#locked in an eternal battle against each other

[thevelaryons]

TUMBLETON QUARTET

Tumbleton was never to recover; though later Footlys would attempt to rebuild atop the ruins, their “new town” would never be a tenth the size of the old, for the smallfolk said the very ground was haunted.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

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[estellan0vella]

Every King Needs His Queen ❀ Sukuna (REQUESTED)

Masterlist

Shibuya has been transformed into a chaotic battlefield, where curses and sorcerers clash amidst crumbling buildings and terrified civilians.

Amidst this turmoil, Sukuna's malevolent laughter echoes through the streets as he fully takes over Yuji's body. The vessel’s power thrums with the intoxicating mix of youthful strength and cursed energy, and Sukuna relishes the sensation.

His eyes, now with those signature four pupils, scan the destruction around him with a predatory glint. The chaos, the screams, the destruction—all of it feels like home.

But something, or rather someone, is missing. A sense of familiarity tugs at the back of his mind, and a cruel smile curls on his lips.

"Soon," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl that resonates through the air.

As he strides through the wreckage, curses and sorcerers alike fall before him, either fleeing in terror or meeting swift, brutal ends. The ground trembles beneath his feet, not just from his power, but from the anticipation of a long-awaited reunion.

His mind drifts to her—his queen, the only one who has ever matched his malevolence and power. The queen of curses. His wife. He knows she is near. He can feel her presence, a familiar darkness that has always complemented his own.

She is here, amidst the chaos, drawn perhaps by the same forces that had lured him into this city-wide massacre.

Then, amidst the dust and the ruins, he sees her.

She stands tall, regal even in the midst of destruction, her eyes blazing with a mixture of power and fury. Her presence commands respect, a dark aura surrounding her that makes even the most twisted curses shrink away. She is as breathtaking as ever, a vision of lethal beauty.

"Ryo,"

"My queen," he replies, his tone dripping with a twisted affection. He strides toward her, every step purposeful, until they are mere inches apart.

For a moment, they simply stand there, the world around them fading into insignificance. The connection between them crackles in the air, a potent mixture of power and passion that has endured for centuries.

Then, without warning, Sukuna pulls her into a fierce, claiming kiss. It’s a clash of teeth and tongues, a battle of dominance that neither wants to lose. She responds in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer. The kiss is both violent and tender, a reunion of two kindred spirits.

Around them, the battle continues, but they are lost in each other, oblivious to everything but the sensation of being together again.

When they finally break apart, both are breathing heavily, eyes locked onto each other with a fiery intensity. Sukuna’s grin widens, his hand caressing her cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, and there is an unspoken promise in his eyes—a promise of chaos, destruction, and an eternity spent together.

“And I, you,” she replies, her voice softer now, but no less fierce. Her hand moves to rest over his chest, where Yuji’s soul still struggles against the overwhelming force of Sukuna’s possession.

Sukuna’s gaze darkens as he senses the resistance. Yuji’s soul, though weakened, still fights, still clings to hope. It is an irritation, a distraction from the moment of their reunion. But she is here now, and together, there is nothing they cannot achieve.

“Shall we?” she asks, her voice a seductive whisper.

With a nod, Sukuna places his hand over hers, their combined cursed energy flaring with a deadly intent. She closes her eyes, focusing on the task at hand.

Yuji’s soul, already battered by Sukuna’s presence, begins to crumble under the combined assault. There is no mercy in their actions, only a ruthless efficiency borne of countless battles fought side by side.

Yuji’s soul screams in silent agony, a final, desperate cry that fades into nothingness. The vessel is now completely theirs, unchallenged and absolute.

“It’s done,” she says, her eyes opening to meet his once more. There is a sense of satisfaction in her gaze, a dark triumph that matches his own.

Sukuna’s grin is feral as he leans in to capture her lips in another searing kiss. This time, there is no urgency, only the promise of what’s to come. The city may burn, the world may crumble, but they are together again, and that is all that matters.

As they pull apart, she rests her head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. His arms wrap around her, a rare moment of tenderness amidst the chaos.

“Together, we will reign supreme,” Sukuna murmurs, his voice a dark promise.

“Always,” she replies, her voice filled with unwavering conviction.

They stand there, savoring their reunion amidst the destruction. The cacophony of battle seems distant, a mere background to their intimate moment. However, a familiar presence makes itself known, the air around them growing colder, charged with a different but equally potent energy.

Uraume steps out from the shadows, their loyal servant and confidant, a figure whose loyalty to Sukuna is as ancient as their bond. Uraume’s expression is a blend of reverence and relief, their eyes fixed on Sukuna with unwavering devotion.

“My Lord,” Uraume says, bowing deeply before turning their gaze to her. “My Lady.”

She smiles, a rare, genuine expression of warmth. “Uraume. It’s good to see you.”

Uraume straightens, their eyes flicking between the two. “I’ve awaited this moment for so long. The world will tremble before your combined might.”

Sukuna’s laughter rumbles through the air, a dark, mirthful sound. “Indeed, Uraume. The world has grown complacent in our absence. It’s time to remind them of true power.”

With a nod, Uraume steps closer, their presence adding another layer of strength to the trio. “What are your orders, my Lord?”

“For now, we enjoy this moment,” Sukuna replies, his arm tightening around his wife. “But soon, we will lay waste to those who dare oppose us. We will carve our legacy into the very bones of this world.”

His queen’s eyes gleam with anticipation. “Together, we will reshape this world in our image. Nothing and no one will stand in our way.”

Uraume nods, their expression resolute. “As you command.”

The three of them stand amidst the ruins, a formidable trinity of power and malevolence. Around them, the battle continues, but they are an island of calm amidst the storm. The reunion is not just a personal victory; it is the herald of a new era of terror and domination.

As the night deepens and the fires of Shibuya burn bright, Sukuna and his queen walk side by side, Uraume following closely behind. The city is their playground, the world their canvas. With every step, they leave behind a trail of devastation, a reminder of the unstoppable force they have become.

[louventcavaliersx]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

The death of Daemon Targaryen never had hurt you more than it should.

Inspired by Ophelia from Hamlet. The end quote is from Song of Achilles.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

"Daemon, where are you going?" You inquire as you watches him readying to soar on dragonback with Dark Sister. Your gaze lifted to meet his, worry etched upon your visage as you observed your beloved. The war still raged, his life at stake.

Daemon turned to face you, unable to utter the truth, he imparted to you a falsehood. "Fret not for me, my love," he reassured, yet noting that your furrowed brow betrayed your unease.

He descended from his dragon, alighting before you on the earth. He clasped your hands firmly in his, bestowing a tender kiss upon them.

Your eyes locked with his. "Where are you going?" You softly inquire once more, voice quivering akin to your heart that throbbed and ached with dread. "You cannot go." It was your intuition that whispered so.

Nevertheless, Daemon sought to reassure you. "I shall return." The prince enfolded you in a kiss, pressing his lips fervently against yours, yearning to cherish the moment with you one last time.

As the kiss parted, he stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "Keep this ring," he murmured, placing the silver ring in your palm.

A look of confusion crossed your visage as you gazed at him.

"Know that you are half of my soul," he whispered to you, and you were a fool to let him depart from your side.

You observed as he ascended Caraxes. The sense of foreboding only intensified as he and Caraxes soared into the heavens, perhaps never to return to you.

When he leapt towards Aemond with Dark Sister, you pondered what thoughts consumed him, his allegiance to Rhaenyra or his love for you?

As his blade pierced through the boy like butter, its edge piercing his remaining eye, was he reminiscing about you?

Did remorse grip him for leaving you bereft and alone?

Every morning you awoke to an empty bed, solitude enveloping you. The news of his demise shook you to the core, unable to contain your tumult of emotions, you wept bitterly.

Days passed, the war for the throne persisted. And you battled against the war of grief and madness threatening to engulf you completely. His remnants provided solace, soothing your tears and calming the sobs that escaped.

Rhaenyra and the others watches as you gradually descended into madness.

You sank to the ground, faltering with each step, observing as the water tenderly kissed the earth, forming a gentle ripple. The God's Eye was where your beloved had met his end with the young prince Aemond.

You prayed for Aemond, envisioning the suffering he must have endured.

Tears streamed down your face as you knelt by the water's edge, feeling the anguish in your heart. How could he forsake you so? He vowed to stay by your side, to live, to love you eternally.

You clutched the ring he had bestowed upon you not long ago.

"I shall return," he pledged as he placed the ring in your hand. The silver caressed your skin. Then he bestowed upon you a kiss, one of fervor and hunger. You could faintly feel his lips against yours, so sweet and intoxicating. He departed with his sword and his dragon as you watched from below, witnessing him slowly recede from your life.

Now you wished you had halted him.

Regardless of the throne's fate, regardless of victory or defeat, you stood resolute. The water beckoned to you, like a siren luring sailors. You dipped your feet into the water, smiling as though sensing his touch against your skin.

Similar to Queen Helaena and Daemon, you submerged into the water. Even as it embraced you tighter and deeper, pulling you further down, you only closed your eyes, gazing at the darkening and blurring sky. You tightened your grip on the ring in your hand. Not it, you could not lose it, not even in death.

Death welcomed you like an old friend, with open arms. You accepted your destiny.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

[heliads]

Hi!! I miss your Derek fics so much so how’s one where you and him are in a casual relationship if yk what I mean when all of a sudden there’s a mishap that causes him to pull away and end up ghosting you because he caught feelings and is terrified of them, you still try to get in contact with him but got tired of it and that’s when Derek comes back basically begging for a chance to fix it🥺

masterlist

Derek Hale knows he’s gone too far because he’s no longer nervous waking up to hear someone else’s heartbeat next to him. Derek stays alone, always; it saves him the trouble of having to think about saving someone other than himself if he ever wakes up to another roaring inferno. Derek is good at being alone. It’s never something he’s struggled with, even as a lone wolf without a pack. He still talks to other people on occasion. It’s fine.

He’d thought it was fine. Derek had almost gotten to the point of convincing himself of it, and then he started making mistakes like entertaining himself with someone else, and by the time it occurred to him that he was long past the point of no return, there was no way he could ever end it. So he lives with it, it’s fine. Until it isn’t.

Derek Hale has never been the type to get caught up over a girl. He did it once, then swore it would never happen again. There is the idea of Derek, the lone wolf; Derek, the man with a heart colder than ice. He wouldn’t go so far as to describe himself as a womanizer, but he’s dated not one but two of the women who’ve tried to kill him and the other wolves in town, so maybe he should start thinking about raising his standards.

He did, though. That was the problem. Of all the people in this world, good and bad and outright bloodthirsty, Derek found the one woman capable of waltzing right past his best defenses and laying claim to the very organ he thought would never be bothered with again. Derek has long since assumed that, so long as it keeps beating on schedule, he’d never think about his heart unless someone was actively ripping it out of his chest, but Y/N changed that. She changed everything.

It was nothing at first. That’s what he promised himself the first time he woke up in an unfamiliar room that definitely wasn’t in his apartment complex. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he picked up on the sound of someone else breathing evenly next to him, but Y/N had woken up not long after him so they’d been able to talk things through. They’d both agreed that it was a one time thing, the result of years of rising tensions against supernaturals in Beacon Hills, and would never happen again.

The second time, Derek was no less taken aback, but a little more disappointed in himself. Usually, when he makes his word, he sticks to it for longer than a month. He’d left before she woke up that time. Didn’t stop him from crawling back, though. He can blame it on the alcohol that doesn’t affect him, the battle rush of adrenaline he’s long since learned to master. Excuses are easy. Falling is easier still.

Derek doesn’t fall, though. He won’t. Even if it kills him. Especially if it kills him. Derek can lock himself up and cut away his heart and distrust his mind until any conceivable feeling dies off from lack of oxygen. It wouldn’t be the first time. Somehow, he doubts it’ll be the last.

This is all well and good, but it doesn’t work as well as it should. Even now, blinking the last of the past night’s sleep from his eyes, Derek sits up slowly in his own bed, and the sight of Y/N there next to him isn’t surprising. Not at all. His internal alarm system stopped going off around her a long time ago. Hell, he gets more uneasy the longer he goes without seeing her instead of the other way around.

A year ago, he would have called that a mistake. Hales survive because they trust only each other. Y/N may be an ally in this eternally war-torn town, but that does not make her someone he can afford to keep around. Still, when he carefully lifts himself out of bed to avoid waking her, when she comes out of the room about half an hour later in one of his shirts, when Derek can’t quite tell where her perfume ends and his cologne begins, he wonders to himself if he hasn’t already crossed that line a very long time ago.

It doesn’t matter. None of this is real. He doesn’t make her breakfast, she doesn’t say goodbye. They just go about their lives as if the past night had never happened at all, as if none of the nights before that, all stretching out in one vast line of pale, bedsheet-white dominoes do not exist between them. You cannot topple what you do not see, and Derek’s eyes are snapped shut tight.

He’s started noticing things, though, against his better judgment. The furrows in Y/N’s brow vanish while she’s asleep, but they appear again when she looks around at her house or his in the morning and remembers something she’ll never tell him. Her shoulders always rise and pinch together right before she leaves without a word. Derek has started making himself scarce whenever she wakes up. It’s better for both of them if there’s no opportunity to stay any longer.

Most of all, Derek takes care to ensure that whatever happens at night does not affect either of them during the day. Y/N’s more closely allied with the McCall pack than whatever dregs are left of Derek’s ill-gotten attempt to seize power with his own batch of betas, but he still sees her often enough on wolf business. Derek has no doubt that Scott has caught on to the fact that they’re seeing each other, but neither of them will bring it up so long as it doesn’t become a problem.

A couple of times, Derek has felt Scott’s eyes on him like an accusation, burning holes into his shoulders whenever Y/N shows up late or seems listless during the discussions. Derek wants to throw up his hands and declare to anyone who cares to listen or blame him that he’s doing his best to make sure he isn’t the cause, but he doubts any of the younger pack members want to know that he’s specifically trimming off any stem of feeling before it takes root. He’s doing his best, at least. Surely that counts for something.

Still, he can feel their judgment like a plague, even outside of passing glimpses. When Scott McCall shows up at Derek’s door to ask for his help with a sudden hunter shootout at the hospital, Derek can still see the awareness in the back of the kid’s eyes. Y/N’s got her own thing going, Derek wants to clarify, she’s long past school-crush days just like him. They’re both adults and they can do what they please. High school sweethearts all die by hunters’ arrows. The ones who survive don’t play by the rules.

Scott will never bring it up, though, so Derek won’t, either. Instead, he just accompanies Scott to the hospital, where he slashes and stabs at anyone who tries to shoot at him. These sorts of things are becoming normal occurrences by now; Melissa McCall and the other doctors are probably sick of it, but what can you do?

Derek’s only half paying attention. He focuses enough to keep himself alive, but it’s easy to go on autopilot. The hunters will always attack, and they will always defend. Some will get hurt. They’ll heal in time to start the game over again. Nothing new.

It should be nothing new. It is, until Derek rounds a corner and he sees one of the hunters shooting at Y/N’s back. She’s distracted taking out someone else. She won’t react in time, Derek knows it, he can feel it in his bones like a bad frost, and Derek– he actually screams, a guttural shout of despair, and he hurls himself at the hunter. The gun goes flying out of the guy’s hands and into a corner of the room, blood spatters following it a second later. It’s alright again. Y/N is fine.

Y/N, actually, is staring at him in confusion. “What was that about?” She asks slowly.

Derek catches a hazy glimpse of himself in the glass panel of a nearby door and realizes that he looks mad. His eyes are wide, startled, glowing; his claws are out and dripping with gore. “He was going to shoot you,” he says, a little unsteadily, “You weren’t paying attention.”

She shakes her head slowly. “I was, Derek. His gun was empty. No more bullets left, I heard the empty barrel click a minute ago.”

Derek stares at her uncomprehendingly, and Y/N has to cross the room, pick up the fallen hunter’s weapon, and pull the trigger several times until Derek understands. She was right, no ammunition was shot. It was a complete misfire on his end, and something that he should have picked up on far before he decided to strike. If Y/N could hear that the gun was empty from across the room, Derek should have known it from where he stood.

He knows what this means, then. It means he’s making mistakes, and mistakes get you killed. They get everyone killed. Derek hasn’t made a mistake like this in a long time, because he never let anyone in, but he has now, hasn’t he? He’s known it for a long time. Y/N means far more to him than a prolonged one night stand. He has feelings for her, of a depth he couldn’t decipher if given a thousand years trapped inside his own head. Derek Hale has fallen in love, but this love will destroy him. It will make him weak.

And, fuck, Derek knows how this is going to end. How it always ends. He is a fire, consuming everything in his path; burning down his family home; choking the last breath from the lungs of anyone foolish enough to love him. If Y/N realizes that he loves her, if she does something so terrible as to love him back, she will fall before the year is out. They always do, and it will be his fault again, his fault like it was for all the others.

He moves before he knows what he’s doing. Y/N is calling after him, he thinks, but Derek is already rounding the corner and out of the hallway. Hunters in his path are killed by a wolf that might be Derek, if Derek was aware enough of what he was doing to act on anything more than animal instinct. Instead, he just keeps going like a bloodsoaked robot until Scott tells him it’s over, and then he leaves. He does not check in with the rest of the pack. He does not check in with Y/N.

In fact, he does not speak with her again. She tries texting him afterwards to see if he’s alright, and then even shows up at his door when he’s unresponsive for days, but Derek just waits silently in the confines of his apartment until she goes away. She can probably hear his heartbeat, but it doesn’t matter. This will benefit both of them. Neither Derek nor Y/N can afford an attachment like this. He’s already started slipping up in the heat of battle. Who knows what sort of deadly error he will commit next?

If he thought the McCall pack’s judgment was bad enough before, they’re downright diabolical now. He can’t speak to them without being on the receiving end of a thousand hateful stares. Every time he so much as crosses their path, you’d think he murdered their entire family. It’s unreal. Don’t they know he’s doing this for the best? 

It’s not like Derek enjoys this, anyway. It’s unnatural. He’s started waking up at odd hours of the night, reaching out for someone who isn’t there. Derek rises with the sun and stares at the empty other half of the bed. He starts to get up quietly and then remembers that there’s no one around who’s still sleeping, so he can be as loud as he pleases. It feels wrong when the floor creaks.

He’s started creeping closer to the door whenever Y/N stops by. He hovers right by the threshold, listening; he can tell by the inflections of her voice that she’s starting to give up hope, and then she stops coming. When a week goes by without a single word from her, Derek thinks that he should be pleased because he’s finally saved her from himself, but instead, all he feels is alone.

It’s not a good feeling, this. Derek thought he would be able to shake off any and all feelings for her in a matter of weeks, but even a month later, he’s still in a terrible state. Lydia starts taking pity on him, he thinks, and actually treats him like a normal human being again, which kind of makes it all worse. He doesn’t want her compassion. He wants–

He wants Y/N. Waking up alone again, hands curling into fists around empty sheets, Derek realizes the earth-shattering truth as if from a dream. He wants her. He wants her more than anything. If this is safety, Derek doesn’t want it. He hates not knowing if she’s alright. He hates thinking that he might have hurt her. If this is the cost of keeping them both alive, Derek would rather be dead.

He throws on his clothes, headed towards the door in a flash. He wakes up early, always has; if he can just get over to her place before she leaves to go to work, maybe it would be okay– maybe she would still want him– maybe he would be enough, now that he knows without a shadow of a doubt that she is for him–

Y/N doesn’t open her door at first, which is, admittedly, justified. Derek’s cheeks flush with shame remembering all the times he’d pointedly ignored her visits. However, she’s better than him, always has been, and opens the door eventually. He looks at her, breathes out at last, and says– “I miss you.”

Y/N arches a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” Derek repeats, “And I’ve been– stupid, really, and I shouldn’t have been. I know better than that.”

Y/N folds her arms across her chest. “What made you change your mind?”

“I realized I love you,” Derek says. It’s only five words, but it makes Y/N sway as if she’s been shot.

“You’re just saying that,” she whispers faintly.

Derek shakes her head. “I’m not the type to throw those words around. You know that. You know me better than anyone, Y/N. Tell me if I’m lying.”

He waits. She stares at him, but at last she nods slowly, and says, “You love me?”

“I love you,” he affirms. Then: “Can I come in?”

A ghost of a smile haunts her lips. “Always so forward, aren’t you?”

He laughs a little, actually. It surprises both of them, Derek the most. “I thought you liked that about me.”

“I do,” she admits, and steps aside to let him pass. Derek lingers by her side, he can’t help it. Moments like these were meant to be treasured. He may have messed up too many of them to count, but for once, Derek can start again. He intends to make the most of it.

teen wolf tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

what’s up! saw your post asking for some requests after tbb ep4 (THEY REUNITED AHHHH)

cough okay back on topic , what if it was a lil sweet wrecker or hunter x reader, maybe one where reader got taken away with omega? And how either wrecker or hunter react to seeing her again after so long? all sweet and hugs and kisses—

(maybe end in some nice cuddles cuz im a sucker for cuddle fics 😝)

okay lovely person have a good day ! feel free to ignore 🫶

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Wrecker x Reader

Summary- After searching for months, Wrecker is finally reunited with you. You couldn't be happier.

A/N- Thank you for requesting! Sorry for the wait, i'm trying to get through everyone's request. I hope you don't mind I chose Wrecker. He's so adorable at all times! I screamed when everyone reunited, i'm OBSESSED!

Word Count- 1,052

Beautiful pic by @azertyrobaz !

Your leg bounced up and down, you couldn't get it to stop. Nerves coarse through you. It had been months and months since you had last seen, even heard, from Wrecker.

You worried for him desperately, hoping he was taking care of himself. It frequently fell on you to tend to Wrecker. Sure, he was the biggest and strongest clone of the force. Outside of battle, he was just a big baby.

Omega turned from her seat to smile at you, she was positive that they were okay.

The silence from you, Crosshair, and Omega let your memories flow. Many of you helping Wrecker conserve rations, tending to his injuries, and calming his fear of heights. You also thought about the countless times he'd made you laugh, stood up for you, and protected you.

You really missed him... Your days on Tantiss as a prisoner were long and lifeless- quickly relying on Omega's daily stories to keep your spirits up.

All that was over now... You were finally going home. By home, you meant Wrecker.

Swallowing thick, you stood as Omega landed the ship. Tears welled up when you saw The Marauder. You forced yourself to breathe, watching the ship doors lower.

You looked around quickly, wondering why they weren't outside the ship. Then, you saw Wrecker racing down the steps. Hunter was close behind.

You sobbed, running to him. He laughed, always finding the joy in situations. "Now there's a sight to see!"

The second it took you to get to him felt like an eternity. Though, you were immediately lifted off of your feet when you met.

He spun you around, arms locking you to his chest. Your head found a place to rest on his neck. Your nose brushed against the skin peaking out of his blacks.

You let out a contented sigh, the first in a long time. You felt completely safe, an unfamiliar feeling.

He still held you up off of your feet, but pulled back to kiss you. There wasn't a piece of skin on your face he didn't peck. Before you had time to recoup the action, he pulled you close again.

"Wrecker, Wrecker baby. I'm okay..." He sniffled and set you down. You could see out of the corner of your eye, Hunter holding Omega.

He seemed to have more tears flowing than you.

Wrecker turned you around forcefully, but gentle. He looked you up and down for injuries. You stiffed a laugh, "That's my job Wrecker."

"I know! I was just so scared for you two" He whined, lowering himself to his knees for you. Now that he was at an easier-to-access height, you did your own rounds. Something that soothed you and him. An unspoken rule that you did after missions.

"Omega and I are safe. not a scratch on us." Caressing his face slowly, then feeling down his arms. You picked up his right hand, inspecting each gloved finger. You set it down to look at the other. Nothing more than some old scars.

You took in one more deep breath then gave him a real kiss on the lips, this one less frantic and more passionate.

You pulled away to wipe your tears, then Wreckers. You both laughed when Omega squeezed her way in to hug Wrecker. He picked her up as well, but softly threw her up and caught her. More laughter filled the air.

You turned to give Hunter a quick hug, happy to see him in one piece.

It was soon that Wrecker was back at your side, you held onto his forearm to let him know you were still there. That this wasn't a dream.

Hours had gone by and stories had been shared, Omega was already fast asleep in her makeshift room. No one dared to wake her, everyone knew she needed the rest. Hunter took the first watch and you noticed Crosshair lingering around the cock-pit with him. You knew the two of them would figure everything out.

You and Wrecker decided to call it a night and settle in one of the small beds in the back of the ship. He insisted you slept with him, for 'safety reasons.'

It had been so long since you'd been this close to him, and you were feeling on edge. Scared you would ruin the moment by moving the wrong way or touching the wrong spot.

What you had seemed to forget in that moment was Wreckers free spirit, he didn't care what you did. You could have knocked him in the head and he'd find a way to thank you. He was just happy you were with him again. He had no place in his mind for formalities.

"You okay?" He asked you, petting your hair while you laid on his chest. The blanket just under your chin.

"I'm fine now that i'm with you." You responded, despite a lot being on your mind.

"Well uh, you seem all stiff. Did you pull something when I picked you up?" He worried, concerned he did something wrong for you to be uncomfortable. His face showed he was nervous.

This warmed your heart, he was still the same Wrecker you remembered. "No, no of course not."

You propped yourself up, face-to-face with him. You smiled and rested your palm to his cheek. "You didn't do anything baby, I'm just trying to adjust to everything. Big change from a cell to The Marauder..." His hands rested at your waist, where the blanket pooled.

His eyes widened. "Do uh, do you wanna talk about it?" He tried, but didn't really know what to say in this situation.

"In the morning... I just want to cuddle with you right now." He laughed heatedly. "Now that, I can do!"

He nuzzled his way into your neck, holding you tightly. You hiked a leg up over his hip.

He snickered at the position, but wrapped a hand on your thigh to keep you there. His thumb rubbed the skin there. His other hand rubbing your back.

You brought your own hands up to hold his head against you, mumbling sweet things to him.

"How did I get so lucky..." He whispered.

"Did you wish on a shooting star?" You joked back at him.

He laughed, kissing your neck. "Yeah, something like that..."

A/N- Thank you so much for reading!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[jellycrusher]

Wolves and Lambs: Part 3

Alpha Max Verstappen x Omega fem!driver

Genre: Series, Omega verse, Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Eventual smut

Synopsis: Male Alphas are the ones who dominate motor sports all around the world, especially Formula 1. It is a well known fact. Females in general nor Female Omegas are never heard nor encouraged to join the sport since the 1950s. Well, up until now...

Word Count: 3.9k

Chapter’s Premise: "You are his mate."

Taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 @fanboyluvr @giffywiffy3408 @notyouraveragemochii @cmleitora @exotic-iris13 @topguncultleader @mirrorball-6 @barcelonaloverf1life @silscintilla

Parts: W&L masterlist / general masterlist

"Mom, how did you know Dad was The One?"

"I just knew. Your dad was a mighty Alpha, someone who commands attention and respect with every step. Out of everyone I've dated, his pheromones were the only one that affected me to such great extent. Turns out he felt the same way with my pheromones."

"Pheromones?"

"Oh my dear y/n. My sweetheart. Someday you'll know in your heart when you meet the right person."

The sound of the V6 engine. Crowds going wild. The feeling of starting on the front row. Red lights go one by one. It's a rush. Nothing can beat this.

Max was quick to snatch the lead from you on Turn 1. Charles also proved he was a tough act to beat. Ferrari's car was faster on the straights but Aston Martin has amazing rear grip during high speed corners.

And for this track with 4 long straights, fast straight line speed was needed. Even with DRS to assist you, you couldn't keep up with Charles. It was degrading your tire too much.

By lap 35, you descended to P12 after a horrific slow pit stop of 3.4 secs. The pressure got to you and you were about to radio-in your frustration but you were also quick to clear your mind.

Y/N: "What is the gap to the car ahead, Ben?!" Ben: "Albon ahead by 2 secs, then Gasly by 4 secs." Y/N: "All on old tires?"

Ben: "Confirm."

You quickly maneuvered your way on the first chicane going on the inside, easily overtaking Albon and Gasly. You gave everything that you can to battle it out with the Mercedes pair. Russell locked up and you took this opportunity to go for wide and overtake. You were in DRS range of Hamilton during the straight and you went for it as you both take the corner.

The remaining laps felt like an eternity. The confidence you had on your car the past few days didn't translate to today's race. Pre-season testing and Qualifying laps were different. Back then, you were getting a feel on the car without actually pushing it to the limit. But now? It's like getting an expensive exclusively tailored running shoe and using it for a marathon after only practicing with it for a few days.

Everyone had their difficulties on the first track of the season since this will be the first time these cars will be tested against each other's. These are experienced drivers. Driving in F2 compared to this is a whole different story.

And then the race ended much quicker than you've anticipated.

As much as you wanted a podium on your first race, it didn't happen. You were grateful to have gotten the pole position during qualifying but you repeat to yourself that P5 on your first race isn't bad. You could've given more but you aren't attuned to the car just yet. It'll get there.

You halt your car at parc ferme along with the other drivers. As you crawl and lift yourself up out the cockpit, the other drivers went on to congratulate you. Pierre and Alex were so quick to put their arm on your shoulders after you removed your helmet and balaclava.

"That was some amazing driving!"

"You got some moves, y/l/n!"

Both cheered at the same time and Pierre even rustled your hair. Yuki and Esteban joined them in congratulating you. Even the elder drivers such as Lewis and Fernando were amused at the camaraderie you've built with the other drivers.

Max was also able to notice your closeness with the other drivers from where he was standing. He had already celebrated with his mechanics and is just waiting at the side to wait for his turn while Carlos is being interviewed for finishing third.

He doesn't usually make a lot of effort to befriend any rookie but it left a bad taste on his tongue knowing that he's the only one you're not in good terms with. His friends are a good judge of characters and seems to be enjoying your company. Being the competitive person that he is, surely it won't be that hard to make you see him as a friend.

After the podium celebration and media commitments, you were summoned back to the hospitality and had a debriefing with the whole team. Datas upon datas are presented on the screen. The team discussed what worked and what didn't work during the whole race weekend.

Fernando praised how technically involved you are with the team for the car's development. In this line of work, you can't be too critical of yourself or else, it might even negatively affect your performance. P5 was a feat worth celebrating.

You ask Megan if you could stay for a bit inside the room to re-watch your race. Your notebook is your only company while you endlessly analyze every bit of your race.

It was enlightening and relaxing after an hour of working alone in the de-briefing room of the Aston Martin hospitality. You bid goodbye to the other mechanics and engineers that were still in the garage and walked across the paddock to your car.

You see, in the paddock, all hospitalities are arranged closest to farthest from the entrance based on your place in the championship last season. It's a given that the race leaders (Red Bull, Ferrari, and Mercedes) are the ones near the entrance. The midfield teams and back markers are at the end

A real Walk of Shame.

But with Alonso's and Lance's help last year, Aston Martin has now become part of the mid-field and a contender for being frontrunner.

You passed by the Ferrari hospitality when you heard Charles' voice calling out your name. He runs to catch up to you and matches your pace.

"Didn't expect you to stay behind as well." Charles called.

"I wasn't satisfied with my performance." You huffed.

"That was one of the best rookie performances on an opening race I've seen so far. Don't be too hard on yourself." He voiced. "Have fun! It's nerve-wracking but one of the best experiences you'll ever feel." Charles pats your head gently.

"You're right. I'm actually having fun looking at the reactions of the boys whenever I beat them." You joked.

"As harsh as it sounds, I'm glad there's a healthy rivalry between you and the grid. Anyways, how will you get back to the hotel?" Charles asked.

"I brought a car. How about you?"

Charles just grinned and chuckled without saying a word. As if waiting for a response.

You come to a realization on what he was hinting. "Do you want to hitch a ride with me?"

Charles did a poor attempt of a wink and did a thumbs-up gesture. You almost snorted in amusement because the man could not wink properly at all. Thank God, he's good-looking.

"As long as I'm driving." You suggest and Charles hitched a breath. "No arguments or else, I'm leaving you here." You looked around at an almost empty paddock.

He contemplated for a minute. "Fine. Just for the record, I am against this and I wanted to be a gentlemen. You owe me a car ride but next time, you're my passenger." Charles gave in and didn't insist.

"Deal."

The drive to the hotel was short but it didn't feel awkward at all. Charles was such a goofball especially when he opened the window and stuck his head out to scream. Clearly, he was on a high for bagging a podium.

There was a brief moment where you and Charles' eyes met. It was actually comforting, rather than awkward. He was comfortable being goofy around you and you were grateful that somehow this moment made you forget how you were beating yourself up because of the race result.

Charles turns up the speaker after he connects it to his phone and even invites you to sing out loud to As It Was by Harry Styles. He bobs his head so hard and screamed every lyrics out the window. You've seen the reactions of some of the people you've passed by. They're either weirded out by a strange man screaming his lungs out or amazed after they've recognized that it was the Charles Leclerc.

A crowd of people were waiting outside the hotel, screaming and cheering when you and Charles arrived at the hotel lobby. Charles waved at them and you dropped the car key to the valet. His fans were screaming his name in a deafening manner.

Charles walked towards them to sign a few merch items that the fans were holding out.

Somebody screamed out your name and it made you stop in your tracks from entering the lobby. It didn't occur to you that you would have fans this early in the season. You were just a rookie. Still a nobody.

Charles also called out your name and pointed at your fans when you turned.

Two small kids and their mom were screaming your name, beaming with joy. As you go near them, you stretched out your hand to take the shirt they're holding that visibly shows your number.

The kid was so adorable when she saw you signing her shirt. She was grinning from ear to ear, bouncing up and down while tugging her mother's shirt.

"She's a massive fan. She said she wanted to be like you when she grows up." Her mother leans slightly forward to whisper.

"Thank you so much! That's such a high honor." You replied as you knelt down and ruffled the kid's hair. "Did you watch my race?"

The kid aggressively nods. "Yes. You were great! I couldn't take my eyes off you from the screen. I promise to watch your race every time!"

"Well, then I promise that you have something worth watching for." You hand back the shirt to the kid and stood up.

Charles was done taking photos and signing stuff for the fans at the same time you were walking back to the lobby.

"Thanks for the ride! I enjoyed it." Charles turns to you after entering the lobby.

"Just rate your Uber Driver 5 stars please." You chuckle. "I enjoyed it too. You're my favorite passenger so far."

Charles was about to talk but was cut by Carlos who suddenly appeared beside him, arms crossed on his chest. You notice that he wasn't aware of your presence yet.

"Hey Charles! Why did I hear from your manager that you refused to use the car back to the hotel? You left it in the parking lot at the --"

Carlos choked at the sudden slap on his back by Charles. "Really? I wasn't aware that we had a car for me." Charles nervously muttered.

The poor man was confused at Charles' deflection but realized straight away when he noticed you watching the two of them. He stood straight up and waved at you.

"Hey Carlos! I brought back your partner in one piece. He hitched a ride with me." You cackled.

"Did he go crazy again? Turned up your speakers on max?" he asks.

"YES! He was a great passenger though." You beamed.

"Hear that? I was a 5-star passenger." Charles puffed out his chest.

"Yes, yes. Mate, you're late for dinner." Carlos said as he pats Charles' shoulder.

"Oh right!" Charles gasped. "Thank you again for the ride. If you need a driver, don't hesitate to contact me. Okay?" he adds as he slowly walk away with Carlos. You nod and gleamed in return.

It was a peaceful walk back to your room. The thrill of your first F1 race was slowly dying down. You weren't as dejected as you were a few minutes ago. Thanks to all the people who were supporting you.

Your phone buzzed as you exit the elevator. You pull it out from your pocket and saw an unexpected name.

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: Hi Y/n! I just would like to congratulate you for a great race. I saw some of the highlights in the cooldown room.

Aston Martin Y/N: Thank you Max. You too, congratulations on P1!

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: So I guess you also have a team dinner?

Aston Martin Y/N: Just a simple one here at the hotel. Nothing too fancy.

Aston Martin Y/N: I'm sure Red Bull would celebrate your win.

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: I didn't want to but Christian insisted. They've started to open the champagnes. Checo also brought some tequila.

Aston Martin Y/N: Tequila as a post-race reward actually sounds good right now

You assumed that was the end of your conversation but it also surprised you that it continued to go on. You were even replying to his messages during your team dinner.

Max was surprisingly easy to talk to. He could throw very hilarious jokes and even shared some memes with you that some fans have made from the Bahrain GP. The one that got you on a chokehold was a meme of George during the driver's parade. A true meme king. You almost snorted out your nose the water you were drinking while you were checking your phone.

Your constant exchange of banters with Max went on even during the two week break until the Saudi Arabia Grand Prix. You haven't yet talked to him personally outside of the phone conversations. It was easier this way. If only his scent wasn't a cause of your torment, you and Max could even be better friends.

Good thing that almost all of the drivers were so busy with media commitments come Wednesday of the Saudi Arabia GP. Even if you enjoy being text mates with Max, you still felt the need to avoid him.

In contrast with what you feel, you find yourself checking your phone almost every hour to see if you've gotten a message. It was quiet.

"How many times have I seen you checking your phone today? Are you waiting for a text?" Oscar asks as he walks with you through the paddock.

"Nah. I don't know. Kinda feels weird my phone is quiet. Must be busy." You murmured. "I heard Lando saying that you have New York Cheesecake for dessert. Can you spare some for me? Steal some from the Mclaren hospitality? Pretty please?" You hide your phone in your pocket and gestured puppy eyes at Oscar while tugging his shirt.

"Geez, you're such a sweet tooth. Fine, I'll steal some and deliver it to your garage later." Oscar replied. He effortlessly leans his arm on your head and teases you.

"Thanks Mom!" You skipped in joy.

"You have to stop calling me that. If that gets out, the people in the internet will surely start making memes of me as Mom Piastri." He jokes.

"That doesn't sound too bad, Mom." You teased the Australian Driver.

Max just got out of the Red Bull hospitality with his physio when he quickly noticed the two of you meters away from him. He takes note of how often he sees you in such a sunny disposition with the other drivers. He wanted to take out his phone and text you right then but was interrupted when his physio called him out.

It's finally race week!

The pace of your car was wonderful during FP1 and FP2 on the first day. There were no issues and the car was enjoyable to drive. You always land in P2 to P4, and it made you confident going into FP3, qualifying and the race.

However, something felt a bit odd on the second day.

Y/N: "There's a bit of a smell. A strange smell coming from the car. Is something wrong?" Ben: "Okay, we'll have a look." Y/N: "Doesn't feel different when driving but can you please double check?" Ben: "Nothing's coming up on our monitors. You can continue." Y/N: "Copy."

This started during FP3 but thankfully, you were able to finish it with no issues.

During Q1, things started to reach a decrescendo. Even the commentators were starting to get uneasy with how many reports you were giving back to your engineer.

Y/N: "My downshifts are really, really bad." Ben: "Standby." Y/N: "They're just super long. The whole downshift procedure." Ben: "Is there a specific corner?" Y/N: "The last corner is fucked up."

What happened on Q2 was the one that takes the cake. It ended your qualifying stint before you even had the chance to get everything out of the car.

Y/N: "Uhh I have a problem. Engine. Engine Problem. It's almost not accelerating." Ben: "Ok. Understood y/n. Well, we'll do what we can. We're happy for you to try and limp home, if possible."

"Traumatic twist that no one saw coming. The dominant Aston Martin car could not complete Qualifying. and y/n will have to fight through from 15th at best." Brundle commentates.

You went back to the hotel feeling dejected and almost wanted to stay cooped up in your room but the boys were so eager for you to join them for a short game night.

The boys were so chaotic playing Overcooked 2 in Lando's room. Yuki and Pierre were screaming at each other on whether they should throw the burgers their avatars were holding or place it on the counter, while Lando and Alex were bickering and laughing while they figure out how to maneuver their avatars.

"I could use some stress reliever. Thank you." You said as you nudge Oscar's side.

"We all needed it." Oscar replies.

Oscar was quick to react when a knock was heard on the door. He ran to get it and came back with Charles and Max following behind.

"Max, such a surprise to see you here!" Alex calls out Max while his eyes are still glued to the screen.

"I begged for him to come." Charles gleefully pats Max's chest and sat beside Alex.

Max sees you standing on the other side of the bed near Pierre and Yuki. You wave at him and he waves back. This was the first time you've interacted with him this weekend.

The first game ended and the boys gave the controllers to the rest of the group. Oscar sat beside you while Charles and Max sat together.

Charles suggested that they change teammates since Charles and Max's team usually wins during game night. As a handicap, Charles would be your teammate and Oscar would be with Max.

You laugh at the suggestion because when Oscar sat down beside Max, he reverted back to his introverted self. He wasn't as close with Max unlike with the others. He looked like a scared little lamb.

Charles was hilarious all throughout the game. He was even more riled up than you. You let him shout the steps to you while you concentrate on finishing the tasks.

Oscar was doing good with Max. They were bickering like kids but they were able to finish the task better than you and Charles. Max was now standing and focusing on the screen like nothing else mattered.

Everyone was basically cheering and screaming at this point. It wouldn't be a surprise if somebody reported a noise complaint.

At the end of the night, everyone bid goodbye to Lando and Oscar and walked back to the elevator together.

"I'm glad you had fun." Max whispers as he leans closer to you. Both of you were at the back of the group.

"I didn't expect for you to join us but I'm glad you did. Now we have the right amount of people to play the game." You replied.

"Oh right..." Max pauses. "Well, I'm glad I came."

Everyone got in the elevator with you being the last one to enter. The boys were still chatting with each other as you were looking at the screen at the side which says the floor. It dinged on the next floor and a group of five entered.

The other 6 drivers were now quiet while the five strangers were chatting. All of you got pushed back and you were now leaning hard against Max who was behind you.

You try your best not to be nervous at the sudden close proximity between you and the dutch driver. Your body burns at the sensation of his hands at your waist trying to steady you after you waddle out of balance when another person got inside the elevator, further pushing you against Max.

Max noticed a sweet scent within the elevator. Probably from the other people who just came in, he thought. However, when his face got close to backside of your neck, the scent got stronger. He can't help but be drawn to the succulent scent you're emitting from your nape.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt Max's breath brush against your skin. You could almost feel Max's chest purring against your back.

Max's scent was also starting to change and you were the only one to notice it. The scent emitting from him was sweet and musky. You could almost whimper at how ambrosial it smells. There was no sense of fear, but pure elation.

The other drivers were blissfully unaware of the tension building up between you and Max as they chat away with the others. You also see Charles joking around with Alex and Pierre.

Max felt your knees buckle slightly and his hands that were on your waist steadies you. Unaware of his surroundings, he continues to take in your delectable scent.

"Stop it, Max..." You whisper, careful not to let anyone else hear you but Max.

He was getting drunk with your scent. It was making him dizzy and he couldn't get enough of it. Like a bee being attracted to a flower's nectar.

His fingers on either side of your waist were now starting to bore into your skin. His growls were now getting slightly audible. The other drivers faintly heard it and were starting to notice a sweet scent as well but didn’t actually realize those were coming from you two. You gripped his right wrist but it didn't even faze Max.

It took him out of his trance when you nudged his stomach with your elbow after you heard the elevator ding and the strangers exited. You stride to the side beside Yuki, and Max steps away opposite to you.

No one could describe what happened between you and Max in that elevator. It left the both of you flushed and panting. Your minds lingering on each other's touch. Eyes glued to each other's gaze.

One by one, the drivers stopped at their respective floors. Leaving you and Max to be the last one left in the elevator. Max's eyes never left you. You avoid his gaze and frantically pressed the elevator button.

Max makes his way to you and slaps his hand on the wall next to you, pinning you in position by his proximity. Completely towering over you.

"Care to explain what happened?" Max grumbled, fighting through his daze.

"I don't know what you mean." You whimpered.

"I'm not stupid. Your smell..." Max slowly leans his face near the crook of your neck. He growls under his breath after one whiff of your scent. "Unlike any pheromones I've smelled."

Max was now burying his face in your neck. You notice the screen on the wall about to stop on your floor. "Max!" You push him slightly, freeing yourself away from him.

You stepped out of the elevator, fighting for your life to stay sane and not get affected by Max's scent. Max's eyes were droopy and his lips were glistening.

Max had no control over his body. He was frustrated that he wasn't able to stop you from fleeing away from him. The farther you ran away, the more his daze faded. The doors of the elevator were now closed and continued to ride up the building.

He knew exactly what had happened. He heard about this from Checo and his parents. There was no denying that you were an Omega and the reason why the both of you had felt that way earlier was because the two of you were fated to meet.

You are his mate.

Next part: Part 4

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: Into the Cauldron and Cassian’s Claim

The air was thick with tension, every breath a struggle as the King of Hybern’s soldiers held you fast, their grip bruising and unyielding. The towering form of the Cauldron loomed before you, a vessel of dark power that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. You could feel the ancient magic swirling around it, a sinister force that promised to reshape you in ways you couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Feyre stood beside Rhysand, her eyes wide with fear and fury as she struggled against the chains that held her back. Nesta and Elain were already beside the Cauldron, their expressions a mix of terror and defiance. Nesta glared at the King with a look that promised retribution, while Elain’s face was pale, her eyes glassy as she trembled under the weight of the unknown.

You tried to swallow your fear, but it clung to you like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a frantic drum that echoed in your ears. As the soldiers dragged Nesta forward, her screams of rage and terror pierced the air, and you fought against your captors with all the strength you had. Feyre’s voice rose in a desperate plea, her magic sparking at her fingertips, but the wards held firm.

Nesta was the first to be thrown into the Cauldron. She thrashed and cursed, her eyes blazing with defiance even as the dark water swallowed her whole. The Cauldron’s magic surged, a violent churning that sent ripples of dread through the room. Moments later, Nesta emerged, gasping and disoriented, her body transformed and her eyes burning with a newfound power.

Then it was Elain’s turn. She screamed, her terror filling the room as she was forced into the Cauldron’s depths. The magic took her, twisting and reshaping her until she was reborn, trembling and fae. Her eyes were wide with shock, and Feyre’s cries for her sister echoed as she fought against her restraints.

Your turn came next. The soldiers’ hands were rough as they dragged you forward, the cold stone scraping against your legs as you stumbled. You could see Feyre’s face, her expression twisted with a mix of fury and anguish, and it was that look—your sister’s pain—that made your own fear spike. She had always been your protector, your rock when things were too hard to bear. You and Feyre had always understood each other in a way that Nesta and Elain did not—two sides of the same coin, bound by the shared trials of your youth.

“Feyre!” you screamed, your voice cracking as the soldiers forced you closer to the Cauldron. She struggled harder, her magic flaring wildly, but the chains held, and the King watched with a satisfied smirk.

Cassian, battered and bloody from his own battle, was held back by two soldiers. His face was contorted with rage, his wings dragging on the ground, torn and bloody from the fight. The sight of you being dragged toward the Cauldron made something in him snap. He fought against his captors, his power surging despite his injuries, his eyes locked onto you with a fierce, desperate intensity.

The King’s laugh echoed through the chamber, cold and mocking as you were pushed to the Cauldron’s edge. “Let her be reborn,” he sneered, gesturing for his soldiers to proceed.

You barely had time to brace yourself before they shoved you in. The cold water closed around you, a suffocating force that pulled you under. Your senses were overwhelmed by the dark, inky magic of the Cauldron, every nerve alight with a searing pain that made you writhe and struggle. You felt as if you were being torn apart, the magic ripping through your veins and rewriting every piece of you.

It felt like an eternity—trapped in that dark abyss, caught between the violent pull of the Cauldron and the desperate need to survive. You thought of Feyre, of your home, of the life that had been ripped from you, and the fear swallowed you whole.

But through the pain, there was a flicker—a connection that you hadn’t noticed before, a faint warmth that pushed against the dark. It was different from the bond you shared with your sisters; it was stronger, deeper, and it called to you in a way that made your heart stutter. Cassian’s presence, his strength, and the desperate need to get to you, to save you, surged through that faint thread.

You’re not alone, the thought whispered through the bond. I’m here. I won’t let you go.

With a final, brutal pull, the Cauldron spat you out. You hit the cold stone floor, gasping for breath, your body trembling from the violent transformation. Everything felt different—your senses sharper, your strength renewed, but your heart was still heavy with fear and uncertainty. You were fae now, irrevocably changed, and the realization made your breath hitch as you struggled to your knees.

Cassian broke free of his captors in that moment, a savage roar tearing from his throat as he fought his way to you. His wings flared out, the powerful, battered limbs sweeping aside anyone who dared to stand between you. He was upon you in seconds, his hands cradling your face as he searched your eyes, his expression a mix of anger, fear, and something deeper—something primal and unyielding.

“You’re safe,” he rasped, his voice cracking as he pulled you against his chest. His heartbeat was frantic beneath your ear, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held you close. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

You clung to him, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you in waves. Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his torn leathers, your body trembling as the aftershocks of the transformation rolled through you. Cassian’s wings wrapped around you both, a protective barrier that shut out the rest of the world. The scent of blood and sweat clung to him, but underneath it was something warm and familiar—home.

Cassian’s hold was almost too tight, his Illyrian instincts in full control as he shielded you from the chaos still unfolding around you. His growl was low and feral, a warning to anyone who dared approach. He was all sharp edges and deadly intent, his focus entirely on you, on keeping you safe from whatever threat might still be lurking.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the tears that had slipped free. “I should have stopped this,” he murmured, his voice raw with guilt and fury. “I should have protected you.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping his arms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not your fault,” you managed to say, your voice weak but firm. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Cassian’s eyes blazed with a protective fire as he looked at you, his jaw clenched tightly. “You’re mine,” he growled softly, the words carrying a weight that made your heart skip a beat. The bond between you thrummed, not fully formed but present, a quiet promise of what was to come. His mate. The realization settled over him with a fierce certainty, his need to protect and claim you overtaking every other thought.

“Cassian—” you began, but he silenced you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, his wings pulling you closer still.

“Rest now,” he whispered, his tone softer but no less commanding. “I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you again, I swear it.”

The rest of the Inner Circle was slowly regrouping, the King’s forces in disarray as Rhysand and Feyre unleashed their combined wrath upon Hybern. But all of that felt distant, muted, as you stayed nestled within Cassian’s protective embrace. His warmth, his strength, and the unwavering determination in his eyes were enough to make the terror of the Cauldron fade into the background.

For the first time since this nightmare began, you felt a glimmer of peace. Cassian was here, and despite the blood and the pain, despite the fear that still lingered, you knew you would be okay. The bond between you was not yet fully formed, but it pulsed with the promise of something unbreakable—a connection that went beyond mere attraction or affection. It was a bond forged in the fire of battle, strengthened by the shared need to protect and be protected.

And as you rested against Cassian’s chest, his wings shielding you from the world, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together.

[writefandoms]

Love Thy Body (Comm)

Adrian Tepes x Female!Reader (smut)

Summary: Adrian Tepes is in dire need of some good ol’ fashion loving.

Word Count: 1.9k

The dhampir of Wallachia was a man known by the name Alucard. 

The opposite of the evil Dracula, he’s seen as the people's savior. The one who will destroy the mad vampire and seal him to rest in his coffin for all eternity. 

But the old stories were just that: stories. Nothing but old wise tales passed around village to village. 

The real Alucard wasn’t the opposition to anyone. He was simply a man. A man who had lost those dear to him in the span of one long nightmare. One that could only end once he drove a stake into his own fathers heart. 

When you looked at this strong hero, you didn’t see a man. No- you saw a crying child longing for his mother and father. 

Adrian wore his scars with great sadness.

From the slice across his chest- given to him from his own father. To the burns around his wrists- given to him by those he entrusted with his body and soul. 

There was no savior, only a wounded child. 

Adrian Tepes was a beautiful man. No one could deny it. 

Even when he spoke with pure arrogance and sass, his golden eyes and sharp jawline were bound to make even the strongest of wills shatter at his looks. 

Upon your first meeting, you were very close to clocking him in his perfect nose. His sharp tongue and know-it-all attitude, made it impossible to not seethe with rage. 

But as you spoke with the man, you began to see past the beauty of his face. Looking into the eyes of a broken creature, longing for someone to hold him- but to scared to open himself to others. Fear of betrayal outweighed his need for compassion. 

The first time you kissed was quite a surprise for both of you. Tension was high after a fierce battle with a few night creatures. One moment your locking eyes, the next your pressed against him in a heated embrace. 

You both swore it was from the heat of battle, even when you can't help thinking about how soft his lips were. 

One broken promise later, you find each other stripped down and in each other’s embrace. No- not quite actually. 

You’re stripped naked, Adrian is only missing his cloak. 

As unfair as you think it is, the orgasms that Adrian delivers are enough to keep your complaints to yourself. 

You thought nothing of his tendency to remain mostly clothed during your heated exchanges. Usually your mind is to busy being blown to care. But tonight would be different. 

“Strip.”

Adrian simply freezes, suddenly unsure where to put his hands on your exposed body. 

“I beg your pardon?” Ever the linguistic, but still playing dumb. 

“Ya’ speak English or not? I said strip.” Your legs shut, blocking his hands or wandering eyes from your privates. 

“I’ve never had to-“

“Aye, I’m naked as the day I was born, yet you’re still in your fancy boots. It’s not fair!” Arms folded like your scolding him, you pick up a pillow to block your chest from his view. “No more fucking until I get to see your bits!”

It’s his turn to scowl now, sitting back on his knees, on the mattress. 

“Language.”

“Stop changing the subject, strip or no more fun time!”

“Fun time?” His lips twitch slightly, a smirk forming on his face. 

Not liking his blatant disregard for his request, you tug a spare sheet around your shoulders to cover your bare body. 

“Fine.” Dragging yourself to your feet, you turn from him, “Good night.”

It doesn’t take him long to call you back, not even two seconds in fact. 

“Don’t leave.” His tone is new, almost fragile. Like if you raised your voice he’d shatter. “Please.”

Clasping your sheet dress, you turn towards him, but wait for him to continue. He doesn’t speak, only reaches a hand out, a proverbial olive branch. 

Who are you to deny this beauty of a man. 

Adrian cups your hand so gently, tugging you towards him. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, spreading his legs to fit you between them. His eyes level with your chest. 

He’s peering up at you with a look that you can’t quite pinpoint. Definitely lust, but with a twinge of something else. 

Pulling your hand downward, he leads you to his button up. Your fingers follow his to the first button, his hands slip away, but the invitation remains. 

Uncertainty weighs your fingers down, slowly unbuttoning the first one. Only when he nods do you pick up the pace, eager to see more of him. Even the small sliver of visible pale flesh has you excited. 

But that excitement is quickly dashed once you catch sight of the large scar branding his near perfect skin. He must regard your sadness as disgust because he pulls back. 

The look on his face of pure disdain- but you know it’s not directed towards you. 

“Satisfied?” Is all he spits at you, eyes glaring at the wall behind you. 

Lifting a hand, your fingers dance along the scar tissue. Only able to journey so far before his hand grips your wrist and halts your motion. 

“Don’t-“ His grasp weakens, shoulders slumping, “-don’t pity me.”

Allowing your hand to pull free, you begin your conquest once again. This time planting both hands firmly against his chest, before leaning down planting a chaste kiss against his lips.

It’s soft. Softer than either of you’ve ever been with one another. 

Adrian takes a moment but returns the sweet gesture. Lips working against yours, like two puzzle pieces. 

You don’t give him a chance to think before pushing your body weight onto him, successfully landing him on his back. 

Despite being caught off guard, he’s still quick enough to land on his elbows. 

“Bloody vampire speed.” You grumble, but refuse to let him stump this small victory. 

Latching your lips on his jaw, you revel in the gasp that leaves him. Adventure further down the column of his throat, leaving small bites and kisses in your wake. 

The subtle pleasures must be enough for him to lower his guard once again, slowly laying flat on his back. His hands fist the sheets beneath him, claws unconsciously ripping the fabric. 

Noticing this loss of control you take the opportunity to lighten the mood. “Tsk. That’s silk, Mr. Tepes.”

Moving back to lock eyes with him, you’re relieved to see him roll his eyes. 

“I can always buy new ones.”

“Oh? Trying to impress me with your riches?” Hands spread on his chest, you push yourself into an upright position, straddling his waist. 

Adrian’s hands move from the sheets, securing themselves onto your hips. 

“Are you only straddling me because of my possible riches?” The grip on your hip gives him leverage to grind against your bare crotch, drawing a low moan from you. 

“Trust me, it’s not just your money that keeps me here.” You trail a hand down his chest, raking your nails a little harsher as you reach the sharp v-line, leading to the tent in his pants. 

“Y-your- ahhh…vile creature.” His moans only add to the heat between your legs, making you unconsciously rub against his bulge. 

“An’ you’re too sexy for your own good.” Your eyes admire the sight of him beneath you. 

Pale skin, ripped muscles, beautiful face, all for you. 

“Quiet.” Is all he can muster in a weak defense, but the pink tint on his cheeks is a dead give away. 

“Not until I make up for all the times you hid this work of art from me.”

Hands run down his bare chest, fingers trying to memorize every crack and crevice. His breathing hitches when you trace his scar, skin more sensitive than the rest. 

Leaning down you catch a pink nipple between your lips, giving a half hearted suck. His reaction is a mixture of surprise and pleasure, back arching a fraction and fingers twitching. 

“Heathen…” he manages to groan with faux anger, not convincing due to the pink still tinting his cheeks. 

“Whore.” You grin back up at him, rolling his nipple between your teeth now. 

“Hng-” It’s adorable really- watching him struggle to keep his cool demeanor up. 

Your mouth remains latched to his nipple, hand wandering down his arm, pausing at his wrist. Even with your soft grip around it has tension rushing through his muscles. Pulling his wrist a bit, you feel slight resistance before he allows you to drag his hand towards your face. Still hovering over his chest, you place a soft kiss on the dark scar that resembles a bracelet. 

“You’re beautiful,” you sit up to straddle him once again, while hoisting his other wrist to your lips. “So beautiful it’s nearly scary.”

He’s breathless as he lays back and watches you plant kiss after kiss along his scars. 

The grinding of your hips against his catches him by surprise. 

“Oh!” The half vampire gasps, mouth opening revealing two razor sharp fangs. 

His hands are led down your neck, past your chest, landing on your hips. Hot friction burns between your arousal and his, successfully leaving a wet spot on his pants. 

“Please let me show you how badly I need you…” your voice loses any confidence, taking on a breathy, whiny tone. 

Your eyes lock, his half lidded golden orbs staring at you with a near predatory gaze. One hand drops from your hip and slides between your legs.

“Ah! Adrian-” Your cries only make his fingers move more, direct contact making your thighs clench. 

Moving up a bit, unconsciously giving his long, attentive, fingers better access. His fingers are slightly sticky with your arousal, taking said juices and rubbing it around your hole. 

“This- mmm… I wanna be in c-control!” As angry as you try to sound, you can’t help the noises leaving you, screwing your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure. 

“You want me to stop?” He questions, his fingertip pushes into your eager cunt, giving only a hint of relief before pulling out. “Fine.”

The whimper that leaves you has him growing hard- well, harder. 

“Please…more.”

There’s no time to try and deny your body's needs, not when he allows his finger to push into you, all the way in. Thrusting the finger slowly, the sounds of wetness get louder. He pulls them out completely, only for two to push back in. 

“Y-yes- need more…” Your hips move on their own, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

He doesn’t press another in though, instead keeps his eyes locked on the place where you wrap tightly around his fingers. Even the slightest crook of his finger inside of you has you toppling over, bare chests rubbing each other. At this awkward angle you can’t really fuck yourself onto him, leaving you at the mercy of his slow and shallow fingerfucking. 

That need for release grows as his long fingers strike sparks against your inner walls. The sounds coming from your lower half would be embarrassing if you weren’t going mad with unholy needs. 

“I can’t come like this, p-please…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can’t walk. Okay, my love?”

My love. A title too romantic for your intimate relationship, words failing you.

Your lack of response is substituted by your tightness clenching around his digits, making his chest rumble with an evil chuckle. 

“Good girl.”

[reaper2187]

Malenia x female reader

The battlefield lay in ruin, a tapestry of smoldering remains and broken weapons. The air was thick with the scent of ash and iron, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Amidst the desolation, the figure of Malenia, Blade of Miquella, stood resolute, her crimson hair flowing like a banner of war. Her presence commanded both awe and fear, a testament to her prowess as the mightiest warrior of the Lands Between.

Across the field, you pushed through the debris, the weight of your armor a familiar burden. As a soldier sworn to serve the Golden Order, you had faced countless foes, but none like her. Malenia was a legend, a figure whispered about in tales of valor and doom. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear, but from the thrill of the challenge and the undeniable pull you felt towards her.

You had crossed paths with her before, each encounter a dance of blades and blood. There was a respect that had grown between you, forged in the fires of battle. Today, however, the air was different. There was a sense of finality, a culmination of all the battles you had fought side by side, and against each other.

As you approached, Malenia turned, her golden eyes locking onto yours. There was a flicker of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft but carried the weight of authority.

"You are persistent," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

You couldn't help but smile beneath your helm. "And you are relentless."

Malenia's gaze softened slightly, the edges of her lips curling into a rare smile. "What drives you, soldier? Why do you continue to seek me out?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You removed your helm, letting the cool air brush against your skin. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the battlefield faded away, leaving just the two of you.

"I seek a purpose," you replied, your voice steady. "In the chaos of this world, I have found none more worthy than you."

Malenia's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and contemplation. She stepped closer, her armor glinting in the dim light. "Purpose is a fleeting thing," she murmured. "But if you find it in me, then perhaps our paths are not so different."

The words hung between you, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between your worlds. You took a step forward, closing the distance, your heart racing with each beat. "Fight with me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not as enemies, but as allies."

Malenia's eyes searched yours, the weight of her decision clear in the silence that followed. Finally, she nodded, a single, decisive motion. "Very well," she said. "But know this, soldier: my loyalty is hard-won and easily lost. Prove yourself to me, and we shall see where this alliance leads."

A surge of determination filled you, and you nodded in return. Together, you turned to face the remnants of the battlefield, the promise of a new dawn glowing faintly on the horizon. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, you felt a sense of purpose that burned brighter than any flame.

The days that followed were a blur of motion and steel. You and Malenia fought side by side, your movements synchronized in a deadly dance. Each battle was a test, not just of your skill, but of your bond. Slowly, the walls between you began to crumble, replaced by a growing understanding and respect.

In the quiet moments between battles, you found yourselves talking, sharing stories of your pasts, your hopes, and fears. Malenia spoke of her brother, Miquella, and the curse that had bound her to an eternal struggle. You shared your own tales, the losses and victories that had shaped you into the warrior you were.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm, golden glow, you found yourselves by a small campfire. The flickering flames cast shadows on Malenia's face, highlighting the delicate features that belied her strength.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" you asked, your voice soft in the stillness.

Malenia looked at you, curiosity in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"To live a life without war," you replied. "To find peace, even if only for a moment."

Malenia's gaze shifted to the fire, her expression thoughtful. "It is a distant dream," she said quietly. "But perhaps not impossible."

The silence that followed was comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Malenia reached out, her fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a spark through you, a connection that felt as real as any battle you had fought.

You turned your hand, entwining your fingers with hers. The gesture was simple, yet profound, a promise of something more. Malenia's eyes met yours, and in that moment, words were unnecessary. The bond you had forged in battle had grown into something deeper, a connection that transcended the chaos of the world around you.

As the night deepened and the stars appeared overhead, you sat together by the fire, your hands still clasped. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and dangers yet to come. But for now, in this quiet moment, you found solace in each other, a brief respite from the storm.

And in that fleeting peace, you dared to hope for a future where your paths would remain intertwined, where the bond you had forged in the fires of war would become a beacon of light in the darkness.

[dairy-farmer]

Another soulmate au ask lol

Theres a lot of angst and drama potential for bats stealing eachothers soulmates (Tim ofc). Especially considering how often they die/fake their death/fake being evil/straight up alienates everyone they care about

Jaytim is a tragic example. Never even got to know eachother and then his dad or brother swoops in to *comfort* Jasons grieving kid soulmate? Cue typical Red Hood shenanigans when Jason returns. Maybe in his rage he feels he has to punish his soulmate, or maybe he just wants to kill anyone who touched him. Either way, he's stealing him away. (Also it would really fuck with Jasons inferiority complex if even his literal soulmate seemingly fell for perfect Dick Grayson)

Bruce has abandoned his kids plenty of times, like when he was accused of murder or when he made JPV batman. Plenty of opportunity Dick to snatch up Bruce's poor neglected soulmate. Dick doesn't have one. And really, Tim should be Dick's, considering how they met and how Dick shaped Tim's whole world.

The Brucequest/Red Robin era is a good time for Jason to snatch up Tim (from whoever he belongs to in this scenario). He could also suceed in either seducing Tim, or claiming Tim by force during the battle of the cowl.

Alternatively, since there is such an age-difference vetween Tim and his soulmate (either Dick or Bruce), Tim and Jason (pre-death) organically fall in love instead. His soulmate just has to bitterly stand by and try to not sabotage his son/brother's happiness.

I also like a reverse robin version of this where either Bruce or Damian is Tim's soulmate. Tim is some jaded Red Hood type of vigilante and having any kind of relationship with those two is out of the question if he can help it (no matter how hard they try to win him back). But who can resist the sunshine of a persistent young Dick Grayson? All Tim did was help him get justice for his parents.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!THE BATS STEALING EACH OTHERS SOULMATE IS SOOOO GOOD!!!!😍😍😍😍😍😍!!!!!

the dicktim one especially!!!! the idea of dick NOT having a soulmate makes so much sense- his bad luck with love, the way it always fizzles out, the way he's on and off again with girlfriends but never able to really lock it down.

in many ways people see dick as just a "fun time" rather than a serious partner. afterall why would they want dick when they already have their soulmates destined for them.

not dick though. dick doesn't have a soulmate. and while it's not particularly rare it is very uncommon. there are support groups of course, blogs with people living life eternally without a soulmate, trying to make it seem like its not so bad. and most days dick tries not to get too down about it. but its hard.

he's tried not to be resentful towards bruce about it.

bruce, unlike dick, DID have a soulmate. in fact he had two.

his cup floweth over and dick tried so hard not to think badly of bruce because of it because it really seemed that things ALWAYS worked out for bruce. being born handsome, a billionaire, and an overflow of soulmates.

he doesn't learn tim is bruce's other soulmates until he's been robin for awhile.

it's pretty widely acknowledged by gotham and everyone that selina kyle is bruce wayne's soulmate and the two of them gallivant through galas and rooftops whenever the two are in the middle of one of their affairs that comes like a seasonal bout of depression.

as a teenager dick had always quietly pitied bruce's other unnamed soulmate who'd be competing against selina for the scraps of a place in bruce's heart.

never did dick expect to be spending a saturday night hanging out with them while bruce was out with catwoman given the rumors she'd blown back into town.

dick feels a sort of...heaviness sitting with tim and sorting through the manor's dvd collection while tim's soulmate was out messing around.

of course nothing between bruce and tim could happen- tim was thirteen. but still....it was a matter of respect.

dick didn't feel good knowing bruce was blatantly messing around in front of his soulmates face it just felt...wrong.

but dick does not say this. does not confront bruce about it because he already knows what bruce would say. something cutting and deep because the two of them aren't on the best of terms.

bruce could be so unthinkingly cruel and dick just knew he'd use the sore spot of dick not having a soulmate to question what right dick had to accuse bruce of being cruel to his soulmate.

and maybe he was right. maybe bruce's past behavior with him or with jason had no bearing on how he'd treat tim.

dick should've known he'd be wrong.

bruce drops tim at the slightest inconvenience, foisting him onto dick or onto alfred.

often times dick patrols with tim while bruce is off on one of his lone quests.

dick knows that things between tim and bruce are...weird.

the whole fact that they're soulmates also doesn't help.

but dick notices the stuff. notices how bruce has incredibly...strict expectations of tim.

and dick knows it's partly because of the loss of jason but also he's almost certain that tim's role as his soulmate also plays a role.

dick knows that the reason bruce and selina have frequent fallouts is because bruce wants selina to be a certain way and she adamantly refuses to be.

but tim....if bruce asked him to jump tim would beg to know how high. tim bleeds a need to be useful to bruce, to meet his expectations.

often that's what he and tim talk about, tim asking dick how he can be a better robin.

and dick, god. he pities the poor thing for having bruce for a soulmate. for being eternally tied to someone who would always find him wanting no matter how hard he tried.

dick should know. he'd been in tim's shoes.

so dick...tries to be nice. that's it that's all he tried to do at first.

opening his home, offering warm meals, kindness, affection. the sort of thing dick would have liked someone to do for him.

dick doesn't even realize he's trying to poach tim away from bruce until he's spending an afternoon just quietly thinking of tim.

he and tim are tied together in such remarkable ways. tim was there, on that night the day dick lost everything and his life changed forever.

tim was there, has been there, in the backgrounds and shadows all of dick's life. dick once goes into tim's room and sees his posters and 'flying graysons!' memorabilia still hanging, and it sticks in his head for days.

tim is soft and sweet and he soaks up dick's attention. he plays with dick and rough houses, laughs, and makes fun of him and he's...so easy to love.

and tim is young and he's so unsure of the bigger 'adult' world that bruce has locked him out of as a soulmate and so...when he comes to dick curious and full of questions...dick helps.

and afterward while he's lying in bed naked with tim fast asleep on top of him he doesn't feel...bad about it.

dick feels no guilt over fucking bruce's soulmate, he should.

yet dick finds it so easy to do. again and again.

sex with tim is good, it's perfect, its better than anything that dick has ever felt before.

maybe it's because tim is so new at it and adorably clumsy. the way he straddles dick's hips and bounces up and down, struggling to find a good rhythm of fucking himself on dick's cock. tim fits like a glove around dick, it's like his little cunt was made for him.

dick marvels at tim's adorable tits, so small and so pink and easily distressed when dick gropes one to keep tim's body pinned as he kneels between his legs and fucks all the way into tim's warm, velvety hole. tim's cunt gets so red and throbs from the friction of dick taking him over and over but tim never once complains.

only moaning and whining, arching and making sweet little sounds to ask for more, to ask for him to keep going.

kids, dick couldn't help but chuckle.

tim is young and puberty is a killer so more often than not tim is writing on him and trying slip their clothes off because he's a budding little nymph.

and dick well...it's the first time he's had a partner who can actually satiate his sexual appetite.

things with tim are good. bruce is barely even a thought to either of them.

dick is breathing hard with an iron grip on tim's waist, snapping his hips hard and fast against tim to bury his cock as deep as it will go while tim makes softly gutted noises. dick is basically operating on a purely primal, animal brain when his detective senses tell him he's being watched.

it's not enough for him to stop though. but to avoid tim noticing and panicking dick pulls him into a deep kiss, swallowing his sweet noises as he slows his thrusts into a grind. he gently fucks tim's tender hole, groaning at tim weakly clenching around him, he sweet attempts to help dick cum.

the feeling of eyes on the back of his head intensifies.

dick has an idea of who's watching them but wants to save tim from the confrontation so he puts his back into it.

he speeds up, punching his cock into tim at a punishing pace, staring down at the pink, wet twitching seam swallowing him and letting a wad of spit fall out of his mouth and land directly on tim's baby clit.

dick's fingers are calloused and rough and tim can't help the startled bunny noise he makes when dick starts pressing down on his clit at the same time as he grinds in. the friction has tim's body trembling.

dick is not a sweet and kind lover. he is hard and fast and often times cruel with the way he bends and fucks and plays.

but tim never denies him not even in inch of his body to do with as he pleases.

and as thanks dick fucks tim so hard his eyes roll to the back of his skull when he passes out.

dick finishes quickly afterwards, muffling his grunts behind bitten lips as he wetly slaps his hips together with tim's after every wave of his orgams.

tim's poor pussy is still twitching when he pulls out, red like a freshly spanked bottom and puffy. dick delightedly watches fresh cum drip out in thick spurts for a few seconds before pulling out a plush blanket and covering tim's nude body.

then he makes his way to the fire escape window by his kitchen where bruce is waiting for him, his lips pressed so tightly together they're white.

it's hard to keep their voices down, bruce half dragging dick out so they can talk freely on the roof.

dick knows why bruce is upset. it's probably not a good feeling to walk in on your soulmate getting fucked by your son.

"what is the matter with you?" bruce asks, voice deep and ragged like a bear's. "tim is a child-"

and dick doesn't try to stop the scoff that rips out of him. tim's age is hardly a factor. plenty of soulmates with age gaps start fucking out of the gate.

bruce quietly stares at him, the air around them heavy.

"tim is not your soulmate."

and that dick adamantly denies. because he is. he IS.

dick can feel it. he knows it like he knows his own hands.

what he and tim have is real. and dick was not going to stop just because bruce was unhappy that dick was giving his spare the time of day.

at that bruce's jaw tightens. and dick can tell he's restraining himself from doing or saying something.

bruce says nothing.

so dick turns to leave. he can feel this won't be the last time they'll have this conversation. dick can feel it.

but for the moment it doesn't matter.

dick's soulmate is wating for him.

[kunikame]

the moon and her stars. - lyney

warnings : lyney has zero rizz (clickbait), i made astral references again im not sorry guys, not quite love at first sight but more the steps made towards it, gender neutral, fluff

w/c : 940

the saying "eyes are the window to one's soul" is, in lyneys humble opinion, about as true as it can get.

he would know.

while he performs his magic tricks, while he takes a stroll down the streets of fontaine– whatever leisurely activity you choose, he does it while staring people directly in the eyes.

of course he doesn't stare at one person the whole time, his own lavender gaze flies from one person to another sporadically, yet he never fails to discern the emotions hidden behind them.

are they happy? sad? having a good day? a bad one, perhaps? tired? surprised? excited?

he knows.

he watches childrens eyes light up with joy when he pulls their card out of his hat– he observes the couple arguing a few steps away, notices when the brunette's eyes shift from pure sadness to betrayal.

he sees.

which is why he also notices when someone lacks these qualities. if there is no joy, there is no shine– no life behind a person's eyes.

he wonders why your eyes seem so empty when your smile feels genuine.

perhaps you're like him, hiding burdens you desperately wish would forever stay locked up, yet you yearn for a companion to share your pain.

he has his siblings, but who do you have?

lyney approaches you one time (be it out of sheer fascination or simply seeking a change of pace, he's not quite sure) after an impromptu show he put on for some kids in the middle of the street with a singular white rose in his possession.

"hello there, you seem to be not quite enjoying the show tonight. may the great magician lyney be of any service, perhaps?"

he removes his hat with a flourish and bows, holding out the rose as an offering to you.

you lift your gaze from the book you were reading, surprised he took notice of your presence. upon noticing the rose a pleased hum escapes you, and lyney notices a fragment of what one might call 'entertainment' behind your gaze.

"did you know white roses symbolize young love and eternal loyalty, sir lyney? was your approach made with such intentions to be conveyed on this starry night?"

your tone is teasing and amused, and he is well aware of it, but whatever mirth you might be feeling doesn't quite reach your eyes, and so with a snap of his fingers and an elegant shake of the rose, he produces 8 more of them in an unarranged bouquet he hopes you will accept.

"not quite, i'm afraid. i was more so referring  to the symbolization of new beginnings, but if you so prefer i would not at all mind changing the meaning. or the color, if you wish," he says, brushing his hand over the roses, which have now turned a darker orange.

"'fascination', i see," you hum, "interesting choice. is there a reason for it?" you have now discarded your book entirely, giving the blond all your attention, as if hanging onto each word he says, yet seemingly not quite caring about any of them either. it confused lyney, but it fascinated him even more.

"are you aware of what people say about eyes?" you nod, inclining your head slightly, curiosity piqued, "they are the window to the soul. i've found that claim to be truthful until the day i first met eyes with you."

"is this your attempt at wooing me, sir lyney? i regret having to inform you it's not quite working."

"not yet, no. i simply wished to compliment you. your eyes are one of, if not the most beautiful i've ever seen. but, if i may be so bold as to ask, why must you suppress your emotions from being seen in them?"

your eyes flicker away momentarily and lyney pauses. perhaps he might lose this battle tonight.

"i do not wish for them to be perceived by none other than myself. i believe it's better– nobody can use my emotions against me this way."

"why would anyone do such a thing?"

your eyes meet his then, and the world stops. everyone around him disappears and suddenly it's just you and him in this bubble universe you've created– or perhaps you haven't created it, it was simply made for you. you are the center of it and lyney has to fight to find his place (he chooses the one that's closest to the sun– to you). may he crash and burn if he has to, if the universe decides he's meant to, he simply wishes to be as close as you let him. 

if the eyes are the window to the soul– or to put it differently– to the heart, then lyney is certain what you see in his is the adoration he holds for you. even though he doesn't quite know you yet, you fascinate him to no end and he will not stop at the ends of the universe– he will go further and further, as far as his legs carry him, to know everything about you.

he has come to agreement with these feelings of his, they are the reason he chose to approach you in the first place.

he is, however, rendered speechless when your eyes suddenly seem filled with an affection and longing he can't say he's been looked at with before.

"you tell me, sir lyney. would you do such a thing?"

you smile at him then and may the god of justice strike him down where he stands lest his words are lies, but you put the moon and all her stars to shame.

"to you? never."

ੈ✩₊˚TAGLIST : @sscarchiyo @arkangelee @chrronoir @sleepypengwin @yakshalea @kazemiya @menhwa-pdf @mikctp @gabirii @solxima // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you're in bold i can't tag you)

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title: Mercy in the Apocalypse

(Daryl x Reader)

---

The world as you knew it had crumbled into a grotesque version of itself. The air was thick with the stench of decay and desperation. The relentless sun beat down on the abandoned streets, highlighting the eerie silence that replaced the once bustling city. In this post-apocalyptic world, mercy was a scarce commodity, and survival was a brutal game.

You stumbled through the deserted alleys, your feet dragging against the cracked asphalt. Your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear, exhaustion, and a fierce will to live. It had been weeks since you had seen another living soul, and your heart ached with the loneliness that gnawed at your spirit. The world had gone dark, and with it, the light in your soul seemed to flicker.

As you turned a corner, you heard the faint sound of footsteps behind you. Panic surged through you, and you quickly ducked into the shadows, pressing yourself against the cold, rough wall of an old building. Your breathing was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You strained to listen, hoping the footsteps would pass and leave you in peace.

But instead of fading away, they grew louder, more deliberate. A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a purposeful grace that spoke of skill and confidence. Your eyes widened as the figure stepped into the dim light, revealing a tall, lean man with dark hair and piercing eyes. His clothes were worn and dirty, but he moved with an air of authority that made your stomach twist in knots.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of weariness and resolve. "I'm not here to hurt you."

You stayed silent, your hand inching toward the knife strapped to your belt. Trust was a luxury you couldn't afford.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "My name's Daryl. Daryl Dixon. I saw you from a distance and figured you could use some help."

You studied him, your eyes narrowing. "Why should I trust you?"

Daryl sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You don't have to. But being out here alone is a death sentence. I've got a group. We're good people. We look out for each other."

The mention of a group piqued your interest, but the memories of past betrayals made you wary. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Daryl took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I know what it's like to be alone. To lose everyone you care about. I'm just trying to survive, same as you."

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. The loneliness you felt, the constant fear—it was mirrored in his eyes. Slowly, you lowered your hand from your knife and nodded. "Okay. But if you try anything..."

"I won't," Daryl assured, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, let's get you to safety."

You followed him through the labyrinth of abandoned buildings and overgrown streets, your senses on high alert. As you walked, Daryl spoke softly, telling you about his group—a tight-knit family of survivors who had carved out a small sanctuary in the chaos. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the madness.

When you finally reached their camp, nestled in the ruins of an old school, you were greeted by wary but kind faces. They offered you food, water, and a place to rest. The relief was overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to hope.

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself becoming part of their makeshift family. You worked together, scavenging for supplies, fortifying your defenses, and sharing stories around the campfire. Each day was a battle, but you faced it together, drawing strength from one another.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the camp, you found yourself sitting beside Daryl. The two of you had formed a quiet bond, built on mutual respect and shared experiences. You looked at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words.

"Daryl," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. For finding me. For giving me a chance."

Daryl turned to you, his eyes reflecting the fading light. "You don't have to thank me. We're in this together."

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. "I know. But still, I... I don't know what I would have done without you."

Daryl reached out, his rough hand gently covering yours. "You would've survived. You're stronger than you think."

His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, embarrassed. But Daryl's hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the moment.

"You deserve mercy," he said softly. "We all do."

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a broken world, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. Daryl was right. You deserved mercy, and so did everyone fighting to survive. It was a fragile, precious thing, but it was enough to keep you going.

As the stars began to dot the night sky, you leaned into Daryl, finding comfort in his presence. The world was still a brutal, unforgiving place, but together, you could face whatever came next. Mercy might be hard to come by, but as long as you had each other, you had a chance.

And sometimes, a chance was all you needed.

[sonics-atelier]

Whispers in the Library

For @bagginshieldweek24 Day 4 : Bookshops and Libraries + Khuzdul Language

Summary : Thorin Tries Teaching Bilbo Khuzdul and Bilbo proves to be quite the flatterer ( dealing with smaug paid off ) , sweet kisses are exchanged.

a/n : I had lots of fun writing this lmao, Bilbo is menace and thorin is just a simp argue with the wall.

In the heart of the Lonely Mountain, Erebor, the grand halls of the dwarven kingdom buzzed with activity and prosperity. Among the most magnificent of its treasures was the vast library, a labyrinth of knowledge and history, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls.

Bilbo Baggins, now a frequent visitor to Erebor, found himself drawn to this library, fascinated by the wealth of knowledge it held. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was equally fond of the library. He took pride in the rich history of his people and was eager to share it with Bilbo.

One crisp evening, Thorin invited Bilbo to explore the library together. As they wandered through the towering shelves, Thorin began teaching Bilbo about Khuzdul, the ancient language of the dwarves, and the intricacies of dwarf culture.

"Khuzdul is a sacred language," Thorin explained, his deep voice resonating through the quiet library. "It's not just words; it's a part of who we are."

Bilbo listened intently, his admiration for Thorin growing with each word. He watched as Thorin's eyes sparkled with passion and knowledge, his strong hands gently handling the delicate manuscripts.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, moving closer, "you amaze me. You're not just a warrior; you're a scholar too. You're so smart and dedicated to your people's history."

Thorin blushed slightly, his usual stoic demeanor softening. Bilbo continued, his voice filled with genuine admiration, "And your arms, Thorin, they're so strong. You've protected your people with those arms, but you also hold these ancient texts with such care. It's incredible."

Thorin's blush deepened, and he tried to hide his face behind a large book, but Bilbo wasn't finished. "And that beard," Bilbo said, his tone playful yet sincere, "it makes you look so imposing, but I know you're just a big softie inside."

Bilbo's words sent a warm shiver down Thorin's spine. He peeked over the top of the book, only to be met with Bilbo's loving gaze. "Bilbo," Thorin murmured, his voice barely audible.

Bilbo gently took the book from Thorin's hands and set it aside. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Thorin's face. "You're exquisite, My King" Bilbo whispered, his lips brushing against Thorin's cheek.

Thorin closed his eyes, savoring the tenderness of Bilbo's touch. Bilbo kissed his other cheek, then his nose, his forehead, and finally, with a pause that felt like an eternity, his lips. The kiss was sweet and filled with the unspoken promises of love and companionship.

When they finally pulled apart, Thorin's face was a deep shade of red, his usual composure completely shattered by Bilbo's affection. Bilbo chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with delight. "I love seeing you like this," he said, his voice gentle. "You're strong and brave, but you're also kind and caring. You're everything I could ever want."

Thorin pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace, burying his face in the hobbit's shoulder. "And you, Bilbo," he whispered, "you make me feel complete. You've shown me that there's more to life than duty and battle. You've brought light and love into my world."

They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by the wisdom of ages. In that vast library of Erebor, amidst the echoes of ancient history, Thorin and Bilbo found their own story—one of love, admiration, and the beautiful blending of two very different worlds.

Their journey together in the library became a cherished memory, a testament to their growing bond and the sweet, enduring love that blossomed between the scholar king and the adventurous hobbit.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

[lily-blackstone]

Blood-Soaked Love

General!Lilia Vanrouge x Human General!Reader (Gender not mentioned)

Note: I wrote this shit like nearly a year ago probably and it's been sitting in my notes ever since so here's a slightly edited version hahaajajahjajakksbdhdjsksk

Description: Under the cover of darkness, only there can you embrace you lover. And there, you must end his life as well.

After all, as a General in the Human army, your loyalty to your race reigned above all else in your life. And to think you valued anything, even your lover, more, was nothing but a lie to yourself.

The leaves crunched softly under your feet as you walked towards your destination. It was late, having passed midnight hours ago.

You should've been asleep in your tent, catching up on some much needed rest during this small unspoken truce after the dust of war had settled for the night. The battle was unusually gruesome, both sides suffering heavy losses.

You suspected that if everything went as it should've, the next day would have no fighting, perhaps one or two small skirmishes at most but no full scale battle.

That is, as previously stated, if everything went as it should've.

But unfortunately, things would not go as they should've under normal circumstances.

Because the circumstances of your relationship with General Lilia Vanrouge were anything but normal.

Of course, the two of you just couldn't be what everyone else thought you to be. What you should be. You two couldn't y'know, absolutely despise eachother. View the other with nothing but pure malice and hatred for what each of you had done to the other. But of course, you just couldn't be normal about eachother.

Nonono, you guys just had to have a 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 after things got sidetracked during what should've been a very tense and formal meeting to arrange a truce. Why? Because a year before said truce and a year before the war, you two just 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to happen to run into eachother while undercover and then somehow accidentally help eachother and then share both of your first kisses-

So you guys just 𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 be in a secret relationship for the past 3 months since that little meeting.

Seeing eachother only late at night under the cover of darkness, having to always be a hundred percent sure that absolutely 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 saw the two of you together.

Recently though, your meetings have been less and less frequent. From at least once a week to thrice a month if you were lucky. Confrontations in the battlefield were incredibly rare and both of you worked hard to ensure it stayed that way.

But, the decrease in your midnight randevouz's were to be expected. The war was getting desperate. Supplies, morale and manpower slowly beginning to dwindle on both sides meant everyone was desperate for a victory.

Including you.

And what you were planning to do tonight was precisely the reason why you were sure the unspoken truce would not last.

And so, as you stepped into the small clearing, your eyes locking with the man you'd grown love; a silence of mutual understanding enveloped the area. Not even the chirping of owls could be heard. Not a single animal, nor the trees dared to make a sound. Only the wind swept past, as if gently chiding you both to reconsider, or perhaps it was simply waiting in anticipation.

After what felt like an eternity, you stepped forward.

Lilia said nothing, only staring up at the moon as you sat down beside him, leaning against the tree he was under. The two of you sat in silence for a few more seconds before Lilia spoke up "The moon looks beautiful tonight, don't you agree?"

Gazing up at the full moon, you found it to be quite beautiful as he had said. "It is indeed."

Silence again.

Though, none of the silences were uncomfortable. But they were not comfortable either. Rather, they were... How do I put it? Ah, the calm before the storm. Both of you knew what was on the other's mind. You both knew what was coming, what had to be done. And yet, you both wished desperately in your heart for the opposite.

But unfortunately, the world was unkind. It was merciless. It had no obligation to listen to the whims of two people, so why would it?

Eventually, you stood up. Placing a hand on the hilt of your sword, you unsheathed it. "Lilia, I think it's time we ended this little game of ours" This stupid pathetic game of playing hide and seek with the rest of the world, trying desperately to somehow save a relationship which was doomed to fail from the very beginning.

Lilia stood up, unsheathing his sword as well. The two of you faced eachother, looking into eachothers eyes "Indeed. It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?" He said with a hollow smile and you gripped the hilt of your sword tighter. "Yes, it was an honour to have known you. But I truly hope that neither of us have the displeasure of seeing each other in hell."

And with that, you drove your sword forward, aiming for the heart you'd long since trapped within your calloused fingers.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

SFW🌿

・Will is a caring and gentle partner. He’s quite emotionally open and doesn’t mind discussing his feelings 

・The first time you met, there was a ringing of steel on steel. The clash of swords; a battle neither would win. 

・As the captain of the Flying Dutchman, Will had found your ship, with its healthy and vital crew

・Your coffers were full, and your crew was never hungry

・As the enemy ship sailed towards your own, your curiosity won over your logic

・What’s the point in being immortal if you can’t have a little fun?

・So when the fighting broke out, you soon realised who you were dealing with. Davy Jones had been slain, but in his place stood a handsome young man. 

・Both you and Will agreed to stay out of each other’s way, but destiny wouldn’t let you part

・It wasn’t difficult, to let your feelings take over. Both you and Will had a fascination with each other, one that ran deep

・Both of you wanted to be a captain and sail your own ship. The pirate life wasn’t one that was easy to give up 

・That freedom is intoxicating. 

・But destiny was always on your side

・Because you found an old relic that gave you the power to find Will, no matter how far he sails

・Will does get jealous easily though, and when he first met you, he was certain that your quartermaster was your lover. But Killian was a loyal friend, and only a friend 

・You knew about Captain Jack Sparrow, but never got the chance to actually meet him. Something told you that wherever Jack went, trouble followed...so you followed him

・Will told you to steer clear of the dread-locked fiend, but you wanted something of his. A certain compass. 

・What Will loves most about you, is your hot head and wild nature. Although it can be difficult at times, he would never make you dull that part of yourself 

・You keep him on his toes, and he wouldn’t want it any other way

・Whenever you’re together, Will likes to surprise you with artefacts (since you can get any jewel you wish - you can never die. No matter the injury.)

・You like playing with Will’s hair, it’s actually quite curly 

・He likes when you hum, and you do it a lot. It’s always absent-mindedly, because you’d be mortified if Will heard you sing (although when you get to the drink, you don’t care whose listening)

・Your crew mates start to feel comfortable around Will’s. There’s even moments of family members reuniting

・You take good care of your crew - since you hand pick them yourself 

・You’ve sailed nearly everywhere, and experienced everything. Some things you wish you could forget, but others that you know are otherwordly

・You’ve saved mermaids

・Slayed British soldiers, who try to rid the world of pirates

・You’ve even been nominated to be pirate king a few times (but you never turned up to the meetings)

・You’re a legend, a myth, a reality

・Some people think that if they capture you, they’ll be able to take your eternal youth

・So you can never be in one place for too long 

・Anyone that’s around you will become younger - the time in their life when they felt like their best self 

・But this doesn’t work on Will ... it was one of the reasons why he was so peculiar to you 

・Like destiny had played a nasty trick on the both of you

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Your Favourite Colour Is Green by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

  ✧ Rivals to Friends to Lovers

  ✧ Opposites Attract

  ✧ “Shut Up” x “Make Me”

  NSFW🔞minors dni!

・Consent King™ always asks if what he’s doing is okay, asks if he can kiss you, etc. 

・Favourite place to have sex is on the beach. The hot sun beating down on you, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It makes an ethereal atmosphere. 

・Always makes sure you’ve orgasmed before he does 

・Can go for multiple rounds, without tiring

・He’s swept up in the heat of the moment, and doesn’t think about whether he’s being light-hearted or sensual 

・Will is like a whirlwind when he’s turned on. Grabbing at your clothes and tearing them off, kissing every inch of bare skin he can find 

・His favourite position is missionary, with your legs wrapped around his waist 

・Leaves hickies on your body without realising it 

・Loves when you wear your captain’s hat and ... only your captain’s hat.