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#be still my soul and steadfast
clochanamarc · 8 months
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concept: ww.dits-esque documentary, but it's a camera crew following aisling, the kids and the squad around while recording the events that take place in the diner.
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ktisisphos · 6 months
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he chose mercy / he chose love / and i was undone HAUNTS me that fucking line. its so evocative of who ardbert was as a person and that simple act of kindness changing everything for cylva i'm scromiting
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hells-wasabii · 2 months
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Hi 👋
Could I trouble you for a Zestial x wife reader drabble please?
And maybe a seperate Carmilla x reader drabble too because I ship them and just can't choose between)
A/N: Have I mentioned I'm a sucker for domestic fluff? So I've actually decided that from this point on, if I'm requested more than one drabble per ask, I'll make seperate posts, but still include the ask via screenshotfor easier navigation.
Character: Zestial
Type: Drabble (Zestial x wife!reader, Drabble, Fluff)
It was amazing. Truly, it was.
Despite how 'modern' hell had become, the feel of the city somehow managed to remain the same. You imagined that it would so long as you remained by Zestial's side. It quite honestly reminded you of when the two of you had been alive. You could remember it so very vividly. Even then, your dear husband had been a lord residing over territories. It was similar to how things worked now, something that you had noted many times before. Though now, instead of able-bodied men and resources, power stemmed from souls.
While he had been a lord, you had been his lady, his darling wife who was unafraid to bare her fangs at the other nobles to put them in their place while he dealt with the more bloody matters. Your marriage, though initially arranged, was loving, fulfilling. It had been for several centuries. He was your everything and you were his. You had even been childhood sweethearts, falling in love effortlessly despite your marriage having already been arranged since birth. You very well could have been soulmates.
So it was only natural that you would die together, rising again to create a new empire to rule together.
Several centuries had passed. Overlords had risen and fallen like the tide, however, you and your dear husband remained steadfast.
"Dearest, is all well?" Ah, speak of the devil. Turning your head, you find your darling lord standing at the door. It never failed to surprise you how your husband could move with such grace as to walk nary without a sound. "Thou hast yet to come for dinner."
Even in small moments such as these, your dear Zestial remained attentive.
"Just reminiscing, dear. We have built much together." You pointed out, hoping to ease his mind as you turned back to look at your shared territories. He nodded, moving from the doorway to join you as you softly conversed.
"That we have, my dear wife, and so we shall continue to do."
"I greatly look forward to spending the rest of eternity with you, dearest. Our love is not one to be sullied by the sands of time. We have grown stronger, together." His expression turned content as his hand found the small of your back. A small but welcome gesture as he gently guided you closer to him. Truly, it didn't matter where you went or what you did. You were more than content so long as Zestial was there with you.
"May we remain here, just a little longer?" You asked, though truly, you already knew the answer.
"As you wish, my wife."
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pseudowho · 4 months
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Jus in Bello: A Judicious Domain
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Hiromi Higuruma is thrown out by his wife, the reader, rejected and broken after developing his Cursed power. Can she bring him home when he becomes embroiled in the Culling Game?
Warnings: Very angsty smut, dubcon at points
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"I declare my intent to participate in the Culling Game."
Your words ring through the chamber, your eyes meeting with Yuuji and Megumi, and you swallow your terror with quiet determination. You would enter Tokyo Colony One together.
Their aim? To hunt Hiromi Higuruma, to strike a bargain, or to eradicate him.
Your aim? To find your husband...to warn him, or bring him home.
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Sorcerers with non-Sorcerer spouses were known to be notoriously secretive about their private lives. While most of these non-Sorcerer spouses knew about the unique profession of their husband or wife, it was an academic knowledge at best; without the possession of Cursed sight, or a Cursed technique, their ability to comprehend the job was as remote to them as Heaven from Earth.
This was how it always had been, between you and Hiromi, passing, often, like ships in the night, as you tried to balance your work and home lives. Your love was so often enacted in the dark warmth of the night, rolling slowly towards his cool body as his weight crept into bed, hands and mouths seeking each other for comfort; gentle touches between legs, desperate kisses on necks. The love between Hiromi and you ran deep like still waters; decisive, steadfast, white-hot adoration.
Until Hiromi began to crack under the weight of supporting justice in an unwinnable system. Until Kenjaku had crept through the cracks, rooting Hiromi with such fierce Cursed energy as you had ever beheld. Until Hiromi became gripped by violent righteousness, becoming a hungry monster, fervent and jaded.
You fought to save Hiromi from himself, trying to claw him back from his own transgressions, down a path so contrary to what he really believed in. His resentment of you grew; how had you held so much power for so long, and not used it to help him win fights? And why were you trying to keep him from his own power, now?
In bitter tears, and rejected protection, Hiromi's ship drifted from yours. You remained steadfast in deep waters as always, a lighthouse. Until, one night, in pure hot contention, you threw Hiromi away from you, out of your home, demanding that he never return; he left, black eyes flat and unreadable, and you stayed, feeling the world crumble beneath your feet, your love unwavering, unfulfilled.
In the rising of the sun, you had returned from Shibuya, broken and grieving, part of your soul left behind with the bodies of your friends, colleagues and students. You got home, numb. You showered, numb. You looked into the fridge, starving, with no appetite. You went to bed, and waited for the gentle weight of Hiromi...which never came. You went through the motions with the other Sorcerers, who had no knowledge of your husband or his name. You watched as Kenjaku enacted a sickening new 'game', to usher in a new Golden Era of Jujutsu Sorcery.
When you learned of Hiromi's involvement in The Culling Game, you remained outwardly unaffected to your colleagues and students. Swiftly excusing yourself at the first opportunity, you staggered outside, scattered and vomiting in the bushes as you shook and wept, initially resigned to the cruel fate your husband now had to face. Initially.
As talk of entering the Culling Game to recruit top-scoring players to the cause began, you began to formulate your own plan. Your loyalty was, first and foremost, to your husband. You would save Hiromi, or die trying. You knew you would have to convince him to surrender, run with him, or fight him yourself. You had grimly considered each option as likely. You had grimly considered that your husband had left you, incensed by your rejection, and may now very well exceed you in terms of strength.
You were prepared to find yourself at Hiromi Higuruma's mercy.
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He had found you so much faster than you thought he would.
Hiromi's power was overwhelming, and in Tokyo's first colony, you followed the trail of his murder and destruction, hunting him down in a way that only someone who knew him could do. Your stomach twisted at the thought of betraying Megumi and Yuuji, lying with a smile as you sent them off to the fight.
You were fresh from Shibuya, nerves raw and frayed, crackling with potential like split live cables. You found that the unavoidable murder of a few weak links who targeted you, was surprisingly easy. You were blinkered by your aim, heart pounding with excitement and dread in equal measures, desperate to hold Hiromi again.
As you stood alone in a darkened theatre, the lush red seats hauntingly empty as you tried to get your bearings, your stomach twisted to hear a familiar voice above you.
"Domain expansion-- deadly sentencing."
You felt a hook behind your navel, a swooping, dragging pull as you lost your Cursed energy and dropped into an empty courtroom all at once.
Almost empty.
"I didn't think our marriage was so dreadful that you'd hunt me down to murder me, darling." Your knees wobbled as you took to the stand, a familiar warm hand gripping your elbow to stabilise you, dropping you unceremoniously against the wooden podium. You looked up to those familiar unruly spikes of black hair walking away from you to his side of the court.
"Hiromi," you gasped, his touch still searing on your skin, "you need to listen to me--" You blinked, monologue interrupted as Hiromi stood before you, his face straining to remain impassive, flanked by a bizarre, black-winged, masked creature. Hiromi's thick eyebrows connected in a deep scowl, his lips drawn up in disgust as he surveyed you.
"You need to know your place," he snarled, "you're not in charge here." Hiromi flipped a brown paper envelope in his hands, tapping it against his palm. "You have some charges to answer to...my love." You gulped, Hiromi's voice softening for a moment, sounding almost sorry.
You trembled, fully aware that you were powerless in his domain, and tears stung in your nose. You moved to step down and walk towards Hiromi, but his scowl only deepened, chin dipped, as Hiromi radiated fury and a wicked Cursed energy. You released a dry sob and leaned forwards on the podium on your elbows, your head in your hands, gut-churningly overwhelmed by him; wanting him home, wanting him safe, wanting him back to the Hiromi you knew.
You couldn't deny what an intimidating figure he posed now; slim, suited, hook-nosed and wrathful, you felt a familiar want for him stir in your gut, certain that you could escape together even if you couldn't convince him to join the others. You even preferred the former, captivated by the power coiling off him.
You swallowed, speaking, shaking; "What are the charges against me?"
Something hot and vengeful burned in Hiromi's eyes; "Spousal abandonment." Another sob wracked from your chest, appalled by the accusation, deeply wounded.
"I never walked away from you, Hiromi," you cried, voice breaking as you impeached him, "I--"
"Our evidence," Hiromi continued, eyes scorching into you as you stared each other down in bitter contention, "items one to ten, prepared for the defendant's examination." Hiromi spun the brown envelope to you, and it scattered items to your podium as it burst its contents on impact.
You picked up the items with trembling hands, agonised by them all, your heart sinking into your stomach as you beheld the varied contents of your marriage to Hiromi; your marriage certificate. A photograph, of your first kiss as man and wife, youthful joy on both of your faces. Your wedding vows, two neatly written pieces of paper, feeling Hiromi's intense, determined commitment to you rise up from the paper as you had when he had first spoken his vows to you. A short love letter from him, to you. A short love letter from you, to him. A stack of post-it notes you had left on the fridge, and in each others' lunch boxes. A bloodied dishcloth, from where Hiromi had accidentally cut his hand on a kitchen knife during your first fight about his new powers. A frantically handwritten apology note from Hiromi, to you. And a single, solitary hotel-room receipt, from the night you had thrown him from your home.
You knelt behind the podium, crying your heart out as you gathered these treasures, putting them back in the envelope and clutching them to your chest. Hiromi's stomach roiled with the fury and agony of your rejection, torn between wanting you to feel his pain, and wanting to comfort you in yours. He felt nauseous, unable to stop this courtroom charade now he had started it. He gulped back his feelings for you, eyes flinty and dark once more.
"How does the defendant plead?"
"Hiromi, I--"
"How does the defendant plead?"
"Stop it, I would never--"
A voice rising, deep, commanding, "How does the defendant plead?"
"I will always want you."
Silence fell again in the courtroom, only punctuated by the quiet, heaving sobs coming from behind your podium. Hiromi stared at the floor, flat and disconnected, "The defendant pleads...not guilty."
You heard a soft sigh from Hiromi as he continued, "Our second piece of evidence--"
You hung on bated breath, listening, waiting...until nothing came. Still clutching the envelope to your chest, tear-stained and shaking, you stood. Hiromi stood directly in front of your podium now, looking up to you from the floor. He said nothing, and his eyes glistened with reproach, his arms slightly raised to his sides, palms facing you as if in crucifixion.
"Your...your second piece of evidence?" you asked, weary, drained.
"Me. Being here. Right now." You blinked, not understanding for a moment.
"I...Hiromi, I don't--"
"I'm here," he pressed, heated and furious as he climbed your steps towards you, "and why would I be here, in this godforsaken pit, if you hadn't forsaken me first?" An accusatory finger stabbed the air between you, Hiromi hissing in rage, tears brimming in his lovely dark eyes. You reached up to take his hand, silently pleading, and he let you for a moment, torn, before ripping his hand away from you, spinning on his heels to walk back down the steps.
You flung your arms round his neck from behind, "Hiromi, don't--" His strong hands grasped yours, peeling them from his body and fixing them behind your back, pinning your body against the podium with his own. You couldn't move as you gasped, weeping, and Hiromi gripped you in place, white-knuckled and trembling.
"Why don't you want me anymore?" He raged at you, his mouth hot against your ear, "After everything we've been through, and I needed you to help me, and instead I end up thrown out like a dog--"
"-- I've tried to help you, to keep you away from the Jujutsu world, this miserable life--"
"-- I had no choice, this was forced on me, there's no way out of this now--"
"-- you've killed people, Hiromi."
Silence again, Hiromi panting against you, body hot and thrumming. He sniffed, squeezing your wrists as he pressed his face into your shoulder.
"They were...ugly. Ruthless monsters. Not people." Hiromi was silent again. You were lost in the bliss of his wiry body and sharp strength against yours. The raw emotion of the fight burned in your belly, seeking release.
"You were...my one constant. Soft, and beautiful and strong, and I-- I could always come home to you, until you-- you--"
Your face crumpled again, overwhelmed all of a sudden as your righteousness left you and you were wracked with guilt at having given up on him. You turned your head, stroking his hair with your cheek, tears dampening the black strands, dishevelled now. Soft and vulnerable for a moment, you felt Hiromi's shoulders tense against you, set in a hard line, and he bit into your shoulder with barely restrained aggression.
"But you lied," he urged, voice low and hushed against your neck as you whimpered into the pain, pressing yourself back against him, "you do want me, don't you?" Hiromi's nose and lips brushed against your neck, one hand remaining cuffed around your wrists, and the other creeping up to grip your throat and jaw. You coughed, alarmed, quivering.
"I don't know what punishment my domain will condemn you to," Hiromi whispered, trailing a long, languid lick up the side of your neck, tasting your sweat, fear, and regret, "and I don't know how this will end for me."
Hiromi's whole body was pressed against you, and you could feel the outline of his cock, solid against your back, as his hand slipped down from your throat, slipping under your shirt and bra to idly roll your nipple between his fingers as you keened at him.
"And even though whatever we had is soiled now," he croaked, his lips and nose still buried deep in your hair, his grieving face twisted with despair, "we should enjoy each other one last time, as husband and wife."
You hiccuped, breath catching on the lump in your throat, swallowing painfully, "Come back home, Hiromi. Or let me come with you, anything, as long as we--"
"-- as long as we're...together?" Hiromi scoffed lightly, terse and bitter, still tenderly squeezing your breast as he kept you pinned, his ministrations belying the anger you still felt brimming below the surface. He was grimly satisfied to feel you tremble under his hands, punishing you before your judgement had been passed.
"See, I used to think that," his hand left your breast to your noises of protest, but you shivered as it slipped down across your belly, deftly undoing your trousers, "and then, well...you know the rest. It was up to you, after all." Your face burned with shame at having your rejection thrown back at you.
You cried out as Hiromi shoved his hand roughly down the front of your trousers, cupping your sex with a possessive squeeze. He swiped your underwear to the sides, pressing two fingers harshly against your clit, groaning at your wetness as you bucked, whimpering. Your hands twisted in anguish, seeking freedom, and Hiromi denied you, pressing your upper body flat on the podium, lifting you so your toes brushed against the floor.
You sobbed your pleasure as Hiromi worked practiced strokes between your puffy lips, softly pinching your clit and rolling it between his forefinger and thumb as you bucked, overstimulating without being allowed to cum, drawn to tears with sharp pangs of pleasure and pain.
Hiromi punctuated his words with barely-restrained pinches of your clit, leaving your toes curling as you twisted and writhed under him, crying out and begging him for release; "You always wanted me," pinch, "you still want me," pinch, "and you've broken it beyond repair," pinch, "but I'm fucking sure you're completely ruined for anyone other than me,"  he growled, rubbing tight circles on you now, his hand wet with your arousal settling in his palm, and you mewled, high-pitched and desperate, pinned and shaking under his hands.
As he leaned into you, bucking his clothed erection against the swell of your arse, he shuddered in satisfaction as your thighs clenched together, your struggling fading as he brought you to orgasm, softly whimpering through a haze of pleasure and regret. Hiromi continued to rub slow circles, hushing you gently, bringing you down from your orgasm as he undid his trousers, grasping his twitching cock and pulling it free.
As you came down from your high and your vision cleared, your eyes met the impassive blank gaze of Hiromi's bizarre Cursed creature, and you hid your face in the podium, flushing with shame, feeling Hiromi yank your trousers and underwear down behind you.
"Hiromi," you shook, breathless and weak for him, "let me kiss you, please--" Hiromi chuckled again, humourless and gravelly. You jumped as felt him stroke the hot, leaking head of his cock up and down between your folds, jolting with sensitivity every time it brushed over your clit.
"I don't think so. We shouldn't stay too attached, should we?" You cried out, aching pussy filled instantly as Hiromi rammed into it, squeaking and squirming with blinding pleasure as Hiromi grunted behind you, his spare hand shaking as it dug into the plush of your hips, holding you in place against the cool wood of the podium.
The blinding pleasure was overwhelming as Hiromi pounded into you, wet slaps and his groans of ecstasy echoing through the dull silence of the courtroom. Your knees buckled, the podium taking your full weight as you felt his swollen tip slam repeatedly into your cervix, feeling sharp pangs in your belly every time it struck. Hiromi's grip on your wrists was painfully tight, your breasts crushed to your chest, nipples rubbing hard against the podium with the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and you felt his rage with every snap of his hips, praying you would be forgiven for your crimes against him after he had finished.
Feeling your core, hot, wet and pulsing around him, Hiromi slammed into you, trying to dull the odd duality of wanting to pull you desperately into his arms, and wanting deeply to hurt you as you had hurt him with your betrayal. His nose and eyes stinging with tears, and blood roaring through his ears, Hiromi spat out his rage and heartbreak as he came with a shout, holding himself into you deeply, feeling himself empty, heart throbbing and numbed by his release.
Hiromi shook, still seething, blinking back tears of rage as he pulled harshly out of you, stepping back, leaving you cold and empty on the podium, your overstimulated pussy fluttering around nothing. Hiromi stared at you, shaking and tear-stained and still ready to take him back, but still wanting to tame him, watching his seed trickle, white and thick, down the lips of your pussy, dripping to the floor of his domain. Loosening his tie with one quick pull, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, overheating.
"Let's make sure we do this properly, hmm? For old time's sake," chimed Hiromi as he turned you around to face him, lifting you by the waist to sit on the edge of the podium. You raised your hands to his face, clasping his cheeks as you gazed into his eyes trying to find your Hiromi still in there. You saw him, lost behind a veil of someone darker, much more broken than he had been before you had thrown him out of your home, and your lips puckered, drawing together as you tried to hold back tears again.
Hiromi sighed as you held his cheeks, feeling the day-old stubble growing there. You leaned in to kiss him, and he ducked to avoid you, latching sharply onto one freed nipple as his hand squeezed the other breast, tearing your shirt open at the buttons. You gasped, sinking your hands into his hair and gripping your thighs around him to hold him close.
Hiromi reached up, firmly untangling your hands from his hair, his jaw clenched; "Hands to yourself. Or we'll have to tie them out of the way." You cringed, reluctantly putting your hands to your sides as Hiromi gradually nosed his way down your body, stopping to nip at the sensitive skin of your belly, not once kissing you.
You fell into the little touch Hiromi was giving you so easily, a part of you still cold and empty by his enforced penalty of withholding affection and intimacy. The longing made you all the more eager, grasping at whatever he would give you. You shivered as his mouth reached your thighs, nipping and sucking gently on the soft skin grazing the edge of your pussy. Lost in the delight of his mouth on you, a hand slipped down again to sink into Hiromi's hair.
He stopped immediately and you gasped, apologising in a babbling rush. Hiromi rose,  hooded eyes looking at you in disgust, lips curled and nose wrinkled.
"Please-- I'm sorry, Hiromi...please--" Hiromi hesitated briefly, before raising his hands to slowly grip yours together again, not breaking eye contact.
"Final warning," he snipped, brittle and threatening. You gulped, nodding quickly. Hiromi's mouth returned to your thighs. When his nose and tongue finally slipped between your folds, experienced in his role as the only man who pleasured you, he tasted you with the fervour of a man determined to commit you to memory.
Hiromi heard you crying out above him, your sweet sounds soaked up and stored away in his mind, and he ground his nose against your clit, dipping a tongue into you to taste how the two of you were together, groaning as he felt himself begin to harden again.
Hypersensitive from the rough treatment of Hiromi's hands, you begged and pleaded to Hiromi, fingers clawing at the wooden podium, your whole pussy aching with all it had received and all that was yet to come.
Something in your belly snapped as you came, hard, calling Hiromi's name as he continued to nuzzle into you, lost, desperate to soak up your affections one last time. Barely stopping to let you come down from your high, Hiromi rose up, lifting you to kick your trousers and underwear away, and wrap your legs around his waist.
Hiromi threw his suit jacket to the floor of the stand, laying you down on it with such warmth that you could have wept again, and Hiromi laid himself flat to you, raising your thighs to cradle his hips, encouraging you to squeeze him as he slipped his cock easily into you again, slippery from the cum he had already left behind. You mewled, full and ecstatic.
Nose to nose, Hiromi plaited his fingers with yours and gripped them, your forearm flush with his as he leaned over your head. Moving within you, slow and thorough, the head of his cock examining every inch of you, Hiromi sunk his face into your neck, kissing you, promising you.
"I never stopped loving you," he urged, panting softly as you raised your hips in tandem with his thrusts, "I never-- I never did-- never will..." You gasped, pressing your lips to his, as sweet and optimistic as your first kiss...but haunted now, by something dark and tainted.
You and Hiromi moved together, gentle and quiet, as if alone in your bedroom in the dead of night again, and you felt the familiar deep warmth spread through your belly and thighs as you approached your peak again. Hiromi knew, knowing your body by flesh-memory now, and he tilted your hips against him, hitting deeper now, barely pulling out.
"Together," he insisted, pink-cheeked and euphoric. He felt you clench around him, drinking down your moans as he kissed you, ecstasy bursting through him as he came again, knees to the floor, weakened, his anguish and turmoil released in solemn finality.
He stayed for just a few seconds. With a soft sigh, he pulled out of you with a groan, standing and tucking himself back into his trousers, adjusting his suit, pulling his tie back on with practiced hands. You dressed, quiet and full of dread, desperate for an answer- you knew Hiromi had already made up his mind.
"We're done." His voice, quiet and considered, the Hiromi you knew, pierced you like a knife. You shook, picking up the envelope with the remnants of your life together.
"Come with m--"
"I won't come with you. You made your decision. I...have had mine made for me. All that's left for us to do, is to stand by them." Hiromi turned his back on you, "The prosecution rests. All charges have been dropped."
You reeled at Hiromi's final rejection, cold and weeping. His domain collapsed around you, and you found yourself sat in the dusty chill of the old theatre. Hiromi stepped away from you, ignoring you as you called out to him.
As he reached the door, he stopped, gripping the doorframe with a shaking hand; "I'd like to say I'll come home, if I win this. But whatever we had...it's gone. I can't-- I can't trust you anymore." Hiromi left into the night, the door swinging shut behind him.
By the time you had reached the door, sprinting out into the night, Hiromi Higuruma was gone, and you were alone once more, his conviction of you passed and enacted with a final kiss goodbye
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This so nearly had a different ending, but I did what I felt was true to his character.
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luffyrose · 1 year
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I've had a DC x DP prompt/fic idea and I'd thought I'd share.
Danny, who has been dragged into taken over the role of High King, has been going through some of the paperwork that it entails. Of course, he's still baby ghost so CW and the others actually help with most the stuff, but he had some free time after being chased out of his house and injured (it'd been a few months since then).
Either way, he finds a particular line of complaints. He was never one to engage in it, but many of his subject, of which fall under the demon category, are complaining about a soul they can't collect. Danny personally finds it kind of funny. He sets those ones aside for now though, and continues doing whatever.
A few months later, he's summoned via some magic user, probably Klarion, and is now in front of the JL and a tiny wayward chaos maker. In a more eldritch form, he turns to Klarion, who very clearly did not mean to summon him specifically by the way he's panicking and called Teekel back, and just tells him he's grounded.
Thinking thatbwas that after Klarion left, he went back to his castle to do more work...and maybe play with Cujo. Really, Pariah Dark left so much paperwork, he doesn't wanna do all that!
The JL however is now steadfast on finding whatever the fuck that was. Klarion was scared of it, and it seemed more annoyed at being called than concerned about the heroes behind it. So that could be very very bad news.
Danny, after a while, realizes the JL is trying to find out more about him, which makes his life very difficult, fuck you very much, has a wonderfully stupid idea.
Going back to those papers about the soul that can't be collected, he summons a very tired and now spooked british man. One by the name of John Constantine. He wants a deal. More specifically, whatever deals he'd made, those were now the High Kings, and in return for whatever he got out of the deals, he wanted John to help him. All in all, he just got hired by the High King in return for ignoring the equivalent of taxes.
John was very confused, but hey, boy king of there is very chill out of formal settings. And also maybe he's worried about the fact that like a 16 year old is king-
Either way, there deal goes a little something along the lines of;
Danny: Keep the JL off my back, and all your debts are no longer valid and anyone that disagrees can come fight me.
John: ....okay??????
So while Danny got a "I don't wanna deal with this hero!" guy, John got a "I don't wanna deal with this demon!" guy.
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solarisfortuneia · 2 days
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— 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞…
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(or, in other words, promises of their dedication to you.)
✦ featuring: childe, kaeya, xiao, zhongli, kazuha.
✦ warnings: none, just the smallest smidgens of angst in some places.
✦ notes: so, this is a really old work i posted on my first blog that i'm proud of sjhhjs i found it a while ago and decided to rework it a little!! (i haven't changed too much of the original though, just tweaked some sentences and added and subtracted.)
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…i’d pull hell and heaven to their knees at your feet, and i’d kneel alongside them (if I could. oh, if only i could).
childe wants to give you the world and more.
he’s almost reverent in his devotion to those he loves, seeking to please beyond all else, and what he holds toward you is no different. at merely a blink of your eyes, he’d bring you the sun and the stars, weave moonlight into fabric and find a chunk of the most beautiful emerald you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he does it all with a wink and a smile and a ‘you need only ask, dear,’
and it is true, you need only ask for him to lay out the world for you.
but alas, there is only so much fate will allow him to do. his heart and soul may rest in your palms, but he is duty bound to the tsaritsa.
ajax can promise you everything in the world, just not himself.
he cannot promise you himself in his entirety, he cannot promise you an ajax without his secrets, without an always existing barrier in between you.
no matter how desperately he wants to.
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…i’d stand bare in your light, arms asunder, abandoning my secrets and shedding the shadows i once called home.
kaeya alberich fears trust.
he’s scared of what it could lead to, what it could do to him, what it has done to him. he’s a man who lives under a cloak of secrets and inside a cocoon of fear and mysteries, and for him to allow himself to expose everything he hides is no small feat.
but it is the surest mark of his trust in you, that some hopeful part of him believes that you’ll stay against all odds.
he thinks you shouldn’t, though, that it’ll cause you more harm than good— he won’t let himself want you. but you’ll know he is truly yours when he hesitates no longer to tell you the deepest desires of his heart, to bare his whole soul and lay it before your eyes.
patience, and you'll find him the most beautiful butterfly of them all.
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…i’d cross the deepest of chasms, weather the harshest of storms, and brave the most treacherous of paths to return to your arms.
not a soul can say that adeptus alatus has no home to go back to. (and if they did, how utterly wrong they’d be.)
his home is the warmth of your embrace, the love in every gentle caress, and the soft cadence of your voice. it's the smile in your eyes, and the spring in your step, and the softness of your heart. he’d call it almost dream-like, but xiao knows what dreams are like, far better than anyone. he also knows that every dream— no matter how intense, no matter how vivid— always disappears.
but you’re still here, day after day,
does that not mean you’re as real as the air he breathes and the sun that sets over liyue?
xiao’s loyalty is hard won, but it is steadfast. he cannot promise that he’ll live forever, nor can he promise you happiness every single minute of the day. but what he can promise you, is that at the end of the day, he’ll fight his hardest to return to you, no matter how far away he might be.
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…i’d etch your memory— from the most mellifluous laugh to every tiny victory— onto my very soul, so that not even the flow of time can wash it away.
morax has prospered for centuries.
he’s witnessed dynasties fall to dust; paupers rise to prominence. he’s come across many he was fond of and cherishes the memory of everyone he has ever cared for. 
he’s also aware that forgetting some people in the vast expanse time is inevitable. the withering of the blooms of thought spare none, not even a god, and the tree of the psyche grows ancient. after all, even the mind is not permanent in a world of transience, is it?
but zhongli would be damned if he ever let you fade.
his promise, no, his contract— one he made to himself the day the realization that you'd one day no longer be by his side fully set in— is to preserve even the last wisps that linger, encasing the thought of you in shimmering gold, so that after you are long gone, you’ll live on as part of his soul.
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…i’d whisper the softest of tales into the night breeze, tales of you and i, so that even when we’re long gone, the wind will carry our stories for aeons to come.
kazuha is no stranger to the whispers of the wind.
he’s intimately familiar with them, a rare blessing he knows he is lucky to have. but his most divine blessing is the privilege of being part of a story with you. life is short, unpredictable; one never knows what their fate might be, but he's beyond glad that this part of his destiny has you.
he has no desire to be a legend, and he knows you don’t either. but he is sentimental in the regard that he wants the whispers of the two of you to stick around. he’s lost so much, and reciting stories of the two of you is his way of preservation, for nothing spoken into the wind vanishes.
the world knows only a fraction of this wanderer, but he hopes that if they remember anything about him, they remember how much he loved you.
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mine truly and forever || j. miller
summary: joel comes back to you in whatever way he can. part two of “yours truly and forever”. 
warnings: smut, creampie, oral (male and female receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk
word count: 4k
A/N: this took me awhile to get out, sorry everybody! also, i really didn’t plan on writing a part 2 to this, but the demand was really high. not my best work, so i just fed you all with smut instead lmao
here’s my masterlist if you’d like to read more of my work!
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You had long since given up hope that Joel was coming back for you. 
Every morning, you woke and swallowed down the tightening in your throat, the knot in your stomach. You believed he had moved on. Maybe he found his brother and settled down with Ellie.
Anything was better than what was most likely. Anything was better than him being dead.
You rose with the sun and fell with it too, wondering every day if you’d ever see him again. If you’d ever get to laugh with him, or cry with him, or touch him. Some part of you thought that, maybe, your night spent together was just his desperation for some human touch. All you were to him was a way to satiate his desire. Maybe.
You tried not to think about it, but the thought of him him him seeped into everything you did. Feeding the cows? You thought about Joel. Harvesting? You thought about Joel. Cooking? You thought about Joel. Laying awake at night, eyes flitting across the darkness, searching for something? You thought about Joel. 
So, yeah, you’d given up on the idea of him awhile ago. 
It had been two years since that night. The night you gave yourself wholly to him. The night you let him into the most intimate parts of your body and soul. Since you let him crawl through you, seeing into your depths. 
The first few months after him were honeyed in hope. When your alarm went off, signaling something was trying to breach your perimeter, you rushed to the camera and prayed it was Joel. It was always just some stray infected or moose or something that wasn’t him. As the snow melted, your heart was loyal. You breathed in the belief of his words every morning. The slush on the ground a reminder that he’d be safer in the warm weather, that he’d come back to you sooner. The summer was warm. Your garden thrived, preparing for his return. You ate strawberries on your porch and basked in the golden sun, soaking in the heat. Your skin dripped in sweat, heart dripping in steadfast hope. 
In the winter, you faltered. You still hoped for his return, you still believed in his promise, but you started thinking about other possibilities. Though, you rarely entertained them. Another spring passed. And another summer. Another fall, winter, and spring. It was summer now, but the heat was more suffocating, the sunshine more of a nuisance.
Over the last winter, you grit your teeth and weathered your bones. You felt betrayal, deep in your gut. Had he lied? Just to keep you solitary? To keep you from chasing after him? To keep you away?
You didn’t know. You didn’t care. Did you?
You didn’t know.
You had given him everything, but he couldn’t keep a promise.
You forced yourself to separate the idea of him from who he really was. He was a man before he was yours. He craved the life that would offer him something to do. He craved you, but didn’t he crave others? Did he crave you, or did he crave someone to take care of him? 
Who was Joel Miller? Who was he, and who was he to you?
Was he even the type to come back to you? No. Probably not. Not when he’s lived through this for 22 years. Not when he’s seen his friends die. Not when he’s killed. He wasn’t the type to lay down and become a farmhand.
Besides, you saw the way he looked at Ellie. Part of you was sure that he’d never leave that girl. She meant more to him than he’d ever say. He was never just yours. He never would be. 
So you shoved the thought of him to the corners of your mind, rejecting it endlessly. You’d never let yourself think too hard about him, only ever letting his image flit about your mind like a lost butterfly. You shut him out and never sought him out again.
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Another morning fell into your lap. The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the sound of alarms ringing out through the property jolted you awake. You rolled your head to the side to stretch a sore muscle, hand reaching under your bed for your rifle. No reason for alarm. Whatever it was, a stray infected or an animal, no doubt, would fall into one of your traps, or you’d pick it off without wasting a single bullet. All in a day’s work.
You slid on the first pair of shoes you could find, slipping out the door and making your way towards where the camera had signalled the breach. You groaned as you realized just how early it was, the sun barely illuminating the ground you stepped on. 
You held your rifle out as your eyes scanned the fence line. Nothing. It must have been one of the traps that set off the alarm. Sighing, you push the buttons on the padlock and it opens the gate. 
Moving to the nearest trap, you peek the muzzle of the rifle into the hole. It was still dark, but you made out a figure standing at the bottom of the pit.
“Move and I’ll fucking shoot you,” you yelled. No response, just the sound of heavy breathing. “You infected?”
Your name was whispered into the air like a breath of something you never thought you’d hear again. That beautiful, rugged, rich voice. The voice that you loved, so dearly. The voice that you hated.
“Joel?” 
“It’s me, honey,” he was breathless. It was almost as if it was his first moment of rest in twenty years. 
Your heart skipped a beat, breath faltering for a moment. You didn’t let the tears threatening to pool in your eyes spill. Instead, you threw your rifle to the side and got on your knees, reaching into the dark pit. “Take my hand.” 
Extending your hand, you almost immediately felt his large, rough one envelop yours. You used most of your strength to pull him up, him hoisting himself up once he got a good grip. He falls on top of you with the momentum, catching himself before his figure crushes yours. You could feel his heavy breath on your face, painting invisible lines of what you both want. A sea in his eyes, pooling with everything that’s happened since he left you, with everything he wanted to say, everything he wants to say. You lean into him a little, breath hitching and brows furrowing when he finally attaches his lips to yours. 
It was like an oxygen mask, breathing you to life. It was more desperate than any kiss you had shared. He was here, in your hands. He was alive. He was heart and flesh and blood and he was with you again.
Your arms pulled him in close until he groaned into your mouth. You pulled away to study his face. He didn’t meet your eyes, instead, absorbing every feature of your face that he had missed for so long.
You began to lift his shirt to see why he had groaned, but his hand on your wrist stopped you. 
“Joel,” you warned. “Lift up your shirt.”
“Take me to dinner first, hey?” He chuckled. He was stalling. He didn’t want you to see whatever was under his shirt.
You gave him a warning look before he gave in. Sitting up, you gently lifted his shirt. There wasn’t a concerning amount of blood for once, just small lacerations here and there that might need a few stitches. However, the skin underneath the marks was full of vibrant purples and blues and yellows, painted across the flesh of his abdomen like some sick piece of art. A small gasp left your lips at the sight, but Joel tilted your chin up to look at him, pulling his shirt down with his other hand. 
“Just fell, darlin’. I’d do it all again to get to you.” 
Heat spread across your face, tinting your cheeks. All the resentment you had for him fizzled away (but was it really resentment if you could forgive him with just one kiss? Or maybe that was just the power Joel had over you). 
“Let me patch you up, cowboy,” you said as you stood up, grabbing your rifle and pulling him up with you. “Come on.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
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Leading him through the house by his hand, the silence settled nicely. Something unspoken lingered between you two, remnants of what happened still drifting. Ideas of what might happen were tempting.
You led him to the bathroom, instructing him to sit on the counter. You opened the cabinet and grabbed everything you’d need. 
“It’s like every time we meet, you’re on the verge of death, Miller,” you said as you laid your supplies out.
He grunted. “Not on the verge of death right now, honey. Just a little banged up, is all.” You told him to take off his shirt. He did so without a word of protest. “I’m just lucky I’ve always got my favourite girl to patch me up.” His hands reached for you, wanting you to be close to him. He grabbed your hips and positioned you in front of him, between his legs. You didn’t look away from the cuts and bruises on his chest and stomach. 
“Not always, apparently,” you muttered under your breath as you began to dab his chest with a damp rag, washing away the brutality of what he went through to get to you. His brows furrowed, his hand moving to your wrist. 
“Don’t be like that, honey.”
“Fuck you,” you whispered, pulling your wrist from his grasp and going back to your task. You were both silent as you cleaned his chest, both avoiding eye contact.
You grabbed the dated peroxide. “Might hurt.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. He made no noise when you applied it to the areas of concern, but the cords in his neck tightened nonetheless. 
“Sorry,” you whispered, the desire to sooth him and shut him up with your mouth still clawing at you. He grunts in acknowledgement. You continued to clean him up, till all his wounds were stitched and his skin was clean of blood. 
“Done,” you finally spoke, throwing out the dirty rags and cleaning up. You went to move past him to get out of the bathroom, but he slid off the counter and blocked your exit. Your face was only a few inches from his chest. “Joel,” you warned, “let me out.”
“Not 'till you tell me why you’re so mad at me, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff yet soft. His hands slid up and down your arms, which were on your hips. 
You tried to push past him again, but he didn't budge. 
You huffed, and his eyes softened, large hands moving to cup your face. “You don't know how much I missed you,” he said, brows furrowed. 
You closed your eyes. “I do know.” You felt him press his forehead to yours, and you reciprocated, hands moving to hold his wrists. You didn't have the energy to be mad at him anymore. You just wanted him. 
“Then let me show you,” he whispered, breath fanning over your lips, driving you wild. Everything about him was intoxicating. 
His lips found yours again, still needy and fervent, but there was something more. Something hungry. Something growing, something left over. 
He pushed you against the bathroom counter, hands moving across your body, touching you everywhere, anywhere he could. His hands ghosted over your breasts, across your thighs, rubbing your hips, caging you in. You whined, “Touch me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. I just need more,” you said, breathless. 
At that, he placed you on top of the counter before he lifted your shirt from your body, “Nothin’ underneath? Knew I was comin’,” he said with a smirk. You were breathless as he kissed you again, sliding your pants off your body. He broke from your mouth to lay wet kisses on your neck and chest, biting and sucking his mark into your flesh. 
You whimpered when he gently ran a finger over your clothed core, bucking into his hand, desperate for anything more. He groaned when he felt how wet you were, your slick already pooling in your panties. He didn't have it in him to tease you. Not today. 
He slid your panties down your legs. You felt the heat of your core come in contact with the air, your slick beginning to drip down your thighs. He dropped to his knees, looking up at you with nothing but pure desire, want, need, and, dare you say, love? 
He kisses the soft inside of both thighs, your hands tangling in his hair, before his face hovers over your soaked core. He pressed his head into the inside of your thigh, running a finger through your folds. You moaned at the seating contact, watching as he brought his finger to his lips and captured your slick on his tongue. He moaned, “Missed this pussy.”
He played with your clit experimentally, just to see how wet you could get without his saliva, before the tempting sight of your pussy collapsed him. He dove in like a man starved, licking and sucking, spreading your folds apart to get further inside. Your hands still fisted in his hair as you moaned. He draped one hand across your abdomen to keep you still, hips bucking up into his mouth. 
His mouth was a magic ailment, drawing that familiar sensation from you in a matter of no time. The coil in your belly grew, hot and heavy, until his work on your cunt sent you over the edge, gripping his hair and moaning his name. 
“That's it, pretty girl. Give it to me,” he said as he worked you through your high. When he noticed you squirming, whispering “s’too much”, he moved from your core and up to your mouth. Your hands spread across his chest, still bare, as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your juices were smeared across his face, glistening in the hair there. 
“Take me to bed, cowboy,” you said against his lips.
“Yes Ma’am,” he breathed. He picked you up, wrapping your legs around his body, and carried you to your bedroom. You pressed kisses across his neck and chest as he moved. 
When he laid you down on the bed, he caged you underneath him. You reached to his belt, unbuckling it and throwing it to the side. He removed his pants, and you began palming him over his boxers. He was rock hard, eating you out almost getting him there in itself. 
“Please,” you said, nearly inaudible. “Will you let me taste you?” You stroked his bulge. 
“Fuck, honey. How could I say no to that?” 
You rolled so you were on top of him, freeing his thick cock from its constraint. He sat up on the edge of the bed, you sinking between his legs. 
You stroked his cock, smearing the precum around the tip. He was sensitive. You could tell he hadn't had anyone since you, and he definitely didn't have the time to take care of himself. He groaned as you began giving kitten licks to his tip, hand fisting in your locks, not guiding you, just needing a place to find solace. 
“Gonna be the end of me,” he groaned when you put him fully in your mouth. He threw his head back, tears pricking your eyes when you tried to take him all. He was desperate for his release, but he was desperate to release inside of you even more. 
“Baby, m’ not gonna last. Wanna finish inside of you,” he groaned. You lifted your head from his cock, wiping the saliva from the corners of your mouth, eyes wet. 
“So pretty. C’mere,” he said, gesturing to his lap. 
You climbed atop him. “Wanna ride you,” you said, sucking into his neck. 
“Fuck, okay. Okay, you can ride me honey,” he said. You were absolutely ruining him. 
You kissed him silly, straddling his lap. He was so enamoured with you, everything you did. The way you tasted, smelled, sounded. He was pussy drunk. 
You parted from him to run his tip through your entrance, still soaked with your cum and his saliva, collecting your wetness. Lining him up with your entrance, you moaned into each other’s mouths when you sunk down onto him. Allowing yourself a moment to feel him sheathed fully inside you, stretching you out, filling you up, letting your body remember the way you blended together, you kissed him with a renewed passion, something you thought had died. 
You held onto his shoulders as support, his large hands gripping your hips, gritting his teeth. When you lifted yourself off of him and back down, you set a desperate pace, grinding yourself down on his cock. 
“Not gonna last long, pretty thing,” Joel groaned, eyes fixed on where you were connected. You were too set on your release to care, you just knew you wanted him inside you forever. 
“Don’t care,” you gritted out, panting and out of breath. The noises filling the air were downright unholy, but neither of you had it in yourself to care. “Want you to fill me up.”
Joel growled, “Fuck, honey. Fill you up so good, you’ll be dripping out of me. That what you want?” He asked, landing a smack to your ass as you bounced on his cock. You moaned. Your release was right around the corner, your cunt clenching hard on his cock, thighs beginning to tremble. Joel moved a hand to circle your clit, hell-bent on getting you there. “So pretty,” Joel said, almost whimpering. “So good for me. Squeezin’ me so good.”
His words went straight to the fire growing in your core, your slick pooling at the base of his cock. Finally, the coil snapped, your orgasm dancing down your legs and up your body. Your thighs and frame trembled as you tried, you really tried, to keep bouncing on his cock, but your thighs were too weak at this point to keep going. Fixed on release, Joel flipped you so you were caged underneath him, barely missing a beat before spearing his cock into you. He swallowed your overstimulated whimpers. 
“Gonna make a mess out of you. Fuck, almost there,” he groaned. 
“Inside, inside, please,” you choked out, still delirious from your previous orgasm. However, you felt another one building inside of you, the friction of his body as it rubbed against yours added to your previous stimulation was enough to get you there again. You lazily toyed with your swollen clit, not having enough energy to focus, yet you knew it wouldn’t take much.
Joel barely noticed your state as his hips faltered in their pace, hitting that sweet spot so good. You had barely any control left over your body, but as he groaned and the muscles in his front tightened, the feeling of his hot seed filling you up was enough to send you into a frenzy. He groaned into your neck, your loud, wanton moans filling the air. As he filled you to the brim, you shook underneath him, your third orgasm overtaking you. 
When he had recovered, Joel looked down to where you both met, taking note of the creamy ring formed around the base of his cock. He grinned, still breathless, as he gently unsheathed himself from your core, watching you squirm and wrinkle your nose at the overstimulation. He laid down next to you, and you naturally curled into him. 
It was still morning, the rest of the day still ahead of you, but as Joel pulled the blanket over the two of you and watched your chest heave, he had the feeling that time didn’t matter anymore.
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Your eyes fluttered open and met his. You noted how sore your body was, but the pull at your heart was no match. He had been watching you sleep, watching as you cuddled into his warmth and trusted him enough to hold you as you slept. The bright daylight filled the room, lighting up all his features, shining on the pretty grey in his hair and beard. 
“How’d you sleep, honey?” he asked, his voice gravelly. You could feel his heart beating as you laid against his chest. 
You hummed, “Better than I have in a long time.”
He smiled. There was a soft silence for a while as you just looked at each other, his hand stroking the skin of your face, kissing your cheeks and forehead, down the bridge of your nose, and ending at your lips. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
Your easy grin faltered for a moment. “It’s okay. I just…” you breathed in, “I thought you were dead.” 
He pulled you into his chest. “I’m okay. ‘M right here, darlin’.”
You leaned into his touch, basking in the knowledge that you weren’t going to lose him again. 
“Come back to Jackson with me.” 
“Jackson? In Wyoming?”
He nodded.
“Joel, that’s far…” 
“I’ve made the trip twice now.”
You were silent for a few moments, thinking. He spoke again. “I know this is your home, and it’s been your home for years. And I-”
“Joel,” you cut him off. “Anywhere you go is my home. I’ll come to Jackson with you.”
Joel Miller’s smile was something rarer than diamonds or gold, but it appeared on his face as real as ever. 
Joel kissed you like the world had never ended, like you were his world. That’s because you were. 
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A week of bliss later, you had packed everything you’d possibly think you’d need on one horse and two backpacks. You’d set all your cattle free to roam and disarmed your alarm system. You had made Joel map out your route to Jackson, ever the planner, going through every minute detail. Nights were spent wrapped around each other, and mornings were spent wrapped around the blankets. You spoke of the life you would have together in Jackson, spoke about Ellie, spoke about everything. 
Often, you’d look up at Joel and be met with a punch to the gut. The idea that the man you spent two years of your life praying for, standing right in front of you? It hit you out of nowhere sometimes. It was hard to be thankful in a world like this, in a world that did nothing but take and take and take from you. It was hard to believe that he was really here, that the world gave you something good for once. Sometimes, you’d have to touch him, really touch him, just to make sure he was really here. Just to make sure you hadn’t finally gone crazy and started to imagine him. 
You began to fear that the world was going to whisk him away from you. Maybe a clicker would get him, or maybe a stalker. Maybe you’d react too slow, too quick, too late, too poorly, and he’d try to save you. Maybe he’d get another infection. God knows that man does not take care of himself. 
These fears plagued your mind day and night, awake and asleep. They brushed your thoughts when he touched you, fingers working you into a puddle, you melting into him. These thoughts were unspoken, never would they be said aloud, or they just might seize you in your sleep and become real.
When you got to Jackson, the fear of losing him never ceased, but you did come to realize something. 
You realized that what you were feeling, this utter, disgusting dread and fear of losing the one you love the most, was completely natural.
You loved Joel with all of yourself, and you knew that if anything happened to him, you’d lose all of yourself too. 
After so long, your hearts were molded to one another, holding on for dear life. And you’d spend that life together. Truly and forever.
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karagatan02 · 3 months
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જ⁀ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 are you to 𝐌𝐄 ?
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To Blade, you were the sun stretching over a vibrant pasture of may flowers that broke like the golden yolk of an egg.
To Blade, you were the twirling winds of summertime as your smile emulated the very warmth of the sun and a dash of charming playfulness which never once failed to lighten the strain of burdens. Naturally flowing away like a stream of water or a feather in the wind.
To Blade, your patience was as steadfast and serene as a lake in still waters, the moon dancing overhead while you planted stars on his scars through tender kisses he did not deserve. Boundless and ever so infinite like your soul.
To Blade, you were both an instrument and it’s player: a sweet melody that echoed in his ears every daunting moment when the whispers of the past clouded his mind. Spotlight gracing your skin as the tunes of a forgotten tenderness swirled up into the air like the steam of tea rising from a cup. Thus, no matter his efforts or restraint, Blade kept finding himself at your front door, and thus, in your arms. Time and time again.
To Blade, each step you graced the ground with brought forth life: a child’s laughter, an old woman’s smile, the scent of honeysuckles. That was all your doing.
And Blade, was forever a shadow of destruction that was doomed to a life as devoid and blank as a starless night. Nevertheless, you were the stars. You littered yourself in his life; setting a subtle twinkle in the abyssal night of his being despite his lifeless form.
You were made of cosmic dust, maple wood and all the collective dreams of the universe. And Blade, who was undone bit by bit, followed you like a shadow looming behind in longing.
It had been so long since another soul touched him without underlying motives. He feared that.
Why did you harbour him in your house absent of fear? Why did your persistence invoke warm sensations? Why did your eyes unfailingly meet his?
Blade was keen on understanding you, yet, he gradually realized there was simply nothing to understand. Truth rolled of your tongue with ease and as for Blade, it got stuck in his throat, dying off. Yes, you were far from perfect, nevertheless, you carried yourself despite every thorn pricking your skin. Carving your way through each cavern; leaving subtle traces of discovery for him to follow.
The feeling swelled in his chest like a disease— and it terrified him. And yet, he could not put a name to it. A name to how his eyes lingered a touch longer than they should or how you rubbed his back. (And for the first time, he did not flinch at your touch or grab you by the arm.)
Thus, when the Astral Express offered you the chance to become a passenger, Blade clenched his fist and held his breath.
It was no wonder they asked you. After all, you were the polar opposite of what a Stellaron Hunter should be. You were amiable, mindful, calm, merciful yet seemingly lighthearted like a child.
Blade told himself that he dared not involve himself. You were a person of your own free will. Thus, you would deal with the consequences. There was no regard for him.
Nevertheless, the urge to tear you away from the conversation thrummed through his vile veins.
However, your reply would be forever ingrained in his sullen memory for the rest of eternity.
"I am honoured that you would consider me Mr. Yang," you articulate kindly, a smile reaching your lips, "But, I'm afraid I must decline."
"Oh? How so?"
You emit a silky chuckle, "If you asked me three years ago, I would have readily agreed," you pause then continue with vibrant eyes, "But, there are people I care for with my own life. It would be my biggest regret to leave them."
Until Blade can learn to fathom the extent of his own emotions, he will continue to linger beside you like a phantom or a shadow. Subconsciously yearning to nestle himself in your warmth, yet, always going through, a mere ghost of an absent lover in your presence.
masterlist
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more angst :0 i think most of my blog will be angst lmao. btw this was originally posted on my other account @/mignonne02. i just took it down there. thank you for all the support! it makes me really excited to write more >> (please request btw) especially on my last post (diluc angst for life)
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dolcettamagica · 1 day
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𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞
gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au
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tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k
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In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.
Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.
Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.
From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.
Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.
Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.
Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.
In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.
And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.
In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.
"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."
There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.
"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."
With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.
"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."
But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.
"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."
With a final message sent, Viktor leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.
As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.
"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."
The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.
"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."
There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.
As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.
With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.
You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.
With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.
"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."
There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.
"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."
But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.
“I was working on my tan, boss.”
"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."
There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.
"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"
Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.
"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."
Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."
Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.
"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."
The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.
Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.
With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."
A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.
“You will always belong to me.”
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prettyobsessed · 1 month
Text
Part 1: .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 💫Constellations of Affection💖.˳·˖✶
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☁︎/ pairings: Xavier / fem!reader
☾ / genre: romantic, fluff [sfw, safe for minors]
₊˚ / tags: safe for work, safe for minors, contains swear words, slight flirtations mentioned, fluff, romantic, sweet Xavier, angry Xavier, friendship blossoming, best friends to lovers, slow burn, continuation, fight scene, past relationship turmoil, self-improvement, drowning in work, hectic work life, kisses, hugs, super gentle
♡ / word count: 5.3k
 ₊⊹summary₊˚⊹
Amidst the whirlwind of a bustling life, I find solace in the unwavering presence of Xavier, my steadfast friend and protector. Despite harbouring feelings for him, I guard my heart, scarred by past relationships. As our bond deepens, I grapple with the desire to reveal my true feelings. Will I find the courage to confront my fears and express my love to Xavier?
﹌﹌﹌
As I pull away from the hug, Xavier's arms remain wrapped around me, holding me close with a tenderness that fills my heart with warmth. His gaze meets mine, and in those kind eyes, I see a reflection of the love and care he has always shown me. "Thank you for staying,” I whisper, my voice barely above a soft murmur, but the sincerity behind the words is unmistakable.
𓍢ִ໋୧🍵 ⋅₊˚*ੈ♡⸝⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭୧ ˙ 
In the bustling city of Linkon, where neon lights danced upon the urban landscape, I found solace amidst the chaos in the form of Xavier, my steadfast best friend and protector. Xavier, a Deepspace hunter dedicated to protecting civilians like myself from Wanderers, became my protector and confidant after our first encounter on a bridge near Linkon City four years ago. 
Our friendship blossomed from then onwards, where we would escape the confines of our busy lives to gaze upon the stars, lost in the beauty of the night sky. Our nights are often spent together, stargazing from rooftops, sharing our hopes, dreams, and even secrets. Sometimes, Xavier would even take naps on my lap and give me gentle head pats, sending a flutter through my heart. 
Amidst our shared reveries under the celestial canopy, Xavier would playfully bestow upon me various endearing nicknames, but none resonated with me as deeply as being called Princess. Whenever the word slipped from his lips, the sweet and sultry timbre of his voice carried a softness and affection that enveloped me like a comforting embrace—making me feel truly cherished. 
His presence brought a sense of calm amidst the storm of my hectic life, a beacon of light in the darkness of uncertainty. I couldn't help but feel captivated by his mysterious aura, finding him irresistibly charming and attractive.
Yet, despite these intimate moments, our relationship never progresses beyond friendship.
Despite the blossoming of affection within me, I find myself paralysed by the fear of opening my heart once more. The scars of past relationships still linger, casting a shadow of doubt over my longing for something more with Xavier. I tread carefully, concealing the depth of my emotions beneath a carefully crafted facade, praying that Xavier won't decipher the hidden turmoil beneath the surface.
Every interaction with Xavier becomes a delicate balancing act, a choreographed dance of veiled glances and cautious words. I hold my breath, fearing that the slightest slip-up will betray the secret longing I harbor within. 
Yet, with each passing moment in his presence, the yearning to unburden my heart grows stronger, the desire to lay bare my soul to him almost overwhelming.
But the spectre of past heartaches looms large, haunting my every thought and action. I am burdened by the fear of repeating past mistakes, trapped by the dread of disappointment and heartbreak. And so, I remain ensnared in a silent struggle, grappling with the conflicting desires to both reveal and conceal the depths of my heart.
As a dedicated professional in the fast-paced world of the fashion industry, I often find myself immersed in a multitude of responsibilities. My days are characterised by a constant juggle of tasks, from meeting deadlines to surpassing expectations set by clients and colleagues alike. The pace is relentless, with back-to-back meetings, creative brainstorming sessions, and meticulously planned photoshoots demanding my unwavering focus and dedication.
Despite the chaotic nature of my professional life, Xavier remains a steadfast and unwavering source of support. His presence serves as a calming anchor amidst the turbulent waters of my daily routine. Whether it's offering a sympathetic ear during moments of stress or providing a reassuring smile to lift my spirits, his unwavering support is a beacon of light in the midst of my busiest days.
Xavier often frequented my apartment, and during moments of respite, I eagerly seized the opportunity to unveil my creations to him, transforming our time together into impromptu fashion shows. With each meticulously crafted garment, I sensed a subtle tension electrifying the air between us, prompting me to ponder whether it was merely the allure of the dresses drawing us closer or the unspoken emotions simmering beneath the surface.
There was a particular allure about skirts that seemed to captivate Xavier's attention. I recall one instance when I slipped into a mini skirt, his eyes lighting up with unmistakable admiration.
His excitement was palpable, and he couldn't contain his enthusiasm, clapping his hands in delight. Even as I changed into another outfit, he couldn't seem to shake the image from his mind, insisting that I don the mini skirt again for a closer look.
A mischievous spark ignited within me, nudging me to flirt back with him. Succumbing to both his charm and my own playful inclinations, I obliged, slipping back into the mini skirt and performing a slow spin that allowed him to drink in every detail.
As I stood before him, adorned in the mini skirt, I could feel his gaze lingering on me, his breath caught in awe. It was as though in that moment, the fabric of the skirt became a conduit for unspoken desires, weaving a silent narrative of longing and admiration between us. With a coy smile, I couldn't resist teasing him, suggesting that perhaps he was too enamoured with the mini skirt.
The tension between us felt noticeable, and I sought refuge in the familiarity of casual attire, hoping to diffuse the charged atmosphere and regain a sense of normalcy—though deep down, I secretly relished the idea of indulging his request.
Sometimes, after particularly hectic days at the office, Xavier kindly offers to give me a lift, his bike a welcome respite from the chaos of my workday. Even on days when Xavier himself seems exhausted, he always maintains a vigilant watch on the road, ensuring our safety as we navigate the bustling city streets together. 
Sensitive to my needs, Xavier never rides too fast, understanding my tendency to experience motion sickness. This consideration speaks volumes about his thoughtfulness and care, as he ensures our mode of transportation aligns with my comfort, sparing me the discomfort that often accompanies other forms of travel such as cars or taxis. Hence, I usually prefer taking the train—it offers a more stable and soothing journey, allowing me to arrive at our destination feeling relaxed and without any adverse effects. 
Despite the occasional setbacks, our bond only grew stronger, anchored by shared moments of laughter and quiet contemplation beneath the twinkling city lights. 
It was on one such evening, as we lay side by side on the rooftop of my apartment building, that Xavier posed a question that caught me off guard. He lay beside me, his thoughts growing louder with each passing moment.
"Can I ask you a question? What do you think of me?" His words hung in the air, laden with unspoken meaning, and I felt my heart race with uncertainty. His eyes danced in the moonlight, a shimmering reflection of his soul, seeking answers within the depths of mine. Caught off guard by his sudden inquiry, I searched for the right words to convey the depth of my feelings for him. But as I stumbled over my response, I found myself unable to articulate the truth that lay buried within my heart.
"Honestly?" I began, my voice tinged with uncertainty. “I think you're… amazing.” A nervous laugh escaped my lips as I struggled to find the right words. "Your selflessness, your love for animals, and your unwavering presence shines through in every action... whether it's kindness or lending a helping hand to a friend in need. You're a rare gem in a world full of ordinary stones, and I cherish every moment we spend together. 
Everything about you is so ho-“ I stuttered, the word "hot" lingering on the tip of my tongue, before quickly correcting myself. "Cool. Everything about you is cool. It's one of the many reasons why I admire you so deeply and… I’m really proud to call you my best friend.”
As I awaited Xavier's response, a wave of apprehension washed over me, my mind swirling with doubts and insecurities. But before I could question his reaction, he deftly changed the subject. "Haha," he chuckled softly, his words masking the disappointment that flickered in his eyes. "Best friend... I see," he echoed, his tone carrying a hint of resignation. Confusion clouded my thoughts as I tried to make sense of his words.
What was that. What is going on? Was I simply reading too much into it—into his reaction? Before I could seek clarification, Xavier changed the subject, his bright facade masking turmoil within.
"Let's go! It's getting late. I’m getting sleepy already," he remarked with a fake yawn, his voice cheerful despite the underlying tension between us. I nodded, the faint rumble of approaching trains echoing through the station, heightening the urgency in his words. As we boarded the train together, the worn fabric seats welcomed us with a familiar embrace, their faded texture a testament to years of commuter traffic. 
Xavier settled beside me, his presence comforting yet unnerving in the dimly lit carriage. I stole a glance at his reflection in the window, the soft hum of the train's engine creating a cocoon of sound around us. He rested his head on my shoulder, his breaths steady and rhythmic, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me.
What did he mean by ‘Best friend…I see’? The question echoed in my mind, refusing to be silenced as I grappled with the uncertainty of our relationship. Did he also see me as more than just a friend? Or was I simply projecting my own desires onto a friendship that was never meant to be anything more?
The weight of my thoughts pressed heavily upon me as I journeyed home, the rhythmic sound of the train's wheels against the tracks serving as a backdrop to my inner turmoil. I wanted so desperately to reach out to Xavier, to confess the depth of my feelings for him, but the fear of rejection held me back, chaining me to the confines of my own insecurities.
And so, as the train rumbled onward into the night, I was left alone with my thoughts, grappling with the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring. For better or for worse, Xavier had become an indelible part of my life, his presence shaping my world in ways I had never imagined possible. 
That night, as I lay on my bed, memories of my past relationship flooded my mind like an unwelcome torrent. Two years spent together, believing we were destined to be each other's forever, shattered in an instant when my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my own best friend. Every whispered secret, every shared laugh, now tainted with the sting of betrayal—an irreparable fracture.
The bitter taste of betrayal tainted my perception of love, leaving me disillusioned and wary of entering another relationship.
My days became a relentless cycle of pushing myself to the limit, both physically and mentally. Yet, despite my outward transformation, the pain of betrayal lingered like a stubborn shadow, threatening to consume me at every turn. That day, I found myself unable to hold back the tears as they streamed down my face upon discovering the truth, each drop a poignant reflection of the depth of my heartache.
To escape the tormenting memories, I buried myself in work, immersing myself in tasks and projects with unwavering determination. I also poured my energy into crafting my own set of outfits as a hobby. But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, the ache of heartbreak remained a constant companion—a haunting reminder of the love lost and the trust shattered.
Yet, just when hope seemed all but lost, a flicker of light appeared on the horizon. That is, a year after the devastation of my past, I met Xavier. His presence breathed new life into my world, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of my despair. Little did I know, he would become the beacon of love and healing that I had long believed to be lost.
As I pondered back to Xavier's words, my eyelids grew heavy with fatigue. Soon, I surrendered to the embrace of sleep, diving into its depths.
Ever since then, life became a whirlpool—sucking me into its chaotic currents. It's my typical coping mechanism to bury myself in work, a futile attempt to escape thoughts of Xavier. Days blurred into nights filled with endless work and overtime, a relentless cycle that offered temporary distraction. Then, amidst the hustle, a familiar ping broke through the monotony—a text from Xavier. ‘Princess. U busy? I’m craving for soba noodles suddenly. Wanna eat 2gt?' his messages popped up one by one. Again, his simple words stirred a flutter of emotions within me, and I couldn't help but blush.
Xavier's persistent attempts to meet up tugged at my heartstrings, but I resisted, afraid to deepen my feelings for him and disrupt the delicate balance of our relationship. ‘Kinda tired tonight. Another day okie? Sorry🤍’, I replied, my fingers tapping out the message with a weariness that mirrored my exhaustion. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me as I left the office well past midnight. 
The city streets, usually bustling with life, now felt eerily deserted as I made my way to the train station. Boarding the train homeward, fatigue threatened to pull me into slumber. The train's bell-like chime jolted me awake as it announced my stop, piercing through the haze of fatigue that clouded my mind.
I alighted at my stop, the deserted train station casting eerie shadows in the late-night silence. Each step echoed off the empty walls, my weariness dragging me down like an anchor as I trudged wearily up the stairs. Thoughts raced through my mind, a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling in the darkness of the night.
As I ascended to the top of the stairs, exhaustion bore down on my shoulders, threatening to engulf me. Abruptly, a figure emerged from the shadows, jolting me out of my reverie. Before I could react, we collided.
Nearly stumbling backward, my heart raced in my chest as I struggled to comprehend the situation. With a shaky hand, I reached out to steady myself against the railing. "Watch where you're going, dumbass.” The harshness of this rugged-looking stranger voice pierced the stillness, stirring a knot of anxiety in my stomach. It was a jarring encounter, snapping me out of my tired stupor and reminding me of the harsh realities of the world outside my bubble of work and avoidance.
“I’m so sor-“, my voice trailed off. As I strained to identify the source of the voice, a sense of dread crept over me. The intonation, the cadence—it all felt uncomfortably familiar. Oh no. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I peered closer, and there he was: Leon, his presence like a ghost from my past, haunting me in the dead of night. 
For a moment, I was frozen in shock, unable to comprehend how our paths had crossed again after all these years. But then, as his words registered in my mind, I felt a surge of anger rising within me, pushing aside the fear that threatened to consume me. “Wait… (your name), is that you?” Leon's voice cut through the tension, his tone filled with surprise and a hint of uncertainty. "Leon," I replied, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Trying to ease the tension, I added, “I almost didn’t recognise you.”
But before he could answer, his demeanour shifted, his eyes softening with an emotion I couldn't quite place. “(Your name)…” he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry." His unexpected apology caught me off guard, momentarily halting my rising fury. But as I struggled to process his sudden change in attitude, he reached out to grab both my arms, his presence, like a repulsive chill, sent waves of disgust through me.
“It’s been years and I still miss you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can't we just talk?"
I recoiled at his touch, feeling repulsed by the memories of our tumultuous past flooding back. "No," I said firmly, my voice edged with apprehension. "We can't." But as I attempted to pull away, his grip tightened like a vice, his fingers digging into my skin with a disturbing intensity. "Please," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation and a hint of madness. "I really miss you."
In that moment, panic flooded through me, memories of past betrayal threatening to overwhelm once again as I attempted to break free from his touch. Leon's expression turned aggressive, his grip tightening on my arms as I struggled to break free. I attempted to flee from his grasp, but he wouldn’t relent. 
Leon's voice erupted into a furious crescendo, each word dripping with venomous anger. "Bitch! You think you're hot shit now? Who are you fucking now, huh?” His aggressive tone sent shockwaves of fear coursing through me, urging me to escape his tightening grip. Desperation clawed at my mind as I screamed for help, the haunting memories of our tumultuous past intensifying the terror of the present moment.
Summoning a surge of determination, I gathered every ounce of resolve within me, channeling it into a fierce effort to break free from Leon's suffocating grip. With a desperate lunge, I wrenched myself from his grasp, feeling the weight of his hold relinquish as I staggered downward, my heart pounding with the urgency of escape.
The reverberation of my voice in the desolate station amplified the intensity of my fear. I struggled against Leon's vice-like grip, panic coursing through me as I frantically scanned the empty surroundings for any sign of assistance. Yet, the late hour rendered the station eerily deserted, devoid of any potential saviours. In the grip of terror, my thoughts instinctively turned to Xavier, the one person I yearned to have by my side in that moment. The memory of his unwavering strength and protective presence ignited a flicker of courage within me. Drawing upon every ounce of resolve, I broke free from Leon's grasp, staggering backward in a desperate bid for escape.
“Get away from me!" I cried out, my voice trembling with a potent mix of fear and fury. As I darted up the stairs to get to the street and find help, my heart pounding in my ears, Leon's menacing presence loomed behind me. With a sudden, forceful movement, he seized hold of my hair, his grip unyielding and merciless—anchoring me to the ground with a jolt of pain and terror.
I found myself sprawled on the unforgiving ground, my arms instinctively forming a feeble barrier against Leon's relentless assault. With every ounce of determination I could muster, I unleashed a powerful kick aimed squarely at his groin. The impact sent shockwaves of pain through his body, doubling him over in agony, his knees crashing to the ground as a guttural cry escaped his lips.
Despite the adrenaline-fueled panic coursing through my veins and the tremors that racked my body, I persisted in my struggle against him, each futile attempt to break free intensifying the sense of desperation and urgency in the air.
Leon's face contorted into a menacing snarl as he regained his composure. He lunged towards me once more, but before he could reach me, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Xavier. With his imposing presence and determined stance, Xavier swiftly intercepted, closing the distance between us and Leon with remarkable speed. Without hesitation, he delivered a powerful punch to my attacker—his silhouette blurring with the force of his strike.
His usually gentle gaze now burned with an intense darkness as he confronted Leon, ready to protect me at all costs. 
“Fucking coward,” Xavier spat, his eyes blazing with anger as he delivered another forceful blow to Leon's face. “Don’t you fucking dare lay a finger on her again.” With each punch, Xavier's resolve only seemed to strengthen, his determination to defend me evident in the unwavering force behind his blows.
Xavier subdued Leon with practiced ease, pinning him to the ground. The weight of his authority was palpable in the air.
As Xavier continued to rain down blows upon Leon, the sound of fists meeting flesh echoed in the dimly lit space. It punctuated the tension with each impactful strike. It was a visceral dance of justice against brutality, a raw display of Xavier's resolve to protect me. The sight of Leon, bloodied and bruised, bore witness to Xavier's unwavering commitment to my safety.
Never before had I seen Xavier so consumed by rage. It was as though he had transformed into an entirely different person, his usual calm demeanour replaced by a ferocity that I had never witnessed before.
Leon, now all bloodied up, stared up at Xavier in shock and disbelief. His bravado shattered by the force of Xavier's righteous fury.
“If you’re anywhere near her or touch her again, I’m gonna make sure you won’t see the daylight,” Xavier warned, his voice carrying the weight of his conviction, leaving no room for doubt or negotiation.
With fear etched on his face, Leon scrambled to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry him.
With Leon's retreat, the tension in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a heavy silence broken only by the faint sounds of the night. Xavier's gaze lingered on the spot where Leon had stood, his expression a mix of resolve and concern.
Turning towards me, his face a portrait of pure concern, I could still see the remnants of his earlier anger simmering beneath the surface.
"Are you hurt?" Xavier's voice softened with genuine concern as he focused his attention on me, his hand reaching out to gently cradle my cheek. His touch was warm against my skin, a soothing balm to the chaos that had unfolded moments before. I shook my head, my breaths ragged as I leaned against the solid cement pillar for support. As I attempted to rise, Xavier's reassuring presence steadied me, his strong arms providing stability. Gratitude flooded through me, knowing that once again, Xavier had rushed to my aid, much like that pivotal night at the bridge.
"Thank you… Xav," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, trembling with emotion as I met his gaze. "How did you know where I was?" I asked, my heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. Xavier's expression softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and concern. "I was worried about you," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, a comforting hand supporting my back. “I just had a feeling something wasn't right, so I wanted to check on you. I'm relieved I found you when I did."
Despite the lingering rush of adrenaline, I found solace in Xavier's protective presence and his timely intervention.
Xavier's eyes scanned my face, his brow furrowed with genuine worry as he assessed my injuries. "We need to make sure you're alright," he insisted softly, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. Taking my hand in his, he effortlessly hoisted me onto his back, his actions speaking volumes about his commitment to my well-being. As we hurried through the quiet night together, Xavier bearing my weight, a sense of security enveloped me in his embrace. Despite the lingering fear and uncertainty, I found solace in relying on him for support, grateful for his unwavering strength and care.
"I can walk just fine, you know... You don’t have to carry me," I admitted sheepishly, a blush tinting my cheeks as I acknowledged my dependency, my face nestled between his shoulder and neck. Xavier's gaze shifted slightly as he turned his head, locking eyes with me in a reassuring manner. "I want to make sure you receive proper care. We're heading to the hospital to have your injuries checked," he explained calmly, his voice filled with determination to ensure my well-being.
“You’re so dramatic, it’s just a scratch!” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Xavier sighed and replied, "Ok fine, but let’s at least go to the nearby clinic?" I nodded in agreement, grateful for his compromise and his insistence on ensuring my well-being.
With each step, his purposeful stride conveyed his unwavering resolve to take care of me, easing my apprehension about seeking medical attention. The cool night air enveloped us as we moved forward, Xavier's presence providing a comforting shield against the uncertainty that lingered in the darkness.
After receiving care and ointments from the clinic, Xavier accompanies me all the way back to my apartment, ensuring my safety with his tender manner and attentive care. With each step, his strength supports me, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the swirling storm of emotions within me. As he guides me through the door, his touch is reassuring, grounding me in the reality of his protective embrace.
Once inside, Xavier assists me in removing my shoes and leads me to my bedroom with a confident, fluid grace. As he settles me onto the bed, his expression shifts between concern and determination, evident in the focused way he prepares to apply the ointment to my scratch.
"Wait," I interject, sitting up. "I'd like to shower first. I don't feel comfortable resting on my bed in my outside clothes."
Xavier nods understandingly, his eyes reflecting his unwavering support. "Of course. Would you like me to leave then?" he asks, gesturing towards the door with a gentle motion.
I pause, considering how to express my desire for his company. However, honesty prevails in my mind. “No, please stay," I reply, grateful for his presence. "Could you help me blow dry my hair after?" Xavier's surprise is evident, but a soft smile graces his lips as he realises I trust him enough to ask for his assistance. "Of course," he says, his voice warm with reassurance.
Stepping into the shower, the warm water envelops me in a comforting embrace. Thoughts of Xavier flood my mind, his timely arrival a beacon of hope in my darkest moment. Gratitude swells within me for his unwavering support, though questions about how he found me linger in the recesses of my mind.
Once refreshed and renewed, I search for Xavier and find him peacefully asleep on my couch. Bathed in the soft glow of the lamp, his expression is serene, imbuing the room with a sense of calm. Drawing closer, I marvel at the tranquility that surrounds him, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm in the stillness of the night.
Studying his features, I notice the gentle fall of his hair and the subtle curve of his lips softened in slumber. A small leaf rests atop his head, a whimsical detail that brings a smile to my lips. As I reach out to remove it, a droplet of water from my hair lands on his chest, causing him to stir and awaken.
Xavier blinks sleepily, his gaze softening with warmth as he focuses on me. “I-I’m sorry!” I stammer, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. "I didn't mean to disturb your sleep. There was a leaf on your head, and I simply wanted to remove it. Look!” I explain, holding up the leaf as evidence. He chuckles softly, the sound carrying a warmth that melts away any lingering tension.
"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress, softened by the lingering tendrils of sleep, yet resonating with a sincerity that soothes my unease. As he unfurls from his slumber-induced cocoon, the fabric of his shirt tautens, tracing the contours of his toned abdomen with a subtle grace. A delicate flush of warmth blossoms across my cheeks, suffusing them with a soft, ethereal glow, like the first blush of dawn.
With a quiet determination, Xavier rises to his feet, a stalwart figure against the backdrop of uncertainty. The ointment, a healing elixir, already nestled in his hand, ready to tend to the tender wounds etched upon my skin. His touch is gentle yet purposeful, each movement deliberate as he tends to my grazed cheek and elbows, a silent vow of protection and care woven into his actions.
“Now, where can I find your hair dryer?” Xavier asks, his eagerness evident in the sparkle of his eyes and the gentle curve of his lips. The dim light of the room casts soft shadows across his features, adding to his allure as he waits patiently for my response.
Guiding him to the location of my hair dryer, I make my way to the kitchen to prepare some refreshments. The aroma of chocolate muffins wafts through the air as they warm up in the oven, filling the kitchen with a tantalising scent. Meanwhile, I carefully brew a fragrant cup of green tea, the steam rising gently from the cup as it steepens.
Returning to my room with the refreshments in hand, I find Xavier already waiting. With a warm smile, I place the food and drink on my side table, gesturing for him to sit on my dressing stool while I settle onto the bed beside him. As he inspects the wetness of my hair, I can't help but notice the soft glow of the streetlights seeping through the window, casting a tranquil ambiance over the room.
Handing him the hair dryer, I set it to medium heat and watch as Xavier meticulously blow-dries my hair with the brush I provided. Each movement is executed with care and tenderness, his focused attention ensuring my comfort throughout the process. Xavier playfully teases me about the small leaf in his hair, insisting I placed it there, to which I respond with mock offense, playfully stuffing a chocolate muffin into his mouth. Laughter fills the room, muffled by the treat, as we enjoy this lighthearted moment together.
“All done,” Xavier announces with a smile as he switches off the hair dryer. 
Throughout the interaction, I can't help but feel a sense of warmth and affection for Xavier, grateful for his unwavering support and the comfort of his presence. The glimmer of streetlights seeps through the window, casting a soft glow on Xavier's features, particularly his blue eyes. In that moment, a tranquil stillness envelops my apartment.
As the sound of the hair dryer fades, I rise from my stool and move towards Xavier, who remains seated on my bed. I wrap my arms around him in a heartfelt embrace, my gratitude overflowing for his timely rescue. Overwhelmed by my emotions, I surrender to the warmth of the moment with Xavier. With a gentle kiss planted on his cheek, I convey the depth of my appreciation, cherishing this intimate connection between us.
As I pull away from the hug, Xavier's arms remain wrapped around me, holding me close with a tenderness that fills my heart with warmth. His gaze meets mine, and in those kind eyes, I see a reflection of the love and care he has always shown me. "Thank you for staying,” I whisper, my voice barely above a soft murmur, but the sincerity behind the words is unmistakable.
Xavier's warm smile softens his features, his eyes brimming with tenderness as he gently reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. "Princess, from this moment forward, I vow to protect you wherever life may lead," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody that brings peace to my soul. Nestled in our peaceful embrace, cocooned in warmth and affection, I realise the depth of the bond between us. This connection is precious, a beacon of light in the darkness of uncertainty. 
With a contented sigh, I nuzzle closer to Xavier, guiding his head to rest on my chest, where he finds solace in the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. His arms around me are a sanctuary, offering solace and comfort in a world of chaos. And in that moment, I know with unwavering certainty that I am exactly where I belong. 
Moved by the depth of my emotions, I lift Xavier’s head to meet my gaze, cupping his chin with my hand, and without a word, I press my lips softly against his, sealing our love with a tender kiss. It's a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes, expressing all the love and gratitude that fills my heart. As our kiss deepens, I feel a sense of completeness wash over me, as if I've finally found my home in Xavier's embrace.
Reluctantly parting, breathless and exhilarated, a sparkle in Xavier's eyes reflects the emotions swirling within my own heart. In the lingering sweetness of our embrace, I know that our love will endure, steadfast and true, through every twist and turn that life may bring.
—by prettyobsessed⋆˚✿˖°
Editor’s note: So sorry! Work has been so hectic, but I hope this piece that I wrote will make your heart flutter♡
It’s for my Xavier gurlies; those who love his gentle side. Will Part 2 show more of a darker side to him? Stay tuned! For a bad boy Xavier ✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧
On a side, side note: I realise I enjoy writing slow burn scenarios. Do you guys prefer a fast-paced one instead? Feel free to let me know!
this content is copyrighted by @prettyobsessed. all rights are reserved. it is prohibited to replicate, imitate, plagiarise, or repost my content on any other platform without authorisation. translations are also not permitted unless proper credit is given🌷
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ficnation · 2 months
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Chapter 5: Bait
Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,0k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: It's been eighty-four years... (unedited)
Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist
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The silence in the room is deafening as you stare at Jack Crawford with wide eyes. The tea you just made would already be nothing more than a puddle on the wooden floor if it wasn’t for Will, who took it from your hands when they began to shake. He doesn’t even blink when a few drops spill out over his fingers and burn his skin.
“You can’t be serious,” you mumble in disbelief, your gaze shifting to Will, who stands steadfast by your side, unmoving. He casts a glance between you and Jack, once, then twice, grappling with the weight of his allegiance. It doesn’t require a genius to connect the dots. “Did you know about this, Will?” Your voice carries a tone of betrayal, leaving Will feeling like Brutus to your Julius Caesar—as though he just plunged a metaphorical dagger into your back.
Jack Crawford stares at you long and hard, and a little guilty. “You’re our best chance.”
“You want me to be the bait.” You cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, furiously shaking your head. “I’m not— I won’t do that,” you protest.
Even if you never expected anything less from Jack Crawford, the feeling of treachery is almost crushing. Will takes a step towards you, and then another. He approaches you cautiously, with his hands extended in a calming gesture, almost as if he were approaching a scared animal ready to bolt any minute now. You’d consider it a pretty funny sight if the situation were any different, but right now, you might just be a skittish doe surrounded by wolves.
When he places a hand on your back, his touch lacks the usual reassurance it once held. Despite any grievances you may have harbored against him, he was always your sanctuary. Yet today, that sanctuary feels distant. You gently shrug his hand off and take a step back. The pain in Will’s eyes is palpable—a deep, sorrowful abyss that mirrors your own heartache.
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do,” Will says in response. “You’re the best shot we’ve got.”
“What makes you even think that Hannibal Lecter will pursue me? I find it hard to believe.”
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Jack raises a brow, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm that makes you itch to punch him square in the face. Sure, you’re breathing, but your sister lies six feet under the very ground you’re walking on. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
You’ve felt it too—the lingering gazes trailing you as you tread the corridors of the BAU’s headquarters, the enigmatic curve of his lips as you cross his path. It’s a sensation that crawls beneath your skin, a disconcerting dance of shadows in the depths of your soul. What strange game is he playing with you? 
Will’s face contorts into an indescribable grimace when he hears those words spoken aloud, as if each syllable is a sharp knife twisting deeper into his already troubled conscience. 
“I’m not going to throw you into the lion’s mouth and just sit back and watch,” Will says after a few seconds of silence. “He’s intrigued by you, just as much as he’s intrigued by me. I don’t think he’d hurt you.”
Jack seems satisfied with that. He knows that if Will is on board, it won’t take much persuasion to get you there too. He genuinely believes that you can help them. Yet, you surprise him once again, and he wonders who snuffed out your will to fight to make the world a better place.
“Do you even hear yourself, Will? I very much like being alive. I won’t do this, and that’s my final answer,” you huff out, stepping away from him, even though it hurts—burns your soul.
Will can’t bring himself to be upset with you because your reaction is completely understandable. Your sister—your flesh and blood—has been taken from you, and you’re just exhausted. You don’t have the energy to risk fighting a man like Hannibal, and he understands that better than anyone else ever could.
“I’m only asking for your help, not your life,” Jack says. Deep down, he knows he’s not winning this if Will doesn’t, and one glance at the green-eyed man confirms they’re at an impasse. So, he steps back, granting you the much-needed space. “Take some time to think about it.”
“No, thank you. I won’t be thinking about it,” you assert firmly, your resolve unyielding.
Jack sighs and shakes his head, almost in awe of your stubbornness, but surprisingly not in a condescending way. “Suit yourself,” he says before turning around and walking out of the kitchen.
Will makes sure that Jack is out of the room and out of hearing distance before he sets the mug on the counter and lets his frustration come out. He lets out a long sigh, moving close to you once again. You can see that all he wants is to kiss you, to drown you in his touch the way only he can—but he’s holding himself back, and you know it’s not easy. 
“I didn’t want this,” Will’s words are sharp, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I don’t want any of this, but I do know that Hannibal needs to be taken down,” he adds, his gaze hardening with determination.
You don’t answer, and you can see that Will is disappointed by your response, or rather the lack of one. His disappointment doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and that realization pains you even more. While your brain insists it’s for the greater good to apprehend Hannibal, you can’t ignore the persistent voice whispering in your ear, urging you to prioritize yourself above all.
If you let yourself accept this, if you become the bait that Jack wants you to be, it’s as if you’re letting yourself go once again. Everything you’ve buried in the darkest cranny of your mind will come back to haunt you. And you can’t go through it all again. You can’t.
Will takes your hand, and you can feel his body shaking slightly, his breath quickening. He’s nervous, but there’s something else at play here, and it’s hard for you to discern exactly what it is. His hand tightens around yours until all your fingers are securely in his grasp, and he doesn’t let go. It’s as if he’s trying to communicate something by the intensity of his grip, as if his emotions can no longer be contained by mere words. And when he finally speaks, his voice is so soft that you can barely hear him even in the silent room.
“Can I ask you a question?” Will’s voice is tentative, his grip tightening on your hand.
“You ask a lot of them lately,” you say lightheartedly.
He chuckles at your jab, his hand still intertwined with yours. “I’m serious,” he mumbles, his tone becoming earnest. “Would you trust me... enough to believe that Hannibal won’t harm you? I will protect you from him. I swear on my life.”
Will holds your gaze, and your mind turns blank—his question leaves you mute. It’s been a long time since you’ve trusted someone so much. He’s so important to you that it hurts more than you would like to admit. This isn’t the Will Graham from just a few minutes ago—loyal to Jack’s dictations and ideas. This is Will Graham—your love, your best friend. And right now, you’d trust him with your life.
“I will do it,” you mumble out, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. You look him straight in the eyes and repeat it a little louder. “I will do my best.”
Will lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and he pulls you close to him once more so that your lips almost touch his jaw—almost. His fingers travel through your hair, and his other hand grips at the back of your sweater. There’s nothing more intimate than this—the quiet understanding between you two. You wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Thank you,” his voice is a murmur—a promise, a secret shared, something intimate amidst all of this madness.
“I’m not doing it for Crawford or anyone else. I’m doing it for you, for my sister…”
“I know, love,” Will mumbles, his voice still as soft as ever. “I know.”
Silence sets in, with only the sound of you and Will breathing—in tandem with each other. It’s like a peaceful moment in between the chaos, where a thousand thoughts are all trying to fight for space in your head, but your focus is right here, right now, and it’s only you two.
The world doesn’t feel quite so dark when you’re here—when you’re with Will.
That night Will tells you to wear something nice and elegant, not too revealing. You don’t question him, changing into one of the few dresses you have in your suitcases. It’s pine green, the satin fabric fits almost like a second skin. There’s something about wearing this dress that makes you feel like you’re ready to take on whatever comes your way.
There’s also something about it that makes you excited to see Will’s face when he lays eyes on you. You know that he’ll love it and just a few minutes later his expression proves you were right.
“You look... ravishing,” Will whispers, his eyes locked on you. You can tell that he’s speechless by the way he blinks, almost too surprised by your appearance. 
“You don’t think it’s too much?” you mumble, feeling slightly embarrassed by how much you anticipated his reaction. 
“It’s perfect,” he tells you, and you take a deep breath and walk across the room to kiss his lips. You take it slow and give a little bite at the end—just to see his reaction.
“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” Will mumbles, his voice already a little lower than before. He can feel your lips sliding away, as if they’re a temptation that’s almost impossible to resist. The kiss was short, but Will knows he enjoyed it more than a little bit. 
“I might just do it again,” you warn him, and you move close to his ear to whisper some words that make your body shiver and his skin break out in goosebumps. “We need to finish that dinner fast. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit next to you and keep my hands to myself.”
Will swallows hard, his heart beating quicker, as he looks down at you. Your words are enough to render him speechless. He can’t find his voice to reply. It’d be too easy to pull you into his mind and act on both of your instincts. The mere thought of it makes him so nervous, so hungry, and so eager. When he finally speaks, it’s in a low, desperate tone that sounds far away. 
“You make my blood boil.”
Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter’s house, flanked by Will and Jack, feels like the most daunting task you’ve ever faced. The weight of impending decisions hangs heavy in the air, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re on the verge of unraveling your own life once again. Your nerves are frayed, betraying the facade of composure you strive to maintain. Fear grips you tightly, its icy fingers coiling around your heart, as uncertainty clouds your thoughts. Every step closer to that imposing threshold feels like a leap into the unknown, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. You steel yourself for what lies ahead, hoping against hope that your resolve won’t crumble under the weight of doubt.
Jack stands silently next to you, his expression cold and his eyes piercing you from time to time in a way that’s unnerving. His mere presence sends shivers down your spine. You glance at Will, who appears just as uncertain as you, if not more so. While the decision to help take down Hannibal doesn’t seem to trouble him, the thought of involving you in this dangerous endeavor clearly weighs heavily on his mind. What he’s asking you to endure and the risks involved make him flinch as much as they make your stomach churn with dread.
Will’s fingers slide in between yours, a silent promise that he won’t leave your side. You can almost feel his heart beating wildly, mirroring your own, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, focusing solely on the person about to open the door.
The door swings open, welcoming you into a home that’s as stunning inside as it is outside. But the beauty of the surroundings fades into insignificance as you lay eyes on the Hannibal Lecter standing before you. Suddenly, you find it impossible to meet anyone else’s gaze but his, your surroundings fading into a thick fog as his presence commands your attention.
Hannibal looks at you—your body, your hair, your face, everything. His gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back the layers of your carefully constructed facade. You swear he sees right through you, leaving no detail unnoticed and no fraction of space untouched by his scrutiny. It’s unnerving, the way he seems to perceive not just the person in front of him, but the one behind the delicate mask you’ve crafted.
Your heart rate skyrockets as his gaze lingers, and it takes all your willpower and courage to maintain a neutral expression, to keep the tremor of fear from showing on your face.
Before you can fully absorb the image of him, Jack steps forward, breaking the painful silence. “Dr. Lecter,” he speaks in a stern voice, then turns to look at you, acting as the bridge between you and the stranger.
“Ms. Avant,” Hannibal’s voice is as smooth and elegant as you’ve always heard it to be. His tone is polite but distant, prompting you to remember to smile in order to appear normal. Will’s fingers squeeze yours in a silent display of support, conveying his discontent with the arrangement. But you both know there’s little you can do about it.
“It’s actually Mrs. Graham now,” you correct him, but immediately regret it when his eyes widen subtly—a reaction you barely catch. It seems Will has kept this information to himself. “But you can still call me Agent Avant. It’ll save the confusion around the BAU.”
Hannibal gives you a small smile, but your comment seems to have thrown him off balance. Your response is far more cordial than he was expecting, and he appears almost amused by the unexpected turn of events. He exchanges a glance with Jack before turning his gaze back to you.
“I’ll do as you ask,” he replies, his tone tinged with curiosity—but beneath the surface, there’s an undertone of something darker lurking. As he takes your hand in his and squeezes gently, a shiver runs down your spine.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Your hands are damp, your throat feels sore and dry, and you struggle to calm your racing mind. “Thank you for the invitation, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hannibal takes in your statement but doesn’t offer any reply. He maintains his hold on your hands, his grip slightly tighter than before. Despite the warmth and firmness of his touch, you can’t shake off the unsettling feeling that lingers.
His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel yourself being drawn into the depths of his eyes. It’s as if he’s peering into your very soul, and you find it difficult to tear your gaze away. You’re on the verge of melting under his intense scrutiny when you manage to spare a quick glance at Will, whose expression remains impassive, betraying little of what he might be feeling. 
A moment passes as you struggle to fend off the creeping anxiety, attempting to find some semblance of calm within yourself. Then, Will releases a breath and strides forward, heading towards the open door. Without hesitation, you follow in his footsteps.
Hannibal casts one last glance in your direction before turning away, ushering you into his home. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of luxurious furniture and intricate decorations adorning the space. The room exudes opulence, almost resembling a palace rather than the abode of a mere man.
“He’s a man of taste,” Jack remarks, his words breaking the silence. You sense that he’s directing the observation at you, a detail that would be inconsequential under different circumstances.
You nod in acknowledgment, allowing your thoughts to drift as you proceed further into the house.
“It’s all very... extravagant,” is what you say next, and what you don’t add is how there’s a faint sense of emptiness in this house despite all the details and decorations. It’s almost chilling.
“I do favor extravagance and elegance in my lifestyle,” Hannibal agrees, his gaze darting carefully between you and Will. Surprisingly, he doesn’t appear to be perturbed by Jack Crawford’s presence as much as you anticipated.
“I’ve noticed that,” a whisper slips from your lips inadvertently. The comment was meant to remain in your thoughts, but the words escape on their own accord. You glance away momentarily, hoping the remark will go unnoticed, but Hannibal catches it without hesitation. He smiles at you, almost as if you’ve just paid him a compliment.
“Oh, you have?” Hannibal’s voice is smooth and pleasant, its seductive undertones causing a flush to rise to your cheeks.
You offer a delicate smile in response, opting not to elaborate further as Hannibal leads you to the dining room. The table is expansive, perfectly set to accommodate everyone present. A bottle of wine rests in the center, surrounded by meticulously arranged plates, utensils, glasses, and other accouterments—everything impeccably placed without a single detail out of order.
As Hannibal offers you a seat, the mere thought of sitting so close to him sends a shudder down your spine. It’s as if you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body as he settles into the head of the table. Your breath becomes heavy, your heart quickens its pace, and your mind races with a flurry of thoughts and emotions.
You notice every detail of his demeanor—the elegant curve of his fingers around the stem of his glass, the subtle curl of his lips, the intensity of his gaze when it lingers on yours for just a moment too long. It’s all so captivating, yet simultaneously overwhelming, causing a weakness to settle in the pit of your stomach. You find yourself averting your gaze multiple times, attempting to break free from the enchanting spell he seems to cast over your mind.
Beside you, Will’s expression remains impassive, but you can sense that he, too, is attuned to every nuance of Hannibal’s behavior.
As Hannibal disappears into the kitchen to bring out the food, you exhale a sigh of relief, though you can’t shake the fear that he might hear it all the way from the kitchen.
You cast a glance at Will, hoping for some distraction from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. However, his expression remains unchanged, revealing nothing of what might be running through his mind. It’s as if he’s closed off his thoughts, leaving you with no insight into his inner turmoil.
You feel trapped in the most claustrophobic way imaginable. Hannibal’s presence consumes your thoughts entirely—his smile, his breath, his voice, his touch—all of it overwhelms your senses. Even the mere scent of him sends shivers down your spine. You’re engulfed by the intensity of the situation, wondering how you’ll manage to make it through the dinner.
When Hannibal returns and places the fish on the table between Jack and Will, you notice a flicker of relief pass between them as they exchange a glance.
“Truite saumonee au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side,” Hannibal presents the dish with a flourish, the delicate aroma wafting enticingly through the air. “Beautiful fish, Will,” he adds, his tone carrying a hint of admiration for the culinary creation before you.
“It was my turn to provide the meat,” Will interjects, his words carrying a deeper meaning than mere culinary discussion.
“More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzschean fish. Trials of his wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh,” Hannibal comments, before serving the food and taking his seat at the head of the table. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn’t mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.”
You try to maintain an appearance of composure, despite feeling like a nervous wreck. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in for a moment before releasing it slowly. Casting your gaze down at your plate, you decide to focus on eating—it’s the least you can do to occupy yourself in this tense atmosphere. Picking up your fork, you take bite after bite of the fish, though you find that everything seems to lack flavor, despite its deliciousness.
Will remains silent, his expression unreadable.
Jack chuckles dryly before speaking on Will’s behalf. “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.”
You can’t fully grasp what either of them has said, as your mind is consumed by other thoughts. You feel Hannibal’s gaze fixed on you as you eat, his eyes attentively observing your every movement.
He doesn’t appear irritated by your slow pace or lack of enthusiasm, yet there’s something about his stare that compels you to rush through your meal just to make it stop. The scent of the food is almost like his breath in your nose, the taste of it feels like his lips, and when you take a bite, you almost expect him to lean over and take it from your mouth.
“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness,” Hannibal responds finally, his voice carrying a weight of conviction. As Will’s eyes catch his stare on you, Hannibal continues, “Chilton has many victims besides the dead.”
“That’s precisely our intention,” you assert, drawing all eyes towards you as you speak up with determination.
Everyone falls into a momentary silence, the weight of their gazes palpable as tension simmers in the air. Will’s eyes remain fixed on you, his expression one of approval as he acknowledges your firmness and confidence.
“We will absorb this experience, and it will change us. We are all Nietzschean fish in that regard,” Hannibal continues, his words punctuated by a subtle undertone of philosophical reflection.
“Makes us tastier,” Will interjects with a touch of humor, prompting you to gently kick him underneath the table.
Hannibal cracks a dry smile at Will’s comment, his demeanor retaining an air of sophistication as he sets his cutlery down on the plate and folds his hands in front of him.
“I would say it adds depth to our flavor,” he remarks, his words flowing from his lips with a smooth and velvety ease that seems to echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. The air in the room seems to pause for a moment, awaiting a reaction from someone, but you remain focused on your plate, determined to ignore the intensity of his stare until the end of the dinner.
The rest of the meal passes by in a blur. Hannibal maintains his role as the perfect host, his demeanor poised and gracious. Jack remains true to his usual self, engaging in conversation and observing the proceedings with his characteristic vigilance.
However, you can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss. Will, typically a key player in any plan, seems oddly detached, failing to fully engage in his part of the strategy. His silence speaks volumes, leaving you with a sense of unease as you try to decipher his intentions.
Reluctantly, Jack gathers his things and bids his farewell, leaving you and Will alone with Hannibal at the table. Hannibal, ever the gracious host, proposes another glass of wine, his gaze lingering on you both with a hint of intrigue.
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starsaroundsaturn · 3 months
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why do we accept the way that men (and yes, women too) act towards their partners in the romantic genre?
in this post, I'll be discussing sarah j maas, colleen hoover, the pretty little liars franchise, twilight, the vampire diaries, and many more.
many of these I happened upon as a teenager. even as a teenager, I saw some of these as overdramatic and even problematic, but I could see the appeal.
the love interests, all men in these instances, were obsessed with their partners. they were distracted about them.
regardless of the novel, the protagonist can be the stand in for the reader--I am almost certainly not the only one who imagined myself fighting the white witch in Narnia, eating at the Redwall feasts with my companions, dancing with a special someone at a ball, or saving the world with the spy kids. protagonists are made to be relatable, to be appealing, to be somebody we'd love to be or at least like to listen to throughout the story.
and in these romances, the main character is super special. she is the obsession, the person who drives others distracted, she is so, so wonderful that the love interest cannot resist her.
we all want to be that kind of special. we all want to be seen and known and loved and admired. it's not just human, it's human instinct. we want to be accepted, we want to be loved, because that's family, and family means we survive. we need people.
so this is a really attractive premise. this person who we can see ourselves in--she or he is irresistible.
I think that's where we fell into this pit. he can't resist her. he wants her so much he loses control over himself.
it sounded super romantic.
till it didn't anymore.
she is so special and irresistible that he ignores it when she says no (hoover). he's lost control so much that he obsesses over her and watches her when she sleeps and stalks her, because he wants to be with her all the time (twilight). she's so special to him that she's his (soul)mate, and he can't help it if he acts possessively over her all the time and can't bear men looking at her, because she's just that important and irreplaceable (maas). she might be his student, but that doesn't mean they don't belong together! (pretty little liars).
yeah.
when you say it like that.
but the thing is, if you don't think about it too hard--like a smaller me might not have--it sounds exactly like the dream. it sounds like Mr Darcy falling in love with Elizabeth against his better judgement--but then, when she doesn't want him, he leaves her alone, takes the advice she gives, helps her family when it's needed because he wants to take accountability for his mistakes. only when she initiates does he tentatively bring up his interest in her again. when he's accepted, he's overjoyed, and grateful for her love for him.
huh. crazy.
the fact is, I think we've gotten to be so used to the idea that love is madness that we don't realize when it really is unstable, unhealthy--and awful.
we want people to do great things for us. we want demonstrations of love that often we've lacked in our lives. we want somebody to be willing to drop everything to help us and make it better when we're lost. we want a pair of solid arms around us (and I include myself, uninterested in romantic relationships, in that population). (there's a reason I'm obsessed with friendships and father figures and siblings).
we want passion and adventure and excitement.
and I think romance novels, and those who still romanticize these relationships, look in the wrong direction. they take the phrases madly in love and irresistible in the direction of unstable, passionate desperation rather than steadfast care and devotion.
I loved the phrase madly in love when I was a kid. not so much anymore.
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stardustgates · 4 months
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Author’s Notes: Possibly OOC behaviour? I’ve done my best to stick by Canon as much as I can, but given I’m a newer player, I don’t know the relationship between Kafka and Silver Wolf or the characters individually as well I’d like to. Though I did do my best, please be aware that I may have taken some creative liberties in their characterisation and inner thoughts regarding each other. Also I am aware that this may just be 5.5k words of nonsensical BS but I haven’t written proper fanfiction in a hot minute so take it with a grain of salt. Not so much of a reader/canon thing and more like a reader AND canon thing currently. Perhaps that will change in future works, who’s to say? Oh yeah this is a SAGAU.
Warnings: Canonical In-game violence, references and descriptions of dissociation via player-induced body possession, references to drug use (one sentence), yandere tones if you squint really hard (shes a slowburner ya’ll), and a single swear word :3
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Beyond the mind, within your body.
Description: Unaware that your presence has been made apparent to the eccentric duo during your first run through of Honkai Star Rail, you happily indulge yourself in the immersive (tutorial) world before your eyes. Kafka and Silver Wolf attempt to adjust to the feeling it brings, which leaves their minds constantly switching between distrust and euphoria, and all the things in between.
Word Count: 5.5k
Hoyoverse’s newest game hadn’t seemed much to your liking when you’d first heard the announcement. For one thing, you weren’t particularly pleased with the constant stream of ‘HONKAI STAR RAIL - PLAY NOW’ interrupting your YouTube doom-scrolling every other ad; Not to mention, you weren’t very keen on the gacha aspect. 
Within your small circle of friends, you’d been known to cave easily when attractive anime characters were involved and you weren’t planning on another hyperfiction to solidify your position as the group’s resident simp. That being said, with such a title swaying above your head like a shiny silver dagger, you’d held a metaphorical death grip on your wallet, solemnly swearing that you’d keep your distance from the game for as long you were able.
Ultimately that so-called iron will of yours didn’t last so much as a year, as just seven months after its release a simple character trailer was enough to break your steadfast resilience. Well, it wasn’t ‘simple’, if you were being honest with yourself- It was a brilliantly unique masterpiece, tailored to the exact essence and spirit of his character. You were sure Argenti wouldn’t be released for a good while, so you decided to pick up the game and grind what you could before his arrival.
That was your plan at least. Your friend had warned you a few months prior (Though admittedly, you hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.) that the download and installation would take an exhaustingly long time. Well, it was better than Genshin Impact had been- but still, you were getting bored and subsequently decided to fetch yourself something to drink in the meantime.
With your back turned to the loading screen, you waltzed out of your bedroom with little care in the world- oblivious to the ominous glowing cracks slowly sprawling across the screen of your device.
As you returned a few moments later, you found that it had finally finished installing! You’d certainly waited long enough. Sure, it wasn’t as soul-sucking as Genshin had been but your patience wasn't that of a saint’s either. With a renewed sense of anticipation, you hit start and breezed through the usual terms and conditions without reading anything and let out a sigh at the beautiful change in scenery.
It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea to skip it completely- but you had spent so long waiting already that you weren’t going to bother wasting time reading a document filled with dolled-up words you could barely pronounce.
✄————————————————
 Herta’s Space Station’s defences hadn't been particularly difficult to slip past surprisingly, though Kafka didn’t recall any mention of difficulty regarding entry in Elio’s script, so she supposed the lack of security wasn’t of any particular importance.
Despite the calm confidence that usually accompanied her on these little operations, Kafka couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the usual sort of lingering gaze or sharpened stare, but a vague pulsating heartbeat that faded in and out, as though blinking through blurry vision. 
Needless to say, she kept her guard up. Playing none the wiser and bowing mid-air to the tempo of a rather graceful tune. She forced her shoulders to relax and gently swayed her body, controlling her every little move with practised ease- even as that strange pulsating presence slowly sped up and stroked the fires of an oncoming headache- as the elevator descended to the station’s ‘ground’ floor.
 (You remained none the wiser to her sudden awareness, the rapidly changing scenes flashing past your eyes far too quickly to pick up on a single, brief second of stillness in her body.) 
A sudden explosion reverberates across the station's cold, metallic body and brings Kafka’s impromptu air-violin session to a screeching halt. Simultaneously, that presence settles over her body like a thick blanket of fog. That ‘gaze’ she had felt becoming so vivid she could feel its weight pressing down on her tongue.
She has little time to process the feeling before the usual blueish glow of Silver Wolf’s communications screen flickers into existence before her very eyes. 
“... Seems I came at a bad time.”
“No, No – I think you couldn’t’ve timed it better. Twenty-three-fourty-seven-fifteen system time. Very punctual, Kafka.” Silver Wolf almost sounds impressed, though Kafka suspects she’s only trying to butter her up so she’ll let the girl go off task again. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have been kind enough to allow it, but with the nature of their current mission and this inexplicable presence, Kafka doesn't find herself in a very generous mood. 
Kafka merely hums in response and ignores the empty praise.
“Elio always tells the exact future. So What’s with the explosion just now? Was that part of his script?” Silver Wolf picks up on her cue to focus without any fuss.
“Twenty-three-four-four-fifty-nine system time: The pulses from the explosion cause a massive breakdown from the master control system.”
Pulses. Perhaps it’s linked to the feeling curling itself around her senses?
“You did that?” Kafka doubts that Silver Wolf would waste effort on something so minor.
“No, the antimatter legion did it. They completely invaded the space station two system hours ago.” She whistles in response and glances down the glass panelling to the approaching ground floor. A small group… annoying, but manageable.
“Alright, so do we need to fight the legion?”
“Dunno, Elio didn’t say anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Hmm. Silver Wolf made a good point. 
“Got it. So from now on, I'll be in charge of this operation.” She feels that tingle of a smirk reach the corner of her mouth, and smiles a little wider in anticipation.
“Copy. Can you let me have some fun this time? Our last few operations turned out to be pretty dull.” Kafka lets out a playful hum as she ponders over her colleague’s request with faux consideration. She can practically hear Silver Wolf’s stifled groan in the second of silence that passes.
“...Sorry~ I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you- our task this time is just to ‘place’ the target properly.” 
Her choice of words is careful, though not enough to cause any alert in potential eavesdroppers. The feeling still hasn’t left. 
“But if you wanna go look for some fun yourself, I won’t stop you.”
“I mean… after all…” she chuckles lightly as the blue hologram blips out of her vision, and reaches for the holsters tucked into her lower back. “After all…” Kafka readjusts her footing just in time to watch the elevator’s doors slide open, the sound of metal dragging against metal pinching at her ears.
“Elio didn’t put it in the script… Why would it matter?” 
Just as the impact from her gunshots flitters across her skin, Kafka feels her mind being pulled back to the edge of her skull. 
The group of voidrangers in front of her feel distant and smudged, the sockets of her eyes creating a blurred tunnel of vision that refuse adjust no matter how much she tries to blink it away. Their dark forms bleed into black speckles that crowd her already limited vision until she’s staring directly into the singed edges of the universe.
Kafka’s body… is no longer hers to command.
✄————————————————
She returns to her mind with startling swiftness. Her memories of the brief battle suddenly bubbling up as though pushing themselves through a thick soup of aether. She feels disconnected from the memory but can at least recall that she’d lost control of her body before blacking out. 
She attempts to think back on that burnt, golden memory but is stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She opts to set that aside for another time and refocus on the operation. Elio had not mentioned this happening anywhere in the script- so either this had no significance or… 
Still, those Voidrangers hadn’t proved to be much trouble- in fact, they’d been less of an annoyance than she had prepared for. Either she’d been far more ruthless than intended or the antimatter legion had lost its touch.
“When did the anti-matter legion become so weak?” She asks out loud.
“I could only attract this much. Did you really want the entire legion to come here?” Silver Wolf speaks in feigned annoyance, her usual behaviour. 
She hadn’t even realised. Kafka chooses not to mention anything for the moment, instead opting to subtly gauge the extent of control this presence… or rather... Entity, seems to have over her. 
“This lot won’t be able to slow down the Astral Express crew.” Silver Wolf sighs in response on the other end of the device.
“Relax, a doomsday beast is also here.”
As she approaches one of the station’s automatic doors, Kafka feels it slip back into her body as if wearing her like a coat. Its influence feels… less heavy than it previously had been a few moments ago.  At the very least she remains conscious this time; A strange lightness in her feet as she feels herself stealth towards a lone voidranger lounging about the area.
Her movements come to her now like instinct, striking down enemies with admittedly far more efficiency than she was naturally capable of. If it weren’t for her body being strung along like a puppet against her will, she’d almost be grateful for the power and resiliency it granted her. 
Kafka has barely had her fill before a euphoric sense of power seems to swell up all at once; Killer instinct pumping through her veins like a well-oiled machine. 
Ahh. Now this… this particular feeling wasn’t so bad.
Truthfully she’d liked to have toyed with this one a bit longer, but she knew all too well that it wouldn't manage to survive her next attack. She chatters to no one in particular, the ecstasy in her mind clouding whatever decorum she would have usually displayed. 
“Good times never last… time to say bye.” 
“Ah- She’s so cool…”
Kafka tenses up at the stranger’s voice, just as the swirling dark mass in front of her collapses into itself. 
She sheathes her sword and adjusts her gloves, ignoring the voidranger approaching her from behind. Just before its darkened claws reach her, Silver Wolf’s ability activates no more than a hands-width from her shoulder blades.
“Cleaning up other people’s mess isn’t in my job description… y’know Kafka?” Silver Wolf huffs out, but her voice has no real bite in it. Was it her? She wasn’t usually one to doubt herself, but that fog of exhilaration certainly could have played with her mind. 
“Yeah, yeah. Where did you send it Silver Wolf?”
Kafka turns in time to hear the gooey pop of the silver-haired girl’s bubblegum as she hops to her feet. She isn’t sure if it's Strawberry or Grape, but the artificial sweetness and scent of no-fruit-in-particular is so strong it actually grounds her mind for a moment. 
She sighs for no real reason, but it brings her relief regardless. 
Oh.
She hadn’t realised how bad her headache was. 
“Some random Co-ordinates, not important.” She avoids Kafka’s gaze for a reason she couldn’t care to name before taking on an adorably defiant stance, her hands placed at her hips as though it would help her short stature in any way. 
“You care about where that voidranger ended up?” She doesn’t. But she’d rather think about that than, well… She didn’t know what to call it at this point. But it was distracting and she needed to focus on literally anything else for the sake of what sanity she had left. 
Though some could argue that she wasn’t sane at all- which was only half true because most people’s definition of sanity varied greatly from her own. 
Oh, Silver Wolf was still blinking up at her expectantly.
“Of course not- I’m just amazed at this fancy technique of yours, as usual.” she smiles down at her colleague, who only rolls her eyes in response. To the girl’s credit, she’d been dealing with Kafka’s empty flattery for quite a long time.
“Just a little trick of tampering with the data of reality, I wouldn't call it fancy.” Kafka smiles a little wider, following behind as Silver Wolf strolls down the hallway. Her tells were always so obvious.
“What were you looking at just now? Let me see.” Silver Wolf huffs a bit as she settles herself onto a desk and faces her.
“Herta’s toys,” she begins in an almost mocking tone 
“A catalogue featuring the space station’s collection of rare items.” Her fingers briefly tug on the white fluff of her jacket as she speaks “They’ve got quite a looot of interesting gadgets~”
Kafka’s previous interest (however feigned it may have been) dies down a little at the prospect of these ‘gadgets’ but nonetheless she indulges Silver Wolf’s unspoken desire to share what information she’d dug up.
“Like what?” 
“There’s this gun, it can rate any creature within its crosshair as a score from 0 to 100.”
“... Doesn't sound very interesting.” Her brows pinch together and her mouth stretches into a thin line of clear disappointment. Not one to be disheartened so easily, Silver Wolf continues on
“Aren’t you curious how much you would score? I kinda wanna know mine.” 
So this is what she’d been hinting at since earlier. Kafka crosses her arms and takes on the tone of an exasperated mother having finally given up after being nagged at for far, far longer than the reality of it. 
“Fine. I guess we can swing by and play with it, if it’s not too far. What’s our destination?” She redirects Silver Wolf’s distractable attention onto their current objective with practised ease. 
Hmm. 
She feels a little cold for some reason… and those watchful eyes haven't left during the entirety of their conversation. Kafka’s guard raises a little further than before.
Her colleague’s eyes flit down to a small blue hologram, her fingers swiping past various screens until arriving at what Kafka could only presume was a list of directions given to her by Elio.
“Go down the corridor, behind the door… ooon the left. There’s a room where some kind of rare item is stored.” 
Kafka feels the entity strongly now, she stares just beyond Silver Wolf’s shoulders where it feels most concentrated. The feeling she is met with is a dense smouldering hotness. It’s like melting iron dripping down her throat and burning it in the process. It feels almost itchy.
She redirects her gaze back to Silver Wolf far quicker than she’d intended to and resists the urge to scratch at her throat.
“So that’s where the Stellaron is?” Kafka is somewhat relieved when the feeling seems to simmer down. She once again debates speaking on the sensation during the slightest lull in their conversation but when Silverwolf turns her head back to face her, she finds the girl’s gaze to be much sharper than before.
“That's where we can find out where the Stellaron is.” 
Kafka immediately knows that Silverwolf has finally caught on to this feeling and says nothing as she readies herself for the next half of their mission. Almost instantly, she feels the presence shift and roll over her shoulders, like a cat stretching out its limbs. 
It's languid and smooth and she feels her tense- She had been tense this whole time?- muscles slowly relax until she finally feels that usual calm focus she’s so intimately familiar with. She hadn’t realised the extent of how cold she’d felt when it had stepped- strange, it feels like a person?-  away.
Kafka decides that her feelings towards this... Being- She isn’t totally sure if it feels sapient, but it certainly has some form of will… That much she can tell- are mixed, to say the least. She wonders one more why Elio hadn’t mentioned anything about something so foreign and strange but sets the thought aside and refocuses on the task at hand. 
She locks eyes with Silverwolf briefly, and just as she thought, Silverwolf is most definitely aware of it at this point. 
“The central area of the space station is up ahead. There’ll be loads of Legion Void rangers there.” Silver Wolf hops to her feet and saunters toward the door’s control panel. A bit too casual to be natural, but it doesn't cause the feeling to stir, so she says nothing. 
“Okay.” Kafka breathes out. 
Then that feeling of puppeteering seems to stitch itself into her mind once more, albeit in a much more faded sense- it feels more like muscle memory than it does being pulled from her own body. She allows it to pull her along and lead her toward whatever it wants. As her fingers glide over the room’s control panels and her heels click against the cold steel of the station, she feels that fog of exhilaration settle over her again- that almost euphoric surge of strength from earlier suddenly vivid and fresh in her mind. 
Silverwolf seems to feel the building strength in her own body too, as she quickens her pace when they turn the corner to find themselves at the back of a particularly strong-looking voidranger. She huffs out in bemusement and half-heartedly mutters out some encouragement to her colleague.
“May as well kill them all.” 
Not needing much more encouragement than that, Silverwolf leaps forward with as much grace as her short form can allow her and drags her digitally enhanced blade across the muscles and sinew of its chest. She leaps back beside Kafka as it staggers on its feet and tries to regain its footing. Kafka’s arm pulls itself up, gun in hand, and fires out a cascade of bullets that each burrow and pierce into its flesh. 
“This… seems a lot easier than it should be.” Silverwolf comments under her breath quietly. 
“Well, let’s count our blessings–” Kafka is cut off as her arm is singed by the blast of the voidranger’s fire canon. 
“Tch. Didn’t hurt.”
Silverwolf pulls out her holographic system at such speed that Kafka feels the static waft across her skin.
“Hmph, still. This combat needs optimising.” Just as the creature aims its weapon once more, it’s hit with a blast pulled from the loosened strands of reality itself. 
“At that speed? Too slow!” 
Kafka almost feels sorry for it, as she watches its body disintegrate while collapsing into itself.
Unfortunately, the girls are not left with time to bask in their victory- Silver Wolf lets out a small yelp- the entity has left its place on Kafka’s shoulders and draped itself over her companion it  would seem. Her short colleague adjusts to the sensation of its guiding hand far better than she had, if her losing conscious was anything to go by.
Kafka follows behind silently, eyes trained intently on the girl in front of her for any indication of danger.
“Hold it. Someone.. Or something is up ahead.” she warns quietly, arm extended out to her side like a makeshift barrier. They both come to a sudden halt as the entity violently rips itself from their bodies and settles just beyond their skin. 
Goosebumps this time. 
The cold seems to get worse and worse each time it separates from them… well, her. Silver Wolf grits her teeth. Kafka notes the tiny pearl of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Still a shock to the system then. 
“Looks like we’re the ones getting ambushed.”
“...But they’re the ones getting besieged.” 
✄————————————————
The game has felt pretty cool so far, and you quite like this Kafka woman. You don’t recall her being part of the main cast your friend had rambled about however many months ago it was, but you hoped you’d get to see a lot more of her. 
Her design was really nice- though strangely familiar?- and her voice was pretty too! Silver Wolf was alright, but she hadn’t really caught your interest so far, so you werent sure what to make of her yet. 
They did seem to be close though, but less like friends and more like tired workmates who’d been stuck in the same dead end job for a decade- that is to say, it definitely felt like they were used to dealing with each other’s nonsense. 
Were they a ship? You could see it. Ah, another battle, sweet!
The combat system Star Rail used wasnt particularly innovative or anything, but it’s playstyle was strangely addictive- especially the Ult animations! Kafka’s especially had you nearly squealing with how badass it was. Did the MC have a cool one too? You could hardly wait to see. 
✄————————————————
The mood is light despite the circumstances, they both feel a sense of safety and confidence while the presence pulls them along, as though leading them in a dance. The Voidranger’s movements stand out like a pindrop in an empty room. Predictable, and delectably so. 
Silver Wolf barks out a short, quick laugh- a taunting thing that aggravates the musclehead stomping around in front of her- before decapitating the creature in a single, swift move.
“You took the bait, just like that?” Her jubilance is cut short by an attack from her blindspot, it isnt fatal- hell it barely counts as a battle wound- but its enough to flip her mood in the opposite direction. “Tch.”
Kafka laughs lightly at her, amused with her momentary lapse in spacial awareness. Silver Wolf scoffs and scowls lightly at her. Really, like she hadn’t gotten hit before? 
Just as she opens her mouth to hurl a barely-an-insult-but-im-still-annoyed-with-you comment towards the magenta haired woman next to her, Kafka’s aura shifts somewhat. Time seems to slow down for a second as Silver Wolf watches the woman’s pupils dilate in slow motion. 
Had she appeared like this? When that wave of energy had swelled within her?
She receives no answer to her unvoiced question, and instead hears Kafka’s voice ring through out her ears.
“That breathing sensation. Remember it.” Silver Wolf gulps in a breath of blood-scented air and breathes out a sickly, golden-sweet taste. As Kafka’s bullets rain down upon the bodies of their would-be-ambushers she can't help but feel pure ecstasy in the moment. Truly…if this was a drug she’d be hooked like a fish to water. 
Even just being near it is enough to cloud her mind.
“Alright, now that that’s over with…” Silver Wolf’s body relaxes significantly as Kafka speaks, the strength of whatever had possessed them slowing dripping out from their bodies like tree sap. She feels like she just got a massage. 
“I could get used to that.” She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, but it feels appropriate to voice. Kafka ignores her and spins her around to face the door, and Silver Wolf seems to go into auto pilot as she unlocks the control panel blocking their path, stepping lightly as her taller colleague gently pushes her forward without a word.
 The monitoring room is completley empty. Nothing but the quiet beeping of a few monitors and the rustling of swaying leaves, courtesy of the air conditioning unit humming softly above them. 
“Huh. not a single soul here. Impressive evacuation work. Did herta organise it herself?” Kafka seems mildly impressed- and entirely unaffected by the sensation Silver Wolf is still trying to shake from her skin. 
“According to the access history, she hasnt logged in her for over six months. The evacuation was directed by the acting lead researcher - a girl named Asta.” 
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh, right. Elio said we wouldn’t run into herta. It seems she really isnt here.” Though something else definitely was, but Silver Wolf supposed they weren’t going to be making any conversation on that topic.
She sighs, and scrolls through her holograms nonchalantly.
“Elio’s Script doesnt include any info about the location of the stellaron. Which means in the future he foresees…”
“... we would find the stellaron in a non-physical way?” Kafka crosses her arms, easily having picked up on her train of thought and already dipping her metaphorical toes into several different plans of action. She was always efficient like that. Silver Wolf strolls over to the water cooler and pours herself a cold cup. She gestures to Kafka who only shakes her head in response.
“This space station is packed with extraordinary objects, I wouldnt be surprised if theres one that can make it happen.” She takes a long sip, the cooling sensation bringing relief to her sweltering body. The combat efficiency was nice, but she was left feeling like an overheating graphics disk everytime it took control of her. She idles on a page in her hologram briefly before continuing on her scroll-fest.
“Hiding something extraordinary with something extraordinary… this is pretty Herta. I assume you know what to do? I mean, You’ve been reading that cataogue for a while?” Ah. Perseptive as ever, Kafka never changes. She ignores the heat building in her ears at the prospect of being caught slacking-off, and bins the styrofoam cup as she turns to the older woman.
“Hmph. I’ve got all the clues we need. The only piece missing is a simple trick- maybe this entity thats been stringing us along could lend a hand? After all, it doesnt have a physical form.” 
(You didn’t expect them to involve the player like this! What an awesome storytelling device, and it would hopefully grant a lot more player agency too! Hoyoverse had truly out done themselves this time. Feeling a surge of excitement at being learning you’ll be able to lend a helping hand ‘directly’, you decide that Silver Wolf is also really cool.)
Kafka says nothing in response, only staring down at Silver Wolf in consideration.
“Why dont we have it help us investigate the terminals around here, that item we’re looking for may be inside.” The magenta haired woman only sighs, internally cursing the girl’s lack of caution. Though… she couldnt deny that it had only been helping them so far. 
“Alright, lets give it the spotlight.” 
“Oh god, I hope I don’t fuck this up…” Kafka stills. The same voice from before. So it can speak? She tucks the information away in her mind for later.
She watches it guide her along the messily arranged desks and flickering monitors. Stopping at a memory storage cart- which is, of course, missing its memory. Not useful for her current objective, but it at least told her that whatever it was could see the same things she could.
“...I cant see the memory storage for this terminal.” Her body shifts slightly.
“This is the monitoring room, the must have deleted the records and made a run for it. Classic.” Silver Wolf is still scrolling through the holographic catalogue, idling against a desk in the middle of the room. She doesn’t look up, even as Kafka is strung along past her towards a monitor on the other side of the room. 
“You don’t seem to be very affected by it? Its control over you, I mean.”
“And you? You seemed a little weary earlier.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just new, thats all.”
Kafka’s hand reaches out to flick through various active surveillance cameras, interesting but ultimately fruitless. 
“Hmmm… I can see the whole space station on the surveillance screen. But not the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf scoffs indignantly behind her, she almost sounds offended.
“Even if you could it’d be a trap. Herta doesn’t display her collections.” She turns to her hologram once more.
“This thing isnt very good with investigating, is it?”
Kafka expects some form of insulted rage to squeak in her mind’s ear, but she hears nothing. Though faintly she imagines a rather adorable ‘Hey! I’m trying my best!’ echoing in her skull.
Kafka staves off the sudden urge to get defensive in response and clamps her mouth shut.
Silver Wolf sighs at her lack of response and shifts onto her feet. 
“Make your way over here then. There’s no point in trying to search like this.”
“So? Got a master plan? I’m all ears.”
Kafka’s tone takes on a slightly irritated edge, for a reason she herself doesn’t quite understand. If Silver Wolf picked up on it, she chooses not to say anything and instead gestures to the warping static of the holographic screens lining the walls of the office.
“Its a matter of hacking the surveillance system directly.” She says matter-of-factly, smirking playfully as her iconic vandalism plasters itself onto every screen in sight. 
“Aha, I see. Herta’s collections aren’t in the system so anything unaffected should be our target.”
Their heads are guided to turn and face the back of a lone monitor by the main desk. Ah. that one then. As they both stroll over to investigate, Kafka feels a strange sense of pride bubble in the back of her mind. Not for Silver Wolf’s accomplishment- that much would be expected from the shorter girl- but for the entity curling along the edge of her mind. What exactly she was supposed to be proud of she couldnt tell, but the feeling was pleasant regardless.
Silver Wolf slips into a chair and slides forward to the desk, cracking her knuckles and wiggling her fingers as she readies herself for some data mining. 
“Crude, simple, but effective. Look, found it.” The computer’s cursor circles a line of code tauntingly. Kafka doesn’t understand what any of the values mean.
“Item number two-eleven, ‘Blind Spot’ : a simple light-deflecting field. It allows an object in its field to pass unnoticed, but if a different item ceases to be obvious, the object gets revealed.” 
She isn’t sure which set of numbers.. Or letters? That item is supposed be, but it does seem like a very… uncomplicated form of security for someone like Herta. 
“So, Herta the genius… hides her collection with something as simple as this?”
“the simplest method is the hardest to spot, isnt that our motto?” 
“Huh? How is that simple?” Kafka nearly chokes on her saliva while trying to hold back a bark of laughter and wonders why she’d kept her guard up for this thing. She follows Silver Wolf towards the glitching hole in the wall and sighs bemusedly. 
“The data suggests its just an ordinary hologram. But it has an added layer… “ Silver Wolf eyes the frayed edges of the hologram cautiously, despite the confidence in her voice.
“Lets take a look. Dont worry, this place wont be our grave.” The girl only puffs her cheeks and steps forward, ignoring Kafka’s words of comfort completely. Well, she’d expected that much at least.
As she follows behind, her vision melts into a stark change of scenery. 
The bright, ethereal glow of the Stellaron coating the walls of the closed off room in a golden-blue light. A strange combination, but one that was all too familiar; the everchanging strands of reality warping and stretching around itself, as the Stellaron sat patiently- sealed away- in the center of the room. Such an otherworldly treasure was exactly what all Stellaron hunters across the universe strove for. Though admittedly it was a mere front for their true purpose, a fact that Kafka was intimately aware of. 
Their true goal would see this stellaron- sealed away, courtesy of Herta- to another use. Once said seal was removed by Silver Wolf, all Kafka would need to do was take hold of it and place it inside that vessel. 
It had been laying in wait for this exact occasion…Kafka smiles fondly at the memory of it. Silver Wolf makes a small noise of surprise, catching her attention. She steps over towards the girl and the control panel, asking a question without speaking.
“It has its own security system… I guess even for herta, a Stellaron is no ordinary rarity.” Silver Wolf sounds genuinely surprised at this fact, though Kafka feels this was a rather likely outcome.
“Can you get it?”
“Of course, even the genius Herta cant compete with me when it comes to hacking.”
“Good. Then I’ll also count on you for the preparation of the receptacle.” Not to mention, she was quite sure this being wouldn’t be able to provide much help if Silver Wolf couldn’t figure it out herself. Speak of the devil, she feels the entity waft away like smoke in the wind and settle in the air around them as she lifts the Stellaron from its prison. She turns to her Silver haired companion and unspoken words flicker between their eyes.
This is Kafka’s decision.
Or perhaps it isn’t, she corrects herself over the distant sound of Silver Wolf’s voice.
 When it enters her body, it no longer feels like being puppeteered or controlled. 
She recalls that first feeling of possession, and the bleeding darkness making way for glowing golden edges of a burnt milky way. Her mind is dipped like an apple into the thick syruppy taste of synethesia. The amber eyes of the vessel- piercing into her soul and leaving her tongue sizzling in an almost addictive sort of pain- briefly flash open before collapsing to the floor in Kafka’s arms. 
The Stellaron has found its place. And something else entirely has made its home there too.
(What an amazing tutorial and intro! You get the feeling you’ll be playing this game for a very long while!)
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leovenuslatina · 5 months
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Dear you 💖
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
a love letter from your fs 💝
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
psa - this PAC is a little different this is more a channeled message than a tarot reading enjoy!
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ
* take a deep cleansing breathe
and pick a pile that calls to you *
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
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⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
pile 1
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ
Dear pile one, I am absolutely thrilled to express my utter joy and excitement at the mere thought of being in your presence. It feels like an exhilarating adventure filled with endless possibilities. When I am with you, time seems to stand still as we embark on an enchanting journey of love and inspiration. Your warmth and comfort embrace me like a cozy blanket, providing solace to my weary soul. Every moment spent together is cherished, as we create unforgettable memories and share the deepest of conversations. Your companionship brings out the best version of myself, igniting a flame within that cannot be extinguished. In your delightful company, I find solace, encouragement, and a sense of belonging that surpasses all expectations. Pile one, you are my safe haven where happiness thrives and dreams come alive – and for that, I am eternally grateful.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
pile 2
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ
Oh "Dear Pile Two, You Complete Me" - how you fill my life with joy and clutter! As I gaze upon your haphazardly stacked papers, misplaced knick-knacks, and random odds and ends, I can't help but feel an inexplicable sense of fulfillment. You are like the missing puzzle piece to my organized chaos. Who needs a meticulously tidy workspace when they can have the delightful chaos of a well-curated pile? From bills that need paying (eventually) to notes scribbled on Post-it's, you hold the irreplaceable treasures of my forgetful mind. Sure, some may scoff at your seemingly disorderly nature, but little do they know the hidden wisdom within your disarray. So here's to you, oh magnificent dear pile two - although your tidiness might be questionable, your charm is unmatched.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
pile 3
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ
Dear pile 3, it's only you and me against the world. As I stand here, overlooking the vastness of our existence, I can't help but feel the weight of the universe pressing down upon us. It is in this moment that I realize the magnitude of our relationship, for within your embrace lies all that we hold dear. The world may attempt to tear us apart, but we shall prevail. Our bond is forged through the trials and tribulations we have faced together; a stronghold against adversity. As the tempest rages around us, threatening to consume all that we hold sacred, know that I am steadfast by your side. Our unity imbues me with an unwavering strength; no longer alone in this tumultuous journey through life's torrential storms. Together, pile 3, we defy fate and conquer uncertainty as champions of love and resilience.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
pile 4
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ
Dear Pile 4, you are my perfect person. The mere thought of your existence fills me with an indescribable mix of joy and longing. Every fiber of my being yearns for your touch, for the sound of your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear. In this chaotic world, you are the anchor that keeps me grounded, the lighthouse that guides me through stormy waters. Your presence brings clarity to my thoughts and purpose to my existence. From the deepest depths of my soul, I believe that we were destined to be together - two halves of a whole seeking solace in each other's arms. Yet, fate continues to test our resolve, placing seemingly insurmountable obstacles in our path. But fear not, for I shall endure any hardship and surmount every challenge to be by your side. For you, dear Pile 4, are worthy of every sacrifice and every drop of blood spilled in this epic battle against destiny itself.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙
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spiderceo · 1 month
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− ⌗ vaudeville vows pt.2 ⊹.∿
summary; alastor shows up to ruin your evening in his own fun little way.
tags; gender-neutral reader, reader can play piano and sing, reader gets used to alastor surprisingly fast and he (definitely) doesn’t like that, sugary sweet manipulation, scopophobia (fear of being watched or stared at), alastor’s stupid mangled body
word count; 2.2k
pairing; alastor x reader
a/n; i plan to make chapters longer in the future so hopefully you enjoy that kind of thing. i also have proof-read this. as usual, reposts are greatly appreciated <3
tag list; @chewbrry @zatrinaxxx
master post | part one
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Days passed since your first encounter with Alastor. He hadn’t shown his face again in your apartment which you were extremely happy for. But even though he wasn’t there physically, there was always this awful feeling of being watched no matter where you went. It was that bad that you struggled to even go for a shower or get changed for work in the mornings.
The whole while this was happening, you couldn’t shake the idea of the demon’s proposal. The allure of fame and fortune continued to tug at your thoughts every time you passed by your piano. The instrument now served as a reminder of what you could have had. Having someone like Alastor to guide you to your full potential would mean you could have so many great things. It was a tantalising dream that seemed just out of reach.
The days turned into weeks and still you remained steadfast in your decision against accepting the deal. Life had gone back to normal and the staring had reduced in its intensity. Whenever you got home from work, you managed to sit down at your piano and get some practice in. Part of you wanted to prove you didn’t need to make a deal with a demon to achieve what you wanted.
However, fate works in mysterious ways and we don’t always get what we want.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, you found yourself lost in your music once more. The melody flowed smoothly from your fingertips, weaving a tapestry of sound that filled the room with warmth and light. You sung along quietly with a content smile on your face. This had been your calmest night by far, until an awful feeling washed over you.
A chill ran down your spine as you looked around the room. The sensation of hundreds of little eyes watching you made your skin crawl as the temperature dropped. The lights in your apartment dimmed and flickered and your hands shakily slid away from the piano keys. Your eyes landed on a dark corner of the room where a lanky shadow stood. Eyes with a familiar shade of carmine pierced your soul and you couldn’t help but keep your body completely still.
He hadn’t moved from his spot, just tilted his head as if to tell you to continue what you were doing. If he hadn’t been a scary looking creature that wanted your soul, you probably would have found this gesture cute. Alastor’s eyes carried a look of amusement in them as he waited for you to do something.
Should you continue playing? Is that what he wanted?
You carefully turned your back to him and felt your hands tremble as they went back to their positions on the piano. With uncertainty, you pressed the keys and began to play a different song from before. This one was a bit more well known despite it’s age, and had also featured a lot in your grandad’s record collection.
‘Anything Goes’ by Cole Porter.
The beginning of the tune rung out and was immediately halted by Alastor’s presence reappearing on your left. “My dear musician,” he addressed you as if you were old friends, his voice exaggerated as always. “Your playing is splendid, but I feel that something is missing.”
You tensed at his words, unsure of what he meant. Before you could respond, Alastor took a step forward with his wicked grin becoming slightly smaller — he looked less like he was straining. This was how his expression usually sat, you guessed. But smiling constantly must be painful, right? Perhaps demons didn’t feel that type of pain.
“Why don’t you sing with me, my dear?” his gaze never left yours as you could feel your heart ready to beat out of your chest. A mix of excitement and trepidation coursed through your veins at the thought of singing with Alastor. Sharing a duet with a devil wasn’t something you got to do everyday. “Sing with you?” you queried, not quite sure if he was joking or not behind that talk-show voice of his. The idea of the duet was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. Sharing the stage with a demonic being was definitely something you could tell the grandkids one day.
“Why, of course! I wouldn’t pass up the chance to perform with a talent such as yourself, now would I?” Alastor sure knew how to sweet talk his way into getting what he wanted. You glanced at the piano, its keys beckoning you to return your hands to them. You knew you couldn’t resist this time, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to entertain Alastor just this once.
With a weary smile, you began to play once more, letting the melody of the song flow with effortless grace. And as you finished the intro, your voice began to accompany your playing. It was trembling, unlike when you were alone. Alastor’s overbearing presence was making it hard to focus on the words. It wasn’t until radio crackles filled the room and more instruments joined in. Along with them came the demon’s familiar accented voice.
Your singing quietened as you listened to the creature sing. His voice was pleasing to the ear and with the added effect of a vintage radio, it reminded you of home — listening to your grandad’s records play as you ran around his garden and he sat in his rocking chair on the porch. The pleasant memories brought a bigger smile to your face as you forgot all about the fact that who you were singing with was trying to capture your soul.
For a moment, you and Alastor were united in a devil’s duet. Your singing was more confident as the demon leaned against your piano casually. Even when he sung, his toothy smile never ceased. And as the music eventually faded back to static, you met his gaze that was just as oppressive as it had always been. A glimmer of approval appeared in them as he moved to pace behind you. You turned to watch him as his boots clicked against the floor and he twirled a cane behind his back.
“Marvellous, my dear! Simply marvellous!” he praised, coming to a stop and stretching his arms out wide with great exaggeration (You hadn’t noticed just how lanky his limbs were until now). His tone was dripping with satisfaction and you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride at the fact you had impressed him. Your subconscious was whispering to you that maybe taking his deal wouldn’t be so bad if these were the emotions you got out of it. It had been so long since you showed your music to anyone and his reaction was slowly pulling you towards his clutches.
As you pondered your next move, Alastor’s stare was unwavering. He had moved into a more relaxed position with his arms back behind him, still holding that cane of his. The demon’s presence was a reminder of the choice that lay before you. No matter what choice you made, there was always the certainty that Alastor would continue to be a pest in your life. If you refused his deal then there was nothing stopping him from sticking around until you finally caved or he came up with another proposition.
Exhaustion hit you like a brick wall when your eyes caught sight of the clock on the wall. It was almost two in the morning and you had work later in the day. You groaned and made a move to get up. “Leaving so soon?” the demon didn’t sound the least bit concerned about where you were going. His tone hinted at a secret plan to simply annoy you.
“The night is still young and I’d like another song.” Alastor requested, switching places with you. He now sat at your piano while you stood glaring at him through half-lidded eyes. “I need to get ready for bed,” you sighed, desperately trying to find words as to not offend him. Having an angry demon on your hands sounded worse than giving away your soul at the moment. “I have an early start tomorrow.” you tried to justify yourself.
Instead of a response, Alastor simply slipped away into shadows. You stared confused at the spot where he once sat. That was odd…not a single goodbye or comment. You tried not to linger on it too much and left to do your nightly routine.
The fluorescent light in your bathroom made a light buzzing sound as you turned it on. The tiles were cold on your feet as you shuffled in and grabbed your toothbrush. You knew you were alone now but that all familiar feeling of being watched remained persistent. Glancing nervously in the mirror, you half-expected to see Alastor’s sinister grin staring back at you. All that appeared, however, was your own tired visage which donned bags under its eyes.
After you finished, you left the bathroom and immediately went to change. You grabbed the first set of pyjamas out your drawers and slipped into them with haste. Crawling into bed, you made yourself comfortable and turned out the lamp on your side table. You tried to ignore the creaks of the floorboards and the uncharacteristic cold in the room but it was bothering you too much.
“Still awake there?” came Alastor’s voice from somewhere in the room. You rolled face first into one of your pillows sleepily. You knew he hadn’t left altogether. “Go away, Alastor,” your voice was muffled by fabric as you willed it not to shake. He still made you uneasy but you could manage it as long as you didn’t look him in the eye. “I just want to sleep.” you squeezed your eyes shut tighter and mentally hoped he would take the hint and go.
But Alastor was tenacious, his laughter that filled the room was accompanied by a faint laugh track. “But where’s the fun in that?” he teased, his voice coming from multiple directions at once. “Surely you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of your company?”
You grit your teeth. Trying to ignore him was almost impossible as his voice bounced off the walls of your room. You tried to block out the sound with your pillow but even that did nothing to muffle it. No matter how hard you tried, sleep remained elusive as your new pest continued to ask you numerous questions purely for his own entertainment.
His insidious whispers penetrated your mind, you could feel them twisting and coiling like serpents, their venomous words seeping into every crevice of your consciousness. With a surge of frustration and fear, you bolted upright, your gaze fixating on the ghastly figure perched at the foot of your bed.
His form was twisted and contorted, limbs elongated and skeletal, like some grotesque parody of the human form. Antlers sprouted from his skull, their jagged points piercing through the walls and ceiling of your room. The glow of his eyes illuminated the darkness, casting an unearthly green hue that seemed to dance with malevolent intent as radio dials ticked within them.
But it was his grin that sent a shiver down your spine, a macabre smile stitched together with glowing green threads that threatened to unravel at any moment. Each stitch seemed to pulse with a sickly light, as if straining against the weight of the demon’s own malevolence.
You narrowed your eyes, your resolve hardening in the face of his unsettling presence. You craved sleep more than anything and if it meant scolding a demon to get it, then so be it. Despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your mind, you refused to cower before this twisted abomination. Your voice was filled with steely determination as you met his gaze and spoke.
“Leave me alone, Alastor.” you commanded, your tone ringing with defiance. The dead serious expression on your face was almost laughable. For a moment, Alastor’s smile faltered and his form shrunk down. A low chuckle crackled from his chest as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving your alone with only the memory of what you saw.
Now that he was gone, you let out the gasping breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. You tried to steady your racing heart as you placed a hand to your chest. With trembling hands, you reached for the lamp on your bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room that banished the shadows to the corners. But even in the soft light, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that clung to the air like a suffocating fog.
As you lay back against the pillows, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was this only a temporary reprieve? The idea left a nagging sense of dread that picked away at your conscious. If he was like this now, you hated to see what he would pull later on. A demon like him was hound to have more tricks up his sleeve than just shapeshifting.
You were baffled that he even listened to you. Something told you that he was limited to what he could and couldn’t do without a contract between you both. You knew he could probably cause you physical harm given the way he could interact with your environment. So maybe it wasn’t what he could do to you, but rather how much time he had with you. You pushed the thoughts aside for the night and pulled yourself back under the covers.
Lingering fear aside, sleep eventually claimed you, dragging you down into the depths of unconsciousness where dreams and nightmares intertwined in a tangled web of darkness.
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chillielo · 6 months
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7 + 13 with yuki/alex pretty please 🥺
half a rainbow | YT22 + AA23
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pairing: yuki tsunoda x fem!reader, alex albon x fem!reader
prompt: staying behind purposefully to have one-on-one time with the other + feeling like only the other understands every aspect of them
summary: yuki forms an attachment to you not knowing your heart already belongs to someone else / your longtime crush pushes you into the arms of another
warnings: angst!!
a/n: why choose one when i can write both #writerprivileges
“red, orange, yellow, blue.”
you’re headed for drinks with your unlikely group of friends when you notice that you’ve practically got half a rainbow walking in front of you.
carlos, max, daniel, alex.
you don’t know why daniel reminds you of yellow. he just does.
and then there was yuki walking silently next to you, his gaze jumping from person to object to the ground and then to you as if he was trying to find something to point out to you.
“you’re very quiet.” yuki says, his dark eyes observing your every move.
“i know, i’m not very good at holding conversations.” you answer him, giving him a sheepish smile.
he shakes his head, his bangs sways from the motion.
“no. it’s me.” he states, his voice tinged with frustration. “i’m the one who doesn’t know what to say to you.”
you tilt your head and frown slightly. you didn’t think that not knowing what to say to you would warrant frustration in yuki’s eyes.
“but it’s okay, isn’t it? we can just walk together in silence.” you suggest.
yuki doesn’t look convinced and shrugs. “yeah, maybe.”
you watch as his eyes jump around again, seeking something of interest.
you don’t dislike yuki’s company, in fact, you were grateful for it. but unlike him, your gaze remained steadfast on the dyed blonde hair ahead of you.
the momentary silence shatters when yuki speaks again.
“so… do you like cooking?”
the corner of your lips quirk up.
“sometimes. it depends on who i’m cooking for.”
yuki nods his head, he looks a little more eager now that he has found a common topic to discuss with you, and you oblige.
the both of you bring up the rear with chatter about different cuisines until daniel lets out a loud whoop.
“we’re here!”
“you know,” alex begins, “i think yuki likes you.”
you snort and shake your head.
“what makes you think so?”
alex smiles, it is a big ‘alex’ smile. one that is bright and warm and gives you a funny feeling in your chest.
“i noticed that he lagged behind to talk to you. he even offered to lend you his jacket when you were cold.”
you nodded your head. still, you weren’t convinced.
“yes, and carlos held the door open for me and max bought me a drink and daniel kept me upright when i nearly tripped on my way to the bathroom.”
you gave alex an unimpressed look. “do you see where i’m going with this?”
alex laughs and you feel your heart skip a beat.
“you know what i’m talking about, don’t try to deny it just because you’re afraid to admit that people find you attractive.”
but the only person i want to find me attractive is you.
“i’m not afraid to admit that i’m hot.” you frown.
his dark brown eyes look into yours and you freeze.
they say the eyes are the window to the soul and you’re pretty sure that he is looking straight at your puny little soul in this moment.
“y/n.” he says your name gently.
“you know that’s not what i’m referring to.”
it’s suffocating. you cannot escape the slithering heat of his gaze as it wraps itself around your pounding heart.
“when will you believe that you are capable of being loved?”
your heart stops.
“i believe that there is true, genuine love waiting for you out there— you’re just too scared of vulnerability to allow yourself to find it.”
alex places a hand to your shoulder and you repress the urge to shudder.
“i’ve known you long enough to know that you have a great heart and a vastness of love to give. so stop thinking that you’re better off being alone.”
you let out a deep and heavy exhale.
alex is always right. his words sink into your bones, weighing your soul down as you replay the moment over and over in your head.
“so why don’t you give yuki a chance?”
you stay quiet.
because i don’t want to be loved by anyone other than you.
“fine. but only because you know me so well and i trust your advice.”
alex grins when you relent.
“that’s what i like to hear.”
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