#so i wanted to grant a bit of peace of mind

[astraltrickster]

[whathebrick]

what people don't consider is that bai hua has the potential to be just like macaque and that's why teach is so protective of her. he doesn't want her being 'corrupted'

[august126]

✩‧₊˚𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯-𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰✩‧₊˚

Scaramouche x fem!reader

summary: scaramouche's big mouth got himself in trouble once more. after a rough night, his injuries are too much for him to deal with himself. although you're there to aid him, there are other needs he wants your help with

Warnings; Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot,Size Kink,Semi-Public Sex,Public Sex,Public Blow Jobs,Blow Jobs,First Time Blow Jobs,Vaginal Sex,Anal Sex,Outdoor Sex, and Eventual Smut.

A/n; Thank you all so much,OMG 300 followers !! It means so much to me, I hope you guys enjoy this.

you always found the night to be peaceful, in fact, you were a bit of a night owl. the stars always captured your attention, your comfort was in the night sky, and sometimes, you felt that the sky always felt the same about you. unfortunately, one night, the peace and comfort you once knew diminished as you were able to detect sounds of someone trudging through the mud. once at ease, your body tensed whilst you gripped at your weapon. no one passed by your abode, especially not at night. it was quiet near the bottom of starsnatch cliff. this was your station for the month; fatui were to be placed at different stations throughout teyvat as scaramouche had worked on 'delusions.' you owned multiple, one for each element. the archons were not as graceful as people say they are to be able to grant you a real one. thankfully, scaramouche was able to give you one, then another, then another, soon you owned all the elements. and then some.

your station was pretty open, resembling albedo's campsite in dragonspine.

"who's that?" your voice came out slightly shakier than you had hoped.

a small strained chuckle came from the figure in the darkness, "that's how you respond to enemies? 'who's that?' how intimidating."

you gritted your teeth and relaxed your shoulders. scaramouche. many thoughts ran through your mind, the most prominent one being, why was he here? mondstadt? he was supposed to be in inazuma. you had always tried to be kind to him, but if he was there for some stupid reason, basic manners would be the last thing on your mind.

"what are you doing here?" this time, your voice was stern and his figure became more distinguished as he came into the light. with more details being revealed, it was obvious he had gotten into a brutal fight. "why are you…" your thought trailed off as your feet moved without you, towards him. he had a smirk on his face, but worry also ran through his expression. his eyes fell and he swatted your gracious hand away. instead of responding, he thought an appropriate answer would be to rummage through your station, inferring he was looking for supplies to heal himself. a sigh escaped your lips, you grabbed your weapon and tossed it near him. his body was stiff while he explored your carefully arranged items.

exasperated, you gripped his wrist and turned his body towards yours, "what are you doing here? answer me this time." you repeated the question as his eyes finally met yours. his clothes ripped, his eyes heavy, and he had bruises along his body. although fully clothed, it was easy to tell there were more extensive injuries beyond what the eye could see. not to mention, his face. once clean and clear, now battered with cuts. your stomach flipped at the sight.

"i came to see you and well, there were people here who thought otherwise. i guess i'm popular around teyvat."

three seconds of silence and tension filled the air. your lips curled inward as your tried to stile a laugh. "well.. yeah." a huff of air came from your mouth instead of a laugh, "you're one of teyvat's most wanted fatui. you create delusions and the traveler wants you dead." the want to laugh becomes greater by the second.

"okay. ha. ha. not funny. are you gonna help me or not?"

his wrist slid out of your grip, "why should i?"

scaramouche's fingers gently wrapped around the bottom of his top. tilting his head enough to let his hat drop to a nearby table, his arms weakly lifted the shirt above his head and off of his body. your breath hitched at the sight of his well-toned -- injured abdomen. the bruises appeared black and the deep wounds were now crusted over with dried blood. your palms instinctively ran along his muscles, he didn't wince, but was clearly uncomfortable. you flinched away from him.

"sorry. i was just.. seeing if they hurt."

"of course they hurt."

"sorry."

"just help me. stop apologizing."

you sat him down on the most comfortable stools you were able to find. he lit another lantern due to the darkness of the environment, while he was struggling to light a match, you looked for your 'med kit.' well, it was a box full of bandages and alcohol. you hoped it would be enough. scaramouche's eyes glanced over at you, eyeing the box you held.

"idiot."

you were taken aback, "excuse me?"

"you heard me. what if something happened to you and this is all you had?"

your face felt hot and you were embarrassed, "nothing would have happened to me. i'm careful and i don't pick fights."

his hand found his way on top of yours, he dragged you towards him; his free hand slid underneath your chin, his thumb stroking your jaw. you could feel your face turn hot with each stroke. your face inched towards his, slowly, until he opened his mouth.

"i didn't pick this fight." he let go, dramatically. he turned away from you, letting his jaw face you.

your head fell slightly, hair covering your eyes. "okay, i believe you." he was injured, you had to be nice to him. you fiddled with the bandages in the box for a moment before placing the box on his thighs. "posture straight, please." all that mattered was patching him up.

your hands were covered in alcohol as you soaked cotton pads in the liquid. you gently rubbed the sterilizing product over his wounds. at first, it seemed like extensive injuries littered his body, but it wasn't all that bad. a large cut and a few bruises were near his rib area, scrapes were found all over his legs, but they weren't all that important, and his face -- it was fine. a cut. it'll scar up. he's a skilled fighter, you thought to yourself to calm yourself. you gently pressed your hands on his shoulders to encourage him to lean back. there was one last cut you hoped to clean near his hip bone.

"lean back." you stared at his abdomen area, it looked much better than before.

he laughed, "i'm not even hard yet. plus, is it advised to do such acts while injured?"

your eyes widened, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, you looked at him with a neutral expression. "i'm cleaning you up."

he rolled his eyes and complied to your demands, rolling his pants down slightly farther. you glared at scaramouche and he shrugged, "i'm giving you a better view."

sighing, you bandaged him up and clapped your hands against each other, removing any dirt. trying to tidy up the place once more, you grabbed excess scraps and tossed them back in the 'med kit' as scaramouche rose from the stool, trying to feel comfortable with the bandages. you finished placing everything back in the correct spot and bent over to place the 'med kit' back in a drawer. although he was messing around with his bandages, he managed to steal a few glances at you. once you stood up and felt more relaxed, you realized how tall scaramouche was. and how pretty he was. you couldn't leave him alone, especially not injured. you grabbed onto his hand and led him closer to you.

you tilted your head up to look into his eyes, "do you want to rest here?"

"what are you insinuating?"

"rest. sleep."

"where will you sleep?" he bent over your shoulder to glance at your bed. he craned his neck so his lips pressed against your ear, "unless you want to sleep with me."

continuing with the stone cold expression, you let out a dry laugh. "i'll sleep outside. i'm not even tired. by the time you wake up, you can leave and i'll be able to sleep."

the stars continued to twinkle. your eyes darted to the sky outside. the night sky, beautiful. scaramouche brought his attention to the same sky and shook his head. he grabbed his disheveled clothes and hat, attempting to put them on. confused, you stopped him from trying to leave, especially now. the quiet of night, but the loud of ones in it. you knocked his hat out of his hand and pushed him to the bed, encouraging him to get in. the sheets were warm, the bed was soft, you were so confused on why he couldn't just stay. fatui had slept together many times, one keeping watch, one sleeping. moments of wrestling, you managed to pin him to the bed. your face was red and sweat beaded on his face, heavy breathing filled the silence.

"stay. please." your voice cracked once more.

"i can fend for myself. you're not fooling me with your act. trying to be all nice, getting delusions from me."

you caught your breath as you tilted your head, such as a confused dog, "i am nice to you! genuinely! do you think i use you for delusions?"

"why else would you be nice to me? i have power, delusions, and money."

"so do i."

your brows furrowed, "fuck you, leave."

you sat on scaramouche's lap, pointing at the large gap being the exit. "leave."

he sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, sighing. "i'm sorry. i can't really fathom why you tolerate me"

"i don't."

he laughed at the snarky remark, his hands snaked around your waist.

"fiesty."

his face came closer to yours, his hands sliding to your lower back. your breath grew heavier, he smiled at the response, "how about you tolerate me for one night?"

soon, your lips were centimeters apart, "i'll allow it."

with those words, his lips crashed onto yours, the warmth of his breath filled your mouth. as his tongue explored your mouth, he fiddled with the buttons on his pants. as the buttons finally came undone, he used one hand to lift you above his thighs, just enough to slide off his bottoms. he pulled away and brought his mouth to your neck, "clothes off." your body moved on its own, without any debate, your hands began to strip yourself. his fingers slid along your waist, his right hand made his way up to your chest, the left aiding you in taking off your bottoms. he gripped onto your chest, cursing pleasures against your neck. the warm, sloppy feeling of his lips made you unknowingly grind against his thigh. you felt yourself growing hot against his skin, you yearned for contact, "please. take it off."

"of course, dear."

he removed your underwear, leaving you feeling too warm. he kept himself sitting up as you were able to rock your hips against his thigh, moaning each time you rubbed against his knee. your back arched, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, scaramouche supported you, his arm wrapped around your upper back.

"almost.. please."

scaramouche's nails dug into your thighs, making you halt quickly. he grabbed onto your hips, applying an immense amount of pressure on them. "you were going to finish.. without me?" you blushed in embarrassment, he lifted you off of his lap and laid you on your back gently. "i'll admit, you looked. amazing, but what type of person would you be if you left me hanging? don't i get to make you feel good too?"

the last sentence struck you, he wasn't upset that he wasn't getting anything for himself, he was upset he let you do all the work.

"you aren't as bad as people say you are." you swallowed your words.

the innocence in your voice, fueled him even more, the lust he felt made his eyes glow. as soon as your sentence finished, his fingers rubbed along you, the wetness causing many noises beyond the ones from your moans. he slid one finger in, essentially seeing how far he could push you. the one finger, while a surprise, didn't exactly do much for you. it wasn't until another finger slid in that made your body twitch, along with that, his palm pressed along the upper portion of your crotch, rubbing it as his fingers slid in and out of you. he managed to fit in another finger. your mouth had drool and moans seeping from it, you couldn't contain yourself. the pleasure made your back arch against his upper arm. soon, he gave up on being gentle, he slid his fingers out. the sensation of his fingertips exiting you made a small 'yelp' come out of you. he turned you over, lifting your ass towards him. this time, he had one hand inside you, the other fondling your chest. his fingers continued to pump inside and outside of you, curling at certain times, the heat from his fingers overtook all other senses. he continued to massage your chest, putting your nipple between his index his middle finger, pinching it slightly, soon, the knot in your stomach builds again.

"close. close.." your breath was heavy, words barely being distinguished between each heavy sigh. scaramouche's mouth turned into a smile, a growl came from the depths of his throat. in desperation, you stopped moving your hips against his fingers, sliding them out yourself. a thin trail of liquid coming from your entrance connected you to the tips of scaramouche's fingers. he didn't move or continue, he grabbed your shoulders and turned you over again. he stared down at you, eyes switching from looking at your eyes to your chest. your cheeks burn red and scaramouche's hands float over your body.

"are you okay? did i.. overstep?"

you smile at his softness, grabbing his hands, you place them over your chest. "i want you, um, inside me." you slide your hand down his waist, rubbing over some bandaids. his expression changed, eyes narrowing. "all you had to do was ask." he leaned back and motioned for you to take off his underwear. reluctantly, you slowly took it off, the waistband rubbing against his bulge, the waistband teased the slit on the head, forcing a groan come out his lips. your lips found its way to his penis, heat radiated onto your them. "put your mouth on it." he grabbed a handful of hair and smiled, seeing you in such a vulnerable state, "you look so beautiful as my little slut." your heart skipped a beat hearing his words, 'his,' your lips kissed his inner thighs, wetting them. his size made you worried, it was laid against his stomach, throbbing against his abs. you moved your way up, watching his hands clutch onto the bedsheets. he was too much for you to take in at first, the length hit the back of your throat immediately, but you persisted, testing your limits each time you bobbed your throat up and down. scaramouche thrusted into you, making you gag intensely, "i'm sorry, baby." he rubbed your head soothingly, encouraging you to continue. you felt his penis throb in your mouth, with one last thrust, hot cum filled your throat. your eyes filled with tears, your mouth relaxed and you lifted your head off of scaramouche. cum poured out the corners of your mouth, you did you best to swallow, but he filled you to the brim.

"you look pathetic, imagine signora seeing you like this." he wiped the cum away from your mouth with his thumb. you held yourself up, hands sinking into your mattress, your legs spread apart slightly underneath you. awkwardly, you lifted your leg above scaramouche's lap, beginning to straddle him. his eyes trailed down to your crotch, hand massaging your waist as you lowered your hips, entrance teasing the tip of his cock. pleasure immediately flowed through scaramouche's body, precum lubing his penis. any slight movement would have had his penis slide inside you easily, he began to test the waters, holding onto your hips, attempting to keep you in place, slightly above him. as a sign to let him move, you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing heavily against it. scaramouche slammed his penis inside you, his balls slapping against your ass, sounds of skin slapping echoed into your ears. scaramouche whined slightly, praising how good he felt inside you, his hands gripped onto your ass, spreading your ass cheeks apart. you sat on the base of his penis, waiting for him to continue moving, in desperation you humped him, insinuating he continued. you couldn't move yourself, his penis was too big, feeling like too much pressure inside you. he kissed your jaw once, smiling against your smooth skin as he continued to pound into you. his penis spread you apart perfectly, the right amount of pain and pleasure. his hand striked your ass, turning it red as he moved his other hand to clasped onto your neck. you bounced your hips against his, making his cock progress deeper into you, reaching your sweet spot. your hands explored his back, nails creating artistic scratches onto him from time to time. "sorry.." you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, "for causing any more injuries.." his penis twitched, your clamped tighter onto him, cum streamed inside you. scaramouche groaned, continuing to pound into you, a small squeal came from your mouth as you creamed all over his penis, a mix of both of your fluids pouring out of you. you lifted your hips off of him, liquids streaming out of you. you spread your legs apart, pressing your fingers against you, cum accumulating on them. you pressed your fingers against his lips, his tongue licking your fingers clean. you pressed your body against him as you slowly slid down enough so your mouth can reach his wet penis. you licked the rest of the cum off of his penis, he squirmed against your mouth, his skin too sensitive. you swallowed carefully before yawning. scaramouche lifted you up from the arms, a soft smile painted across his face.

both of you lied down silently, recovering from the exercise. "you did great." he wrapped his arms around you, laying the both of you down. he winced slightly having your body press against his. "you'll patch me up tomorrow, right?"

you couldn't help but smile, "you're staying with me until tomorrow?"

"yeah, your station's kinda barren," he paused, "you need company."

"sounds like you like me"

"i do."

silence hung in the air, tension along with it.

scaramouche played with your hair tenderly, "and do you feel the same?"

"is it not obvious? you're going to make me say it out loud?"

"yes."

"i like you too."

"ah… do you love me?"

you turned to see his stupid self beaming at you, "yes. i guess. i tolerate you."

"please, tolerate me for more nights."

"shut up."

"anything for you."

"didn't i say shut up?"

he pressed a finger to his lips and held you tighter.

"night scara."

he rubbed your back softly, lulling you to sleep. again, not a single word came from his mouth.

morning came, sun shined on you two intertwined with one another. his clothes made a mess of your station and the sheets barely covered the two of you. the only thing that seemed to be in place was the two of you. you two felt peaceful and slept through the morning. together.

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 is here if you haven't read it

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part.  Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.

Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.

But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.

Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."

Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.

This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.

You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.

The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.

Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.

Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.

In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway.  Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8. 

Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.

On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.

Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him.  But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin.  He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.

Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.

Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.

"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.

"I forgot something—"

"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.

"Yes, from the supermarket—"

"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"A different store."

"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."

"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.

"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.

"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.

"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.

"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.

"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.

"Just let her go, man—"

"Fuck off," Rafe spat.

Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.

“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.

"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"

"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.

An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”

After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.

"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”

"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.

“You walked here?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"

"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.

Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.

Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.

Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.

"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.

"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.

Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.

"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."

“I manage,” you replied.

Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”

“I miss her too. How is she?”

“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."

"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.

"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.

Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.

"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."

“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."

“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”

"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"

"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”

His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.

"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"

Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.

"Don't they offer scholarships?"

"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"

"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."

Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.

"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.

"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.

"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.

"I don't want your money."

Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.

Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.

Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.

"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.

"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.

Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"

"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and unsubconsciously you leaned into it.

"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.

"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.

Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.

"Nah, that doesn't count."

"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.

"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."

Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.

"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."

"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.

"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.

Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.

With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.

"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.

You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."

Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.

The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.

The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.

"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."

You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"

She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."

"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.

"Wild, right?”

Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."

She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."

The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.

“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.

"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.

"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”

She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.

Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's Outer Banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"

She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”

“No, there isn't—"

“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“

“No!”

“Then are you dating him?”

“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.

"Then what's it like?"

"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”

Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”

"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.

You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.

“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.

“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."

"I know," you murmured in agreement.

She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."

"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."

During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.

Until the Library.

Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.

Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-

Rafe was waiting.

For you.

Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.

Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.

A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.

Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.

"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.

Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."

You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."

"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.

The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.

"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"

“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”

“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”

"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."

"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.

"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”

"Don't," you managed to whisper.

"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.

"Just leave me alone, Rafe."

"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.

"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.

"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.

You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"

"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”

“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"

"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.

"Get in the fucking truck!!"

"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.

With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"

"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.

"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.

Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.

His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.

There was only him.

The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.

"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."

Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.

"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.

In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.

Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.

"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.

Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.

Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"

"Make yourself at home" you said.

With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.

Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.

Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.

“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.

"But it still has its charm, right?"

“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.

Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.

“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.

“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.

“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.

“You mean Betsy?”

Rafe smiled “It has a name?”

“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.

"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.

The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."

Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."

Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.

With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.

Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.

Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.

With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.

"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.

His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.

Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.

“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.

Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.

Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.

"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.

"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.

Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.

Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.

"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.

His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.

"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.

Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.

"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.

Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.

With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.

As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.

"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"

You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."

A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"

A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.

"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.

"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."

You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.

As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.

"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.

"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.

His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.

If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.

Feedback is always appreciated. Lots of love until next time and thanks for reading.

UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST

[heejayy]

Soft Life!

Warning: none

Pairing: Gojo x black reader

A/n: this was highly influenced by the influx of soft black girl aesthetic. There’s a little rant at the end, don’t mind me.

Some may label you a gold digger, claiming you're with him for his money, and others may claim you've played life smartly, but one thing is certain: being Gojo's wife was the easiest thing you've ever done; this man asks for and gives you anything you want.

You met Gojo as a college student working a part-time job. Going to school and juggling job was challenging, but you made do with what you had. He liked your dedication and hard work, and he found your independence attractive. But if you were to stay with him, no woman would spend her life working when he could easily provide and care for her.

Gojo is a man that doesn’t ask you for a thing he’s just a giver. He makes you feel secure in every aspect of life, but if you decide you want to do something on your own, he’s ten toes behind you.

In your free time you love staying home and looking online for new treats to make your husband when he’s away at work. You’ve had so much free time you started making videos for your social media accounts and they blew up overnight.

People love watching your get ready with me’s, you go shopping, cooking, working out, couple's trips, makeup routines, anything you post they love.

Besides your social media activities not having to work every day really opened your schedule, instead of being too tired to do anything after coming home you have time for all your favorite hobbies plus more. Reading, yoga, gardening, painting, knitting, hell sometimes all you do is lounge around and take bubble baths. (Gojo loves coming home to a happy and well rested wife.)

But with the positive comes the negative, the ones who don’t like you or is very jealous of your lifestyle love to call you a pretty dumb housewife who has nothing better to do. Someone who’s thrown her life and career away to cater to a man but in reality, that same man caters to you. Do people think you’d take care of a man who does nothing for you?

In your opinion you love who you’ve become as a woman and a wife, you’ve never been happier even Gojo sees it.

©heejayy 2024 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission.

Side note this is a little bit on the serious side: Although this is for my black girlies, all the girlies can read 🤷🏾‍♀️

I'm not sure if it's just me, but I've grown tired of the 'Strong Black Woman' trend. Now, don't get me wrong, I like strong independent women because that's how I was taught, but being perceived as overly independent makes black women appear as if we don't need anyone and can do everything on our own, which is how people treat us. Like babes…we are human with emotions. They will go help and praise a non-woman of color before helping us. It's quite harmful; they already treat and compare us to men. And when a black girl tries to break out from that image, she is dragged back down, which is disgusting.

You don’t have to be rich to be in your soft era! Put yourself first, be kind to yourself, don’t let anyone tear you down, you are worthy of love, the things you can’t control don’t let it stress you out, pray and read the Bible more (if you’re religious), let go of negative people, ITS OKAY TO ACCEPT HELP, it’s okay to be quiet or confident which ever one fits you, prioritize peace, just be you don’t change or try to fit in.

[peakyltd]

Hidden Secrets

John Shelby x female reader

A/N: This is the first time ever I wrote smut because I wanted to practice, so all feedback and tips are welcome!

Warnings: Smut (18+) Minors DNI 🔞 Non protected, p in v, light dirty talk, teasing, light dom/sub, a bit rough at some point, swearing It's my first try at any kind of smut so please keep that in mind 😂

Words: 5.6k

The soft sunlight peeked trough the gaps of the curtain, waking her in the process. She felt John's bare body safely pressed against her back, his arm loosely resting on her hip and his calm, soft breathing tickling on her neck.

She carefully stretched her limbs, not wanting to wake him up until she realized she might did it anyway. A soft groan left his mouth and his arm wrapped around her body to pull her closer into his chest. A smile appeared on her face as she closed her eyes once more. She knew she had to go but his touch made her feel at home and spending a little more time in his bed, wouldn't hurt anybody. Her mind wandered back to the night before, it was one like no other and she wished it could've lasted forever.

They had met early in the evening at their usual spot, far enough from anyone to see them. He was waiting for her with a cigar in his mouth, leaning against the wall, surprising her with her favorite wine. They shared a few, quick kisses before they went on their way to their favorite place. A place were they knew they would be alone. It was peaceful, surrounded by trees and the flooding water of the small stream nearby was the only thing that could be heard.

"What did you tell your parents this time?" John wondered as he removed his coat and cap before he sat down in the grass next to her. "I said I was going to spend the night at a friends house. They didn't question it further." She answered while watching John, who opened the bottle of wine.

He turned to look at her, a grin on his face. "They didn't question it because in their eyes you're such an angel." He chuckled. "If they'd found out you sneak off with me, you'd never set a foot outside ever again." A giggle escaped her mouth. "Well, I should keep up the angel attitude then, I wouldn't want to miss out on spending time with you." John smirked as he put the bottle down, making sure it didn't fell over before leaning back on his hands to look at her. "Nothin' to keep up if you are one already." He leant closer to her face and kissed her softly.

She didn't necessarily wanted to hide their relationship but they had no other choice than to see each other in secret. Both their families weren't fond of each other and her parents would never accept it if she told them that she was dating a 'Shelby', as they liked to call them. John's family wouldn't approve it either, however John didn't care much about it. It made her feel quite hopeful for the future.Their future. She didn't know what it would look like just yet but it didn't matter, as long as it was together with John.

She felt a jolt deep in the pit of her stomach as he pulled away and met with his steel blue eyes. She couldn't help but stare. The worries about someone finding out they were seeing each other faded the longer she held his gaze. Her hand rested on the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. One of his hands rested on her waist as he deepened the kiss, gently nibbling on her bottom lip before he felt her lips part, granting him access. He pulled her closer while their tongues explored each other, gentle but demanding. Her breath quickened as she let her other hand rest on his chest. His hand ran over her body, bringing goosebumps to her skin. A soft moan escaped her mouth as she felt herself melt into him.

A sudden emptiness replaced his warm touch when he pulled away, leaving her wanting more. He moved down to her neck, soft kisses were left all over while his hand slid down to her thigh. His fingers ran over her covered skin while the kisses on her neck turned into gentle sucking. Her hand rested on his shoulder while the other ran trough his hair. "John..." A whimper left her lips, begging for more. The corners of his lips turned into a cheeky smirk before pulling away, pressing a firm kiss on her lips. "What is it, love?" He looked at her, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen, a sight he could never get enough of. "Did that do somethin' to you?"

She playfully pushed his chest as a smirk played onto her lips. "Shut up." A chuckle erupted from his mouth. "Let's just say this was a little preview for tonight." He grinned as he pecked her lips once more. "Really? Not much to expect then." John shook his head as he laid down in the grass, pulling her with him. A squeal left her lips. "Not much to expect? What did I just hear then, eh?" He smirked. "John..." He imitated her moan as she started laughing. "Please, you're so full of yourself." She chuckled as she sat up and placed her legs on each side of his waist to straddle him. "You know that what you're doing is kind of dangerous?" He questioned while looking up at her, his hand finding their way to her hips. "What do you mean?" She moved her hips carefully, grinding gently against his. "(Y/N) I swear to god, if you don't fucking stop-"

"Then fucking what?" Her voice sounded innocent but her smug smirk told him otherwise. John grinned as he tightened his grip on her hips. "I'm just saying that you have to walk all the way home with me tonight and that might become a little harder once I'm done with you."

A fluttering feeling took over her as she thought of the things he would do and had already done before. She licked her lips while looking down at him. "Doesn't sound too bad." She challenged, leaning over him as she pressed her lips against his, her hips moving against his. His hand moved to her butt, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't challenge me." He mumbled against her lips as he sat up slightly. "I'm not." Her voice came out as a whisper as she stared directly in his eyes, before he had the chance to kiss her again, she crawled off of him.

"Would you like a little bit of wine to cool off, love?" She exaggerated the little pet name as she lifted the bottle of wine, a big grin on her face. John sat up, shaking his head. "I can't fuckin' believe you." He referred to her teasing. She giggled as she took a little sip. "I learned it from you, I guess." She batted her eyelashes innocently at him. A smirk tugged on his lips. "Give that 'ere." He demanded as he took the bottle from her and took a sip himself. "If people only knew what you were really like." He teased while his grin only grew bigger.

"As if you mind." She countered, raising her eyebrow. A smile on her face. "Oh no. Not at all." He grabbed her jaw between his fingers and kissed her softly. His other hand ran down her body, his fingers grazing her breasts. When he felt her leaning closer, he pulled away. "Ah I'm sorry, love. Not yet." The grin that had left his face for only mere seconds, had returned on his face. An annoyed sigh left her lips as she watched him lay back down in the grass, chuckling. He patted the spot next to him and opened his arms. "Come 'ere."

She moved over and laid down next to him, her head resting on his chest as he stroked her back. "The things you do to me John Shelby." She sighed jokingly. "And I'm not even done yet." He chuckled before kissing the top of her head. She giggled as her arm draped lazily over his abdomen. A comfortable silence fell over them as she listened to the calm beating of his heart. John's fingers gently drew circles on her skin as he looked up at the sky where stars were visible. "For how much longer do you want to keep us a secret?" He wondered, as he moved his hand up to her hair, running his fingers carefully trough it.

"It's not that I want to keep us a secret so bad." She started. "Although I must admit that it's very exciting." A smirk appeared on John's face. "I agree."

"But you know it's quite a... thing with my family. Our families." She continued her sentence. "But let's be honest, darling." John retorted, still stroking her hair. "Who fucking cares." His blunt answer made her giggle. "Well, maybe you have a point there." She moved to rest her head on his shoulder. "It's our life, not theirs." He stated as he looked at her. "I know." His words gave her something to think of. There was no one who could tell her what or what not to do but she also knew that her family wouldn't take it the right way. Maybe they should keep it a secret, just a little longer.

A few hours flew by while they watched the stars and laid in each other's arms. Many thoughts where shared, followed by even more banter. John reached for his pocket watch to check the time. "We can go to mine if you'd like?" He offered while he turned to look at her. "Are you sure Arthur is back from the Garrison? I don't want to repeat what happened the last time." She chuckled. He checked his watch again. "He must be. I mean it's late, even for Arthur."

"Then let's go." She pressed his lips against his before she got up. "I still remember that face of yours." John laughed as he got up. "I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest." She chuckled as she thought of the time Arthur almost caught her and John when they sneaked into the family house. John pushed her behind the curtains that hang in front of the doors to the betting shop while he tried to distract his brother.

She grabbed the, now empty, bottle of wine and watched John put on his cap. He took his coat and hung it over her shoulders. "We don't want you to get cold, do we?" He winked while taking her hand. A beaming smile broke onto her face. "Thank you."

"I'll replace it back home with myself again." He cheekily stated as he kissed her cheek. "I can't wait." She giggled, squeezing his hand softly. Ready to go home.

Before they entered the streets of Small Heath she let go of his hand. As she was about to take off his coat, she saw him giving her a confused look. "In case anyone sees us." She explained while he adjusted the coat on her shoulders. "It's midnight, no one will see us."

"You know how people are. They will talk." She looked up to him, trying to get her point across. "Let them talk." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, earning a sigh from her. "Come on, love. We're almost there." He encouraged her, a hint of sass in his voice. "I don't have much choice, do I?" She sighed, rolling her eyes playfully at him. "You don't." He gently pressured her forwards, walking her to his home.

Once they arrived, they made their way to the back of the house trough the dark alley. John looked up to see if he could see any lights that gave away that someone was awake still. When there wasn't, he carefully opened the back door and made his way inside. While he ushered her in and tried to close the door, it made a loud creaking sound. "Fucking hell." He whispered under his breath while locking it. When he turned around, he found her big eyes looking up at him. "It's fine, love." He assured her as he took her hand.

He lead the way trough the house to the stairs and carefully climbed up with her behind him. The stairs were far from silent but they eventually made it to his bedroom without getting caught. As John closed the door, a sigh left her mouth. He chuckled at the sight of her. "Quite nervous, weren't you?" She let his coat slide off her shoulders. "Oh please, don't get me started." She whispered, knowing how thin the walls were.

He took the coat from her and hung it over the chair that stood in his room. He put his cap on his nightstand before removing his suit jacket and vest, leaving him in only his undershirt. The suspenders resting on his shoulders. Her eyes ran over his body, eager to replace her stare with her hands soon. When she looked up at him, she found him grinning at her. "Like what you see?"

"You know I do." She smiled at him, feeling her pulse increasing. "Come and get it then." He smiled, taking her hand and pulling her close, holding her in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist as she looked up at him, his loving gaze looking back down at her as his smile grew wider. She felt her stomach flutter when he leaned in before he gently connected his lips with hers. Her eyes fluttered close, hands finding their way to his cheeks as she deepened the kiss. John's hands slid down her body, eventually resting on her butt.

She felt his tongue slowly graze over her lips, asking for access which she happily granted him. He started gentle while his fingers dug into her skin. A soft moan left her mouth and her hands slid down his chest, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. She gripped onto his shirt as he softly sucked on her bottom lip, a soft groan leaving his mouth. She needed more and and she didn't want to waste any time. Her lips greedily moved against his until he suddenly broke their kiss. She looked up at him, panting slightly. "What's wrong?" She breathed out. Their lips almost touched and he could feel her breath onto his skin. His eyes scanned her face before his lips turned into a smile. A soft whisper reached her ears. "I love you." His words made her heart beat faster. "I love you too, John." She beamed.

He looked down at her lips, as he took a moment before crashing his lips on hers. His hands ran hungrily over her body while her hands desperately tried to open the buttons of his shirt. Her lips left his, only to attack his throat with open mouth kisses. She grazed his skin with her tongue before sucking softly, earning a low moan from him.

John had opened her dress and pulled it over head, leaving her in only her panties. He licked his lips before he tipped her chin up to make her look at him. "Where's your bra, eh?" The smirk on his face grew, his eyes twinkling. "Should've told me that out in the field." She grinned at him, her hand tugging on the hem of his pants to pull him closer. "I hoped you'd notice it then and there but who am I to spoil the fun?" She teased. He shook his head, the smirk still evident on his face. "You're driving me fuckin' crazy."

Just as he wanted to kiss her again, she grabbed his suspenders and walked backwards to his bed, pulling him with her. John gladly followed her. When the back of her knees hit the bed, he gently pushed her onto it. He crawled on top of her and started kissing her neck, his hands roaming over her body. His teeth grazed along her skin, sucking on her soft spot. She could feel his bulge against her core, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning. He made his way down to her breasts, his hand grabbing onto them while his tongue swirled around one of her sensitive nipples. A gasp came from her mouth while her hand rested on the back of his neck. He sucked softly as his hand gently slid down between her legs, his fingers brushed over her still clothed core while putting gentle pressure on her clit.

The sensations were sending pleasure trough her body and a loud moan escaped her mouth. "Ssh, love. Be quiet." John's sparkling blue eyes met hers, he moved up to kiss her while he softly rubbed his finger in circles. She whimpered softly while she tried to keep quiet. "I know you can do it." He smirked against her lips. "Wouldn't want anyone to walk in, do we?" She shook her head as she grabbed onto his suspenders again. "No. Please keep going." She begged as she pulled him back in for a kiss. His fingers slid into her panties, rubbing them over her pussy, causing her to move her hips, in need of the friction he provided her before. His fingers moved back to where she needed them the most, applying more pressure and moving them a bit faster. Her hands ran over his back while he kissed down her neck. "Fuck..." A breathy whisper confirmed that John was doing the right thing.

He ran his finger up and down her slit, while he kissed down to her breasts. She ran her hand trough his hair while her mouth was slightly agape. His hand and mouth left her body as he sat up to take her panties off, her curious eyes looking up at him. "You're still wearing too many clothes Mr. Shelby." She smirked as he hovered over her again, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Guess you have to help me get rid of 'em then." He grinned. Her hands grasped the suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders, the already opened shirt found its way to the floor not long after. She left kisses over his chest while her fingers opened his pants.

His fingers found their way back to her clit, continuing his previous movements before inserting one of them, pumping it in and out. His thumb now pleasuring her clit. Her body tensed from the sensations and her hand grabbed onto his arm. Quiet moans echoed trough the room. "Oh god."

"Fuckin' hell, love." John licked his lips as he watched her body react to him. "I fucking need you." She breathed out, her grip on his arm tightening as he put more pressure on her clit. "John..."

"Patience, darling. Patience." He smirked, loving how much effect the teasing had on her, however, he was slowly losing his own patience. He added another finger, curling them inside her. Her other hand grabbed onto his sheets, trying to distract herself from making any sound. She felt her muscles tense up as a knot started form in stomach. "Don't stop... please." She breathed out, her chest heaving up and down. John leaned his face close tho hers while quickening his movements. Whimpers left her mouth as the pleasure took over her body. He kissed her, his fingers still working to bring her to her high. He felt her legs tense up and her nails digging into his arm. She arched her back, her body convulsing as her climax washed over her. Her moans were muffled by John's lips. "Oh f-fuck."

Her heart was pounding as she tried to catch her breath. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" He smiled at her while he pressed some loving kisses against her jaw. She wrapped her arms lazily around his neck, still coming down from the rush, while she enjoyed his the contact of his lips on her skin. "You make me one." She giggled softly. He chuckled while he stroked her hair. She let go of him and pushed gently against his chest, telling him to move. He got off of her and stood next to the bed, an excited look in his eyes. She looked at him trough her lashes, her hands moving over her breasts as her fingers circled around her nipples. "Take off those trousers, darling." John licked his lips as he obeyed, his eyes focused on her. "For fucks sake, (Y/N)."

"What?" She innocently asked. "Don't even ask." He walked over to her but she stopped him with her foot and reached out for his hand. He took it and pulled her up when she lowered her leg again. "Are you getting a little frustrated?" Her fingers ran over his still covered, hard member. "C'mon, love. I know you want it too." He whined, eagerly waiting for her touch. "Oh I do." She hooked her fingers on the hem of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his cock. A soft groan came from John's mouth as his hands grabbed her waist. "I'll fuck you so good, darling." He tried to move her back to the bed but she had other plans. Her hands grabbed his upper arms and gently forced him back. "Sit down."

"(Y/N), cmon." He growled as he sat on the bed. She climbed in his lap, straddling him, before her hand wrapped around his shaft. John gasped at the sudden touch, his hands resting on her hips. "Patience, darling. Patience." She repeated his exact same words as her fingers slightly ran over his tip, a smirk on her face. She knew the teasing would rile him up even more. She rested her head on his shoulder as she kept going, slowly moving her hand up and down his shaft. "I want you to fuck me John. I fucking need you." She whispered in his ear as she felt his hands tightening his grip onto her hips. "Are you that needy, honey?" She purred into his ear as she sucked gently on his earlobe, her hand still working on his cock.

A soft, low moan fell from his lips. "I'm not fucking begging for you, honey." He stated. "Oh, you already did." She smirked, rolling her hips against his, biting her lip as she looked at him while moving her hand up and down faster. His eyes were blazing full of his lust. "Alright, enough."

"John, no-" A squeal left her mouth as he lifted her, he stood up and laid roughly back on the bed. She giggled when crawled on top of her. "What did I say before?" John questioned, a grin on his face. "That I have to be quiet." She answered, her nails running over the skin of his chest. "What did I just hear?"

"I'm trying my best. I promise." She batted her eyelashes at him while her other hand found his cock again, a soft gasp leaving his mouth. "I guess I have to make it even harder for you."

"I can't fucking wait." She smirked, letting go of his cock while she spread her legs for him, giving him the opportunity to line himself up with her entrance. She looked up at him, her lips slightly agape before she pulled his face down to hers, her lips grazing his. "Fuck me."

The corners of his lips turned into a smirk. "Keep quiet." He slowly sunk himself into her waiting heat, a low groan escaping his lips. "Fuck." The feeling of his cock stretching her, made her gasp. While she adjusted to him, he thrusted slowly into her, watching her as a soft whimper left her mouth.

"I fuckin' missed you." He mumbled against her lips, soon turning into a hungrily, messy kiss full of tongue and clashing teeth. A sign for him to pick up his pace. Her hands ran over his broad shoulders, while she tried to keep the volume of her desperate moans down. One of his hands reached down to her leg to lift it up against his hip so he was able to sink into her even deeper. The sound of his moans filled the room at the feeling of her velvet walls clinging onto him.

"Faster..." She breathed out. A smirk tugged on his lips. "Excuse me?" One of his hands moved up to her face to grab her jaw gently between his fingers. "What did you say?" She bit her lip to restrain herself from moaning. " Faster, please..." She begged. "Please." He loved when she was so desperate for him, those juicy lips of hers begging him to give her more. While his hips rolled faster against hers, he hit the perfect spot that made her moan out loud, her hands ran down to his back where her nails dug into his skin. The sounds of their skin slapping against each other rang in his ears as he watched her throw her head back while another loud moan left her mouth. He quickly tried to cover her mouth with his hand but realised the damage was already done.

A loud tud came from the other side of the wall, followed by shouts. "JOHN! FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Tommy's loud voice boomed trough the house. (Y/N)'s widened eyes met his as John stopped moving and he calmly shook his head. "Don't worry, darlin'. He's all talk." He whispered softly, a grin on his lips. "Nothing to worry about."

Her hands ran down his biceps. "But what if he-" John cut her off with a loving kiss, their lips devouring each other. "There's only one thing you have to worry about." He mumbled against her lips. "And that's me." He smirked before leaving open mouth kisses down her throat. "Understood?"

She nodded, her fingers running trough his hair. "Yes." She felt his mouth kissing down her chest, finding her nipple again. His tongue twisted in circles around the sensitive bud, his eyes looking up to her. She licked her lips as she kept his gaze, ready for him to finish what he started. She slowly moved her hips against his, desperate for the delicious friction he was providing her moments ago. John smirked, his hand moved between her legs to find her clit, rubbing it slowly with such a light touch that it only frustrated her more. "Eager, are we?" She grabbed his wrist, trying to add more pressure. "I know you need it too."

"I don't know what you mean." He continued. Her hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him down close to her face. "You know exactly what I mean John. I want you to fuck me hard, like you fucking promised." His mouth hung slightly open at her words, soon turning into a smirk as his hands grabbed onto her waist. "Where are those words coming from, angel?"

"I'm just hoping that you're not all talk either." She challenged. He shook his head in amusement. "I think you should talk less." He slowly pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. Her eyes filled with curiosity, eagerly waiting to see what he had in mind. "On your knees." She happily obeyed while she lowered her upper body. He spread her legs a bit more before slamming into her without a warning. A desperate moan escaped from her lips while John pounded into her. Her fingers grabbed the sheets tightly, the sensations taking over her body.

John took ahold of her hips, his fingers digging into her skin while he listened to her whimpers of pleasure as if it were the melodies of his favorite song. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her moans while John kept pounding into her with a quick and strong pace. "Nah, darling. C'mere." He put her arms behind her back and pulled her upper body against his chest, wrapping one arm across her body to hold her while the other found her swollen clit again. He felt her walls clench around him, signaling that she was close.

His head rested on her shoulder and his moans filled her ears, his chest pressed tightly against her back, her hands tightly grabbing onto his arm. She couldn't keep herself from moaning anymore as she felt her climax coming. "John... p-please." She panted. "I'm so close."

He covered her mouth with his hand, pulling her back to let the back of her head rest against his shoulder. He sucked softly on the skin of her neck, close to her ear. "Cum for me, love." He encouraged. The pounding turned into long, hard strokes, hitting her spot every time, while he gently rubbed her clit. The moans of pleasure died down against his hand. She felt the muscles in her body all tense at once and her legs started shaking, her breath turning into short gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm made her lose control over her body. A loud cry of release was muffled by John's hand as he slowly fucked her trough her climax.

If it wasn't for John to hold her up by his strong arms, she would've collapsed on the bed as she came down from her high. Her hair stuck to her face, turned into a panting mess by her lover. She felt John's trusts starting to become messier, knowing that he was close. "F-fuck. Turn around, I want to come in your mouth." He grunted into her ear, pulling out and leaving her empty. She turned to face him, her mouth close to his length, tongue out while he stroked his shaft. She watched how his body stiffened. His head fell back, moans echoing trough the bedroom as he released his load into her mouth, the white liquid spilling all over her tongue followed by another groan. "Fuck."

He looked down at her, finding her looking up at him, her mouth covered by his cum, a sight he'd never get tired of. A grin formed on his face as he grabbed her chin between his fingers. "Swallow it for me." She gladly obeyed, licking her lips after. His thumb wiped away the remaining from he corner of her mouth, swiping it over her lips before she took his thumb in her mouth, slowly sucking it clean.

He licked his lips as he watched her, still trying to catch his breath, he slowly pulled himself from her and lifted her up, pressing his swollen lips against hers. "I fuckin' love you." He mumbled against her lips, his hands running over her back. She smiled at his words, kissing him again while her hands ran over his chest. "I love you too."

He turned to lay down, pulling her with him as his mouth attacked every single inch of her bare skin with kisses. His strong arms wrapped around her waist as he scooted her closer, her arms finding their way around his warm, comforting body. While they both slowly got back to their senses, it didn't take them long before they drifted away into a peaceful slumber in each others arms.

"(Y/N)." His soft voice sounded hoarse, his fingers running over her bare hip. "Are you awake?" He kissed her jaw softly. She opened her eyes, realizing she fell back asleep while thinking about their eventful night. "I- Yeah." Her voice was a bit croaky from sleeping. "I fell asleep again." She admitted as she turned around to face him. "What time is it?"

John turned slightly and reached for his nightstand, his fingers searching for his pocket watch. "Ah fuck, where is it." He mumbled as he turned his body a bit more. "I think it's on the floor, along with everyone else." She giggled softly, kissing his shoulder. He turned back, a smile on his face. "You might be right." His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin before connecting their lips in a gentle but firm kiss. Her fingers ran trough the shorn sides of his hair, deepening the kiss in the process.

"John!" The force of the footsteps that came up the stairs made the wooden steps creak. "John! We're fuckin' waiting for you!" The loud familiar voice boomed trough the house. (Y/N) quickly pulled away from him, looking frantically where to hide but there was no hiding spot to find in his small room. He looked into her eyes who were filled with fear. "Easy, easy." He quickly pulled the covers from both of them, covering her completely and blocking her with his own body. He wouldn't dare to tell her but it was the worst hiding spot he'd ever seen, at least nobody could've had a clue who was underneath it.

The door of his room was torn open, an angry Tommy barging in, his eyes falling on his bare younger brother. "Oh for fucks sake." He turned around to face the wall. "Get the fuck out." John barked at him, trying to cover himself a bit with one of the garments he fished of the floor. "We're fucking late, get ready." Tommy moved back to the door. "Late for what? You didn't tell me shit." He argued, earning an annoyed sigh for Tommy. "Doesn't matter. Get dressed, tell the girl to go and come fucking outside." The last words were barely audible as the door slammed shut.

"Is he gone?" A soft voice came from under the covers. "Yes." He chuckled softly as he pulled them down, revealing her flushed face. "He's gone." He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "My heart is beating like crazy." She admitted, both chuckling at her words, realising the situation she got herself into. "But seriously, how do I get out of her without getting seen?" John sat up, his back resting against his bed frame. "Well aren't you lucky you ended up in a Shelby's bed, I can teach you a thing or two." He jokingly bragged. She rolled her eyes but a smile tugged on her lips. "You're so full of yourself."

Tag list: @kissforvoid

[stickyspeckledlight]

Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun. A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.

Ao3

Word count: 15.4k

TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved

Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower. 

It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.

You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog. 

It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed. 

You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much. 

You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on. 

The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought. 

You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.

The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—

“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.

Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—

You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation. 

Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack. 

“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.

Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away. 

You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip. 

“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.

“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.

“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much. 

The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die. 

“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it. 

You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this. 

The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower. 

“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”

The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible. 

“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!” 

Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you. 

“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.

Everything stands in place. “What?” 

“I’m not gonna arrest you!” 

“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!” 

You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”

Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”

“Who said the law needs to be followed?” 

“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?” 

You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?” 

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”

“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.” 

“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment. 

That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard. 

“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”

You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”

That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”

“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.” 

“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”

You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.” 

“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.” 

“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness. 

It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…” 

“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?” 

“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”

You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there. 

Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen. 

You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”

You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”

He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”

“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…” 

“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.

You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)

“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.” 

You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)

And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces. 

“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.” 

“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.

You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet. 

But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing. 

“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection. 

If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak. 

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)

He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life. 

The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back. 

(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)

He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck. 

“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic. 

And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him. 

Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece. 

You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?

(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)

“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.” 

“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway. 

(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)

He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”

Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.” 

“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”

You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”

“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”

You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”

“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

(He’s a bit jealous)

“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”

“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either. 

“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.” 

“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”

You frown. “Well…I…”

“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”

You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”

He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)

—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard. 

[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?] 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him. 

“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.

“Hmmm…how about no?” 

“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.” 

(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)

His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—

“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—

“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”

Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine. 

(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)

He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.

You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”

“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it. 

(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze) 

“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank. 

“Yep.” 

You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.” 

He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?” 

“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains. 

His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.

He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it. 

[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]

Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.

“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims. 

(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)

He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat? 

[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]

The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.

You’re beautiful. 

It’s an honor, he thinks. 

(And stand so highly elevated) 

Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.” 

He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea. 

(It reassures him, in some strange way) 

You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn. 

Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now. 

You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.

“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground. 

His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease. 

(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind) 

“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.” 

(He hides his arm behind his back)

Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two. 

—

You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh. 

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these. 

You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?” 

Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer. 

“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you. 

Your mind, badly addled, nods. 

He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.” 

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—

He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight. 

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.

It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—

You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you. 

Your body becomes lead. 

Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done. 

Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.

And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.

When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up. 

His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade. 

“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”

Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.

Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you. 

—

When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.

[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]

—

His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop. 

But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears. 

Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.

And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—

A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried. 

“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”

He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now. 

Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?” 

Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike. 

Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him. 

“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes. 

His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert. 

He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then. 

—

When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out? 

You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note. 

Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)

A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)

Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart. 

Love, Aventurine. 

You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.

Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway. 

It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.

That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—

You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.

You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.

You never attempt it again.

—

He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours. 

(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)

He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time. 

The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving. 

You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.

(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.

As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life. 

He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger. 

You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know. 

“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?” 

The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains. 

“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—

No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago. 

“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it. 

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.

He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle. 

You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp. 

His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization. 

“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated. 

But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.

“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him. 

[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.] 

And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.

And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.

His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”

[Took you long enough.]

“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).

The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.

It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:

You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.

If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.

It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.

(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)

[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]

But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it. 

[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]

But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:

Happiness. 

[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]

And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.

He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union. 

You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from. 

—

You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.

It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love. 

He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to. 

The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty. 

Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that). 

He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.

(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)

However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge. 

When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.

Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.

(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)

But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.

You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno. 

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.

But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so. 

(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.

(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)

His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.

(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you. 

He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make. 

“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…

I love you.” 

He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there. 

Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.

(What does his face look like?)

You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.

Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too. 

[And it’s lovely.]

And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart), 

To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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[june-again]

platonic; 1k; reader is cautious about friendships due to past experience.

“Do you think you’ll ever change your mind about being friends with me?”

Alhaitham’s hand froze, pen paused mid-sentence. Ink dripped once or twice onto the paper, and you watched it intensely so that you would not see his expression.

“I mean, I know you eventually will,” you continued, “but how… soon… do you think that will happen?”

You couldn’t help your gaze from falling on his face. Your fellow scholar was staring sharply across the library table at you, eyes slightly wider than usual.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, feeling a bit antsy. “It’s just a question.”

“A baffling one,” he finally said, and then pressed his lips into a line.

“I just want to see where you’re at. It’s been… how long, three years now? So you should have some idea by now, right?”

Alhaitham laid his pen in its case, leaning back into the chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He humphed. “I refuse to answer that question until you properly elaborate on why you’re asking it. We were sitting in what I assumed to be peaceful silence, doing our reading—which, mind you, is completely unrelated to your inquiry as I recall. And now you’re asking me that. To me, it’s coming out of nowhere. So please, explain yourself.”

He was delaying his answer, and it was only making you feel more frantic. Was he going to leave you behind that quickly? Were you catching him on the way out? “I only want to be prepared.”

“Prepared, you say?”

“Y-yes, prepared.”

“For?”

You let go of a long, shaky sigh, acknowledging that he would not relent. “People get tired of me, you know. I’m not exactly the easiest person to be around. It’s usually possible for me to anticipate exactly how long people are going to last, but with you… I haven’t wanted to think about it. So I’ve got to ask you directly. I’ve got to know how long I have so that I don’t take you for—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat before finishing the sentence, “—for granted.” 

Alhaitham pinched between his eyes. He sounded unmistakably bothered. “And how long have you been meaning to ask me?”

You cleared your throat again, averting your eyes to the bookshelves around the table. You could feel tears pricking at your eyes but you did not permit them to fall.

“Awhile, huh?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying the tears would go back in. 

He clicked his tongue. You could feel his glare on you even as you admired the cut of the Adhigama wood. One book was hanging out of the shelf. You stood up suddenly and walked over to fix it so that Alhaitham would not see your jaw trembling. You had meant for this to be a logical, calm conversation. Damn, you thought, shoving the book back into place. Pull yourself together.

You felt the shadow of Alhaitham leaning his elbow on a shelf to look at you. “You asked me a question and then walked away. Do you want to hear my answer, or not?”

With a shrug, you focused on the feeling of the book's spine under your lingering fingertips. It was a cloth hardcover. Some of the tiny weaving was worn out.

“Alright. I’ll start with all of the things you got wrong. First of all, it is not fair to neither me nor you for such a question to be asked. We cannot know the future and there is no use in living outside of the reality of the present. You may not prepare.”

You stayed silent, pulling the book out and pushing it back in again over and over again. With your other hand, you wiped away one disobedient teardrop.

“Secondly, I wonder if you were paying attention to the words you were saying. You said you’re not the easiest person for ‘people’ to be around.” Neither was he, you thought. “Well, neither am I,” he said, echoing your thought.

“Okay,” you said, “but still.”

He scoffed. “‘But still’? That’s your best argument against my point?”

You laughed, although it sounded a bit more like a sob. He was correct, there. “You still haven’t answered my question, Alhaitham.”

“I see no need.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and red.

He considered this. “Fine, I see a need. But you're picturing I’ll tell you something I haven’t once implied, I hope. I am not going to change my mind about being friends with someone who means as much to me as you do. That’s not how friendship works, and I am rather distressed that you are under such an impression.”

“Alh—”

“Let me be clear. I am not changing my mind on you. I’m going to stay your friend as long, if not longer, than you will allow it.”

You rubbed both your eyes with the heels of your hands. “Well, that’s real nice of you.”

You did not believe him, and you could tell that he knew this. “Besides,” he conceded, “who else is going to sit with me in the library for eight hours just because they like being around me? People don’t do that.”

“I’m not people,” you said.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. And neither am I.”

ps. dear that one irl who might end up reading this (the one who has literally asked me this question) (you really are a devoted gal if you're here right now, people don't just read other people's fanfiction for a fandom they know nothing about) (unless you're howdy) (but you're not), alhaitham's response is my response to you.

i relate to him for reasons i hope are clear.

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[brnesblogposts]

sunday morning

pairing: steven grant x reader summary: you and your boyfriend Steven spend a lazy Sunday morning together.

reblogs appreciated if you liked it :))

—

The sun slowly breaks through the gaps in the curtains as you start to stir. Drifting in and out of a state of sleep as your body adjusts to the light seeping through. Looking over to your right your curly haired boyfriend looks peaceful as gentle snores escape his lips. Steven’s sleeping disorder didn’t allow for proper respite, but when he did get into a deep state of solace you left him be.

You watched him for a few minutes as his chest rose and fell, his curls awry, your love for him was stronger than any emotion you’ve ever known. Gently removing his arm from your waist he stirred and your breath got caught in your throat as you thought you’d accidentally woken the peaceful man up. To your relief he repositions himself into more of a star fish shape. Gently getting out of bed you head to the bathroom to shower before you were to decide what you would both be having for breakfast.

Stepping out of the shower you put one of Steven’ shirts on and a comfy pair of joggers. Today was Sunday and these days were for you and your boyfriend to spend quality time together. Coming out of the bathroom, to your dismay you see Steven at the stove preparing some of his famous vegan pancakes. You’d wished he’d slept a bit longer. Trying your best not to startle him you approach him from behind and carefully wrap your arms around his waist.

“Morning” you say softly, taking in his warmth.

“Morning, love” he replies as his hands meet where yours lay on his stomach.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask as he flips a pancake over.

“Yeah, pretty good actually, one of the better nights for me” he says with a smile. Oh his smile, you adored how his lips curled up and his eyes lit up.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m glad you slept well, you deserve to be able to rest peacefully.” you say as a tint of red creeps up his face. He pulls you into a hug, cutting it short..

“Oh bollocks this pancake is a bit burn’t.” he frowns a bit, but you quickly reassure him

“That’s okay I did distract you a bit. Don’t think we’ll miss one pancake, you make enough to feed a family!” he giggles at that.

“Always need to make sure I offer Gus some don’t I?” he turns to Gus swimming around in his tank.

“Speaking of, morning my little one finned wonder” he smiles. Oh he was the most adorable man in the world. You leave him to make the pancakes with no more distractions and set the table, syrup, chopped banana, vegan butter.. you weren’t a vegan before you met Steven, but at this point it was second nature.

You ate in silence, Steven’s pancakes piled with banana and a bit of syrup, he didn’t like too much or they’d go soggy.

“How are Marc and Jake?” you ask, you and his alters got a long well, Marc more so as Jake was the quiet type.

“No, yeah, they’re good, yeah. Marc bets he could make better pancakes than me, but I say that’s nonsense. Jake just nodded in approval to say he’s good, you know him.. not much of a conversationalist” he let out a little laugh at that. Once you’d both finished eating you cleared up while he showered and got dressed into a white t-shirt and fresh pajama bottoms.

“Darling” he calls out.

“Yeah?” you respond from your place at the sink.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks shyly, you’ve been together a few months and knew everything about him and his alters, Konshu and everything. yet he was still shy around you. It was cute.

“Yeah i’d love to! anything in mind?” He paused for a second, tapping his index finger on his chin while deep in thought.

“AVATAR!” he bursts out excitedly. You hadn’t actually seen avatar before you met Steven, as soon as he found out he was quick to invite you over for a movie date.

“Sounds great! Love that film.” you emphasised, Steven tended to worry that you agreed to do things with him out of pity, he was very insecure about himself despite you, Marc and Jake reassuring him that he was an amazing man. It didn’t matter what you were watching, reading or doing, if Steven was with you and enjoying himself that’s all that mattered. You loved every minute with him.

He flicked on avatar as you finished the dishes and headed to the couch, where he patted the spot next to him. You cuddled into his side as he layed a blanket over the both of you, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Thank you.” he says out of the blue, which causes you to look up at him.

“For what love?” you asked softly as not to make him feel bad or anything.

“For loving me, accepting me for everything that I am. The mess that I am. Staying up with me and reading to and with me, you know people at work are rude to me, Donna’s a right knobhead towards me. I used to let her get to me, everytime she mocked me or put me on inventory, but now? with you. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me.. because I have the most amazing person who loves everything about me and that’s all that matters. I love you so much y/n.” he says with a softness in his features, you don’t say anything, you take him into the tightest hug which silently tells him what he already knows deep down. He strokes his hand through your hair as you embrace him.

“I love you, Steven.” you say as you sit back from the hug and look at him, taking his face into your hands. “Listening to you ramble about Egypt and Pharaoh’s, your work days and anything else. I could listen to you talk about anything for hours. You’re the funniest person i’ve ever met, the kindest, sweetest man who makes me feel like the only person in the world everyday. Donna doesn’t deserve you, the museum doesn’t deserve you. You’d be the BEST tour guide if they just let you. The way your face lights up when you talk about Egyptology, I can see the love for the topic in your eyes. There’s no one else more suited for the job than you.

Tears are welling up in his eyes and you wipe them away with your thumbs, landing a soft kiss on his nose. He really was the most intelligent man you’d ever met, intuitive and with a heart of gold. Steven would never hurt a fly, Marc and Jake are more of the fighter types, but Steven. He’s a lover, he wants to make people happy and to see them smile, that’s his gift. He saved your life that’s for sure, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been since meeting him.

Settling back into his chest you take his hand in yours and rub your thumb over his palm.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me” he says and with that he presses play. You squeeze his hand to silently tell him that you feel the same.

About halfway into the movie you felt his body relax, he was falling asleep. Good, you thought. He needs as much sleep as possible, you didn’t move, knowing if you did you’d disturb him, you watched the rest of the movie as he snored quietly from beneath you. Once the movie finished you switched the tv off, Steven started to wake up, causing you to sit up. He took your hand and took you to the bed, laying down he pulled you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist, an afternoon nap wasn’t a bad idea, it was Monday tomorrow, the beginning of another long tiring week, especially for Steven. you settled into him as his form engulfed you.

“You feel like home” is the last thing you hear before he drifts off, feeling safe enough to fall asleep knowing you’re right there with him. He hasn’t put his ankle restrains on this time, but he knows you’d notice if he got up. His words touch your heart, you’ve never been so in love.

“You are home” you respond, squeezing his arm that’s securely wrapped around you. With that, you both fall asleep. Feeling the safest you’ve ever felt, knowing you’ve found your other half in Steven.

[raainberry]

Nighttime Serenade

« Silly Series - 14 »

Sana x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - quiet nights and cuddles, doesn’t get better than this

wordcount - 664

A/N - rain got me inspired, not proofread bc its late i can literally feel the bags coming to life under my eyes. enjoy!

The slight panic Sana felt when you shifted your body on top of hers… Her sleepy eyes were suddenly wide and alert as she thought about you leaving her embrace.

It was a frightening possibility. It had barely been an hour since you’d sneaked into her arms in search of some comfort after a long day, but it was getting late. If you wanted to get to bed, she’d understand although she wouldn’t be all for it.

Your presence, the warmth and love you gave her were things she missed all day. She hated when your free days didn’t line up, leaving her alone with only thoughts and cravings with your name on them. The hours between your lips on her forehead in the morning and your soft, gentle kisses on her cheek in the evening seemed to stretch into infinity.

Tomorrow was her turn to leave you behind for the day. She liked to think your clinginess tonight was motivated by that thought. She hoped the small strokes of your palm, the delicate touches of your fingertips against her skin was a way for you to appreciate the few hours you had left in her company.

Her eyes kept looking up at the time displayed right underneath the TV, and she had to hold herself back from laughing at her own behavior. How much more obsessed could she be… You were in her arms, as close as you could be, yet she was already missing you.

Her gaze slipped away from the screen to find you every once in a while. The sight of your head resting on her stomach put a smile on her lips. She couldn’t see why nor how it could be as comfortable as you claimed, but she’d never complain. Easy access to your hair, random kisses, your soft breathing against her skin whenever her clothing allowed it… why would she complain?

A small hum resonated from your chest as her fingers gently pulled on a few strands of your hair, brushing them out of your eyes. The gesture alone could put you to sleep if she did it long enough. That was exactly what you wanted to avoid, but it didn’t mean you wanted her to stop.

So you focused on the TV, suddenly remembering about its existence.

The variety show you’dsettled on out of laziness to switch channels turned out to be more perfect than anything you could have willingly picked. Entertaining enough to share a few laughs, each other’s favorite sounds, but not interesting enough to make you forget about this moment you wanted to cherish.

Sana’s occasional giggles caused your head to bounce a few times, and as much as you loved to see her happy, came a time where your comfort just wasn’t negligible.

You lifted yourself off of her, unknowing and oblivious to her dismay as you went to find rest against her chest.

Relief washed over her when she realised you weren’t going anywhere. She bit her smile back at the familiar feeling of your hair tickling her neck, and her arms wrapped themselves around your back. A sudden surge of love pushed her to squeeze you closer, and your view on the screen was now blocked as her cheek was squished against your forehead.

“I love you.” She mumbled, her voice just above a whisper. You smiled at the words. You couldn’t get over them, no matter how much she said them. Whichever way she let them out, whenever she let you know, they seemed to have the same effect on you.

Warmth, from your chest to your veins. One that put your heart at ease. Your mind at peace.

“I love you too.” You sighed out, content and hopeful of the words making her feel the same way.

Sana smiled at the serenity you’d granted her, and pressed her lips on top of your head in a soft peck before training her eyes back on the TV.

Hopefully the night hours will take their time, stretch out as much as the day’s had.

[starilianreads]

Ancestors messages you need to see RN!!

1:- English is not my first language

2:- take what's resonate and leave what doesn't

3:- it is solely based on my intuition (ofc I used tarot but still)

4:- Images are not mine.. I saved it from Pinterest.

Pile 1->. pile 2-> pile 3

Let's get into it!🫶🏼

Pile 1-what's going on..

Cards:- 9oc,8op,8os,3op,9os,Qop,6ow

Idk why but I'm getting the song "gimme more" or "step on up" in my mind? (Do you guys like modelling?? Or like do you want to be in entertainment industry?? Something maybe significant here? Anyways) I'm getting that people in this pile are hardworkers, generous people. You might be a earth sign, (TAURUS, VIRGO, CAPRICORN) but idk why you're unable to see your potential.. maybe you care a lot about what others think and stuff..and it's giving you lots of anxiety.. because in reality you're not like that how you're thinking you're perceived by the world..

You may feel disconnected with yourself rn, You might have some people around you that maybe judge you a lot, gossip a lot, or maybe just some low vibes people are in your energy field currently.. and because of this, you can't able to see the good things in your life & your potiential you have currently.. how good you actually are?? I'm getting that you might be really beautiful, but you're "Fakely" dependent on others.. Idk if that makes sense for you (Ig I made a new word in English 😂) but you're like not what you actually act like with that people, for eg. You may not like tags, but at the same time people around you give tags, or you try to fit into that tags..but you really aren't that? Its giving me highly aqua vibes now. I understand your situation completely:)

Advice

Cards:- clear your vibes, the inner voice, take a step back, Peace and harmony, new beginning

You have to be honest pile 1, it's shouldn't be like this. Maybe you have the intention to be peaceful but with these people you can't!?

You have to speak up, be honest whatever, they think is their problem, detach yourself, you really need to clear your energy field, this is not what "true relationships" mean. You're stuck in this fakeness of them..don't!! (Imo you should try moonstone, all fake people will get cleared away by themselves..)

Listen to your inner voice (or intuition) you're the new beginning yourself.!! Retreat, rest and repair. See who's really yours and who isn't..PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!! I REQUEST YOU TO LET GO OF THE PEOPLE WHO AREN'T SERVING YOU ANYMORE!

you'll become automatically happy once you let go of these people.. you have to heal and cleanse yourself. These people just made you a bit cloudy, or foggy.

Channeled messages

Model, aquarius, pisces, earth signs, twin flame, there's something better, 4, ask and you shall receive! Poetry writing, perceptions, judging, intuition, January, 1111, beauty and the beast, 3 of wands!!

Pile 2-whats going on

Cards:- Qoc,the star, 6oc, the emperor, knight of cups, 7os, Qop, the world, 8ow, the hanged man, the moon, the high priestess

There is a lot of feminine energy in this pile. I can see a reconciliation happening with a person, but it's like tyk that they're somewhat naive and prone to making the same mistake again and again, but you're still giving them a chance or vice versa. (Its obviously your free will if you want to.. go with your intuition if you feel like give them a chance then you should and if not, just runn!!

I pulled some extra cards for you by mistake but the messages was so clear, a wish of yours is going to be granted, you probably want this from a long time, maybe since childhood even? And it's coming pretty fast with the 8ow here.

(Your ancestors are saying to be the "real you".. don't wear any facade because it'll mess it up all in the end? Idk what they're talking about, but yeah take as resonate)

I see that you guys are really pure and genuine personalities, who always be there for others.. establishing some boundaries may help. You can't be available for everyone every damn time,, It's a simple message that you're rich inside and you're not for everyone. You're precious. Some of you feel like that you don't have control over your life? And some of you probably feel isolated or misunderstood. But the thing here is you have to change your perception.. you still have your life in your own hands..

Moon card is also like a warning to me that if you're trying to control someone/something or someone else is trying to control you it's not going in a right direction.. speak up if it's someone else trying to control you, and release controlling behaviour if it's you trying to control something/someone. The message here is to connect with your intuition, wisdom and let it guide you.

Advice

Cards:- you're protected, balance, connect with music, change and transition

I feel like some major things are going in your life currently because of mostly major arcanas being in your spread..anyways, the cards are saying that whatever is going on in your life currently, try to make balance on time/in it. I think that maybe changes are naturally occurring in your life or you have to make some necessary changes to move forward in your life now. The angels and ancestors are making sure that you're protected, A divine timing is in play right now. Music have some hidden message for you so try to listen music word by word maybe something will click on your head?!

Channeled messages

Self care,pickiness,glow-up, feeling worthy, reconciliation, secrets, misunderstood, warning,new perspective, femininity,hope, December, there's something better, Cinderella,trust, straight forward,show the world the real you.

Pile 3-whats going on

Cards:-8os,the hermit,10op,App,Pos,4ow

I feel like that you're about to have so many good things for you, but Idk, something is inside you that, is Idk unable to reach? Its weird, but nothing is unable to reach TBH, there's something for you to let go, but you can't & I felt this while shuffling your cards,and hermit also shows our ancestors so these messages might be from a specific ancestors of your, might be tall in height, whatever you wish for us on the horizon, but something is stopping you to truly feel it,I guess this pile will have least messages,but it's straight. Its time time to connect with inside "you". Whatever you feel, whatever comes it's okay. Learn to accept it. We all are humans? And that's how we call ourselves humans? Right? You have to make yourself up again, until these things come in, because it's in the destiny it'll surely come in, but you won't able to enjoy it, trust on yourself, connect with the inner you:)

Some advice cards

Cards:-change and transition, honour your feelings, trust your vibes, honour your beauty, shine your light

All the same things I said before. Your ancestors are urging you to connect inside of yourself, and just for god's sake, try to accept yourself, and everything you have, because in the end of the day, it's you, no matter the good or bads inside of you, it's 'you' and that's what makes you unique itself! It is who you truly are! I feel like these people are really beautiful who picked this pile but never admit it, like there's so many things going inside of you, and you have to fix it! You have so many self esteem issues!, Trust on yourself, your intuition, they are their for a reason,

Please I request you to follow this,stop negative thinking, accept yourself, you're not ugly, im genuinely telling you're so pretty! believe in yourself! Just people are just intimidated by you that's why, they don't tell you about how beautiful you're!🤭😍

You're here to shine bright!

Channeled messages

Insecurities, issues, fragile, good luck, miracle, books, trust, within the next few weeks

That's all for today! I hope you like it!! Do let me know in the comments section how this reading resonated with you! Your time is appreciated here!❤️

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

CHAPTER 01

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: pretty much none for this chapter! Just a nice fluffy, protective and sweet chapter :)

A/N: hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your support I received for the prologue chapter I uploaded yesterday. I am really happy and grateful. If you enjoy the story, please let me know. I'm always looking for advice. English isn't my first language so please be patient :))

Also, I saw other people use taglists for accounts, I'm not 100% how it works, but if anyone would be interested I will try to figure it out.

Please take care of yourself. I love you.

Words count: 3385

Prologue:

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

"Hyung? Hello?"

"Hm? What's up? Are you guys on your way? Jin is starting to stress out 'bout it."

His voice sounded calm, not worried one bit. It was obvious he was most definitely sitting by the fireplace, reading some poetry book. Kook got him one not too long ago as a thank-you gift, and before leaving with Yoongi, Jimin did notice it laying on the couch.

The youngest loved and respected his pack alpha, so showing gratitude in any way was very close to his heart. A simple plant for a nice camping-trip-hike Joon planned for them wasn't too unusual, a new pair of limited edition sneakers was granted, or a nice book of poetry, bought at the seasonal book fairs he sneakily visited, so the alpha would be surprised.

Of course, Jungkook often spoiled all of his other pack members, but among the pack, it was quite usual to buy Namjoon occasional small gifts. After all, he was keeping them well-kept, safe, warm, and fed.

Sure, they all may be alphas, suited to take care of themselves, and they did, but sometimes handing off the lead and worries to him was just too tempting. They needed to rent a house for a weekend stay in a different country? Joon would by no means even allow them to try and do it. The pack wants to buy ice-cream? Yes, he will go on and order it for the group, making sure to not forget any of the complicated toppings and flavor combinations.

Namjoon still had occasional mishaps, accidentally breaking new tableware, another controller, or losing his keys over and over, but his pack never took it too wrongly and knew of all the good he brought to them. It always outweighed the clumsiness.

"Yea hyung, we are on our way to the car right now, but-"

It didn't take him too long to notice that Jimin's voice was softer than usual, and even without being able to smell his scent, he was able to sense a sort of worrying undertone.

While he could start firing out questions right away, it wasn't his first day dealing with any issues involving his younger packmates. Everything could be sorted calmly in pretty much every situation, and he was a big believer of that fact. Though when he heard a whimper in the background of the call, he too grew worried. He sat up, putting the small book away. Unconsciously, he paid attention to everyone in the house at the moment; Jin's smell was in the kitchen, the occasional sizzling of oil and pots heard, Taehyung's scent upstairs, a bit too far for him to be able to sense what exactly he was doing, noting of Hobi's bright smell in his studio downstairs, and Jungkook's, also on the bottom-floor gym.

"Jimin-ah? What is it?" He didn't sound too overly concerned, even if he was quite worried. He didn't hear Chim sound so stressed in some time for sure. It was quite usual for the pack alpha's to try to bring peace to the pack, always have a rational mind and calm any agitation and anxiety.

Listening closely, only a bit of shuffling and fumbling noises could be heard.

"Um..- we met an omega..-"

A longer pause continued, and a faint voice of Yoongi in the background. He didn't hear him speaking so softly in a very long time, making Joon's eyebrows furrow only deeper.

"An omega? Are they okay?"

"No, hyung, something is really wrong..- her scent, she is really, really anxious for some reason-"

"Did you try to settle her? She could have entered omega space; you have to be really careful with that. Where are you right now? I'll come there to help."

"Yoongi hyung said it's the best for us to just take her home to us right now; we just got into the car and are leaving the parking lot now." Jimin said with the faint sound of the motor in the background.

"Alright, that's okay. I'll tell others. It's better for her to be somewhere with only a few specific scents than the mix of ones that belong to the group of strangers. Is she crying?" His question was followed by a soft sound of fabric moving. A shorter pause and then a yes.

Sighing, Namjoon stood up and started to make his way towards the kitchen. Jin looked up but didn't say anything after seeing him calling, and continued cutting up a few onions. Opening one of the top cabinets, he took out an essential oil often used for newly presented alphas for when their nose suddenly got bit too sensitive with the heightened smell. It wasn't uncommon for betas or omegas to use such oils or scented candles either, though.

"Poor cub. Just make sure you drive safe, okay? I'll try to get some things ready for her to nest with; that should help. Hyung is still cooking, but it should be done soon, did you buy the batteries for Tae and Koo?"

"Yea, we did, don't worry. We got some more stuff from that new game store for them too, but you'll see at home. Thank you, we will be there in about.. 10 minutes? I think?"

"Alright. Be careful, talk to you later."

Ending the call and folding his phone into his jeans pocket, the pack alpha looked towards his eldest hyung, who was already staring at him with questions written all over his face.

"What is it? I can smell you are worried, Joon."

For a few moments, he didn't answer, still bit too confused about everything. They didn't have an omega at their pack house basically ever.

"At the mall, they found an omega; she must have been really unsettled, so they tried to help. They are taking her here now."

Once again, talking without any noticeable worry in his voice. It was only his scent that carried a slight stench that was offsetting.

"An omega? Where is their pack? We have to notify her pack alpha; this could be serious."

"Yea, I think so too. Can you give her a meal too? We should have enough for one more person, right?"

Jin turned back around to stir the sizzling pan of glass noodles, softly humming.

"Of course, we have more than enough. You should go tell others. I'll go open windows so there is fresh air here, and it's not too scented for her right away."

"Thanks, hyung. I just hope she won't drop, so let's try to prevent that in any way possible."

Agreeing, he left Jin to his thing and started making his way towards the private studios.

Knocking softly on the doors in a short pattern, he didn't wait too long before he opened the entryway. There sat Hoseok, turned towards him. There was an open file on the screen that he was working on for the past few days.

"Hey, what's up?"

Closing the door after him, the pack alpha took a seat on the large black leather couch.

"I just got a call from Jimin; they are on their way back home. They have an omega with them though, they are taking her to the pack house."

Hobi's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly.

"Really? Why?"

Sitting up slightly, he kept his eyes on Namjoon.

"Minnie said something was really wrong; she was just too unsettled, and they couldn't find her pack I guess either."

"Oh poor thing, they get really stressed in public places; she must have gotten overwhelmed," softly cooing at the thought of a soft, sad, anxious omega. Hobi always had a soft spot for those in need. And from the description, the little omega must be in need for sure.

"Yea, I think so too. Do you have any new blankets and pillows? Or just anything that's unscented still? We have to prepare at least some nesting materials."

"Probably don't have a blanket per se, but I have bought a new hoodie online, so it should be sealed in plastic and unscented. That could help right?"

"For sure, that would be great," smiling, Hobi stood up and took a still unopened carton box. Ripping off the tape and pulling out a white milky plastic package, a paper written note fell onto the ground. Gasping softly, he bent down in the chair. Handing him the package, he looked at the note, smiling softly. "Ah, look, they wrote me a nice note!" his bright heart-shaped smile brightened up Joon's slightly anxious mood immediately.

Chuckling, the man stood up. "They should! You always order so much!" he said as he opened the door to the hallway. "Thanks hyung, they should be here in a few minutes, okay?"

Now turned back towards the screen, he heard a light "Yup!" making him leave the room, closing the door softly. Now on his way towards the gym, the young pack alpha wasn't too worried about the youngest - or any of his pack members in general.

It was a shock for sure, but they were a healthy pack with strong bonds and relationships, and if Yoongi believed it was best to take the omega to their home, then it definitely was that way. They didn't meet a lot of omegas at their company, since they were only allowed to do very few jobs. Omegas required a good, peaceful company of a similar group that was kept constant, and with how many people mingled during the tours and such, it was hard to keep that up.

Sudden omegadrops were then a bit too usual, causing more worries and stress. Really, there were only a minimal amount of omegas in BigHit; it wasn't common for omegas to work in general either. Some packs that were more modern did support the idea, but the traditional ones were used to pretty much taking care of all of their financial needs.

The door of the gym was left slightly open, so Joon knocked to make himself known and entered. Jungkook was leaning against a wall, breathing heavily with a glass of water in hand. His big eyes widened, and he stood up fully, taking a big gulp.

"Hey hyung," breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath, he ran a hand through his long, messy hair.

"Hey Jungkook, Yoongi called me a few minutes ago; they are on their way home right now, but there will be an unsettled omega coming with them too, okay? Something must have gone wrong for her; I think she might drop on them, so they decided taking her to us will be the best right now."

The youngest didn't say much for a few seconds. Placing his glass on the ground, he came closer to his pack alpha, his scent subconsciously wafting out calming pheromones. It was natural for any alpha or beta to try and calm anyone that was just a bit weak and scared. It just happened naturally.

"Omega? They will want to nest then; we should get some stuff ready quickly.."

"Yea, do you have any unscented stuff lying around?" furrowing his eyebrows in thought, Kook closed his eyes thinking. Wiping off sweat from his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, he nodded.

"Yea, I bought new bed sheets; I think they arrived this morning... And I should also have a pillow that isn't scented by any of you, just me if that works?"

"Thanks Koo, that helps a lot. Can you go get it and take it to the guest room upstairs?" Nodding quickly, they both left the gym, Namjoon quickly squeezing his shoulder in approval.

Walking upstairs, the young pack alpha made his way towards the room that Taehyung was in at the moment. Knocking and opening, his packmate was laying on the bed, softly snoring, covered by a few blankets. Coming to his side, he shook his shoulder, waking him up.

"Yah, Taehyung-ah, wake up; it will be dinner soon," the younger slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times. Sighting out, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and hair out of the way.

"..Huh?" was the only thing the tired man could get out, mumbling incoherent words towards the pack alpha. Knowing he won't get far like this, he sent him to the bathroom to freshen up. He will tell him once he is able to take in information.

Closing the door and making his way back downstairs, he looked at the clock, only to see that it was about 15 minutes since the call. Noticing Jin getting the table ready with Hobi, he placed the packaged jumper on the couch, leaving it there. Taking a seat next to it, he decided to wait for the rest of his pack, listening to any noises from outside.

It didn't take too long until he heard the garage door opening and a car in the entryway. The soft sound of the motor turned off soon, and with that, Joon stood up and walked towards the entry door. He could sense Hoseok and Jin watching him do so.

The cold air hit him; it was still snowing outside, and the strong storm didn't seem to be ending anytime soon. While the nice, snowy Christmas was, in his opinion, superior to the wet, muddy one, it could be dangerous when driving. Knowing so, he watched Yoongi walking towards the entrance, his coat already covered in snow after only a few seconds of being outside. One of his hands was behind his back, seemingly clutching the palm of the omega.

Oh, but the small omega.

His breath hitched in his throat when he could smell her - the sweet, peach-like scent mixed with rose blooms was really nice, but it was covered by the stench of a rotting fruit. She was afraid, anxious, and worried, and the alpha inside of him felt the overwhelming need to keep her safe and secure.

Her hair and scarf covered most of her face, her eyes downcast as she clutched Yoongi's right hand, softly pattering behind him through the shoveled pathway. Jimin closed the garage doors and followed soon after.

Yoongi made short eye contact with Namjoon, only to pull the girl closer to the doors. Stepping out of the way, the alpha addressed her scent, sniffing the top of her head slightly - a traditional way to show she was welcome and allowed to come inside of their packhouse. Her big eyes were still filled with tears, playing with his feelings.

„Hello, what's your name?” Bending to see her face better they stood close to the doors while Jimin and Yoongi started to remove their boots and coats, placing away the plastic bags. Lifting up her chin to place it over the nice thick scarf she wore, she opened her soft lips to speak.

„L/N F-F/N..” the omega mumbled softly, sniffling at the end. The pack alpha was tempted to coo loudly, but held back for now.

„Alright, my name is Kim Namjoon, I'm the pack alpha... What happened hm?” She looked away, with her hands in the pocket, unconsciously bearing her neck just the slightest. When he didn't get an answer, he lifted his hand and softly caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

„It's okay, don't worry. We will help, yea? Come on, let's get your coat off and eat some dinner, okay?” only receiving a soft mumbled yea, the small omega shakily started to untie her gray scarf, the pack alpha helping her when she started to fumble with it. Softly petting her hair when he noticed the way her chin shook and how her nose was soft pink, her cheeks and eyes red and slightly swollen.

„There, there. It's okay now.“ he couldn't hold back the soft coo at the end of the sentence, watching closely when she unzipped her jacket, taking it from her and hanging it up on a free hanger. Helping her step out of the untied boots, he placed them close to the heater so they would dry up.

Yoongi poked his head through the door to the living room, looking at the omega for a second. Left in a pair of loose fit pants and a oversized pink hoodie with white socks, standing close to Namjoon seemingly worried just as she was back in the mall.

„Let's go eat now. Is japchae okay kitty? Jin made you a plate already come on.” he watched as her eyes grew wider for a second, big and bright, still glossy with few tears. „It-It's okay al-pha..” she softly mumbled, slowly walking towards his outstretched hand. Once she was close enough, he took her own and softly squeezed before pulling her after him.

Namjoon went after them, noticing the footprints left by her. While he thought it was quite cute with how she pattered after his packmate like a little pup, the thought of her feet being wet and cold pushed his instincts once again.

Leading her through the big living room, and towards the right where a big table was, with already most of the pack members close by, preparing for the meal and helping around. Just as she entered the living room, all 4 heads shot up at her scent.

Jin was the first one to move, placing the glass carafe down on the table and wiping his hands quickly, before he made his way to their direction. While Yoongi was still softly pulling her along, she notably stiffened up and slowed down, pretty much stopping her movements if it weren't for Namjoon softly patting her back, encouraging her to move forward.

„Hi F/N, I'm Seokjin, but you can just call me Jin okay? How are you?” his soft gaze was kept on her as she shuffled in her spot, before answering in a quiet voice. „It's nice to m-meet you Jin... I'm we-ll, thank you..” avoiding his gaze, she let Yoongi once again pull her along towards the seat near the head of the table.

Jumping in, Hobi was quick to pull out her chair, helping her take a seat and softly ruffling her hair. „There you go.. do you like juice? We have um.. I think we have orange and apple, maybe even peach one. Would you like some?” Looking up at the bright, smily man the small girl unsurely nodded, turning her head towards the pack alpha for approval. She didn't want to overstep her boundaries. Smiling with his dimples showing, he nodded easily while he poured himself a glass of water.

Meanwhile Jungkook, already a step further, looked through the fridge. „Yea, we have a really tasty peach one, I think you would like that one,” he said as he pulled out the chilled glass bottle, opening it „it's from a farm that's at the outskirts of Seoul. Here, let me pour you a glass.”

„Look at the back for the ingredients, we should be careful with those.” Said Jimin while he pulled out clean cuttlery from a drawer. Omegas were known to be very sensitive in general with pretty much anything - food, sicknesses, air pressure and temperatures and noise and a lot more. A stomachache was not what they wanted to happen.

Turning the bottle and reading the ingredients, Jimin soon looked over his shoulder and too studied them. Once reading over the four -pure white peach extract, water, sugar and vitamin C, they deemed it safe enough, pouring the meek omega a tall glass.

Thanking and slightly bowing in her seat, she took a small sip, and once her expression seemed a bit lighter and satisfied with the taste, the youngest alpha sighed out, patting her head. Taking a seat opposite to her, next to Hobi, he started to serve himself a plate of japchae.

The omega's plate was already filled long ago by the pack alpha, who handed her his cuttlery, getting himself a different set when he noticed she didn't have any at her place.

Just as she was going to dig in after another approval nod, with Yoongi on her left side, she heard another pair of footsteps. Another man, with slightly damp hair entered the living room, pulling out another chair and taking a seat with his eyes still slightly closed, only to have them shot open suddenly, focused on her.

„Why is the omega crying?”

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ · .*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Next:

[lackadaisycats]

Hi Tracy, i wanted to ask a somewhat personal question. How do you deal with losing beloved pet? I recently lost my 9-year-old tortie a month ago to kidney failure and GDV and even though i still got three other babies to dote for (and they're all lovely), it's really hard to feel as much love as i did with my tortie. She was my first cat and was incredibly loving and patient with, helped me immensely while grieving for my father's passing a few years ago.

With her gone, it really does feel like a lot of me also went with her. It makes living very hard. I made tiny sculpture and wood soldering in her memory but i don't really know how to deal with the actual emptiness inside me. Sorry for the word vomit but i figured since you also lost a precious cat before, you might have insight for this situation

I'm so sorry for the loss of your beloved tortie.

I don't have any special skills for dealing with death, really, but I suppose I can speak a bit about personal experience.

I think it's natural to feel a yawning emptiness when something so intimately intertwined in your life - a constant companion, a source of joy, something around which your daily schedule is structured - is suddenly gone. It can be a very lonely sort of grief too, as the loss of a pet doesn't generally come with the same community and ritual that human death does. To others, your dear companion was perhaps just an animal. Not to equate it with human death in the broader scheme, exactly, but it can mean personal devastation, compounded by being alone in coping with it. Societally, we probably do ourselves some significant harm believing we must rapidly "get over" losses like this.

There's no getting-over-it that I know of, anyway, but there is the knowledge that the nature of grief changes over time (it sounds like you're no stranger to that). The stormy waves that knock you about with the immensity of the loss gradually give way to more placid waters. The sadness remains, but grows gentler and maybe sweeter even, because it creates a quiet space to reflect on the pet that enriched and graced a chapter of your life with their presence.

In the meantime, while awaiting some peace, I personally find there's an analgesic effect to making the feelings of grief actionable. The meditative nature of art and the act of memorializing a companion animal won't fill in that void, but it can help you start to process and accept it, to find a way to transmogrify it into a repository for your feelings and memories of love. I'd say keep making sculptures, make a scrapbook, draw a picture of her - anything, if it puts you in a different state of mind as you're doing it.

Looking after animals that are in need of care and attention in the moment, even if you feel emotionally distant, might help you regain some footing too. Setting up shelters for feral cats and fostering rescues are some things I like to do. There's a sort of grounding, self-rescue interwoven in focusing some energy on the living.

Most of all, grant yourself time. Do yourself the kindness of not feeling bad about feeling bad. Mourn without believing you must rush to find a cure for the sadness.

If, however, you are suffering or finding it impossible to function day to day, please do reach out to seek qualified counseling.

[meamiiikiii]

a star being appeared in your apartment, wdyd?

(aka loop getting reverse isekaied into the modern office au)

also there are some scattered mumblings on loop in this AU under the cut if anyone's interested (spoilers for all of ISAT, including 2hats!)

vvv

TLDR - The Universe keeps fucking with Loop and they are not really happy about it, regardless of timing.

While I haven't decided anything 100% concrete for Loop, the idea of a reverse isekaied Loop in general is interesting to me, so I'll be exploring that a bit here. Especially in terms of timing on when Loop gets taken out of their timeline. At least in terms of immediate outlook within this AU. So, for now, have a couple of those thoughts! 

---

The two main points in time I am currently considering are the following:

1. From when they gave up their original wish and made a new one.

In this instance, I feel like their arc would play a bit similar to in game

Seeing this new world as different & peaceful

Since they don’t have to deal with the loops anymore, just watch whatever happens.

Be a lil silly for funsies! The chaos that can ensue with a star being existing within a modern world! 

Even though it hurts to see Siffrin’s team hanging around, they really don’t have anywhere to go at the moment (hard to hide a star being in this type of world)

To a slow realization of how unfair this whole situation is. In comparison to all of the horrors they went through, this Siffrin has it so easy.

This Siffrin gets to live an idyllic life, free from the world calamity of being frozen & the literal time loop.

This Siffrin gets to freely hang around their family team, with no foreseeable "end" to being with them in sight.

This Siffrin had their original wish, the wish Loop wanted granted, handed to them on a silver platter. 

This Siffrin, nor anyone in this world, would ever be able to come close to understanding what Loop went through; Loop would never truly be seen in this world, not fully anyway.

What does The Universe have against them, to put them into this world and make them witness all of this?

It should have been them, with this carefree type of life, given all they went through.

2. AFTER the fight with Siffrin.

This leans a bit more lighthearted than the last, since Loop would have gone through all the development from the game via convos + the talk at the very end with Siffrin, and has a bit more peace about their whole deal.

Perhaps they would still see the same conclusions as above, since healing from the horrors would not happen all at once, if ever, with additional flavor

Underlying bitterness in why the script is still going. 

Why is The Universe asking for them to continue into a new world and role?

Haven’t they had enough, once making them witness another Siffrin’s loops and perfect ending, and now a completely idyllic Siffrin’s life from the get go?

However, there is also a bit of hope in the entire situation. Since if The Universe keeps deciding to fuck with them (as in, sending them to different world lines) there is still, technically, the chance of going backward as well.

To their original timeline and to their family.

Once could have been a one-off, but twice?

Perhaps three world jumps might be the minimum to go back, following standard wishing rituals?

More hope in this one from the get-go, with that thought in mind.

---

Though there are probably other points in time that would be interesting too! 

Another one I was considering was RIGHT BEFORE the fight with Siffrin, perhaps even mid-fight. However, I don't think that makes much sense for this particular AU ASAFASFASDAS. Can you imagine if Loop just spawned into this world, doesn't realize this is a completely different Siffrin, and attacks on sight?????

Honestly the idea of a reverse-isekaied Loop into different AU's in general is neat, would love to see other people's takes on it!!  Especially cuz of the various reactions/conclusions Loop could have/make based on the scenario/circumstances would be interesting, if that makes sense. At least I think there is something in that thought? I dunno!

I feel like I am missing some characterization bits in here, but that was the main gist of it for now since I cannot remember LMAO.

Mumblings over, thanks for reading my silly thoughts if you got this far!!!

[httpstes]

✧˚ · . astro observation VI ✧˚ · .

Links to other astrovations: Astrology observations l, Astrology Observations ll, Astrology observations lll, Astrology observations IV, Astrology observations V

ꕥ Aries and Pisces moons are equally sensitive imo, Aries most of the time outwardly expresses this sensitivity, Pisces is 50/50

ꕥ On top of that, from what i’ve seen aries moons are more sensitive to what people say to them, they can get very defensive and guard their ego closely (honestly this can go for any fire moon) meanwhile pisces is sensitive to their environment and the people around them.

ꕥMoon in 3H can indicate having a love for writing/poetry. It may bring these individuals great comfort and they could’ve been the type to write a lot as a kid. English/Media studies is probably these peoples favourite subject.

ꕥ Pisces moons are careful with what they say to other people sometimes to a point where they can’t speak their minds and be authentic, they easily soak up the energies within a room.

ꕥ Scorpio mercuries are not only very interested in dissecting every bit and piece of their childhood, who they are and what makes them, them. But when they like someone, bro, they will want to understand this person to a fault. They want to find out what makes them tick, what makes them happy and so forth. Great listeners too :))

ꕥ Cancer moons no matter what other placements they have are always so sweet man. Idek how to describe it but anytime i meet a person with a cancer moon they just radiate this loving, carefree energy. Then when i get to know them they’re still loving and sweet, just they hold a lot of emotional baggage and trauma 😭 I hope y’all doing okay.

ꕥ People with libra Sun/Moon/Venus i feel would be attracted to sophisticated, elegant individuals. Someone with an attractive appeal, who has a nice home, pretty facial features, popular or has some status in their area.

ꕥ Ive looked at some of my friends ascendant persona chart, and oml it makes sm sense. One of my friends is a pisces rising but i feel as though only some aspects of a pisces rising was shown through her outward personality, it was only until I saw her asc persona chart that i saw she was an aries rising with venus in the first house. I showed her this and she definitely agreed that her outward personality could come off as an aries rising. So when you check your asc persona chart think of it as like a second rising sign with some influence to your natal rising sign :)

ꕥ Pisces mercuries can get a bad rep within their school/work place. These people can get their words easily twisted around, and eventually they’re blamed for things they didn’t even say/do :( This could be because of the neptunian, illusion like influence pisces will have on the natives communication.

ꕥ Venus transmitting your 5th house can indicate having a fling, or being in a short situation-ship.

ꕥ Moon in the 12th house grants an individual who is extremely empathic, and intuitive to the needs of others. This can lead to people naturally gravitating towards them because of how kind and understanding they seem.

ꕥ Mercury in aspect to MC can indicate someone who is seen as well spoken in the public eye. Typically this goes for mercury in the 10th house however i believe it is stronger when it’s conjunct the Midheaven. These people can easily climb their way up the social ladder by using and manipulating their words. They know how to appeal to the public.

ꕥ Aries moons may have been very rough or rebellious children when younger. They tend to be very action oriented and could be involved in a lot of sports.

ꕥ I feel like sag moons are the types of people who enjoy learning about their friends religions and backgrounds. They find it interesting and want to understand how other people view life.

ꕥ Where you have libra in your chart can show where you like to have peace and harmony, where you like to have things aesthetically pleasing and easy. For example, Libra in 10th house may like to come off as conventionally attractive and pretty. They may want to be seen as someone who is sweet and playful. Ofc this can lead to superficiality, but this can prove to benefit them and their wellbeing, as having a Libra 10th house/MC can make you seem like a push over, this could help the individual learn how to not settle for less and to develop their assertive communication skills. Libra in the 6th house might like to have organised routines that are aesthetically pleasing and that benefit their health/work ethic. But Libra in 6th housers need to learn to balance the outward appearance of their routines with the practicality of their routines. Libra in 6th house may prioritise having a rigid routine simply because it makes them feel nice or makes them look good when they also have to know if their routine is becoming obsessive and is no longer about benefitting their wellbeing. Libra in 8th house may like to have or do have lives with little to no traumatic experiences. They don’t want conflict or life altering events that can put them off balance, and change them psychologically. Because of this, Libra 8th housers may need to learn to accept that some stages in life are not always harmonious and balanced.

ꕥ Sun in 4th house may deep down whether it was a positive or negative experience, have a deep fondness/love for their home and childhood. Even if their childhood wasn’t the best, many with this placement I have noticed tend to reminisce and look back. Some of my friends who have this placement always look back on their childhood even if it was shitty as many of them like the comfortability it gave them. Some of my 4H sun friends told me they were scared to leave and grow as individuals while others told me the exact opposite wanting to get as far away from home as possible.

ꕥ Also i noticed that many 4H suns may still live in their childhood home as adults or one day buy it from their parents.

ꕥ Moon in 11th house may deeply rely on friendships and connections to get through rough times. These individuals are very people oriented and genuinely enjoy meeting new people, none of their connections are insincere.

ꕥ Transit Venus travelling through your 3rd house may indicate having a peaceful school environment or less disruptions in your neighbourhood. This could also indicate a time where you and your siblings get along easily with little to no arguments.

ꕥ Transit Mars travelling through your 3rd house could mean the opposite. Arguments and conflicts are more likely to arise with siblings and in your neighbourhood. There could be some type of restricting, competitive atmosphere at school that makes it seem like everyone wants to be better than the other. However during this time period you could get a lot done either out of anger, competitiveness or simply wanting to meet your end goals.

ꕥMercury-Mars (esp conj) can make a person a very passionate speaker. These people could make great motivational speakers and are seen as the ones who are easily persuasive.

ꕥSun-Mercury is the same except the way i see it is, Mercury-Mars: " YOU GOT THIS! KEEP GOING! I BELIEVE IN YOU😡🫶!" meanwhile Sun-Mercury: " yes!! you got this, you’re slaying so hard rn 🫶"

ꕥNot an observation but a personal opinion, men with lots of scorpio/cancer placements absolutely terrify me, I’m sorry but i had to say it.

ꕥ Well honestly lots of scorpio/cancer placements in a persons chart generally scare me but most of the women i’ve met with this placement are really sweet, clingy, but sweet. The 4 guys i’ve met, talked to and hung out with that had these placements, made me want to obliterate the earth. 😁 (however i will say they were probably very immature and their scorpio/cancer placements hadn’t evolved yet)

ꕥ Jupiter in 6th house may have had lots of pets in their lives or want to have many pets.

ꕥ Jupiter in 6th may also have really good health and could take advantage of that. In worst cases they could abuse substances/routines that are NOT good for them however they happen to be lucky in multiple aspects and could live very healthily. However I obviously don’t suggest this, everything might be fine one moment but sooner or later things could come crashing down any moment.

ꕥ Saturn in 11th might have had restrictive friends, friends who constantly controlled them and what they did, people who criticised them to fit in.

ꕥ If not this, Saturn in 11th may have had (or still have) friends who are older than them and are almost like mentors to them. These individuals could have friends wise beyond their years and give great advice to the Saturn in 11H individual. Saturn in 11H can also indicate having long term friendships.

ꕥ People with heavy plutonian influence are generally pretty popular (depending on the rest of the chart) however i’ve noticed these individuals get into a lot of drama. Even if they hadn’t started anything, these individuals names always get dragged into things for whatever reason. I believe this may stem from the power and beauty that exudes from these individuals, and so people either are jealous and involve them in drama, or people naturally assume they are up to some shady shit.

ꕥ I consider heavy plutonian influence to be if you have scorpio placements (esp a stellium in scorpio or the 8th house), placements in the 8th house, or if you have pluto conjunct/opposite 2+ personal planets.

Thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶