of dawn, he found himself unable to let go of your outstretched hand.

however, if the situation ever calls for it, he's willing to learn to let go. "if there ever comes a time when you're no longer by my side... then i'll accept it. but if anyone tries to take you against your will..." there's a pause as his left eye glints. "then i'll make sure that they're the ones who disappear."

WIRTH lets out a loud laugh before leaning towards your face with a smirk. "And who would dare to take you away from me?" he'll gladly challenge anyone who attempts to do so, and he's confident that he'll win. "you've always been bad at hide and seek too, so how would you even hide from me?"

"just answer the damn question," you say with a huff, "it's not that deep. it's only a 'what if'." propping his chin on the palm of his hand, he mulls over what you had asked. if you disappeared because someone took you away...

"well, i'll simply find you and make the perpetrator suffer," he replies, "by the time i notice your disappearance, you wouldn't have gone far anyway." then, there's a long, awkward pause as wirth averts his gaze, like he wants to say something else but is reluctant to.

after a moment, he adds in a more serious tone, "if you need any protection, don't hesitate to find me. i promise i'll keep you safe." you can't help but feel a bit shy hearing those words come from him.

CARPACCIO is eerily silent. he doesn't even look at you. he could only try to think of what his life would be like in your absence… and decides that he doesn't want to consider the possibility.

"disappear where?" he asks as he finally meets your nervous gaze, "would you disappear unwillingly? or of your own accord?" cupping his chin, he thinks about your question more thoroughly and tries to apply it in the different situations he could come up with.

"if you were taken against your will, then the most logical thing to do is rescue you," he answers, spinning his knife around his fingers, "and of course, i'll make sure that whoever kidnapped you will be in so much pain that they wish they're dead." a slight shiver went down your spine; you could actually see carpaccio doing that.

"but if you left on your own, then..." carpaccio trails off for a moment, unsure of how to vocalise his thoughts. "... i'd still find you, i guess. and try to figure out why you left."

carpaccio knows that the question you asked is merely hypothetical... but he can't stop himself from thinking that he may have done something to make you consider disappearing from his life. he'd try to figure out what instigated those thoughts of yours before finally asking you.

"i have ways of looking for missing people. just finding you would be child's play," ORTER answers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "is that all you'd like to discuss with me? please stop wasting my time with your nonsensical questions. if you're that unhappy with our engagement, take it up with my father."

he doesn't want to admit it, but he's actually thinking about your question far too much to the point that it's affecting his daily life. he gets visibly agitated whenever he's not in your presence, which doesn't go unnoticed by kaldo, who proceeds to tease him. "what got you so nervous, hm? worried that your future spouse won't be happy with you once you're married?"

if renatus happens to be passing by, he'd join in by saying, "he brought it upon himself. who asked him to be an ass fiance? i wouldn't be surprised if they plan on disappearing from his sight."

renatus' words would get orter thinking. after pondering your question more, he'd come to the conclusion that you feel neglected and are planning to leave him soon. the mere thought makes his chest feel painfully tight, and he'd drop whatever he's doing to search for you.

the longer he takes to find you, the more anxious he feels inside. the moment he sees you, he'd grab your shoulder and roughly turn you around to confirm that it's really you. you're surprised to see the dread on his countenance, which gradually dissipates once he's sure that he has found you.

there's a flash of guilt in his eyes, and as he gently takes your hand in his, he quietly says, "i'm sorry. please... don't ever leave my side."

(you can read kaldo's part here)

[moonastro]

your fs's cute habits

pick a picture

left to right(top)-> 1,2,3

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑how to choose an image? take a deep breath, close your eyes, RELAX, and let your intuition do the rest.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑remember, you can be drawn to more than one picture!!

°DO NOT take this as literal, take everything with a grain of salt as this is purely and intendedly for entertainment purposes.

°Don't be afraid to give feedback and opinions about this post (as i would entirely appreciate it).

° This is a GENERAL reading, take what resonates and leave and pass on what does not!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

pile one

they might have a smirk to their smile, or have this instinctive smile that they do that is unique to them. i don't know, it feels very cute though. like i see them doing it whenever they get shy or get suddenly happy. Also, along with that will be their laugh. they may have a distinctive laugh that they do. they may hit (in a friendly way) when laughing or they may get weak and pretend fall, and so on. i do see them being dramatic with it though😅. your person may randomly say what's on their mind without any context. like it will become so normal to you guys that you will either go with it or just ignore it. by random i mean like continuing a conversation you guys had 30 minutes ago and they add to it, or they purely just bring up the time when they were a kid and such. in public, i feel like they will be quite shy, they may unintentionally hide behind you especially if you are talking with someone or walk slightly behind. they may be a slow walker too, its not because they are slow but they get distracted easily. by the nature, the birds, the cars, the buildings etc etc. very much new soul vibes, taking in everything around them. they can be a collector and have a collection of little figures and items. it is their possessions and they will protect their collection with all their heart and take time to correct their positions and such when accidently moved.

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pile two

awk, this is too cute, so your partner may blush quite often. it may be from embarrassment, anger, stress, or getting put in the spotlight. you may find it cute because it can make you love them even more and it may make you feel like they are like more genuine?? anyway, they may space out quite often, probably just blanking out and staring into abyss. this may be a habit and they may have a nickname given from spacing out so much 😅. like for example, you may ask them a question and they reply with mumbles and when you say 'did you even hear what i said' they come back and go 'huh' or 'no, sorry'. you may laugh at it because you find the way they look doing it cute. you may find it cute when they get mad. they may have a face that they do or do a gesture that you notice each time. its giving me every time when they're angry you cant take them seriously and then they get even more mad. the way they eat/chew may be significant, so they may pout/ make a cute face when eating.

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pile three

okay, so pile 3, your person is giving very much clueless energy. i feel like most of the time they may not know what you may be talking about but they still contribute to the conversation so you wont feel upset about it. but i feel like you will always ask them if they know what you mean and then they'll admit that they don't! but i do see you laughing it off and telling them that they can admit if they don't get it. oh, they are really into structure and have really organised drawers, closets, shoe racks and so forth. you may find it cute how they keep it VERY organised and are serious about it too. you may find their concentrated face cute lol. they do portray this youthful energy so they might express those characteristics through their actions. they definitely don't like to argue and will let you win every single time which may feel frustrating sometimes but they just avoid it at all cost and feel there is no need for it. it can make you feel guilty about it though and make you want to take care of them. at the end of they day you laugh it off and find it cute. they may have trouble with their vision and may squint a lot- you can tend to make fun of them cutely for it. like, every minute of they day you see they squinting at EVERYTHING and that can catch you off guard and make you laugh by their cuteness. this is a very fun/ laughter couple so there is a lot of laughing and giggling involved.

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thank you dear soul for reading this!! it is greatly appreciated, and i hope you all are doing well and enjoyed this post🤍.

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

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

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive, that she was waiting for him.

He entered his chamber and saw emptiness, the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys by saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night, the way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust had taken away her virtue.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He entered the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter, her hair entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

She was pregnant.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had entered and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief. He saw everything in her gaze, fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

"− yes, my lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− my prince, I −"

"I want to talk to you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eyes off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few gold coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looking away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach, for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a tightening in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face, she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her, she drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, she was breathing heavily, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin, they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to pierce her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, rough muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him, he closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his semen as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, practically no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her, he hummed under his breath squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black jacket, untied his trousers and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides, tearing at her insides with his always ready, hard cock, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had cum deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived at Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and crouched in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his trousers. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his cock, sucking him in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep, it was the middle of the night. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to massage her pearl with circular, sure motions, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat, he began to fuck her brutally feeling her walls clench against him.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and rubbing the point of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smack.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he cum inside her with a sigh of relief, he wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean chemise, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was cradling their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe, his daughter had his eyes.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant talking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them, he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them talking much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him, he adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he ripped open her tight insides with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her, she struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand, only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers, she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her pearl, driving her mad, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his trousers and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's cum like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @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

[macfrog]

walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

[ghcstao3]

another mermay post 🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️ hehehehehe

short part two of siren!ghost x sailor!soap

-

In the darkness of the cave, with nothing but the bioluminescent something speckling the damp walls to illuminate the space, Soap isn’t sure how much time has passed since Ghost’s departure.

All Soap knows is that he’s cold, wet, and hungry, and has no idea how long he’s been left in this cave—and if there’s any way out.

He doesn’t venture far, not with what little visibility he has, but he feels along the slimy, algae-coated walls for any hidden crevice, any opening, any alcove. When he’s unsuccessful in that regard, a dares to inch toward the water, peering into its dark, murky depths, and wondering just how deep it goes. How deep underwater he is, in this little pocket of air that will most certainly run out.

And if it’s so deep that he couldn’t make it back up to the surface on his own.

Soap is curled up against one side of the cave when Ghost reappears, hauling fish, oysters, and tattered, sodden clothing of which Soap could very well guess the origins.

Ghost nudges everything as far up the stone floor as he can without having to push himself out of the water, but Soap never moves to accept. Fear still encases every one of his senses, even if his life had been spared. Even if Ghost said he wouldn’t kill him.

“You can’t keep me here, you know. Not forever,” Soap declares shakily, wincing at the echo of his words. Ghost just stares at him, bobbing gently in the abyss of water, those amber eyes now two pitch black holes boring into Soap.

“I can’t even… how would I even cook and eat the fish? I’ll starve if I don’t first run out of air,” Soap continues.

Ghost watches Soap for another long, silent moment. There isn’t enough light for Soap to place his expression, but his lack of reply is worrying enough.

“I won’t let that happen,” Ghost eventually says. There’s decisiveness to his answer, but in the echoey confines of the cavern, Soap swears there’s a slight waver in confidence. Like Ghost hadn’t thought this completely through, despite the cocksure way he had acted up until this moment.

“I’ll need sunlight,” Soap argues weakly. “And to be dry.”

Ghost outwardly falters. Soap can imagine a plethora of thoughts and emotions crossing the siren’s face, all obscured in the dim lighting. Soap waits and waits as silence only stretches again for what are only minutes, but feel like hours.

“Then I’ll find somewhere new,” states Ghost, before sinking back into the water with that same air of mystery as he had the first time.

Soap sighs, careful to fill his lungs minimally, lest he suffocate.

Well, he supposes—maybe wringing out the old clothes and laying them out could at least make for a somewhat more comfortable place to die, and the oysters might be enough to tie him over as to not make his death nearly as miserable.

Maybe he shouldn’t have argued with Ghost in the rowboat. Maybe he should have pretended to be lured in by the female sirens’ song and be put to death far quicker than whatever torture this is, that Ghost has planned.

Dejectedly, Soap squeezes out what excess water he can from the fabric, bunches it up in a pile and lays down on the makeshift pillow. The constant drip, drip, drip makes it impossible to sleep, so instead he just shuts his eyes and listens to the sounds of water lapping the stone floor, waiting for the swish and ripple of a disturbance to mark Ghost’s return—if there ever would be one in time.

[literaila]

hi v!! if it's not much to ask, could I request a tasm peter fic where reader encourages him to wear his glasses more cause he looks soooo good in them 🥺 you can take this prompt wherever you want lol I just thought it'd be cute. totally fine if you can't/don't want to!! have a great day <33

glasses

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: fluff, head trauma, teasing (as per usual)

a/n: no one in this fic grabs glasses by the lens because i am not a monster

*

you’re humming to yourself as you walk through the door. bag hanging at your side, feet aching from the walk home.

and your neck hurts a bit. tiny pin pricks of pain trailing up your skin like an uncomfortable reminder that you’re still human. and your stomach is grumbling from the lunch you made, and you can feel your head grinning maliciously, the beginnings of an ache coming on.

but you’re home. and it is a welcome enough reminder when you see peters shoes by the door. his bag hung up against the door, camera strap hanging out the side.

a fresh smile warms your face, and even though you know peter can hear you—feel you—you tiptoe into the living room, sliding off your tennis shoes.

you peek around the corner, sneakily looking for a mop of hair and unnaturally tan skin. but he’s not on the couch.

you frown.

sneaking up to tackle peter might be your favorite part of the day.

“peter?” you call into the empty apartment. “hiding is against the rules.”

you walk into the kitchen, biding your time by stealing a couple of grapes and sipping on whatever coffee peter brought home. it’s cold, but sweet, like chocolate milk so you carry it with you.

but when you’re back he’s still not there.

you scowl, crossing your arms. “i am not playing hide-and-seek,” you say, into the abyss. the silence is teasing.

you sit on the couch, turning on the tv just to get back at him. look at how unbothered you are.

you sit there for probably three minutes. sipping on peters coffee, and tapping your fingers against your leg incessantly. of course he would do this. today.

you’re just about to say something to him again—where ever the bastard is—when something falls on your head.

you yelp and move back, staring at the glasses, now smudged, sitting on the couch like a taunt.

and finally you look up.

peters got his hand over his mouth, a smirk hiding behind those eyes. you glare back at him, biting your lip before you can yell at him.

“oops,” he says, dropping himself on one hand so he can fall on the floor next to you, rubbing the new bump on your head. “sorry, bug.”

your mouth is open and you’re staring at him—glowering—as his lip twitches with the effort not to laugh.

“glad you find yourself amusing,” you snap, but your own laugh sneaks up on you before you can stop it.

he holds his hands up in defense. “all you had to do was look up.”

“oh yeah,” you nod vigorously, accidentally elbowing him in the stomach. “my bad for not checking for you on the ceiling.”

“it was in self defense!” peter pleads, sitting down next to you. his eyes are evil. “i was trying to avoid being attacked!”

“so you attack me instead?”

“they fell,” he emphasizes, sliding his glasses back on. “i said sorry.”

“you’re not forgiven.” you turn away from him, laying back on the couch.

“c’mon, baby.”

you pout.

“it was an accident. y’know id never hurt you on purpose. i cant say the same for some people in this house…” he adds on, smiling at you innocently. he ruffles your hair. “i missed you.”

finally you meet his eyes. completely adoring and somewhat irritating. you make a face and groan. “ugh,” you say, shielding yourself from him. “stop that.”

“what?”

you push him away. “take those off.”

peter frowns, trying to look at his glasses, crossed eyes and unserious. “what? why?”

“you cant look cute when i’m trying to be mad at you,” you say to him, reaching for the glasses, “it isn’t fair.”

peter leans back, giggling mischievously. he pushes your hands away. “i didn’t realize you liked my glasses.”

you pause and blink at him, glaring. “everyone likes a hot nerd.”

“so you think i’m hot,” peter drawls.

“you’re literally my boyfriend. we’ve had this discussion.”

peter leans towards you, a smirk playing on his lips. his cheek keeps twitching and it’s getting hard not to laugh at him and his high eyebrows. “i don’t remember,” peter whispers, “you should remind me.”

you poke his forehead, pushing him and his self righteousness away. “why are you even wearing those? you don’t need them.”

“i think my eyes are going bad again.”

his head twitches, and you watch his completely warm and inviting eyes as he lies. he’s staring at you, and you watch as his eyes dart down, then back up.

“oh no,” you coo, crawling towards him, a different feeling emerging in your chest. “let me see.”

you’re an inch away from his face. if you said another word your lips would brush his. you stare into his eyes, watching him flinch at the feeling of your hand on his chest. his breath hits your cupids brow.

“oh yeah,” you whisper, leaning forward, his lips hitting yours. then you pull back, frowning. “you’re going blind,” you say, “there’s nothing to be done.”

“is that the doctors professional opinion?” peter mumbles, swallowing.

“you won’t be needing these anyway,” you say to him, smiling viciously, and stealing them off of his face.

then you push away from him, moving to the opposite end of the couch.

peter clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. there is a tense moment where you both avoid each others eyes.

“is this payback?” peter asks.

“not sure what you mean, baby.”

“my glasses hit you on the head so you hold them captive?”

you smile, wiping a smudge on the lens with your shirt. “don’t worry, we’re just getting acquainted.” and then you put them on, grinning at peter.

“so you can wear them but i can’t?”

“if you want them back…” you push them down your nose, looking at peter through your eyebrows. “i guess you’ll have to come and take them.”

peter snorts and stands up, taking his time walking towards you. his face is dark, his eyes have fallen down your trap, and you don’t plan to let him go any time soon.

as he takes another step towards you, you can feel it. that tension, the magnetic pull between the two of you. and you know that peter would stick to the ceiling just to get away from it. to avoid the undeniable chemistry between the two of you.

and you know that you would jump up and cling on to him.

when peter is one step in front of you, you pout innocently. “did you want something?”

peters movements are undetectable as he throws the glasses off of your face, leaning down over you, all of him imposing and strong and completely right as his hands wrap around your face, his lips just millimeters from yours.

it takes genuine restraint to keep yourself from leaning forward. and you can tell that peter is feeling the same thing.

“am i forgiven?” he asks, voice low and blurred by your want to leave marks on every inch of his skin.

“just kiss me,” you hiss, and the words are nothing but a pencil scribble down the page before peter is on you, and you are on him.

your hands pull on his hair, and you force him to smother you, his chest leaning against yours, his arms falling as you make him let go.

you’d gladly let peter crush you forever, if only he would string your skin together like fabric.

he moans when you scratch at his scalp, and bites at your lip when you giggle in response.

it is no slow kiss, with no more teasing.

you’ve both reached the end of this cliff, and if he falls, you’re going right with him.

it is breathless and rough, and you don’t mind at all as peters hand around your waist pulls you even closer. as his lips attack yours, and his breath contaminates your own.

your hand moves, going to the neck of his shirt and pulling. then around his shoulders, pleading.

peter laughs against you. he moves back, just so he can whisper, “i’ll start wearing my glasses more often if this is the consequence.”

“shut up,” you lean up to him, using his skin for leverage.

his smile is childish and it melts into you.

you breathe against him, unable to keep your own smile back. teeth clash, but neither of you mine or pause.

until peter breathes too harshly, too recklessly. he pulls back, laughing at your face, at your puffy lips and bewitched eyes. “bedroom?” he asks.

you smile back at him, leaning over to grab the glasses he threw beside you, and sliding them on his face. “those stay on,” you tell him.

his laugh echoes as he carries you down the hallway.

*

[genshinluvr]

Watch the World Burn

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Villain!Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Those who have wronged you, chased you out of the region, and ostracized you will all go down with Teyvat. You will watch the world burn as bodies around you fall to the ground one by one.

Note: This is a lot shorter than the first part, mainly because there's not much to really type about. Plus, I mainly wanted this fic to be graphic and depressing. It's an angst and villain!isekai'd!reader, so I might as well make it all angst and all death. I don't recommend reading this if you were hoping there would be a happy ending. Not every man speaks in this story, but uh, everyone tagged is gone. Not sure about how I feel about this fic, but oh well. It is what it is. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Beheading, suicide, torture, blood, decapitation, betrayal, lots and lots of death

Word Count: 3.8k

This is part 2 of Where I Truly Belong.

You hear nothing but the ocean waves crashing against each other. You’re waist-deep in the ocean, letting the cool water hug your body. It has been four months (Abyss time) since you have seen Dainsleif and four months (actually four days) since you have dealt with the former Geo Archon of Liyue. The Abyss Order has yet to cause any further damage to Teyvat. However, it doesn’t mean the people of Teyvat get to feel at peace. You and the Abyss Order were just getting started. 

Splashing and squeaking pulls you out of your thoughts. You blink and look down to see three leisurely otters floating around you, their bellies facing the sky while gazing at you curiously. You stare back, watching them float closer to where you stand. As the otters swim closer, you hesitantly reach out to pet them, only to stop. You don’t want to taint something as innocent as the creatures of Teyvat, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?

You have destroyed many environments of these innocent creatures. Yet, you worry about tainting the three others that are now floating in front of you? The otters squeak curiously, hugging the seashells to their chests, their little noses twitching as they sniff you. One otter swims closer, leaning up to nudge you with their nose. You hold your hand out, and the otter presses their head into the palm of your hand.

For once, you smile and stroke the otter’s head while they squeak happily. The other two otters mimic the first otter— swimming closer and nudging you for attention and pets. You feel at peace in a region you’re not welcome in. Despite not meeting the Hydro Archon and the citizens of Fontaine, you know you’re not welcome in the land of the Hydro Archon. You don’t need to step into the region to know your presence is unwelcome. 

A shadow looms over you and the three otters, causing you to freeze, and the otters look up and squeak. You turn to see the Chief Justice of Fontaine standing before you, thighs deep in the water. You size him up, taking a step back to keep the distance between you and the mysterious man. The Chief Justice of Fontaine holds both hands up in front of him.

“I am not here to hurt you,” says Neuvillette.

You clench your hands into fists. “How can I be so sure that you won’t?” You demand, glaring at Neuvillette.

The otters squeak happily, swimming over to the Chief Justice of Fontaine. Neuvillette looks away from you, and a soft smile appears on Neuvillette’s face as he squats down and starts petting each otter. The otters toss their seashells in the air, presenting the pink and vanilla-colored seashells to the long-haired man. While Neuvillette is distracted with the three otters, you’re surveying your surroundings to make sure there aren’t any people lingering around the area.

Once you double-check to make sure Neuvillette is alone, you look over at the Chief Justice of Fontaine, only to see him now standing tall and gazing at you curiously. You clear your throat and cross your arms over your chest, hands itching to open a portal for you to return to the Abyss. It was risky of you to leave the Abyss on your own without Enjou, Agnarr, and Egill at your side to protect you from those who want your head on the silver platter.

You look away from the tall man. “It’s best you leave, Chief Justice of Fontaine. It’s not safe for you to be seen with me… unless the Hydro Archon sent you to kill me,” you mutter bitterly, narrowing your eyes at the white-haired man.

A smile ghosts over Neuvillette’s face. Despite being the Ruler of the Abyss Order, you still cared for his safety. Maybe you’re not as hostile with Neuvillette because you didn’t step foot in Fontaine, nor were you chased out of the region by angry mobs of vision holders. Or maybe, just maybe, the Abyss Order has yet to fully consume you entirely. You still have a small chunk of humanity in you. At least, that’s what Neuvillette is assuming as he continues to analyze you. A squeak and nudge pull your attention away from the Chief Justice of Fontaine. The otter holds up a seashell toward you, gazing at you curiously.

You’re about to grab the seashell when the air suddenly feels out of place. You turn to see Wriothesley charging toward you, prepared to attack you. The three otters dive into the water and swim off in fear. Wriothesley lunges in the air, his fist raised to hit you. You jump out of the way and open a large portal where you previously stood.

“You are under arrest in the Court of Fontaine for— AH!” Wriothesley falls into the portal, and the portal closes up behind him.

Neuvillette narrows his eyes at you, gripping hard on his cane. “Where did you send him?” Neuvillette demands.

You point over to the east, and Neuvillette follows your gesture. A hole opens up in the sky, and Wriothesley plops into the ocean, creating a moderate-sized splash. You sigh in defeat, rubbing your neck. So much for wanting peace— unfortunately, as the Rule of the Abyss, you will never see peace unless you’re in the Abyss.

“I’ll take my leave now,” you say, preparing to leave when an arrow whizzs past you, nicking your neck.

A familiar obnoxious laugh rings in the air, sending chills down your spine. Neuvillette glares at the perpetrator and criminal of Fontaine. The ginger-haired Harbinger struts toward you and Neuvillette with his hands on his hips and head held high. Childe’s bow materializes in his hands, aiming another arrow at your face.

“Think you can get away from me easily?” Childe asks, the corner of his lips quirking up.

Great, more trouble to deal with. Childe lunges toward you and starts attacking. Somehow, Wriothesley is beside Childe, aiding him with the attacks toward you. The strange thing is that Neuvillette isn’t joining in on the fight. Instead, he’s watching from the sidelines. 

You roundhouse kick Childe in the face, causing the ginger to stumble back against Wriothesley. Before the two men land on the ground, you open a portal below them and quickly shut it. You don’t look at Neuvillette; instead, you open another portal and step into the galaxy-like portal, leaving the Chief Justice of Fontaine alone. 

— Somewhere in the Abyss —

Chained to the wall, Dainsleif leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes with a defeated sigh. A strange sound fills the prison cell, causing Dainsleif to open his eyes. Dainsleif hears a faint scream echoing in the portal, although the same screams are getting louder and louder. Before Dainsleif knows it, Childe and Wriothesley tumble out from the portal, landing on the cold, hard ground. 

Childe and Wriothesley quickly get off the ground and look around, still disoriented from their journey through the starry wormhole. Dainsleif looks at the jail cell bars to see two Abyss Lectors standing there, their arms over their chests. Dainsleif frowns and closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall.

“I didn’t ask for a cellmate,” Dainsleif mutters.

Agnarr and Egill look at one another before cackling, their laughter echoing through the dungeon. Childe and Wriothesley grab the metal bars, glaring at the two Abyss Lectors as the two Abyssal beings continue to cackle maniacally. 

“Those who try to harm the Ruler of the Abyss shall suffer the consequences,” Agnarr thunders, electro crackling in the clenched fist of the Abyss Lector.

Egill and Agnarr soon open a portal and disappear through the celestial door. Childe growls and punches the bars, making Wriothesley and Dainsleif stare at the angry ginger Harbinger. Childe plops on the ground and sighs, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Wriothesley leans against the wall, not saying a word. Killing you is going to be a lot harder than they thought.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Abyss, you stand before the Anemo Archon. Kneeling before you, arms chained behind his back, the Anemo Archon glares up at you while you smirk at him. You would comment about how pathetic he looks, but his face doesn’t even belong to him. You squat down and grab him by the chin.

“If I kill that traveler, would you also steal his body and parade around Teyvat like how you did with that poor, poor, nameless bard?” You coo, digging your sharp nails into his flesh. “You enjoy stealing someone’s corpse and playing dress up, don’t you?”

Venti glares at you. “Don’t you dare speak on the name of—”

“Name? Oh, please. I never said anyone’s name, Barbatos. You have to be foolish to think I said someone’s name when I didn’t name anyone,” You scoff, releasing the Anemo Archon’s chin and walking to your throne.

Enjou stands beside your throne as you sit down and cross your right leg over your left. You look at two Abyss Heralds and nod. The two Abyss Heralds tighten their grip on Venti’s shoulders, holding him down as Enjou and Egill levitate over to the weak Anemo Archon. Agnarr stands beside your throne, watching the scene unfold.

You lean back in your seat, nodding. “You may begin,” you say nonchalantly.

Flames engulf Enjou and Egill’s hands before they grab the Anemo Archon’s arms, burning through the thin fabric of his clothes. Venti cries out in pain, writhing and trying to escape from their grasp. You yawn and stretch your arms in the air before snickering.

“I’m not sure if you’re screaming and crying in agony because you’re in pain or if it’s because the body of the nameless bard is being harmed,” You tease, tapping your fingers on your biceps and smirking at the writhing Archon. 

Agnarr leans down, whispering in your ears, “Your Highness, what do you wish for this Archon’s fate to be?”

You close your eyes, tapping your cheek while trying to block out the sounds of the Anemo Archon screaming and screeching in agony as he continues to burn alive. What shall his fate be? Should you let him live or watch him burn?

You smirk bitterly. “I would say kill him, but Barbatos is a wind spirit cosplaying as his dead friend. Kill the vessel and the wind spirit,” You order. “If it’s impossible to kill the wind spirit, then let the power of the Abyss course through his veins.”

The sounds of Venti’s anguish screams echo through the corridor of the Abyss Order temple, sending chills down the spines of three prisoners. You prop your arm on the armrest, watching the sleeves of the bard’s clothes wither away and his pale flesh turning into an angry red before melting and dripping on the ground. The scent of burning flesh fills the air, causing you to scrunch your nose in disgust and pinch your nose. Agnarr opens the portal beside you and gestures for you to enter the celestial doorway. You shake your head, insisting that you want to watch the Anemo Archon fall before your eyes. Agnarr chuckles and closes the portal, watching you pull out a popcorn bucket from thin air and begin munching away. One Archon down, six more to go.

“I will be watching the world burn as the bodies fall around me one by one,” You say softly. 

Agnarr looks at you. “Is that your wish, Your Highness?”

You smirk. “Of course. Those who go against the Abyss Order shall watch their friends and loved ones perish in the hands of the Abyss Order,” you state.

And who are they, the Abyssal beings, to deny the wishes of their dearest Ruler? Your wish is their command. After what felt like hours, you retreat to your bedroom and collapse on your bed, closing your eyes. The torture and the death of the Anemo Archon was quite a show. 

Although it’s a shame that he didn’t fight back. I mean, it’s not like he can fight back anyway. If his arms weren’t chained and bound behind his back, he still wouldn’t stand the chance. Barbatos is a weak Archon— nothing more than a wind spirit who loves to cosplay as the dead. How shameless.

Enjou stands at the foot of your bed. “Your Highness, are you headed off to bed now?” asks the Pyro Abyss Lector.

“I am, Enjou. Despite having the power of the Abyss Order coursing through my veins, I, unfortunately, still need to get some sleep,” You lament. 

Enjou nods and bids you a goodnight before exiting your bedroom. You lay on your bed, pulling the blankets to your chin before drifting to sleep. Meanwhile, on Teyvat, flames continue to kiss every surface it nears. There’s not enough water in the world to extinguish the raging flames of the Abyss Order. Abyssal beasts and beings lurk in the corners of Teyvat, stalking their prey before striking when the victim least expects it.

“Where is Thoma?” Lord Ayato asks, walking through the Kamisato Estate, searching for the blond man.

The blond man pops up from the end of the hallway, waving to the Kamisato heir. “I’m right here, my Lord. Is there anything I can help you with?” Thoma asks, smiling at the blue-haired man. 

The Kamisato Heir sighs in relief, glad to see his retainer amidst the chaos running amok on Teyvat. While the flames have yet to kiss the City of Eternity, the orange and red glow of the blazing fire illuminates the night sky. The smoke suffocates and buries the glimmering stars.

Ayaka peeks her head from the corner, curious. “Did something happen, big brother? You look… shaken,” Ayaka says cautiously, approaching her brother and blond retainer.

The head of the Kamisato clan looks over at Gorou and Heizou, who gulp and nod. Gorou lets out a shaky sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the ground. Due to the chaos running rampant on Teyvat, the death toll skyrockets.

“We have found several bodies of… familiar faces,” Gorou says, his voice shaking.

Heizou looks at the list of names. “Arataki Itto was found dead in Chinju Forest— his horns were ripped out of his skill and plunged into his eye sockets. Kaedehara Kazuha was found dead in the ocean. His death has been ruled by accidental drowning,” Heizou says, his hands shaking.

The lights in the Kamisato Estate flicker before plunging the five Inazumans into total darkness. Ayaka whimpers and stands close to her brother, grabbing onto his sleeves tightly. Two portals open in the center of the Kamisato Estate, and out comes the two Abyss Heralds. Everyone in the room draws out their weapons, backs pressed against each other, preparing to attack the Abyss Heralds. The first person to go is Thoma— the Cryo Abyss Herald throws shards of ice in Thoma’s direction, piercing him in the chest, neck, and head. Thoma’s body drops to the ground as Ayaka and Ayato let out a piercing scream.

The Hydro Abyss Herald slams the Kamisato Heir against the wall before slicing the heir in half at the torso. Gorou, Heizou, and Ayaka were soaked to the bone and frozen multiple times before ultimately dying of hypothermia and decapitation. 

Just as the two Abyss Heralds return to the Abyss, the Cryo Abyss Herald grabs the head of the Kamisato Heir and tosses the head in the air. 

“What are you doing with that? Leave it at the Estate,” the Hydro Abyss Herald says, irritated.

The Cyro Abyss Herald snorts. “I think Their Highness would appreciate us bringing back a souvenir from Inazuma,” the Cryo Abyss Herald retorts, stepping into the portal with the head of the Kamisato Heir.

“If we’re going to do that, we might as well return with all their heads,” groused the Hydro Abyss Herald.

The Cryo Abyss Herald stops halfway into the portal and turns around. “Oh? And what’s stopping you?”

In the Chasm, you stand before the Geo Archon, his face in your hands. His arms are bound behind his back. Enjou and Agnarr hold Zhongli by the biceps, watching the former Geo Archon fight against their grasps pathetically. You giggle and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“Oh, Zhongli. What’s so bad about joining the Abyss Order, hmm?” You coo.

Zhongli is trying to fight back, but he can’t hold on any longer. Zhongli’s amber eyes slowly turn pitch black, black veins creeping up his face. Zhongli growls and thrashes around, only for Enjou to hit him in the back of his head to immobilize him. 

You whisper, “Don’t fight it, Morax. Embrace the power of the Abyss Order coursing through your veins.”

Zhongli goes limp, breathing heavily. You take a step back and watch Zhongli curiously, head tilting to the side. Zhongli suddenly breaks out of Enjou and Agnarr’s grasp, charging at you like an angry Lawachurl. You remain still, waiting to see what the former Geo Archon is going to do. Enjou and Agnarr are about to attack Zhongli, but you hold your hand up, shaking your head. Enjou and Agnarr watch anxiously. 

Zhongli stops before you, staring you down. His body is shaking, hands clenched at his sides. Zhongli’s polearm materializes in his hands. He raises the weapon in the air, and before you know it, Zhongli plunges the blade into his chest. You gasp in horror, watching the former Geo Archon sink the polearm further into his chest cavity, blood spurting out of his chest like a water fountain. Zhongli looks up at you, blood spilling out of his mouth as he smiles at you ruefully. 

“I do not wish to harm you, [Y/N]. I would rather die than hurt you,” Zhongli coughs, falling to his knees.

You run toward Zhongli, only for Egill to hold you back. “Zhongli….” You whisper.

The ex-Archon coughs. “I’m sorry things have to turn out this way,” Zhongli rasps, closing his eyes.

You stare at Zhongli in disbelief before laughing weakly. You don’t know how to handle all of this. Zhongli claims that he chose to kill himself because he didn’t want to hurt you, but you don’t know if Zhongli’s telling the truth or if he’s trying to get you to crack. Enjou offers to dismember Zhongli’s limbs, but you protest against the idea of dismembering Zhongli. As much as you would love to scatter the remains of the former Geo Archon throughout Liyue, you decide not to do it. Instead, you have his corpse on display in your throne room. It, dare you say it, hurts you that you can’t give the deceased Geo Archon a proper burial. However, out of all the people you dealt with on Teyvat, the only person who deserves a proper burial is the former Geo Archon. Perhaps with Abyssal magic, you’ll find a way to preserve the deceased Archon’s body.

You step out of the gloomy palace of the Abyss Order, looking around the vast darkness. You have yet to return to Teyvat, but you don’t see the need to. You pinch your nose in disgust and turn to Egill, who’s levitating toward you.

“Perhaps the biggest mistake I have made is choosing to display the corpses of my enemies,” you sigh, shuddering with disgust. 

Angry shouts grab your and Egill’s attention. You turn to see a black-haired Harbinger struggling against Klingsor’s iron grip. You and the black-haired Harbinger make eye contact, and he shouts for you.

“I betrayed everyone in the Fatui and helped you carry out your plans! This is what I get in return?!” shouts the Regrator, his eyes blazing with anger. 

Klingsor levitates toward you and Egill, dragging the Regrator, also known as Pantalone, along. The black-haired Harbinger isn’t too pleased to find out his assistance will not spare him of his impending doom. Heck, everyone in Teyvat— at least, those with visions— have been slain. You stand before Pantalone, chuckling.

You grab Pantalone by the chin and tilt his head upward. “Out of all the Harbingers, you treat me the worst. You put a bounty over my head, offering up to almost two hundred million Mora. It’s comical to see you switch sides so fast after realizing the Abyss Order has taken over Teyvat,” you chortle. 

You release Pantalone’s face and walk away. “Klingsor, you can do as you please with Pantalone. I have three prisoners to visit,” you say nonchalantly, waving your hands around.

Klingsor drags a screaming Pantalone away as you and Egill walk to the palace. Walking past the display, you tap on each head, humming contently.  

“This place is really coming together, don’t you think? At first, I thought about having them hold their severed heads on their lap, but having their heads on stakes is way better,” you say, turning to Egill.

Egill clears his throat. “Your Highness, is it too late for me to inform you that two out of three of the prisoners have killed one another due to being driven to the point of insanity?” Egill asks, peeking at you.

You stop in your tracks and sigh. “Is that so? Darn, I was hoping to have them fight to the death in a ring,” you kick the nearest marble on the ground. “What about Dainsleif? Is he still alive?” 

Egill doesn’t reply and leads you to the dungeon where Dainsleif was kept. Upon arriving at the jail cell, you stop in your tracks.

“Egill?” You keep your eyes on the jail cell, “Where is Dainsleif?” You ask through clenched jaws, now looking at the empty jail cell aside from the chunks of flesh and pool of blood on the concrete floor.

A portal opens before you, and Dainsleif lunges from the portal, tackling you to the ground. You glare up at Dainsleif. Dainsleif plunges a knife into your chest before crying out in pain. Dainsleif looks down to see a polearm impaling his chest. Dainsleif collapses on top of you as your vision becomes blurry. If this is how it ends for you, then so be it. At least you were able to watch the world burn. You close your eyes and prepare for your impending death, but it never arrives. You open your eyes to see Egill, Agnarr, and Enjou hovering over you.

“Did you really think we would let our Ruler die?” Enjou asks smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Agnarr helps you up and kicks Dainsleif’s body to the side. You place your hand over where Dainsleif stabbed you, only to see that the wound is gone. You point at Dainsleif and gesture for Egill to leave with the body. Egill bows and tosses Dainsleif’s body over his shoulders and walks off.

“How many times did we save your ass, Your Highness?” Enjou teases, nudging you with his elbow.

You roll your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Shut it, Enjou,” you grumble, walking out of the dungeon. “Make sure someone cleans up the mess in the cell.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Agnarr and Enjou murmur, following you out of the dungeon.

Note: Now that I got this out of the way, I do have school coming up very soon. Because this is my final year in university, I really need to focus on school and do well so I can graduate on time. I am going to be on hiatus, meaning the Genshin and HSR isekai fics will be put on pause. I will try to post something every now and then, but I (and the isekai fanfics for both Genshin and HSR) will be on hiatus. Tbh, idk who reads the notes at the end of my fics, but I'll announce my hiatus separately very soon. Since school is starting soon, this will be the last time I post invite links to my Discord server, and I will not be giving out invite links after the link expires. If you want to join, you can click the temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @chalksdreams, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @vinnie-w, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @nightlysunn, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr, @asoulsreverie, @immahuman, @inapileofbooke,(Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[rpmemes-galore]

raw lines from a variety of sources ... sentence starters

"Then perish."

"Pick a god and pray."

"Even fate picks its favorites."

"Everything happens so much."

"I pity the fool that lives like you."

"Then become the dirt I walk on."

“Confidence is quiet. You’re not.”

"I am a monument to all your sins."

“You said I killed you. Haunt me, then!”

“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?“

"You cannot kill me in a way that matters."

"If you want me to die you can just say so."

"Violence for violence is the rule of beasts."

"Your secrets are safe with my indifference."

"Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?"

"We might be in the history God abandoned."

"I will face God and walk backwards into hell."

"I can’t go to Hell. I’m all out of vacation days."

"The light inside me is broken, but I still work."

"Don't leave me, dear. Haunt me like a memory."

"I commend my soul to any god that can find it."

“I have been through hell and come out singing.”

"I will die on this hill before I bend on this matter."

"You are strong, child. But I am beyond strength."

"If there can be no victory, then I will fight forever."

"I cannot hold back the tide of your bad decisions."

“What an exhausting thing it is to be called a hero.“

"To become God is the loneliest achievement of all."

"You cannot condemn those who build your throne."

"No cause is lost as long as one fool is left to fight for it."

"You kneel before my throne unaware it was built on lies."

"My ancestors are smiling on me. Can you say the same?"

"If God wanted you to live, he would not have created me."

“Love is like ghosts; Few have seen it, but everybody talks.”

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.”

“I hope you heal from the things no one ever apologized for.“

"If you should ever get to heaven, I’ll be there to make it hell."

"No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."

"You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain."

"God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished."

"Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you’ve won."

"There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t act childish at times."

"You could sooner divert a river from its course than deny my nature."

"We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back… you blinked."

"I will seize destiny by the throat and force it into the shape of my choosing."

"The anger in your heart warms you now, but will leave you cold in your grave."

"I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me."

"If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight just like I always have."

"Do you think God lives in heaven because he, too, fears what he has created?"

"I forgive but I will never, ever forget. Don’t mistake my kindness for gullibility."

“Someday you will have to answer for your actions, and god may not be so merciful.”

"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

“You are alone, child. There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people.”

"You took a pure and beautiful thing, and you beat out everything good, to suit your ends."

"We all make mistakes. That’s what happens when you’re brave enough to make decisions."

“I am not responsible for actions of the imaginary version of me you have inside your head.“

"I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough."

“They dropped the world on your shoulders and called you Atlas. How long can you hold the weight?”

"I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering. And tonight I intend to make you very wise."

"Stand in the ashes of a thousand dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. Their silence is your answer."

"The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor. What an injustice."

"Across all worlds, all times, no matter what you do or what you become: You are nothing less than beautiful."

"The bar was so low it was practically an tripping hazard in hell… yet here you are, limbo dancing with the devil."

"What can one do in the face of such monumental loss but breathe a weary sigh, for the world is a little quieter now."

"I hear your questions constantly. They come to me in my dreams like a prophet receiving visions from an angry god."

"I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."

"Too many people have opinions on things they know nothing about. And the more ignorant they are, the more opinions they have."

"Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show."

"One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled."

[nvoirs]

At the bar

18+ content below! Nsfw Warning!

Disclaimers: Missionary, praising kink, fingering, handjob, slight blowjob, slight degradation (use of whore) cussing, M + F receiving, age gap, RE6 leon is older by around 10 years.

I gave up on my punctuation half way into this, so if there's no capital letters that's why.

The bar was more crowded tonight. It being a Saturday night and bystanders stood drinking and playing table pool while others danced to the late night tunes.

Honestly you were out of control. You had been coming back to this same bar almost every night to drink away your sorrows. Life was miserable and alcohol just made it more enduring.

Pulling down the black dress you wore, and clutching your purse you made your way to where they sold your temporary happiness.

"Hey how you doing, just one thanks" you nodded at the bartender.

You could say you were rather known here as you had been coming here multiple times a week, so your usual was already known by now.

You put your purse on the countertop, and took a seat in the corner. There was also another person here, you didn't realise and thought you might be an irritating presence being so close. You got up to leave when the man spoke.

"You can stay here, don't worry I don't bite" He chuckled wholeheartedly.

You slowly sank back onto the seat, "Sorry I just thought maybe you wanted to sit in this area alone"

"Oh no you're mistaken" Smiling, he sipped his drink eloquently.

"I see.." You took another proper look at him. He was older. Much older than you, maybe in his late 30s? His blonde hair was parted in the middle, and you could see his eyes. They were blue. A very mesmerising blue that you so happened to find attractive, which made you shake your head slightly.

"Checking me out?" Your face shot back up to his eyes, and your face turned hot and your mouth turning dry. "No I um-"

"Here's your drink missus" the bartender ambled over to your side, and slid the drink to you.

"Ah, thank you so much"

He nodded, walking back to the serving area.

You looked away from the man that was sat next to you, and raised your glass to your lips.

Fuck. We're you that obvious? you didn't think he was watching you ogle him.

You turned back to face him, and saw that he was staring at you already. His gaze lowering to your youthful appearance. You looked young, reminding him of his own self back when he was in his 20s.

Licking your lips out of nervousness, you opened your mouth.

"Well I just wanted to mention that.. well your quiet handsome aren't you?" Ah shit. Well now he knew what you thought of him.

He was surprised at your boldness, his eyebrows etching upwards.

"Well I'm honoured you think that" a deep rumble of laughter erupted from his chest.

His voice. It made your stomach turn, you felt aroused by him and his presence. it almost disgusted you, that you thought about this about a mere stranger but you couldn't help yourself.

You silently stared at him, your mouth agape somewhat like a fish. Redness seeped colour into your cheeks, and you exhaled slightly.

"I'm sorry about that I'm not sure what came over me" you apologised.

"There's really nothing to be sorry about sweetheart, if it makes you feel better i think you're stunning, don't see a lot of gems like you nowadays"

The butterflies in your stomach swished around, and you could feel your panties getting wet with your arousal.

You didn't know how long it would take before you crumbled, and succumbed to your lust.

-

Your back slammed into the plush backseat of this mans car. You'd exchanged names back in the bar, his name was Leon. When you said it aloud, the name practically rolled of your tongue with ease. Guess you were practicing for this moment.

Your dress hitched upwards and your cleavage showed more visible then before. Lying on your back you looked up at the man. You wanted this, you wanted it so badly, wanted him to fuck you. You could tell he wanted the same, his blue eyes becoming the colour of a dark abyss. Him wanting to destroy you plaguing your mind.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, he was eating you up slowly. The man knew how to kiss, and you let out a little moan that riled him up even more. His stubble was prickling you, as he kissed you even more deeply. He moved back and looked at you. Your lips were wet with saliva, swollen and pink begging for more.

"May I?" He indicated towards the little dress that was barely covering you now. You nodded slowly, and he pulled down the thin straps of your dress, he smirked when he saw your black lacy bra the cute little bow nestled in the middle. Leon tugged at it teasingly before swiftly unclasping it by pulling you upwards slowly. You gasped when the cold air hit your now hardened nipples. Leon groped your tits, massaging them with his large hands. Letting go of one, his hot mouth hovered of one of your nipples. He dived for it, taking the gentle bud into his mouth and lightly sucking. The electrifying pleasure coursed through your body, and you gripped onto the nape of his neck your hands beginning to course through his soft blonde locks.

"Fuck, touch me here leon" you patted your thigh and he understood. Finishing up on your nipples, he pulled up your dress seeing the matching lace panties you had on.

"God damn, your cute" he groaned, his hard on becoming visible through his jeans. That made you clench your thighs together, trying to keep the wetness together. He slowly pulled your legs back apart, he was slow with his movements pulling your panties to one side. His index finger stroked your pussy from your clit to your entrance. You shivered from the sensitivity.

"Shit, your so fucking wet. This all for me hm?" Leon teased.

"Yes! mmh.. leon, all for you I need you to touch me there please" your begging increased, your hair messily covered half your face.

Leon pulled your hair back, "Of course darling, I'll make you a happy girl don't you worry your pretty little head"

gathering your wetness, leon inserted his first finger into your cunt moving it slowly, trying to find the spots that had you seeing stars. the stimulation felt amazing but it wasn't enough.

you grabbed the sleeve of his arm that was still massaging your chest.

"i need.. more" exclaiming you stared at him, looking at his dazzling blues.

"my little angel isn't so patient now is she? but i'm feeling generous.."

leon inserted his second finger into your cunt, causing you to let out a breathy gasp which turned into a moan. His double fingers moving inside you expertly hitting all the right spots that would have you cumming in moments if he continued like this.

"shh angel, your so loud the whole streets gonna hear you" he shoved your panties into your own mouth muffling your little whines and mewls. without warning you squirted so hard you were blinded by a hot white light, your legs thrashed and twitched from the aftermath of the orgasm. you breathed deeply, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead and chest. no one had ever made you cum that hard before, let alone squirt.

"holy shit angel, your a squirter hm? that's hot"

you pulled your panties out of your mouth, tossing them to the side. "I've actually never done that before, i guess i just never chose the right guy to please me, now leon let me help you with that problem you have" you indicated to his errection which was probably painfully hard right now. you didn't want him to wait any longer as you crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs.

you rubbed him through his jeans, and he groaned "sweetheart don't you dare tease me" you glanced up at him innocently. "i'm not sure what you mean" you teased, blinking through your lashes. unzipping his jeans and letting them hang around his mid thighs, you could see his precum that had left a big stain on his boxers. you pulled the front of his boxers down, and let his cock spring free. he was delightfully larger than you had interpreted, which took you aback but you took him in your hands anyways. you started to stroke from the base of his cock to the very tip using his precum as a lube, slower then faster. you stopped and spat on your hands before going back to business, using your spit to coat his cock fully.

"ah faster, angel" leon demanded. before doing anything else you shoved your own panties back into his mouth. "your gonna alert the whole street baby" you said winking.

you went faster and knowing he was about to cum, you put the tip of his cock into your warm wet mouth and started to suck him hard. this caused him to cum right into your wet cavern.

he pulled your panties out of his mouth, "swallow it now."

you complied and swallowed all of it, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

this broke leon, he'd have enough of your teasing. "when i saw you for the first time, i had no idea you were this much of a whore, how many men have seen you like this hm?" diving for your neck, leon took the supple skin into his mouth and started to suck and bite you in your most sensitive spots.

"ah not many have, shit." You clicked your tongue when leon started blossoming new love marks on your lower chest. Bite, then suck, the stinging sensation hurt a little but he made sure to sooth it with his rough tongue which made it comforting.

he proceeded to get of your chest to admire his handiwork of purple and red marks that were scattered all over your neck and chest.

"gonna fuck you now" mumbling to himself, he held his cock in his hand. stroking it slightly and prodding the tip at your needy entrance.

"leon please fuck me, i need you inside me so bad" you begged him, being drunk over the fact you wanted to fuck this older man so god damn badly, you were getting light headed just thinking about it.

"this pussy is all mine, you hear me?"

"yeh ah its all yours" you peered down to see leon poking your entrance almost penetrating the tip fully inside. then without warning he slowly and completely disappeared inside you, bottoming out completely he started to thrust mid pace.

your muffled cries and moans were hidden by you digging your face into his neck, your tears beginning to soak your now ruined makeup and wetting leon's neck.

"faster faster. fuck me faster leon" you whined incoherently.

leon was a private man, and when it came to sex he'd like it to be somewhere private. but because he was so entranced by you he couldn't help himself and just had to have you his way in the back of his car. at this point, leon was so pussy drunk he didn't mind anyone in the area hearing you two getting at it like a bunch of sex addicts, that couldn't possibly wait till you got through the front door.

he thrusted more rapid, groaning into your ear that had you clenching your pussy around his cock.

"fuck baby, squeezing me s'hard, gonna cum at this rate"

he started to pound the shit out of you, closing in for a sincere but hasty kiss that had you trembling. your fingernails dug into his exposed back, leaving little red marks marking him as yours for tonight.

the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against his was heard in the breezy night, making you gasp for more. his strong hold on your hips keeping you in place.

letting out a particularly loud moan, while leon obeyed your body by giving you chaste, hot open-mouthed kisses along your neck, you cummed harder than you'd ever done with anyone else. your love juices quickly mixing with his as he also cummed moments later as he continued to overstimulate fuck you. his warm, thick creamy ropes of cum painting your insides an innocently white colour

"you know how to please ah.. a girl, don't you?" you forced the words out as the overstimulation had gotten to your head.

"it's always ladies first in my eyes, sweetheart."

he pulled out, watching your tight pussy oozing with his cum. with two fingers he swiftly pushed it back in, wanting to claim you as his for tonight. finding your underwear that had been strewn to the side, he snapped it back into place so non of his cum would leak out.

"how was that my darling? i hope i made your night" he winked, continuing to kiss the spots under your eyes where your now dry tears sat.

"that was.. amazing" your heaving breathing being under control now, as you sat up facing leon.

Leon's inner gentleman shone, "i can take you home for round two if you want, baby?"

"I'd fucking love that" you sighed deeply, the car still smelling like sex you leaned forward and left a teasing light kiss to his lips.

[ficnation]

Chapter 5: Bait

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,0k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: It's been eighty-four years... (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

The silence in the room is deafening as you stare at Jack Crawford with wide eyes. The tea you just made would already be nothing more than a puddle on the wooden floor if it wasn’t for Will, who took it from your hands when they began to shake. He doesn’t even blink when a few drops spill out over his fingers and burn his skin.

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble in disbelief, your gaze shifting to Will, who stands steadfast by your side, unmoving. He casts a glance between you and Jack, once, then twice, grappling with the weight of his allegiance. It doesn’t require a genius to connect the dots. “Did you know about this, Will?” Your voice carries a tone of betrayal, leaving Will feeling like Brutus to your Julius Caesar—as though he just plunged a metaphorical dagger into your back.

Jack Crawford stares at you long and hard, and a little guilty. “You’re our best chance.”

“You want me to be the bait.” You cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, furiously shaking your head. “I’m not— I won’t do that,” you protest.

Even if you never expected anything less from Jack Crawford, the feeling of treachery is almost crushing. Will takes a step towards you, and then another. He approaches you cautiously, with his hands extended in a calming gesture, almost as if he were approaching a scared animal ready to bolt any minute now. You’d consider it a pretty funny sight if the situation were any different, but right now, you might just be a skittish doe surrounded by wolves.

When he places a hand on your back, his touch lacks the usual reassurance it once held. Despite any grievances you may have harbored against him, he was always your sanctuary. Yet today, that sanctuary feels distant. You gently shrug his hand off and take a step back. The pain in Will’s eyes is palpable—a deep, sorrowful abyss that mirrors your own heartache.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do,” Will says in response. “You’re the best shot we’ve got.”

“What makes you even think that Hannibal Lecter will pursue me? I find it hard to believe.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Jack raises a brow, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm that makes you itch to punch him square in the face. Sure, you’re breathing, but your sister lies six feet under the very ground you’re walking on. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

You’ve felt it too—the lingering gazes trailing you as you tread the corridors of the BAU’s headquarters, the enigmatic curve of his lips as you cross his path. It’s a sensation that crawls beneath your skin, a disconcerting dance of shadows in the depths of your soul. What strange game is he playing with you? 

Will’s face contorts into an indescribable grimace when he hears those words spoken aloud, as if each syllable is a sharp knife twisting deeper into his already troubled conscience. 

“I’m not going to throw you into the lion’s mouth and just sit back and watch,” Will says after a few seconds of silence. “He’s intrigued by you, just as much as he’s intrigued by me. I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

Jack seems satisfied with that. He knows that if Will is on board, it won’t take much persuasion to get you there too. He genuinely believes that you can help them. Yet, you surprise him once again, and he wonders who snuffed out your will to fight to make the world a better place.

“Do you even hear yourself, Will? I very much like being alive. I won’t do this, and that’s my final answer,” you huff out, stepping away from him, even though it hurts—burns your soul.

Will can’t bring himself to be upset with you because your reaction is completely understandable. Your sister—your flesh and blood—has been taken from you, and you’re just exhausted. You don’t have the energy to risk fighting a man like Hannibal, and he understands that better than anyone else ever could.

“I’m only asking for your help, not your life,” Jack says. Deep down, he knows he’s not winning this if Will doesn’t, and one glance at the green-eyed man confirms they’re at an impasse. So, he steps back, granting you the much-needed space. “Take some time to think about it.”

“No, thank you. I won’t be thinking about it,” you assert firmly, your resolve unyielding.

Jack sighs and shakes his head, almost in awe of your stubbornness, but surprisingly not in a condescending way. “Suit yourself,” he says before turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

Will makes sure that Jack is out of the room and out of hearing distance before he sets the mug on the counter and lets his frustration come out. He lets out a long sigh, moving close to you once again. You can see that all he wants is to kiss you, to drown you in his touch the way only he can—but he’s holding himself back, and you know it’s not easy. 

“I didn’t want this,” Will’s words are sharp, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I don’t want any of this, but I do know that Hannibal needs to be taken down,” he adds, his gaze hardening with determination.

You don’t answer, and you can see that Will is disappointed by your response, or rather the lack of one. His disappointment doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and that realization pains you even more. While your brain insists it’s for the greater good to apprehend Hannibal, you can’t ignore the persistent voice whispering in your ear, urging you to prioritize yourself above all.

If you let yourself accept this, if you become the bait that Jack wants you to be, it’s as if you’re letting yourself go once again. Everything you’ve buried in the darkest cranny of your mind will come back to haunt you. And you can’t go through it all again. You can’t.

Will takes your hand, and you can feel his body shaking slightly, his breath quickening. He’s nervous, but there’s something else at play here, and it’s hard for you to discern exactly what it is. His hand tightens around yours until all your fingers are securely in his grasp, and he doesn’t let go. It’s as if he’s trying to communicate something by the intensity of his grip, as if his emotions can no longer be contained by mere words. And when he finally speaks, his voice is so soft that you can barely hear him even in the silent room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Will’s voice is tentative, his grip tightening on your hand.

“You ask a lot of them lately,” you say lightheartedly.

He chuckles at your jab, his hand still intertwined with yours. “I’m serious,” he mumbles, his tone becoming earnest. “Would you trust me... enough to believe that Hannibal won’t harm you? I will protect you from him. I swear on my life.”

Will holds your gaze, and your mind turns blank—his question leaves you mute. It’s been a long time since you’ve trusted someone so much. He’s so important to you that it hurts more than you would like to admit. This isn’t the Will Graham from just a few minutes ago—loyal to Jack’s dictations and ideas. This is Will Graham—your love, your best friend. And right now, you’d trust him with your life.

“I will do it,” you mumble out, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. You look him straight in the eyes and repeat it a little louder. “I will do my best.”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and he pulls you close to him once more so that your lips almost touch his jaw—almost. His fingers travel through your hair, and his other hand grips at the back of your sweater. There’s nothing more intimate than this—the quiet understanding between you two. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Thank you,” his voice is a murmur—a promise, a secret shared, something intimate amidst all of this madness.

“I’m not doing it for Crawford or anyone else. I’m doing it for you, for my sister…”

“I know, love,” Will mumbles, his voice still as soft as ever. “I know.”

Silence sets in, with only the sound of you and Will breathing—in tandem with each other. It’s like a peaceful moment in between the chaos, where a thousand thoughts are all trying to fight for space in your head, but your focus is right here, right now, and it’s only you two.

The world doesn’t feel quite so dark when you’re here—when you’re with Will.

That night Will tells you to wear something nice and elegant, not too revealing. You don’t question him, changing into one of the few dresses you have in your suitcases. It’s pine green, the satin fabric fits almost like a second skin. There’s something about wearing this dress that makes you feel like you’re ready to take on whatever comes your way.

There’s also something about it that makes you excited to see Will’s face when he lays eyes on you. You know that he’ll love it and just a few minutes later his expression proves you were right.

“You look... ravishing,” Will whispers, his eyes locked on you. You can tell that he’s speechless by the way he blinks, almost too surprised by your appearance. 

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you mumble, feeling slightly embarrassed by how much you anticipated his reaction. 

“It’s perfect,” he tells you, and you take a deep breath and walk across the room to kiss his lips. You take it slow and give a little bite at the end—just to see his reaction.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” Will mumbles, his voice already a little lower than before. He can feel your lips sliding away, as if they’re a temptation that’s almost impossible to resist. The kiss was short, but Will knows he enjoyed it more than a little bit. 

“I might just do it again,” you warn him, and you move close to his ear to whisper some words that make your body shiver and his skin break out in goosebumps. “We need to finish that dinner fast. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit next to you and keep my hands to myself.”

Will swallows hard, his heart beating quicker, as he looks down at you. Your words are enough to render him speechless. He can’t find his voice to reply. It’d be too easy to pull you into his mind and act on both of your instincts. The mere thought of it makes him so nervous, so hungry, and so eager. When he finally speaks, it’s in a low, desperate tone that sounds far away. 

“You make my blood boil.”

Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter’s house, flanked by Will and Jack, feels like the most daunting task you’ve ever faced. The weight of impending decisions hangs heavy in the air, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re on the verge of unraveling your own life once again. Your nerves are frayed, betraying the facade of composure you strive to maintain. Fear grips you tightly, its icy fingers coiling around your heart, as uncertainty clouds your thoughts. Every step closer to that imposing threshold feels like a leap into the unknown, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. You steel yourself for what lies ahead, hoping against hope that your resolve won’t crumble under the weight of doubt.

Jack stands silently next to you, his expression cold and his eyes piercing you from time to time in a way that’s unnerving. His mere presence sends shivers down your spine. You glance at Will, who appears just as uncertain as you, if not more so. While the decision to help take down Hannibal doesn’t seem to trouble him, the thought of involving you in this dangerous endeavor clearly weighs heavily on his mind. What he’s asking you to endure and the risks involved make him flinch as much as they make your stomach churn with dread.

Will’s fingers slide in between yours, a silent promise that he won’t leave your side. You can almost feel his heart beating wildly, mirroring your own, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, focusing solely on the person about to open the door.

The door swings open, welcoming you into a home that’s as stunning inside as it is outside. But the beauty of the surroundings fades into insignificance as you lay eyes on the Hannibal Lecter standing before you. Suddenly, you find it impossible to meet anyone else’s gaze but his, your surroundings fading into a thick fog as his presence commands your attention.

Hannibal looks at you—your body, your hair, your face, everything. His gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back the layers of your carefully constructed facade. You swear he sees right through you, leaving no detail unnoticed and no fraction of space untouched by his scrutiny. It’s unnerving, the way he seems to perceive not just the person in front of him, but the one behind the delicate mask you’ve crafted.

Your heart rate skyrockets as his gaze lingers, and it takes all your willpower and courage to maintain a neutral expression, to keep the tremor of fear from showing on your face.

Before you can fully absorb the image of him, Jack steps forward, breaking the painful silence. “Dr. Lecter,” he speaks in a stern voice, then turns to look at you, acting as the bridge between you and the stranger.

“Ms. Avant,” Hannibal’s voice is as smooth and elegant as you’ve always heard it to be. His tone is polite but distant, prompting you to remember to smile in order to appear normal. Will’s fingers squeeze yours in a silent display of support, conveying his discontent with the arrangement. But you both know there’s little you can do about it.

“It’s actually Mrs. Graham now,” you correct him, but immediately regret it when his eyes widen subtly—a reaction you barely catch. It seems Will has kept this information to himself. “But you can still call me Agent Avant. It’ll save the confusion around the BAU.”

Hannibal gives you a small smile, but your comment seems to have thrown him off balance. Your response is far more cordial than he was expecting, and he appears almost amused by the unexpected turn of events. He exchanges a glance with Jack before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’ll do as you ask,” he replies, his tone tinged with curiosity—but beneath the surface, there’s an undertone of something darker lurking. As he takes your hand in his and squeezes gently, a shiver runs down your spine.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Your hands are damp, your throat feels sore and dry, and you struggle to calm your racing mind. “Thank you for the invitation, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hannibal takes in your statement but doesn’t offer any reply. He maintains his hold on your hands, his grip slightly tighter than before. Despite the warmth and firmness of his touch, you can’t shake off the unsettling feeling that lingers.

His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel yourself being drawn into the depths of his eyes. It’s as if he’s peering into your very soul, and you find it difficult to tear your gaze away. You’re on the verge of melting under his intense scrutiny when you manage to spare a quick glance at Will, whose expression remains impassive, betraying little of what he might be feeling. 

A moment passes as you struggle to fend off the creeping anxiety, attempting to find some semblance of calm within yourself. Then, Will releases a breath and strides forward, heading towards the open door. Without hesitation, you follow in his footsteps.

Hannibal casts one last glance in your direction before turning away, ushering you into his home. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of luxurious furniture and intricate decorations adorning the space. The room exudes opulence, almost resembling a palace rather than the abode of a mere man.

“He’s a man of taste,” Jack remarks, his words breaking the silence. You sense that he’s directing the observation at you, a detail that would be inconsequential under different circumstances.

You nod in acknowledgment, allowing your thoughts to drift as you proceed further into the house.

“It’s all very... extravagant,” is what you say next, and what you don’t add is how there’s a faint sense of emptiness in this house despite all the details and decorations. It’s almost chilling.

“I do favor extravagance and elegance in my lifestyle,” Hannibal agrees, his gaze darting carefully between you and Will. Surprisingly, he doesn’t appear to be perturbed by Jack Crawford’s presence as much as you anticipated.

“I’ve noticed that,” a whisper slips from your lips inadvertently. The comment was meant to remain in your thoughts, but the words escape on their own accord. You glance away momentarily, hoping the remark will go unnoticed, but Hannibal catches it without hesitation. He smiles at you, almost as if you’ve just paid him a compliment.

“Oh, you have?” Hannibal’s voice is smooth and pleasant, its seductive undertones causing a flush to rise to your cheeks.

You offer a delicate smile in response, opting not to elaborate further as Hannibal leads you to the dining room. The table is expansive, perfectly set to accommodate everyone present. A bottle of wine rests in the center, surrounded by meticulously arranged plates, utensils, glasses, and other accouterments—everything impeccably placed without a single detail out of order.

As Hannibal offers you a seat, the mere thought of sitting so close to him sends a shudder down your spine. It’s as if you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body as he settles into the head of the table. Your breath becomes heavy, your heart quickens its pace, and your mind races with a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

You notice every detail of his demeanor—the elegant curve of his fingers around the stem of his glass, the subtle curl of his lips, the intensity of his gaze when it lingers on yours for just a moment too long. It’s all so captivating, yet simultaneously overwhelming, causing a weakness to settle in the pit of your stomach. You find yourself averting your gaze multiple times, attempting to break free from the enchanting spell he seems to cast over your mind.

Beside you, Will’s expression remains impassive, but you can sense that he, too, is attuned to every nuance of Hannibal’s behavior.

As Hannibal disappears into the kitchen to bring out the food, you exhale a sigh of relief, though you can’t shake the fear that he might hear it all the way from the kitchen.

You cast a glance at Will, hoping for some distraction from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. However, his expression remains unchanged, revealing nothing of what might be running through his mind. It’s as if he’s closed off his thoughts, leaving you with no insight into his inner turmoil.

You feel trapped in the most claustrophobic way imaginable. Hannibal’s presence consumes your thoughts entirely—his smile, his breath, his voice, his touch—all of it overwhelms your senses. Even the mere scent of him sends shivers down your spine. You’re engulfed by the intensity of the situation, wondering how you’ll manage to make it through the dinner.

When Hannibal returns and places the fish on the table between Jack and Will, you notice a flicker of relief pass between them as they exchange a glance.

“Truite saumonee au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side,” Hannibal presents the dish with a flourish, the delicate aroma wafting enticingly through the air. “Beautiful fish, Will,” he adds, his tone carrying a hint of admiration for the culinary creation before you.

“It was my turn to provide the meat,” Will interjects, his words carrying a deeper meaning than mere culinary discussion.

“More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzschean fish. Trials of his wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh,” Hannibal comments, before serving the food and taking his seat at the head of the table. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn’t mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.”

You try to maintain an appearance of composure, despite feeling like a nervous wreck. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in for a moment before releasing it slowly. Casting your gaze down at your plate, you decide to focus on eating—it’s the least you can do to occupy yourself in this tense atmosphere. Picking up your fork, you take bite after bite of the fish, though you find that everything seems to lack flavor, despite its deliciousness.

Will remains silent, his expression unreadable.

Jack chuckles dryly before speaking on Will’s behalf. “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.”

You can’t fully grasp what either of them has said, as your mind is consumed by other thoughts. You feel Hannibal’s gaze fixed on you as you eat, his eyes attentively observing your every movement.

He doesn’t appear irritated by your slow pace or lack of enthusiasm, yet there’s something about his stare that compels you to rush through your meal just to make it stop. The scent of the food is almost like his breath in your nose, the taste of it feels like his lips, and when you take a bite, you almost expect him to lean over and take it from your mouth.

“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness,” Hannibal responds finally, his voice carrying a weight of conviction. As Will’s eyes catch his stare on you, Hannibal continues, “Chilton has many victims besides the dead.”

“That’s precisely our intention,” you assert, drawing all eyes towards you as you speak up with determination.

Everyone falls into a momentary silence, the weight of their gazes palpable as tension simmers in the air. Will’s eyes remain fixed on you, his expression one of approval as he acknowledges your firmness and confidence.

“We will absorb this experience, and it will change us. We are all Nietzschean fish in that regard,” Hannibal continues, his words punctuated by a subtle undertone of philosophical reflection.

“Makes us tastier,” Will interjects with a touch of humor, prompting you to gently kick him underneath the table.

Hannibal cracks a dry smile at Will’s comment, his demeanor retaining an air of sophistication as he sets his cutlery down on the plate and folds his hands in front of him.

“I would say it adds depth to our flavor,” he remarks, his words flowing from his lips with a smooth and velvety ease that seems to echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. The air in the room seems to pause for a moment, awaiting a reaction from someone, but you remain focused on your plate, determined to ignore the intensity of his stare until the end of the dinner.

The rest of the meal passes by in a blur. Hannibal maintains his role as the perfect host, his demeanor poised and gracious. Jack remains true to his usual self, engaging in conversation and observing the proceedings with his characteristic vigilance.

However, you can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss. Will, typically a key player in any plan, seems oddly detached, failing to fully engage in his part of the strategy. His silence speaks volumes, leaving you with a sense of unease as you try to decipher his intentions.

Reluctantly, Jack gathers his things and bids his farewell, leaving you and Will alone with Hannibal at the table. Hannibal, ever the gracious host, proposes another glass of wine, his gaze lingering on you both with a hint of intrigue.

[rogueshadow1124]

CUTS AND BRUISES

[BATFAMILY IMAGINE SERIES]

Batfam x Batmom!Reader

Summary: when Bruce arrives home from patrol and his wife immediately notices that he's injured, suddenly coming to worry about the boys who also happen to have gotten injured...

Word count: 1756

Warnings: mentions of injury. (Not proof read)

There was never a day- well night that any of the boys came back without injury, they're vigilantes. When the boys say 'it doesnt even hurt' or 'it'll be gone by morning', whether those words are genuinely true or not Y/N Wayne never takes them lightly. Her babies are hurt and she couldnt stand to see them like that, sure, Dick and Jason may be adults but it still doesn't mean she cant look after them and worry for them- that especially goes for Tim and Damian.

Y/N was currently stood at the kitchen counter along with Alfred, speaking about the most random things that came to mind when Bruce walked in, still in his bat suit with his mask off. His right eye forming a bruise and a pretty noticable cut running from under his jaw to just below his cheek bone.

"Oh my- what on earth happened to you. Where are the boys, a-are they okay?!" The Y/H/C haired woman rounded the counter and stalked her way towards her husband, taking a hold of his chin gently as if not to hurt him before tilting his head every which way checking for more injuries.

"I'm fine Y/N, the boys are okay."

"Define 'okay' Bruce." Her eyebrow arched in question, stern eyes setting on his deep ocean blues. Her hands came to set on her hips, body leaning slightly to the right.

"Hm..." his eyes averted from his wife's harsh gaze for a second, he may be batman but even he is afraid of somethings, more specifically his angered wife that had a mean attitude and grudges she always manages to hold for however long she sees fit. "Dick busted his nose and lip. Jason might have broken a rib. Tim fell and hit his head and Damian sprained his wrist, he also cut his cheek."

"You come with me." Y/N spoke, pointing a finger to Bruce who finally set his eyes back on her form. She then turned to Alfred smiling sadly, sighing out. "Please can you bring one of the medic boxes to the lounge. I'll gather the boys."

Her bright Y/E/C orbs went back to Bruce, her hand reaching out to take a hold of his as she walked out the archway and into the front hall where she lead her husband within the darkness- ironic really. When they first met he always said 'she was the light in his darkness.' She came to a quick stop at the bottom of the stairs staring up into the dark abyss, spotting a small tint of light coming from behind one of the doors.

"BOYS. LIVING ROOM, NOW!"

Bruce flinched at the sudden pitch her voice turned to, following behind as she set in a vast walk into the lounge which was the next room along in the large hall. There stood Alfred, placing the medical box onto the coffee table, opening it fully as he started to take out some of the supplies that would possibly be needed as of now.

Y/N pulled at her husbands hand, pushing him back so he slouched on one of the couches. His head tilted back, a low groan escaping his lips at the relief it gave him to be sitting in a comfortable position after a hard night of watching over Gotham city and fighting crime.

"You know the drill darling." The Y/H/C said softly, taking a seat next to him. She leaned over his body, hovering a hand over his cheek to turn it in the direction she needed him to be for her to clean the cut. A hiss passed his lips as she brought down the cotton pad that was covered in rubbing alcohol, comforting words echoed through his ears as Y/N tried to soothe the stinging sensation. Her free hand, rest on his chest gently running up and down in a calming motion. "M'done, jus' need some ice for that eye of yours."

She stood from the couch, footstep sounded through the silence while she shifted around, looking through the box infront of her. She tilted her head, looking to the source of pitter patters to see the boys, each of them bashed up in their own way, her heart clenched at the sight of them- saddened at the thought of her babies being hurt.

"Who's going first?" Dick was the first to step forth, sitting in the spot Bruce was sitting in prior when he moved to get an ice pack from the kitchen. The eldest 'son' plopped down, turning his head to face his mother figure who sent a smallsmile to him, one hand coming to rest on his right cheek while the other raised a cotton pad to swipe at the now nearly dried blood on his cupid's bow, just above his upper lip.

"Thanks, cleaning my wounds never gets old, huh?" The eldest ravenette smiled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck when the woman scoffed.

"Wish you boys would be more careful." She tapped Graysons cheek lightly, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as he moved to the other couch so Jason could take his place next. A audiable whine left the boys lips, hands going to grip at the left side of his torso, face scrunching in pain. "Oh jaybird, why is it alway you who breaks a bone?"

"Because he's the most insignificant. He's completely useless, Tt." Damian snapped, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk tugging at his lips when Jason shot him a glare.

"Can it Demon." The second eldest snarled back, eyes looking back up at the woman looking to treat his injury. "I dont know why Ma', I'll be more careful next time."

"You say that everytime Jay." She smiled at him, shaking her head. Her hands skimmed over his suit on the injured side of his torso, in which he immediately winced at when her hand made contact with it. "Gonna need that setting back into place. Dick give me a hand."

Dick jumped up from where he sat, coming to stand on the opposite side to where she was standing next to Jason. She motioned for him to hold his shoulders back, her own hands coming down to put pression on the upper and underside of his ribcage on the left. She looked down at Jason who nodded, screwing his eyes closed. As soon as she made the quick movement, pushing down hardly hearing a crunching sound the male yelled aloud, trying to move out of the way in pain and discomfort.

"Fucking shit, hurts like a goddamn bitch. Fuck!" He swore, rolling to his uninjured side to take away the pressure of his broken rib. She had in unzip his suit to uncover is torso before turning to the coffee table to take a hold of a bandage wrap, pulling around the boys torso to keep it in a stable position for the time being.

"S'okay Jaybird, should heal nicer than it would have done now. No patrol for a couple weeks okay?" Y/N brushed a hand through the white streak of hair on his head, hearing him groan out and nod, laying down to rest as peacefully as he could.

Y/N looked over to Tim, his eyes half lidded seemingly trying to stay awake. She strolled over to him, tugging on his arm while sitting him on the love seat next to the couch Dick and Jason were resting on.

"Oh, hey mum. How are you?"

"I'm okay Timmy, now let's have a look at your head, yeah?" She chuckled as the boy nodded, leaning forward so his head rested on her shoulder. Her eyes rolled in fake annoyance, a tut passing her lips, she brought up a hand to brush Tim's dark locks away from the back of his head where she found a gash which had luckily stopped bleeding at this point. "Dami, pass me a bandage please."

The youngest Wayne appeared at her side in seconds handing her the item. She unravelled the end and held it at the base of his neck where the cut stared proceeding to wrap the appendage around the perimeter of his head, tying it back at the starting point when she was sure that she had wrapped it enough. Y/N then layed Tim back in the double seated couch, assuring that her second to youngest was in a comfortable position.

"Al'umu." Her attention was caught by her youngest 'son'.

"Dami, now what am I working with here." She looked down at the boy seeing as she was a few inches taller than him.

"I can assure you, I'm fine al'umu..." his words went unnoticed by the woman as she turned and picked out another cotton pad, applying some of the rubbing alcohol onto the material. She spun back around to face Damian who scowled and went to turn away from her but was stopped when she held his cheek, preventing him from turning away.

She dabbled at the cut on his cheek, the boy didnt wince nor did he show any kind of pain at all. Once she had cleaned the minor wound on his face, she pulled another bandage from the box remembering that Bruce had said that Damin had sprained his wrist.

"Give me your injured hand Dami." She heard him huff but he gave her his injured hand, his eyes following as she wrapped his wrist in the white appendage and tied it off at the end, tight enough to stat in place but not so tight to cut the circulation.

"Thank you al'umu."

"I always take care of you boys, no matter how old you get." She looked around seeing the other asleep on the couches, Dick was layed the arm rest as Jason's head layed on Dicks shoulder, arms slumped over his waist. Tim was layed in a separate seat, legs dangling over the edge as his upper body slouched down and Dami stood beside his 'mother' arms wrapped around her torso as he hugged her with her returning the loving gesture.

"All been seen too." Bruce's deep voice sounded from behind the two making them turn to look at him.

"Yeah..." Y/N smiled at her husband, laying a kiss on his lips when he walked over and leant down to her. A loud sigh came from Damian at his parents affection which made them chuckle in amusement.

[cookierunauprompts]

AU Prompts #12 - ✦💓

<Reader is fem here btw>

CONTENT WARNING : There is a cult, human sacrifices, a bit of drowning and depictions of multiple eyes.

.

Admittedly, staying in a cult probably wasn't your best idea after finding out that you were living in a cult for most of your life. But alas, you were stupid. Upon the day of your village's Eclipse Festival, you were called into the Mayor's office. You'd only gone because you didn't really want them to catch onto the fact that you knew about the cult... Unfortunately it turns out that the Mayor called you in because they wanted you as sacrifice... Yippee. So, here you are in your fancy multiple layer dress of thin fabrics(or well, pastry if you wanna get into cookie terms), your body feels numb as you stand off the edge of the cliff at the rushing seas that had turned pitch black. Your mind feels less numb than your body, yet you can barely tell what's going on. You're pretty sure that the Mayor hypnotized you as well. The Beast of the Shadows... You're pretty sure that that's the thing they worship. You can only hope that it doesn't exist, and that you'd die a hopefully peaceful death of drowning. Or maybe a quick one of getting impaled on one of the rocks below. You don't know. And then, you're falling through the air. It feels for a moment like your sailing through space, you couldn't really tell up from down despite knowing what each were earlier. You felt a bit strange from your sudden spinning worldview. Time slowed as you began to think, everything you loved, dreamed, feared, and everything else that seemed so terrifying... You were leaving it behind right now. You hit the water with a loud splash, leaving a trail of bubbles in your wake as your slowly sunk down into the shadows of the sea. Well, at least you didn't get impaled on any of the rocks. In fact, all you could see around you was darkness. Darkness... darkness... Damn, that's a lot of darkness. Oh, there's something new.... Eyes? There's lots of them, big ones as well. Each one bares its gaze into your soul as you sink deeper and deeper. The first coherent though you have? ' Fuck, the beast might be real then.' You feel your back land upon something large, all the while a particularly bright pair of eyes stare at you. And then, there was just darkness.

----

You didn't expect to wake up, mind now unblurred as you can properly think again. First things first, where the hell are you? Looking around... It seemed to be some kind of palace? Everything was decorated in almost gloomy hues of blue and black, reminding you of the abyss you saw before you passed out. " Where... am I?" You mumble out, not expecting any response to come. " This is the Palace of Shadows." A voice begins, startling you as you let a shriek slip out of your mouth. You turn to see another cookie but... it looks like there's something fundamentally wrong with them. Almost like they'd been hollowed out. " The domain of the Beast of Shadows, or as he is known by here, Shadow Milk Cookie." " Okaaayyyy...." You said in confusion. " And who are you?" The cookie before you giggles, " Me? I have many different names and faces." They say almost gleefully. " But I am just an actor in Shadow Milk's plays, I have no real name or identity." Ah, that... probably explains the hollow feeling you get from them. " But you have a very very special role to play! One that will likely never change!" The cookie said enthusiastically, taking your hands and pulling you up off of the floor. " Yes, a very important role to play indeed!" You stared at them, cracking up a confused eyebrow. " Do I have to play sacrifice again? Because I'm not keen on doing that." You partially joke, and it seems like it was funny enough to send the cookie into a fit of laughter. " No, silly! You get to play the role of our Grand Director's Bride!" ... " what."

[ghouljams]

The great meeting of the Darlings, their first one at least, because I’ve been noodling on it for a while. Sorry there’s not much of the boys in this one :/

“Welcome in,” You say not looking up from your paperwork. The store goes cold. You glance up from your work, this level of nonsense is something you’re not used to. It’s just some woman. She looks human, even smiles at you with the correct number of teeth when she sees you look up. She turns to look at a bundle of freesias and your blood runs cold.

What the fuck is that?

To say you jump over the counter is an overstatement of your abilities, it’s more accurate to say you nearly fall out of your chair in your haste to put yourself between the woman and the actual fucking specter of death that followed her in. 

The look that it fixes you with is one of pure malice. Its eyes are ringed with darkness and bone, you aren’t sure if it’s a mask or- no it has to be a mask, but it’s real. A real skull fixed over its eyes as it looks down at you with utter hatred, shadow swirls under its hood, viscous and unnatural. You think if you ever were to face down a lion it would feel like this. Inevitable.

“What.” It asks, black smoke spills from between its many teeth.

“Simon,” The woman behind you looks up from the flowers, and the grim reaper looks suddenly, startlingly human, he’s blond(it’s weird), “do you like these?”

“He has to wait outside,” You say quickly, holding a hand out to stop him from peering around you. You need him out of your fucking shop, you think he’s actually wilting the nearby roses. He glares at you. You stand firm. “My shop, my rules.”

“I’ll be outside, Love.” He says it like it’s her Name, you think for him it might be, “Just pick what you like.”

You watch to make sure the door is closed behind him before turning to the woman. Her brows raise, silently asking what the big fucking deal is. Of course she wouldn’t know, wouldn’t see him like you did. There is something dark tattooed on her skin, not just dark, abyssal. It moves, you try not to stare. It moves, you are really trying not to stare.

“So what’s-”

“Iron,” You say quickly, wincing at how insane you must sound. She blinks at you. “They don’t like iron, so that’s- you should get some.”

“Iron.” She repeats, not absorbing anything you just said. Not that you blame her, she probably doesn’t know the danger she’s in.

“For the monster that’s following you?” You don’t even sound sure. God this is embarrassing, you definitely sound insane.

“Oh!” She says, lighting up, “You mean Simon, no, he wouldn’t hurt me-” you so highly doubt that, “-plus I think we’ve reached a good point of mutually assured destruction. So…” She shrugs, like it’s nothing. Ok, good so you’re not the insane one, she is.

-

“König,” Ghost nods in acknowledgement to the shimmer pressed against the shop window.

“Ghost,” König grumbles, his obscura dropping him back into a visible spectrum. Ghost tugs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one free with his teeth before shoving it unceremoniously back into his jacket.

“Thought you’d have left the city by now.” He mumbles patting his pockets, he’s got a lighter somewhere.

“You and your pet do not scare me.” König reminds him, unmoved from the window. Ghost raises a brow at him, glancing back into the shop. Something’s caught the big guy’s attention, he didn’t really get a good look around the shop before that little seer forced him out. Might be good to get some intel.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, Love probably has it, little thief. 

“I’m banned,” Ghost snorts, turning away from König to avoid laughing at the puppy eyes he fixes him with, “it’s not funny.”

“Of course not.”