#the echo of the forgotten sacred

[sheltiechicago]

Chapel In France

“The Echo Of The Forgotten Sacred”: I Explored The Most Beautiful Abandoned Religious Places

By Jahz Design

Church In France

Church In Italy

Church In Belgium

[noirslaughter]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ★ ── NOSTALGIA N' DUMP ̟ꜜ₊

[dreadseadreams]

eden tag drop

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ STREETS !

summary :: over 20 years of kenji’s life has been spent preserving the surviving scraps of innocence from his childhood. since then, he has been desperately searching for anything to fill the rotten void in his chest. when a news reporter gives him everything he could ever ask for by merely existing, kenji fears the man he may become without them near.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!kenji, obsessive!kenji, g/n reader, blood/violence, alcohol, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, nausea/sickness, mentions of sex, use of ‘daddy’ honorific (but nothing sexually explicit occurs).

kenji sato's yandere traits are . . .

nurturing, heroic, & smothering

──── Over the course of his childhood, Kenji possessed the same desires every child had. The same wishes he’d whisper to planes he mistook for shooting stars.

He remembers climbing the blunt limbs of the oak tree in his backyard, pretending to be a hawk and searching the grass for any delicious rodents to sink his claws into. He can still feel the dirt under his fingernails when he’d get lost in the woods, pretending to be a tiger and barring his teeth to any predators after his kin. His only worries would consist of his next meal and where he'll settle in for the night, instead of the loneliness that resided back home.

However, as all stories go, Kenji grew up. As the years passed, though, the more constricting his grip became on this childhood dream. For every candle Kenji blew out, he only wished to be one with the great outdoors and rid himself of the expectations shoved upon him. As any child innocently wanted.

Now in adulthood, every candlelight snuffed out was a silent plea for peace. And so desperately, he is trying to protect the bird nest he intricately crafted. Woven with strands of his young, raven-black hair, chunks of sidewalk chalk, tufts of fur of his favorite stuffed animals — every forgotten, sacred piece of his childhood that still remains unscathed.

Year after year, the relentless abuse of the world and his responsibilities reign down on him, prying their violent, eager fingers into his beloved bird nest. Today, Kenji holds whatever scraps still remain close to his chest, nestling them beneath a canopy of creativity and everlasting hope. Protecting whatever bits of innocence and childlike luster that survive the weight of the world.

When he pictured his father’s role of Ultraman as a child, he imagined perseverance and bravery. Now with that title bequeathed to him, Kenji is anything but. He is clumsy, reckless, and negligent. The very last thing he wishes to do now is follow his father’s footsteps, but alas, he has been given no choice.

The Neronga waltzes through the city streets, exuding chaos with every step it strides. Tossing around chunks of buildings and fistfuls of debris. And begrudgingly, Kenji trails after it like a parent trying to tame their exuberant child. 

A booming roar echoes from the beast's throat, angry bolts of electricity sparking from its horn. One swift punch to its jaw and the creature is out cold, leaving miles of destruction and disorder in its demise. With the threat neutralized, now comes the clean-up. He plucks citizens like they are tiny dolls and drops them to safety, who all thank him profusely for his aid. All except one.

Several bystanders crowd over a pile of rubble, waving their hands in an attempt at garnering the attention of Ultraman. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming…” Kenji mutters, stepping over passing cars as though they’re scatterings of colorful legos. 

Piece by piece, he brushes past the lumps of bricks and metal. Disinterred from beneath the rubble is you. Hauntingly beautiful in your unconscious state. 

“Oh…” He exhales breathlessly, chest rising and falling with rapid pants. 

And there it is. 

That canopy of creativity enveloping him; that bird nest suddenly overflowing with rebirth and life. Everything bursts in colors so prismatic, Kenji finds himself at an impossible balance between feeling weakly heavy and ecstatically light. Never has his soul been so completely satiated before, even in the brightest days of his childhood.

Love, that’s what this must be! Love, warmth, happiness — every inkling of light this world has to offer! How could he ever feel dejected again with this angel now in his-? 

“Your heart rate is spiking.” That familiar, robotic voice interrupts. “You know what happens when Ultraman gets stressed.” 

Like clockwork, his color timer blares in distressful hues of light blue and sharp red. Though, how could Kenji possibly pay attention to such trivial matters when he’s holding you in his hands? How could he pay attention to anything else? 

Unfortunately for his sake, reality tears him away from his entranced state by brute forcd. A blinding flash of white permeates the street and in a blink, Kenji has returned to his normal self. He is back to being the notorious baseball player, worldwide heartthrob, and, most notably, smaller than his heroic alter ego.

When he shifts his gaze up, he finds you descending from the grasp he once held you in. Just like the fearless prince in every child's imagination, he scurries to catch you before you meet the unforgiving ground.

When his bare hands meet your skin, a gasp is yanked from his chest. His heart lurches, obtaining speeds he did not deem possible. Even sprinting from base to base did not garner this physical reaction out of him. You just feel so good against him, so perfect. Like the missing puzzle piece he’s been tearing apart the house looking for, now within its respected place. Bound to be cemented there forever – that sounds good to Kenji. 

“Ken, they can see you!” Mina’s frantic voice interrupts once again. 

When he pulls his vision from you, he finds a collage of people begin to surround the adjacent area. Their mere gaze threatens to jeopardize his identity once and forevermore.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, baby.” Kenji whispers into your ear.

Pressing a hard kiss to your cheekbone and relishing at the sensation of your skin beneath his lips, he reluctantly guides your limp body atop of the rubble. A few final caresses to your warm flesh and he is scurrying off into the night, completely inconsolable with these brand new emotions. New emotions he fears terribly, but has now clasped all coherent function in his body.

A single week had passed since the city's last Kaiju attack. These several days have proven to be nothing short of torturous for Kenji.

He has been rendered miserable after latching onto the light he’s been chasing for years, only to have it torn from his hands like candy from a baby. All because he’s been forced into a gig he never signed up for. Kenji has lost the love of his life and nothing can reprimand the grief it has left behind. 

Through extensive, but fruitless effort, he has assigned Mina the task of dissecting all of Japan in search of you. With only a description of your face, coated with dirt and blood, there is very little the efficient robot can do. And once again, his desires are left to collect dust in the hollow corners of his soul.

Kenji now resides in his ‘man-cave’, as he so confidently calls it. “Healthy body, healthy mind.” Mina teases, displaying the assortment of coconut water stacked in the fridge. With a sigh of defeat, he takes a resentful sip and cringes at the horrid taste. His efforts to stuff his face with junk food like some heartbroken blonde in a chick-flick were rejected by Mina, as she is always pushing him to pursue greater health. Waving his white flag, he asks for Mina to just turn the TV on, searching for anything to mend the pain poisoning his heart.

“Ken. I wonder if you might consider taking a break.” Mina confesses. 

He stares at the robot, searching her metal face for reasoning.

“From TV?” 

“From finding that citizen.”

His face scrunches in disdain. 

Quit you? Is she serious? How could he ever do that? Could he even survive such a predicament? 

“Give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face?” Kenji questions. “Sorry. No. TV, please.”

Some sincere praise from saved citizens will surely fill the hole in his chest, he assumes. Help him in his efforts to protect that bird nest he cradles close. 

The TV flickers to life and presents Channel 7 News, the place in which Kenji is featured most on. Seeing his most recent work with a bold “WOUNDED NERONGA AFTER ULTRAMAN EXIT” beneath the scene granted no surprise to him. 

What does stun him into a defying silence is when the screen shifts and your face fills up the expanse. Bandage on your scalp and microphone in your hand, you inform viewers at home of the recent neutralized threat and your new status here on the channel.

“Well, this has been quite the warm welcome! I’ve just arrived here in Japan and I’ve already been greeted by the Neronga, evident in this bandage on my noggin’.” 

The coconut water in his mouth spews out like a sprinkler when Kenji spits out the beverage. He chucks the open can across the room, ignoring the stain it will inevitably leave on his lavish carpets.

“That’s them! That’s them, that’s them, that’s them!” He exclaims to Mina. 

Shuffling off the couch, he crawls over to the television as though his legs had completely given out beneath him. His hand caresses the surface where your cheek is. 

“Sources tell us you were rescued by Ultraman himself!” A news anchor speaks. 

“Yes, that is true. Unfortunately, I was a bit too woozy to thank him properly, but he did save my life. It is heroic acts like Ultraman that help keep this city alive.” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words made a certain baseball player melt into putty. Hearing your praises, even when it is probably written on a script behind the camera, is nothing short of heavenly. 

The anchors, third-wheeling between two soulmates, continue to blabber about other fresh events taking place in Japan. Pressing languid kisses to the fuzzy static, all Kenji can listen to, all he can focus on, is you. Every twitch of your brow, every curve of your skin, every stretch in your smile — it all has him mesmerized. Like a siren lulling a fisher into the sea, where he would dive straight into oblivion had it been you in the deep waves.

“This was Y/N L/N with Channel 7 News.” 

Your name sits like honey on his tongue. Sickeningly sweet and absorbing of every word. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He repeats your name like a magic spell, almost as if you’d manifest into existence had he whispered it enough.

“Signing off.” 

The screen cuts and you vanish from the screen, overtaken by irritating advertisements. As though you were physically there with him, Kenji reaches for you. Desperate to bring you, his Y/N, back into his unwavering embrace.

Now, if there is anything renowned about Ken Sato, it is his charm, which also serves as his most powerful superpower. So, with enough flexes in the mirror to give himself a good ego boost, his “put a ring on Y/N’s finger” plan has now ensued in full effect. 

The foundation of this plan resides in who you are, what intricacies and threadings course through such a marvelous creature. He demands Mina, stronger than he ever has before, to learn every little detail there is to know about you. There cannot be a stone left unturned. Kenji needs to know everything. 

And every fragment of information she delivers to him binds his presumption furthermore: you two were made for each other. You’re like a page torn straight from an ancient fairytale. Crafted by God himself to hold his hand. He’s sunk his fingers into your background, your dreams, your hobbies, and he has nestled them all into his bird nest, entwined with the elements of himself. Bound to remain at one another’s side for eternity.

To enlighten you on these matters, however, Kenji has to find clarity through the whirlwind of emotions overpowering his senses. Then, he is positive he’ll be granted the ability to finally speak to you. However, the thought alone is enough to send a sun-hot shiver down his spine. He’ll need some thorough caresses to his ego before he can garner the confidence to merely stand in the same room as you.

It certainly does not help when everyday is spent battling the intense waves of euphoria, obsession, and of course, the suffocating guilt.

He left you behind. He abandoned the one thing that matters most to him and nothing can atone for this mistake. All because of Ultraman being most imperative, which Kenji had been force-fed to believe. Never again will he choose his occupation over you. Or anything, for that matter. You outweigh everything in terms of vital importance. 

He begins these efforts with baby-steps. To start, he assigns Mina to leave expensive gifts upon your bed. Bouquets of flowers, lush clothing, rich chocolates, luxurious jewelry, action figures and plushies galore! All you have to do is look at something in the store for more than a picosecond and it’s wrapped in a bow for you the following day. You also cannot forget the amount of times you’ve arrived home to find your favorite meals freshly made on the kitchen table.

In your overworked, lethargic brain, you assume everything is left by your sweet, elderly landlord who misses her grandkids and needs a fresh face to spoil rotten. You just choose to ignore how the gifts are impossibly far out of her budget.

Miles away from you, Kenji is tearing himself apart as he assumes your lack of recognition to be rejection. He knew he should’ve purchased those shoes in a different color! What was he thinking buying you roses instead of carnations, God, how cliché can he be!? 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t lend him your heart in return for his riches. You are not that foolish or shallow; you’re far more meticulous than the greedy pigs he’s so accustomed to feeding. 

Kenji will not claim defeat yet, though. He is never one to waver so easily, especially when it is you that is the golden prize. If he cannot flaunt his riches, why not himself? The richest item of all? And if his money cannot slither himself into your heart, he is positive it can push him in the intended direction. 

He’ll leave lumps of cash in the hands of massive corporations, all to cast his face wherever it can reach. On billboards, on buildings, on blimps — whatever place you may possibly be. Inevitably, you will have no choice but to see his gorgeous face and fall head over heels with him. The same way you so easily made him fall for you. 

Unfortunately, though, there are not enough cans of coconut water or buckets of chicken drumsticks in the world to bring you to his doorstep, there to fall into his arms and promise forever at his side. Kenji has failed in claiming your heart as his, once again, but another failure is not nearly enough to get him to welcome defeat. Not when it is you he is promised, never when it is you.

From here, he’ll pursue grander efforts. You’ll be occupied in the studio, skimming through your lines while makeup artists poke and prod at you. A squeal of excitement will permeate through the expanse, shouting out for a man by the name of Ken Sato.

Loud rumbles echo through the city streets as Kenji revs the engine to his motorcycle, complemented by his famous hair-flip and heart-throbbing wink. And feverishly, he scrutinizes every face behind the window, desperate to see those gorgeous features smile and melt at the sight of him. Then, he can spring straight into your studio, gather you in his arms, and race off into the sunset with you. Just like the fairytale dream you deserve. 

But alas, the universe refuses to give him such a privilege. You’re too engrossed with the tasks at hand, not some money-obsessed athlete who adorns the walls of teenage girls across Japan. 

If he could hear your assumptions, he’d assure you are sorely mistaken. Kenji doesn’t want the accolades, the riches, the fame. He just wants you. The one who showed him what it truly meant to be wild; the one who showed him what it truly meant to be free. So desperately, he wants you to know this, as well. To feel it with every beat your heart passes, to feel it imprinted in your skin with every kiss and caress he leaves. He could lose everything, just not you. God, not you. 

The man is speeding off with the pieces of his shattered heart before you can even process what had even occurred.

Kenji, once again, is met with another revelation. If it is not his name that can bring you into his embrace, then maybe it is his second self, the one you so wholeheartedly praise for his heroic acts.

Dressed in these ridiculous garbs, Ultraman leads danger towards your direction to “save” your life, all other innocent bystanders be damned. These efforts do not ever bridge on being dangerous. Merely a quick scare or two. And it definitely pays off, oh, does it pay off. Watching the fear in your eyes ease into relief at the sight of him never fails to get him numb with rapture.

“Fear not, citizen! Kenj- I mean, Ultraman will save you!” 

The last occasion he ever abused his role consisted of an orchestrated car accident. Nearly caught in the crossfire, you ever-so-gracefully dove away from the scene and skidded your knee in the process. A thundering “NO! BABY!” rings through the air. So absorbed in adrenaline, you do not even process the volume of the sound. 

What does grasp your attention is Ultraman taking you into his hand and lifting you far, far away from the ground. You ensnare yourself around his finger in response, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kenji melts from the action, as well as the underlying implications. You, relying on him, your silver-armored prince, for protection — that is everything he could ever wish for sat right in the palm of his hands. 

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay… Daddy’s here…” 

The words, shaky as they are, fall from his mouth like water through a cracked dam. It’s all just so easy, assuring you of his protection and comfort. The only way of preventing him from caring for you is to end his life. And Kenji has a lot of fight in him before he’ll allow himself to be separated from you.

You remain in his hands until an ambulance arrives. For the umpteenth time, he is forced to let go of you again. He cannot hide the perceptible agony it brings him to watch you rely on somebody else for aid. 

One day, it will be him, he assures himself. One day.

In the meantime, your rejection continues to take a heavy toll on him. Kenji is now famished without you, emaciated and starved to the bone. In some feeble attempt at satiating this hunger, he’ll try to find these fragments of you in others. He will drink himself ill then bring a blurry face to bed, all to shake the memory of you out of his head. These efforts, once more, only result in failure.

This time around, a harrowing guilt rots in his chest. There is no one else like you, he should’ve seen it clear as day. Kenji was a fool to ever think there could be. Now, he has cheated on the one who matters most to him. And there is nothing to placate the anguish he’s tormented by.

This perceptible ruination does not go unnoticed by journalists, either, who do not waste the opportunity of an eye-grabbing headline. Articles about him flood the web, detailing his miserable failures out on the field. Crawling to base seconds too late, sprinting directly into walls, and receiving more strikes than anyone can count — Kenji and the famous Sato name are falling apart by the seams.

He examines the glistening trophies and signed baseball cards in another attempt at protecting his ego and its butchered remains. None of it is enough, though. None of this success is notable without you at his side.

In a fit of rage, he throws his Giants helmet against the basement floors, landing with a harsh thud.

“They reject me? Ken Sato!? Best baseball player of all time!? The one and only Ultraman!?” 

His poor helmet is victim to his abuse, once more, as he leans all his might into a forceful kick. 

“Nobody can resist Ken Sato!” 

Another attempt at thrashing around in anger results in his knees buckling beneath him, sending his body to the cold ground. That was the final failure Kenji needed to break down into a sobbing fit. Head buried in his palms, he begs, pleads, for mercy. 

“I… I’m doing my best, okay? God!”

His body curls into itself, like pathetic prey trying to protect itself.

“I buy you everything you want, I save your life again and again, I-” 

Kenji cuts his tangent short by choking on a gagged cry. His fist clenches over his heart, overwhelmed from the sheer pain the organ is enduring. His chest stutters and twitches from the force of his blubbering. Globs of snot and spit gush across down his face, some clumps managing to pervade across his tongue.

“Ken? Are you crying?” A monotone voice speaks. 

“No! I’m… Not crying!” 

His coughing whimpers and wet face reveal the truth. Weakness is something he was taught to be ashamed of, after all. What kind of man would he be if he let himself crumble over such petty matters? Would you ever fall for him after witnessing such a dramatic sight?

“Want me to load up Y/N? That might make you feel better.” 

A few snivels through the silence and Kenji answers her. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d really like that…”

Maybe this is what he needs, just a few hits of his favorite drug to keep him in stable condition. Then, he’ll utilize the newfound strength to revive his honor, finally earning your affection in the end.

Pixels unfold in varying colors across the ground, spreading across the walls and ceiling like a reaching wave. The scene overtaking the basement now displays a romantic scene. Cherry blossom trees dance with the warm wind, petals drifting through the Spring air. A grand waterfall descends from a moss-covered mountain and leads to a river, where fish swim along with the stream. As he stands to his feet, Kenji finds himself at an arched bridge stretching over the river as the gentle melodies of nature sing around him.

When his gaze drifts around, he feels his heart practically plummet into the pit of his stomach when he sees you. Leaning over the wicker barrier and tossing out handfuls of kibble for the hungry fish.

Turning over your shoulder, you look up at Kenji with those glittering eyes, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. To make matters even worse for Kenji’s weak self, your face then breaks out into a candy-sweet smile. You are so innocently oblivious to how you’ve reduced his heart rate to an old engine, stuttering miserably. That smile could make even the devil repent, he’s sure of it. With luminosity like that, the greatest evils would have no choice but to succumb to their contrition.

Dusting your hands off, you frolic over to where Kenji stands. A lighthearted giggle escapes past your lips in the process, nearly bringing him to tears from how precious the sight is. Your hand slips into his and he might as well have crossed the pearly gates of heaven. Fuck, why hasn’t he made Mina do this before?

“Come on! Come feed the fishies with me!” You cheer in that captivating tone. That adoring voice could ask so sweetly for death and he’d deliver you buckets of blood. Just keep talking to him like that.

The impact you have on him is so immense, in fact, Kenji falls to his knees. The throbbing ache that his fall courses through his body might as well have been background noise, not when his senses are overwhelmed with how blissful your presence is.

His arms enclose around your legs, burying his face into your fuzzy sweater. With an amused hum, you sink your hands into his dark locks. The gesture makes him dizzy with elation. Spinning around the merry-go-round of devastating jubilation.

“Tell me you love me.” Kenji whines, his sensitive voice muffled against your stomach. 

With another giggle that squishes his gooey heart, you respond.

“I love you, Ken.” 

… Ken? 

No! No, you wouldn’t call him that! 

You’d call him Kenji, or better yet, you’d conjure up some adorable nickname in that witty head of yours. Anything but Ken; anything but what everyone else sees him as. 

And just like that, the fantastical facade shatters and reveals what really lies beneath. None of this is real. As much as he wishes it would be, as much as he’d throw away everything for you to be beside him in this moment, all of this is merely a figment of his imagination.

“No! You’re not real! Y/N- They would never-!”

The tears return and leave his body through broken wails. Once again, he has been forged into a mess of cracked hiccups and ground-shattering sobs.

His clenched fist meets the solid ground, piercing pain invading his entire arm from the impact. The punch was thrown far from where you stand. Even as a hologram, Kenji cannot bear to hurt you. He couldn’t wish violence upon you even if he wanted to. 

The dreamscape stood before him crumbles as quickly as it was formed. Darkness spreads once again and the romantic scene of cherry blossoms and fish kibble fades away. A physical manifestation of what he has become without you present.

Chasing after a sliver of your attention has now thrust Kenji into a staggering state of despair. His sob playlist shakes his house with its ear-splitting volumes, pushing more tears down his face while he stuffs his mouth with donuts. 

The weight of the pain pushes him toward drastic measures, as he is now a hollow shell of who he used to be. Measures he assured himself he would never come to, but has inevitably crashed landed in.

If you do not fall for his riches, his charm, his fame, then Kenji will just have to… “persuade” you towards that goal.

Cameras flash and flicker in his face as he charms his way through another press conference of millions. Only this time, he has ground-breaking news to share. 

“Fans have seen you blow supposed kisses to someone outside the venue. Is there a special someone in your life?” 

Directly across the field is your studio, but he will not tell others this fact. It is his duty to protect you, after all. But, scattering a few breadcrumbs won’t hurt anyone.

“Yes. Yes there is.”

The room erupts in hushed gasps and the rushed scribbling of pens. Another wave of questions tumbles toward Kenji’s way.

“They mean everything to me. I owe all my success to Y/- I mean, my baby.” 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. The Sherlock’s of the internet will surely connect the dots. Netizens will also fawn over how misty-eyed he became speaking of you, while others will rage in jealousy over their dream man falling for someone else. No matter what occurs, he will protect you during your sudden shift to fame. You have his word on that.

Days later, Kenji receives an email. And he almost considers admitting himself into a hospital for the near heart attack he receives upon reading it. 

Signed by none other than Y/N L/N, you ask him to meet with you in order to “clear the air” and “sort out this drama”. 

Several times, he scans the username to find some sort of fault, something that shows him it is just the works of an envious hater. However, his suspicions are never confirmed. The message is purely and undoubtedly you, no online troll or basement hologram in sight!

Without another second to waste, he responds to your email with a place and time, that being two hours from now. Kenji intends on fulfilling his role of the dashing boyfriend and to drive you there himself, flaunting his sumptuous motorcycle in the process. Mina, however, has since been programmed to detect every potential danger in your path, even something as minor as a crack in the pavement. When she displayed the graphic results of recent biking accidents, his heart lurched in his chest.

For now, he will simply have to meet you at the luxuriant restaurant he booked the best table for. In the future, he will convert to safer forms of transportation and your foot will never touch a pedal again. Not with your prince charming around.

Arriving an hour early, Kenji bursts through the bathroom doors and wipes the beads of sweat seeping down his face. All the makeup and detail he put into his appearance, all melted to a mess because of the anxiety you pump through his body. 

It is almost comical. He, Ken Sato, is nervous? He’s done the classic dinner-date over a zillion times, delivering his suggestive pick-up lines and swift winks. Staring at his exasperated face in the mirror, he is at a loss of where to go from here. What will he even say? What famous lines can he use? How can he give you his black card and a copy of his house key without you running away? 

Kenji finally sits down at the reserved table, located on a far balcony and looking over the grand city. His wristwatch blares red and presents the stack of missed calls from his dad, of which he willfully ignores. He went twenty years without his father and survived. Meanwhile, he went one week without you and thought he was on the cusp of death. He cannot bring himself to care about anything else. Not when he’s finally got a hook on you.

A waiter then asks him if he was feeling alright, concerned over the sight of his pale skin, shivering body, and twiddling thumbs. Kenji assures the man he is alright as he restlessly taps his foot, stalking the door ahead for the face he loves most to saunter through. The building could just about crumble to ash and he’d still sit here, waiting for your arrival.

And just like a movie, you pass the threshold and rob all the air from his lungs. 

You merely walk his way, but to him, you resembled a fawn frolicking through a green meadow, an angel wandering across roads of fluffy clouds. Those sporadic nerves die at the sight of you, rendering him to a melted pile of twitterpated nonsense. You tread closer and closer and closer and Kenji does not know how much more his body can handle before you completely dissolve him into a puddle.

“You have five minutes.” 

Your voice perfuses into his ears like birdsong, real and raw this time. That noise greeting him every morning is the only wish he’d ask from a magic genie. 

“Wh-Wh-?” He stutters like a lovesick loser, mentally slapping himself across the head for such a pathetic introduction.

“I said you have five minutes to explain yourself. Then, I will le-” 

“I love you.”

Surprise eases out your scrunched expression. You’ve never met this man before. Yet here he is, spewing out this gibberish. All of this has to be some form of joke, you assume. Where those irritating Youtube pranksters will sprint out from their hiding spots and shove their cameras in your face, cackling like hysterical hyenas.

“I am in love with you.” 

Maybe this is just his way of leading partners into bed with him. A powerful effort to add another name to his lengthy body count. And for whatever reason, he plans to jot down your name on that list.

“And you are worth more to me than anything.” 

You scrutinize his face for some inkling of rationality, something to explain what the fuck he means by that. Your efforts prove to be futile, as those teary, doe-eyes peer into your soul with nothing but sheer, unadulterated devotion. As though you were both fresh newlyweds enjoying the luxury of your honeymoon, complemented by the glimmer of your new wedding rings.

“Okay.” You swallow dryly, unease bleeding through your body. “You get another five minutes to explain yourself. On one condition.”

Kenji perks up at your proposition as though you had offered your hand in marriage. 

“Yes! Yes, whatever you want!” 

The man in question ponders over what riches you could ask him for and how elated he’d be to give you them. Taking you on shopping sprees and serving as your adoring husband, paying every penny and carrying your bags for you while you peruse to your liking. Just say the word, maybe flutter those pretty lashes, and he’ll personally deliver the very planet into your hands.

“I want you to leave me be.” 

If it weren’t for the fact this man was a complete stranger, you’d feel a sting of guilt over the perceptible emotion that washes over his face. Kenji anticipated the demand of clothes, foods, travel tickets, of which he would gleefully fulfill. Not this. Anything but this. 

“Alright, f-for how long? 10 minutes? 20?” 

“Forever.” 

You might as well have surged your fist into his chest cavity and torn his heart out, stomping out the ba-bump beneath the force of your boots. You might as well have climbed the tree behind his childhood home and ambushed his bird nest, tearing apart the array of twigs and squishing the healthy eggs. You might as well have just killed him right then and there, as nothing could pain him more than such a fate. Forever without the one he loves most is a life you couldn’t pay him to suffer through.

His bottom lip begins to tremble, stomach gurgling with nauseated shock. A few gags masked by coughs go unnoticed by you, as you could’ve sworn you saw a bright flash of white in the distance. Did someone… Take a picture? 

“... What’s wrong, baby? What are you looking at, huh?” 

Shifting your gaze back to Kenji, you find his features sheen with sweat and sickly-green from the queasiness you’ve forced upon him. What you especially notice is the accent of smugness beneath it all, etched into the smirk stretched across his lips.

Hushed whispers in the distance accelerate in volume, until the entire restaurant erupts in flashing lights.

Paparazzi!? What the fuck are they doing here!? 

Kenji leans back into the chair and slings an arm around the back post, seemingly posing for the photographers invading your conversation.

“Oh, no! We’ve been caught! The horror! Whatever will we do now that our secret is out…?”

If it weren’t for the sake of your career, you would’ve socked that smile clean off his face. Maybe even knock out a few teeth while you’re at it.

Critics have now officially cleared the name of Ken Sato due to his recent spike in excellent performance. Sports commentators even toss around jokes of how Sato’s new partner has knocked some sense into him.

Another game of hundreds and the cologne of arrogance around Kenji could suffocate the entire arena. A recent report detailed by you is casted on the billboard outside your studio. He blows yet another kiss your way as he jogs onto the field, ignoring the shouting fans who seethe with envy. He has made it official across the nation that his heart is sewn into your hands. And not even God could level the happiness coursing through his body. 

That is, until an uninvited visitor opens his mouth. The Swallows catcher begins to taunt him about his lover on the big screen, unaware of the lethal consequences it would harbor.

“You let the team hit, Sato? Shit, I might talk to coach about a transfer so I can get a piece of th-” 

The baseball bat in Kenji’s hands collides with his jaw before he can finish his sentence. 

Several more plunges into his skull and a swarm of teammates swarm around to break apart the scene. The crowd is alive with excited hollering, drowning out the noise of the blood-stained threats Kenji barks his way, strings of saliva spurting from his mouth like some feral mutt. 

The onslaught of players quickly, albeit with struggle, overpower him, successfully retrieving the weapon from his grasp. The edges of his manicured nails dig into the meat of his palms, forming maroon crescents in his flesh. Blind with rage, more threats that will surely put him behind bars are screeched into the air.

A few harsh yanks from the group of men and Kenji is finally pried from the catcher. He is dragged off the field past the rushing paramedics before he can fulfill his promises.

“And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher... Oh! Oh, no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time! Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches…” 

Soothing his sore muscles in an ice bath, Kenji watches the recording of his public meltdown with trepidation. Your eyes are not far and surely, you will bear witness to the violence his hands are capable of. He fears you daring to think he will treat you as such and his chest aches from the thought alone.

All he wants at this moment is to tear down the door to your apartment, take your precious face into his hands, and speak the utter truth as he assures you he will never bring harm to you. He’ll inform you of the context of the fight and what sparked such a reaction out of him. Then, you’ll thank him profusely for his heroic defense and drown him in your sugar-sweet kisses. Just like he has dreamt of every night, often waking up in the morning with his puckered lips against his knuckles.

Now, however, Kenji has surely destroyed any chances of gluing you to his side forever. You resent him for that stunt he pulled at dinner, and now, you are afraid of what he and his baseball bat may do. The ongoing success of Ken Sato has crashed and burned, resulting in the loss of what he cared for most.

“Ken!” Mina calls out to him. “I have something to show you!” 

Assuming it is another plan of millions to stamp the title of ‘lover’ all over you, he rushes out of the bath and throws his clothes on. Venturing into the basement, he is met with the very last thing he expected.

The containment unit has been raised. Inside is you, fast asleep with a bow on your head. Wearing just his jersey and holding onto a plushie designed after himself. 

“Surprise!”

Mina’s robotic arms stretch out, presenting the gift she captured retrieved for Kenji.

In addition to your permanent presence, the containment unit has been extensively decorated. The adornments are all pink and fluffy, like a cloud draped over a sunset. A circle-shaped bed is strung above the ground, supporting the weight of you and the mess of plushy comforters. It rocks you from side-to-side like a fussy baby who skipped out on naptime.

The scent of lavender pervading the air eases you into a deeper slumber. Tranquil white noise hums from the surrounding speakers, suffusing with the sounds of a light rainstorm. There are even holograms of shimmering stars and a full moon hovering over you, like some colossal mobile strung above a crib. Among the stars is a constellation, of some sort, that reads “Y/N SATO” in glittering letters.

And poor Kenji doesn’t know if he wants to beat Mina into shambles of wires or give her as many HTTP cookies her synthetic heart could ask for. For now, he is too woozy to make a coherent decision regarding her well-being. As he stated before, you always remain of utmost importance.

“My God…” He gasps out through stuttering breaths. 

His heart pounds so violently, he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the persistent thumping. Kenji wobbles over to you as though he had just stood on his two legs for the very first time. He is almost positive there is a certain air suffusing from your body, entering his bloodstream and choking him with fervent stress. Every step forward renders his body weaker and weaker.

Images then begin to haunt his mind, preceding what may happen in minutes time. Kenji sees your weeping face, crying to release you from this bird cage. He can hear the thundering volume of your voice declaring you will never fall in love with him, how you’ll soon vanish and leave him to forever rot in solitude.

The emotions these thoughts garner stir in his gut like a meal that doesn’t agree with him. Gags poke and prod at his throat, threatening to release the butterflies fluttering around his stomach. A glob of bile then spurts from his mouth and splats against the floor. Kenji, horrified and sick with worry, races away from the scene before he spills his guts in front of you and humiliates himself even further.

What on Earth is he meant to do now?

When you finally awaken, you’re convinced you’ve been melted into jelly. Maybe even restrained in a tank of thick oil. Limbs weak at wet spaghetti, you cling to any fragments of energy in your system as you try and discern your environment. 

“Well, look who woke up!” A female voice greets you. “Do you want to see daddy?” 

Something globe-shaped hovers around the barrier you’ve been ensnared in. If it weren’t for your groggy state, you’d verify it to be a robot and not a talking basketball. 

“’Daddy’? What the hell are you talking about?” Your confused voice protrudes broken and sluggish, still stained with the sleep you’ve just woken from. 

A screen forms above you and before your distorted vision, you find the very last sight you wished to see. Ken Sato, your own personal parasite, sits stiff in the living room just upstairs. Bouncing his leg in an anxious rhythm, he seems to be engrossed by a video on his laptop. As you listen further, the contents become more distinguishable.

“When the moment is right, lean into your partner slowly and tilt your head to avoid bumping noses.” 

The robot clears her throat in an attempt at grasping his attention, but fails to do so.

“Close your eyes and let your lips connect naturally. Match the pattern of your partner to-” 

Another noise of acknowledgment from the robot and Kenji’s attention is finally held. Barely, that is.

“What, Mina?” He answers curtly, eyes refusing to part from the information he is currently absorbing.

“Someone is waiting for you down here.”

In all the years you’ve lived on this planet, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move so fast before. Not only did Mina’s words arouse a visceral reaction out of Kenji, but they practically shoved him off the couch from the sheer force of her insinuations. His foot even gets caught behind a chair leg and causes him to land splat on his face, but this is not nearly enough to deter his acceleration. 

The screen you were studying then folds into itself as an elevator descends from above. Through the cyan, blurred exterior, you see the frame of no other than Ken Sato. The doors open a mere inch before the man in question is squishing himself through the tight space. Always the acrobat he is, he gracefully trips onto his face, once again, before clumsily scrambling to his feet.

Now, you’re given the ability to absorb his appearance. Messy locks of black hair lack their normal gelled accentuation. Dark eyes are blown wide as though he were some feral animal. Tan arms are covered in red scratches from the relentless, anxious scratching he abused his flesh with.

The bold ‘ICON’ on his shirt mocks you. Is that what he is? Is that what he expects you to perceive him as? Would an ‘icon’ do such a thing like this?

You ponder over how much time has passed since you’ve been brought into this horrid basement, how much time has passed before friends and family have deemed you missing.

Kenji knows the answer to your questions. It had only been a day; twenty-four full hours of crazed, restless worry. He even skipped out on the championship for this moment, just to ensure you remained safe in the basement. He trusts Mina, of course, but he cannot rely on her to restrain you. The grasp he has on you is dangling by a thread, worn thin by his own stupid antics from before. 

He knows now that if you were to take one step out the door, you’ll be gone forever. And Kenji will die before he allows that to happen. 

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to garner pieces of your memory together. After returning to your apartment from a hectic day at the studio, you allowed yourself to indulge in the hot meals always waiting for you at your kitchen table. Normally, you’d chuck them in the garbage out of distrust. Tonight, however, you were so overwhelmed with lethargy, you couldn’t conjure enough energy to cook yourself a meal. So, the magic dinner-fairy would receive your blessing in the meantime.

One bite in and you were out like a light, oblivious to what exactly is waiting for you once you wake.

What was waiting for you now dashes toward the edge of your dog kennel, as you’d describe it. Kenji places a hand to the surface and his forehead lands against the wall with a light thud. His quickened, gasping breaths fog the glass. He does not leave even a centimeter between himself and the barrier separating both of you. The legs that have scored him more wins for the Giants than any other played in history suddenly grow weak, trembling as they try to support his weight. 

Kenji’s half-lidded gaze is devoted to you only. A curl forms between his brows from the fervency of his emotions the longer he stares. His cheeks go red as two ripe cherries while he just stands and watches, all dewy-faced and blushing.

“Lower the containment unit.” He pants breathlessly, the sheer tone of love drooping from every syllable that parts from his mouth. Like pockets of honey seeping from a honeycomb. 

“Ken. That might be a bad idea. We cannot anticipate how they will react.” 

He presses lazy kisses against the glass as her words go through one ear and out the other. Ignoring her warning, he assures her of these concerns.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em… My baby…”

To your horror, the walls plummet and grant this monster full access to where you lie. Kenji collapses, again, not realizing he had been leaning his full weight against the walls of the containment unit. This sudden intrusion causes you to flinch and you crawl away from him, attempting to shield yourself beneath the thick covers. 

Body shivering with feverish need, his hand grasps onto the corner of the mattress to stabilize himself. Mere inches away from your foot. His chin lifts to look your way, his eyes only needing to bathe in the sight of you forever. Within his irises, you find swirling pools of darkness illuminated by specks of glitter. Sparkling for you and you alone. 

A smile pokes at Kenji’s lips, bright and formidable, before he addresses your sour expression. 

“Aww, why the long-face? Is my baby hungry, maybe?” 

At the foot of the bed, a fraction of the floor folds open and rises a platter. On this platter is an array of all your favorite foods. Snacks, candies, sodas, juices, whatever your heart could possibly desire. Mina has correlated an all-you-can-eat buffet just for you. Similar to the dishes left for you back in your apartment.

As it spins, displaying every inch and corner of its delicious offerings, you curl further into yourself. You do not want nourishment, you want to leave! To part from this maniac and never hear of his name again! 

With your refusal to eat, Kenji determines the reason behind your dismay to be because of him. Or, in his egotistical brain, the lack of him. The works of an absurdly large ego, you’d surmise. 

“Do you… Do you need… Me?” The hope in his voice is akin to a child in disbelief over receiving surprise tickets to Disneyland.

And Kenji just melts from how gut-wrenchingly adorable you are. By simply existing, you’re yanking at his heartstrings like a puppeteer, guiding him further and further towards the edge of sanity. With eyes peering up at him like that, he’ll welcome the predicament warmly.

“Oh… I’m right here, baby. Daddy won’t leave you.” He coos in your ear, the warm cadence practically oozing into your brain. 

Still overwhelmed with exhaustion, you do not have a morsel of strength left in your body to fight off his affections. Despite how desperately you wish to. Instead, you have to remain pliant as Kenji guides you onto your back, soothing and shushing you as you sink further into the plush surface.

Tearing his shirt from his body, the loss of the ‘icon’ status, he crawls beneath the opulent covers with you. His arm snakes around your waist, while the other cradles your cheek. Hands shuddering and heart pattering as he presses himself against your back, he wonders how he had not simply died right in this moment. You’re too perfect. It’s too much for his poor heart to take. Cupid may as well have discarded the pink-hued arrows and plunged a knife straight into his chest.

Kenji leaves an array of kisses on the back of your neck as you drift back into a tranquil slumber. All those wishes he set on shooting stars have finally returned and placed you directly in his beloved bird nest. All to stay at his side forever.

All to never leave.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ WHY CAN'T I FIND

NO ONE LIKE YOU . . . ? ❞

gif creds .

[fushiguho]

Sucking Professor!Kento’s cock during office hours… sorry in advance I’m ovulating :/

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

“I just wanna see it.” You pur as you’re sinking to your knees before him, two curious hands reach forward to undo the silver buckle of his belt.

“You just wanna see it?” He echoes incredulously, a laugh of disbelief immediately following his words.

You only hum in response, fiddling with the clasp of his belt, nothing but your feverish urgency guiding you. Nanami does little to stop your advances. In fact, part of him can’t stop himself from helping you as his slender, manicured hands are sliding down to take the belt off for you. Soon, the zipper of his dark gray slacks is being tugged down, eventually revealing the prominent tent beneath the fabric of his Calvin Klein briefs.

Nanami’s breath nearly hitches when you pull at his waistband, unsheathing his swollen cock. The blushing tip drips with precum, kissing his head in a slick mess. His fruitless protests were long forgotten, somewhere so far gone, never to be seen again. And from the looks of it, Nanami’s body is working against him and he can’t find it within himself to stop it.

You definitely don’t miss the way he sucks in a tight breath, exhaling a shaky whimper as the cool draft of the lecture hall kisses the tip of his cock, his chest shuddering with each breath. Almost instinctively your hand is wrapping around the base before slowly dragging your fist up. “You… you said you just wanted to see it– fuck.” He breathes as his lips part, labored breaths falling from his open mouth.

“Did I?” You hum, feign confusion heavy in your tone as you loll out your tongue, allowing saliva to fall from it, coating the head of his cock in a lewd, glossy sheen. Nanami can only nod slightly, mouth wide as you begin to stroke him again with the slick of your saliva. He’s rolling his hips forward, chasing your fleeting touch.

You smile sweetly, “I must've forgotten.”

With your eyes boring holes into his, you inhale deeply before slowly lowering your head onto him, taking him into your mouth with a hum of satisfaction. He’s sweet, almost like a bitter honey. Your eyes flutter close as you swallow around him, gagging sweetly as the tip of his cock brushes the entrance to your throat.

He’s gasping, face contorting in overwhelming pleasure as you toy with his heavy balls, your other hand tugging at his pretty cock. “Mmph—you can’t just—fuck… w-what if someone sees?” Nanami protests while peering down at you through the fallen strands of blonde that adorn his forehead, his scrunched face blushing with crimson.

Your sweet lips drag along the warm skin of his swollen balls, sloppy kisses left in your wake. “No one comes to your office hours anyway.” You gibe, your hand steadily working at his stiff cock. Nanami gapes in response, his head slowly craning back to dangle over his shoulders, a choked whimper on the tip of his tongue.

He hardly even notices the subconscious spread of his legs as he accommodates to your keening sense of vehemence. Truthfully, he’d only be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t imagined you on your knees for him just like this. How can he not? Maybe it’s the way you saunter around campus in the skimpiest little outfits he’s ever seen, your soft breasts and plush thighs on display, practically spilling out of the fabric. Or even the way you ‘accidentally’ email him files of the most nasty and debauched images of yourself.

But Professor!Kento isn’t blameless. He definitely shouldn’t have saved those files so that he could slowly construct his own corrupt file of you—a handpicked selection of your most sacred parts, stored away on his work laptop. Between classes he finds himself growing hard at the fleeting thought of you tucked under his desk with his cock in your mouth, stifling his moans as he grades quizzes for his unsuspecting students.

Oh, and there were the videos too...

He can vividly describe them from memory. In fact, the video that made his cock the hardest was the one of you in your dorm room, slouched against your headboard, completely bare with your legs spread as you ran your slick fingers between your swollen lips. The camera's flashback even caught the subtle gleam of your arousal, gossamers of your essence stretching and snapping between your fingers like shiny cobwebs.

With your phone propped against a stuffed animal, you huffed out small breaths and moans as you shamelessly groped your tits. Mouth gaped as you tugged at your hardened nipples, rolling them between the pads of your fingers.

Over and over again, Nanami replayed the video, shamelessly zooming into your pussy to get a better view of the way your sloppy hole swallowed your fingers. He even synced his moans with yours as he fucked his hand that night, shiny beads of precum slipping from the head of his cock and dribbling down his nimble fingers.

And of course you claimed that you must’ve mistaken the file for your thesis. You’d think after the third time you’d learn not to keep your nudes in the same vicinity as your schoolwork, right?

Whoops.

“I see the way you look at me, Mr. Kento… you’re a smart man but not very discrete,” you taunt, twisting your wrist slightly as you near the head, eliciting a gasp from his lips, “wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew.”

He’s whimpering wantonly as he bucks his hips toward your face, gaunt knuckles turning a pale white as he grips the armrests of his leather chair, “It’s not my f— fault, y’know that…” he breathes.

The smile that mars your face is almost sick, your sweet lips curling into the most bewitched grin he has ever seen. It nearly has him spilling cum all over your pretty face with a guttural groan and a stutter of his hips.

“Guess it’s also not your fault that you lecture a room full of students with this cock hard like that either, right? Don’t even care enough to cover yourself up when you teach… must want everyone to know.” You're not letting up, your fist tightens slightly as you’re slowly forcing precum from the swollen head of his cock. Warm, pearlescent beads drip in rivulets down your slick fingers.

You lean forward, darting your tongue out to chase his seed as he runs down your knuckles. The wet, hot muscle drags along your fist as you collect his arousal. “Mmm— my professor’s gettin’ soo wet for me… look at the mess you’re making,” you observe as you smear the remaining precum along his cock. “wonder what my friends’ll think when I tell them… they’ll be so mad at me. M’always talkin’ about ya y’know.” You giggle girlishly, admitting to your slight infatuation.

He throbs in your hand at your honeyed words, the vein that runs along the underside of his of his cock swollen and pulsating as you beckon him toward an inevitable orgasm. “Oh, fuuuck…” Nanami gasps, eyebrows furrowing as he struggles to engage in your repartee, “m’gonna cum if you keep talkin’ to me like that… knew you had a nasty little mouth.” he admits.

You can’t help the squeeze of your thighs at his comment as arousal seeps from your cunt, ruining your panties. As you take him back into your mouth with a soft moan, swallowing around him like it’s the last meal you’ll ever have, the subtle roll hips of your as you attempt to relieve yourself won’t go unnoticed.

Nanami thinks you’re the prettiest thing ever, like nothing he’s ever seen. He’s not entirely sure what it is about you that makes all the blood in his body rush for the head of his cock. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so bright, sharp-witted, and unlike many of his other students, you care about your life beyond university. Or it could even be the simple fact that he’s so deeply infatuated with you. Almost to the point it physically pains him.

More often than not, he’ll catch himself scanning the classroom for you before his lessons, hoping to find you in a row close to the front. When he eventually spots you, shamelessly, his gaze envelops you, mind racing as he imagines all the depraved things he’d do if given half the chance. God, especially the days you’d come to class repping your school’s apparel in those godforsaken athletic shorts from the university bookstore, the curve of your ass peeking from beneath.

You don’t ever mind when he keeps you well after class is over, commending you for your hard work and impressive grades, accompanied by lingering glances and fleeting touches. It’s hard to ignore the sickening sense of attraction you feel toward him. Maybe because he’s the answer to your most impure fantasies.

Nanami’s stomach knots when you peer up at him from between his legs, your sweet eyes like daggers. “Want you to cum in my mouth… on my tongue,” you’re humming sweetly as you loll out you tongue, his tip resting snuggly against it, “I’ll swallow it all.” You’re gently tapping him on the plush center of your tongue now, encouraging his looming orgasm.

His hips stutter as you jerk his cock against your tongue, all of his pretty boy moans and sighs of pleasure like kindle to a flame. “Yeah–f— fuck, yes… want me to cum in that p-pretty mouth?” He groans.

You nod before sitting higher up on your knees, preparing yourself to swallow everything he has to offer. Nanami gasps when his cock begins to twitch against your tongue. The vibration of your pleasured hums and coos is what forces several warm, translucent spurts of cum into the back of your throat.

His mouth gapes as you swallow it all like you promised. You even stick out your clean tongue afterwards as proof. Nanami is bewildered as his chest heaves. “What the fuck.” he whispers, trying his hardest to make sense of the events that just unfolded.

He watches intently as you quickly clean yourself up, readjusting your disheveled hair and clothes before gathering your scattered textbooks and belongings. You sling your backpack over your shoulders before awkwardly looking down at your feet, “Uh, I’ll be late for physics… see you tomorrow?” You question.

He nods understandably. “What time are you done with classes today?”

“4:30.”

He grins wickedly. “Meet me back here at 4:45… wanna show you somethin’ else.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Hey, you! Did you like this? Click here for more!

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʀᴜɪɴɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!Dune Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡ ゜  

☾⋆ Paul Muad'Dib Atreides | پل معادب آتریدس

He dreamed of you again tonight. Something cathartic laying across the sands. Your touch haunts his skin, tracing scars and stars across his cheeks. He wonders what you see him as, something sacred or something exotic. Neither matters so long as you love him...

Paul's a volatile star, always one breath away from exploding. You're scared to touch the golden boy, lest your fingers return burned and your skull rattles with the echo of the cosmos. Still, it's hard to miss the devotion when his lips grace your knuckles. Hard to miss the cacophony of his heart as it reverberates across the desert. 

ᯓ★ Leto Atreides | لتو آتریدس

Leto kisses butterflies into your shoulder, the taste of your skin feels like nectar on his tongue. His mind is always racing vying for your affection, your attention, your adherence. He traces your name across his star maps, each letter scribbled in a melancholy blue. You grace his chambers again tonight, it feels so wrong to only see your silhouette, to not feel your love bleeding like his does. He kisses you again, something akin to devotion. He needs to feel you under him again, needs to feel the softness of your flesh under his fingers. Something in him shatters, something inside him rearranges. You make him feel so erratic. Why must he love you this way?

𓆩⚝𓆪 Duncan Idaho | دانکن آیداهو

his lips taste of chaos, he pours his passion into you. 

He feels you rattle inside his bones. Feels you coursing through his veins like unaltered spice. He's on another mission, laying in the sand and daubing your essence into constellations. He dreams of your fingers running over his muscles pushing adoration into him with a rusted kitchen knife. Your eyes never gaze at him for long. And yet each stare holds the weight of a nebula. He falls asleep to the phantom melody of your sweet voice. Dreaming of returning to you once more. 

༺🕸༻ Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen | فید روتا هارکونن

There's a blade in his hand, blood marring pale fingers again. In every droplet, he sees your face. Phantom pains rampage when he hears your name. He dreams of you holding a knife to this chest, breaking the skin, and riving through muscle. Each night your ghost plagues him. Hurting him in all the ways he craves. He dubs you ecstasy, overdosing on everything he wants to do to you. Everything he wants you to do to him. He etches your name upon his bones, dedicating each open wound to you. He's going mad over the notion of you between his sheets, limbs entwined in a bloody mess. His tongue craves the taste of your flesh, starved like the trees on Arakkis. He must have you, he will have you. 

-`𖤓´- Stillgar | ستیلگار

Stillgar's love is a desert tune, the winds rustling through the grains before the breaching of a sandworm. He falls harder and harder with each soulful gaze. He's spent his whole life chasing prophecies that he's forgotten how to wholly love something not written in blood and legend. He prays upon every star, that the maker has written your names together. That maybe some prophecy exists where you are to become his. He watches you sitting across the dunes, watching as the sunset pales compared to you. He whispers prayers beneath his breath, hoping you'll be with him soon. 

݁˖☘︎ Gurney Halleck | گارنی هالک

He stiffens under your touch, under the sonority of your voice. His battered heart rattles in your presence, the air in his lungs freezes and he momentarily forgets that he is a soldier, a protector, a tool carved to fight for the Atreides. He's not meant to love, to crush, he's meant to kill, to teach, to follow. A weapon in every sense of the word. And yet he'd throw the world at your feet for a sliver of your attention. Gurney can't help the flames that grow within him. The raging pyro each night when he catches a rogue glimpse of you through the crack of your door. He wishes to kiss you, to hold you. To make you his in every way he knows he can't. 

[ottpopfic]

I like to think about Camp Half Blood and how its probably full of old hidden kid structures

It's an ancient sacred valley, that has trained and housed children for thousands of years, many of those kids coming from artisan backgrounds and gods. Kids build things, kids make forts and rope swings and tree houses. Kids need hidy holes and pretend play boxes and secrets.

I like to think about walking in the CHB woods, off the trail in a place you think dryads have only ever been to. And then you come to this tree with wooden planks nailed to it. You look up into this old oak and above you is a few more boards, just enough to make good seating hidden in the branches. There are initials carved in the bark, no one you recognize, and doodles on the boards. You don't know who built it or when, was it put up last year or fifty years ago, but someone dragged 2x4s miles and miles through the trees and made a place just for them. Your reminded that this place has always been here, that so many half-bloods have come and gone, but all throughout the valley there are still echoes of them

‘I was here’ says the little jerry-rigged bridge over the creek, ‘I mattered’ says the rope swing into the lake, ‘Even if I'm forgotten’ says the crumbling fort in the woods, ‘I left something behind’ says the initials in the tree

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Burn

Yandere!Husband x gn!Reader

warnings: abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, manipulative tendencies, gaslighting, murder, gore

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

It burns, so agonizingly much, that uncertainty about this whole ordeal crept up your spine and settled in your chest.

Was this the right thing to do? To flee? It echoed in the emptiness that took over your head. It was perplexing and uncomfortable. You shouldn't feel empathy for him. He was crazy, deranged! Gone, a maniac, a bastard—

But maybe he was innocent and you were running away from the ghosts hunting you.

He was all that was left of your family. You didn't want to do this, you wanted him with you, loving and sweet, but it seemed that fate had different plans for the two of you. It seems that fate didn't favour you.

He had wormed himself into your life—then into your sacred family bonds, destroying what was already fragile. The mask he wore was that of a kindred spirit that sought for love, yet you never knew better than to believe the artificially crafted facade.

Prior he was an orphan, abandoned by his mother at six, which admittedly tugged at your heartstrings, even more so after learning the horrible foster parents, which was followed by the straight up ignorant adoptive family that took him in only for prestige matters.

So it wasn't that you didn't understand his desire for family, and you were even happy for him! Glad he found love in yours, yet all your hopeful dreams of finally peace settling in had vanished the moment the first of your relatives cut you off. Then a second followed, a third, a fourth until even your mom shunned you, refusing to see you any longer. They absolutely adored your husband but hated your guts.

However he didn't seem to hold the same adoration for them, no, he didn't even possess an ounce of sympathy with them as he watched them turn to ashes Infront of his very own eyes, laughing, like the maniac he was.

“Love!” he would jump up and down you remembered, seemingly over the moon by your dad praising him or your sister gifting him something meaningless as a cookie.

After he had burned down everything holy to you, he had just slipped back into your shared bed, stinking horribly of that kind of smell that reached your nose every time you left your omelette too long on the stove.

You hadn't understood then, but you did now, that that smell was foreshadowing to the petrifying news that had reached you the next day.

Everything spiralled out of your control after that day. You were completely scattered, forgetful, permanently teary-eyed, clumsy and visibly distraught.

So it started with your inability to hold up your job, which made him offer you to stay at home, while he financed you both. He was so devilishly sweet, messaging your shoulders when you were completely stiff, guiding you through breakdowns, cooking for you, feeding you. You hadn't know how you got so lucky with him.

However things became odd quickly, your friends seemed to disappear one by one, their numbers blocked, deleted or erased from existence. You were unbelievably mad, was this because of your new miserable state—the friends that swore to go through thick and thin with you, leaving you in your most vulnerable times—how could they!

Although you were burning with anger, even that was quickly forgotten thanks to him. He was your absolute everything, your entire world and you were much obviously his. You two were a match made in heaven—or at least that's what you believed until that one phone call.

“Stacey?—”

“You have to get out of there! He isn't what he seems to be— your husband, he’s crazy! He threatened me! If I didn't stop being in contact with you then he would have also murdered me like he did with your family—” your heard your friend over the phone, voice unusually frail, breaths laboured with sniffling in the background.

Your heart leaped in your chest at the sound of her frantic claims, completely unbelievable and baffling, even if your trust for her had completely evaporated, uncertainty still poisoned you and infiltrated your mind like a sickness.

Nevertheless you did end the call before she could spew anymore nonsense, sealing her terrible fate, because unbeknownst to you, that was the last time she would ever talk to anyone.

Things didn't feel normal anymore after that, suspiciousness spread through you, gnawing at your already highly sensitive nerves, you instability just making you waver back and forth from completely denying the unapparent truth and panicking that perhaps it was true. She was your friend for years after all, what reason did she have to lie?

That was until you found Stacey’s childhood diary in his possession with dried splatter of blood decorating it—as if this wasn't terrifying enough what met you on the inside made you drop the book, completely mortified and stunned into silence.

Every entry that contained your name scribbled over with hearts, anything that had to do with you underlined, things that you liked circled in like a madman.

You were terrified to say the least—she was right, she was right and you didn't believe her.

Tears welled up in your eyes and before you knew it, your feet carried you out of your shared home, still in your PJ's with slippers adorning your feet.

Which leads to this moment in the present.

Unfortunately for you, he had knowingly bought a house with your inheritance, in the middle of nowhere. You were stumbling over twigs, leaves crushing beneath your weight and before you knew it, you were running.

Yet you did forget one crucial aspect—running didn't help when he could track you down with the GPS clipped under your skin so subtly you didn't even realise he had done so.

Bang.

Pain shot through your thigh, an excruciating amount, making you instantly stumble, before tumbling down, face first into the wet earth, crying out in pain.

Blood seeped out from where he shot you, painting the forest floor a warning crimson. You tried to crawl, you attempted to flee, but all was for nothing, no one and nothing could have tear you two apart, even if it was you.

Fingers roughly whipped your head back, scalp burning from the abuse.

“There you are, love.” he spat out, the familiar warmth gone replaced by an indefinite disdain.

“You saw it, huh? You learned about everything I did for you and that's how you thank me? By running away just cuz’ I committed some petty crimes?” he shook your head violently, before shoving your face into the mud. Before he ripped your head out of the earth, starting to fall into a pattern, repeating it over and over again till your vision faded with only his words ringing into your ears, as blood ran down your presumably broken nose, eyes swelling with unshed tears of a gruesome future that awaited you.

“You're weak. And dumb. But don't you worry, I will take care of you. I will love you, look after you, clean up each mess you make, be there to rock you back and forth when you have one of your meltdowns again. So don't worry your stupid little head about anything,

just trust me, love.”

[twilightnesss]

・.・✫・゜secret gardens in my mind

pairing: kate martin x gf!reader

summary: after long and stressful days for kate while also being captured in the public eye, kate always turns to the one private thing in her life. her girlfriend, kristal.

warnings: smut; fingering!kate receiving. bottom kate (i hate it but it felt right)

divider from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

kate stood at the window of her las vegas apartment, gazing out at the bustling city below. the sun had set, casting a golden hue over the skyscrapers, their outlines stretching into the pink and orange sky. the view was breathtaking, yet it did little to soothe her hiked nerves. another hectic day in the life of a star basketball player had taken its toll.

as if on cue, her phone buzzed with a text, and a small smile played on her lips. it was from kristal, her girlfriend—a soothing balm to her soul. come over soon, the message read. i'll help you relax.

turning away from the window, kate quickly changed into something more comfortable, her movements filled with anticipation. she slipped on a soft pair of sweatpants and a loose-fitting zip up. this was her evening routine, a sacred ritual that helped her unwind from the chaos of her public life.

stepping out of her apartment, she made her way downstairs, her footsteps echoing through the quiet lobby. as she stepped outside, the cool evening air nipped at her nose, and she breathed it in deeply, savoring the freshness.

kate's strides were purposeful as she walked the familiar route to kristal's apartment, her mind beginning to unravel and her shoulders relaxing with each step. the bustling city streets, usually a source of anxiety due to the constant attention, now felt like a welcoming backdrop to her private escape.

as she approached her destination, her heart rate quickened in anticipation. she climbed the stairs to kristal's floor and knocked softly on the familiar door.

the door opened, and there stood kristal, her haven in this chaotic world. kristal's eyes glistened with a welcoming warmth, her dark hair falling softly around her shoulders. she stepped aside, inviting kate inside with a gentle gesture.

the apartment was filled with the soothing aroma of incense, and soft jazz music played in the background, creating an ambiance that immediately slowed kate's racing thoughts.

"i've been thinking about you all day," kristal whispered, leaning in for a tender kiss.

kate melted into the embrace, the stress of the outside world momentarily forgotten. kristal's full lips and the subtle hint of mint in her mouth ignited a fire within her. breaking the kiss, kristal led kate further into the apartment, their hands intertwined.

seated on the plush couch, kate allowed herself to be drawn into an intimate embrace, kristal's slender fingers caressing her hair and neck. the tension that had been building up within her began to unwind. kristal's expert hands massaged her shoulders and back, working out the knots with practiced ease.

"you always look so stressed when you come over," kristal murmured, her breath warm against Kate's ear. "let me help you let go of all that."

with that, kristal stood up and began unzipping kate’s hoodie, her eyes never leaving kate's as she slowly revealed the soft skin beneath. once the hoodie was removed, kristal's hands returned to massage kate's bare shoulders, her touch even more exhilarating without the barrier of fabric.

kate's breath quickened as she felt kristal's fingers trail down her spine, and a shiver ran through her body. kristal's lips found their way to the nape of her neck, planting soft kisses that sent shudders down her spine.

"i want you to relax completely," kristal whispered, her voice like velvet against kate's sensitized skin. "let me take care of you."

kate felt herself being guided to the center of the room, where a large bean bag chair awaited. kristal helped her settle onto it, and kate reclined, closing her eyes as Kristal's skilled hands continued their magical touch. the world around her faded away, and she surrendered to the soothing atmosphere, her mind drifting into a peaceful haze.

kristal's massages had a hypnotic effect, and kate lost track of time, her body becoming heavier with each passing moment. the tension melted away, leaving her feeling weightless and serene. and then, kristal's hands stopped, and a momentary silence enveloped them.

kate opened her eyes to find kristal kneeling before her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. without a word, kristal reached for the hem of kate's leggings, slowly slipping them off her muscular legs, revealing the smooth skin beneath.

kate's heart raced as she understood kristal's silent invitation. she sat up slightly, eager to reciprocate the favor, and began untying the loose knot of kristal's robe, revealing the curvaceous body beneath.

with gentle hands, they explored each other's bodies, touching, caressing, and kissing with utmost devotion. their breaths synchronized in the quiet room, the soft music providing the perfect backdrop to their intimate dance.

kate took her time, savoring the taste of kristal's skin, the scent of her perfume, and the feel of her supple curves. every touch was intentional, every kiss filled with longing. she explored every inch of kristal's body, relishing the soft moans and shivers that her touches evoked.

similarly, kristal's expertise in arousing kate was evident. her hands seemed to know exactly where to wander, and her lips devoured kate's with a hungry passion that matched her own. the bean bag chair became their sanctuary, a soft nest for their built up desires.

their kisses intensified, and kate felt the heat of desire build within her. she craved more, needing to feel kristal deeper inside her.

with gentle urgency, they guided each other to lie down on the large bed nearby. the soft sheets dipped beneath them, and they nestled together, their bodies now aligned.

kate felt kristal's hot breath against her collarbone as her strong thighs bracketed her hips. a low moan escaped kate's lips as kristal's fingers found their way to the most intimate parts of her body, skillfully teasing and pleasing her.

the pleasure built in waves, and kate surrendered to the sensation, her hips rising to meet kristal's expert touches. the room became a blur, the outside world non-existent, as she was lost in a maelstrom of pleasure.

kristal's name escaped her lips in passionate sighs, her fingers entwined with kristal's as they both rode the high of an intense orgasm. the aftermath left them content and breathless, their bodies glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

lying in each other's arms, kate felt the weight of the day lift from her shoulders. kristal's steady heartbeat against her ear soothed her soul, and she knew that this was her sanctuary, a place where she could truly be herself and find peace.

as the night deepened, they shared whispers of their day, their voices soft and intimate in the dark room. the scent of sex and the soothing jazz created an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and calming.

eventually, reality hit, and they reluctantly parted ways, dressing in silence as the moon cast a silvery glow over their intimate space.

kate exited the apartment, a sense of calm and contentment washing over her. the city streets seemed quieter now, and the paparazzi nonexistant. she breathed in the night air, feeling rejuvenated and grateful for the sanctuary that kristal provided.

returning to her own apartment, kate felt a sense of balance restored. she knew that no matter the chaos that awaited her tomorrow, she had a secret weapon—a loving embrace that could melt away any stress.

as she drifted off to sleep, kate smiled, knowing that while the public eye may capture her image, her true self belonged to another—a captivating woman who provided her with a sanctuary of sensual bliss.

a/n: hehe.. love , lana

[corrupte3d-mindz]

In Your Shadow

Stalker! Jonathan Crane x F! Reader

Summary: He's a bit deranged, but he loves you in his own sick and twisted way.

Wordcount: 7.8k

Warnings:

extremely perverted! Jonathan, extremely possessive! Jonathan, sexual harassment, sexual assault, harassment, heavy stalking, stealing personal belongings, threatening, manipulating, gaslighting, belittling, degrading, kidnapping for a second, cumming in panties, jerking off, forced kissing, whining, whimpering, begging, all around subby things from Jonathan.

Jonathan’s apartment is a study in organized chaos. Papers and books are strewn across every available surface, creating a labyrinthine maze that only he understands.

The flickering light from the computer screen casts a ghostly pallor over the room, accentuating the shadows that dance along the walls. Jonathan sits at his desk, a place of both work and obsession. His hair is a disheveled mess, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and trickling down the nape of his neck. His suit, once pristinely pressed, is now rumpled; the top button of his shirt undone, and his tie hanging loosely, as if discarded mid-thought.

His fingers glide over the mouse, the soft clicks echoing in the otherwise silent room. Each photo that appears on the screen brings a new wave of emotion, a blend of longing and possessiveness that tightens his chest and quickens his breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he studies each image with meticulous care. These aren't just pictures to him—they are glimpses into her life where he has painstakingly inserted himself into, moments he has captured either through his own lens or extracted from the depths of the internet. Jonathan exhales softly, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile as he reaches the more revealing photos; not really. These are the ones he treasures most, the ones that reveal her in states of vulnerability and intimacy. Whether he found them online or took them himself, each image is a testament to his unyielding obsession.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face, only for it to fall back into disarray moments later. His eyes, a piercing blueish green, scan over the images with a clinical yet possessive gaze. He imagines her in those moments, unaware of his presence, blissfully ignorant of the shadow that watches over her. His breathing grows heavier, more labored, as his mind conjures scenes of their intertwined fates. Jonathan’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, the silver frames glinting under the dim lamp light; He clicked his mouse one more time, the sound echoing in the silence. He knew what came next. He had been through these photos countless times, scrutinizing each one with the devotion of a scholar studying sacred texts. They were his Bible, each image a verse he had memorized.

There it was, his favorite photo of her. It was a candid shot taken at a coffee shop where she worked. The image was slightly blurred, capturing the movement of her hands as she passed a cup to a customer, her smile bright and genuine. Jonathan stared at the photo, his heart aching with a twisted blend of love and possessiveness. He remembered the day he took it, how he had positioned himself discreetly at the back, pretending to read a newspaper while his camera did the real work. God, her smile, he thought, his breath hitching slightly. That smile was the beacon that guided him through the darkness of his existence. He would do anything and everything for her, just to see her smile. His mind wandered back to the first time he saw her. She was a new barista at the small coffee shop he frequented near the Arkham Asylum. He had noticed her immediately—her grace, her kindness, the way she interacted with customers. It was as if a light had entered his life, one that he desperately needed.

His fingers traced the outline of her face on the screen, a reverent, almost worshipful gesture. The apartment around him was forgotten; the only reality that mattered was her image on the screen. He could almost hear her laughter, the way it would ring out softly over the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups. He imagined what it would be like to be the cause of that laughter, to be the one who brought joy to her life. His obsession had started innocently enough—small, frequent visits to the coffee shop, watching her from a distance. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned to months; his fascination grew. He began to take photos, each click of the camera shutter a way to capture a piece of her to keep with him always. He knew it was wrong, knew it crossed boundaries, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, one he had no desire to break.

He leaned back in his leather chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It had been another grueling day at Arkham Asylum dealing with the disturbed minds that mirrored his own in many ways. The monotony of his daily routine was a necessary facade, a mask that concealed the darkness within. But now, as the evening crept in, he was on the verge of something far more exhilarating. His piercing blueish eyes flickered with anticipation as he glanced at his work bag under his desk. Thinking about how he had been waiting for that moment, meticulously planning, and now he finally had a tangible piece of her. Jonathan Crane, master of fear, had been reduced to a lovesick stalker, but he didn't care. His obsession with her was all-consuming, a fire that burned brighter with each passing day. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, but it actually was just a couple of hours before; it went a little like this.

Once he had discovered her routine, learning that she did her laundry at the same laundromat every week. She trusted the place enough to leave her clothes unattended while she went to work. It was a small window of opportunity, but Jonathan was nothing if not patient. He had bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to act. Today was the day. Her clothes had finished drying just before she had taken her lunch to come retrieve them. Jonathan had slipped into the laundromat, on his way to his apartment, blending in with the other patrons. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the dryer, his hands trembling slightly. He was always calm in the face of fear, but this was different. This was personal. He reached into the dryer, sifting through the warm, freshly cleaned clothes until his fingers brushed against something delicate. He pulled out a pair of black panties, adorned with lace trim. They were hers, a piece of her most intimate apparel. The thrill of possession surged through him, a dark, twisted satisfaction that made his pulse quicken. Jonathan slipped the panties into his coat pocket, acting nonchalant as he left the laundromat. Once he was out he moved them to his work bag. The walk back to his apartment was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of her. She was so close, yet so unattainable. But now he had a piece of her, something tangible to hold onto. Fuck, he couldn’t even believe it; he couldn’t believe that he managed to do that.

He leaned over while in his chair, his slender fingers curling around the strap of his work bag, pulling it into his lap with a sense of purpose. However, in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered, envisioning her, the object of his relentless fixation, as the weight on his lap, a subconscious desire momentarily surfacing before he regained control. With a sharp exhale, he unzipped one of the pockets of his bag, his movements precise and deliberate. His fingers emerged, clutching a pair of black panties with delicate lace trim, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated demeanor he often exuded. He held them up, the fabric soft against his skin, his mind drifting into a realm of thoughts, some gentle and longing, others tinged with a more primal desire.

Jonathan's thoughts were a whirlwind, a mix of conflicting emotions and desires. He imagined her scent lingering on the fabric, the softness of her skin, the curve of her body. His breath hitched, the image vivid in his mind, yet unattainable in reality. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, his gaze lingered on the panties, a symbol of his unspoken obsession. He felt a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame at the intensity of his desires. Yet, he couldn't deny the exhilaration, the rush that came with the forbidden. His fingers traced the lace trim, a ghost of a touch, his mind filled with fantasies that bordered on obsession

He carefully placed the black panties with lace trim on the desk, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if it were a precious treasure. Setting his bag back down on the floor, his eyes lingered on them for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. Turning his attention to the computer, closing the folder he had opened and moving his mouse to a different folder; he opened it, it was filled with photos of her in more intimate settings. They were snapshots of her daily routine, mundane yet intimate moments captured without her knowledge. He clicked through them slowly, savoring each image of her getting undressed, her naked form, and even pictures from her shower.

As he gazed at her photos, a soft sigh escaped his lips. "My beautiful baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. To him, she was perfection, a vision of purity and innocence that he felt compelled to protect and possess.

His piercing blueish eyes fixated on the object before him, the black panties with a delicate lace trim, a relic of his relentless obsession. As he reached out to touch them, his fingers trembled with a mixture of desire and restraint, a testament to the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

"Fuck... if only you knew what you do to me..." His voice, a low whisper, barely audible in the quietude of the room, carried the weight of his longing. Each syllable dripped with fervor, a confession uttered to the silent darkness, a futile attempt to convey the depth of his obsession.

His hand hovered over the panties, trembling with anticipation, as if drawn by an invisible force. With a hesitant touch, he traced the delicate lace, his fingertips grazing the fabric with a reverence reserved for sacred relics. The mere sight of them ignited a fire within him, stroking the flames of desire that threatened to consume him whole. The room seemed to close in around him as he struggled to contain the rising tide of arousal coursing through his veins. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhalation laden with the heady scent of lust and longing. With a shaky exhale, he leaned closer, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating allure of the panties before him.

His hand moved instinctively to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle as he sought to free himself from the constraints of reality. The leather yielded under his touch, releasing him from its grasp with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the room. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his pants, the fabric yielding to his touch with a reluctant sigh. As he slid the zipper down, the cool rush of air against his skin sent shivers down his spine, a stark reminder of the vulnerability that lay beneath his stoic facade. With each movement, he felt himself unraveling, the barriers he had erected against his desires crumbling in the face of overwhelming temptation. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips as he freed himself from his pants, the weight of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.

Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, Jonathan closed his eyes, lost in a world of pleasure. The intimate touch of his hand against his skin sent waves of ecstasy coursing through his body, mingling with the sharp sting of desire that burned within him. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, a sound that was both desperate and exhilarating in its intensity.

"H-ha..." His voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. In that moment, he felt more alive than he ever had before, his senses heightened to a fever pitch as he surrendered himself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. He hadn’t even started yet…

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, he freed himself from the confines of his clothing, exposing himself to the cool air of the room. His cock throbbed with anticipation, aching for the touch that would bring him release. With trembling hands, Jonathan wrapped his hands around his length, relishing in the sensation of his own touch. His thumb traced the length of his shaft, then the oh so sensitive slit of his that was dripping with pre-cum; this eliciting a low moan of pleasure that escaped his lips unbidden. Removing his glasses with practiced ease, Jonathan set them aside on his desk, allowing his vision to blur as he surrendered himself to the darkness that surrounded him, He closed his eyes, and occasionally opening them, but mainly he liked surrendering himself to the exquisite torment of his own desires. The only light being from his computer screen with her nude photos.

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, Jonathan brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape. He knew he was loud when it came to this, his pleasure echoing off the walls of his apartment like a symphony of depravity. But when it came to her, the noise was deafening. With practiced ease, Jonathan's hand moved up and down his twitching shaft, each stroke driving him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He knew what he liked when he was in this position, his movements precise and calculated, fueled by a hunger that knew no bounds. And as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own pleasure, he felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own guilt and shame.

"F-fuck... I love you so fuckin’ much, baby..." Jonathan murmured, it seemed quieter since he was covering his mouth, but nevertheless his voice was hoarse with desire. The words tumbled from his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the woman who haunted his every dream. In that moment, she was all he could think of, her image seared into his mind's eye with a clarity that bordered on obsession.

With a mixture of desire and apprehension, Jonathan reached out, his hand no longer covering his mouth; fuck he sounded so pathetic when he jerked off to her, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with the fabric. He brought the panties to his face, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent that lingered upon them. His breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, lost in the intoxicating aroma. He moaned softly, the sound muffled by the fabric pressed against his mouth, a crude testament to the depths of his depravity. And in that moment, Jonathan knew only one thing: he would do whatever it took to make her his, forever and always.

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on the black panties with delicate lace trim pressed against his mouth. The fabric muffled his moans, but the intensity of his desire was palpable. Each breath he took was filled with the intoxicating scent of the woman who occupied his every thought, driving him to the brink of madness. His hand moved with a practiced rhythm, stroking his throbbing cock with increasing fervor. The sensation of the lace against his lips sent shivers down his spine, heightening his arousal to an almost unbearable level. His movements, once slow and controlled, began to grow erratic and desperate. He could never last long when he thought of her, but his stamina was the last thing on his mind.

“A-ah~..ngh..fuckin’ hell,” Jonathan gasped, his voice a strained whisper against the fabric. His eyes fluttered shut, rolling back into his head as he felt the familiar build-up of release. His body trembled with anticipation, every muscle tense as he edged closer and closer to the brink.

With a sudden, fevered motion, Jonathan tore the panties from his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool air hit his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through his veins. He wrapped the delicate fabric around his twitching cock, his hips bucking wildly as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. His grip tightened, the lace digging into his flesh as he pumped faster, each stroke bringing him closer to the inevitable. His mind was a whirlwind of desire and obsession, each thought consumed by her image. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the way she moved, the way she looked at him with a mixture of fear and something unspoken. It drove him wild, pushing him further into the depths of his dark cravings.

As his movements became more frantic, Jonathan's breath hitched, his body tensing as he reached the precipice. “Fuck... I’m so close,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained. His hips bucked erratically, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being.

The sensation of the lace against his skin was almost too much to bear, the friction heightening his arousal to a fever pitch. His hand moved with a desperate urgency, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building, a tight coil of heat in his core ready to snap. With a final, forceful thrust, Jonathan cried out, his voice a mix of pleasure and anguish. His body convulsed, the release hitting him like a tidal wave, washing over him with a blinding intensity. Ropes upon ropes of hot, sticky cum spilled out from his twitching cock, coating the pretty fabric of the black panties with an almost obscene abundance. The once pristine lace was now sullied, a stark contrast to its delicate beauty. His free hand's nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving deep, angry marks as he rode out the waves of his climax. Enough of his release filled the fabric that it began to seep through, dripping slowly onto the floor below his desk in thick, viscous droplets.

"F-fuck... f-fuck..." Jonathan muttered, his voice barely more than a strained whisper. The words were laced with a raw, guttural intensity, each syllable a reflection of his spent state. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he was lost in the afterglow, his mind adrift in a sea of hazy satisfaction. He clutched the panties tightly, the fabric now damp with his release, a tangible symbol of his unrelenting desire.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jonathan slumped back in his chair, his body spent and trembling. His breath came in shallow gasps, his mind slowly returning to reality. The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening as he lay in the aftermath of his desire. He glanced down at the panties still wrapped around his softening cock, a pang of guilt cutting through the haze of his satisfaction. The reality of his actions hit him with a cold clarity, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. But even in the depths of his guilt, he knew he could not stop. The allure of her presence, the thought of making her his, was too powerful to resist. Jonathan’s fingers trembled as he carefully unwound the panties from his semi-soft cock, his touch almost reverent. His eyes closed, a mixture of longing and despair etched across his features.

“Why do you haunt me so?” he whispered into the silence, his voice barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, a testament to his torment. He knew that his desire for her was twisted, his actions unforgivable, yet he could not bring himself to stop. The darkness within him was too deep, too consuming.

In the months that had passed since the incident with her panties, Jonathan’s obsession had only deepened, festering like an untreated wound. His thoughts, once rational and calculated, had become a chaotic jumble of desire and fixation, driven by a love so twisted that it consumed every waking moment. He was a man possessed, his mind a labyrinth of dark fantasies and delusions, each one more depraved than the last. He would sit for hours at his desk after he had just spent hours at his office; the glow of his computer screen casting eerie shadows across his gaunt features as he pored over new and old images and now videos of her, all collected from the hidden cameras he had so meticulously placed. The sight of her, even in the most mundane of moments, was enough to send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He would watch her laugh, cry, sleep, and live her life, all while he remained an invisible presence, a ghost haunting her every move.

Jonathan's apartment had become a shrine to her, every surface covered with photographs, notes, and mementos that he had painstakingly gathered. He had memorized every detail of her face, the curve of her smile, the sound of her voice. It was an obsession that knew no bounds, a hunger that could never be sated. And as his infatuation grew, so too did his desperation.

He knew she was aware of him, she’d most definitely had found the cameras he somehow put in her apartment so many months ago. It was the way she had suddenly moved apartments, but only to unknowingly end up in the same complex as him, she didn’t know where he lived but he had his proof that she knew enough to just up and move. The discovery of the cameras had been a setback, because he wouldn’t get those back but, it all uploaded to his computer at the end of every day, so he didn’t lose anything really, but it had only fueled his determination. He had to become more careful, more cunning in his efforts to watch her, to protect her from the dangers that she might encounter from being so perfect. However it was her fault, really, for not being thorough enough in her search for his eyes, she deserved it in his eyes.

"You're mine," Jonathan would whisper to himself, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he watched her on his screen. "You just don't know it yet."

His need for attention, for acknowledgment of his existence, had driven him to new lengths. He had begun buying her gifts, leaving them at her door or in her mailbox with meticulously crafted notes. The thrill of seeing her take them inside, even if she never opened them, was intoxicating. It was a game, a dance of shadows and secrets, and he was determined to win. Each gift was chosen with care, a testament to his knowledge of her likes and desires. Clothes, jewelry, food, and even more intimate items like sex toys found their way to her doorstep. He knew her better than anyone, better than she knew herself. It was a twisted form of courtship, a display of his devotion, his love. And yet, there was always the risk of discovery. He had to be careful, precise in his placement of new cameras. He couldn't afford another mistake. The thought of her finding out, of her rejecting him outright, was too much to bear. He needed her, craved her in a way that defied logic and reason.

He would spend hours planning his next move, his next gift, each one a symbol of his undying love. He imagined her finding the packages, her expression unreadable as she carried them inside. Did she ever wonder who they were from? Did she ever think of him, even for a moment? The thought was enough to send a thrill of excitement through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"One day, you'll understand," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "One day, you'll see how much I love you."

But for now, he remained in the shadows, his presence a constant, unseen force in her life. He would protect her, watch over her, even if she didn't realize it. He would do anything, everything, to make her his. And as he sat at his desk, surrounded by the trappings of his obsession, Jonathan knew that he would never stop. He couldn't. She was his, in every way that mattered. And so, the little game continued, a dance of shadows and secrets, a twisted love story that only he could understand. With each passing day, his obsession grew, feeding on the darkness within him, driving him to new heights of desperation and desire. He was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness, but he didn't care. As long as she was his, nothing else mattered. In the end, it was her fault. She should have been more careful. She should have seen the signs, noticed the cameras, understood the depth of his love. But she hadn't, and now she was his, whether she knew it or not. And Jonathan Crane, the man who loved her more than life itself, would do whatever it took to keep it that way. Forever.

Tonight, as she closed up the café where she worked, Jonathan knew it was the perfect time to finally confront her. Him knowing her work schedule was so helpful. He had waited long enough, his patience fraying at the edges. He watched from the shadows as she bid farewell to her coworker, her smile a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world. She locked the door behind them, turning her attention to the kitchen, methodically checking inventory and ensuring everything was in its place. Making sure that everything that needs to be locked, is locked. Jonathan's breath quickened as he moved silently into the café, lock picking is easier than most people would imagine; with his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a heady mix of fear and excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he would finally see her face in real time and not just through the lens of his hidden cameras. He sat down in the dimly lit corner of the cafe, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which she would soon emerge. It was the doorway that was open with no door and you could enter by being behind the counter.

She appeared, her expression serene as she finished her tasks, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Jonathan's eyes drank in the sight of her, his breath hitching in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person, her presence intoxicating. He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling.

Jonathan took another step closer, his gaze intense. "I think you know who I am," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I've watched you for so long, admired you from afar. You were always so close, yet so far away."

So that’s what he looked like, she thought he would look worse, but back to the task at hand there is a deranged stalker in her presence. Her eyes darted around the café, searching for an escape. He’s practically in the way of it; "Stay away from me," she warned, her voice gaining strength. "I don't want anything to do with you."

Jonathan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand," he said, his tone desperate. "I love you. I've always loved you. You belong to me."

"No, I don't," she shot back, her fear turning to anger. "You don't know anything about me. You're sick and twisted."

He flinched at her words, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I know everything about you," he insisted. "I've seen you at your most vulnerable, your most intimate. I know you better than anyone else. I love you…”

"That's not love," she said, shaking her head. "That's obsession. It's not the same thing." She gritted her teeth; “You look pretty smart so it’s depressing that you don’t know the difference” Attitude, he would not like that.

Jonathan's eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists. "You don't get to decide what this is," he growled. "You don't get to push me away. I've done everything for you, watched over you, protected you. And this is how you repay me?"

She stared him down, her breath slowly starting to come in shallow gasps. "No," she whispered. "I won't be a prisoner to your fuckin’ delusions."

Jonathan started walking over in her direction, his presence imposing. "You already are," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. "And there's no escaping it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, her body tense with resolve. "Watch me," she said, her voice steady. What was she gonna do, scream; The fuck was that supposed to do?

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them a palpable force. Jonathan's mind raced, torn between his overwhelming desire to possess her and the dawning realization that his actions were driving her further away. His hands trembled at his sides, the barely contained energy threatening to spill over. He watched her every move, the subtle shift of her weight, the way her eyes darted towards the small doorway. She was looking for an escape, and he knew it was now or never. In a fluid motion that belied the severity of his intentions, Jonathan sprang into action. Despite the constraining suit, his movements were swift and precise, a testament to his unyielding determination. He darted behind the counter, his heart pounding in his chest as he made it just in time to cut off her path. With a practiced ease, he hopped over the small swinging saloon door that separated them, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Baby, I can do this all night,” he said, his voice a low, seductive drawl, tinged with a hint of madness. His breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he closed the distance between them. The endearment rolled off his tongue with a twisted sense of affection, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

She stood frozen, her body tensed with the urge to flee, but he was already too close. Jonathan's presence was overwhelming, a dark, looming shadow that seemed to consume the very air around them. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between fear and defiance. She wanted to leave, to escape the web he had so meticulously woven around her, but he was in her way, a living, breathing barrier that she could not overcome.

"Don't be afraid," Jonathan murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I only want what's best for you. Can't you see that?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, a touch that was both tender and possessive. His gaze softened, but the underlying intensity remained, a stark reminder of the darkness that lay beneath his calm exterior.

She flinched at his touch, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from the prison he had created. Jonathan's heart ached at her reaction, the realization that his love – was the very thing that repelled her. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. His obsession had taken root, a dark, twisted seed that had grown beyond his control.

"You don't have to fight me," he continued, his tone soothing yet insistent. "We can be together, just like I've always dreamed. You and me, forever." His words hung in the air, a chilling promise of a future she wanted no part of.

As he stepped closer, Jonathan's eyes roamed over her face, drinking in every detail. The way her lips parted in silent protest, the flicker of fear in her eyes, the defiant set of her jaw. She was beautiful, even in her defiance, and it only fueled his desire to possess her completely.

"Don't you see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You belong with me. I've waited so long for this moment, planned every detail. You can't leave me now." His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to make her understand the depth of his feelings, the lengths he was willing to go to keep her by his side.

She took a step back, her back pressing against the counter, trapped between him and the unyielding surface. Jonathan's heart raced, the thrill of the chase mingling with the dread of losing her. He reached out again, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the madness in his eyes.

"I promise, I'll take care of you," he said, his voice filled with a twisted sincerity. "No one will ever hurt you, you'll be safe with me, always." The words were meant to comfort, but they only served to deepen the chasm between them.

Her eyes filled with tears, a silent testament to the hopelessness of her situation. Jonathan's heart clenched at the sight, a painful reminder of the cost of his obsession. But he couldn't let her go, not now, not ever.

"You don't have to cry," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'll make it all better, I promise. Just give me a chance." His voice cracked with emotion, the façade of control slipping as he confronted the reality of his actions.

She shook her head, a silent refusal that cut through him like a knife. Jonathan's jaw tightened, the anger simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over. He had done everything for her, sacrificed so much, and yet she still resisted. It was maddening, infuriating, and it only fueled his determination to make her see the truth.

"Why can't you understand?" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Everything I've done, I've done for you. To protect you, to keep you safe. And I’ve provided gifts for you..Why can't you see that?" His words echoed through the empty room, a desperate plea for understanding that would never come.

She stood her ground, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and fear. Jonathan's heart ached at the sight, torn between his love for her and the realization that his actions were driving her further away. But he couldn't stop, couldn't let her go. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side.

With a final, desperate plea, Jonathan stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take hers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just give me a chance. I can make you happy, I promise. Just stay with me." His words hung in the air, a fragile hope that threatened to shatter with her next breath.

But as she looked into his eyes, Jonathan saw the truth. She would never be his, not in the way he wanted. And yet, he couldn't let her go, couldn't relinquish the hold she had on his heart. With a sense of resignation, he realized that he would do whatever it took to keep her, even if it meant losing himself in the process. In that moment, as the weight of his obsession threatened to crush him, Jonathan made a silent vow. He would protect her, keep her safe, no matter the cost. And if that meant holding her against her will, then so be it. She was his, and he would never let her go. His hand reached out, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place given the madness flickering in his eyes. He leaned in slightly and gave her a kiss on the lips, practically forcing her to kiss back with how rough it actually was compared to how he thought he was doing it; soft and calm. Yeah my ass.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you leave me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. The words were both an apology and a vow, laced with an unspoken promise of what was to come. He let go of her face and sighed;

Before she could react, Jonathan's grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around her delicate wrists with surprising strength. He raised her arms above her head, pinning them against the cold, unforgiving wall. His body pressed against hers, trapping her in place as his knee insinuated itself between her legs, applying just enough pressure to elicit a gasp. His heart pounded with a mix of arousal and anticipation, each beat echoing the inevitable conclusion of his carefully laid plans. With his free hand, Jonathan reached into the inner pocket of his suit, extracting a small syringe. His lips curled into a smile as he brought it to his mouth, removing the cap with his teeth before spitting it onto the ground. The sound was almost insignificant, but it marked the point of no return.

“Shhh... it’s okay... just don’t move around too much,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he searched for a suitable vein in her neck. The syringe hovered for a moment, a silent promise of what was to come.

As the needle punctured her skin, Jonathan’s eyes never left her face. He watched the mixture of fear toxin and a sedative flow into her bloodstream, his expression one of clinical detachment and twisted satisfaction. He withdrew the syringe slowly, almost reverently, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“Hey, it’s okay... just go to sleep,” he cooed, his voice softening as he cupped her face once more. He gazed into her eyes, watching as they began to glaze over, her resistance waning. She looked like a ghost, her complexion pale and her movements sluggish as the concoction took hold.

Jonathan supported her weight as she slumped against him, his arms encircling her in a twisted embrace. He could feel her body relax, the tension draining away as the drugs did their work. A part of him felt a pang of regret for having to subdue her in such a manner, but his obsession with her outweighed any moral qualms.

In the dim light of his apartment, Jonathan meticulously straightened the cluttered space, each object a testament to his dark obsession. His heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he glanced over at the woman lying unconscious on his bed. The fear toxin and a sedative mixture he had administered ensured she would remain in a deep, dreamless slumber for hours yet. This gave him time to prepare, to transform his chaotic haven into something that might, at first glance, seem less threatening. His hands moved swiftly, arranging and rearranging, removing any overt signs of his fixation. He knew he had to be careful—he couldn’t afford to frighten her any more than his actions already had. The apartment was filled with photos, trinkets, and personal effects of hers that he had collected over time, but he placed them in less conspicuous places, out of her immediate line of sight.

Jonathan took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tension knotting in his chest. His thoughts were a whirl of conflicting emotions. He needed her to understand, to see beyond the fear and recognize his love. He wasn’t a monster, not in his own eyes. He was a man driven by a consuming passion, a need to protect and possess her. He turned his attention back to her, lying so peacefully despite the circumstances. Her wrist was cuffed to the headboard, a necessary precaution. The chain allowed her some movement, but escape was impossible. He had made sure of that. His gaze softened as he watched her breathe, each rise and fall of her chest drawing him in deeper.

“Knew it’d come to this, didn’t you, Jonathan?” he murmured to himself, his voice a low rasp. The accent that clung to his words was faint, a vestige of his past. “You always knew.”

He moved closer, seating himself beside her on the bed. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he restrained himself. Not like this. It had to be right. She had to be awake, aware, and, in time, willing. His fingers itched to trace the lines of her face, to feel the warmth of her skin, but he resisted. He wouldn’t get anything out of it if she wasn’t there with him, truly there. Turning away from the bed, Jonathan walked quietly to the bathroom. The light flickered on with a soft click, casting a warm glow across the tiled floor. He leaned against the sink, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His sharp features softened in the gentle light, the lines of stress easing from his brow. His mind wandered briefly, contemplating the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead. The day had been long and arduous, filled with the tension of his illicit activities and the meticulous cleaning up afterward. But now, as he moved through the familiar ritual of preparing for bed, a strange tranquility settled over him.

After shedding his clothes, Jonathan stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his tense muscles. The steam rose around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and silence. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Thoughts of her flitted through his consciousness, a mix of longing and satisfaction. She was here, in his apartment, subdued by the fear toxin and sedative mixture. The thrill of having her so close, so vulnerable, sent a shiver of excitement through him. Finishing his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. The minty freshness of the toothpaste was a sharp contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He looked at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes staring back at him with a mix of determination and desire. Jonathan was a man driven by his obsessions, and tonight, those obsessions were within arm’s reach.

He made his way back to his room, the soft sound of his footsteps the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. She lay on his bed, her breathing steady and deep, still under the influence of the sedative. The sight of her, so peaceful and unguarded, stirred something deep within him. He turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Jonathan took off his glasses and set them on the table next to the bed, a small gesture that felt strangely intimate. He climbed into bed beside her, the sheets cool against his skin. He pulled the covers over both of them and gently maneuvered her so that she was straddling him, her body fitting perfectly against his. His arms wrapped around her back, the chain of the handcuffs clinking softly as he did so.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of her natural fragrance and the faint remnants of her perfume. The sensation overwhelmed him, filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what he had dreamed of, the culmination of his darkest desires.

“Fuck, this is everything I dreamed of,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against her skin. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythmic reminder of her presence.

As he lay there, holding her close, his mind raced with thoughts and emotions. He reveled in the feeling of her weight on top of him, the warmth of her body against his. There was a possessiveness to his touch, a silent declaration that she was his and his alone. Despite the restraints of the handcuffs, he felt a sense of closeness that he had never experienced before. He wondered what she would think when she woke up, how she would react to finding herself in his bed, in his embrace. There was a part of him that relished the thought of her fear, the way her eyes would widen with realization. But there was also a part of him that yearned for her acceptance, for her to understand the depth of his feelings.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered softly, as if she could hear him in her unconscious state. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jonathan’s mind wandered back to the moment he had first seen her, the instant attraction that had sparked his obsession. He had watched her from afar, studying her movements, learning her habits. It had started innocently enough, a mere curiosity. But it had quickly grown into something much more intense, a need that consumed him. Now, as he lay with her in his arms, he felt a sense of fulfillment that he had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of his life had fallen into place, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. The darkness that had always lingered at the edges of his mind seemed to recede, replaced by a profound sense of contentment.

He tightened his hold on her slightly, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He could feel her breath against his neck, a gentle reminder of her presence. The connection between them was palpable, a tangible thread that bound them together. Jonathan knew that this moment was fleeting, that the reality of their situation would come crashing down eventually. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the illusion of intimacy, to indulge in the fantasy that she was his in every sense of the word.

“I’ll protect you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one will ever hurt you while you’re with me.”

As the night wore on, Jonathan remained awake, content to simply hold her and listen to the sound of her breathing. There was a peace in the silence, a solace in the stillness. He had spent so much of his life in turmoil, driven by his fears and anxieties. But here, with her in his arms, he felt a sense of calm that he had never known before. The darkness outside began to give way to the soft light of dawn, casting a gentle glow over the room. Jonathan could see the faint outlines of her features in the early morning light, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. She looked so serene, so untouched by the horrors of the world. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent promise that he would keep her safe. No matter what happened, he would always be there for her, a constant presence in her life. And as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, he knew that he would never let her go.

Author’s Notes:

I genuinely believe he would cum in his pants if she even breathed, spoke, smiled, pointed, or barely touching him; touching him like rubbing shoulders with a stranger in an elevator type of touch.

Also he would definitely paint one of his hands in the nail polish she used. Helps submerge himself in the reality he so desperately wants to be real.

Also also, this was delayed a bit because I have this opened on my computer as well as on my phone and I saved it on one end and then it didn’t transpire on the other so I closed it out and…it just put me back pretty far.

[vilhelios]

— IF YOU'RE THE SACRED SCRIPT, I AM THE HIEROPHANT.

( if you're the holy church, i'm gonna worship . ) ; the old, dusty tomes that amund gives you state that the lemurian gods are perfect, flawless beings. not a single scar or freckle adorns their skin, no emotion creases their hallowed faces.

cw: fluff !!! ; established relationship ! ; abysswalker!rafayel <3 + brief mentions of god of the sea rafayel; slight spoilers for rafayel's sea of golden sand and forgotten sea (?) myths + siren's song anecdote; i am the self-proclaimed ceo of lemuria world building (lemuria lore headcanons!) 💪 ; not beta-read !!!

" THE GODS ART PERFECT BEINGS — FLAWLESS IN FORM AND IN ESSENCE ; THEIR SKIN IS UNMARRED, NAY SCAR OR FRECKLE ADORNS THOSE DIVINE. NAY LINE OF EMOTION MARKS THEIR HALLOWED, PRISTINE VISAGE. "

"RAFAYEL?" you ask, your voice so loud in the quiet dark of night. a hum, a shift in the arms that hold you. "i heard that the gods are perfect."

“they are supposed to be, yes.” rafayel murmurs, hands gently carding through the strands of your hair. the desert is quiet tonight, not a single howl of wind, or a curious fennec fox or gerbil, race across the expanse of sand. the only sounds in your ears are the mingled breaths and synchronised heartbeats of you and your dear abysswalker, tangled beneath the sheets in your shared tent.

his blue-pink eyes stare, searching your gaze. the dark circles beneath them are prominent in the shadows cast by the silvery moonlight. you watch as he takes in a deep breath, and then exhales: "... what books did amund give you today, my love?"

"you know very well that all amund gives me are books and scrolls about lemuria," you huff, thinking of the stack of dusty old books the old man had shoved into your hands at noon, "which would not bother me, if he did not sneer so condescendingly while he gave them to me."

"alright, alright." he sighs, there will be things to discuss with amund in the morning, if the slight exasperation in his tone is anything to go off of. and then, he asks, voice gentle: "what did you learn about the gods, my heart?"

" OUR GOD OF THE TIDES HATH BEEN TAINTED. HIS SKIN HATH BECOMETH SPECKLED. HIS HEART HATH BEEN SURRENDERED. NAY LONGER PERFECT IS HE, WHO IS'T HATH, IN LOVESICK FOLLY, GIVEN BOTH LIFE & DOMAIN. "

"they say you are no longer perfect." you murmur, brushing your lips against his jawline, "using their definition, perhaps they are right. you have scars, and little beauty marks."

"the scars are inevitable. you should know it yourself, my heart." he sighs, solemn, "but they dissolve with us during each seamoon ceremony — i am not reborn with the scars of my past."

"and the beauty marks?"

he hesitates, a bit. there's a far-away look in his eyes that you've grown used to seeing. "they persist and accumulate." rafayel states eventually, as if it's fact, "new ones appear, but i never lose them."

"you never lose them?" you echo, and he nods.

leaning into him, you inspect his face as best as you can in the moonlight. your lips graze his cheek, right above where one lies below his eye. another lies at the tip of his nose, and you repeat the action, rafayel's breath hitching beneath your touch. another sits at the bridge of his nose, and you feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin as you continue.

"there is something about them, in the books." you start, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. rafayel leans into the warmth of your touch (after all, you think, grimly, a stray dog will take all the food it is offered, afraid to go hungry again), and you continue with a smile against his skin, "they say that they represent where your lover loved to kiss you, in your past lives."

rafayel hums, holds you ever closer in his arms, considers the thought. when he falls silent, you know he is aeons away; somewhere below the waves, somewhere thirty thousand years away—you patiently wait for his return, like the shore that welcomes a weary sailor home. a gentle kiss is pressed to right above where his heart should be, and another in the middle of his collarbone. it's instinct, second nature, as natural as the way waves lap at the shoreline and leave seafoam in their wake.

"perhaps there is some truth in that." he finally says, returned to your side from his reverie. he presses a kiss to your temple, a gentle smile against your skin, "after all, it seems you still do as you used to, even now. determined to uphold tradition, are you?"

( & aeons ago, beneath the waves, lies the first mark; the first bearer of sin in eden. a young god of the sea laughs, a rumble in his chest, as his beloved kisses right above where his heart should be. every touch is reverent, like tending to an altar. it is no wonder, then, that he entrusted his heart to such a devout worshipper — after all, it will be in loving hands. )

a/n : hi hi hi i think lnd needs to CALM DOWN with all the rafayel banners or i'm gonna intervene. quite rushed and not as deep symbolism woooo as the last one because i was in a haze.... abysswalker my beloved is as odd to write as usual but i think it's not too ooc... also this is just a little manifesting/tribute thing for my god of the sea rafa myth pulls today i want him to come home !!! i'm so so excited for the myth story !!!! good luck to anyone pulling! may the god of the sea give us his heart without us needing to open our wallets 🫧💕 if you sent in a request recently for the follower event, thank you! it'll still be a bit until i can answer them, but it shall be done !!! <3 will be crossposted to my ao3 if you prefer the fic being in actual capitalisation and in normal text!

update: i had to drag him home with 130 pulls ,,,, i also spedran the myth,,, guh buh,,, whadahell,,, someone please talk to me about them,,,,

[sheltiechicago]

Mausoleum In Romania

“The Echo Of The Forgotten Sacred”: I Explored The Most Beautiful Abandoned Religious Places

By Jahz Design

Orthodox Church In Greece

Church In France

Orthodox Church In Greece

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

[just-agirl-lol]

Hidden Room | Hobie B. 𖨆❤︎𖨆

‧̍̊˙· .° ｡˚♡Masterlist♡˚｡ °. ·˙‧

Pairing: SpiderPunk!Hobie Brown x fem!SpiderGoth!reader

Summary: Where SpiderGoth and SpiderPunk sneak into a hidden room from time to time to makeout.

Genre: Fluff 🦇

Warnings: Heated makeout session and I think that's it.

Word count: 365

A/N: I AM FINALLY BACK!!! it feels like I have been gone for ages, I am so happy to finally be back I'll be definitely active from now on.

Enjoy <3

Hobie Brown, the one and only SpiderPunk, and you, the outstanding Spider-Goth, found yourselves in a hidden room almost nobody knew about at HQ. The room, without everybody seeing you, became the perfect place for stolen moments shared between the two of you.

As the door closed behind you, anticipation filled the air. The tension between you was more than noticeable, your eyes locked with intensity. Without hesitation, Hobie closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face as he claimed your lips in a passionate kiss.

The room radiated an electric energy as your bodies pressed against each other, aching to be closer. Hobie's hands roamed your sides, leaving a trail of tingling sensations behind. Your fingers tangled in his hair, deepening the kiss as your tongues danced.

Moans and sighs filled the room, the air thick with desire. The outside world long ago forgotten as the connection between you and him intensified.

Lost in the moment, time became irrelevant. Each touch, each caress, initiated a fire within you that burned brighter than any star. The hidden room became a place where you and Hobie could freely express your passion for the other, unbothered by the world outside.

As the intensity grew, the boundaries between you blurred, and the lines that separated SpiderPunk and SpiderGoth became indistinguishable. In this private sanctuary, you were simply two souls united in a passionate embrace, connected by the love and passion for each other.

Minutes turned into hours, and breathless whispers of affection echoed in the room. The room became a sacred space, a spot where the two of you could revel in the boundless affection you held for one another.

Finally, as the heat of the moment reached its peak, you reluctantly broke apart, your chests heaving. Your gazes met, a mix of love, lust and passion reflected on them.

Hobie leaned his forehead against yours, his voice husky with emotion. "You're everything to me, love. In this room, it's just you and me, no masks, no responsibilities, no anyone. I love you."

You smiled, your heart overflowing with love for the rebellious SpiderPunk before you.

This boy was gonna be the death of you

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡♡ Love, Mars ♡♡

A/N: My first time writing for Hobie or anything spiderman related but I didn't hate the result as much I thought I would so there's that.

Hope you have a nice day/night ෂ

[bennusimurgh]

"The Chronicles of Forgotten Light"

Chapter One: The Council of Echoes

---

The Council chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern architecture, a sacred space that seemed to

exist outside of time. High vaulted ceilings, soaked in centuries of history, were adorned with glowing

runes that pulsed with life, responding to the thoughts and emotions of the beings gathered below. Soft

golden light streamed into the room from crystalline spheres that floated in the air, shifting colors in

tune with the mood of the discussion.

Representatives from across the galaxy had gathered in this hall—beings of incredible diversity, each

one embodying the unique beauty and power of their race. Tall and luminous, Ethereal beings seemed

to shimmer as they moved, their garments ranging from simple robes to intricate, ornate attire, each

bearing the emblem of their status. Alongside them stood warriors with bronze skin, wisps of smoke in

humanoid form, and metallic creatures that glinted in the light, all coexisting in a delicate balance.

Despite the importance of the topics being discussed, the atmosphere in the chamber was thick with

the weight of bureaucracy—a slow, creaking machine of deliberation that had long lost momentum. The

Council was mired in debates over trivial issues that could quickly wear down even the most patient

listener.

Dundul Kron sat in his seat, his gaze drifting over the assembly, but his thoughts were far from this hall.

His restless mind sought escape from the monotony. And as often, he slipped away to another place,

far removed from the noise and tedium.

With a deft shift, he connected to the collective unconscious and, with just one leap, transported

himself to a bar, leaving the assembly behind. His decisions would be recorded and documented

regardless; why waste energy on being present where the only task was to select the distinctive feature

of a specific model, or to decide why it should have a particular color, with periodic rescan for

additional functions that enhance the model’s ability to perform its assigned tasks?

In this other reality, everything was sharper, more vivid. Here, there were no debates, no endless

discussions, only peace and harmony. The bar where Dundul had transported himself was located on

the rings of Saturn, a place that epitomized tranquility and seclusion, far from the bustle of the galaxy.This bar, hidden among billions of icy and rocky particles, offered a breathtaking view of the planet's

rings, slowly streaming through the vastness of space. It was called "On Saturn's Rings" and was the

embodiment of what could be called the perfect place for those seeking quiet and solitude away from

the chaos of the universe.

The interior of the bar was simultaneously cozy and futuristic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed

guests to gaze out at the endless expanse of Saturn and its famous rings. Beyond these windows, like a

river of time, the distant stars slowly drifted by, creating a sense of eternity and calm.

Tables and chairs, made of soft yet sturdy materials, were arranged so that each visitor could enjoy the

panoramic view. The lighting in the bar was subdued and soft, emanating from neon tubes that gradually

changed color depending on the time of day and the mood of the patrons.

The bartender, seemingly an extension of the bar itself, effortlessly mixed drinks that seemed to absorb

the atmosphere of the place. Each cocktail served here was more than just a drink; it was an entire

universe of flavors and sensations, adjusting to the emotions and thoughts of those who consumed it.

This bar was the place where one could come to ponder important decisions, immerse oneself in

reflections on life and the universe, or enjoy a moment of silence in the vastness of space. For Dundul, it

was the perfect place to meet her—a place where time slowed down, allowing him to focus on what

truly mattered.

Meeting with Sophia was what truly mattered now. She was a beacon of calm in the storm of his

thoughts, her presence a reminder of the beauty that lay beyond the confines of duty. Her deep,

understanding eyes met his gaze, and a soft smile played on her lips as she voiced the question that had

been lingering in her mind.

“It’s fascinating how you understand things as if you’re seeing through layers of reality,” she began, as if

continuing a thought out loud. “I had a strange feeling during my last work. It was as if my brushes were

painting not by my hand, but by someone else’s. Is this what you talk about—the unconscious?”

“It’s similar to what Jung would call ‘the projection of the unconscious onto matter,’” Dundul replied,

smiling slightly. “Perhaps your brushes weren’t guided by your hands but by archetypes hidden deep

within your subconscious. They might manifest through you, as if you were a conduit for their energy. Do

you feel them influencing you?”She pondered this, her gaze drifting to the rings of Saturn outside the window.

“Yes, but it’s a bit unsettling. It feels like there are two forces within me: one striving to express

something I can’t understand, and the other trying to maintain control. Have you ever felt that?”

“Often,” Dundul responded calmly, his voice deep and assured. “It’s the eternal struggle between

consciousness and the unconscious. The second force is your ego, trying to maintain order. But to

achieve true harmony, we must learn to listen to both sides. Have you ever tried talking to these forces

as if they were living beings?”

She nodded slowly, her face lighting up with understanding.

“Talking? I’ve never thought of it that way. But you’re right, they do seem alive. How would you suggest I

begin such a dialogue?”

“Try entering a state of light trance, when you’re on the edge between sleep and wakefulness,” Dundul

suggested, his voice nearly a whisper, as if he were sharing a sacred secret. “In that moment, you can

visualize these forces. Imagine them as figures with whom you can converse. Ask them what they want

to tell you, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.”

She looked at him, her eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“I’ll try. It seems like this could be an important step toward understanding what’s happening inside me.

Thank you. I feel a bit more at ease knowing you’ve been through something similar.”

Dundul smiled gently.

“We all go through this, it’s just that not everyone realizes it. I’m glad I could help. Remember, this is a

journey to your true self, and only you can define what it means.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a natural exchange between two souls connected by a deep

bond—a love that transcends the physical, a union rooted in mutual understanding and respect. They

didn’t need words to express it; their shared presence was enough.But as Dundul began to speak again, he felt a familiar tug at the edge of his consciousness. The Council

chamber was calling him back, its sluggish discussions demanding his attention. He blinked, and the

serene landscape outside the bar window faded, giving way to the grand hall filled with beings from

across the galaxy.

He straightened in his seat, realizing that his brief mental escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. The speaker at

the podium had paused, his eyes fixed on Dundul with an expression of curiosity and something else.

The room had fallen silent, all eyes turning toward him. Misael, a figure known for his rare but impactful

interventions, stood at the edge of the gathering, his gaze locked onto Dundul.

Dundul sighed inwardly, preparing to re-engage with the discussion. But before doing so, he allowed

himself one last thought of the woman in the bar and the utopia they both knew—she was so close.

— And don’t forget to stay with me, he thought to himself. — The journey has only just begun.Chapter 2: The First Artifact

---

‘‘Introduction and Familiarization’’

Dundul was stationed at an ancient archaeological site located in one of the most remote corners of the

galaxy. This forgotten outpost, which once served as a hub for studying ancient civilizations, was now

engulfed in silence and oblivion. Centuries had passed since the last scientist left these walls, leaving

behind only dust and ruins.

But recently, the station had once again attracted the attention of researchers. Strange energy surges

detected in this region indicated the presence of something unusual, possibly linked to ancient artifacts

that held the power and wisdom of long-lost peoples. Now, with the station becoming a focal point of

interest once more, Dundul had arrived to unravel the mysteries hidden deep within.

This life-sustaining planet had become the subject of investigation due to its unique position and

complex history. Once, Salt III had been part of a great civilization, but now only ruins and enigmas

buried beneath its surface remained. The shift in the planet's axis in the past had led to climate

changes, making it similar to Earth, though with a less polluted atmosphere.

Salt III was surrounded by a massive ring system, reminiscent of Saturn's rings, but with a mystical

touch, as if the planet itself was encased in ancient artifacts. These rings, encircling the planet, created

a mesmerizing spectacle in the night sky, giving everything around a sense of mystery and eternity.

The station was built many centuries ago on the ruins of an ancient city, which may have been one of the

centers of the vanished civilization. The station's main dome, constructed from a durable and nearly

invisible energy material, provided protection from harsh external conditions and allowed the station's

inhabitants to observe the majestic rings shimmering in the night, evoking a feeling of peace and

oblivion.

The planet's terraforming process had begun, but it was interrupted for unknown reasons. Outside the

dome, the atmosphere was still unbreathable, though its composition was slowly changing. A complex

life-support system artificially maintained a favorable environment inside the station. Biomes, where

rare plants were cultivated, played a crucial role in oxygen production. These domes resembled vast

parks filled with diverse flora and fauna, where both exotic plants and rare animals thrived. Thesebiomes not only sustained life on the station but also served as a reminder of nature's vitality, despite

being far from their home worlds.

Around 50 people lived on the station — archaeologists, engineers, biologists, linguists — each a

specialist in their field. They formed a diverse group, gathered from across the galaxy for a single

purpose: to unravel the mysteries of ancient civilizations and use their knowledge to understand the

present and future. The researchers lived in compact modules connected by a system of corridors that

provided easy access to various excavation zones and research centers. Though small, these modules

were designed to create a cozy atmosphere and foster a sense of camaraderie. However, some

preferred to live in townhouses located in the park zones of the biomes, where they could enjoy solitude

and the tranquility of nature.

Despite the harsh conditions, the station became a place where a sense of camaraderie thrived. Those

who lived and worked there became like family. In such extreme conditions, mutual support was not

just a necessity but the foundation of survival. Here, on the edge of the galaxy, amid cold wastelands

and ancient ruins, unique human bonds were formed, built on trust, mutual aid, and a common goal.

In the evenings, when the workday ended, the station's inhabitants often gathered in the central hall

beneath the main dome. There, they discussed their discoveries, shared thoughts, and told stories of

their home worlds. These moments were essential for maintaining morale and fostering a sense of

unity. Dundul, though lost in his own thoughts, could not help but feel the powerful energy emanating

from these people. Their dedication to their work and to each other inspired him to achieve new heights.

At the same time, especially for the sensitives, the station's atmosphere was imbued with a sense of

mystery. Every corner, every ancient mechanism seemed to hold secrets, waiting for their time to be

revealed. Dundul, with his innate ability to delve into the essence of things, could not help but feel this

tension, this call from antiquity that echoed in his mind.

But he needed to complete routine tasks before he could unravel these mysteries. Scanning debris,

analyzing energy fields, checking the operation of old mechanisms — all these were part of the work

that needed to be done to prepare the station for further exploration. These moments, filled with

monotony and sameness, seemed especially dull against the anticipation of what might be discovered

next.

Dundul wandered the station slowly, lost in thought. To him, artifacts were more than just ancient

objects. He understood that their true power lay not in their physical shell, but in what they symbolized.

An artifact had meaning only to the one who created it, and only in that person's hands did it hold truevalue. In Dundul's view, there was no difference between artifacts and totems — they were all merely

reflections of their creators' inner worlds.

Yet despite his skepticism about material objects, Dundul knew that they could be the key to unraveling

deeper truths. Each artifact held a piece of history, a fragment of knowledge that could shed light on

current events. Runes, though merely symbols to him, could still contain hidden power, capable of

opening doors to new understandings.

Immersed in these reflections, Dundul continued his work, preparing for the upcoming quest that

awaited him. With each step, he felt the station's mysterious energy becoming more palpable,

foretelling an inevitable encounter with what lay hidden in its depths.

The scientific team assembled to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this enigmatic planet.

Still, as time went on, internal harmony began to unravel under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the

unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

‘‘New Discoveries’’

The first signs that the station was on the verge of great discoveries came unexpectedly. Routine scans

conducted on the surface and deep within Salt III began detecting powerful energy surges. Initially, they

were dismissed as equipment errors or natural phenomena, but over time it became clear that these

were not random spikes. These energy anomalies were too regular, too powerful, and too purposeful.

Dundul, responsible for this sector, gathered the team to analyze the new data. It soon became evident

that the sources of these surges were located in the ancient ruins, deep beneath the planet’s surface.

Analysis showed that these surges were linked to something more significant than simple artifacts —

possibly to the awakening of a consciousness of an ancient civilization that had been dormant for

centuries in the depths of Salt III.

The more the researchers delved into their study, the more it seemed that their actions were themselves

the catalyst for this awakening. The terraforming process, which had been interrupted millennia ago,

began slowly resuming. The planet's atmosphere became cleaner, more stable; the domes that

protected the station started to disappear as if the planet itself had decided to reveal itself to its new

inhabitants.However, the joy of such discoveries quickly darkened. Along with the awakening of ancient systems,

strange and disturbing phenomena began to occur on and around the station. Researchers started

encountering mysterious visions and indistinct shadows wandering the station’s corridors. These

entities seemed not to belong to this world but were closely tied to Salt III’s past. Some researchers

claimed to have seen fragments of the past, scenes of ancient battles and destruction now coming to

life before their eyes.

On Salt III, everything seemed calm and predictable at first glance, but each day spent on this planet

brought the researchers closer to uncovering what was happening on a much deeper level. The energy

surges detected by the instruments were just the tip of the iceberg, signals that something ancient was

awakening. Initially, Dundul and his team treated these as ordinary anomalies, but over time it became

clear that they were dealing with something that could not be ignored. The awakening of the ancient

mind was not driven by malevolent intent but rather a result of ancient forces striving to return the

planet to its original, paradisiacal state.

The energy enveloping Salt III was like a massive wave that swept through space and time, and with

each wave, it grew stronger, causing changes on the planet and within the researchers themselves. This

energy began to influence people's behavior, not with the aim of harming them but as a natural process

aimed at purification and restoration.

The planet’s power manifested itself subtly, covertly. The ancient mind of Salt III did not seek to control

people directly; instead, it guided them through its energy surges, creating conditions in which they

were forced to act. Each energy impulse was a message, a riddle that needed to be solved. But to do so

required not just strength, but a deep understanding that every action had its consequences. Like an

experienced ruler, the planet did not reveal its intentions, forcing those around it to act under conditions

of uncertainty.

Salt III acted through its energy surges and influence on the researchers' consciousness, compelling

them to make decisions and take action rather than merely discussing possible options. The energy of

the ancient mind awakened hidden emotions, fears, and ambitions within people. These surges were

not aimed at destruction; rather, they forced people to confront themselves, their inner demons, and

shadows. Nature sought not to destroy but to awaken the dormant power within each individual, forcing

them to act and thus cleanse themselves.

‘‘Memories of the Past’’: As Dundul immersed himself in his work, he increasingly noticed that strange

visions engulfed his consciousness. These visions were fragments of the planet's past, where ancientcivilizations performed their rituals, connecting with the forces of nature. The visions did not just come

to him; they took hold of him entirely, immersing him in the atmosphere of a distant time when artifacts

were not relics but living, active sources of power.

In these visions, he saw ‘‘Platunus’’

— a planet that was once full of life but became a victim of its own

technology. He observed how the ‘‘Temple of Energy’’ became a center of birth and death, how energy

meant for creation turned into a destructive force. These visions were so realistic that Dundul

sometimes could not tell where reality ended and illusion began.

‘‘The planet’s awakening’’ became increasingly apparent. Salt III, like Platunus, could become a victim

of its own power if it was not managed properly. But this power did not seek to destroy its new

inhabitants — it sought to restore the planet to its former glory. Dundul understood that their actions

needed to be aimed at maintaining balance, that any wrong move could lead to disaster. And though

they longed to uncover all the secrets of this land, they also realized that their mission required special

caution and respect for the forces they encountered.

With each passing day, more intense changes occurred on Salt III. The disappearance of the domes

opened new horizons for the researchers, but also brought new challenges. The awakening of ancient

spirits and entities connected to the planet’s past became a new reality for those who remained at the

station. These entities were not malevolent, but they could not fully interact with the planet’s

inhabitants without creating discomfort and fear.

These spirits were a mixture of memories and entities, gathered into a single consciousness that tried to

reconnect with the physical world. They were nothing more than archetypal shadows trapped in the

collective unconscious, attempting to restore a lost connection with reality.

Salt III, like a king, demanded respect and understanding from those who dared to step on its surface.

The planet did not forgive mistakes, but it did not seek revenge. It wanted to restore its grandeur, and for

this, it was necessary to understand its needs and goals. Those who could act consciously and with

respect had a chance to see the planet bloom again, returning to its paradisiacal state. But those who

could not handle its powerful energy were doomed to become its victims.

The researchers and Dundul found themselves at the center of this process. They had to act like wise

rulers, maintaining a balance between power and respect for the planet's force. They stood on the brink

of great discoveries, but every action they took could lead to either restoration or destruction. Salt III

demanded not only skill but also inner maturity to deal with the challenges it presented.Dundul understood that he and his team needed to become flexible, like water, to cope with the growing

challenges. They needed to act not just with strength but with wisdom, adapting to changing conditions.

Salt III, like an ancient teacher, tested the patience and adaptability of everyone who dared to enter its

sphere of influence. Like water, which always finds a way around obstacles, Dundul and his team had to

learn to navigate the invisible barriers the planet set before them. But these barriers were not meant to

stop them but to teach them to act with caution and wisdom.

With each new energy surge, with each new encounter with ancient spirits, Dundul's team increasingly

realized that they were not controlling the process but were a part of it. The planet dictated its

conditions but also revealed its secrets to those who were ready to listen and learn. The researchers

needed to become more than just observers — they had to become partners in the great restoration

process.

Salt III, despite its power and grandeur, did not seek to subjugate its guests. It sought to restore

harmony, and for this, it needed allies, not conquered slaves. To achieve this harmony, the planet

required them to have fluidity of thought, the ability to quickly adapt to new conditions, and a readiness

to change their perspective.

Dundul felt how he himself was changing under the influence of these forces. His own connection to the

collective unconscious grew stronger every day, making him more sensitive to the vibrations and

energies emanating from the planet. He realized that they were not just researchers on a mission but

participants in a grand cosmic plan that was only beginning to unfold before them.

It was this fluidity and adaptability that allowed them to avoid the traps and dangers that could have

destroyed a less flexible and dogmatic team. They had to remain adaptable in their approaches,

constantly adjusting their actions in response to the changes occurring on Salt III. The planet’s energy

could be both creative and destructive, and only those who could tune into its wavelength could truly

benefit from it.

Instead of trying to control the planet, Dundul and his team decided to work in harmony with its forces.

They stopped perceiving the energy surges as a threat and began to see them as signs and indications

that could lead them to uncovering the great secrets of the ancient civilization. This shift in approach

allowed them not only to survive but to thrive, gradually approaching the moment when Salt III would

fully reveal its deepest secrets.Salt III continued to change, and with it, so did those living on its surface. Their mission became not just

an exploration but a journey inward, a dive into the depths of their own consciousness, where the

answers to many questions they asked themselves lay hidden. They needed to become part of this

planet so that it could become part of them, and only then could they hope that everything they had

planned would lead to a successful conclusion.

Ultimately, the success of their mission depended not on how much they learned about the planet but

on how deeply they understood themselves in the process of this knowledge. Salt III was not only a test

of their knowledge and skills but also a test of their spirit, their ability to remain fluid, adaptable, and

wise in conditions that changed every minute.

So they moved forward, attuning themselves to the planet’s rhythm, merging with its energy, and

gradually uncovering the secrets it had kept for many centuries. This journey promised to be long and

difficult, but those who could adapt, who could become fluid like water, could hope that something

great awaited them at the end, something that would justify all their efforts and trials.

The scientific team, gathered to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III, soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this mysterious

planet, but as time went on, internal harmony began to crumble under the pressure of ambitions, fears,

and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

The Mystery of Artifacts and Their Influence

Energy artifacts revealed their true nature only in the hands of those connected to their creators. This

discovery was not just a scientific fact but a blow to the team's confidence. Some artifacts that had

previously seemed harmless, in the hands of those obsessed with their creators, became sources of

power. These individuals began to feel that they could control the artifact's power, but in reality, the

artifact was controlling them.

Artifacts discovered by the team on Salt III were unique in their nature and action. Each had specific

properties and could strongly influence the environment and even the researchers themselves.

However, as they delved deeper into the study of these objects, it became evident that the power of the

artifacts could have been more unequivocally beneficial. Some, like the ‘‘Misantreon’’ (named after an

ancient artifact capable of awakening the dark sides of human nature), began to sow discord and

mistrust among the team.

‘‘Misantreon’’

, an artifact emitting dark, almost imperceptible energy, was found deep within a ruined

temple and immediately drew attention. Its influence was invisible but palpable: as soon as one of thescientists began to study it, they began to feel inexplicable suspicions toward their colleagues, fear, and

a desire to possess the artifact alone. Initially, these changes were barely noticeable, but over time,

they grew into open conflicts.

Other artifacts, such as the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ (functionally similar to the Resurrection Stone), emitted

a bright energy that promoted healing and restoration. However, its power was also ambiguous: the

crystal demanded sacrifices, as if hinting at the inevitable balance between light and darkness.

The ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’

— a majestic artifact reminiscent of a lost civilization that may have used it to

revive or restore the deceased. But its bright aura hid a dark secret: every time someone tried to use its

power, they felt something slipping away in return, as if the crystal demanded sacrifices in exchange for

its action.

These two artifacts became the epicenters of conflict. Some scientists, obsessed with the idea of using

‘‘Misantreon’’ to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, insisted on further research despite its

obvious negative impact on the team. Others, on the contrary, saw in the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ the key to

restoring harmony on the planet, although its dark sides caused no less concern.

Conflicts Within the Team

As tension within the team grew, two opposing groups began to form. One, led by Dr. Laren, believed

that the artifacts should be studied at all costs, even if it involved certain risks. Laren argued that

without a deep understanding of the artifacts' power, they could not uncover all the planet's secrets.

Her supporters believed that the risk was justified and that the knowledge that could be extracted from

the artifacts was worth it.

The other group, led by Dr. Iris, called for caution. They saw how the influence of ‘‘Misantreon’’ and the

‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ was changing their colleagues' behavior and believed that continuing the research

could lead to catastrophic consequences. Iris and her supporters insisted that the artifacts should be

isolated and studied remotely to avoid their negative influence.

“We cannot afford to lose our sanity for the sake of discovery,” Iris said at one of the team meetings.

“These artifacts may hold not only knowledge but also destruction. If we’re not careful, Salt III will

become our grave.”

Meanwhile, the artifacts continued to exert their influence on the researchers. Each of them felt the

pressure emanating from the ancient relics. ‘‘Misantreon’’ heightened paranoia and distrust, makingpeople more closed off and aggressive. Some even began to see their colleagues as rivals rather than

allies, leading to open conflicts and quarrels.

The Influence of Artifacts on Consciousness

The influence of the artifacts on the researchers' consciousness became increasingly apparent. Visions

that initially seemed like mere illusions began to invade their reality. Some began to experience an

inexplicable fear of the artifacts, while others felt an irresistible attraction to them. These behavioral

changes intensified, leading to conflicts within the team. Dundul, with his natural resistance to such

influences, began to notice how his colleagues were slowly but inexorably changing.

The ‘‘Shadow of Power’’, an ancient staff capable of subjugating its wielder's mind, became the focal

point of such influences. One researcher, under its influence, began to see himself as a ruler striving for

power at any cost. These visions were so vivid that he began to perceive his colleagues as threats to his

future greatness.

The researchers realized that they needed to protect themselves and their team from the artifacts'

influence. They began creating protective gear designed to block the relics' effects on consciousness.

The team also started training to strengthen their inner resilience and concentration to withstand the

forces contained in the artifacts. Dundul, with his innate mental defense abilities, became a mentor for

others, teaching them methods of resisting ancient influences.

Chaotic Control

At the peak of the crisis, when ‘‘Misantreon’’'s influence reached its zenith, the team faced the greatest

danger. The energy released by the artifact began to break down the station’s defense systems.

Everything seemed doomed to fail. But those who remained sane knew that chaos could only be

controlled by embracing it. The team’s actions, which seemed chaotic and meaningless, were actually

meticulously calculated.

Even the most powerful protective measures could not fully shield them from the artifacts' influence.

When the incident with ‘‘Misantreon’’ occurred, the station plunged into chaos. The dark energy

released by the artifact began to spread at an unimaginable speed, like a living entity seeking to engulf

everything in its path. Everything happened so quickly that it seemed each moment teetered on the

brink of destruction.The team, gripped by panic, froze in terror at the unmanageable force. But those who remained

conscious immediately pulled themselves together. Without a word, as if by an invisible command, they

began to act. The intricate dance of interactions that unfolded at the station appeared chaotic and

unstructured to an external observer, but within this chaos, there was hidden harmony.

Every action was part of a complex plan, with each note played at the right moment. The entire team,

acting as one, began working, creating a symphony out of chaos. They knew they couldn’t fully suppress

‘‘Misantreon’’’s energy, but they could redirect it. At the moment of climax, the artifact was encased in a

protective field and transported to an indestructible vault. This step was necessary to save the station

and continue their mission.

When it was all over, silence reigned on the station. The researchers realized they had encountered

something beyond their understanding. But they also realized that the power contained within the

artifacts could be both creative and destructive. It was important not to suppress it but to learn to work

with it, respecting its nature.

Now they knew their mission was not just a scientific inquiry but a spiritual journey, in which they had to

find a balance between the thirst for knowledge and respect for the forces they were unveiling. Salt III

continued to hold its secrets, but now the team was prepared for new challenges, understanding that

their success depended not only on knowledge but on their ability to maintain balance between light

and darkness.

And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without

losing their humanity in the process.

“These artifacts,” Dundul said as the situation on the station began to stabilize, “can give us answers to

many questions. But they can also lead to our demise if we don’t learn to understand and respect them.

We must remember that the power hidden within them can be both creative and destructive.”

This incident was a turning point for the team on Salt III. The conflicts and disagreements that nearly led

to disaster showed how dangerous the misuse of the artifacts' power could be. The researchers

understood that their mission was not only about the pursuit of knowledge but also about maintaining a

balance between the thirst for discovery and caution.Salt III continued to hold its secrets, and each day brought new challenges. However, the team now

acted with greater caution, understanding that every action they took had consequences not only for

themselves but for the entire planet. And though they continued to strive to uncover the secrets of the

ancient civilization, they knew that their success depended on their ability to maintain unity and respect

for the forces they had encountered.

Thus, the station on Salt III became not only a place of scientific research but also an arena where

human ambitions and fears clashed with ancient forces awakened from a deep slumber. And only time

would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing the most

valuable thing — their humanity.

[teyums]

can you write neteyam x reader you spend a night together at the tree of souls before he leaves with his family and he wants you come with him?🫶

“Come With Me.”

a/n: a little something bc it’s been a while <3 wc: 769

pairing: neteyam x fem! na’vi reader

warnings: none

News hadn’t been the only thing broken the day Neteyam confessed a fate you never thought he’d be bound to. Him and his family were to embark on a journey to a different clan, far away from home, and far away from you.

It felt as if the weight of the world had come crashing down in a matter of minutes, and the only thing able to keep you up on your feet that moment had been your strong grip on his forearms while you crumbled in his hold.

“What are you thinking about?”

Neteyam’s silky voice draws you out of your rumination, his gaze more than gentle when your head moves to look up at him.

“Nothing, ‘Teyam.” You hum, returning your cheek to its former position on his chest, pressed against the rhythmic thrum of his heart.

The two of you have been stuck to the other like glue for the past week, insistent on not wasting a single second of the time you have left together. And just like yesterday, and the day before that, you’re intwined in each other’s embrace, laid underneath the soft glow emitting from the tree of souls. A sacred place to your people, the same sacred place you both would have sealed the bond, deeming you mate’s for life, if the threat of impending war hadn’t completely destroyed your plans.

You inhale a longing breath as the length of his arm wraps around your frame to bring you closer, the rough pad of his thumb circling the round of your shoulder, and his voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?”

A rugged sigh leaves your lips and you gently pull away from him, and his eyelids lift, eyes widening slightly at the unexpected movement. The familiar sting of tears bubbles against your waterline, and you drop your gaze to focus on the ticklish blades of grass below your bodies that have surprisingly become much more interesting than the conversation at hand.

Neteyam is quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his entire body shifting towards you as well as his attention. Your head flinches away after he delicately lifts your chin with his finger and a frown takes over his lips at your sudden detached state, as well as the sight of amber glossing over with moisture.

“My love, why are you crying?” He breathes out, his face shadowed with concern.

His thumb swipes a stray tear from your cheek before you can even realize it’s escaped, and your lip trembles as you try to form words. What you settle on has his shoulders drooping as well as his moods.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Neteyam.” You murmur.

And he knows it was a stupid question. Him and the rest of the Sullys are set to leave in two days, first thing in the morning with a grueling flight ahead of them, and all you can think about is his safety. The fear that you may never get to see him again is overbearing, making itself known in your head with a haunting echo. And even louder is the fear that he’ll become betrothed to another, his memory of you long forgotten.

He pauses for a beat, and his eyes flit to where yours are locked on the ground, as if he too is thinking of what to say, before they raise to meet your face again.

“Come with me.”

Your head snaps up at that, and you stare at him incredulously, lips parting and eyes darting between his own as you search them. Surely he must be joking, but as that same determined look remains on his expression, you can’t help the way your jaw drops.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” The roll of his eyes is comical and he reaches to take your hands in his, pulling you up into a seated position with him. “Will you?”

“I-“ You’re at a loss for words, your lungs left breathless as your mind races over all the details regarding his invitation. He can almost see the apprehensive thoughts written on your face. “I don’t know, Neteyam. What about my Mom? She’d be heartbroken… And my Dad, oh gosh, there’s no way he’ll agree-“

His braids move with the action of him shaking his head, and a chuckle that wafts through your ears is enough to halt your rambling. “Just breathe, yawne. I know, it’s a lot. But you don’t have to say yes, the choice is entirely up to you. I just wanted you to know that you have one.” He assures you with a gentle stroke of your cheek and his heart flutters at the way you lean into his hand.

A soft hold circles around his wrist as you peer up at him, up into those warm eyes that never fail to convince you. But before you can say anything, before another doubt can manifest from your lips, he speaks again— a promise sincere enough to wither away your worries.

“I won’t be upset with you if you say no. But just know that wherever I go, my love for you will always follow.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated! 💗

©teyums 2023