#cold case vault

[coldcasevault]

Hayde Beatriz Vasquez

Hayde Beatriz Vasquez, born on June 22, 1981, was last seen on May 29, 2004, in Coral Springs, Florida. At the time of her disappearance, she was 22 years old, stood 5'5" tall, and weighed 110 pounds. She is a Hispanic female with brown hair and brown eyes. Vasquez was born in Guatemala.

On the day she went missing, Vasquez was dropped off at a Wal-Mart store in the 6000 block of Coral Ridge Drive around 7:00 p.m., intending to purchase clothes for an upcoming weekend trip. Surveillance footage shows her shopping alone and leaving the store by herself. She was supposed to call a friend for a ride home but never did. At the time, she was wearing dark-colored pants, a red long-sleeved shirt, and carrying a light-colored purse with a shoulder strap and a green computer case containing clothing.

Vasquez had been employed as a nanny for a family in Parkland, Florida, for a year and a half prior to her disappearance. Authorities consider foul play a possibility in her case. Notably, earlier that year, another Hispanic nanny, Monica Valdizan, was murdered in a nearby area. Despite physical similarities between the two women, investigators found no connection between the cases.

If you have any information regarding Hayde Beatriz Vasquez's disappearance, please contact the Coral Springs Police Department at 954-346-1223.

[auroralwriting]

spencer smut perhaps? he's all shy but the second your lips touch his he snaps?

guilty as sin

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (18+)

you think spencer's too shy to do anything, until he gets a taste of you

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, dirty talk, p-in-v, wrap it before you tap it, sort of dom!spencer, multiple orgasms, spencer is whipped, season seven spencer is implied, soft and fluffy but also a smidgen kinky, spencer’s a gentleman, he’s still a nerd, begging, orgasm denial, he’s also a tease, light praise, it’s smut you get the gist

"Oh, come on? You're seriously going to sit there and tell me nothing happened with Lila Archer?" Emily laughed as she sipped on her beer.

It was a chilly autumn night. Your team had just returned home from a case a few hours prior. You were still dressed in your work clothes, like the rest of our colleagues. Somehow, you were convinced to go to the bar before it got too late into the evening. A sort of celebration that you all had caught the killer so quick with only two casualties. That was rare. Emily had even convinced Hotch to join you all. Since meeting Beth, he'd began to grow out of his shell. It was nice to see him happy again.

The liquor in all of your systems was enough to allow the silly conversations to flow with ease. Seeing as Emily and you had not been on the team when the Lila Archer stalking case was worked on, you had a fair amount of questions.

"You were with Lila Archer, alone, for hours on end," Emily took a sip of her drink as she continued her mini-rant. "and you didn't bang her?"

Derek emitted a slight chuckle, "Well, she did make out with him in the pool."

"The pool? Spence, you dog!" You gasped, quickly following it up with a laugh.

Deep down, this conversation bothered you. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had the biggest crush on Spencer. Or it could have been the way JJ was staring at you, no doubt profiling you. She was the only one who knew of your feelings for the genius. Of course, she was nothing but comforting and supportive. JJ was trying to catch a read on if she should end this conversation before it really got to you.

"I- She initiated it," Spencer weakly defended. "I just, well, kissed her back." The whole table erupted in oohs and laughs.

You kept your longings locked from the man. Kept in faded color, lowercase, locked away inside some secret vault you kept in your heart. It was better this way.

"You don't have it in you to do anything more, my man." Derek slapped Spencer's back. His words, meant to be supportive, just plain were not. "A man of honor, truth, justice, pat-"

"All right, I think we've all had enough to drink tonight." Hotch cut off Derek's drunken ramble. "Let's all make sure to call cabs home."

You grabbed your belongings, just a jacket, purse, and scarf, and stood up along with the rest of your friends. Everyone bid each other goodnight, small hugs passed along. Reaching in your purse, you went to grab the twenty you'd left, just in case. Your purse, however, was seemingly empty, besides a lipstick and your wallet. "Oh, shit." You muttered, having no way to pay for a ride home.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Spencer asked, hearing your call of distress.

Shaking your head, you pursed your lips. "I don't have any cash to get home."

Spencer was quick to reply, "Oh, well why don't you just ride with me? Riding with another person is thirty to fifty percent more safe than being alone, especially while intoxicated. Uh, you can just spend the night, I know you live further away and I'm sure you're tired."

"Thanks, Spence. I'll pay you back," You offered as the two of you walked outside. You felt a chill run up your spine due to the cold, September air.

"It's no problem." Spencer nodded, reaching over to slightly tighten your scarf. The touch of his fingertips on your neck was enough to warm you up completely.

Penelope gave you one last squeeze as you hopped inside the cab with Spencer. The ride would only be fifteen minutes away from his apartment, which wasn't bad.

You stared out the window, watching as it fogged. You dragged your finger over the condensation, drawing yourself a little picture to keep occupied. Your eyes cast up on their own, deciding to focus on the reflection in the window. You were sure glad they did. Spencer was staring at you, unaware that you could see him. His stare sent another round of shivers down your spine.

Always the gentleman, Spencer helped you out of the car once you'd arrived to his apartment. It hit you that you'd actually never been to Spencer's apartment before. You wondered if it looked anything like you'd imagined.

And it was. Exactly as you'd imagined, actually. Dim, warm lights that gave a cozy feeling. He had a brown, leather couch with a green blanket over the top. Books were scattered all over the apartment, but it was done neatly. They were probably organized in a way that would only make sense to Spencer.

"Sorry it's such a mess," Spencer apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not at all," You replied. "I guess you've never seen my place."

Spencer hummed, "I haven't."

Being a good host, Spencer offered to make you some tea. You sat at his island while he poured some water in a kettle to heat up.

"So, you know you can be honest with me, right?" You decided to awkwardly start a conversation. The silence was just not doing it for you.

"Of course I know that," Spencer nodded. His back was turned to you as he prepped your mugs.

You shook off your nerves, "Did you actually not sleep with Lila Archer?"

Spencer turned around at your words. "I didn't sleep with Lila Archer." He confirmed. "If I did, you know Morgan wouldn't stop talking about it for the rest of our lives."

A small chuckle came from you. "He really wouldn't." You mused.

"Plus, she's, uh, not my type." Spencer boldly continued after a pause of silence.

"What is your type?" You asked curiously, heart increasing, a deep hope he said you were his type.

"I don't know." Spencer mumbled.

The kettle began to whistle, you could see Spencer's body physically relax at this. A distraction. He passed you the tea which you graciously thanked him for. The two of you sat in a comforting silence as you drank.

Spencer looked so gorgeous in this way. His hair was a bit disheveled, untamed from the long flight. His eyes held no signs of tiredness. Your case was in California. You'd left this morning. He must've also slept the whole way home. His brown locks mesmerized you. Oh, how you wanted to curl your fingers in them. Not to mention the ghost of stubble on his face. You imagined tracing your fingers over it softly, wishing to feel him shiver under your touch.

Maybe it was the remaining alcohol still in your system, or maybe pining after him wasn't doing it anymore. You don't know what came over you when you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his.

Spencer didn't move, you didn't move. It was an odd standoff. "Spence," You softly mumbled his name. You could see his eyes staring down- oh. At your lips. Somehow, you knew he wouldn't do it You watched the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of nerves.

It was like he couldn't speak. But you knew it the moment you locked eyes again. You'd know that look anywhere; desperation. It was probably gleaming in your eyes, too. You could definitely feel it.

A sudden wave of confidence crashed over you and you felt yourself pushing your lips against Spencer’s. It took him maybe a full second to process what was happening. His large hands came to grab your face, pressing you closer to him. The kiss felt like nothing you’d expected of Spencer. He took control over the situation quickly. He pushed against you hard, slipping his tongue between your slightly parted lips. It was messy, rough, yet filled with such genuine passion it was dizzying.

“Spence,” You pulled back breathlessly. His eyes were filled with something new, something more lustful.

He softly shushed you, hands still on your face, pulling you back in. It was slightly teeth-clashing, hot. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Spencer muttered between kisses, his voice a near whine. “Just couldn’t make the first move.”

Spencer pulled back, rushing around the counter to where you sat. He pushed apart your legs to stand in between them. His fingers grabbed your chin, thumb on it and his first finger under your chin. He gently forced your head to look up to him. His cheeks were flushed, and you assumed yours were a near identical reflection.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer whispered. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“You, I just want you.”

That’s all it took for Spencer to kiss you again. your hands went around his neck to pull off his tie, your hands then moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His worked just as quickly to undo yours.

“Not here,” Spencer muttered, eyes falling to your half-bare chest. “My room’s down the hall.”

With Spencer’s hand in your own, you quickly ran to his bedroom, a soft giggle escaping your lips and how cliché this all felt. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at your amusement. You leapt onto his bed, landing on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair that ended on the back of his head.

“Hi, boy genius.” You smiled, voice soft and warm. It reminded Spencer of a hot vanilla latte, or maybe something like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, warm, delicious.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Spencer replied, thumb rubbing sweetly over your cheek.

You both stared into each others eyes for a moment, taking in the delicacy of the intimate moment. Spencer slowly pushed his lips onto yours. It was the most gentle kiss of the evening, and it reminded you that Spencer wasn’t doing this because he felt like it. No, you were his type. Not Lila, you.

Spencer and you slowly discarded the rest of your clothing, allowing Spencer to slowly drag his fingers over your bare skin, admiring your beauty. “You’re almost as beautiful as Aphrodite,” he muttered. “I would say prettier, but the ancient Greek believed it would curse whomever was called more beautiful because Aphrodite wanted to remain the most beautiful.”

Even during moments like this, you loved Spencer’s rambles. Slowly, Spencer began to kiss all around your jaw, moving down your neck and to your chest. Your hands found his hair as you arched into him. He spent some time licking and sucking on your chest, loving the way you sounded for him, the way you pulled on his hair. He loved the smell of your skin, how soft it felt beneath his lips and tongue.

“Spencer,” you whined, pulling harder on his hair.

The man looked up to you, eyes gleaming as his mouth popped off you with a small pop. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need more,” you replied.

“Like what?” Spencer teased, slowly dragging his finger down your stomach. “Need more here?” He asked, playfully biting at your chest. “Or… here?” Spencer’s fingers trailed over your thigh, slowly moving from the inside to the out.

You groaned, “Oh, there! Please, there!”

Spencer also groaned in reply, “Didn’t take you as a begger,” he muttered. “but I love it.”

Slowly, Spencer moved his finger to your aching core. It slowly ran through your folds, causing you to moan loudly. “Spence,”

“Is this all for me?” Spencer cockily asked, referring to your wetness. You nodded quickly, pulling him down to kiss you once more. As he kissed you, he slid a finger inside, just to the first knuckle to gather some of your slick. He brought it back out and slowly began to circle your clit with it. Pulling back from the kiss, you became a mess of moans, whines, and breathy sounds. Spencer slowly kissed up and down your neck as he played with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “This enough for you, baby?”

“Inside,” you stumble out. “Please, inside me.”

Spencer couldn’t help but give you exactly what you wanted. How could he when you begged so nicely for him? He brought that same finger back inside, plunging it until it reached his final knuckle. Slowly, he began to pump it in and out of you, allowing you grace to adjust to the new object inside you.

“How’s that?” Spencer asked.

“Good, so good,” You babbled.

His finger multiplied and became two. They pumped in and out, adding slight curls to his fingers every now and again. His thumb went back to your clit, slowly rubbing it for added pleasure. “This what you wanted, sweet girl? This what you’ve imagined me doing to you?”

“Yes, yes!” You moaned.

Spencer smiled, “I’m not going to lie, I’ve imagined this moment for the last year.” In any other occasion, you would’ve became bashful at the declaration, but you were already too far gone with the alcohol and pleasure in your system.

It was then Spencer’s fingers hit your soft spot, causing your back to arch. “Oh, baby!” You cried out, grabbing onto the man above you and wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

“There?” He asked.

“Oh, yes! There!” You answered quickly.

Spencer worked his magic, adding another finger as you stretched for him. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to hit you like a sea of stars. Spencer softly shushed you, helping you relax.

“You okay?” Spencer smoothed your hair as he looked at you carefully.

You nodded, “Please, Spence. I want you.”

Spencer wasted no time lining himself up with you, allowing some of your slick to gather on his hard-on. He pushed in, causing you both to groan in unison.

“Oh my god,” he breathlessly said. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Baby, you feel so good.” His voice raised, slightly higher than normal as he resisted the urge to move until you said so.

“Move, move, please,” You told him. He wasted no time pushing his hips forward and backward, pulling your legs up around his hips once more.

He fit you so good, so right. Everything in that moment felt perfect, like he was made for you. You were made for him. It took Spencer less than a minute to be snapping his hips in record time. You felt like your eyes were going to roll back at the pleasure.

Spencer grabbed your chin the way he did earlier, “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Still reeling from your last orgasm, it took you no time to feel your climax approaching once more. “Spence, I need to come,”

“Not yet,” He groaned. “‘M almost there, baby. Hold on,” You felt a loud whine emit from your throat. The sound of it made Spencer’s dick throb, and you felt it. “Doing so good for me, honey. Oh, god, I’m almost there. So good.”

You were on the brink of orgasm. You weren’t sure if you could hold it any longer. “Spencer!”

“Where?” He asked.

“In, oh my god,” You practically were yelling at this point.

“Let go, baby,” Spencer’s words were all you needed to finally reach that sweet, sweet release again. You felt him spill inside you, the warmth making your orgasm feel even better. Spencer’s arms slowly gave out above you, and he slowly fell onto your chest. He pressed his lips to your hair, a sweet gesture.

The two of you laid there, catching your breath. You played with Spencer’s curls as he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I kind of have a crush on you,��� You admitted jokingly, knowing he knew.

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I do too.” He sat up, pulling out of you. You wished he didn’t; it felt so empty. “You gotta go pee, right?”

“Yeah,” You groaned lazily, slowly sitting up. “Hey, you’re gonna take me on a date after this, right?”

Spencer nodded with a smile, “I already have it planned. Now, go use the bathroom so we can fall asleep together.”

You mock saluted at him, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Who knew your night out would lead to the best night of your life?

[edenspoem]

♱: a/n: i don't know much about how prison works in piltover (because we did not recieve any details or storyline regarding that era) so this is just for make-believe funsies! need to be vi's prison wife rn.. mdni.

being involved with the least-upstanding convict, violet, has its pros and its cons—but one outweighs the other. on the more heart-pounding side of being dubbed “cupcake” by her, with no ounce of sweetness or cherried disposition to owe you it, there are moments that make you wish you were a good girl.

made you wish you'd met outside prison.

pros: violating the rules got you in here, you and vi have that in common. which, in all cases, facilitated your time together; you can break them with someone else. freerunning is an all-time favorite. sprinting across ledges and vaulting over light-seeking crevices to adjourn—or escape—is your shared idea of freedom. though, before midnight hit, you both made sure to be spotless of adventure, and in bed. another pro: it was always hers.

your thumb presses at the ink-job on her neck, and she bites your shoulder with a grunt, eliciting something in return. subtle, pleasurable pain pulls through the godless corners of your neck. “dammit, vi. if we get caught because of you..” a dopey giggle is pressed into your pulse point, it tickles. you swallow it. “i can't get in trouble again.”

a cold spot of spit is left to evaporate, vi moving from your cartoid to—well, you assume—spare an answer, but she shuts your lips with hers. she spends a moment of silent mouthing, tugging, licking, grinding the seam over her groin into your clit, to shun the claim. it almost pulled more than a moan: a buck, a bite, or a slap if you felt generous. so, you nudge her off. and violet—of course—eyes you with low-browed, puppy-eyed concern and confusion—like she didn't hear you before. for once during your time here, your wrist genuinely ached to slap this idiot you call your prison-girlfriend. “i need to be on fucking gold-standard behaviour. we can do this when we're both out.”

you slip and inch out from under—just an inch, before fingers you're most familiar with, inside and out, tug your core back to where she wants it to belong. striking, baby-blues hold you in that place. “stay,” her voice delicately cracks; she tries to keep you near with a soothing tone. her grip is tight, while her demand is too soft and sentimental to not laugh. regardless, these hands worked some magic on you—considering one feathered touch to the inside of your thigh, and a whine escapes. “trust me, they're going to find a reason to keep you in here. the least you could do is be a good girl while you are.” vi's crass statements and perversions are the only con you could think of: they get you fucking wet—too wet to forget.

[peachpitfics]

Loml

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: You have been married six months, and it is fresh hell trying to conceive an heir with somebody you are repulsed by. Luckily, your old friend is willing to help you get through it while your husband is out of town.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Infidelity/adultery, themes allude to SA with unwanted husband (not described or mentioned), cunnilingus, face sitting, oral sex (male & female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex for the sake of breeding, breeding kink?, orgasm.

a/n: This is part ii of Wildest Dreams, requested by anon here! This turned out a little more angsty than I had planned!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Six months ago, your father inflicted the cruelest curse upon you when he married you off to his vilest friend, Lord Howard. Six months of marriage, six months of scheduled contact, attempting to make an heir. Agreeing to once per month, having to allow Lord Howard access to your body in order to do so, six attempts were far too many already.

As soon as Lord Howard informed you of his business travel plans, you began thinking about Benedict Bridgerton. Somebody you thought about relentlessly, however, in this case, you were hoping to hold him to a promise he had made you earlier in the year.

Immediately penning a letter addressed to him at Bridgerton House, with details regarding location, date and time. The staff had been quite loyal to you since moving into the grand house. Most of your time was spent in the country, avoiding your new husband – the service staff there thought you were a gift from heaven, far too good for the old codger, as they called him. They looked after you, and you ensured the same for them. They would keep your secret.

Benedict arrived by carriage a week later, the afternoon after your husband’s departure, having written to accept your invitation, but only to discuss what had been promised in the past. Benedict looked the same, but cleaner, his hair shorter. He looked grown up. He stepped from the carriage, baring in easeful smile, just for you.

“Lady Howard” He bowed properly, it felt like a jive.

You did not speak a word, jumping forward and into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. It was the first time you’d felt safe in months. Benedict’s eyes flicked between the housekeeper, the footman and you, desperately trying to understand if this was okay.

“They are my friends; they would never harm me. I know it is strange, but they really do help me keep my secrets” You tried to reassure Benedict, whispering in his ear.

“It is not strange, it is very country, I suppose,” His arms tightened around your back, lifting you off the ground slightly, “I have missed you. I did write” Benedict squeezed.

“I know,” You let him go, holding out a hand to walk him into the house, “I have your letters hidden in my dressing room. I do apologise for not replying” Ben took your hand and followed you into the house, leaving his luggage on the carriage for the staff to care for.

Benedict was amazed by the house, its long concrete walls and vaulted ceilings. It felt similar to a castle, empty and cold. After your evening meal, you took Benedict for a walk around the gardens. Two swings hung from the branch of a very old tree nearby, one of your favourite places to hide from Lord Howard.

“Where has he gone to?” Benedict asked, lighting a cigarette and passing it to you.

“France… I think. I was not paying very much attention when he was speaking. I was too focused on getting you here. I have been waiting for months, building rapport with the staff, friendships even. I just needed him to leave, so we could do this right” You stuttered, watching your feet dangle as you swung back and forth.

Benedict paused, taking the cigarette back and drawing in, “It has not been going well then?” The question was serious, but even he snorted when he got the words out.

“We have been intimate too many times already. I thought this was supposed to be easy. Women get pregnant all the time” You sighed.

“Yes, when they do not mean to of course. Also, you must account for your husbands age” Benedicts eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Please, do not call him that” You interrupted.

Benedict exhaled heavily, “That is who he is, y/n. He is your husband. If we do this, we commit infidelity. There are consequences for such acts, are you prepared to accept those consequences?” Benedict asked. You had not ever seen him quite this serious. It scared you, seeing what six months will change in a person.

“I am!” You said adamantly, one stiff nod of assurance. There was no way you could take any more of this. One child, that was all you needed, to make it all stop.

You reached over to Benedict’s swing, his sweet face resting on the rope, thumb caressing his cheek, “Will you be able to live with this? Your child, raised as another mans? Never being their father, or having a role in their lives?” You asked, hoping it was not too cold a question. Benedict pulled slightly away from your touch.

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about…” Benedict whispered, “I know that Lord Howard is your husband and that I am too late, y/n. I will give you a child, if I can. I will give you as many as you damn well want. But I must know that after Lord Howard has passed, you will come to me” Benedicts eyes were soft and glassy in the moonlight, the burning ember of the cigarette fading in his laxed hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head and closed your eyes. How could you make such a promise?

“I do not care if the old bastard lives another 20 years, y/n, I will wait. I will wait in torment for you. Even if I must spend the next decade in hell, learning to bend time, I will. And if we are only allowed a short time together, then so be it because whether it be 5 minutes or 50 years, it will still never be enough time. There is an inexhaustible amount of love for you in my heart. I did not recognize it before, I was selfish and hopeless. The two of you will come home to me, and we will be deliriously happy” Benedict dreamed aloud, starry eyed.

You sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other with tragic longing deep set in your eyes.

Benedict’s eyes cleared, his smile faded, “I know you love me” He breathed boldly.

You jaw clenched shut, your eyes closed over slowly, a single tear running down the far side of your face so Benedict could not see.

“I love you,” He howled toward the moon, “I loved you the moment I saw you. I have adored your passion and cherished your friendship, while cowering in the frozen solitude of my own mind. I have dreamt of you and our life together every day since your marriage date, stirring in agony, every night. Every time I close my eyes, the profound pit of blackness inside consumes me – until I wake again, then my existence is marred by its lack of yours. Your name haunts my tongue, its ineffable song too wistful a sound on my lips. I am left stumbling through life, scattered across the universe, searching for you” His once invincible foolhardiness nowhere to be seen. The peaceful eloquence of his voice so familiar to you, always a poet.

Standing from your swing, hand outstretched to Benedict, you tried to allow your eyes to do the speaking. His sad, desperate eyes, staring up at you in solemn hope, his hand bound for yours. You escorted him inside in silence, the air surrounding dense with disquiet. Leading Benedict into your bedroom, separate from the Master bedroom, you closed the door behind him.

Locking eyes in malicious yearning, your bodies came together, navels pressed, hands roaming across every inch of your torso. Benedict grasped the back of your neck, enchanted look in his eyes as he littered kisses along your jawline and down your throat. You breathed heavily under his lips, breasts heaving against his chest. Reaching around for the bows on your dress, undoing them as quickly as you could, desperate to shed your clothes for him, Benedict palmed at your breasts through your dress. He halted his movements when he noticed your hurry and began stripping himself down also.

“I have been thinking, of one thing in particular, all these months” Benedict panted, leading you over to your bed. You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Benedict laid, his back to the bed, your hands in his, guiding you over top of him. You hovered over his nude hips, he smiled cheekily, waving you up higher. You frowned down at him, completely confused by what he was asking. He tugged you upward, your knees resting either side of his head.

“You will have to trust me” He gave a soft, dreamy smile as you gave him a befuddled one back, bare behind resting on his chest. You pursed your lips, Benedicts hands digging into your hips pulling you down onto his face. His breath hot against your skin, his wet tongue sinking betwixt your folds, starting gently at your clit. You jerked in animated surprise, finding yourself lowering back down instinctively. Benedict’s hands kneaded your behind, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. You had done your darndest to replicate the way Benedict made you feel, to no avail, at a complete loss for how you would miss his devastating body.

Your fingers tangled into his hand, drinking in every tangible flick of his tongue against your clit. His lips pressed, sucked and kissed at you, pulling you further into his indulgent dreamland. Benedict’s big, blue eyes staring up at you, grinding down on his face, his premeditated attack on you began, wrapping his flexed arms around your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Blinding pleasure laved over you, your eyes uncontrollably clamping shut so hard you swore you saw every colour imaginable. Screaming Benedict’s name, his amused tongue swirling you to completion, you panted animalistically, unable to move.

“That was incredible. I do not believe I could have prepared myself for how much better that was going to be outside my dreams” Ben moaned into your pussy, lapping at your juices, drinking you in. You rested a moment, watching Benedicts crowning smile, his asinine eyes filled with everything else he wanted to do with you.

Freeing Benedict from beneath you he shuffled up the bed, resting upright against the grand wooden bedhead, his legs out in front of him.

“Shall we try?” Benedict asked delicately.

“Please” You whimpered, crawling to him, taking his cock in your hand.

You laid between his legs a moment, holding him in your hands, moving gently. Leaning forward to kiss his tip, your tongue flicked over his pink flesh, Benedict could not help but moan. Taking him into your mouth, you sunk down in long hot strides, pressing his cock to the back of your throat. His fingers wrapped into your hair, pulling you onto him further. Benedict relished your working on him, libidinous smile engraved on his face, pure bliss.

“I do not think that is how one makes a baby” Benedict chuffed, pulling you up quickly, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Face to face, you grinned into his splendidly hot kisses, his hand slipping between the two of you to situate himself. You felt his tip nudging against your entrance, hard and waiting, slipping inside of you. You gasped loudly, burying your face into his neck as a biological urge forced you to bounce.

Benedict growled lowly into your ear as you moved into a groove together, slow and tedious in perpetual delight. Benedict placed his hand in the smallest of gaps between you, his thumb adjacent to your clitoris; every movement, sinking to his hilt, he brushed against you softly. You were not aware that it could happen more than once, your heart quickened aggressively, Benedict tongue descending into your mouth as you whimpered louder and louder. Nails embedded into Ben’s shoulders, blood nearly drawn, your eyes holding his gaze, sheer hunger lived in his eyes. Hunger for you. Your pussy began quivering around him, aching, throbbing, trying desperately to take in more of him. Excruciating pleasure erupted from you, grasping his cock hard from within, your legs shook as your wetness spread between the two of you. Benedict did not stop this time, taking his hands to your hips as you ceased moving, manipulating your movements, grunting into your neck. Every time he led you to release, he seemed to get harder, more attracted to you. You did your best to get deep breaths in, to bring yourself back to reality, his cock still pounding into you steadily made it difficult. His teeth edge to edge in painstaking need, his forceful hands and powerful thrust told you he was close.

“Please,” Your voice rang out, his eyes needy and frenzied, “Please, Benedict, put that baby in me!” You continued to beg, his ragged panting and dreary eye contact wavering as you took control of your body again, bouncing heartily onto his cock. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at the same time, his hands aggressively pressing you down, as he groaned and grunted fiercely. You squeezed him inside, gently rolling your hips forward, feeling his cock pulsate inside you.

Benedict’s head rested against the bed head, his breath uneven and heart throbbing in his chest. Attempting to get off him, to allow him room to breathe, Benedict stopped you. He blinked himself back to this plane of existence.

“No, it helps if we stay like this” He explained through puffs.

“Really?” You frowned, never having thought about it.

“Yes,” He nodded frantically, “If we stay like this, everything will stay inside” He explained. You hummed in agreement, thinking perhaps that was what you had been doing wrong. Whatever it was that you were doing wrong, you were glad for it. If this made you an adulterer, a traitor, a betrayer, you did not care. Not for this.

Your hands rest on Benedicts chest, fingers splayed in brown chest hair, your eyes lingering over his collar bones and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, feeling rather observed.

“Taking you in” You purred, taking mental pictures in case you never saw him again. Benedicts hand rose to your face, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip, sliding down your neck to lure you into his most romantic kiss yet. Moments later, Benedict allowed you to slide off him, laying you with your legs up parallel to the headboard. You wondered how many more times you would get to feel like this.

“Shall I leave in the morning?” Benedict asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, Benedict lying next to you, a huge grin on his face.

“I joke, my Lady” Benedict laughed as you shoved him gently.

“You will be staying the entire week. I will hold you prisoner if I must” You chortled.

“Excellent, better treatment than home I expect. I will take it” Benedict stretched, every strained muscle flexing in exhilarating sex appeal. “We need every opportunity if we’re to make this baby” He smiled, thrilled at the chance to say such things, hoping one day his babies would come home to him.

“That is not the only reason I want you to stay” You said mellifluously, your soft, thoughtful eyes inspecting his reactions. Benedict frowned placidly, unsuspecting of your joyful surrender.

“You are the love of my life, Benedict Bridgerton,” Tears welled grievously, guileless love calm in your smile, “We will be together. I will be your wife, and I will bring our children home to you”.

Benedict leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, unhurried and glorious. Tears streamed down his face, amazed and implicit, his sureness of his love for you unwavering.

“How ever long it takes, whatever I must do, we will be together” Benedict smile was humble, but fearless.

--------------------------------------------

Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @dollarstore-lydia-deetz // @newavenger // @lifealot // @rosie-posie08 // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[wingedshadowfan]

okay so we know xaden killed one of king tauri's sons (halden's twin/aaric's brother) alic in basgiath and specifically at threshing because he "was a bully" and "went after garrick". what's really interesting about this though is

aaric doesn't just know it was xaden, his exact words to violet are "you have no idea what he did to alic!" and xaden's are "though i wonder who it was that told aaric, since if his father knew i highly doubt i’d still be in possession of my head."

from this wording i'd infer the issue wasn't that alic was killed during threshing (which is allowed, it's free season), it was the fact that xaden of all people killed him, and it sounds like it wasn't pretty

when violet and dain recognize aaric at conscription day, violet guesses if the king had known what aaric was planning, he wouldn't have let him go precisely bcuz of what happened to alic. therefore, it must be widely known that prince alic died in the riders' quadrant during threshing (EDIT from the replies: we know this was the case because at violet's conscription xaden's speech confirmed even a king's son can die in the quadrant, but he obv didn't say alic was killed and didn't claim the kill as his). but who would know how it happened other than garrick and xaden themselves?

it's not like cadets usually go in groups during threshing so i imagine alic was following garrick to try and eliminate him, and xaden was either just looking out for him or stumbled upon the two and did what he does best - annihilate a mf to defend his own (watching a similar situation unfold at violet's threshing must've awoken memories for xaden lol, and it also makes me wonder whether that's why sgaeyl bonded him in the first place bcuz in xaden's words she "was never fond of bullies" and i believe she's said she chose xaden for his ruthlessness)

we're not aware of any other/older cadets recognizing aaric and anyone who might've seen what went down at xaden's threshing 3 years ago no longer remains at basgiath to tell aaric personally (unless they're a repeater like sawyer??), and they could likely only communicate with the outside world by sending a letter the following year - and even if that happened, though already a stretch, why tell aaric and not halden or the king? why give details?

so i wonder if it was molvic who saw it go down and told aaric bcuz at the time aaric says this to violet, it's been just days after he bonded him (to the point where it's during aaric's thresing that violet tells rhiannon jesinia has found the vault where xaden's little fight with aaric later ensues)

EDIT from my reply: blue dragons are supposed to be the more intelligent and wise breed (remember the king is referred to as King Tauri The Wise, but ofc he's not a rider, and halden and alic don't seem particularly wise, but aaric does) so it's possible molvic was looking to bond xaden, not alic, but seeing xaden kill him in cold blood, he let another, more brutal blue do it - sgaeyl, and it was only years later that he found what he was really looking for in aaric

[sunrizef1]

Guilty as sin?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader | (side) Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: Emotional cheating

Word count: 1.8k

Authors note: hate this kinda idk | Not proofread | I also do not condone cheating, this is just based on a Taylor swift song do not come for me

A text lights up your phone, illuminating the dark of your hotel room with the shine of a text message. You glance down at your sleeping boyfriend beside you, checking to see if he’s still deeply asleep before picking up your phone and sliding it open.

Max <3

The Downtown Lights - The Blue Nile

*Spotify link attached*

You sigh, closing your phone and setting it back onto your nightstand, eyes shutting tightly. You glance back over to Lando, asleep beside you, willing him to suddenly be a shittier person so you could feel less guilty about this.

Not that you and Max had done anything. You hadn’t. But it didn’t stop you from daydreaming about the Red Bull driver. It hadn’t stopped him either, apparently. You had heard the song, of course you had. Max sending it only confirmed that the less than platonic feelings between you were, in fact, reciprocated.

Just as you’re about to roll over and return to the sleep that had been evading you for more than a few hours, your phone lights up once again.

Max <3

I know you saw that

Come up to the roof

See you there

You roll your eyes at the texts, arrogance bleeding through every letter. Although, despite your holier than thou attitude, you do slide out of the bed, reaching down to a slide on a pair of slippers, praying the bed won’t creak as you stand up. Your feet pad quietly across the carpet of the hotel room, steps muffled by the fluff in your shoes.

You turn your phone to face the room, hoping it’s enough light to illuminate your way out. You step around your suitcase in the middle of the floor, cursing quietly as your foot catches on the zipper slightly. You catch yourself though, quickly grasping your key card and exiting the room.

Once you’re in the hallway, you let out a deep sigh, face relaxing under the fluorescent lights. You bit your lip, debating how worth it this tryst would be. You were fairly certain you were both into each other. All this meeting would be was another interaction where you both ignore your feelings and you have to lock the hints he was dropping away in a vault to never be considered again.

Even after considering the cons, you push yourself away from the wall, walking toward the stairs. You were already on the top floor so all you had between you and Max was a single set of stairs. You run a hand through your hair, hoping you don’t have a bad case of bedhead. Not that you had gotten enough sleep to mess your hair up at all anyway.

You slide the door open and set foot upon the stairs, trying not to wobble too much. Every step feels like it takes twenty minutes, every one leading to an unknown fate at the top. Your footsteps echo around the dark hall, sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

When you get to the top, you push the door open gently, cold air rushing to hit you as you step out. The door shuts closed behind you with a slam and you’re suddenly not sure if you’ll be able to get it open again. But it wasn’t really the time to care about that as your eyes lock on a familiar Dutch man sat on the edge of the roof.

Your feet patter gently against the roof, each step feeling quieter than the last. You take your time in approaching him, his head not even having turned your way since you set foot upon the place he had invited you. Not that you wanted him to turn around. You were worried that locking eyes with him would make you run away, or worse, make you more inclined to stay. So you just walk quietly to the edge, carefully swinging your legs over the side to sit a few feet away from him.

You’re not too worried about falling. There’s another edge just a few yards below you, no doubt there to stop rich drunk people from taking a nosedive off the roof during a party or after a wild night.

Cold air slides across your unusually warm face, heated with the reality of the situation. It’s not windy though, which is nice. Instead it’s just a nice chill, cold seeping through your thin sleep shirt and into your skin.

“I knew you’d come,” Max’s voice breaks the tranquility of the moment, cutting through the air with a familiar arrogant tilt.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, instead opting to hum lightly, eyes still locked onto the cityscape below you. You’d always loved Las Vegas. The city was always bursting with life and it was just so pretty to look at. Especially from above. It has shocked you when you’d walked out and the roof was empty. You’d’ve thought there’d be an abundance of people considering how little the city sleeps to begin with. You were honestly surprised Lando had chosen to stay asleep in your hotel room instead of stay out partying. Maybe when you’d told him it’d be better for him to get some sleep for once, he’d actually listened.

Maybe you should’ve listened to your own advice. You should’ve stayed asleep and completely avoided Max. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like spewing your guts out on the many drunkards below.

“Not going to say anything, then?” Max laughs and you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. You fight the strong urge to lock eyes with him, “You don’t get to act like I’m the one coercing you here. You also chose to come up here.”

He’s right, of course. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

“Do you even like him?” Max questions and you can feel your stomach drop. You’d been thinking about that exact question for months now and you honestly were dreading the answer. You finally look away from the buildings in front of you to take a quick glance toward Max, his eyes already trained on yours.

You sigh, warm breath clouding in the cold night air, “I don’t know.”

Max makes a face at your words, shaking his head, “What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know if you like your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him again, arms crossing across your torso tightly, “I mean I don’t know, Max. I know the answer you want, trust me, I do. If it helps, I don’t love him. Not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, no shit. I knew that. I’m asking if you like him,” Max scoffs, shifting closer to you. You roll your eyes again, finally giving in and turning your body toward his.

“He’s a fine person, Max. It just feels like neither of us even want this relationship anymore.”

“Then why are you still dating him?”

That makes you stop dead, letting out a shaky breath as you accept that you’d finally have to open up to the man next to you, “We’ve been together so long, I’ve tried so hard to make it work. I thought we were going to get married, honestly.”

You glance nervously over to Max, expecting to see an angry look on his face. Instead you’re met with one of understanding which shocks you back into speaking again, “I would’ve said yes if he’d asked.”

Max hums, discreetly shifting a bit closer as he turns to stare out at the city below you. You wait for his response with bated breath, praying he doesn’t hate you for basically leading him on.

“But he didn’t ask.”

“Yeah,” you nod, face filled with remorse for your relationship, “He didn’t.”

Max hums again, glancing above the two of you at the shining lights casting a soft glow upon the pair of you. Music begins to play softly from somewhere down below you. When you glance over the edge, you’re met with a street band preforming a nice ballad, swaying along to their melodies. When Max stands up, you think he’s going to leave you entirely but your eyebrows shoot up when he holds out a hand instead.

“Come on,” He says and you can feel your heart flutter as you catch the soft smile on his face. Something that hadn’t happened with Lando in a long while.

You grasp you hand in his, feeling the warmth of his larger hands spread into your chilly ones. He pulls you up gently, although maybe adding a bit too much strength as you fall flush against his chest. You laugh and stumble back a bit, hands still clutching his. He pulls you into a sway, gliding along to the melodic notes that float up from down below. You sit and take in the quiet moment for a little while, eventually moving your head to rest against his chest. The silence is broken when you glance up and see Max already looking down at you.

“I’m not gonna cheat on Lando,” you mumble, eyes softening as you stare up, “He doesn’t deserve that.”

If Max disagrees, he keeps it to himself well enough, choosing to nod instead, “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

You hum, placing your head back on his chest, “I do think about you though.”

Max tilts his head and his eyebrows furrow as the words leave your mouth. When you catch his expression, you feel the need to explain, “Just in life. Everything I do, I think about you doing it with me. I don’t know, just accept the compliment that I think about you when you’re not around, please.”

You can feel Max’ laugh rumble through his chest and you glance up to see his head titled back and his eyes closed as he chuckles softly before glancing back at you, smile still painting his face, “I can live with that. For now.”

You take a page out of his book and just hum in response, eyes falling closed as you, once again, lean against him. The two of you sway to the music for a while, only stopping when it does as well. You find yourself praying it never does so you never have to return to your reality where your boyfriend of six years has refused to put a ring on it so you went to one of his friends for emotional comfort and ended up falling in love with him. But the music does stop and you do return to that reality, feet padding softly down the hotel stairs.

You slide your keycard in the door, wincing at the sound it makes as it accepts it. You support the door as it closes, toeing off your shoes and tossing the keycard on your nightstand. You plug your phone into the charger, glancing down at the new texts on your home screen before sliding them away and rolling over to, hopefully, find sleep in a sleepless night.

Max <3

I'll wait for you btw

I knew about him

But now I know about you

If he kills me it'd be a wonderful way to die

For you

I'd wait forever, darling

————————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Future Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

I have some edits - and have been updated.

Chapter 7

Y/N stood in the middle of the training hall, panting and clutching a wooden sword like it was her lifeline. Her breathing was heavy, but her grip? Steady. Mostly. Jinwoo, from the sidelines, crossed his arms and nodded slightly. Progress. She was definitely improving.

Her dodging, once an awkward, flailing dance of panic, had evolved into something that almost resembled coordination. And her punches? Well, they’d gone from “I’m going to break my own hand” to “Hmm, that might leave a bruise.” Not bad.

But today? Jinwoo had other plans.

“Fists are good,” he said, tossing a practice sword her way. Y/N fumbled a bit but caught it. “But let’s see what really suits you.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait… me? With a weapon?”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got the enthusiasm for it. Let’s find out what makes you dangerous.”

With a sigh, Y/N stepped toward the vault where Jinwoo’s weapons were stored. "Take your time," Jinwoo called after her, his tone half-encouraging, half-patient.

Y/N, focused like a caffeinated squirrel, started testing various weapons. Swords. Spears. Daggers. Nothing felt right. Some were too heavy, others as responsive as a rock. Jinwoo almost called it a day, about to say “maybe hand-to-hand is your thing” when—a pulse—shadow energy rippled through the room.

He whipped around, eyes narrowing.

At the far end of the vault, something faintly glowed violet. Y/N froze. No, it wasn’t the weird glowing thing that gave her goosebumps. Definitely not that.

But her feet? They moved of their own accord.

She took one step. Then another. And another. By the time Jinwoo blinked, she was standing in front of it—a scythe, resting in the shadows, its dust-covered blade gleaming like it had been waiting for her.

The scythe vibrated. No joke, it vibrated. This was either magic or she was having a serious case of déjà vu.

A gust of shadowy energy swirled. The blade seemed to get... shinier?

“Uh, Jinwoo… I think it likes me.”

Jinwoo’s expression darkened. “That’s not one of mine,” he muttered. Definitely not one of his.

Y/N, too stunned to back out, reached for the handle. It was cold. Then it burned. Like the scythe knew her, recognized her, like it was just waiting for her to say, “This feels... right.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just any scythe.

“I think it picked me,” Y/N whispered, her voice a mix of awe and maybe we should have left this one alone.

A sudden portal ripped open in the middle of a downtown street.

“Great, just what we need,” Jinwoo muttered. “A dungeon break.”

The chaos was instant. Scream, smoke, fire, and monsters everywhere.

Jinwoo’s shadows were already in action—Beru, Igris, Bellion, Tusk, and Iron—holding back the tidal wave of beastly destruction. Jinwoo himself was a force of nature, mowing through the enemies with a calculated, brutal efficiency.

And then there was Y/N.

Still standing at the edge of it all, gripping the scythe so tight her knuckles were white. Her heart pounded, and her legs wobbled like jelly, but there was no turning back.

“I can’t stand here… I can’t disappoint Jinwoo. He trained me, fed me, didn’t kill me after my first thousand failed attempts... I OWE HIM!” She clenched her jaw.

One deep breath.

Shadow-step.

WHOOSH!

Her body flickered into darkness and disappeared.

Y/N reappeared behind a hulking monster mid-rampage.

It didn’t notice her.

But her glowing eyes pierced the gloom—eerily similar to Jinwoo’s, but with her own wild twist.

Her scythe was already at the creature’s neck.

“Showtime.”

SHHHNK!

One clean slice, and the monster’s head hit the ground before its body registered it was dead.

The civilians nearby gawked, frozen.

Then she flickered again.

And again.

Every time she reappeared, another enemy dropped.

Silent. Swift.

Like a ghost.

But it wasn’t long before—

“BWAHAHAHA!!”

Y/N finally lost it.

Y/N threw her head back, her laughter echoing over the chaos, shadow energy swirling around her like a supercharged campfire.

Her scythe crackled, humming like it was picking up speed. Her grin? Oh, it was pure villainy, a little too rehearsed in the mirror before every family gathering.

"Foolish mortals!" she cackled. "The shadow of death has arrived! Despair beneath my feet, for your end is nigh!!!"

And, of course, she shadow-stepped again—mid-sentence—and WHAM, another monster’s head dropped off. Y/N reappeared, like a well-caffeinated grim reaper, eyes glowing violet.

“FEAR ME!”

Jinwoo, right in the middle of battle, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes flicked over to Y/N, who was popping in and out of existence like an excited child at a costume party.

Beru, who had seen a lot of things, cocked his head. “Shall we intervene, my king?”

Jinwoo sighed, rubbing his temples. "No... She’s... fine.”

Bellion, ever the optimist, gave a curt nod. “She fights like you, my liege.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jinwoo muttered, watching as Y/N, with complete theatrical flair, pirouetted behind a monster and whispered in its ear, “Boo.”

The next second, its head was rolling off like a ping-pong ball.

“Why do I feel responsible for this?” Jinwoo groaned internally.

Y/N, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. “Okay, okay, this is working. Don’t trip, Y/N. You’re the baddest villain in this apocalypse!”

She felt it now. Not fear. No. This was fire.

A group of monsters focused on her next.

Y/N smirked, spinning the scythe in her hands—effortless and graceful, like a baton twirler gone rogue.

She twirled it around her body, letting it weave circles through the air. The black blade left glowing trails as it spun.

The scythe wrapped behind her back, down one arm, over her shoulders, before she flipped it in front of her with a flourish.

“Foolish beasts,” she muttered, spinning it around her body like she was auditioning for a dance-off. “I am your reckoning.”

Then, with a villainous pose that should’ve had an audience clapping, she swiped the scythe in one smooth arc.

“Now… despair.”

In one seamless motion, she pivoted on her foot and slashed.

A dark arc of energy erupted from the scythe, slicing clean through the entire group of monsters charging toward her.

They fell like paper cutouts.

All at once.

Y/N straightened, shoulders back, face alight with pure villain glee.

Her voice dropped again, theatrical as hell.

“Pathetic. Was that all?”

The battle was over. Jinwoo’s shadows were cleaning up the remaining threats, while the Hunter Association and emergency teams handled the civilians and damages. The worst of it was over, but the atmosphere was still tense. Debris littered the streets, and hunters moved like soldiers in the aftermath of war.

Y/N was helping too… well, mostly. She finished relocating the last group of civilians and was now awkwardly standing to the side, wiping the soot from her face with the back of her sleeve. Her scythe rested against her shoulder, the blade glinting ominously in the late afternoon light. A group of lower-ranked hunters kept glancing at her warily, whispering things like “Is she… one of them? A boss? An awakened villain?”

But Y/N was too distracted to care

Because he had arrived.

Choi Jongin, cool as ever, strolled in with his Hunters Guild squad like they were on a leisurely walk.

Y/N froze, her eyes widening in complete awe. “Look at him, Jinwoo. Look at him! Isn't he so cool?" She elbowed Jinwoo like they were gossiping at a fan convention. “That mana control! The layered defense spell! He’s multitasking! Mage boyfriend material! I respect that.”

Jinwoo didn’t answer right away. His black eyes tracked Choi Jongin silently, sharp and unreadable. His arms folded tightly across his chest, fingers flexing slightly as if gripping something invisible.

He wasn’t sure why his mood suddenly dipped.

At first, he chalked it up to battle fatigue. But no.

His shadows were perfectly fine.

Beru and Igris were on standby.

Y/N was still alive, unfortunately still talking, but alive.

And yet… there was this annoying heat crawling under his skin as he watched Y/N completely ignore him.

His jaw tensed.

He inhaled slowly through his nose.

Exhaled through his teeth.

Beru edged closer. “My king… your magic is rising.”

“I know,” Jinwoo ground out.

He was boiling.

“He’s just standing there.

He hasn’t even done anything impressive today.

Flames? Really? I have Kaisel. I have Beru. I have freaking Bellion.”

He didn’t like this feeling.

He didn’t like the unfamiliar tension in his chest.

But most of all, he didn’t like her calling Choi Jongin “boyfriend material” while he was standing right there.

Choi Jongin’s conversation with the Association agents trailed off as he glanced toward Jinwoo.

His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second.

The air around Jinwoo was subtly shifting, oppressive. Heavy.

“…It feels dangerous,” Jongin murmured under his breath.

The agent beside him blinked. “Sir?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze stayed on Jinwoo, sharp and cautious, like he was dealing with an apex predator deciding whether or not to attack.

It wasn’t just high-level mana pressure.

It was killing intent. Controlled but unmistakable.

And it was aimed in his direction.

“Guild Master Sung,” Jongin said calmly, giving a respectful nod even as his body tensed, ready to react. “Is everything alright?”

Jinwoo gave him a deadpan stare. “Fine.”

But his shadows writhed faintly on the ground.

Meanwhile, Y/N froze like someone had just clicked the pause button on her brain.

She turned her head—slowly, dramatically, like she was in a movie—and there he was.

Choi Jongin.

Korean Magic Guild’s Master.

The Archmage himself.

Standing not three feet away from her and Jinwoo.

If there had been a soundtrack to this moment, it would’ve been a heavenly choir singing "sha-lalalalalalaaaahhhhhhh" while sparkles exploded behind Jongin in slow motion.

Jinwoo inhaled slowly, staring up at the sky like he was looking for divine patience… or maybe a sign that he wasn’t about to do something he’d regret.

“Y/N,” Jinwoo said calmly, his voice dangerously even.

“Hm?” she blinked up at him, completely missing the warning signs.

“I’m going home.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Oh! Okay. I’ll be there in a bit! I’m thinking—”

“Home,” Jinwoo repeated, already turning on his heel.

 “Should I… go with you?”

Jinwoo didn’t stop walking.

He raised a hand behind him in a casual wave—the kind of casual that screamed anything but.

“I’m not stopping you,” he said over his shoulder, voice deceptively light.

<< Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 >>

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme

[theyluvlyss]

𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐥...

batman's cape (and any of the other batfam member's capes) are heated/can be microwaved :D.

...yeah, probably not the most original thought. surely someone has come up with this before, and hey, maybe it's even canon - but that doesn't really take away any of the ideas I have, so on we go anyways lmao.

I imagine that you, y/n, reader (lol idk-) is often found all wrapped up in bruce's cape (ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S FRESH OUT OF THE WASH) and he'll be TEARING the manor apart looking for that shit because why would it be anywhere else except in the bat-cave, in his bat-suit vault, right there clipped onto the specific bat-suit he's choosing to wear for whatever mission he's finna go on, just to eventually find you on a couch somewhere above the bat-cave all rolled up like a worm in it with the glow of your phone emitting from underneath the fabric and your little giggles muffled by it because you're probably laughing at memes or something idk.

bruce is definitely the type to think it's silly and lowkey can't even blame you because it do be cold in the mansion, but he also refuses to drop the "I'm so hardcore and a brute and stone cold" act so he's yanking that shit offa' you and you're just BEWILDERED, suddenly exposed to the light and cold like, "😮⁉️🫨⁉️" and before you can even process wtf happened, bruce is already whisking around the corner, gone and out of sight💀.

dick would also think it's silly, but lowkey actually be annoyed, though, and he'd make that KNOWN. like, sure, he'd initially be VERY stressed when he can't find the cape (even though it's not thay big of a deal but for some reason, he just doesn't feel "complete" without it😭) but then he'd see this huge lump all wrapped up in it on a bed in one of the many rooms or something. at first, he'd think it's one of the handful of pets owned and living in the wayne estate, just to peel back the fabric and see YOU.

"...Hi��..."

"...🙂Why are- Nevermind. You do know that I need this, right?"

"I mean,,, you don't need it, you just-"

*YANK!!*

"NO, WAIT, IT'S COLD!!"

"THEN GET A BLANKET!!"

I'm sorry, but I feel like dick don't play 'bout his cape, and you're just either gonna have to find different ways to sneak it or just leave it tf alone😭✋🏽. but when it's not currently in dire need by him, he'll happily return it to you and smile when you squeal and wrap yourself back up in and under it while it warms up.

BARBARA GETS IT FR. SHE GETS ✨️🩷YOU🩷✨️. but also, she is attached to it in the way dick is, so don't be surprised if and when she needs it, she's taking it from you with zero mercy and under the excuse of, "I'm on duty tonight, I'm not showing up out of uniform lol." and you're just left there like "☹️...". but outside of those times, the both of you can be found very happily and contently under her cape as you watch horror movies or something and rambling about who knows what, a common interest lol.

and I'm pretty sure in some strains/universes or whatever of dc, she ends up becoming oracle because she's paralyzed or some shit, right?? I could totally be wrong, but if I'm not, I feel like in that case, she just GIVES it to you. she makes it a huge deal, too, she acts like she's passing along the magical ashes of a dead ancestor that grants you infinite knowledge and protection or some shit and has a whole speech prepared, just for her to hand you this neatly folded up cloth and you're just like, "...You're giving me your cape😀??" and she's like, "Ya🙂♡." and you can't even be mad because ...

IT'S A HEATED CAPE like idk what else you could want from her like plz✋🏽.

(*casually skips over Tim bc idk enough about him and if I mischaracterized him I'd have to delete this account and then me off of the face of this earth bc I refuse to be that bitch who doesn't know her shit😃*)

jason will see you with his cape, and whether you're awake or asleep, he'll loom over you menacingly until you sense his presence, and then not even give you the chance to give excuses before he's like, "I'm on watch tonight."

you don't dare protest lmao. and he isn't giving it back to you later on. it's one of those things that if you really want it, you gotta go get it. and then expect you won't have it for very long, so whatever you plan on doing with it, you better make the most of it😭✋🏽. that's literally all I can say for him lmao.

DAMIAN (my fave) (^3^)/. I feel like he'd make it seem like SUCH an inconvenience for himself even though he doesn't actually care about the cape itself and if anything, finds it very sweet and endearing that you literally use it as a blanket because "it gets so warm" and "it smells like you" and "it's here when you're gone and I miss you". but, much like his father, he just HAS to keep up the, "I'm so stone cold and no nonsense and eternally vexed" facade, so if you're awake and you have it, he'll just hold out his hand expectingly and - like jason - you don't dare argue because you're just gonna lose🥲.

but if he finds the cape and you're asleep with/under it, he'll actually let you keep it. like, he'll just leave it and either go about his superhero duties without the cape entirely, or he'll just use another one from a different suit. sure, it might possess different capabilities (no pun intended), or he might feel a little... off... without a cape, but he'd rather that than interrupt your comfortable state.

and you'll be so bent up about it when he returns, and you're like, "WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TAKE IT😭💔?!" and he's like, "you were obviously very comfortable, I didn't want to disturb you😐..........🫶🏼."

so um.... yeah, I honeslty dk where all of that came from, but do with this info what you will.

byeeee /ᐠ^ω^マ~ !!

[goreandbunnies]

⛧☾༒︎ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 ༒︎☽⛧

Sukuna x Reader, Toji x Reader

Summary ๋࣭ ⭑⚝"Almost six months after meeting him, I had finally managed to escape. At least that's what I thought, hidden in that alley, holding my breath and waiting for the search party to get further away from my spot. But this city was his, he had eyes everywhere. I needed to leave as far away as I could."

Warnings ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Explicit language, sexual explicit scenes, sexual assault, drugs and alcohol, explicit violent scenes, gun violence, emotional and physical manipulation, dub-con, mentions of cults, blood and blood play, knife play.

Word count ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 8.3k (in progress)

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more & @cafekitsune

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢

Even the thick November foggy night couldn’t hide me from them. My body was pressed against the cold concrete of a building, trying to conceal my cloudy breath under the black hoodie I was wearing. The damn thing smelled like him. Or maybe I did too, the consequence of letting that man in my life in the first place. 

My name echoed in the empty streets a couple of times, followed by several dogs barking. I knew who was after me. The same four henchmen of his, led by his right hand while he was probably waiting in his car for them to fetch me and bring me back to him. 

Instinctively, my hand covered the tattoo on my sternum, the same symbol he had inked on his forehead. I shouldn’t have let him do it, I knew it even back then, but he had forced himself into my life and soul and by the time I realized he was wrapped around me like a snake, it was too late.

Almost six months after meeting him, I had finally managed to escape. At least that’s what I thought, hidden in that alley, holding my breath and waiting for the search party to get further away from my spot. But this city was his, he had eyes everywhere. I needed to leave as far away as I could. 

The sound of his dobermans and henchmen barking got fainter by the second and after a terrified look behind the building, I noticed them walking away from me, down the other side of the street. Finally allowing myself to breathe, I readjusted the hood over my head and ran in the opposite direction. 

My lungs were burning from the cold air as my feet hit the pavement heavily, my survival instincts going haywire from being hunted like prey. I thought about the apartment I had to leave behind, all of my belongings collecting dust - my books, my record player, the yellowed teapot I couldn’t part with. I couldn’t go back. Ever. They were probably there already anyway. 

I had managed to grab some cash from his vault before running away, planning on using it to buy myself a bus ticket to get the Hell away from this city. The station was only a couple of blocks away, within walking - or in my case, running - range. I only had to get there before someone recognized me. 

When I was about to pass out from hyperventilating and running like a mad woman, the bus station appeared at the end of the street. I slowed down, trying to catch my breath, still jogging up to the lobby where a single cashier was reading a book, bored out of his mind. 

His eyes widened when he eventually saw me, out of breath, definitely looking like I was on the run. I slapped a couple of bills on the counter. 

“Next bus to leave town, please,” words struggled to get past my lips. 

The cashier simply nodded, collected the money and quickly printed the ticket before handing it to me. I nodded back at him before heading outside, looking for the beat up Greyhound bus and glanced at its destination - Toronto. Perfect. I couldn’t put enough miles between him and me. I only had one last thing to do to ensure my safety during the twenty minutes before the bus would leave.

I fished the burner phone from the hoodie’s pocket and dialed a number. My fingers were ice cold, squeezing the small device tightly, my entire body shaking from the cold and the fear. 

“Police department, what’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice said in my cold ear. I sniffled.

“I have information about what’s going on at the Shrine,” I whispered into the phone, covering my mouth as I leaned against a wall. “There will be a party, next Saturday but it’s a cover up. There’s a secret basement where they-” I choked on words. 

“Ma’am, can you give me your name? Are you in danger?” The policeman asked, my hand tightening around the phone. 

“Just… get there next Saturday, they’re all going to attend,” I breathed, looking around, the hairs at the back of my head rising suddenly.

One second too late, I saw someone point a tranquilizer gun at me from afar. I felt the needle in my neck before I even heard the gunshot. My feet moved on their own, running away as I ripped the small dose from my neck. 

My vision blurred and my perception got messed up quickly, the drugs rapidly getting into my system, poisoning my blood and reducing my hopes to ashes. A minute later, I crashed on the ground, my head hitting the side of a bench. 

Terror took over me as a tall, broad figure towered over me. I gathered the last bits of strength I had and crawled on the concrete, my body heavy and almost entirely limp.

“Toji, please,” I begged the tall man as I recognized him, only to get a huffed laugh as a response.

He followed after me as the drugs slowly put me to a stop. The side of my head was bleeding, my palms were bloody, I could barely breathe, but I couldn’t go back. In a last attempt to crawl, I reached forward and my hand found a soft, leathery bump - someone’s shoe - before my body eventually gave up.

Motionless on the cold concrete, I was focused on my erratic breathing, trying not to pass out when someone gently rolled me over on my back with their foot. I blinked a couple of times, fighting oblivion when he stood by me, his pink hair slowly swaying in the cold breeze. 

Hands in his pockets, tilting his tattooed face to the side as he looked down at me, I recognized the man I was running away from. He had found me. Despite all of my foolish attempts at running away, almost succeeding, he had found me again. I kept my eyes open for as long as I could, terrified of what he’d do to me once I’d pass out. 

Ever so slowly, he crouched over me and took my face in his hand, burying his fingers in my cheeks. The sight of the tattoo on his forehead sealed my fate and eventually, his eyes softened slightly, clashing with his permanent cruel and carnal smile. 

“You really thought you could leave me that easily?” He purred, his voice soft and warm compared to the cold I felt within. The rest of the search party must’ve gotten there since more voices had gathered around us, but his eyes never left mine. I tried to speak, only to find it impossible. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m taking you back right where you belong,” he stood back up, allowing Toji to lift me from the ground in his arms like a rag doll. 

The last thing I saw through my tears filled eyes was the triumphant smile of the pink haired man as he slipped the collar around my neck again before darkness claimed me entirely.

Copyright © goreandbunnies, bitchcraft18 2024, all rights reserved, do not repost, use or plagiarize

[gentrychild]

BNHA 407 : AFO is a lying liar who lies

Today is a very sad day because I am about to do something I genuinely dislike: I am about to defend All for One. In order to cope, I shall make fun of him the whole time.

AFO and Yoichi's backstory is finally out, with AFO narrating it, and there are two possibilities: he is either completely lying about it (boring) or he is lying a little about it (very in-character for him) because he is also lying to himself.

Lie number 1: AFO was born evil.

The narrator (AFO, seriously, it's AFO) says things such as "The baby drained the lifeforce of both his mom and his brother.", "It was born an arrogant baby." and such but it really reads at AFO villifying himself to add to his own legend.

That's what babies do. Children, before they're born, kinda have to take their strength from their mother. That's why pregnant people aren't supposed to do anything taxing.

AFO and Yoichi's mother didn't die because baby AFO drained her like a vampire. She died because she was a homeless woman who had access to nothing and had to go in labor alone.

Same thing here: during twin birth, a twin is often bigger than the other (well, probably not to extent of Yoichi and AFO, but you get my point).

Lie number 2: AFO, as a demon baby, is shown killing for no reason, just because he can.

(First slaughter by Baby AFO shown in that chapter.)

There are two things that are strange in this scene (apart from... you know.... a baby murdering people...)

AFO had no reason to go after them because they don't have any quirks to steal.

It makes no sense for someone to attack a group of people with nothing to gain. I doubt that's the kind of behavior you have when you're in survival mode as you're barely surviving in the street.

However, a previous panel points at some context we might be missing.

The same panel that indicates that those guys don't have a quirk to steal also shows that they are wiling to do some "preventive attack" on a bunch of quirked people who might or might not be those who assaulted a protest group (reminder that in this context, that protest group are protesting the rights for quirked people to exist).

I could be wrong but odds are that they did something to be qualified as a threat to All for One and we are missing the additional context.

(Second slaughter by Baby AFO shown in that chapter.)

Now, the poor souls who just got absolutely wrecked by a toddler wearing what I suspect to be a garbage bag have quirks, which makes more sense than the previous scene.

However (and thank you for @aimportantdragoncollector for pointing that out to me), we also have this panel.)

Yoichi is shown with bruises on his face and might be broken teeth.

Probably because those same people AFO is shown killing attacked him.

Lie number 3: AFO never loved Yoichi because he can't love, he just considered that he was his. That's all. Nothing more.

(Just... Just ignore the rats.)

AFO didn't care about Yoichi so much that the very conscious first act of his life might have been to swim a river upstream while dragging his brother above the surface with what must have been the deathgrip of all deathgrip.

AFO didn't care about his brother so much that Yoichi was fed and clothed by an AFO who was malnourished enough for his ribs to show and who wore what's basically an improvised toga.

But he just keeps sacrificing what little he has for someone he doesn't care about one bit, that's just his first possession. Nothing more.

Okay, I am going to be clear: anyone who sees that panel and thinks that it's the proof AFO didn't like his brother... You just outed yourself as an only child.

Siblings punt each other for no reason. (There is a reason why the first recorded murderer was an older sibling.) In this case, the reason was Yoichi throwing a can at him.

AFO: "You're not inviting me to a fun activity? You're leaving me out, in the cold, unable to partake in brother bonding activity? Oh, vault for Little Brother! Vault for Little Brother for one thousand years!"

AFO: "Nevermind, we're reading together. All is well, I guess."

Lie number 3: AFO killed the glowing baby for power, because he could, or because the Glowing Baby didn't deserve it

Still laughing about AFO's flawless reasoning... "Comic books heroes' life suck. Better to be a villain. I already did the whole struggle thing, I want an easy life."

AFO killed the glowing baby because he was jealous. It's as simple as that. The glowing baby was considered the first official quirked individual (even though it's not true), was protected by his family (if I remember correctly, the mother of quirks was his mom) while AFO and Yoichi had no one but each other (EDIT: I was wrong, the Mother of Quirks was Destro's mother. thanks to the people in the tags), and had a ton of people following him (while, for some strange reason, people start running away screaming when AFO shows his quirk... What a mystery...).

The last panel was basically AFO saying "I want to be loved' but not having the frame of reference to even know what love is.

In conclusion...

While AFO is definitely a bad guy and a monster, he didn't begin his existence as one. He just wants people to believe that. Because his pride and his ego can't allow him to admit that he lived a childhood full of horrible trauma where he was a victim abandoned by society (to an even greater extent than the LOV) or he would probably combust out of rage and mortification.

Ergo facto, AFO is a lying liar who lies, especially to himself.

[star-dust-stuf]

Theseus/Newt Scamander x fem!reader

title: makes you wanna lose your mind

warnings: descriptions of torture, angst

a/n: so basically this is like a throw off from hp part 1. it's super dramatic, it's romantic too. I just loved the entire setting of part 1 so I wanted it with Theseus and Newt also dumbledore is the readers father. sorry for typos.

-

It was very cold outside of the tent and I didn't know why Theseus would want to be out there at all, his nose was red, and his cheeks were too. I walked behind him as his hands rested in his warm pockets and his shoes where soaking in the snow.

"It's cold." I say, standing next to him, he was a lot taller than me.

He looked down at me and sighs. "It's refreshing."

"You're not still fighting with Newt, are you. I know it's hard being with each other for so long, you're not used to it."

Theseus chuckles and looked to his shoes, "he's my baby brother, of course I'm not still mad at him. But maybe we should go back in the tent, yeah?"

I nod a little, he gently led me back. Of course, the tent was bigger on the inside, my father gave me undetectable magic, knowing what kind of danger we'd be in. Newt didn't have his case with him, Dumbledore kept it in case anything bad is to happen.

Newts coat was off, he took off his tie and looked at the both of us. "I think we should rest. We can't stay here forever, or the Death Eaters will catch up to us."

Theseus looked at me before nodding and headed to one of the beds. I couldn't shake a bad feeling, like I needed to go back outside the tent. "What is it?" Newt asks.

"I don't know, somethings wrong." I reply, I wasn't lying, and they both knew that.

They both withdrew their wands and headed outside the tent where I followed too, my wand at my side. It wasn't too dark, the moon reflecting off the snow made the woods really bright, bright enough for us to see.

"Revelio..." Newt muttered, his wand lit up gently with a soft glow.

Theseus saw as the three Death Eaters appeared. All in black and masked, tall and left a trail of emptiness in their presence.

I tried to perform a protective spell as so did Newt and Theseus, but the Death Eaters were quick to act. Our wands flew out of our hands, and with another flick of their wands we all fell to the floor in the cold snow.

The Death Eaters all retrained us as another figure walked towards us, his blonde hair became more visible, his blue eyes glimmers in the little light. He stood over us... It was Abraxas Malfoy. He smiled slightly.

"You know what to do, come don't waste time."

The Death Eaters Apparated us, to where the snow wasn't as heavy, and the sky was gray, there was a large black gate and a larger manor behind it. It was black, and Abraxas led us inside, his smile mainly on me.

Newt was looking all around him, he didn't know what to do, nor did Theseus when Abraxas used a spell to keep me on the floor.

Theseus and Newt were hand bound by the chains the Death Eaters put on them. Abraxas Malfoy looked down at me, in the middle of the floor in ahis Manor. He was talking. His wand pointing to me as he glanced at Newt and Theseus.

"Oh dear, oh dear. She's so very beautiful, isn't she?" Abraxas spoke deeply.

Theseus struggled against the chains, "don't touch her!"

Abraxas smiled at him. "Now don't you think you can tell me exactly what to do?"

Newt was just as angry, but he was nervous. His voice shook. "She's innocent, she didn't break into your vault. She-."

Abraxas cut him off. "Ohh. But she did. And I know this because when I knew you three where after me, I took precaution. You were looking for the pendant necklace, and you found it didn't you?"

Abraxas moved the hair from my face with his wand as he crouched over me. His voice was soft as he looked down at me. Tears running down the sides of my temples, the black floor illuminated the moonlight from the windows. Abraxas looked down at me and smiled. "We must learn to not steal."

Theseus struggled, he grunted. "Stop!" Abraxas ignored him, he held his wand more firmly at me. Theseus yelled, "NO!"

Newt shouted after him. "No please don't hurt her... don't hurt her!"

Abraxas casted a dirty spell, "please-!" I gasped and screamed as his wand illuminated a soft green glow.

Theseus couldn't help but continue to struggle, couldn't bear to hear it. I struggled against the spell, and I continued to scream. Newt was trying to stay calm as Piget was slowly picking the cuffs chains lock.

Abraxas smirked. "You're a lying witch that deserves to know what you are!"

He continues, the noise loudly echoed all along his manor, Theseus was watching the entire thing unfold as the spell continues to cause pain to my body, my insides burning.

Theseus wanted to do something, he felt useless watching me. Abraxas stopped the spell, he looked towards Theseus. Theseus saw the sadness and pain on my face which made his twist in anger. Abraxas grabbed his jaw causing him to grunt. "Who will save her now?"

Newts chains fell to the black wooden floor. He snatched his wand from the Death Eater and casted a spell to push the two of them back. He did another to unlock his brother's bounded hands and readied his wand against Abraxas.

Theseus and Newt fought against Abraxas and the Death Eaters that entered the room. Theseus wanted to get to me before anyone else could hurt me further. Newt shouted. "YOUR TIE- ITS A PORTKEY!"

Theseus pulled me up, waving his wand over and over till he reached Newt who grabbed his tie and we apparated from the manor. We landed in Hogsmeade where Albus, my father was staying.

Albus knew something was wrong and rushed to our aid as Theseus and Newt supported my weak body. "Aberforth, get hot water!"

His brother ran behind the counter. Albus lied me down gently Newt and Theseus standing above me, Theseus' hands were dirty from getting on the floor to rescue me, some black dust covered his cheeks and his neck, his eyes wet and red.

Aberforth got a bowl of hot water and a cloth, Albus soaked and rung it out before wiping my forehead. "I know she's been in a deep amount of pain."

Newt spoke, shaken up. "Abraxas- used the cruciatus curse on her."

Albus looked at me, sighing. He rubbed my forehead gently. "She'll be alright."

Theseus held my hand slowly. "Why her? She wasn't the one to get into his vault, to steal the pendant."

Albus spoke, "yes, but she's the one who had it in her pocket. She kept it there and he knew that."

I cried loudly as my father wiped my forehead again, my body consorted in pain. Albus gently shooshed me as Theseus pet my hair gently to keep me calm. Newt spoke. "The pain will fade soon enough."

Albus sighed and stood, looking at Newt. "I told you whatever you do, do not get caught and you did exactly what i told you not to. I told you to go to his vault." Newt looked to me and back at Albus. "You put my daughter in danger."

Theseus stood up, "it was my fault, I told her to hold onto it. That it would be safer with her."

Newt spoke, "w-we can leave her here with you-."

Albus shook his head, wiping his hands with a dry cloth. "No, it's crucial you bring her. You two are... Vincible without her" Newt looked at me before looking back at Albus. "Shes exhausted and you two are as well. My brother will take you to a room, I'll get her to a room and stay with her-."

Theseus cut him off. "I can sit with her."

Albus smiles slightly, "alright. Now if you are to require anything, my brother is here."

Newt watched as Albus gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead before leaving. His brother Aberforth gently picked me up, and up the stairs. He got me to a room and lied me in a bed before covering my body with the blanket. Theseus sat in the chair next to me and stayed.

Once Aberforth left, Newt came in, the only light was the fireplace going in the room. "She'll be fine, Theseus."

Theseus nods a little, smiling, relived I made it back. "She didn't deserve what we got ourselves into. She didn't deserve to endure that pain."

Newt looked at me, sleeping in the bed, my eyes puffy from crying. "She's strong, and I think you need to give her credit for that."

Theseus watched me calmly, not planning on leaving my side. Newt smiled a little before leaving the room and closing the door. The next morning, I woke up, Theseus who was half asleep on the chair beside the bed did as well.

"You're alright." He tried comfort me; he leaned forward and rubbed my back.

"My stomach-."

He sighs. "I'll get Newt to help with the pain." He gently put his hand on the side of my face. "It's going to be okay."

I nodded a little. After some time, I found strength to get up and go down the stairs, my uncle Aberforth was braiding my long hair gently, as Newt took care of the pain I felt in my body. There was some snow outside, Hogsmeade was always so beautiful during winter, and I forgot all about it.

Theseus was talking with Albus. "If you take her back out there, I'll be sending you three with undetectable magic. The Ministry won't see it being used."

Theseus nods slowly, he looked at Newt doing magic on my arm. Theseus looked at Albus, "I'll keep your daughter safe. I promise."

Albus smiles softly, "she's strong. But not without the two of you."

Newt looked at Albus and smiled slightly. My uncle finished braiding my hair his hands were far gentler than his face. Albus helped me stand up and he cupped my face, "if you ever need me... I'll be there."

Albus looked at Newt, "oh. And one more thing." With the flick of his wand Newts case appears in his own hand.

Newt smiles slightly, "thank you."

Albus smiles. "Use those creatures to your advantage." I hugged my uncle; I was going to miss him as much as my father. And then I walked to Theseus and Newt, they both saw how tired I was. "And use that portkey, only if needed. Now the Death Eaters know that you three are still alive. And they won't stop till your dead."

[coldcasevault]

Jeremy Ted Alex

eremy Ted Alex, born on April 8, 1976, was last seen in Northport, Maine, on April 24, 2004. At the time of his disappearance, he was 28 years old, standing between 5'5" and 5'7", and weighing approximately 150 pounds. He is a Caucasian male with brown hair and brown eyes. Alex was last seen wearing an olive-green flannel Timberland sweatshirt, blue jeans or brown corduroy pants, and sneakers. He was carrying a red backpack. Notably, he smoked hand-rolled cigarettes.

On the day of his disappearance, Alex was moving items to a new home on Harbor Road in Northport. At around 5:20 p.m., he was spotted running out of the woods near Pound Hill Road, approximately 1.5 miles from his new residence.

Witnesses described his behavior as paranoid and erratic, with Alex claiming that "bad guys" were trying to harm him. Despite attempts to assist him, he fled before authorities could arrive. His van was later found in a small parking area off Pound Hill Road, with his keys and cellphone inside, but there was no sign of Alex himself.

In September 2004, there were unconfirmed but credible sightings of a man matching Alex's description in Jackson, Maine, about 45 minutes from Northport. This individual was seen emerging from the woods, acting strangely, and refusing to communicate. Alex had a history of substance addiction and may have been under the influence at the time of his disappearance.

His family believes he may have met with foul play, although he possessed survival skills suitable for living in the woods. At the time, he worked as a freelance gardener and enjoyed skateboarding, reading, and playing the guitar.

The Maine State Police are investigating his case and can be reached at 207-624-7076.

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

phase O.1 // phase O.2

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

tw: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), possessive/obsessive behavior, somnophilia, object insertion, blood/violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, kidnapping/imprisonment, implied forced relationship, unbalanced power dynamic, enemies to lovers vibe

notes: here it is besties. thank you all for being so patient with me. and thank you to all the lovelies who've commented/msgd me asking about it and wanting more. im just so glad to share my unhinged obsessions. i do have plans to make a third part, but again, could be a bit. so sorry ahhh.

You hadn’t realized you were stolen to sleep. Sobbing yourself into the veiled shadows of your mind in the arms of something—someone—so haunting. A damning surrender on your part. It was a miracle you had the pleasure of opening your eyes. When the moon crawler could have offered you death instead.

When your lashes winged wholly, the haze of a night-dark bedroom washed your sight. You breathed in your surroundings. The linen bed sheets beneath your fingertips, a worktable littered with dried herbs and vials, and a vaulted chest for storing valuables. A simple room one would toss a coin for a night at a common tavern. 

With effort, you pulled yourself to your knees. The weight of clothes shifted against your body. Looking down, you pinched the fabric of a clean gown. And when a hair strand fell to your cheek, you caught the faintest scent of lavender and nightshade. Drifting your attention lower, a mild soreness welled between your legs, accounting for last night's debauchery. A reminder of an ache you could never wash away, no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw. But even scrapping your skin till you bled from bone seemed a better feeling than this.

That thought alone made you pause in your observations and consider the only details that mattered.

Where were you and...

Where was he?

You crawled over to the side of the bed. Pressing your feet against the ground, something like cold iron grazed them. You reached through the dark and secured a dulled paring knife. Your gaze studied an apple not too far away, half peeled from the skin of its flesh. Dropped mid-serving, for whatever the reason was. Knife in hand, you tiptoed to the bedroom door and tried to pry it open. It shuddered against your touch—locked. It seemed the only way to escape was by key, and to your misfortune, you didn’t have to guess who had it in strict keeping.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

A brush of cold licked across your nape. Turning towards the sound, there was another adjoining room. A washroom, perchance. You tightened your hold on the knife, and willed your bare feet forward, swallowing your thudding heart. You counted each step, pausing when a puddle glistened before the doorway. Dark in color and metallic in aroma, a shiver traced your spine as you stepped over it.

Under the door frame, your sight fell upon him, bare and slumped in a wooden bath. You stood still, not daring to flinch, in case he had his own knife hidden beneath the surface tension. When your presence hadn’t been acknowledged, you padded closer. 

Examining him further, you noticed not a lick of a wound, scrape, or gash on his body. Nothing that would substantiate the splatter of blood you'd passed. Falling onto his face, the faintest shimmer stained the corners of his lips. You would’ve deemed him dead if it weren’t for the labored breaths and shivers of his body.

A saccharine taste of flowers sprang to the tip of your tongue. 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you brought the knife a near inch to his throat. You hadn’t noticed the slits of his eyes cracked open, branding you the moment you stepped in. Before you could jerk back, his hand leapt from the bath water. You winced when he took your wrist, expecting him to plunge the blade in your direction. Instead, he lulled his head to the side, and guided your hand to press the sharp edge against the skin of his neck.

“This angle is much better, isn’t it?” Aphelios stated rather than asked, his wet hair flowing like liquid night across his features. “You can stare deeply into the eyes of your enemy, and watch that insignificant light fade from them. Then, and only then, do you know they’re truly dead. If that's what you would like to do to me..." you held your breath and felt the blue of his veins beat against the blade. “Now’s your chance.”

Your hands trembled, his mortal essence flowing right at your fingertips. But the mere thought of relishing red-stained hands overwhelmed you with a bout of nausea, weakening your grasp at the hilt. Even if he deserved every bit of suffering, and for you to celebrate his undoing by a dull carving knife, it wasn’t who you were. 

You refused to be anything like him.

“Strange. Not many Burning One’s would hesitate at the offer. It’s no wonder they locked you away in that sunlit temple.” He released your shaking hand and traced the outline of your face. “Far from the shadows they’ve cast down.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you seethed, tugging your chin away from his touch. He leaned back in the basin, his shoulders taut as he fought against a cough. You narrowed your lashes at a string of blood pouring from his lips. “It’s not my place to deliver your punishment, but your trial of judgment will come. It’s already apparent you’re paying for your transgressions. And I’m glad for it.”

Your words were false against your true sensibilities. Feeling foolish for your heart to ache with sympathy for him, a wretched murderer and lech. The wiser part of you screamed when you set aside the knife, took up a washcloth, and wiped at his mouth. A cord in his jaw tightened, and you noted a life-stealing grip at the tub's edge.

A trained reflex to wrap his fingers around your neck. 

Had you been anyone else.

Had you been anyone else, you would’ve been flayed open across the altar. Had you been anyone else, the pathetic knife you threatened him with would be stuck heart deep between your breasts. Had you been anyone else, She would have commanded your sacrifice. 

You banished the unwelcomed thought.

“The water’s freezing. How long have you let yourself sit here?” His lips merely mirrored a fine line at the question. Under your gaze, you watched another invisible ripple tighten the tethers of his muscles. You exhaled on a presumptive thought. “You can’t move. Can you?” 

The black glass of his eyes stared at nothing, and said nothing. Then and there, that cold existence would rather suffer than utter a single word of admittance. 

“Seems you like to keep quiet when it’s convenient for you.” You quipped, wringing out the washcloth with indignation. “No different from a child throwing a tantrum when it suits them. I should leave you here then. Let whatever you catch take you within a week’s time. It would save a lot of others the trouble.”

His face remained a blank sheet of ice, and you interpreted it as an invitation to do as you pleased. He’d given you the choice to take his life, after all. Now you understood he’d meant every word. Perhaps he even intended to pay a compliment. Not a bluff or jab at your softer nature, even after you had foolishly settled to spare him. 

You banished the strange sentiment. Once you had found a way to get him to bed and asleep, you would scrounge the room for a key. Wherever he had chosen to hide it. 

“Golden Sister, avert your light," you asked for pardon under your breath.

You drew up your hand, calling forth a kindle of golden sunlight. It pulsed and radiated with warmth, kissing the tips of your fingers. The glow of it illuminated your company’s features. That face of marble chipped at the corner of his eyes; a crack of unnerving reproach. When you guided your hand towards the pane of his chest, he ruefully shifted away.

You clicked your tongue. “You’ll let me freely cut your throat, but the moment I try to help, you want nothing to do with it. Either you hold still, or I reconsider your offer. Which one is it?”

He responded with a slowed and pained breath. When he leaned back, you pressed a palm to his sternum.

Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the ebb and flow of warm light reaching for him; through him. When you entered, dark shadows ripped and slashed against your magic. Sharper than daggers of ice, piercing hotter than any black flame. Sweat gathered at your temples. Furrowing your brows, you steeled your magic from shattering and concentrated your radiance. Gradually, the thrashing tendrils subdued into undulating wisps that languidly brushed across your presence.

“I can’t heal whatever sickness you’ve caused yourself. It's unfamiliar to me. And even if I could, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting to spend eternity with your false deity," you admitted, withdrawing. “But I should have eased the pain. Enough for you to manage from here and to bed.”

Without a word, and with what little strength he still possessed, he gripped the lip of the tub. You hooked an arm underneath his own, and his legs trembled as he rose from the bathwater. When he dragged his feet from the bath, he banked to catch himself on the wall with his hand. The unexpected sway almost swept your footing away. With luck, he managed to hold himself as you helped him stagger out of the washroom.

When he dropped onto the bed, the weight of him brought you to your knees beside him. You huffed, prying his arm away from the support of your shoulders. He made no effort to force you to lay with him. Thankfully, the soothing effects of your work made him pliable, gifting you a moment of safe assurance. 

Your gaze roamed the softness that rounded his previously sharpened features. His brows rested light above his closed eyes, and his lashes long and airy curtained over the smooth contour of his cheeks. His face once devoid of color now brushed with a stroke of pink from your magic. If you hadn’t been the wiser, you would’ve believed him to be a completely different person. 

Nothing like a weapon now.

You pulled yourself from your careless observations, remembering time was of the essence if you’d hope of escape. Turning away, ghostly fingertips graced the skin of your cheek. Your breath hitched. Drawn back, his black pearls peeked from their bed of lashes. His lips moved, but deft as the words were, you swore it was a mere breath in the night.

‘...thank you.’

Your heart constricted, abandoning you in a space stolen of thought, let alone a reply. To your horror, the squeeze of your chest wasn't entirely unpleasant. Still, you feared to linger on it, knowing it would sooner kill you if you’d let it. You consciously berated yourself to get away—hurry, hurry! But like a silent poison of its own kind, you suddenly felt weak in spirit. And to no one’s fault but of your own. 

You had drained yourself dry by helping him.

Still in his touch, your body sank onto the bed next to him. He traced the contour of your neck, past the dip of your clavicle, down to the arc of your hip bones. Lingering there, he drew lazy circles against the fabric till it hitched at your waist. His fingers slipped beneath, brushing a hand against the bare skin of your waist. You trembled, weathering the cold bite of his touch. No better than prey submitting to a cruel yet ordained circumstance.

“I should have never…” you swallowed, remorse tightening your throat.

His hand paused—watching a glint of wetness stain your eyes—then pulled you in with devastating gentleness. Resting his brow at your breasts, he enveloped you in his arms, and curled himself bare between your legs. Holding you in an embrace that was more delicate than heartbreak, drawing out a shuddering breath from your lips. 

For what seemed like an eternity, you laid there. Feigning death, praying for your eyes to never close again. Hoping to salvage the opportune moment to escape once he let go. But exhaustion was a beast that stalked your side and sank its fangs in the spots where he held you close. Paralyzing all your nerves till they went flak, dragging your body limp in his touch. 

And your waning consciousness along with it.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Behind closed eyes, the world was dark. An unfeeling landscape where nothing else existed. A state you could find yourself clinging to for the rest of your days to come. If only you were lucky enough to stay. Like a match to your body, a flame curled and burned beneath your dampening skin. The scorch of it trailing the woods of your body. A fire in your blood snaking lower to feed the smoldering spit simmering in your belly.

You shuddered, twitched and bit softly at the bottom half of your lip. Long, devoted fingers cradled your waist as lips graced the lower parts of your stomach. The careful graze of teeth at your navel sent your eyelids fluttering, where a glaze of lingering sleep clouded your vision. Only after a few blinks did you bid the fog away, and woke to the sight of yourself. 

The hem of your nightgown had been shelved above your swollen breasts, revealing nipples perked and coated wet with saliva. A sheen of sweat glistened like oil from mound to curve, and found the wicked Lunari man responsible for your state laid between your legs.

Your lips quivered, struggling to speak through the feverish qualities burning away at your flesh. You couldn’t even attempt to prop yourself up, let alone drag yourself away. Your body felt heavy and drunk off whatever pleasure it had thirsted for and drank without complaint. 

“What are you…” you started, but your voice was too sticky. Too mumbly. Not even swallowing would help. 

“I had a dream about your sunlight. That small, pleasant piece you shared with me last night.” He took pause, flitting his attention up from below, where his black slits narrowed with shameless intent. “I wondered what it would taste like.”

“N–Not down there,” you pleaded out a half-choked whimper. “It isn’t clean.” 

“Isn’t it, though? Have you considered how you might’ve bathed last night? Wondered who could have done it for you.” He trailed feather-light kisses down your inner thigh, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. “Washed your hair. Washed your body. And...” he tempted lower and lower, until the heat of his breaths warmed your folds, making them bloom with ache. "Everything in between.”

“Stop saying things like that. Stop doing things like this,” you said, wanting to speak them as commands. But the crack in your voice watered your tone down to unconsolable weeping. Knowing you had made a terrible mistake. Knowing no amount of your good nature would spare the heat of his mouth from teasing you relentlessly. Knowing you had no control as your cunt dripped itself into a pitiful mess. You tossed your head back and forth, desperate to hide the humiliation of your face in the throws of bedding. 

“Please.” Your chest heaved and shuddered. “Just let me go.” 

"Fated or not, you’ve chosen to stay. First, when you decided not to kill me in my most vulnerable state.” He eased the flat of his tongue over your leaking entrance, dragging it upward to flick your clit. Your hands clasped over your mouth to stifle the degrading noises that dared to leave. “Second, when you helped me to bed and kept it warm with me. And third—”

He plunged the length of his tongue into you, reaching for your center. You cried out through the gaps in your fingers, feeling something clenched deep inside you—and it wasn't his tongue. It was impeccably hard, with a distinct weld, shape and curve. The tip of his tongue swirled and twisted around it, coaxing it to rub along your sensitive ridges on the way out. When it revealed itself at your entrance, he took the object with a bite. A clink of metal between his teeth. With a shuddering gasp, your hips bucked once he slipped it past the squeeze of your hole.

“Even though you held the key inside you this whole time,” he fingered the iron loop and slid it across his tongue. You flushed when he consumed your gaze below. “You waited for me to take it.” 

Your head and heart pounded with blood. When…when did he…?

Before you could object, his mouth reclaimed all your ripe and swollen parts. Graciously kissing, licking, feasting between your legs. Your hips jolted as you squirmed against him. His hands gripped to dimple the softness of your thighs, parting you open like two delicate and succulent halves of a fruit.

Your eyes clenched shut, trying to forge the words that would stop him. But none existed in the pleasurable thickness that drowned your senses, possessing your hips to meet him at each languid lap. Turning your saliva into hot syrup in your mouth. Muddling any conceivable words down to moanful whines, sloppy whimpers, and broken utterances. Completely helpless as every stroke of his tongue made a creamy reduction of your insides, threatening to spill over every edge.

Your nails twisted into the bedsheets, and you broke for breath. “Can’t—n’ more—“ 

The moon devil interpreted your incoherent pleas for mercy as undying praise. Encouraging him to devour you with the passion of a starved man who’d forsaken each meal before you. Listening to a hunger that told him you would be his last, and echoed a fear that it would never be enough.

One last brush of his tongue and he clasped his lips around the bud, suckling on its throbbing plumpness.

A burst of pressure had you coming undone onto his mouth. Wails ripped through the air as your back careened into that awful crescent shape for him. You reached to push him away, but he’d caught your hands before you could lay a finger. You choked out a sob when he tacked your writhing wrists against the bed and continued to worship your taste with his mouth. Savoring every part of your quivers and cries, down to the very last gushing drop induced from your spasms. 

When he had taken his last sip of pleasure, he rose from between your thighs to loom above you.

“You’re exactly as I imagined you would taste.” His voice was a thin whisper on his glistening lips. As if he hadn’t even wanted the walls to hear. A secret only he would ever know, and for you to be the only one he’d share it with. 

He bent forward, panting with an unsatiated appetite against your mouth. “Sweet and warm.”

He took your lips, letting you drink up your arousal. A heavy, generous pour. The dewy tang of yourself flushed your face and neck with color. Your heart raced, gasping for breaths in a blur of moans and kisses. 

Tears of utter shame and frustration dotted your lashes, till they fell over in heaps. Yet, even your tears didn’t go to waste. He traced his tongue over your flushed and burning cheeks, catching every bit like spilled honey. And all you could do was lay there, unable to escape his sensual gilded cage. All the while hating yourself for wanting his mouth all over you—wanting to know how it’d feel claiming every inch of skin.

And hating him all the more for it.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 3 - Fuck or Die

Rain x Reader

You and Rain sneak into the Ministry’s archives for a precious artifact and come out with a lot more than you’d both bargained for.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 4.3k.

Reading Time: 17 min.

Warnings: cunnilingus, fuck or die, masturbation, mild worship, PIV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal sex,

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The dark corridors of the Ministry’s archives stretched out endlessly before you, bathed in shadows that seemed to shift and writhe under the flicker of the single torch Rain carried. Your heart pounded in your chest, a steady drumbeat that mirrored the soft thud of your footsteps against the cold stone floor. You shouldn’t be here. No one should. Yet, here you were, sneaking into the deepest vaults of the Ministry with Rain at your side. And there was no one on guard where they were supposed to be, either, allowing the two of you to just walk right in.

“This is madness,” you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder. Rain, as always, was a picture of calm, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes glinted with excitement, the thrill of the forbidden adventure spurring him on.

“It’s fun,” he countered in that low, silken voice of his, the one that always made you doubt your better judgement. “We’re close now.”

He was right, of course. The door ahead was unmistakable – solid, ancient, covered in runes that glowed faintly in the darkness. You swallowed hard. Behind that door lay the forbidden artifact: the apple said to have been bitten by Eve herself. It was said that one touch would give you all the knowledge you’d need. Rain had spoken of it for months now, and despite every rational voice in your head, you’d agreed to come. Just for a look, you’d promised yourself.

Rain pushed the door open, and the air that escaped was cold, thick with dust and the weight of centuries-old secrets. The room was small, dimly lit by the strange glow of the apple that sat on a pedestal in the centre. It was smaller than you imagined, but no less foreboding. Dark red, its skin marred by a single, jagged bite mark.

“There it is.” Rain stepped closer, his voice almost reverent.

“Don’t touch it,” you warned, though your own feet carried you forward in spite of the unease settling in your gut. But Rain didn’t listen. He never did. His fingers stretched out, lifting the glass case off of the plinth and brushing the surface of the apple before you could stop him.

The moment his skin made contact, the temperature in the room plummeted. The glow around the apple pulsed, once, twice, and then it spread—dark tendrils of power, wrapping themselves around Rain’s arm, spiraling upwards until they coiled around his throat. You took a step back, panic seizing you as you watched his eyes widen, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

“Rain!” You rushed forward, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him back, but it was too late. The dark energy lashed out, snapping around you like a whip, locking you both in place. Pain seared through your body, a burning, twisting sensation that made you cry out. You felt it then—the curse settling into your bones, into your blood.

The power released you both as suddenly as it had taken hold. You stumbled back, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. Rain stood frozen, his hand still hovering near the apple, his eyes locked on yours.

“What… what was that?” Your voice trembled.

Rain blinked, his hand dropping to his side. “A curse.” His tone was grim, all the earlier excitement gone. The look on his face told you that his research had told him that this could happen - and yet, he still went ahead with it.

You stared at him, the weight of the word sinking in. “What kind of curse?”

His jaw tightened. “The kind that binds.”

Your stomach churned as the meaning of his words became clear. You could feel it too—something pulling at you, something deep and ancient, forcing your very essence towards Rain. It wasn’t just magic. It was primal, dark, a need that flared in your chest the longer you stood there.

“We need to figure out how to break it,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Rain nodded, his gaze flicking to the apple and then back to you. “There’s only one way.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “The curse is… one of desire. We have to give in to it.”

The implications hit you like a sledgehammer. “You mean…?”

He gave a small, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. That.”

Your breath hitched. “But—”

“I know,” Rain interrupted, stepping closer. “Trust me, I know.”

The tension between you crackled like a live wire, the curse thrumming beneath your skin, urging you closer, demanding to be sated. Rain was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body, and the curse inside you pushed and pulled, an invisible force tethering the two of you together.

You hated how right he was.

The air between you and Rain felt suffocating, thick with the weight of the curse’s unspoken demand. Your heart raced as the realisation settled deep in your chest. It wasn’t just about desire; it was about survival. The pull was relentless, a magnetic force that drew you closer, like an invisible thread binding your fates together.

Rain’s eyes were locked onto yours, his usually sharp and confident demeanour replaced by something more uncertain, though no less intense. He took a breath, and the sound of it, soft but ragged, seemed to fill the silence between you.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” His voice was low, barely more than a murmur.

You nodded, unable to find the words. It wasn’t just a feeling—it was a need, clawing at your insides, urging you to close the distance, to do whatever it took to break free from the curse’s grip. But your mind rebelled against the very idea, against what it meant.

“How sure are you about this?” you asked, your voice shaky despite the effort to stay composed.

Rain swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to the space between you before meeting your eyes again. “The apple… it’s not just a symbol. It’s power. And it’s… testing us. I can feel it. The pull only gets stronger the more we resist.”

You could feel it too. The way your body betrayed you, how every inch of space between you felt like a chasm that needed to be closed. It wasn’t just lust—it was raw, overpowering, something primal you couldn’t explain. Your skin tingled, your breath shallow, as if your very soul was being drawn out, tangled with his.

“We have to,” Rain continued, though his voice wavered slightly. “I’ve read about curses like this. They don’t stop until the demand is met.”

A shiver ran down your spine. His words hung in the air, undeniable. You wanted to believe there was another way, a solution hidden in one of the Ministry’s thousands of ancient texts. But even now, the curse gnawed at your willpower, making it harder to think straight, to focus on anything other than the growing need coursing through you.

Rain reached out, his fingers brushing your arm. The contact sent a shockwave through your system, and you gasped. It wasn’t just physical—it was the curse, feeding on that touch, pulling you both deeper into its web.

“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” Rain said, softer now, his face close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. “But if we don’t… it’ll consume us.”

Your mind raced, battling between reason and the growing pressure inside you. There had to be another way, you thought. There had to be. But as Rain’s hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you gently toward him, the curse flared, blurring the lines between fear and desire.

Your lips were inches apart, the tension electric, and every part of you screamed to move forward, to close the gap and let the curse take its course. But your conscience lingered, barely holding on.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Rain’s eyes softened, just for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t see another choice.”

And then, before you could second-guess yourself again, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he too was fighting the curse’s pull. But as soon as your lips met, the floodgates opened. The curse surged through you both, intensifying the kiss, making it deeper, more desperate. Your body responded immediately, as if the very act was siphoning off the dark magic that bound you.

Rain’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed against each other. You could feel the raw energy, coursing between you, the curse feeding on every touch, every breath shared between you.

But it wasn’t enough.

The curse wasn’t satisfied with mere contact—it wanted everything. And as Rain’s hands roamed your body, and yours found their way to his, you realised that it wouldn’t stop until you’d given in completely.

His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you arched into him, feeling the growing pressure of the curse wrapping tighter around you both. It was like a fire, burning hotter and hotter, and the only way to quench it was to keep going, to let the need consume you whole.

He kissed down your clothed breasts, laving licks over your nipples which were poking through the fabric of your habit, before moving further down, dropping slowly down to his knees. His hands lifted the hem of your uniform, pulling the garment up to expose your crotch to him, wet panties on full display, dampening the longer you were the point of study for his hungry eyes.

He moved his head forward, pressing his nose into your mound. You felt his tongue escape his mouth and lick over your wetness, dampened by the feeling of your panties in between your bundle of nerves and his tongue. You gasped, letting your hips buck forward in response. Your hands moved to the top of his helmet and clutched on. “Rain!” you whispered, too overwhelmed already to speak louder.

“You taste so fucking good, ___,” he told you, his own voice barely above a whisper.

With his left hand, he moved your panties to the side, exposing you fully to his eager mouth. The cool air brushed against your skin, heightening every sensation as he took his time exploring you. He traced the outline of your most sensitive spots with his tongue, teasing and tasting, igniting flames of pleasure that coursed through your body.

“Please, don’t stop,” you urged, the words spilling from your lips like a desperate prayer, head falling back and eyes fluttering closed, allowing you to give yourself completely over to the pleasure. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he pushed closer, his face buried in your softness, completely absorbed in giving you pleasure.

His fingers joined the dance, deftly teasing and stroking, as he alternated between kissing and licking, driving you to the edge with every movement. You could feel the pressure building inside you, an overwhelming wave threatening to crash over you. You could hear your own breaths coming in gasps, punctuated by the soft sounds of his mouth working against you.

He paused for just a moment, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, the words sending shivers down your spine. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels ah-amazing, Rain,” you confessed. “I can’t… I need m-more. Please, don’t stop. You’re driving me w-wild.”

Rain encircled his mouth over your clit and began to suck, gently at first as not to hurt you, but the desire took over and he got a little rougher with his ministrations, causing much louder moans to fall from your lips and echo around the chamber. With each suck, you could feel the oppressive weight of the curse begin to lift, freeing your limbs and soul to enjoy this moment.

“Oh, fuck! Just l-like that, Rain!”

With your encouragement, Rain deepened his focus, his tongue swirling around you, working in tandem with his rhythmic suction. Each pull drew you closer to the edge, a delicious tension building inside you. You could feel every flick, every kiss igniting new waves of pleasure that crashed over you like a tide.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as you squirmed beneath him, instinctively seeking more of that exquisite friction. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cocoon, making it impossible to think of anything but the way he was worshipping you.

“Rain, please,” you whimpered, unable to contain the desperation in your voice. “I’m so close… don’t st-stop!”

In response, he redoubled his efforts, his mouth moving faster, his teeth grazing lightly against your sensitive flesh. You could feel the pressure within you coiling tighter, an almost unbearable need building toward release.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice low and sultry, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. “I want to feel you come.”

The heat in your core swelled, and with a final cry of his name, you surrendered to the sensation, your body exploding with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over you, pulling you into a blissful abyss. You moaned so loudly for him as you came, clutching onto his helmet as tightly as possible to stop your legs from giving out. Your knees were so weak.

Rain stayed down there for a while, licking up your juices and letting your orgasm subside before he pulled away gently, trying not to shock you. That activity certainly helped the curse, but you’d need to do more to break it entirely.

He stood and captured your lips into another kiss, this time, you could taste yourself on him.

As he pulled away from the kiss, your breath mingled in the air, a delicious reminder of the intimacy you’d just shared. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the lingering effects of his touch still sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced, a mix of exhilaration and vulnerability flooding your senses.

“Are you okay?” Rain asked, his voice low and filled with concern, as he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. The intensity in his gaze held you captive, making you feel cherished and desired in a way that sent warmth coursing through your veins.

“I… I think so,” you replied, still catching your breath. “That was incredible. But the curse—what do we do now?”

He paused, a flicker of determination igniting in his eyes. “We have to find a way to break it for good. That was just the first step. There’s something more we need to do, something that’ll truly release us from its grip.”

Your heart raced at the thought of what that might entail, the weight of the curse still hanging over you. “What do you have in mind?”

He turned his head to look at the plinth and spoke, “Bend over it.”

You raised your eyebrows, but obliged, pulling your panties down and letting them pool at your ankles before leaning on the white marble, spreading your legs and arching your back enough to be level to Rain’s crotch.

“I wanna fuck you over this fucking thing,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and pissed, so far removed from the Rain you knew. You heard his jeans unzip and the shuffle of clothes as he pulled himself out. “It wanted to be a part of this, so let’s give it what it wants, hm?”

You felt a rush of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation at his words. The way he spoke, raw and commanding, sent shivers of desire coursing through you. You glanced back at him, searching his eyes for reassurance as he positioned himself behind you.

“Just breathe,” he murmured, a softer note breaking through the gravel in his voice. “Trust me.”

With that, he pressed forward, the head of his shaft teasingly rubbing against your slickness, the heat radiating from him palpable. You gasped, your body instinctively arching back further, craving the pressure of him filling you completely.

“Rain,” you breathed, a mixture of need and desperation coloring your tone. “Please…”

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing in the chamber. “You’re so eager. Just remember, this is what you wanted.” With a firm grip on your hips, he pushed forward, entering you slowly at first, filling you with delicious tension.

Your body welcomed him, a mix of pleasure and slight pain igniting a fire within you. You pushed back against him, urging him deeper, the marble plinth cool against your flushed skin. “More,” you gasped, the word a plea and a command all at once. “Rain, more!”

He obliged, thrusting into you with more force, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air alongside your moans. “That’s it,” he growled, the primal sound sending you spiraling into a dizzying world of pleasure. “Feel how good this is. Let it consume you.”

With each thrust, you felt the oppressive weight of the curse lifting further, the bond between you both growing stronger. You gripped the edge of the plinth, your knuckles whitening, your body moving in rhythm with his, lost in the shared ecstasy.

He watched as your cheeks ricocheted off his body, bouncing with each thrust, the sight igniting a primal hunger within him. He tightened his grip on your hips, each thrust deeper than the last, his breath coming in heavy pants. The marble beneath you felt cold, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your bodies as you moved together.

“Satan below, you feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe. “I could get lost in you.”

You moaned in response, the sound a mixture of pleasure and encouragement, driving him to increase the pace. Your body responded instinctively, meeting him thrust for thrust, each collision sending jolts of ecstasy rippling through you.

“Don’t h-hold back,” you urged, your voice breathless. “I want a-all of you. Fuck! I… want to feel you.”

With that, he picked up the pace, thrusting harder and deeper, pushing you closer to the edge with each stroke. Your skin began to glisten with a sheen of sweat, the air thick with the scent of your desire. You could feel the heat coiling in your core, ready to burst, but you fought to hold onto the feeling, wanting to savor every moment.

You propped yourself up on the plinth with one of your arms, and reached down to play with your clit, making you moan out and tighten around his cock. He groaned.

“Tight,” he said - it was the only thing he could say. His own pleasure was beginning to overwhelm him just like it had you.

“Rain, it’s so g-good,” you gasped, your words barely coherent as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. “I’m so fu-ah! Fucking close… just like th-this.”

He responded by leaning over you, his chest pressing against your back, the weight of his body grounding you even as he took you higher. “I want you to come for me,” he whispered, his hot breath sending another wave of shivers through you. “Let go when you’re ready. I’ll be right here.”

The intensity of his voice combined with the rhythm of his thrusts pushed you closer to the edge. You felt your body tightening around him, your heart racing as you neared your peak. “I’m almost there, Rain!” you cried out, your voice raw with desperation.

He quickened his movements, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the chamber, amplifying the urgency of the moment. “Come for me. I need to feel you,” he urged, his words a catalyst that sent you spiraling over the edge.

Your body tensed, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name, your senses exploding in a cacophony of ecstasy. Rain didn’t relent, continuing to thrust into you as your orgasm washed over, prolonging your pleasure as you both lost yourselves in the moment.

As the waves of your orgasm began to subside, Rain’s thrusts grew more erratic, driven by the need to reach his own climax. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he gripped your hips tighter, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “I’m so close, but I want to feel you again before I let go. Can you hold on for me?”

You nodded, the warmth of your body still pulsing with aftershocks, but the urgency of the moment pulled you back into the depths of pleasure. “I can… I want you to come, Rain. We need to break this curse together.”

With renewed determination, you pushed back against him, wanting to help him find his release. Each thrust became a symphony of desire, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, every stroke bringing him closer to the edge.

“I can’t believe how good this feels,” he gasped, his words mingling with the sounds of your bodies meeting. “You’re incredible.”

His words fueled your desire, and you leaned back slightly to look over your shoulder at him, catching a glimpse of his expression—a mix of lust and desperation. “Let go, Rain. We can’t waste this. I need you to let it happen.”

With that, you shifted your hips, tightening your muscles around him, coaxing him closer to his release. “I want to feel you fill me. I want this curse gone.”

He let out a low growl, his pace quickening again as he fought to hold onto his control. “I’m so close… I can feel it. Just a little more.”

You could see the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his muscles strained with effort, and it drove you wild. “Then let go for me. We’re in this together,” you urged, your own need rising again as the tension between you thickened.

He thrust deeper, harder, each movement bringing him closer. You could feel him reaching the brink, the air around you electric with anticipation. “I’m gonna—” he choked out, his voice strained.

“Together,” you whispered, the word a promise that echoed in the charged atmosphere.

With one final, powerful thrust, Rain found his release, his body tensing as he filled you completely, a deep, primal groan escaping his lips.

As Rain’s release flooded you, a shockwave of energy surged through your bodies, electrifying every nerve ending. It felt as though the very air around you crackled with power, a force both overwhelming and liberating. The curse, which had weighed heavily on your hearts, began to dissolve, unraveling in a brilliant cascade of light that filled the chamber.

You gasped as the warmth of his essence mingled with the remnants of the curse, transforming the oppressive energy into something bright and euphoric. It felt like a long-held breath finally escaping your lungs, an unshackling of your souls from the binds that had tethered you in torment. The moment was dizzying, an explosion of colors behind your closed eyelids as the darkness of the curse shattered like fragile glass.

With every pulse of his body, you felt the curse disintegrating, the shadows that had clung to you both evaporating into nothingness. A profound sense of relief washed over you, accompanied by a sweetness that lingered in the air. You could feel the weight lifting from your chest, as if the chains that had bound your hearts were finally broken.

Your connection with Rain intensified, a bond forged anew in the aftermath. You felt a warmth spreading through your limbs, a soothing balm that replaced the ache of the curse. It was as if the world around you had transformed, each heartbeat echoing with freedom and possibility.

As the last remnants of the curse dissipated, you opened your eyes, meeting Rain’s gaze. There was a fierce glow in his eyes, a mixture of triumph and disbelief, as he pulled you closer, his heart racing in rhythm with yours. “We did it,” he breathed, the weight of everything melting away in that shared moment of victory.

As the final echoes of the curse faded, you felt a shift in the air around you. The oppressive weight that had once filled the chamber was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of lightness and joy. You took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, fresh air, as if tasting freedom for the first time.

Rain pulled you into his arms, his warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “I can’t believe we actually did it,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. The tension that had marked his features moments ago was replaced by a relaxed smile that made your heart soar.

As you stood wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside the chamber felt vibrant and alive. The burdens of the past began to slip away, replaced by a newfound sense of hope. “What now?” you asked, curiosity sparking in your voice.

“We cover this monstrosity back up and never touch it again.”

You laughed, and bent down to pull your panties back up. “Let’s explore,” you said, as he tucked himself back in. “What if we start by seeing what else this place holds? Maybe there are secrets left to uncover, just waiting for us to discover them.”

Rain grinned, the spark of adventure igniting in his eyes. He covered Eve’s apple and slapped his hands together to remove the dust from them. “Lead the way,” he said, taking your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. “Don’t touch a Goddamn thing.”

As you moved deeper into the chamber, the air thrummed with energy, a promise of what was to come. With each step, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

Prev./Next

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Bunny I just finished watching Jumper and I'm obsessed??? 😭 I could only find like, 3 fics about David (yours included, i loved it btw ✋🏻😞) so I thought about requesting something from my favorite writer

I don't have any specific idea so I guess I'll take anything. Here's Leia the egg as an offering 🫴🏻🥚

Luv ya - 🦢

STOLEN BY A JUMPER..

PAIRING: david rice x thief!reader

You were stupid for not seeing him coming.

One second, you were standing in the middle of a private vault, fingers skillfully working over the golden lock of a case that held something very expensive—something you had been paid a lot of money to steal, to bring back to the ugly-ass man that made sure to stuff your bank account full of cash.

Well, what happened the next?

Your stomach lurched, vision suddenly blurred as you felt like you were literally floating in sleep, like you just got hit in the head, and before you could even think about screaming, you were somewhere else. With a painful sigh that echoed from your pounding head, you brought yourself to open your eyes, trying to at least adjust them to the situation, trying to use them as your source of information. Because as y/n, you weren't known for being defeated so fast.

A cabin. Remote. Quiet. Four walls. Dim lamps lighting the space. And standing in front of you, looking thoroughly unimpressed, was the man who had just ripped you from your own goddamn reality.

DAVID RICE; tall (for someone who made you see red), broad shoulders framed by that worn leather jacket, dark hair, sharp blue eyes piercing you in half like you were a problem he was debating how to solve.

“Well,” he said, voice smooth, a little mocking. “You must have some serious balls, sweetheart.”

Pulse thundered in your ears, but you tried your expression cool. Calm. You didn’t survive in this business by panicking. You had to think. It's not like you meet a freak for the first time.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you lied.

David’s jaw only clenched more, before a flash of irritation crossed his face. “Try again,” he said, stepping closer. Too close. “You broke into my vault. My money. My shit.” gaze flickered down to the duffel still clutched in your hand. “And you were gonna walk away with it like I wouldn’t notice?”

You lifted your chin with more confidence and energy this time, fingers tightening its hold over the bag. “Finders keepers.”

How you should know it was a bad move..

David moved fast—faster than any normal man should probably be able to. One second, he was in front of you, the next he was behind you, hand fisting in your jacket before the world tilted again—

You were falling.

The cold air whipped at your skin, your eyes widening at the clouds that passed you by, at the sharp nibbling the wind did to your skin. You barely had a second to process the fact that you were free-falling through the goddamn sky before—

thud

You landed hard on a rooftop, your side slamming into the concrete. Your breath ripped from your lungs, the impact jarring, disorienting, your world twirling..

You're about to throw up. You're about to throw up.

With a wince of a person who's about to lose her life, you moved your hand to where your ribs were, trying to magically smooth the painful, sharpening like a needle, pain.

And David?

He landed like nothing had happened at all.

After taking some steps towards you, he crouched, gaze sharp, smug amusement curling his lips as if your situation was even.. satisfying for him.

“That,” he said, gripping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his, “was a warning.”

Your heart hammered, pulse wild, but you refused to let him see your fear. To let him see how weak you started to get. By one freaking movement of his..right..what was even that? His mind? His hands? His..how did he do that?

“So you’re a show-off,” you bit out, wrenching away from his hold. Too weakly. Too painfully. “Congratulations.”

David chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Oh, you’re fun.”

You lunged for him, intending to—what? Punch him? Tackle him? You weren’t exactly sure but everything seemed to be reasonable when you had to take care of a real piece of shit

But before you could even touch him—

The world shifted again.

You were back in the cabin.

Your knees buckled, body reeling from the constant shifts, ribs screaming at you, making you dizzy, making you choke on your own breath, but David? David just stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned at you.

“Go ahead,” he said, watching as you steadied yourself against the wall. “Try to run.”

You glared at him, fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

He laughed, moving towards the fridge like this was just another normal night for him. Like kidnapping you was just another thing on his to-do list for today.

Great. Just freaking great.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a beer. “I’ve been told.”

You watched him, mind racing, calculating, pain still flickering through your body, making sure you never forget about it. How the hell were you supposed to escape someone who could teleport?

You had no idea. But you’d be damned if you didn’t find out soon.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[mumms-the-word]

Deep Past the Heart

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You) Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely. A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!

I am come to be judged by the dead.

They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.

It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.

His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.

Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.

It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life. 

You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.

Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…

It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.

A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time. 

You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him. 

His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.

You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.

Dead.

That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.

Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.

There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.

Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?

Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…

The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.

And yet you still wonder. 

How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?

You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.

It’s the only way you’ll see him again.

You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.

But dammit, it’s hard .

Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.

But now the moment is here. 

Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve. 

Silence.

He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.

You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.

This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.

Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—

And you see that they are closed.

Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality. 

Then…the silence of the grave.

—————

You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.

You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.

You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul. 

You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.

You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?

Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?

You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping. 

Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether. 

And still you wait. It’s all you can do.

You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.

What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.

What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever? 

You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.

How much of Emmrich will be left?

You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low. 

How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?

You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.  

I will, my darling. I promise.

A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.

Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—

But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?

You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.

I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me. 

But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…

You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.

So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?

Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?

I am come to be judged by the dead.

You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side. 

Hadn’t he?

If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.

You stop. You realize now.

This is why he didn’t look back.

You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.

If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good. 

You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?

You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago. 

I love you too, my darling.

What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.

Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?

Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.

All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die. 

Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.

Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help. 

But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it. 

A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over. 

The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.

Emmrich is dead. 

—————

Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?

Come back to me, my love. Come back.

Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.

Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.

Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that. 

At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.

At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?

As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.

For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power. 

You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.

“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.

He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.

“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”

You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.

You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.

You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.

He has returned to you.

You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…” 

You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”

This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.

It’s really him. And he is really yours. 

It’s all he has to say to convince you.

“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”

He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.

You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier. 

Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?

You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.

“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”

If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”

His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.

“Always, my love.”