#wailing in agony over this beautiful painting

[sgojoenthusiast]

scary? my god, you’re divine.

✧.* satoru gojo x reader.

summary:

a curse invades your home but you’re saved by none other than satoru gojo - who takes your breath away in the most beautiful way.

cw: descriptions of violence, blood, injury, psychological trauma & distress, hospitals, reader is a non-sorcerer, like one like where the reader wants to die, talks about death, not exactly love at first sight but can be interpreted as such. honestly i’m so in love with gojo so this is just me projecting. fuck 261. this may be more of me indulging in my need to write horror lol

word count: 4.4k

likes, comments & reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

The walls of your chest were closing in as your breathing gradually increased in its pace. One of your palms flew to your chest whilst the other searched for some sort of a grip on the wall beside you.

Stupidly, you had backed yourself into a corner, and now all you could do was feel the streams of tears cascade down your cheeks and land on your scrambling legs like waterfalls crashing down into the rocks below.

You tried everything you could for some sort of leverage. One hand scraped at the wall and the other at your heart whilst your legs pushed and pushed at the floor as if you could nudge yourself any further into the corner you were in.

Finding some rationality, you attempted to slow your breathing down, deciding that steady and stifled breaths would be better than attracting attention to yourself by making more noise. Though, there was nothing you could do about the sound of your heart beating erratically like it had more sense than you as it tried everything it could to escape.

At first, you had clawed your way through the halls of your home. Lights flickered, floorboards creaked, and you grunted and groaned as you fought your way through inescapable death. Yet, once you had realised every exit took you back to the entrance, and that you were in some sort of an endless maze within your own home, your mind sank into illogicality and you collapsed onto the floor as your legs gave in from fear.

It was the reverberating echo of several burly legs loitering outside the door that snapped some residue sense into your head and forced you to sit up.

There were tears staining your swollen face and it took every ounce of composure to bite your lip to muffle your cries. You wanted to scream. To wail and call for help. Yet you knew that would get you nowhere but trouble.

So for now, you hoped and prayed someone heard the sounds of slamming, glass shattering and your previous shouts and had the brilliant idea of calling the police.

But what would they do? You had seen that thing. It was horrifying. From the moment its wide, crooked smile appeared suddenly before you, a piece of you knew this would be the end. At first, you had thought you had finally gone insane. That some chord in your mind had snapped and now you had resorted to seeing things. However, when your back hit the wall across the room and you let out a shriek of agony, you knew that the monster before you was real, and so was the likelihood of certain death.

Your head suddenly raised at the splintering sound of wood snapping.

The unsettled beating of your heart ceased. The struggling of your limbs too. Each bone in your body abandoned life and shut down - refusing to move.

In front of you, the white frame of the door, decorated with faded and torn paint, had an oozing, inky smoke unfurling at a leisurely pace across the old frame, stopping shortly at the wall. In the space where the door used to conceal your existence, was one giant red eye that scanned across the entirety of the room before settling on its target - you. It blinked twice, before the door was ripped from its hinges and the wall had shrunk in size - replaced by a gigantic hole ripping through.

Soon enough the creature was crawling over to you, its legs widely shuffling across the room, scuttling closer and closer until one had slashed across your stomach, painting your top with a deep red. An agonised shout parted from your lips and your hand flew to the gash, yet you had no time to recover before another deformed limb was lifting you up against the wall by your neck.

Now, both of your hands coordinated an attack on the void-like limb, scratching and fighting at its hold around your throat in an attempt to get it off you. Your efforts were seemingly futile, however, evident by the way your vision was becoming a blur and each thought of freedom and survival was being crushed by the surface of its contorted leg.

You could only think thoughts of death, and how it wasn't coming soon enough.

Just when you thought it had ended, a radiating beam blinded your vision. The grip on your throat had been released, yet with both the ringing in your ears that muffled all other noise and the searing pain that tore through your entire body, you truly believed that you had already died. You fell to the floor once more and curled yourself up for whatever kind of familiar warmth you could acquire.

You shut your eyes tight, embracing the light they said would come to you in these final moments. But when nothing came, and the screaming wound lingered in your side, you delicately opened up one eye, moving your head slightly to look up.

There was no light. No God or unearthly being descending from above to take your hand and guide you to the afterlife. No, instead there was the back of a man. You couldn't see his face, but he was dressed from head to toe in a dark shade of blue like the hues of the night sky, and the more you stared, the more you believed you had been transported to a place you could only reach after death. However, when your eyes drifted upwards, they made out the sight of white strands of hair, and a slender hand reaching to the back of his head to undo the band of black that was wrapped firmly around it.

His hair fell down gracefully, as did one of his hands to his side, blindfold in tow, the opposite hand was raised to meet the height of his head. The sounds of his words were muffled, but you could make out an arrogant laugh and from the way the beast had halted all movements and instead opted for staring wide-eyed at the man standing in front of you, he had said something that injected fear through the monster's veins.

You could have sworn that you only closed your eyes for half a second. Yet, one blink later, and the monster's head had ceased to ever sit on its neck. The black fog that had clouded your senses and suffocated your lungs was dissipating, and there were remnants of its insides splattered on the walls and floor.

The white-haired man caught your fading gaze, and the moment his eyes connected with yours, you felt your heart slow and time stop.

His eyes.

They were angelic. Perhaps you were dead because there was nothing so heavenly like the shades of the sky in his eyes on Earth. There was nothing so remarkable, so flawless. You didn't want to blink, not even as your eyes watered and started to sting. Yet the frailty of your exhausted body refused to let you have this one thing, and so you broke the connection temporarily only to rebuild it back up again.

He began to make his way back over to you, yet you struggled to find the strength to move in order to meet him halfway. You couldn't even find the strength to move your aching body off the floor or your bruised hand of your throbbing wound. Still, with a pained wince you moved to a more comfortable position in between being flat on your back and straight on your arm.

You looked up at him from your tilted position and he kneeled down beside you. "You alright? Can you walk?"

You shook your head as best as you could, he simply stared down at you with a confusing look sparkling in the depth of his eyes - the ones you couldn't look away from.

"That's okay, sweetheart. Help is coming." He smiled at you.

Gojo was puzzled by the look on your face. For some reason, you hadn't stopped staring at him since he turned around. He assumed that perhaps it had something to do with the curse. Was it a response to the trauma you had endured? Had it cursed you? Was it him that you were afraid of? He certainly hoped not. From the moment he saw your face, albeit not in particularly amazing conditions considering you were being strangled and were halfway to death's doorstep, he felt a tingling sensation in his stomach and a pulling in his heart.

There was something about you, there had to have been for you to illicit such a reaction from every part of him within seconds of your meeting. Fuck, he prayed that he hadn't frightened you off.

"I hope I didn't scare you." He said softly, yet laughed humourlessly in a way for him to play it cool and demonstrate how you had nothing to be afraid of. With as much care and delicacy as he could muster, one hand went underneath your head, gently trying to lift you up as his other hand reached for your waist.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, as though the implications of him scaring you were nothing short of laughable. Though, as you read the thoughts behind his eyes, you could tell there was a hint of genuine concern laced within them.

This stranger, who you had never met before, felt concerned for you and had saved your life. Yet, he was anxious that he had scared you? It was a ridiculous insinuation.

"Scared me? No, it's just, that you're beautiful." Your voice was growing weaker, and just in time, you heard the sounds of more footsteps growing closer and closer. Yet your eyes focused on the way his eyes widened before he smiled, just as genuine as his concern.

"Oh yeah?" He provoked. "No need to fall for me this quickly, sweetheart. Plenty of time for that."

Ordinarily, if someone had been so bold as to suggest something like that, you would have scoffed in their face and walked away. Yet the deeper meaning of comfort he was trying to provide you with, the one that showed you that you weren't dying anytime soon, was all you needed to laugh and reply coarsely with, "We'll see about that."

The last thing you heard as you dozed off peacefully was the sound of his laugh and the feeling of his touch passing you onto someone else's.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There was an overwhelming light above you, one that was strong enough to pierce through your eyes despite the fact they were shut tightly. The light surrounding you felt like a thousand blinding suns beaming down at you from above as though you were encased in a circle of light that was urging you awake. You groaned softly, shuffling your head to the side in an attempt to bury it in the pillow and escape from the natural, ringing alarms of the light.

A pillow? Had you been dreaming? All it took was for you to try shifting onto your side to alert you that, no, you hadn't been dreaming. You winced painfully as the realisation slapped you across the face. Everything was real. The fight, the struggle, the... the monster. A trail of goosebumps washed over your body and you screwed your eyes shut like doing so would erase the memories of what had happened.

However, once you realised that he was also real, your eyes softened and in all the darkness of what you had experienced that day, the idea that the man who had saved your life was really out there, and that monster wasn't. That realisation alone was enough to wash a sense of tranquillity and closure over you.

"I wouldn't try to move if I was you." A female voice rang out - one you didn't recognise. You had already assumed that you were in a hospital, so the unfamiliarity didn't scare or panic you. Simply, your eyes slowly opened to the sight of a brunette woman in a doctor's coat, and your suspicions had been confirmed. You wondered if she knew anything of what happened.

It dawned on you that perhaps, your situation wasn't original. The man that had saved you seemed to be experienced and knew what he was doing. However, surely you would've heard if there was a mass of monsters plaguing the Earth that you lived on.

"What happened?" You questioned tentatively, voice weak and dry. Although you could practically recall the events with no missing details, you wanted to know more about the thing that had attacked you and you hoped that the doctor would have some sort of a clue if she was the one treating you. She handed you a cup of water which you accepted eagerly, reaching your hands out and thanking her quickly before you immediately went to relinquish yourself of the dry throat that had been scratching and tormenting you since you had woken up.

You saw a pass clipped to her coat as a form of identification. The name on the pass flashed across your eyes as 'Shoko', to which you took a note of before quickly returning your gaze back to hers.

"You were attacked by a curse - and no I won't. explain what that is. You can ask Gojo." She was wandering around the room slowly, head down as she wrote down a few things. Occasionally, she would you a question in regards to your health. Her voice lowered to a tone barely above a whisper. "Sure he'd love to answer considering he's been not-so-subtly asking about you non-stop."

"What was that, sorry?" You asked sincerely, placing the cup down on the bedside table. Looking up at her, you could tell she had a tired look adorning her features, however, there was a slight smirk playing on her lips as well.

You thought more about her words. Gojo. Who was that? A curse? What does that even mean? Not long ago, you were oblivious to all of this, unaware that such creatures were roaming around.

Shoko waved a dismissive hand in your direction. "Nothing. Anyway, I'm only here to make sure that the curse left no lingering side effects that would need treatment. Luckily for you, you're in the clear. So when you're all healed up, you're a free woman."

'Free wasn't necessarily how you would describe it. You recall parts of your house being smashed up by the monster - or, curse, as Shoko had labelled it.

You had so many questions. Some in regards to the curse, others more personal and unanswerable that pertained to your future. You had no idea what you'd do once you left, and that scared you.

Shoko began to place her things into her bag, taking out a cigarette in the process and placing it between her lips as she held the lighter to her side ready for when she left.

"How long have I been here?"

She looked up at you from where she was focused packing her things. "A little under a week. You're very lucky Gojo had saved you when he did. Or else, you probably wouldn't be here."

So that's who Gojo was. You perked up a little at the mention of the man who had saved you. Even if it was just once, you wanted to see him. To thank him, at the very least. "You, uh...You mentioned something about me asking him about the curse. Does that mean he'll stop by?"

You looked down, fiddling with the sheet covering your injured body, wanting to avoid her questioning gaze that most certainly had a knowing glint in it.

She merely let out a small laugh and shook her head in something similar to disbelief. "Probably. Although, he doesn't usually find himself checking up on the people he saved." Picking up her bag, she reached for the door handle. "I've gotta head out. Feel better soon, okay?"

You thanked her once again, giving her a small wave as she headed out the door.

Truthfully, you didn't know whether or not to be discouraged by her words. On one hand, she had told you that he'd probably stop by. On the other, she mentioned that he doesn't usually. Deciding not to dwell on it too much, you closed your eyes once more as another nurse walked in to take the place of Shoko, beginning to do more check-ups.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

About a week had passed by when you were finally discharged from the hospital. During that time, your close friends and family had all come to check on you. Your best friend and co-worker had offered you her spare room whilst your house was having repairs done to it. It was a nice arrangement, considering the two of you owned a bakery together so that on the days you were feeling better you had someone who could take you down. You didn't actually start working again until about a month after you had been discharged and your injuries were mostly healed up.

There was only one thing missing. Gojo had never stopped by like the doctor had told you he might, which left you with a feeling of disappointment. You tried not to let it bother you too much, but it was difficult knowing you had never been able to thank him. Another man had stopped by, however. You assumed he had some sort of a connection to Gojo and Shoko, given that he had only stopped by to ask you to sign a form that would prevent you from being able to tell anyone about what had happened. He came very shortly after Shoko, meaning you had to lie to your friends and family by telling them it was another person who had broken into your home. You signed it anyway after he assured you it was for their safety and for the safety of others.

Now, a little over a month later, you were doing a lot better. You struggled to even close your eyes at night, sometimes, and often couldn't walk through the streets on your own. But other than that, your injuries had healed, you were far less paranoid than you were a month ago and your home was close to being ready.

You were sat at the counter of the bakery you shared with your best friend, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. It was quiet, today, only a few people wandering in and ordering something to go - with it being a Monday and all.

Unexpectedly, you heard the bell ring as the door opened. Immediately, you stood up and tucked your phone into your pocket, rushing to greet the customer. However, upon looking up to see the person who walked in, you stopped suddenly in your tracks. You blinked, yet he was still there.

You thought about him so often, your mind wandering whenever you were left alone with your thoughts for too long. You thought about the way his hair crashed across his features like waves when he took off his blindfold. You thought about how he turned to look at you with those eyes locked on yours. Those eyes - so entrancing. It was as though he had bewitched you and put you under a spell the moment he looked at you because you were so enamoured by him that you didn't dare to blink. You thought about how it was apparent that he never seemed to think about you - and that made you want to reach over the counter and slap him a little. Although, especially after he saved your life, what did he owe you? Absolutely nothing. So instead, you simply watched him walk over to you with a small smile on his face.

His coat was covered in snow from the outside rampage of white whisps and cold air. Though it wasn't incredibly obvious that there wasn't any, he shook his head slightly and a few remaining flakes of snow fell from the frozen tips of his hair. Although it was winter now, he sported a pair of sunglasses - to which you assumed it was for a reason related to why he was wearing that blindfold.

For the past month, you couldn't help but wonder whether or not his angelic presence was the result of your delirious and pain-stricken state. However, upon observing him now, you determined that he really was captivating in every way. And something was telling you that he was looking at you with the same impression, although you pushed the thought away, dismissing it as foolish hope.

You had no idea what to say to him. You had been waiting for this moment for so long, yet you never thought about what you might say. Thankfully, he decided to speak up first as he peaked over the edge of his glasses at you.

"I've been looking for you." He started, his voice seemingly breathless like he'd run a mile just to get here to you - like he was tired of looking, but his work had finally paid off. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner - when you've got a job like mine it's-"

"Thank you." You interrupted. The mention of his job had smacked some sense into you as you were reminded of what he had done for you. He looked slightly taken aback. It wasn't something he heard often, but when he did it was as though he was reminded why he did this in the first place - let alone hearing it from you. The girl he hadn't been able to shake out of his head since the moment he saw her, the one he yearned to see just one more time because she looked at him like she understood him and that was all he could ever ask for. "Can I get you something?"

Gojo smiled at that, taking you up on your offer as you grabbed him his order (on the house, of course) and finally sat down with the one you had wanted nothing more than to just sit and talk with - and you did. The two of you talked for hours, occasionally interrupted by a customer or two. You thanked him profusely to the point where he threatened to leave jokingly if you thanked him again. He explained everything to you and answered all of your silent questions for you that you had to keep close to your chest for the past month. Yet, most importantly, you talked about each other. And the more you talked, the more your heart raced and heat rushed over your entire body.

The all-powerful Satoru Gojo never expected to find himself so infatuated by somebody, yet when he saved you that day, there was an inexplicable fire that was lit from within him. He'd never seen anybody so beautiful, and he had never been recognised by anything other than he strength during moments like that. When you had complimented him, he knew from within that it wasn't solely his physical characteristics you appreciated, but also the person he was inside. He felt as though you saw inside of him just from that short interaction.

As you spoke, Gojo found himself digging around with both hands trying to find that smile you kept flashing him and when you did, he didn't so much as blink because it was so bewitching. And likewise, whenever he laughed at something you said, you couldn't prevent the satisfied smile that rested on your cheeks from the prideful feeling overtaking your mind.

Your hand wrapped around your mug, savouring the delightful warmth that radiated from it in contrast to the biting cold that howled away outside the building. The two of you were sat in a corner opposite each other, and as more time passed, the more your cheeks began to ache from your constant smile and laughter and the more you dreaded to get up when a customer walked through.

"I swear! I'm a busy man okay. I was out of town when you woke up." He sulked, his head resting on his hand with a pleading look in his eyes. You laughed at his effort of reason.

"And the month following, you were..." You prompted with a humourous tone laced into your words.

Before he could answer, his hand slipped forward slightly, grazing yours and sending shockwaves throughout your entire arm and body. Avoiding his stare, you turned away, unable to conceal your smile and the way he had your breathing speed up every second he spoke to you and touched your hand like he was. At this, he pouted, leaning to the side in an attempt to catch your eyes yet you turned even more with a laugh.

Sighing, he answered your previous question. "Shoko says I was nervous. I would argue that I was simply building tension for the plot."

You snorted at his absurdity, moving your hand back to take a sip of your drink. He sagged a bit in disappointment at your actions, yet when you placed your drink back and had your hand brushing against his just the same as before, he livened up a bit and grinned at you once more. You delighted in the way he looked at you over his glasses and smiled. It had been a while since you felt a connection like the one between the two of you, yet you had never experienced it so quickly. It was all-consuming and had you on the edge of your seat in anticipation as to what he woud say and do next.

Soon enough, the day had reached its end - and if it weren't for the sun barely peaking out over the window to the bakery, you wouldn't have believed that you had practically spent the day with Gojo with it feeling like just an hour since he first walked in. Though the amount of hours you had shared with him said differently, you felt like you hadn't seen enough of him.

After he put his coat back on, he turned to face you with a smile playing on his lips. "So... I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night?"

You swore that if he hadn't invited you out to dinner when he had, you would've dragged him out later that night handcuffed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: if it wasn't entirely obvious i got a bit lazy towards the end (major character flaw of mine). i am an absolute SLUT for the non-sorcerer x sorcerer trope tho.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

[ohnoitstbskyen]

The beauty of Traditional Trundle (splash art by Mitchell Maloy)

Alright, get your thirsty comments out of the way, everyone simp for troll daddy get it it out of your systems.

This splash is a great demonstration of what I mean when I say that for me, beauty often comes from light and composition, because check out what the light is doing here. Light draws our attention and in this image it draws our attention to… like, it’s not an accident people got horny for this splash because literally the first thing it says the audience is “look at these rock hard washboard abs.” The second thing it does, is with the edge of light and shadow, it leads your attention from the abs… directly towards the crotch. So yeah, if this splash art is not horny on purpose, then it has made some terrible mistakes (it is definitely horny on purpose). But beyond that, the shadow is also doing storytelling.

There’s a Jacques Louis David painting - he was one of the chief propagandists of the Terror during the French revolution, real piece of sh** - but there is one of his paintings that come to mind when I see this splash art, not because they are similar in subject but because they demonstrate the same property of light.

This is The Lictors Bring to Brutus the Bodies of His Sons. The light in this image highlights Brutus’ wife and daughters, wailing in agony over the death of their family, and it highlights the legs of the dead son being carried through the door. But Brutus himself is in shadow, because he’s the one who ordered them to be killed. They were conspiring to bring back the monarchy, and so in an act of loyalty to the republic, he had them put to the sword.

And in that shadow, he looks ominous, doesn’t he. The intensity of his expression is magnified, the menace of his figure becomes clear. Imagine if he had been bathed completely in that golden light, imagine how differently he would read as a character.

Now let’s go back to Trundle and ask the same question: if he had been fully lit, illuminated from head to toe, would this image hit the same? Would his character feel as powerful or as dangerous? Would the composition be as horny? And the answer to all three of those is no. The light and shadow in this splash art, and the way they are used, create that very specific mood of power, menace and tension, they create that horny energy, and it is beautifully done.

---

If you enjoyed this, I have a full video on beauty in League of Legends splash art HERE.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Lich-Queen, pt 6

(Fair warning: this is gory) If you want to read the rest of the series, you'll find links in the pinned post on my blog!

This time, my entry into the hall was triumphant, complete with fanfare. The highest nobles of Ceredell hauled the doors open like common slaves, and they pressed their once vibrant lips to trumpets. Hundreds of men and women turned at the sight of me, and a wave of clapping descended upon me. I flicked a manic curtsey, then gestured at the table before me, laid out as if for a buffet.

“Let me honour you all with a gift,” I announced. “Come, watch the death of the last nobleman of fallen Ceredell!”

A revenant wheeled Tamaris out. He was splayed on a board, arms spread apart. His face was white with agony, legs twisted. I tsked at him, inspecting his bonds. “Looks like your wings have crumpled, my butterfly,” I whispered. “I wish it could have been different.”

Tamaris met my eyes, and my half-dead heart crumpled to see the love in his gaze. “It is not too late, Ire,” he said. “Do not do this. Do not succumb.” His fingers twitched in my direction, an open hand offering forgiveness.

“It is you people who should apologise,” I hissed, slapping that hand. “I am taking my blood-right.” Turning to the audience, I said, “Let us begin our last course!”

Tamaris froze, finally understanding. I took the knife from Death-in-me, placing it along his chest. “I love you,” I said, loud enough for all to hear me. “And I will make you love me too.”

Then I began carving him alive. I started with the skin, peeling it from his ribs like lifting the skin off a potato. Tamaris howled in agony, his voice touching the heavens. My orchestra matched him, starting up an accompaniment of strings and bass.

Blood blossomed like a rose, painting my gloves crimson as I lovingly opened up his flesh for the world to see. His wings formed, dripping red as my butterfly of torment emerged from his chrysalis.

With my magic, I kept him alive beyond the bounds of humanity. As I hacked out his ribs, pulling the first hunk of meat and placing it on a plate, I was struck by the beauty of his face. Even weeping, eyes bulging, nails ripped off from clawing at wood, there was a noble gallance to him. I smiled, and tenderly tore out another rib.

His wails did not stumble, did not falter, even as the delicious scent of grilled Tamaris emanated from below my stage. I unravelled his intestines, the grey ropes spilling out, as the first of my new allies feasted on my love. His offal was affectionately wrapped around my arms, draped about me like a stole. Extracting his lungs, I regretfully turned his insides over to the grill for my guests.

His kidneys were next, laid out beside a leaky liver. With delicate care, I had left his heart framed in the hollow cave of his torso, like a singular rose in a vase. It pulsated and pumped, alien and oh-so-familiar.

Viscera dripped onto the floor with wet splotches, and I could not help but giggle. The power I held in my hands, to feast upon my own beloved's flesh, to create this masterpiece of butchery… It was, for lack of a better word, aortic.

I stuck my claws into his chest cavity and ripped out his heart, leaving him dependent on my necromancy to live. He was mine, once and for all. I raised my fist triumphantly, still-beating heart in my hands. The mass below me fell silent, the music fading, even Tamaris' ululations reduced to noiseless croaks.

“Know that I am Queen,” I announced to them, to my new allies. “I rule!” Words deserted me in my ecstasy, and I released a scream. It bounced off the walls and dug into my chest, no trace of the human I had once been within it.

My people let out a full-chested cheer, like the eruption of a volcano. A thousand voices held testament to my crown. I turned to Tamaris. His eyes begged me to stop this madness. 

Spoilsport.

I kissed him passionately, lips touching his, coaxing his tongue out. The rusty taste of his mouth made my dead heart race, a virgin on her wedding night. I closed my eyes, pulling him closer with an assertive arm. For one moment, we could be on the wedding altar.

But that moment ended. I closed my jaws on his tongue, sharp teeth severing it, and ripped it out. Blood gushed in the air as I gulped the slippery flesh down. “Ahh,” I sighed tenderly. Sensually, I ran my claws around the orbitals of his eyes, tracing his eyelid, probing at his eyeball. It popped out with breathtaking ease, and I devoured the gooey feast.

Placing his heart to my lips, I kissed it lovingly. My tongue delved into the gaping arteries, devouring it. Tangy flavour exploded on my tongue, and I basked in its divinity. 

Was there any act more intimate than cannibalism? I could not think of anything. Those haunted sockets of his, mouth hanging slack, gory and broken beyond repair, held a bond deeper than any ring or vow. 

This was true love. 

I threw my head and laughed. Snapping my fingers, I severed my magic and his bonds at once. My love fell like a ragdoll, discarded and worthless. The ghouls would fix up all the remnants and serve it to my guests.

As I began walking away, the last dregs of my humanity compelled me to stop. I turned back, grabbed the hollow of his throat lightly, and whispered, “Have your eternal peace, my love. ‘Tis the least you deserve.” 

[triforce-of-mischief]

Scarred Beauty

Febuwhump Day 20: Knife Wound

Rating: T

Whump count: blood, injury

Word count: 730

Summary: The story of how Mirror got his scar.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

This AU belongs to @ezdotjpg/@bonus-links, go check them out!

Yuga was getting desperate. His teasing was less lighthearted, his attacks less sloppy. He was aiming to injure, and Link was constantly having to leap out of the line of fire.

“You think yourself better than me, little worm?” Yuga snarled, then merged into the wall. He sped around the room until Link was dizzy from tracking him.

“Are you convinced that you are as beautiful as me?” His voice echoed from all directions.

Yuga jumped out of the wall right behind Link. “Let’s fix that,” he hissed, and grabbed the boy’s face.

Link struggled for a moment, then froze when Yuga raised a long knife to the hero’s face. “Hold still now,” Yuga sang. “You need to be alive if you’re going to remember your lesson.”

Yuga’s hand closed around Link’s jaw, forcing his mouth shut. He turned Link’s head to the side and slammed it against the wall.

Dark spots danced on the edges of Link’s vision, and he blinked them away. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Yuga set the point of his blade on the left corner of Link’s mouth. Link whimpered, and Yuga hesitated. The villain met his victim’s confused and frightened gaze. For a moment, Link dared to hope that he would be spared from whatever Yuga was about to do.

Then a cruel sneer spread over Yuga’s face, and a slash of pain split Link’s wide open.

Link screamed, voice muffled by Yuga’s hand. Yuga hummed and pulled his hand back, allowing Link to unceremoniously crumple to the ground. Instinctively, Link opened his mouth to scream louder but it pulled at his face, sending more waves of agony tearing through his cheek.

“Hurts to lose your beauty, doesn’t it?” Yuga tutted, watching Link fight to regain his composure. Slowly, the boy managed to ease his mouth closed, barely reducing the stress on his cheek.

Link shamelessly sobbed on the floor, wondering how Yuga could do something so unexpectedly evil. Blood flowed down his cheek, pooling around his hands and soaking his hair. The sting of tears falling into the wound was insignificant next to the knowledge that half of his entire face was sliced open and bleeding.

Who cared about his ‘beauty’, all he knew was that it hurt.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Yuga said. “We still have to do the other side, after all.”

Link wailed, the sound almost resembling a “NO!”

He was not going to let that happen again.

Yuga had made a mistake in releasing Link while he was still armed. His sword was still sheathed on his back, and would be too slow and clumsy anyway. But Ravio’s magic quiver never ran out of arrows, and Link had enough energy left for one more sudden move. Before Yuga could realize his error, Link had pulled an arrow out of thin air and stabbed it deep into the villain’s foot.

Yuga screeched, cradling his injured foot and hopping on the other. He stumbled away from Link, ending up on the opposite side of the room. The two regarded each other warily, each panting through the pain of his wounds.

“You know, having just the one half of a smile would have made you even more ugly than if you had sat still for the other,” Yuga mused. “But now you have forced my hand. It would be in my best interest to brush you aside!”

He conjured a frame of light from his staff, and Link had no time to move before the magic rushed towards him. Link was once again pressed against the wall, but this time he kept moving closer and closer until he was inside.

“What a sad, drab painting you make. You can rot there for all I care,” Yuga said, then merged himself into the wall and slipped through a crack between the bricks.

Yuga’s magic had only increased Link’s agony, and he was uncomfortably aware of the red pigment dripping down his painted face. Hiding in the wall would do him no good, so he steeled himself and used Ravio’s old bracelet to escape. He pressed his hat to his cheek to staunch the bleeding and tried not to think about how hard it would be to clean when this was over.

His fight with Yuga had changed him in more ways than one, but for now, he needed to take the next step forward.

[mehrangaiz]

Let This Be Surrender

My heart’s arteries constrict, Like a python taunting their prey For all the agony they could inflict, And yet the mercy shown to simply asphyxiate

Am I supposed to repent for my sins, Or am I supposed to be grateful for His pity? Am I more than just a heartbreaking charity case, Or will I die without their non-profit sympathy?

My teeth have grown tired of gritting and grinding, How long can they hold back this relentless rage? And not let it seep through the cracks of this sultry lust for damnation, Before they, too, become corrupted with the primal need to obliterate?

If it’s a matter of patience, I assure you I have waited, I have watched the seasons change and become crueler everyday I stood by as everyone around me claimed victory and took home gold And yet, funnily enough, you say there is no more leniency left for me?

My eyes are tired of always quietly observing; The juxtaposition of others’ childlike carelessness, And the vastness of my adult-like decisions Who am I, if not a child far beyond my years?

You marvel at my maturity like I’m some saint or wise being, And yet, I’m just a museum of all the sorrow that defined me growing up The sight of an empty house with an anticipating child might bother you, But it ceases to matter when you’re the one who had to do the thumb-twiddling

My bones tremble from the mere weight of my body, Like an ache that just never goes away, stubbornly persistent Perseverance is great until it decides to head south, And perhaps these repeated blows would make boxers jealous

Maybe I should just call it a night, That what I always do, don’t I? I convince myself the hurt will be gone by tomorrow, And then act all surprised when the wound keeps bleeding

My throat throbs from holding back year-old wails, A frayed rope always twists around it like a noose Resembling a hostage making their victim feel guilty for speaking, Therefore, I swallow the words I have been mulling over entirely

Sometimes I wonder why I have to make my anguish beautiful Perhaps it’s the artist in me, still diligently painting masterpieces Or maybe it’s just the armour that wraps around my body every night And forces the bullets that escape my heart to ricochet for evermore

I must be the epitome of collateral damage in this forsaken universe Always caught between the crossroads of rationality and absolute insanity Always the first lamb to slaughter when things take a turn for the worst But of course, what did I expect as a war-torn refugee and a child of divorce?

More often than not, I question whether this poetry is truly therapy; For even if my words dance across this page with elegance and grace, I still can’t help but make all my devastations metaphors and similes As if the antidote to this disease is hidden beneath literary devices

“If that’s the case, then so be it!” I whisper harshly with tears still in my eyes If I am perpetually destined to hurt, then let this become my identity, Let the serpents taunt me, let my teeth erode, let my eyes tire forever, Let me bones quiver, let me throat palpitate, and please, for the love of every deity,

Let. This. Be. Surrender.

[delirious-donna]

HERE'S YPUR BAJI THIRST 🤗 I say, Baji is obsessed with biting your neck 👀

Grrr… yes! He is definitely a biter for sure. Let’s venture below the cut ^^

Warnings: post time-skip Baji (imma be real clear and say this is set in a timeline where he won't die (fingers crossed) and he is of age! This ain't 270 Baji - alright?!)

Amber irises flecked with golden highlights raked your naked body, a palm ghosted from your neck right down to your glistening pussy.

He smirked, impressed with what he considered to be a work of art. A litany of bite marks pepper your skin, a roadmap of exactly where he has been for the past hour.

Purple bruises decorate your throat, the prettiest of necklaces he can think to gift you with.

Impressions of his sharp teeth on your collarbone, dark and deep, almost piercing the fragile skin but not quite.

Your chest is a playground of small marks; nips from his teeth to the sides of your tits, blooming bruises forming on each swell from where his lips have sucked until you whimpered and struggled.

How Baji loved to hear you react, your small whines as he pumped two fingers into your tight cunt whilst marking you as his, crescendoed into outright screams of blissful agony. Your throat raw from the chanting of his name to fall past your lips and the sobs of anguish as you rolled your hips in the hopes of making him stop. Overstimulation making you so sensitive that the tiniest of touches sparked a wildfire in your chest.

The softness of your stomach wobbled, his strong fingers groped at the flesh that you told him over and over that you hated. He didn’t hate it, what he hated was how you viewed yourself, and how you refused to believe him when he told you were beautiful. This was what had caused this particular moment of madness in him. A desire to paint you with his marks.

You were his canvas, but most importantly, you were his muse.

Baji kissed the seam of your thigh, tasting your sweet nectar and letting the scent fill his lungs until only you consumed him - body and soul.

He licked a patch of your skin that was flawless and unmarred. Eyes burning he grinned that wolfish grin that had made you melt from the very beginning and you knew what he intended. You shook your head, barely the strength in your body for the movement but you managed.

“No, no, no.”

It was so cute how you said no but to his ears you meant yes, Baji indulged you a moment as he rested his face on a fist.

“Ready to admit you’re beautiful?” he asked, his voice dripping in warm honeyed tones.

The faint squeak and the palms that lifted to cover your face were all the answer he needed. He sighed, feigned exasperation but was already licking his lips in anticipation.

Open-mouthed kisses smeared along your thigh, his warm tongue lapping back and forth before he struck with the killing blow. Teeth sinking into your supple flesh to your loud wails. Slick coated his fingers that continued to toy with your slit, and he basked in the sensation of placing one final mark.

You were his beautiful girl, and he wanted everyone to know you were his…

[writtenonreceipts]

Prompt for feysand single parent au where feyre catches Rhys making weird face to make serene laugh🥺

Not my favorite update. Sorry. But I do already have the next part mostly written! Hooray!

warnings: none, fluff

Of What Can’t Be Explained

Feyre had never been more grateful for lunch breaks than she was that Wednesday. Truly the fact that she could put up a sign saying she was on break and wouldn't be back for two hours was a glorious feeling. Especially when she held a screaming one and a half year old in her arms.

"Oh baby girl," Feyre sighed. She bounced Seren on her hip as she paced around the shop.

All last night the baby had been crying, unable to get comfortable. It seemed that Seren had developed a bit of a cold and was now running a slight fever. Feyre hadn’t slept at all either. It was far too reminiscent of her pregnancy days. She’d been sick as a dog all nine months and it hadn’t helped matters when she kept expecting Tamlin to show up out of the blue. Last night seemed to have brought those memories up to the surface because she hadn’t left Seren’s room except to warm up a bottle or pace the apartment with the baby in arm.

Feyre should have just closed up the store for the day but a customer had placed an order for a hand painted pallet of Feyre’s design as well as some art supplies. She couldn’t turn down a sale. Just like she couldn’t put her daughter through this misery.

Seren whimpered loudly and nestled into Feyre’s neck.

“I know,” she murmured, “I know.”

Her heart clenched at the discomfort Seren must have been in. Feyre had already gotten Seren to take a small dosage of medicine, but it didn’t seem to be doing much. A part of her wondered if she should take Seren to the hospital, just to be sure it wasn’t anything serious, but hospitals had always filled Feyre with dread.

Ever since the first time she’d been in the ER with a broken rib--accident of course because how else could she have fallen down the stairs--Feyre had learned to avoid hospitals. And police officers.

Feyre knew things were different now. She knew that it was safe to seek out help. Well, as safe as it could be.  Still, she didn’t want to risk someone finding her that she didn’t want to.

The door to the shop jingled open causing Feyre to bite back a curse. Hadn’t she locked the door?

“We’re closed for lunch,” Feyre said as she turned. She nearly faltered at the sight of Rhysand entering the shop. "Oh."

She was so shocked to see him that she almost didn't notice the woman who walked in behind him.  Though, in all honesty she was staring pretty blatantly at the man with the raven black hair and neat slacks and button up.  He was too damn attractive.

"Feyre," Rhys greeted with that same bright smile that always seemed to make her heart flip. "Sorry we're invading your lunch time."

"I'm Mor," the woman said quickly as she stepped forward. She was absurdly beautiful with her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes that sparked with interest as she looked Feyre over. "I placed an order--"

"Right, of course, " Feyre said quickly.  She’d only recently started accepting online orders to attract more business.  The distraction of the order was nice as she could now try to not let the image of Rhys with an attractive woman beside him bother her. "Let me just--"

Seren chose then to let out a wail as Feyre made to set her down. Her little cries were of pure agony at any prospect of being separated from her mother.

"Seren," Feyre soothed. She ran a hand through her daughter’s hair and in soothing circles over her back. "Seren, love."

Seren let out a garbled string of sobs. “No, no, n-n-n-no!”

Tears of her own pricked Feyres eyes. Not just of embarrassment over her daughter having a melt down and she could do nothing about it--but the fact that it was in front of Rhys of all people.

"Can I?" Rhys asked, taking a step forward.

Too exhausted to resist, Feyre let Rhys take Seren's wiggling sobbing body and tuck her against his side.

"Hey Seren," he murmured softly as he ran a hand soothingly over her back.

Seren began mumbling incoherently.

"You're not feeling good, hmm?" Rhys said and bounced Seren lightly.

Seren shook her head vehemently before she burrowed right into Rhysand’s side, effectively tucking herself there as though she belonged.

"He's always been good with women," Mor mused as she came to stand next to Feyre.  She smiled amusedly.

Feyre couldn't take her eyes away from the sight of Rhysand holding her daughter gently, so kindly. Seren of course didn't calm down. Not immediately, but Rhys didn't seem to mind. Not as he began to pace the shop all while murmuring to Seren.

This was a strange image that she had to reconcile against what she’d always known about Rhysand. In High School he’d been the charming type, the cool and confident, the kind of person that Feyre hadn’t considered touching with a ten-foot pole. Coated in arrogance and dismissal, Rhysand Avitas would have been the last person she would want holding her daughter.

But now, at that moment--all Feyre could feel was ease and comfort knowing someone was being kind to her daughter. For the first time that day, Feyre was able to take a full breath. She still wasn't sure about leaving her screaming child with the mayor, her former enemy, but he had yet to complain.

"Really," Mor insisted, her smile far too kind for anything Feyre deserved. "Rhys loves kids, he takes care of his little sister all the time."

"Right," Feyre said, turning to Mor. "I have that order ready for you. You can just follow me to the back."

Set up near the back room was a line of shelves where Feyre organized orders and holds. Feyre pulled out the art supplies and handed it to Mor.

"How long have you been painting for?" She asked, always eager to strike up a conversation about art. She rarely had the time to take a moment and get to know her customers.

"Um, not even?" Mor laughed and shook her head. "I'm trying new things this year. My father disowned me so we are on a journey of self-discovery. "

The answer was so blunt and open that Feyre could only stare. Mor grinned.

“It’s been great,” Mor insisted, “Rhys is letting me crash at his place for a while. Just like old times, except his brothers are always there.”

“I didn’t know Rhys had brothers,” Feyre admitted with a laugh as she tried to imagine exact replicas of Rhys wandering around. And then because she had no self control, she added, “or a girlfriend?”

Mor sputtered a good-natured laugh. “Hell no. We’re cousins. But that won’t stop me from threatening to murder him on occasion.”

The look on Mor’s face was enough to make Feyre laugh--though she did feel a little foolish about her question. What business of hers if Rhys had a girlfriend? And why should she care?

“Yeah, Rhys and I grew up separately for a while. But, he’s always had Cassian and Azriel by his side. They’re more or less brothers at this point honestly,” Mor said. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “They grew up together and everything, though Cassian was sent to military school when he was fifteen. He and Benham never quite got along.”

Feyre had never heard anything about this. Even if she’d never talked to Rhysand before, in high school he had been the topic of every conversation. She’d heard about him breaking into Helion Cleaver’s boathouse. She’d known the kind of sports player he was, who he was dating. But she’d never known he’d had brothers, a cousin, this complete other side to him.

“Anyway, sorry,” Mor continued, “I figured you’d have known. Rhys has talked about you quite a bit.”

“What?” Feyre sputtered a laugh. “Why would he talk about me?”

Mor gave her an amused look. “I dunno, I guess he just values your friendship.”

Friendship. Friends. With Rhysand Avitas. The thought was surprising, it had only been a few weeks, hardly even two months of the occasional visit or conversation. But Feyre couldn’t bring herself to deny it.

“I guess we are friends,” Feyre consented. “I’d never realized it before.”

The two women headed to the main part of the store to find Rhys seated on the floor with Seren. She had her favorite ball in hand and was waving it around while she…laughed. Feyre watched as she tossed the ball awkwardly to Rhys who made a dramatic show of catching it and pulling a funny face as he did so.

Clapping her hands, Seren giggled as Rhys rolled the ball back toward her and the process began again. Apparently all it had taken was a moment away from her mother and her favorite ball and the girl was happy as ever.

“Ball!” Seren cheered. “Again!”

Rhys rolled the little blue ball towards her that she immediately snatched up and tossed wildly. Making a lunge to the side, Rhys managed to catch the ball before it hit the floor.

Seren laughed. When she noticed Feyre had returned, her blue eyes lit up. “Mama! Mama, Rhys has the ball.”

“I see that, you are throwing so well!” Feyre said. She'd been in such a grumpy miserable mood the entire morning that this brief respite of peace was a bit shocking, but Feyre would take it.

Rhys rolled the ball back to Seren and she grabbed it up before running over to Feyre. The girl promptly wrapped her arms around Feyre’s legs and refused to let go.

"Mama! Up!"

"Oh child of mine," Feyre mused. Her arms were full with the piece that Mor had ordered, but Seren of course paid that no mind.

"Here," Rhys stood and immediately came to claim the canvas in Feyre’s arms.

She smiled gratefully and scooped her daughter up. Seren wasted no time in whacking Feyre upside the head with her ball. On accident of course.

"You will be the death of me," Feyre said, ticking Serens side. The baby giggled and nestled into the crook of Feyres neck. She smiled softly and crossed to the register. "Alright Mor, let's get you settled."

"You have no idea how excited I am about this," Mor said as she handed Feyre her card, “I’ve been wanting to start a new hobby for ages.”

“If you ever need help or tips, I’m more than willing to help you out,” Feyre said.

Mor grinned. “I will certainly take you up on that.” She took her new items in hand and nodded to the door. "I'm going to take these out to my car.”

"How have you been, Feyre?" Rhys asked her once Mor was gone.

"Aside from being up all night with a sick baby?" Feyre mused. "Alright. And you? I hear the elections are coming up. You're running to keep office again aren't you?"

"Yeah," Rhys agreed. "It's been hectic lately. My father is also on the election roster for police commissioner and it's been bringing us a bit of attention."

He did not appear pleased about that. The look passed just as soon as it came though.

"My brother is coming into town soon though,” he said, a smile replacing the displeasure she’d thought she’d seen. “It’s been a few months since he’s been by.”

Rhys’ eyes wandered to the broken ceiling fan leaning against the wall. “Did you…” he gestured to the light fixture “--did you need help with anything or?”

“Actually,” Feyre let out a sheepish laugh, “yes. Lucien is going to be gone for work, he's my go to help when he's home. If it's not too much trouble?”

“Absolutely,” Rhys said. “We can come by this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Feyre said, “that would be great. I’m planning on being closed this weekend anyways.”

“We’ll come by on Saturday,” Rhys determined. He grabbed the pallet that Mor had left behind and smiled that stupidly charming smile of his. “I can text you to confirm?”

Feyre much to her own embarrassment and self-loathing, nearly forgot she had a cellphone. “Yes. Text. Right.”

They exchanged numbers and Rhys left just after that.

Feyre couldn’t help the small smile she wore the rest of the day and decided that Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

...

as always, thanks for reading friends!

tags--bolded won't link, let me know if you'd like be be added/removed

@aelinchocolatelover  // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals-writes // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @acourtofsjmtrash // @hellasblessed // @rhysandswhore  //  @story-scribbler  // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @whythefuckdoiexist // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @themoonthestarsthesuriel// @feysand-loml // @scribbled-semantics // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @swankii-art-teacher // @foughtconquered // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @tanvee1231 // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @thenightgodess-feyrearcheron //  @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee //

[clairecrive]

hello!! can you maybe write a nikolai x reader (she’s a heartrender) and they’ve been best friends since childhood and finally got together during the war, and he proposes to her once he becomes king? And she’s scared to say yes because the country might not want a Grisha queen but she eventually says yes?

Love Story

a/n: I missed my boy and so here's a fluffy piece for him. Thanks for requesting anon, hope you like this! x

Warning: none, pure fluff

Word count: 2.1K

Tags: @jupiterandbutterflies, @randomoutsiders, @agentsofsheilds, @for-bebbanburg, @pansysgirlfriend, @hannaxmaria, @vintagebitc

(if you want to, you can add yourself to my taglist by filling this form)

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

It was late when Nikolai walked into his room. It always was. He was the first one to get up and the last one to go to bed, assuring that everything was going as it was supposed to.

Such was the life of a king.

Well, Nikolai wasn't king yet. But with his father's illness, it won't be long 'till he was.

He had been dreaming about this all his life. Hell, this was everything he had trained to be. Ignored every rumours and gossip and slander, focused only on one thing: becoming the man that Ravka needed.

And now the moment had finally come.

Nikolai could barely believe it. Yes, he was ambitious and skilled. He knew that he was the right person for this job. Either way, he was nervous.

Whenever he pictured this moment as a young boy, he had always thought that it'd be the end. The coronation being the cusp of his personal fulfilment.

But things had changed.

Now his coronation didn't hold any finality to it. It felt like the beginning of something new if anything. Something that Nikolai had been extensively planning for and was extremely excited for. But since it was something new, something that had never been done before, the uncertainty of how it could go made him a bit nervous.

Because now he wasn't alone.

A fierce heartrender had become his partner, his confidante, his better half.

Trying to be as silent as possible, Nikolai quickly undressed before joining you to bed. It was routine for you. Nikolai would come home late, you'd be deep in slumber by then, but he would always hold you close to him and kiss your neck to warn you of his presence. That would usually wake you but you'd never get angry. Actually, you were the one that told him to let you know when he got back. If only to make sure that he was okay.

"All good love, go to sleep." He'd whisper then in your ear. You wouldn't move, only wiggle close to him and pull his arm over your body so that you could hold his hand.

To be fair, you had always been a constant in Nikolai's life. You had met when you were both children. He was known for being restless, always escaping his nanny's hold to go on "adventures" as he'd call them. They'd usually entail climbing over trees or exploring paths in the forest that he had never seen.

One day, during one of his quest, he had put into his head that he needed to climb the biggest tree he could find. It was easy enough to spot his challenge but doing it was another thing.

He had been able to climb a few feet, his short stature and slender limbs aiding him in his endeavour. Looking down to assess his progress, he was confident he could really make it. Overconfident really. Because too busy loading over his abilities, he didn't notice that his foot was not hovering over a branch.

So when he went to confidently put all of his weight on it and it was met with nothing, he lost his balance. He tried to grip with all his might to the branches he was holding in his hands but he wasn't strong enough. And so, he fell.

Thankfully, he hadn't climbed high enough for the fall to be fatal. But it was enough to severely injure him.

At first, the impact of the ground left him out of breath. His head hurt too. It was only when he tried to stand that he noticed that his leg was bent at an unnatural angle.

There wasn't any blood but the sight was enough to send baby Nikolai in a panic. His breath turned hollow and frantic and now that he was aware of the injury, pain shot through his leg making him sob.

It was for the noise he made that you had been able to find him.

You were also wandering around the forest but for less nefarious intent though. You had a book under your arm and you were looking for a quiet spot to read. Needless to say, as soon as you heard his wails of agony, the book fell discarded on the ground as you run toward the noise.

When you reached him you tried your best to get him to calm down. He was hyperventilating by then. You weren't that far in your training to be able to slow his heartbeat or put him to sleep. But you were skilled enough to soothe him with your touch.

That and Nikolai was too caught up in looking at you, this stranger who was trying to help him.

While you couldn't actually heal him, you kept him company until someone eventually found you.

That was how your friendship had begun until it had bloomed into something more as you grew up.

Unbeknown to you, your relationship was about to reach another mark. Holding you close to him, Nikolai willed himself to put his plan in action tomorrow.

As his coronation grew closer, he grew more and more restless. He needed to do this as soon as possible.

The next day went by as usual. When you woke up Nikolai wasn't next to you but you found a trial with your breakfast and a handwritten note on it.

It read:

"An hour before the sun sets, meet me when it all started."

While it was unusual for Nikolai to leave you little notes in his stead, the mysteriousness of it made you antsy. What could he possibly be up to?

Your day went by, as usual, a skip in you feet as you were excited about the date.

Like he had asked you, you made sure to reach that tree in the forest exactly when he asked you to.

Nikolai was already there, pacing at the foot of the tree until he noticed you standing there.

"What is going on?" Before seeing him, you hadn't thought that this meeting could be about bad news. But Nikolai looked nervous, almost scared and that didn't happen often.

"Hello, love." He greeted you walking towards you. Holding your hands in his, he raised one to his lips to leave a small kiss.

"Such a gentleman," you cooed at his gesture, his lips curling in a small smirk as a result, "what did you do?" Raising one of your eyebrows, you asked knowing that when Nikolai was so sweet it was only for two reasons: he wanted to make it up to you or he wanted to have sex. Since doing it in public places had never been appealing to him, you thought it more likely that it was the first.

"Can't a man do something nice for his better half?" He scoffed in fake hurt. You pointedly stared at him but you were smiling.

"I wanted to something nice for you," he said shyly? while shrugging your shoulders not meeting your eyes. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled you closer to the tree where you now noticed there was a white sheet laid with rose petals and candles all over it.

"Things are about to change," he said referring to his impending coronation as you reached the sheet, "and you know what I realized?"

You shook your head in reply, too enchanted by the man in front of you and the scenery around you to speak. Nikolai smiled at you, gently reaching to your face to remove a piece of hair by tucking in behind your ear. His hand gently cupped your cheek, his smile widening even more when you leaned into his touch.

"I've realized that no matter what happened in my life, where I am in the world or what name people call me, you're always the constant."

"And I don't want that to change. Ever." His eyes flicker between yours, shining with anticipation. But why? Surely he must know that you never intend to leave him.

"That it's never going to change, sasha. I'm here to stay." You assured him, your hand reaching to grab his.

His eyes flashed again, regaining their usual confident glow. He looked reassured.

"Well, you know me, my dear. Always worrying so, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to make it official." He joked, his hands leaving your face as he kneeled.

Kneeled? He couldn't possibly...

Your breath hitched at his position. He got a little box out of his pocket before reaching for your hand again.

"Y/n, my heart, my love, the apple of my eye, you beautiful woman," he started cheekily knowing very well how calling these things would make you blush, "We were both young when I first saw you. Me making a fool out of myself by doing something stupid as per usual and you coming to save my ass. Little did I know though that that stupid adventure would give me more than a broken leg." Both of you smiled at the memory.

"if I knew that breaking a leg would be what made me meet you, I would have done sooner. And don't give me that look," he said once you glared at him, "what's a broken leg in the face of true love?" He added making you roll your eyes. Always smooth with his words. Damn him.

"Because that's what we have, a love story. And it may not be conventional with me dragging you all over the world doing reckless things, assuming different identities and everything but it's our love story. And it's beautiful, I wouldn't change it for the world. So baby, please, just say yes and make me the luckiest bastard in the world."

His words, his hopeful smile and shining eyes were too much for you to contain your tears. They were happy tears, you both knew that. There was no way you could say no to him. But at the same time, you were a bit hesitant. Nikolai painted a wonderful picture but you knew that the reality was a bit harsher.

Kneeling as well, you also gripped his hands.

"You're my whole heart, sasha, I hope you know it." You started, your voice wavering a bit. Nikolai's face fell for a moment sensing that there was a "but" coming. But it only lasted so long before his face morphed into that stubborn expression he'd always have whenever he'd set on getting something.

"I'd be a fool to say no to you, Nikolai," you added hastily hoping to rectify your mistake. "But I can't help but worry."

"You're going to be king soon and I'm not sure how much having a Grisha consort will help you."

Where his lips were pursed in confusion now they were set in a line. Knowing what was troubling you relieved him. That was easily fixed.

"So what, my love? I'll be a king and you'll be the queen. You've fought for this country just as much as I have. Besides, you're a fool if you think that I'm going to leave you just because I'll be addressed by a different title."

The hold on your hands felt reassuring, the sheer determination and honesty in his eyes even more. You knew Nikolai and you knew that he was ambitious as well as stubborn. And loyal. Your heart warmed at his words that you knew were true. He was not going to let you go.

Suddenly, the realisation of your feelings for him and his feelings for you overwhelmed you. A sob broke through your lips making worry return in Nikolai's eyes.

"Saints Nikolai, you have no fucking idea how grateful I am you fell down that tree that day." You confessed, eyes welling with tears.

"So am I, my love. My leg a bit less but..." you both chuckled.

Returning serious, Nikolai went to open the velvet box he was holding. The Lantsov's emerald. Your eyes widened when they fell on it. You had known about it but you had never seen it before.

"Nikolai-" you whispered in astonishment.

"I know it's not exactly your style but this was fit for a queen. My mother gave it to me and I want you to have it." He said sensing your hesitancy.

"Can I also have a kiss?" You asked cheekily batting your eyelids. Nikolai laughed at your antics. He quickly slipped the ring around your finger before cradling your face and pulling you close.

"You don't have to ask twice." And with that, his lips crashed on yours. He kissed you slowly at first, just your lips touching. But as soon as the realisation of what had happened dawned on him, the kiss grew frantic. His hands were in your hairs as yours were wrapped around the collar of his coat, pulling him impossibly close to you.

Life with Nikolai wasn't easy but his love was the most real thing you had ever felt. Nothing in the world meant more to you than he did. Ring or not.

[sukirichi]

earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one, 

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

series masterlist

Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.  

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant​ @mikiminaccch​ | bolder users cannot be tagged

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

liar liar pt. 2

request: I have a request, the reader is dating Spencer, and she and JJ are the ones that know that Emily faked her death. I’m thinking of it taking place in “It Takes A Village,” and she has to deal with Spencer being upset with her, like he was with JJ, but it has a fluff ending? Thanks!

for: @flklrevrmre

word count: 2,192                                                                                     reading time approx: 9 mins

a/n: i hope you enjoy this ending ;) and i’m elated to have so many new friends on my taglist.

masterlist

pt. 1

My ring finger traced the circumference of the wine glass I was drinking out of, while my eyes followed the marble trails of Rossi’s countertop. The team was giggling and chatting amongst themselves as I secluded myself. My thoughts were captured by my insecurities, paralyzing every fun bone I had in my body. Occasionally, I would contribute to their conversations, but only enough that I didn’t make myself seem bereaved. 

After a while, it became apparent that I wasn’t participating in the festivities, which conjured Emily and JJ to step away from the group, joining me. “Hey…” JJ eased into small talk, stuffing her hands into her pocket as she approached me. I replied with a light smile, their presence uplifting my current state. 

I knew what they wanted to say. I knew what they were going to ask. 

Spencer. 

“How are you holding up Y/N?” Emily hesitantly brought herself into the conversation. They both gazed at me with doe eyes, tenderness evident in their touch as they resided beside me. 

I took my lip in between my teeth, shaking my head as the fatigue had finally caught up to me. My chest throbbed from being sore all week, my shoulders were frail from being uneasy all the time, and my heart burned with self-reproach. With every passing day, I felt my limbs grow limp and my soul go numb. In contradiction, the two halves of my brain battled one another till my doubts were left to torment me further. 

With the silent response, JJ and Emily shared glances of disquietude, pondering their next steps. “Y/N?” JJ called out softly, laying a tender hand on top of mine. “You took a burden alone. That doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone,” she murmured, nodding to Emily. 

“Y/N, I can’t help but feel like this is my fault,” Emily lamented. “I just...tell me that there’s a way I can help.” 

“There’s nothing either of you can do…” I smiled bitterly, glancing at both of them. I squeezed JJ’s hand, feeling a film cast over my eyes. “And Emily, you had to protect Declan,” I empathize, using my other hand to pull her into a side hug. “I would’ve done the same.” 

“I can tell,” Emily looked at me with somber reverence. “Especially for what you did for Spence.” 

Another pang hit the center of my chest, making my ribcage sting. The mention of his name made my skin crawl instead of making my heart flutter like it used to. I wordlessly winced at Emily’s notice, trying to conceal it the best I can. “And I would do it again,” I declared, meaning every word. “I’d burn the entire world if it meant making sure that he isn’t alone. I...I know what it feels like to be confined in your head--it’s something me and him share. It’s a merciless place.” 

“You really do love him, don’t you?” 

“More than I can ever fathom.” 

I  stared at the ceiling, letting my tears travel back inside of my head. I shut my eyes, feeling a deep burn envelop my eyelids from all the crying I’ve done previously. “I spoke to him,” Emily brought up. 

My attention instantly shifted to her, prompting her to elaborate. “I spoke to him when we wrapped up that case in New York,” she explained. I unknowingly leaned over, listening intently to her story. “We had a conversation about everything--you. I won’t get into details because that’s between you and Spencer, but I did encourage him to come tonight.” 

My nerves did small somersaults, unable to process the new piece of information. “Are you sure?” I falteringly asked. 

“I’m sure he’ll come.” 

But he didn’t. 

A few hours had passed, and there was no evidence of Spencer’s attendance. With another disappointment, the burden of my thoughts pried at my most vulnerable parts. 

I had enough. 

I rose from my seat, bidding everyone adieu as I excused myself to the backyard. Amid the formalities, I assured everyone of my well-being and that I would return soon. Their persistent objections were loud, loud enough to stifle the opening of the front door as I stepped outside.

I felt the cool air caress my shoulders while crickets chirped a nightly symphony. The moon glowed with elegance, and stars painted the sky in an ethereal light. From a distance, it looked as if the planets were mere neighbors greeting one another. 

It was beautiful; it took me out of the confines of my mind. 

Chatter can still be heard in the background, but somehow it blended nicely with the lively sounds of night creatures. Although what I didn’t realize was the thump of approaching footsteps behind me. 

“Hey,” muttered a hushed voice. 

The instant I recognized the presence, my entire body stiffened. The inside lights cast a shadow on the wooden porch I sat on, displaying a lanky silhouette on the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to move, let alone speak. My tongue was pierced against the roof of my mouth, petrified to unpack the situation at hand. 

He responded to my silence with a reluctant step towards me. Even in our circumstances, I can still feel his presence lingering on the soft skin of my back, making the little hairs stand. Our proximity was slowly closing in with every soft thud until he was eventually situated next to me. 

I unconsciously looked over my shoulder, opposite of him, to avoid his curious stare. I shut my eyes, isolating myself in my mind in the hopes that this was a dream. But the frequent trembles of my stomach told me otherwise. 

“Y/N?” he called out delicately. “Y/N...please,” he attempted to brush my hand with his fingers, but by instinct, I retracted them with swiftness. A bolt of electricity shot up my arm from Spencer’s touch, a cruel remeberance of the fervor we used to share. My fingertips shivered at the loss of contact, but the static sensation remained. 

“Y/N, I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me--and you have every right to…” he babbled. “...but I just--please just listen to me.” 

But I refused, every word that fell from his supple lips made the echo in my head boisterous. 

I was a mistake. 

I was a mistake. 

I was a mistake. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling my abdomen clench in misery. The sensation traveled deep into my chest, pulling me in different directions. My throat cinched up, and the coldness wandered all over my body. Every muscle in me cried out in anguish, unable to persevere through the exhaustion that I’ve let consume me. 

“Y/N-” 

“Please just go…” I whispered, choking on the aching sobs rising in my esophagus. 

“I’ll leave...I promise,” he muttered in a pained voice. “But just...please, let me say this.” 

Newfound tears threatened to spill over my eyes, the sorrow in his voice creating a void in me. With the little compassion I had left, I turned around facing his direction. Although I didn’t dare to acknowledge his gaze, instead, I settled my attention on the wood below. 

“I know that it’s hard to get through to me, and I know I get stuck in my head,” he began, lowering his head. “You and I both know how hopeless it gets being alone there.” 

He twiddled his fingers as he spoke, an implication of his distress. An infinitesimal part of me still yearned to comfort the man, to ease his worries away, but I didn’t have to courage to do so. 

“When I get into that space, I get...I get frightened by the doubts that my mind conjures up,” he admits. “Everyone looks at me as the genius--the expectation given to me. But, only you and JJ look at me for who I am instead of who I must be for the team.” 

His voice started to crack in between his words, his deliverance laced with dejection and bitterness. I rang my fingers over the textured floorboards, distracting myself from the swelling ache in my heart. 

“But you Y/N…” he whispered, gazing at me with a rueful adoration. “You alone bring so much light into the obscurity of my mind. You...you make all my pains go away with nothing but a glance of your smile, ” he chuckled pitifully. “Y/N, you-” 

“You told me I was mistake…” I croaked, ignoring the sharp twinge in my throat. 

I finally met his gaze with a weary expression. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the bags encompassing his eyes were prominent. But it was the torment evident in them that was the most striking. His irises failed to gleam of their usual autumn hazel, and the golden specks scattered across the tender hue were dull. 

“I...I know,” he struggled to admit. “But, I was wrong-” 

“You...you told me I was your biggest mistake,” I reiterated, my voice coming off shaky and unstable. “Reid, you…” I paused, my pitch elevating as a whimper loomed to escape my lips. “You hurt me...so much, Reid.” 

I scoffed, my vision going blurry from impending tears. Spencer hung his head in remorse, combing his hand through his curls as he attempted to keep his composure. An uneasy silence ensued that not even the blissful sounds of wildlife can mask the tautness in the air. 

“I...I know,” he muttered quietly. “JJ, she told me the truth after our...after what happened at the station during the case,” he confessed. “You did all that...you took all the blame, just, so I had someone to be there with me.” 

I sighed, shutting my eyes at his admission. “I didn’t...I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through it alone,” I affirmed. 

“But you…” Spencer paused, shaking his head at himself. “You...did it all alone.” 

All of my guards fell at the utterance of his words. My heart throbbed, and my chest ultimately gave out. Suppressed sobs wracked my entire being, slipping past my tired lips with ease. My head felt faint, and my shoulders slumped. Agony coursed throughout my body, feeling it prick every inch of my skin. 

Spencer shifted next to me in an instant, engulfing me in his arms. There I wailed and cried every tear that was humanly possible. I set free the entrapped painful sentiments I’ve burrowed under my stubbornness, and I let the numbness drift out of my body. All that was left was the carcass of my grief and an apprehensive heart. 

“I’m sorry Y/N...I’m so sorry,” Spencer repeated, cradling me back and forth while he tried to mask his whimpers. 

For most of the night, we stayed in each other’s embrace as the moonlight graced our figures. My face was delved into the cleft of his neck, and his chin laid snugly on my head. The rise and fall of my chest was still erratic, but it was in a much healthier state than before. Our combined breathing was the only distinguishable sound floating in the air after we had steadied ourselves. 

The party inside was subdued, and the chatter was nonexistent. The lights were still on, but it seemed that the team had moved elsewhere to celebrate their festivities. Before long, the quiet around us ceased as Spencer broke the silence. 

“Y/N?” Spencer whispered. 

I nudged my face further into his neck, prompting him to continue. 

“What I said...the horrible things that I told you, you have to know that they’re not true,” he lamented, taking my balled-up fists into his palms. “Y/N, you’re far from a mistake. The biggest mistake I’ve made to date is making you believe that,” he croaked. 

“Spencer...what you did-” 

“Wait--just--let me finish,” he nodded, playing with my hands. “Y/N, you bring color into what I see...yo-you bring color into everything that I do,” he professed, stumbling over his words. “You make it easy to wake up every day and do what we need to do because I know I get to wake up next to you.” 

His lips began to tremble, and his hands began to shake. Instinctively, I cupped his hands and brought them close to my chest. 

“I…I love you...so much, Y/N,” he whimpered. “And I hate myself for making you feel like you were comparable to anyone else, or that you were insignificant.” 

I pressed small kisses to his knuckles, knowing that it would calm him down. I felt a pang hit my torso in Spencer’s discomfort, igniting the part of me that longed to console him. I observed the collapse of his stature and the decomposed state of his demeanor, his appearance visibly in plight. 

“Truth be told, Y/N. You are the most significant thing in my life…” he whispered. “You make me whole.” 

As he finished his declaration, tears welled up in both our eyes for the last time. “Spence…” I breathed, basking in the warmth that his eyes radiated, despite his desperation. 

“Loving you...is one of the greatest thing I will ever do.”

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4 @linthebinbag @andreasworlsboring101 @ssareidbby @kyleetheeditor @tclaerh @jimilogy @lulwaxim @jhillio @m3ssytrash @haylaansmi @meowiemari @ashwarren32​ @spencerwaltergubler​

‘liar liar’ taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales​ @foreveryoungxx3​ @goldentournesol​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @kenny-0909​ @andiebeaword​ @hercleverboy​

tags that don’t work: @crazymar15 @nighttimerain123

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warnings ⚠️ : graphic depictions of violence, gore, blood, very strong horror elements, Stockholm Syndrome, mental anguish, character death.

glass angel, part XV.

Smoke took the shape of vile specters as it floated around your groggy head. Through its gray veil, brilliant yellow eyes peered at you with inhuman hunger whilst large drops of murky blood oozed from grinning mouths. Dark, tar-like lips would lean close, murmuring bone-chilling threats which you never truly deciphered. Your body felt sedated, heavy like lead, your voice muted as if you were trapped in a lucid nightmare.

To your distress, this wasn’t a dream.

Satin fingers caressed your navel lovingly, instantly drawing your attention to the woman of your heart's desire. Her features were so alluring in their wickedness, you’d fall for her again, had it not been for the palpable fear making your teeth chatter. You pushed your knees closed defiantly, struggling to free your arms from the daughters’ ruthless grips. Behind you, their sickening breaths of joy were like violent daggers, stabbing the back of your head, deafening and painful. You’ve heard those shrills late at night, in your dreams, even in the brightest hours of the day –

Play with us,

Come out, come out!

You managed to run and slip through their murderous fingers, only to end up caught in the web of their equally devilish mother.

“.. wh… why?...why-"

A quiet sob left you. Anguished tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes as you watched the graceful matriarch. Your heart shattered at the realization that she was the monster slithering behind the walls in the dark, moving beneath the bedsheets and stalking you from every haunted corner. She was the embodiment of your night terrors, and so very cruel for playing the part of a caring, gentle woman by day.

Alcina’s perfect countenance was void of emotion as she, almost tenderly, caressed the soft dips and curves of your chest. Her touch was agonizing as it neared your heart, strange and unfamiliar against your feverish skin. You could’ve sworn you caught a glimpse of regret in her beautiful eyes when she met your terrified look. The lady of the castle was a true enigma, one which you’ve never had the chance to unravel. Her cigarette died with a final inhale, and through the thick cloud of nicotine, her bewitching gaze flickered with carnivorous lust.

A smaller, vicious hand smacked over your lips, holding your head down when you begun to shake violently. Your throat swelled with involuntary screams as your legs were forced apart and pinned to the torture table, powerless. You tried to bite into the palm that muffled your panicked cries, yet your mouth filled with large, crawling bugs. Appalled, you struggled to spit the insects out and soothe your air-deprived lungs. A heavy taste of rot and blood melted the sweetness of your mouth, leaving you to choke on a deep feeling of disgust. Heavy swarms of buzzing flies suddenly flooded the ceiling, taking the lights out and throwing you in an endless pit of despair.

I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die…

You clenched your teeth painfully tight, convinced you’d drown either in foul water or those dreadful roaches. Large palms cupped the gentle curves of your nude body, a feeling that once made you arch in willing surrender. Now, the blinding thought of death occupied every corner of your mind, making you wail like a slaughtered lamb.

Massive jaws tore into your limbs deeply, canines scraping bone as they split your flesh apart. Blood flowed abundantly from the gaping wound, into the feral mouth latched onto your inner thigh. Small, crimson rivulets pooled beneath you on the table as Lady Dimitrescu suckled your raw flesh with greedy hunger, familiar tongue lapping at the gash almost sensually. The sound of warm meat crushing between teeth filled your throat with bitterness, bile ready to spill.

Delirious, you begun replaying moments of your life when you were happy, safe in the company of loved ones who would never do you harm – your life flashing before your eyes.

Somehow, in the midst of your horrid torture, bolts of euphoria rushed through your broken limbs, akin to the ones you’ve felt when your lady’s masterful tongue pleasured you. Was this your brain's laughable attempt to bring comfort in those harrowing moments? Alcina leered with unsated appetite whilst thick blood overflowed her flawless chin, pooling in between her large breasts.

The velvety feel of her smooth tongue was excruciating, blinding you with ripples of debilitating pain, only to forcefully draw sensual pleasure out of you the next moment. You suddenly climaxed, yet the orgasmic bliss was barely able to compensate for the agony of being eaten alive.

It was a never-ending dance of extremities which blurred the lines between good and evil, reality and dream. You floated in and out of consciousness as life was stolen from you, drained through vampiric indentations drilled into your still-living flesh. At times, you’d see swarms of darkness clouding the pristine ceiling and you were sure the daughters were feeding on you as well. But you soon realized they were only there to aid their mother in whatever unholy ritual she was subjecting you to. Scarlet lips savored your skin with sensual kisses, smearing your life essence from the throbbing injuries on your thighs to the vulnerable warmth in between. You fearfully anticipated another agonizing bite, yet it never came. Instead, pleasure pooled hotly in your core as she painted your flower red, brining you yet again to the heights of forbidden ecstasy.

“A Phoenix needs to be consumed by flames in order to be born anew.”

Alcina murmured sweetly, resting her large palm at the base of your throat, gentle thumb stroking your weak pulse. You wished you could’ve hated her for what she was doing, for what she’d done, yet only naive adoration filled your chest at the sight of her dazzling eyes. She pulled away from your burning flesh, swallowing deeply. Even freed, your limbs were useless as you watched her with unfocused, half-lidded eyes. Your senses were shutting down rapidly from the copious amount of blood loss, each strangled breath threatening to be your last.

The madam stood to her magnificent height, towering over you as she paced about the room and observed you closely. At times you swore you saw a concerned frown darkening her flawless features, and then she’d smile mischievously while threading long fingers through your hair, touching your cold forehead. When the door opened and her perfume dissipated, you finally let your heavy lids fall close.

Her daughters gathered around you in her absence, eager to lap each precious trace of blood off your weak body. Their mouths were large, grotesque slugs, their fingers crawling insect legs, picking at your tender wounds. Feeling awful, you groaned and shifted with the last bits of strength you could muster. A sudden weight crushed your chest, making you heave as if you were about to vomit all the pain, the distress, the horror of being there.

Grisly faces loomed over you whilst you were carefully laid upon the floor on a single white bedsheet. Then, in the blink of an eye, the three macabre figures exploded into restless insects, taking away the chamber's light. In the overwhelming gloom, you heard the sound of your own sternum breaking, bone shards making a home into your dry flesh. Strangely, you didn’t feel a thing, as if you were naught but a corpse on the autopsy table, your soul damned to linger in its decaying shell. Something moved within you, slithering between your ribs and feeding on your heart, your lungs.

Dim candles came to life, revealing the charming image of Lady Dimitrescu kneeling over you, as beautiful as the moment you first saw her. She took your lips in a sensual kiss, and with it, your last breath.

-          To be continued...

*part XVI.

[hexxborne]

Requiem

It all started when he pulled the trigger. He’d never had a nightmare so vivid and terrifying. His vision went white, and before he could even blink, it was back to normal again, and he was standing in front of a large marbled door. Looking around the immediate area, he saw elegant statues of unthinkable figures, filigreed veins of gold and silver running through the ivory stone. The floor was just as white, splattered with what appeared to be gold and black paint. He was too stunned to move for quite some time, simply observing the odd, ethereal room.

When he did finally muster up the courage to take a step, the sound echoed loudly around him, easily stopping him dead in his tracks again. It was an awful sound, and something about it told him he was wrong for moving. So he continued to stand and wait, pale jade eyes glancing nervously from statue to statue. The figures were strangely humanoid, surrounded by impossible rings decorated in eyes and fluttering flame. Just looking at them told him they weren’t stone, but something otherworldly and beautiful. The longer he looked, the more they shifted and changed before him. It brought tears to his eyes to perceive such beauty.

When his tears hit the floor, they left more black stains in amongst the gold, white, and black. It took him by surprise, a soft, choked noise sounding in his throat. Suddenly, he felt as the ground began to shake beneath him, nearly knocking him over. When he stood upright again, one of those strange statues had moved to stand before him, though a blinding halo hovered over it this time. No, it wasn’t a statue– It must have been an angel.

The angel spread its many sets of wings and let out an ear-piercing shriek, sending a wave of terror through him. As the angel silenced itself, he fell to his knees without even knowing it, obeying whatever command it had screamed. He could no longer move freely, instead feeling as if he were held in place by invisible angelic hands. A fresh wave of terror washed over him, leaving him trembling in the hands of the angels.

The head angel spoke, flaring its wings once more. “Re- qui- em.” It stated simply, its voice stinging his ears and rattling through his bones. He nodded without thinking, understanding what it meant despite its vague statement. It was his judgement day.

Another figure appeared– Though this one was much different than the others. It was mostly human looking. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, causing him to openly weep as the hands around him began squeezing tighter and tighter. The tall figure stood over him closely and in silence, as if awaiting something.

All at once, the hands began to tear into his flesh, picking through skin and muscle like it was paper. He screamed, and continued screaming as black blood poured out of him, chunks of flesh splattering onto the floor. The angelic fingers seared through him like a hot knife through butter, melting his flesh and lighting his nerves on fire. 

His endless screaming continued as the ripping and tearing came to an end, one hand finally pulling a black core from somewhere deep inside him. It handed the core over to the beautiful figure, and suddenly, the agony was over. He was free from the angel’s grasp and free to look himself over, arms wrapping tightly around himself as he recovered from the traumatising vivisection. His sobbing continued though, terror coursing through his veins as he touched his suddenly intact body, wailing in terror as the figure held his blackedned core. 

“O, my child,” The figure spoke, its voice soft inside his head. “Why have thou forsaken me?” It’s question burned in the back of his mind as he came to realise he was standing before God himself.

“F-forgive me father, for I have sinned–” He gasped, as if such a plea would help him. The figure leaned over above him, and he could feel a rush of sadness wash over him before it spoke again.

“It is too late for that, my son.” It stopped him, its voice echoing in his mind. He was frozen, awaiting whatever was to come next. 

One of the Lord’s fingers came up to hush him softly, pressing against his lip and dragging itself down his throat and chest in an impossibly straight line of white hot agony.  He screamed again, and the Lord cried over him, tears dropping onto him like rain and staining his skin a gaudy gold. 

Baptised in the ethereal tears of his Lord, the pain stopped for a brief time, before the angels began a shrieking cacophony around them. “Hell!” He heard one of them wail as God held out his obsidian core. “Damnation!” Another scream. “Hellfire will rain down upon you!” They chanted, deafening him. “Fall! Fall! Fall!”

And so he fell.

[crimsonwolfie]

“You’re my night light” — Alina Starkov x Reader

⇾ Prompt: You (the reader) often suffer with nightmares from your encounter in the fold, where you were one of the only few who survived and struggle when night falls. Alina is, so to speak, your light in that darkness.

⇾ Word count: 1.9k

⇾ masterlist

⇾ Warnings: insomnia, anxiety, triggering scenes, ptsd and some really, toothache-ingly sweet fluff :,) — i want to put a reminder here that if anyone is ever struggling with their mental health that my messages are open for you to talk. It’s so important to be good to yourself, even if that means getting help. Talk to your friends, family, be gentle and kind to everyone but above all, yourself. <3

It’s been sixty-two days. Sixty-two days since you thought it was the end. Every time you close your eyes you see people you love being ripped away from you left, right and centre on the skiff. You see those limb-ripping teeth and hear that blood curdling squeal, screams of agony and cries for help followed by. Not a day goes by where you have felt safe and protected from your own mind - it’s like living in a prison cell, no escape, no sanity. You lost a lot of your own that day, people you called your family, and have felt the loneliness ever since. Typically, you’d think an orphan would be used to feeling lonely...but no. Ever since you were taken in and raised in Keramzin, you felt understood, as normal as an orphan could feel.

Shuffling your feet below, you trace your fingers along the edge of the step you’re perched on. The cold, coarse pebbles grate against your fingertips sending a painful, yet gratifying stabbing through your heart. Distant sounds of laughing and muffled shouting can be heard as you crouch deeper into your legs, knees touching your forehead. Everything has a different meaning now; every touch, every smell, every sight and every sound. They’re all signs that remind you that you are still breathing, still here. They used to depress you, paralysing your entire body with guilt until your head was filled with visions of lifeless folk, their eyes dry with death and hands reaching for you. Nothing was helping, nothing but her. Her soul radiated with a fresh innocence, efficacious to anyone who touched it. The person who held your hand when you were scared, when you were excited, even when you were angry. You found yourself filling your head with thoughts of her every time the darkness invaded, every time the memories come back to...

“Hey, y/n”

you open your eyes, looking up to see Alina staring down at you with a sweet smile painted on her face, her hand stretched out rubbing your shoulder. Leaning into her touch, you reply “Hey, you”, placing your hand on hers ever so gently. She giggles slightly as she sits down next to you on the step, shoulders attached to yours. The mellow breeze of the wind runs through your hair, cooling your heated cheeks and letting a breath escape that was stuck in your chest. Alina looks to you with her brown, cocoa eyes. She pulls her jacket tighter, breathing raggedly as the wind picks up. “You alright?” she asks.

“Now I am.” you reply as your lips curl into a smile. Alina returns the gesture as she pulls out a pen and paper. You notice Alina shivering by the clearly-meant-to-be-straight shaky lines she doodles. “How’s Mal doing?” you question whilst getting up to grab a blanket from your bed.

“He’s okay, I think.” she replies, rubbing the paper tenderly, “He’s busy either getting hurt or hurting someone else so”

You walk back over with the blanket in your hands “wait, what?” you answer startled, throwing the blanket over you both and snuggling back next to Alina.

“Yeah, don’t ask” she laughs heartedly, pulling the blanket deeper into her arms and moving closer to you, her body heat warming you as if you’ve been hugged by the sun itself. You feel your heart beating stronger, faster, as she blows on her hands in an attempt to warm them.

“You know, you could use the literal sun to warm you up” you laugh with your cheeks pink and smile radiant. Alina tilts her head with her eyes shut and smirk big, little tussles of hair falling from either side. You can’t help but coo at her adorableness as she brings her hands together, a bright, beautiful ball of golden light appearing in between them. The light illuminates her beautiful, dark orbs and that little scar she has above her left brow. Whenever you look at your best friend, all you can imagine is being able to cup her face in your hands and stroke along her perfectly comely features, telling her how much she...

“You wanna share my light?” She asks, interrupting you of your daydreaming with an entertained grin on her face. You smirk, your cheeks squishing and nose scrunching as you bring your hands to hers. She places her hands in yours, fingers lacing ever so subtly as the warmth spreads through your body.

Ever since you found out about Alina being a sun summoner, you’ve never felt so protective of someone. Everyone was after her at some point, but you made a promise to her - a promise that you would do whatever it takes to protect her, an unbreakable vow. Of course, she wouldn’t ever let you do anything stupid for her, which is why she also, annoyingly, made an unbreakable vow to protect you at all times, knowing the trauma you endured on your last trip on the skiff. You look up at her. Her lids are closed as her lashes curl effortlessly, her face slightly raised up in the air and her lips are curled in a sweet smile whilst the ball in her hands glow an aureate light.  ‘She looks so pure, so at peace’ you think to yourself, feeling luckier than ever to have her.

“Thank you.” you whisper quietly, as you close your eyes, feeling heavier with tiredness every second, the warmth comforting you peacefully. Alina, taken by surprise, looks down to see you leaning on her shoulder, your hair falling in front of your face. She coos at you, leaning her head on yours as she says, “Let’s get you some rest, shall we?”

━━━━━━━━

You’re crouching beneath the deck, hands shaking violently with fear. Harks of echoes surrounded you with screams  and shrieks of terror. Straddling your legs, darkness corners you. It’s a waiting game. Waiting for them to take you, waiting for the end to come. Scanning the scene around you, you try to make out what’s happening, even if the images of what you saw at this moment were imprinted on your mind, never to leave you. Fires broke out from lamps smashing to the ground, illuminating the horrors even more brightly; people were being ripped and dragged all across the deck, blood splatting out from every direction. Grisha were trying to burn, overpower and blow away the monstrous beasts but nothing worked and them, too, were hoisted away wailing into the darkness beyond. Nail marks were carved into the woodwork of the skiff with bits of clothing shreds and blood splatters decorating around them.

Friends of yours lay still on the floor, hands reaching outwards, their eyes open with no life swimming in them. Looking to your right you see Cinzia trying to fight off a volcra on top of her with a rifle, the creature’s nails digging deeply into her sides. You see her squeal in pain, clutching her side with one hand and aiming the rifle with the other, firing right into the volcra’s head. It’s as if everything is in slow motion, as she turns and catches your eye, holding her hand out towards you screaming your name. You spring forwards and grab her hand, trying to drag her to where you were, until she is swiped up into the air by another, larger volcra clutching her waist. You’re still grasping at her hand, your feet off the floor and nothing holding you up but Cinzia’s hand, until she realises what she has to do...

“Let go,” she whimpered as tears fell from her face “it’s okay”. You glare up at her, eyes filling with a sea of tears, your vision blurring. You nod, biting down on your lip to stop it trembling as the light of fires beneath you both light up your faces. “Keep fighting for me” she breathes with a gentle, sympathetic smile to which a heaved breath catches in your throat, more tears running down your face and reply “I will”. And with that, you let go, crashing to the floor.

Tears stream down your horror-stricken face as you scrunch your nose and squint your eyes closed, clambering up against a barrel, bringing your knees to your chest and rocking forwards and back. The hunting noise of the volcra gets closer as your mind wanders to Alina. You find a sense of tranquility as memories, images of Alina ponder your thoughts. Your last thoughts would be of her, and you were okay with that. The wings of the countless volcra surrounding you causes a gust of wind sending broken lanterns flying across the deck along with pieces of paper and empty barrels, fires flickering with each gust. The breeze runs through your hair as you take a deep breath and open your eyes, embracing the probability of your end. Just as you open them, a volcra comes sweeping in front of you, its teeth dripping with blood and pieces of clothing wrapped around its nails. The last thing you remember seeing is its mouth wide open, ready to scavenge your body to pieces until...

“Y/N! Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay I'm here. You’re safe” you awake to see Alina’s face in front of you, furrowed with concern with one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding a ball of light. Her voice is soothing to your ears but riddled with panic. She’s wearing a nightgown with a dressing gown wrapped around her tightly, since she has rushed from her bed to yours. You look around you, realising you’re safe in your bed, covers messily tangled over your legs as your hair sticks to your face, wet with tears. Even from the light shining out of Alina’s hand, it’s still dark around you, but somehow you feel safer with Alina’s presence. “Nightmare’s again?” she whispers, stroking the hair out of your face.

“Ye...yeah” you reply, voice croaked and coated with pain. A sniffle escapes your lips, Alina brings your head into her body with her free hand, resting your head on her chest. “I’m here” she repeats, her heartbeat slowing in a soothing song against your ear, “you’re safe”.

You both sit there like that for what feels like hours, not wanting to move or be anywhere else. In the distance, thunder can be heard along with the faint pitter of rain against the tent’s roof. Alina’s light is still burning bright as the sound of her content breathing pacifies your emotions. “Alina?” you simper, taking your head off her chest to come face to face with her.

“Yes?” she replies, her dark eyes clouded with warmth, “is everything okay?”

You play with your hands, unsure whether to confess what you want to say... “you won’t ever leave, will you?”

She looks at you with wide eyes, appearing almost shocked such a thing came out your mouth, “of course I'd never leave you!” she gasped. The light in her hands in-between you both grows stronger, “why would you ever think that?”

“Because everyone else left me, that’s why I ended up in Keramzin. And you mean more to me than anyone, even Mal, and I don’t think I would ever cope if something happened to you and i...”

“Hey...” she stops you, “I'm not going anywhere, it’s you and me, always” she places her free hand on your heart and then on hers, symbolising her words. “whenever you see light, know it means I'm with you,” she brings your hands to cup hers, as her light shines brighter and bigger, illuminating both of your faces “I'll be your nightlight to warn off the nightmares, whenever you need me”.

With eyes full of hope and happiness, you intertwine your fingers with hers, still cupped around the ball, and say with a genuine smile “you’re my nightlight”.

[r3volutionary-queen]

Chapter 31 Sneak Peek

In his arms, Darcy was laughing.

She lay back against his chest, her head slotting perfectly under his chin, and she laughed. It was sunlight to his soul, bright and pure and warm and kind and it softened every jagged edge inside of him. Steve pressed a lingering kiss into her hair and tightened his arms around her middle, making her giggle even more—a happy sound that he could have listened to for the rest of his life.

Below, Bucky sprawled across both of their laps, using their thighs as his personal pillows. Darcy’s fingers were carding through his long hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp until the man was all but putty in her hands. His dark head swiveled up, love-drunk eyes openly watching her before crinkling around the edges, squinting like two happy half-moons. That gray gaze then slid upwards and met Steve’s soft look.

It was like staring into a marbled sky moments before the sun broke through.

“Love you,” Bucky mouthed to him and Steve’s heart swelled and swelled and swelled until it threatened to burst.

In this place there were no shadows, no war, no death. In this place Darcy’s skin was not littered in scars and Bucky’s arm was warm and whole.

In this place Steve did not burn.

He would have been content to spend eternity here, if it weren’t for the tug on his shoulder, soft but insistent.

Steve jolted and inhaled on instinct, lungs gasping for air as he surged back into consciousness. It was not a peaceful float to the surface; it was sudden and jarring, like the leg of a once trusted chair snapping beneath him. Pain was the first thing to register, a raw kind of agony, as if someone or something had pried him open and scrambled all of his insides. Blood trickled down his shredded throat and he swallowed with a grimace.

Another tug and a voice, quietly murmuring—urging.

“Wake up.”

Blue eyes fluttered open; everything was a blur. Icy rain stung his skin like a thousand needles, cold mud seeped into his suit, and thunder cracked through the air, so loud and so deep it rolled over his skin and shook the ground beneath him. A second later, the sky splintered in a dazzling flash of light as white-hot electricity threaded the earth to the clouds.

And hovering over him, silhouetted against that bright flash of light, was a strange face. Strange because they were familiar; strange because they were dead.

Or at least they were supposed to be.

And then it struck him—

The stone.

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. The world spun and tipped itself out before righting once more. He blinked and blinked again in disbelief, in fear, in hope, in a painful, terrified mixture of all three.

“T…” he started with a sandpaper rasp. “T’Challa?”

The Wakandan king’s mouth curved and brown eyes softened in relief. His dark brows rose and he dipped his chin, nodding once. “On your feet, Captain.”

Stunned, Steve could not move.

“Am I dreaming?”

“This is no dream,” T’Challa assured him softly. He lifted his head and spun on his haunches, looking at something Steve could not see. A light filled the king’s eyes, both kind and fierce. He glanced down at Steve where he lay, beaten and broken, and T’Challa’s words pierced right through his weary heart. “Hope has not deceived you.”

The words sank beneath his skin, cutting into the meat of his heart, and Steve’s eyes misted. There were things he wanted to say, to ask, but the words couldn’t make it through his tightened throat. For a long moment, he could not even breathe. It felt surreal, liminal.

Hope has not deceived you.

It was strange, almost, how hope felt more dangerous, more treacherous, than the very war surrounding him. A fight could destroy his body, but hope? Hope, or rather hope lost, could ruin his soul. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to truly hope and so when it bloomed in the center of his chest now, like a warm pool of sunlight cascading down his limbs and filling him to the brim, he shook under its raw power.

“Are there,” Steve swallowed heavily, his voice thick, “Are there others? How many?”

T’Challa watched him closely and the corners of his eyes fanned out in a warm smile. The Wakandan king shifted on the balls of his feet and held out his hand. “Rise and see for yourself.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond when an animalistic roar ripped through the air like a serrated knife. The blond stiffened, recognizing the Hulk’s bellow of rage instantly. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and before he could stop it, that dangerous, treacherous hope inside of him grew wings and took flight.

It rose up the length of his throat and surged out of his mouth in a single, wet, hysterical sob of a laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut.

All around him, the rain continued to fall.

Finally, Steve sniffed and wiped his face. With a grunt, he slapped his hand into the king’s waiting palm and it was the strength of the Black Panther, not his own, that pulled him to his feet. Instantly, his back erupted in a blinding pain and he staggered, groaning, shoulders hunching as his muscles trembled and stretched. Steve shook and panted through chapped lips, trying to push past the all-consuming agony. His vision blurred, static around the edges, and then finally, he lifted his gaze to the battlefield—

And froze.

Over the last few months, Steve had grown accustomed to the feeling of shock. He knew what it tasted like, how it jolted through his veins, paralyzing him, but this shock was not one born out of terror or dread.

The shock that rolled through him now was one of awe.

The battle still raged; the rain had sunk the fires back into the earth and a white-gray smoke clouded the blood-soaked ground. Explosions flung mud in the air, coating the chaos of fighting armies in filth until it was near impossible to tell who was who. But beyond all of that, beyond the looming warships and the waves of Chitauri and the wolf-like monsters of Thanos, was something else entirely.

Amid the debris and the bombed-out craters and the piles of bodies littering the ground vast beyond number and recognition was an army—and not just any army.

It was the Avengers.

His team, his friends, his family; the world’s last hope. All of them, every last one he had watched dissolve into ash just months ago.

They were scattered but they fought like creatures that exhaustion, despair, and even death itself could not subdue. And even beyond that, a great host of Wakandan warriors were charging into the fray with what was left of the Asgardians and the Skrulls.

And for the first time since any of this began, they were pushing Thanos’ army back to the tree line; theywere overwhelming their enemy.

Wonder overtook him, and indescribable joy; it was beautiful—stunning, robbing him of all thought and word, and for a moment, Steve wished he could paint this.

The only thing that was missing—

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His mind splintered into a million pieces upon the realization and fear prickled along his skin like the legs of a thousand spiders. Panicked, Steve spun around wildly, searching the chaos for two familiar shapes.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

Snapping his head up, a wild kind of insanity tugged at the edges of his mind as he held T’Challa’s worried gaze. Because if the stone had knocked himout cold, he could only imagine what it had done to Bucky, let alone Darcy. In fact, he knew all too well what that stone did to her every time she touched it and the memories that flooded his mind had him in a blind terror.

“There’s a woman,” Steve gasped out, choking on the words, his eyes still roving over the vast, simmering field. Raindrops slid down his face, dripped from his nose, his jaw, his chin. “Darcy. I need to find her. I have to find her—she was hurt pretty bad and… She’s—and Bucky—”

A blood-curling scream.

Steve whipped around, heart in his throat. Somewhere to his right there was a high-pitched female scream—a wail, really—and Steve had never heard Darcy make a noise like that before, but he knew instantly that it was her.

His heart told him so.

Steve couldn’t see her, couldn’t see much of anything beyond the flurry of war and the blasts from the enemy’s weapons. He paled and his vision spun as a new and torrential kind of fear seared through every vein in his body.

“Go,” T’Challa urged at his side and Steve snapped his head around, panting and trembling all over. The king clasped his shoulder, tilting his head toward him. “Do what you must. We will meet when this is over, my friend.”

Unable to do anything but nod, Steve mustered up the very last of his strength (all he had left) and turned and ran into the heart of the battle. Even as the abyss of terror threatened to pull him under, Steve felt something inside of him shift, something endless and ancient, and suddenly his spine was carved out of steel. He was going to find her, both her and Bucky, and he was going to get them out of this place—even if it broke his back and heart and left nothing but his bones behind.

He was going to find them both and he was going to bring them home.

(GUYS IT IS HAPPENING. WE ARE LIKE 6K IN ON THIS CHAPTER SO PLEASE EXCUSE IF YOU'VE MESSAGED ME TODAY, I'LL ANSWER LATER BECAUSE THE FLOW CANNOT BE INTERRUPTED KAY THANKS)

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 26//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

I hope this chapter finds you all well, please enjoy some fluffy Feysand and baby vibes! ❤️

"He's breathtaking," Rhys said quietly from his place beside me.

After the maelstrom of labor had passed, Sebastian entered the world with a resounding wail—the most heartwarming sound I had ever heard in my life. The minutes after passed in a blur; the midwife placing him on my chest as she and Madja worked on cleaning him off with damp washcloths while Rhys and I stared at our newborn babe. We were both too completely and utterly stunned to speak in those first few minutes but sobbed the second he opened his eyes and were met with remarkable violet-blue.

Every part of him was truly incredible; resembling his father in nearly every feature except for the blue in his eyes and the tiny, perfect, shape of his mouth—even better than my own. I touched the soft, dark tendrils of his black hair as I nodded in agreement with Rhys's sentiment.

"He's amazing," I said, my voice still hoarse from my cries of agony.

But, as our gazes lingered on our son, the overwhelming relief I felt outshined my earlier anguish—any I felt before this moment. All the worry that had grown over the last several months, all the pain I had just endured, now vanished the longer I held my son. As I touched his cheek with a tentative finger, my tattoos a stark contrast against his perfectly unblemished skin, I felt a new bond snap into place.

Rhys must've felt it too, because the kiss he pressed to my temple was tender before he whispered to Sebastian, "Cauldron save you, Mother hold you. I, High Lord of the Night Court, vow to shield you with my body, protect you with my sword," I saw his throat bob as he swallowed before carrying on. "And keep you in my heart. My son."

The tears I had been battling to hold back finally fell as he finished those sacred vows, identical to the words we exchanged when he swore me in as his High Lady. My mate pressed another kiss to my brow but didn't pull back as I met his silver-lined eyes.

"Thank you, Feyre darling," he murmured softly, brushing away my tears with his thumb.

I beamed in return, my throat still thick as I touched his face with my free hand and swept away his own tears. "I couldn't have done it without you, Rhysand," I whispered.

Sebastian mewled quietly from his place on my chest, his wailing having ceased shortly after being placed on my skin, my mate and I returned our attention to him; that all-too familiar gentle and soft glimmer pulsing through the bond that now connected the three of us in the flesh.

XXX

"We call it the Dawn of the North." Rhys began, both of us settled in bed, Sebastian covered in a light blanket and still curled up on my chest for the precious skin-to-skin contact the midwife deemed crucial for the first hour of his life.

In this first hour following the birth, my scent and touch was pivotal in aiding Sebastian's development and especially in triggering his first few instincts—nursing being the most important. It was also a vital part of the new and delicate mother-baby bond between us. So, after the midwife and Madja had cleared away the mess from the delivery and provided me with my own postpartum care; instructing me to rest and recuperate after the undertaking my body had just been through, Rhys joined my side in bed; making sure the warm blankets I had been draped and covered with remained intact. With an arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, he waved a hand, his magic turning the bed in the direction of the window opposite of us. When I met him with a questioning stare, he simply smiled and motioned to the window again; urging me to look for myself.

The sky was painted in delicate, rippling curtains of green and blue light. The stars shimmering as the veils of light transitioned from one color to the next; multiple hues ranging from pale green, to red, to pink, and varying shades of blue shining through as they moved in soft waves across the sky. Set against the mountain, Ramiel, those three stars that only appeared on rare occasions in our court now shone bright while the rest continued glimmering in the patterned light. The look of astonishment on my face caused Rhys to grin as he went on to explain its origin.

"In the ancient texts, it's said that one of the first elements that came into being was night. Nyx, the primordial, and often forgotten, goddess of night was the prelude to the creation of our world-to Prythian itself," Rhys continued, his fingers brushing along my shoulder gently as we stared out at the sky.

"She was rumored to have wings and was powerful enough to be both feared and idolized by the ancient beings of Prythian and the continent. One of the many stories I heard growing up was her love of flying. My mother used to tell me that whenever Nyx would take to the skies, she would rattle the stars just from the mighty flap of her wings as she soared through them. In the early hours of dawn that would follow, the sky would look like this," he went on, his hold around me tightening slightly.

"It could only be seen in the Northern territory of Prythian. When the lords and the courts came to be, the sky would shimmer like this almost every night, but like Starfall, it soon faded over time and became a rare occasion—only appearing the night a new heir to the Night Court was born...as a sign of Nyx's blessing and approval." Rhys finished with a smile, bringing a hand up to wipe at a tear I hadn't realized I shed.

"It's beautiful," I breathed as I turned my head to look at him. "So, it can't be seen in the other courts?" I asked, thinking of the snowfall that had appeared in all of the territories following Eira's birth and how it must have compared to the storm that ravaged the Winter court instead.

Rhys's grin was crooked as he shook his head. "It's exclusive to our court alone, but our allies are being treated to a shower of stars similar to Starfall, minus the spirits" he explained, his eyes returning to Sebastian as the newborn let out a small sigh.

I brushed my fingers along Sebastian's back lightly, afraid that anything more might cause him to disappear, or worse. Through the bond, I could feel Rhys's equal level of apprehensiveness.

"He almost doesn't seem real, does he?" I asked as I continued my feather-light touch along my son's spine.

Rhys shook his head. "I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not dreaming," he said. "That I have a son, here in the flesh, and it's not some cruel trick of illusion crafted by the Cauldron as punishment for my sins…"

My fingers halted before reaching over to grasp my mate's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He's real, Rhysand," I said softly. "Do you remember what I told you all those months ago? How our son, our little Bash, is the culmination of all the best parts of you; of all the good you've done and are?"

The silver lining his eyes returned as he brought his lips down to meet mine with gentle ease in a chaste kiss. "All because of you, Feyre darling," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper before he kissed me again.

I smiled as we pulled apart and turned startled eyes to our son as he let out a tiny grunt. "Do you disapprove of my affection towards your mother, Bash?" Rhys asked softly.

I saw his hand twitch as if he might reach out and touch him, but changed his mind at the last second. You can touch your son, Rhysand, I promise I won't bite.

My mate's chuckle was quiet, but I felt his lingering trepidation. "It's okay," I encouraged.

His throat bobbed as he reached a shaky hand out and placed it gently on the back of Sebastian's head—so tiny and frail in my mate's large hand. Sebastian remained unfazed, eyes still closed and breathing even, as Rhys brushed a thumb along the light wisps of his blue-black hair.

"He is so small," Rhys murmured, voice still thick with unshed tears as he admired our son up close. "His nose, his lips, his eyes...they are the tiniest I have ever seen in my entire existence."

"He's perfect," I echoed before leaning in to press a breath of a kiss to my son's brow.

Sebastian let out another soft sigh at the contact and twisted his head back slightly, prying his eyes open to meet mine and my heart nearly stopped as I stared back at him. Tears immediately sprang back into my eyes as I smiled.

"Hello Sebastian. It's me...it's mommy," I said, near sobbing. "I love you so much…"

Sebastian's eyes slipped back closed, head cradled in Rhys's hand, already spent from our short interaction. Rhys let out a shuddering breath as I turned to look at him, tears of joy still falling.

"I don't know how I'll ever thank you for this, Feyre," he said, shedding a few tears of his own. "For this gift, this life."

You don't ever have to, Rhysand. He is our son, our gift. I said through the bond.

He pulled me closer as he kissed me again, his brow lingering against mine as we relished in this new familial tie between us.

XXX

Once our uninterrupted hour had passed, Madja and the midwife knocked on the bedroom door, causing both of us to tense as I held onto Sebastian more securely and as Rhys sat up in the bed; wings appearing a second later and curling protectively around Sebastian and me. I laughed when I realized just how soon those feral instincts had kicked in for us and touched Rhys's arm gently.

"They aren't a threat, they're just our caregivers," I reminded him.

He nodded, tucking his wings back in as he called the healer and midwife in, but kept a hand on my back as they entered. The two females came to my side, Madja pulling back the blankets I had been covered with in order to survey my recovery—mostly making sure no post-delivery complications were arising as the midwife began instructing me on how to nurse Sebastian. Both Rhysand and I paid close attention to the midwife's direction, taking extra care to the details on how I should position him on my breast and where Rhys could help should the need arise.

It took a bit of maneuvering, including Sebastian's adorably furrowed brow that resembled my mate's own look of frustration and confusion, but he latched on and was suckling in a matter of minutes. The sensation was strange and foreign, but something deep inside of me warmed as I cradled him to my breast, running a finger along his cheek lightly as he nursed. That warmth turned to a deeper understanding of the love I had for my son, and pride in the fact that I was able to nourish him. I was enough—had been enough in order to grow him safely inside of me, and now had the ability to provide him the sustenance he needed to survive outside of my womb.

I was enough.

You have always been more than enough, Feyre darling

I gave my mate an amorous smile, realizing he had been watching me with a level of devotion I hadn't seen before sparkling in his violet eyes. His hand rubbed loving circles into my back as we turned our concentration back to the midwife, who gave us further instruction on the nursing protocol. I briefly recalled seeing Viviane nurse and thought of how easy she made the process look, but as the midwife explained that I needed to switch Sebastian between breasts every so often and make sure he burped in between the feedings that would take place every few hours; all the while taking care of myself during my own convalescence, I couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed.

As if she could read my thoughts, Madja placed a comforting hand over mine. "It may seem like an impossible task now, my lady, but we will help you get accustomed and make sure all of your health needs are met," she said.

The midwife nodded in agreement, and so did Rhysand as he stroked the length of my shoulder. "You know you have plenty of support, my love," he said, and I knew he didn't just mean himself or the midwives.

We had our friends, a whole family, waiting for us back in Velaris once Sebastian and I were strong enough to go back. I stared at my newborn babe, wondering how they might react when they first laid eyes on him—only to be surprised when just the thought alone made me recoil, a sense of panic rising in me. Rhys chuckled at my plight, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Welcome to my world, Feyre darling," he teased. "Having that irrational, primal urge to keep him away, protected from everyone else, is akin to what I felt when our bond snapped into place."

I blinked; my instincts much further along than I earlier realized. "It's so odd," I mused. "I couldn't wait to introduce him to our family before, but now?"

I looked at Sebastian again as he suckled sleepily and rubbed his cheek gently in order to coax him awake. "I don't think I can let them anywhere near him yet," I admitted.

The midwife offered an empathetic smile while Madja laughed. "That is normal, my Lady, and will go away, to a degree, with time," she reassured.

"We should tell them though," I said to Rhys. "Let them know that he's here, and that we're both safe and healthy."

Rhys gestured to the window, the sky still painted with sparkling veils of pale blues and greens. "They know," he said. "I sent them a message via Az shortly after this appeared in the sky."

I sighed contentedly as I stared at the beauty of it, imagining what color paints I would need to mix in order to achieve those specific hues and what size canvas I would need. Nyx's flight I would call it, in honor of the ancient night goddess and my son's birth.

The midwife and Madja left after Sebastian completed his first successful session of nursing, wherein I reluctantly handed him over to their care for his first wellness examination. The midwife weighed and measured him, tested his reflexes and checked his overall wellbeing, all without much complaint from him as Rhys remained close to his side and talked him through the duration of the exam in soft murmurs. I watched from my place on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows after Madja performed her own examination of me and wiped my sweaty body clean with a warm damp towel. The magic of the Cabin presented a new shift at the foot of the bed, and the healer helped me change into that as well before helping me settle back into my semi-sitting position.

My eyes stung as I watched the midwife instruct Rhysand on how to properly place and secure a nappy on our son, before offering to show him how to properly swaddle a newborn babe. I saw my mate's enthusiastic nod, realizing he'd get to hold our son for the first time during the demonstration, and glanced in my direction for approval.

I can't do all the work, now can I? I teased through the bond.

His answering smile was just as warm as mine before he set about his task, the midwife only correcting his technique once before Rhys lifted and cradled the babe in his arms. The bundle that was now Sebastian looked impossibly tiny in my mates muscled arms; the Illyrian warrior, the High Lord of the Night Court, now enveloping his newborn son—the son he never thought he'd have, or deserved. I wiped the tears that spilled over as the older females dismissed themselves, and Rhys crossed back over to my bedside, eyes never leaving Sebastian's face as he stood. My heart squeezed as Rhys brought a hand to touch Sebastian's cheek hesitantly, his eyes growing silver lined as he marveled at our son.

"I don't think I'll ever grow tired of this feeling," Rhys murmured, gaze returning to mine.

"No, I don't think we will," I agreed, resting my head back against a pillow as I watched him.

Rhys paused, realizing. "Do you want him back?" he asked, knowing full-well that my maternal instincts were in full effect.

I shook my head. "I love seeing him in your arms Rhysand," I said. "I don't want you to leave my sight while you have him, but after months of imagining what it might look like to see you hold him...I can't picture anything better."

My mate softened at the sentiment before returning his gaze to Sebastian. "We better enjoy this time together while we still have it Bash, before your mother keeps you all to herself," he joked with a wink at me.

"I hope you warned the others," I quipped, a sleepy smile on my face as I watched Rhys make a small lap around the room, staying in close proximity to the bed.

"Mor and Cassian are already begging to come up here first thing in the morning, but Azriel, Amren and Nesta are keeping them leashed."

My laugh was quiet as I thought of their eagerness, but in reality, they all knew that it would be a while before they could be properly introduced to the newest addition of the inner circle. The midwife explained that the newborn bond was the most intense during the first week, and though I wouldn't be completely healed for another five following, we would at least be able to invite our family to meet Sebastian without the overwhelming need to safeguard him threatening to consume us and bare our teeth at our loved ones.

"They are going to love him," I said as I continued watching him move around the room, eyes growing heavier and heavier with the need to sleep.

Rhys heard the exhaustion in my voice and offered a sympathetic smirk as those adoring violet eyes turned to me. "You should sleep, my love, you've more than earned it after your efforts," he said.

I turned weary eyes to the bundle in his arms and he chuckled. "You can trust I won't leave your side, or even this room."

"I know," I said with a long yawn as he crossed back over to my side, taking a seat on the small space provided on the edge of the bed.

"I'll stay right here while you sleep," Rhys promised. "I think I can placate him until his next feeding."

I grinned languidly. "It can't be too hard if he continues to sleep like this," I said, glancing at Sebastian, who had fallen asleep almost immediately after being secured in his swaddle.

"My thoughts exactly, Feyre darling," he purred.

I was too exhausted to laugh, and instead brushed my fingers along Sebastian's cheek as he remained at peace in his father's arms. My heart squeezing as the full weight of realization hit, that our son was being held by Rhysand—his father.

To the stars who listen,

I brought my hand to his and squeezed it as his words echoed through our bond, both of us sharing a tender smile before admiring the sleeping bundle in his arms once again.

And the dreams that are answered.

[yukimoji]

Goodbye, My Beloved. ( Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader )

[ Muichiro pls or a Giyuu or Rengoku Specific request for rengoku that it’s an angst of reader reminiscing about rengoku after finding out he died maybe the reader is pregnant too. Oblivion ]

(a/n: my second attempt of writing angst! as usual, there will be grammar mistakes and typos here and there. thank you reading!)

Total words: 2100+ words

Genre: Angst

!!MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE INFINITY TRAIN ARC!!

---

Within a world full of suffering and loss, there was not much room for the warmth of happiness and love to settle in the dark pits of bloodshed and danger. The vast sky above mirrored this sensation, the shades of dark gray circling overhead as thick clouds threaten to shower the earth below with droplets of heavy rain.

You scurried to the backyard of your humble abode, scrambling to grab the damp pieces of clothing that had been put on the drying rack. You proceeded to relocate them inside, as the possibility of heavy rain was looming over the area. After you took care of such a heavy load, you won't allow the rain to throw all your hard work to waste.

Your shared cottage, which was usually filled with joy and excitement, now felt lonely without the warm presence of your husband. Kyojuro was on a mission to investigate a demon riddled train in the far regions. Reports of Demon Slayers assigned to the train and not coming back were gradually increasing, and the Demon Slayer Corps ought to decide to finally send a Hashira to look into the matter.

It's been days since your beloved had journeyed into the far regions, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter in each passing day. In these lonely times, the feeling of fear and doubt has always been with you. While Kyojuro was out and slaying demons, you couldn't help but give in to the sensation of a knot in your stomach twisting and turning as you pray to the gods above for your husband's safe return.

However, you did not doubt your husband's abilities in any kind. He was a Hashira; one of the best of the best in the Demon Slayer Corps. He had decapitated countless demons with a simple quick slash of his Katana, the heads of the Lower Moon demons he defeated considered as prized victories. His breathing style had been passed down throughout centuries, the techniques filled with such precision and finesse that would have taken any demon down.

He always promised to come back to you.

And he did.

Besides, there was something else that increased his desire to come back to you.

You wobbled inside the cottage, a hand caressing your swollen tummy. Months ago, you announced to the world that you were carrying Kyojuro's baby. He was ecstatic by this news, pampering your face with loved-filled kisses as he lifted you up, laughter escaping both of your lips.

Ever since then, he doubled his efforts in his missions. He would take extra-precautions to keep himself safe, as he could not wait to come back home and meet his child.

You sighed and stood in front of the window, looking over the beautiful and vast plains of the area. The sky was getting darker, and you wondered if a big storm was coming. You were beginning to wonder; how was Kyojuro doing? Did he finish the mission? Is he making his way back to you already?

Humming softly, you tenderly caressed your stomach, singing out little lullabies for your unborn child. You felt your baby kick, and a smile tugged its way to the sides of your lips. You were excited for the day when you would finally meet your child. You daydreamed how your days would go by, the images of Kyojuro and you cuddling with your infant filling your heart with so much warmth that your eyes were threatening to water.

As if the gods had heard your pleas, you heard soft knocking coming from your front door.

Your eyes lit up, your [E / C] sparkling with anticipation as you staggered your way to the door. A giddy smile painted your lips, relief washing all over as as you stood in front of the door. As you lifted your hand to grasp the handle, you were a little confused as to why the feeling of dread did not cease. Surely, it was Kyojuro behind the door, right?

You shook your head from your intrusive thoughts. Kyojuro is alive, he must be. And here he was, waiting in the other side of the door, arms open to surround you in his warm embrace.

As you opened the door, you expected to meet a pair of golden eyes that you loved so much, but you were shocked when you saw a single Kakushi in the doorstep. They had a solemn expression on them, their eyes filled with so much worry and remorse that you felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter than ever before. Behind them was another Kakushi, who held some kind of rectangular object in their hands as they looked at you with a wry expression.

You gulped as you started to sweat. Your hands were trembling, as the unwanted thoughts of the unthinkable began to overwhelm you. Despite your increasing doubt, you forced yourself to give the Kakushi a welcoming smile.

"Hello there! What brings you here?" You asked, a slight tremble evident in your voice that gave away how you truly felt at that moment.

"Are you Mrs. [ Y / N ] Rengoku?" The Kakushi asked, their voice filled with concern.

The feeling of dread rose even further, as your heart began to thump wildly in your chest. You nodded, never breaking your smile as their eyes drooped even more.

You wanted to hurl as fear suffocated you.

"Ma'am, we came here to bring you news." The Kakushi started. Your eyes widened when the Kakushi brought out a letter, and began to read out it's contents;

"On the XX day of XXX, The Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro has been killed after an encounter against Upper Moon Three."

What?

What do you mean my husband is dead?

"His body is now relocated back to the Rengoku Estate, where his father and brother are beginning to make preparations for his burial."

No, no. There must be a mistake. There is no way my husband is dead.

He promised me he would come back for us.

"As you may know, the Flame Hashira was sent to investigate a train where a demon was thought to have caused havoc. With the aid of reinforcements, Rengoku successfully saved countless human lives while the demon was successfully destroyed. Upon the sudden emergence of Upper Moon Three, the Hashira Flame gave his life to protect those in harm's way. In the end, Upper Moon Three retreated and all the victims of the train returned to their homes."

No.. No.. No..!

"We sincerely mourn the loss of such a strong-willed man. Rengoku Kyojuro will forever go down in the history of the Corps as one of the strongest. His sacrifices and tribulations will live on, as his death will not be in vain."

As the Kakushi continued to speak, the smile on your face was no longer there. You stared at the Kakushi, eyes blazed with disbelief. You couldn't properly comprehend the information being stated to you. Your chest ached with so much pain and pressure that it was suffocating you. The only thing your mind could do was repeat a sentence;

Kyojuro is dead.

With the last of your willpower, you looked up and met the eyes of the Kakushi.

"..I see." You forced yourself to voice out.

At this point, all you could hear was the heavy beating of your heart. Your eyebrows were scrunched together, and your eyes as wide as saucers. You began to draw labored breaths, placing a hand in your chest as you gripped your clothing tightly.

The clouds above became even more darker, as small droplets of rain started to come down. The gloomy atmosphere was unironically fitting, as you could feel your resolve rapidly decline.

Surge of overwhelming emotions overtook you, as tears continuously spilled from your [ E / C ] orbs. Your body shook violently, and your knees were threatening to fall as each second passes by.  You felt sick, as the urge to vomit started to arise from your throat. Your knuckles were beginning to whiten from how hard you were gripping your clothes.

You couldn't speak, not when the only thing that came out of your mouth was the agony of whimpers and sobs. Your eyes shut tightly, as the tears continued pouring down your cheeks. You let out a pained wail as your knees finally gave in, falling to the ground as you allowed yourself to be racked with cries and sobs.

The Kakushi immediately caught you, holding you in their arms as they gently placed you down. You were a mess, tears wouldn't stop falling down from your face as you screamed into the horizon. The Kakushi holding you proceeded to draw long circles into your back in an attempt to comfort you.

"..We were also given orders to give you this. Rengoku-san specifically asked to give you a parting gift, along with a letter inside." The other Kakushi spoke up.

Without thinking, you stood up, startling the poor Kakushi in front of you. You hurriedly made your way to the other Kakushi, their eyes drooping from your swollen and tear stained face. Your eyes held a silent plea in them, begging the Kakushi to give you Rengoku's final gift.

They held the rectangular object in front of you, as you immediately took it from their hands. You traced the edges of the box, and with a deep sighs, you slowly opened it. You let out a pained cry as a little stuffed toy was inside the box, along with a piece of paper with your beloved's handwriting on it. Your trembling hands grabbed the letter, and you felt yourself fall on your knees once more as your eyes scanned over your husband's penmanship.

"My dearest, [ Y / N ],

My love, thank you for all those years you had spent with me. I will always cherish those moments were it would seem like that there was more than just a cruel world. Thank you so much for making me feel like the most loved man in the world, even with all my flaws and shortcomings.

I wish I could have met our child. Everyday, I anticipate for their arrival and I had always hoped that we could've had a happy family like you deserve to have. I hope this little toy would always remind our child that their father will always love them wholeheartedly, even though I am no longer here.

I wish I could've written more, but my injuries is against me.

Farewell, my love. You and my child were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I would not dare to replace every little moment that we shared together. Embrace my darling child for me, beloved. I will await the day where I could finally meet you again in a better world.

Always and forever,

Rengoku Kyojuro."

Your eyes stared at the letter in front of you. Your tears dropped into his signature, and you shut your eyes once more as you held the letter and the toy tightly in your chest. Heavy rain rapidly streamed down, as mud and puddles started to form around your body.

Your body was soaking wet, but you didn't care. You continued to wail, your cries almost reaching the heavens above. Images of Kyojuro flashed in your mind, as you continue to scream out for your deceased beloved.

You remember the times were he would always come home to your embrace after every mission. He would whisper sweet nothings to your ear, a declaration of love escaping his lips as he would shower you with affection.

Every time he comes back to you, he would always make love to you in the most intimate and passionate way a man could ever do.

And then, you realized.

His eyes.

His smile.

His warm embrace.

You weren't going to experience that again.

After a while, the rain suddenly died down a bit. Your throat was already sore and raw from your screaming, but you still continued to weep under the rain. The Kakushis were trying their best to keep you dry, even putting an umbrella over you, but to no avail. Your clothes were already stained with mud, and you were soaking wet.

Even so, in your daze, you swore that you could feel a pair of familiar arms curl around you. Warmth engulfed you, which seemed like an attempt to comfort you, as you continued to mourn the loss of your beloved. The wind brushes your hair, and you could faintly make out a familiar voice;

"Goodbye, my beloved."