Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
THE DANCING PLAGUE - The white dress, the shell crown, the stone scepter, the crystal shoes… Having acquired the four fae relics through considerable effort, you now stand ready to break the seal over Lyhe Ghiah and confront the Lightwarden of Il Mheg─the fallen faerie king, Titania. Yet even as you hunt the sin eater, you are in turn hunted by the forces of Eulmore, who have thrown all caution to the wind and march resolutely on the faerie kingdom…
“and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.” — farouq jwaideh.
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. satoru brainrot led to this extremely self-indulgent fic where reader showers satoru with love after they get to know that he had a hard day :( he deserves this sobsob also sorry if this is bad bcs writer block has been beating my ass
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gender neutral reader. use of petnames (baby, love, angel) just soft!gojo who’s absolutely in love with u so its cheesy n sappy. reverse comfort. little bit of angst here and there. he uses one curse word lmao
three in the morning; a time where the entire outside world goes quiet. the only noise that would usually fill the deafening silence in your apartment around that late hour was satoru’s slow breathing.
your lover had just gotten home from an exhausting mission. it was one of those that take more than a single day to fulfill. one that tired him out to the maximum as you could easily notice by the way he held onto you.
“satoru.” the quiet whisper of his name made the sorcerer humm in content.
the way you oh-so gently utter each letter almost makes his vision go blurry with tears. he has had many people call him by his name ever since birth, yet no one can make him cherish the name that has been gifted to him more than you can.
an indescribable feeling of immense joy fills his chest every single time you say it. it doesn’t matter if it’s through the phone or right to his face; his heart will skip a beat either way.
“love.” you whisper again, this time leaving a small kiss on the top of his head. the jujutsu sorcerer didn’t budge even when you used his favourite pet name. it was rather unusual.
“‘toru, please?” you used your fingers to comb through his fluffy hair. his white locks looked beautiful under the moonlight that shone through the gaps in-between your curtains.
“hmm?” your exhausted boyfriend finally replies, his head slowly moving upwards to face you. his movements were stiff, so much that it looked like he used up all of his energy to simply adjust his body on top of yours.
his white eyelashes fluttered open, revealing his six eyes to you. the sight made your heart stutter in your chest for a second; you’re not going to get used to them no matter how many times you’ve seen those captivating eyes of his.
“hey.” satoru chuckles as he notices how close he was to you. his voice was groggy— the urge to fall asleep in your arms was strong.
your hand traveled down to rest on his cheek. his skin was cold, yet smooth and soft to touch. his hair was a little bit messy from all the nuzzling up against you. his lips were glossy as per usual. god, he looked ethereal in your arms like this. especially in a dark room with the only light source being the moon that perfectly defined his facial features.
“..you’re pretty.” you blurt out as you move a few strands of hair behind his ear. your partner’s smile slowly dropped— making place for a flustered look instead. though, gojo wouldn’t be gojo if he weren’t to respond with a sarcastic comment.
“you’re stating the obvious, baby.” he softly giggles, once again hiding his embarrassment behind his jokey remarks.
“no, i’m serious.” you sigh while you admire him some more. “there’s not a single existing word that can perfectly summarise how stunning you look right now.”
the loud ticking of the clock replaced the sounds of your lover for a split second; not his breathing nor the sound of him moving under the covers for a more comfortable spot could be heard anymore.
all the sleep in gojo’s body had been removed from existence the moment he had fully processed your words; any kind of sleepiness was gone and he was wide awake.
“what? cat got your tongue?” you tease, giggling once you saw the slightly noticeable blush on his cheeks. you’re glad that your cheesy words have a positive effect on him. the least you can do right now to support satoru was to appreciate him.
not him as a sorcerer or as the strongest, but him as his own person.
gojo stared at you, still in shock and at a loss for words. he would want to comment on something— to embarrass you back as it would usually go, however his brain had completely stopped functioning for a good few seconds.
yes, he had heard you compliment him many times ever since you started dating, however this moment right now was different than any before. he doesn’t know why, but maybe it’s because the tiredness and negative feelings he held in finally hit him with full force.
“hmm.. actually, if i were to think of a word that describes you best..” you pout while you continue to run your fingers through his hair. your eyes dart around the room in attempt to pinpoint something that reminded you of a specific word.
however, your gaze eventually ended back on its original place: on the man in front of you.
“limitless.”
you knew that that word described a certain power of his, but in your eyes it can also be used to define many other admirable aspects that gojo has. “without end. without limit.”
your lover still hadn’t moved an inch, his eyes wide open as they look at you. little did you know that he was hoping you’d continue your explanation— to compliment and admire him more. he yearns for more of your acknowledgment.
“everything about you knows no limit, satoru.” you murmur while gently pulling his head onto your chest, resting your chin on top of his soft hair while you’re at it. “from your strength to your kindness.”
you recall the many memories in your head. satoru had offered up so much for the others around him and yet he doesn’t complain about anything. whatever rough situation he’s going through, he won’t directly tell anyone.
though, you can notice that everything that he does - whether its fighting off curses in the city to protect the peace or simply going out of his way to bring his precious students on a little trip - the exhaustion takes a toll on his body.
some people would say that that is what someone should do if they have everything; money, status, strength, power and more valuable stuff. ‘you shouldn’t complain,’ is what is usually said to them, ‘you have nothing to worry about’.
gojo might have everything people wished they had, yet deep inside he feels as if he has absolutely nothing. all of the money, power and strength wasn’t going to fill that empty hole in his chest. the one that yearns for pure love and affection.
sure, every single news article about him and even his own acquaintances praise him about his outstanding performances, however it’s mostly directed at the jujutsu powers that he had been granted. when it comes to his personality, many would hurriedly summarise it as annoying, arrogant, over-confident or just ‘too much’.
“that’s also why i love you, you know?” your heartbeat echos in his ears. on other moments that said sound would calm him down, however this time it only makes him feel even more emotional than he already was.
“there’s just… so many things about you that i cannot put into words.” you place a kiss on top of his head. “so many indescribable and admirable aspects that you have which have no limits.” and another kiss.
“every time i think you can’t get more impressive with what you do, you always prove me wrong and go beyond my expectations.” you could feel his large hand grab your waist a bit tighter.
satoru bites his lip; he doesn’t know if he wants you to continue or to stop. the sudden words of affirmation are too much to bear.
“fuck.” that curse word comes out as a breathy chuckle— the sound of his beautiful laughter not matching the word that spilled from his mouth. your boyfriend then moves on to bury his face in the crook of your neck; he was too embarrassed to look at you. and if he were to look at you, he’s sure that he won’t be able to hold back the tears anymore.
satoru also knows that he can show his weaknesses to you. that he can cry when he’s with you. that he can say that he’s tired and that he needs a break from everything.
you’re the only person in his life who could fill that empty feeling in his chest. you complete him by just existing.
“angel,” the white-haired man finally speaks up after a moment of silence. his whispers making goosebumps appear on your arms as his breath tickles your neck. “do you know what else is limitless?”
you blink— once. twice. while squinting your eyes, you whisper a little ‘what?’ before patiently awaiting his answer.
you’re thinking that maybe he would pull another ‘dumb’ joke to make the conversation less serious. satoru did do that before; turning a conversation where you compliment and confess your true feelings to him into a bit of an unserious one by adding all kinds of remarks.
you know why he does so. you never commented on it, but you know that he tries to move on and turn the conversation around by showering you with love instead because he feels like he wouldn’t be able to handle any more affection.
you could feel your boyfriend stir a little; this time he’s holding his upper body up by shifting all of the weight to his elbow, which now rested on the pillow you laid on. his face was towering over you; white locks of hair slightly moving as satoru eventually comes to halt.
it was your turn to get flustered as you heard the whisper that followed.
Been craving a good comfort fic for Satoru and you delivered. Excuse me while I save this to my bookmarks so I can reread it a billion times in the future. 🥹
Loving the Dain indulgence happening here rn. Consider: Aphrodisiacs and Dain. You're exploring a ruin where the Abyss have been spotted with him, when some ancient trap releases an energy or a gas that suddenly affects you both. He's trying so hard not to give in, for your sake, but you're so clearly suffering and its getting harder to tell what he should do.
dain indulgence!!! dain indulgence!!! sorry anon for taking this and running with it but its just my personal opinion there isnt enough dainsleif content in the whole world ever
liberation - dainsleif x reader (3.3k)
cw: not sfw, minors do not interact. afab reader, no pronouns. use of ‘cunt’. aphrodisiac/sex pollen, so de facto dubious consent. dain doesnt like himself - but he sure likes reader. maybe a bit too much. fingering, glove kink, piv sex, coming inside, one vague breeding mention, Much Pining.
He shouldn't. He tries to keep repeating in his head, like a mantra - many things have faded, so it stands out all the brighter for the dust that so many memories have turned to - that he should not do this. It doesn't matter how soft your skin looks, how inviting the soft pillows of your lips are, how your hands keep reaching out to him with fevered need. It shouldn't matter, the look of utter pain on your face; the sweat-sheen and the panting and the fact that you've unbuttoned rather a lot of your outfit to show more bare skin than Dainsleif has ever allowed himself to imagine you possess.
Because if he gives in to temptation, everything that he holds so dear about you will be forfeit.
You are so bright. Dain watches you and sees the way light refracts in your eyes and the smile on your face and how you reach out even for him with nothing but warmth in your heart - and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. He knows that if he were to touch you, the way he wants to (the way that haunts him on lonely nights on bedrolls in tents or in shoddy tavern rooms or under the stars themselves, in old ruins, wherever he can try to snatch a moment’s peace from the jaws of the monster that has taken up residence inside of him) . . . he would only taint you. He cannot risk making you anything like him. He cannot risk hurting you, breaking you, being forced to live for an eternity in a world where he knows you do not exist--
“It hurts,” you say to him, breathlessly, hands blindly grasping out for any handful of any part of his garments. “Dainsleif, please. I c-can’t--! I need to do something--!”
He’s never heard you sound quite so desperate. He’s heard the noises you make when you’re almost bested, when you’re thrown around by physical and elemental violence, when you’re horrified by something the two of you have come across in your explorations - but he’s never heard such plain longing and need in your voice. And this time - this time it’s for him.
His own physiology isn’t doing that much better, if he’s honest with himself. Since the moment he breathed in that shimmering pink gas, he’s been light-headed and warm with his cock pressing tight against his trousers, asking for attention (preferably from you; preferably attention given to it by your cunt, clinging tightly to him and milking him dry whilst he does everything to you he’s unwilling to admit he wants).
But Dainsleif knows what he is, and he knows that you deserve someone whole and true and pure of curses. He has held back. Ignored the voice in his head that keeps whispering about how you want it, and he wants it, and why not indulge himself just once.
(He could not leave it at simply once. He knows the moment he tastes your lips, touches your bare skin, hears you gasp and moan out his name and watches you come apart for him, he will need to seek it out over and over again. This is another punishment for him, isn’t it?)
Oh, no. Whilst he’s been caught in his own feelings, you’ve shifted closer to him - now he can see more clearly the glassy, blown eyes and the wetted lips and the tears trembling on the edge of your lashes. He can see that your chest is heaving, and that you’ve stripped out of more clothes than he’s realised. Those are your bare thighs, aren’t they? You’re almost in nothing but underwear.
. . . He’s hot, too. Up until now, he’s managed to keep his clothes on, despite how unbearably hot he’s beginning to feel beneath his collar. But if he leaves all of that fabric and metal accoutrement on for a moment longer, it’s seeming more and more likely he’ll simply pass out.
. . . Oh, you’re so beautiful. He feels guilty, admiring you like this, when the gas has addled your mind and you’ve fooled yourself into thinking that Dain can provide for you what you need - but it’s impossible not to look at the plush of your thighs, the expanse of skin that he knows would be soft and warm beneath his fingertips, the swell of your chest where what little underwear you have left clings to you like the finest of silken drapes from the royal palace, hiding the sight of your other treasures.
“Dain,” you repeat, breathlessly - and you reach out, grab his hand (he goes stock-still at the sensation - even through his gloves, he can sense how overheated you are - warmth seeps through fabric and seems to settle into his bones). “I need you to touch me.” Your hands feel small wrapped around his own, though he has seen you wield weapons - holding onto him like this, though, he wants nothing more than to entwine the two of your fingers together. Perhaps hold them against the stone floor of the ruin you two are still in (though, of course, you have retreated to territory already mapped out - a safe place to ride out the heat and effects of whatever the gas was. Unfortunately, as moments pass, Dainsleif is simply growing more and more certain of what kind of substance it was).
“I shouldn’t,” he says, quietly - but the face you pull, of absolute despair, tugs on what’s left of his heartstrings. “I-- I don’t want to . . . do something you might regret.”
“You’ll regret not helping me,” you insist to him, your voice pitching at the end of the phrase. “I-if you don’t touch me, I’m going to die--”
He wants to tell you not to be ridiculous - but he can feel the heat licking up his own spine, now. His vision blurring at the edges, his own breath beginning to ache when he takes a great shuddering breath in. He’s all the more aware of his own length pressing hard and hot against the placket - all the more aware, now, that every time his gaze wanders to you he is unable to stop the thoughts of what you would feel like, look like, sound like, if he were to have his way with you.
You tug at his hand, pushing it between your thighs - and, yes. There it is again. Heat radiating off of you so intensely that he can feel it through his gloves.
“T-take them off,” you demand of him, but he shakes his head. “Dain!” Petulance creeps into your tone - but then, he slips the digit of his index finger between your arousal-slickened folds and your lashes flutter, a soft moan escaping from your pretty lips. You lose the ability to do anything other than enjoy the feel of him, it seems - as your hips hump up towards him, impatient for more stimulation than one fingertip can provide.
Your other hand lewdly spreads you wider for easier access - and Dainsleif is once more breathless with his own need to see the display. The slick soaking you, beads of arousal decorating the folds and petals, the pulse of your fluttering hole (his fingers will be a tight fit, and all the more so with gloves on - but his cock would fit inside of you so snugly he’s sure he’d hear the beating of your heart echoing through him) - the swollen nub of your clit, begging for his attention.
(You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful. He does not deserve to touch you. He’s dripping with rot all over, denigrating moment by moment, tainted and cursed and broken and he is profaning - but as he slips two fingers inside of you with little resistance and your broken moan becomes a cantata inside of his head, he cannot do anything other than think about how he, too, will die if you do not grant him absolution).
With his fingers inside of you, you do not seem to see the need to carry on spreading yourself open, and that hand instead reaches for him. It’s an awkward position you two find yourself in, on cold stone slabs - Dainsleif’s fingers buried inside of you, your own hands tugging at shirts and lapels and reaching for between his own legs.
His fingers move of his own accord - and he can see the glistening of your slick on his gloves, hear the wet squelch of your arousal mixing in with your soft little pants like music to his ears. If his hands were free . . . he knows he could make you come on just his fingers; would twist them just so, crook the tips to rub against the spot inside of you that he has just found - only with his skin bare, he’s sure it would feel so much more intense for you. Your sex pulses around him as if trying to suck him further and deeper inside.
Your palm brushes his cock through fabric and he hisses through his teeth, as a hot bolt of pleasure goes from his groin directly to his stomach. When was the last time someone touched him like this? When was the last time he felt like he deserved such?
He knows he isn’t supposed to ruin you, but the reasons why he’s not supposed to indulge that basest of desires seems to slip further and further from him with each beat of his heart and pump of his fingers. Your own hands are slippery and sweaty, sliding over the protrusion between his thighs without actually giving any relief to him. A frustrated moan falls from your mouth.
“S’not enough,” you say to him, a pout on your face, and for once he’s inclined to agree. “I need . . . I need more.” You’re breathless, you’re moaning and choking on whimpers and there are frustrated tears in your eyes, but you still manage to meet his own to say to him, with a petulant insistence; “I need your cock inside of me, Dain.”
Twenty minutes ago, he wouldn’t have entertained the idea. Ten minutes ago, he’d have fought against the urge with everything he could. Even five minutes ago, he thinks, he might have put up a fight--
But he needs you. In a way he has never needed anything or anyone so badly, and any other thoughts of what he should be doing and what is proper and what will keep you pure and perfect fall to the wayside because what Dain needs right now, right here, is to bury himself inside of you and kiss you and touch you and fuck you until the both of you are satisfied.
You squeak as he pulls his fingers out of you, a whine building behind your lips before you realise that he’s tugging frustratedly at his gloves, shedding his own clothes as much as he can; the position and his sudden need to be inside of you does not allow for full disrobement.
He doesn’t have time for too much, though - not when he is so hard that it hurts, not when you are staring at him with those big liquid eyes like pools of absolute adoration. You sigh out his name, reaching for his face, cupping his cheek in your palm--
And for once, he allows it.
Your skin is velvety soft. He presses his cheek against it and wonders when the last time he allowed himself to be touched like this was; has it truly been so long, since Dainsleif allowed another’s skin to brush his? Your fingertips comb through the silky pale locks of his hair, and he’s sighing and parting your thighs and kneeling between them with his length hard and heavy and wanting against the petals of your sex.
“You’re so handsome,” you mumble to him, still gazing up at him like he is worth something. You seem to mean every word you say, and that feels like it should be a knife in his chest - but instead, it just makes him pulse against your thigh. You spread your legs wider - the heel of your foot digging into his lower back in a way that clearly says he should be getting on with things. “Mmf . . . Dainsleif. Please.”
You’re so wet, when he rubs the head of his cock through the folds of your cunt; dripping down your bare thighs, making a mess of the stone beneath you. A faint voice in the back of his head says that he ought to have laid down his cloak so you were more comfortable; that would certainly have been the gentlemanly thing to do.
As he cants his hips forth, though, and the head of his cock sinks inside of the hot embrace of your sex and you throw your head back and wail out his name, he cannot think of himself as any kind of gentleman. Bare hands clutch at what little scraps of fabric you’re still wearing, pushing it up so he can squeeze handfuls of your chest. Rougher than he’d like to be, perhaps - you deserve to be romanced on feather-beds and worshiped and kissed and touched until you are a pleading, quivering mess, but these circumstances do not allow for such and Dain must take advantage of having you whilst he can. He pinches your nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling the buds between them until he feels them harden beneath his touch. Your back is arching, pants falling from your lips - and through it all, you keep looking at him like a lover.
He doesn’t want to admit how much he likes it.
“ . . . You’re lovely,” he says, after a moment, and forcing out the words is hard, but you practically glow beneath him. How can you feel so happy, just to hear him tell the truth? Surely you must know?
The ache is subsiding a little, as he sheathes himself further inside of you. The heat inside of him is becoming less all-consuming; now, it is pleasure instead of need. You cling so tightly to him that, were you not writhing in your own ecstacy at finally being filled, he would be afraid that he was hurting you.
“Kiss me,” you beg him - and Dainsleif thinks, if he is going to do this, he may as well do it thoroughly.
His lips are cool when they crash against yours; yours are heated with the need that has hit you even harder than him.
His hips rock against you. Any attempt to remain gentle falls by the wayside as it becomes clear that it is not going to be enough to chase off the dregs of the gas - and though Dainsleif wants to savour this moment he is sure he will never get a chance to again, his body moves on its own.
It is not long at all before he is fucking you with wild abandon.
The rational part of his brain, that hasn’t been taken over by the haze of fucking you and finally having you, the part that keeps his scattered memories somewhat together and drives him to continue his journey, is screaming at him. But those screams are drowned out by the noises you are making, as his hips slam into yours and his cock makes you all over helpless and useless.
The panting and the whines and the moans sound like a hymn to him; the embrace of your cunt around his length is like being welcomed somewhere he is supposed to be. His name keeps escaping from those pretty lips of yours, intermingled with pleas and entreaties and whimpers that make him want to keep fucking you forever.
He is not so loud, but that doesn’t mean that the relief you’re giving to him is any less palpable.
His own murmurs are reassurance more than anything, though he’s not certain you understand; soft groans of pleasure, huffs of breath through gritted teeth, the softest whisper of your name against your own lips.
Time stands still as the two of you work it out of your system. Dainsleif loses sight of how many times you come with his cock pounding away inside of you - but the sight of it happening will stay ingrained into his memories for the rest of his life.
(He cannot entertain the thought of losing those ones; of the sight of tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks, your eyes sparkling as they roll back into your head, your mouth slack and your lips wet and your entire face twisted into the purest pleasure he’s ever seen on another person).
You gush over his cock; the wet noises of him fucking your own slick back into you echoing through the empty ruins, mixing in with the heavy breathing and the moaning. Your lips, feather-light as they brush against him. Your hands taking in every inch of his so rarely bared skin, as if you too cannot believe this is happening.
He can’t imagine you have longed for him the way he has longed for you, but if he were to fool himself into doing so, he’d linger on the brush of fingertips against the hollow of his throat and your hand finally entangled with his, where he pins it onto the ground beside your shoulder for leverage.
Finally, he feels his own peak approach - after you’ve come for him more times than he can count, shuddering and shaking and gasping out his name like a deity in a way he doesn’t deserve. His hips begin to rut in earnest, any rhythm hitherto established now lost to time as Dainsleif finally allows himself to pursue his own ends for pleasure--
You come again as Dainsleif twitches and spills his seed inside of you, your body pulsing and fluttering weakly as you whimper out his name with a voice hoarse from your own enjoyment. He’s hot inside of you, and Dain cannot help but think, just for a moment, that he has claimed you for kingdom and for himself.
(If . . . if he were to come inside you; if he were to put his seed into you and let it take - would that be like bringing Khaenr’ia back? Could you both rebuild an empire, together? The thought frightens him; he can barely allow himself to think on it. He does not deserve to be part of such a task).
His own come trickles out of you as he pulls out, staring down at your utterly blissed out, pleasured expression.
Your hips will bloom into bruises where he didn’t realise he had gripped so hard. Your mouth is bitten to swelling, from bites he hadn’t realised he had given you. Your sex is swollen, from the pap of his body fucking into you, a mixture of your own slick fluids and his come making a mess of your lovely thighs.
But there is a smile on your face.
Dainsleif moves to re-dress himself - to roll away, to take himself away from the shame of what he has done and the reminder of what he has tainted - but then, your hand is on his cheek again. Your bare skin presses against his bare skin. Your other hand has tugged at his cloak, pulling it up towards you both like a blanket.
“You can hate me in the morning,” you say to him, your voice still dry and hazy from the after-effects of the aphrodisiac. “But . . . Dain. One night. Please. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”
Dain hesitates. He looks at you, again - at the marks of his taint, that he has left upon your body, that you still seem to be wearing with pride.
You cannot have wanted him half as much as he’s wanted you.
He lets himself be coaxed into your arms. If he has damned you both . . . well. He may as well do it thoroughly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You may ask, "Jenna, why do you want this? Isn't there enough suffering in the world?" Well, you are right. But I want to scare the owners of this site. Not @staff, you know damn well they don't actually call the shots. No, i want to scare the people who make decisions. I want them to know that we can act as a unit and wreck shit on our own accord, that this community can move mountains. I want them to hesitate next time they make an announcement. Popular sovereignty, motherfuckers.
I know most people know this but some people in the notes don't, so reminder that you don't have to wake up or anything to post it, just schedule the post like this:
now you just hit the blue schedule and forget about it until the day it happens 👍
I’ve had this blog for around two years and haven’t been able to update it at all since. 😭 Laptop believes it is a potato and can only open photoshop after 20 minutes, and the editing function on the mobile app is meh.
Reminiscing about what was supposed to be a perfect night was the last thing he wanted, but his stubborn mind refuses to listen.
important note: this was the original ending idea I had for this Leona headcanon— also, beware of angst? idk, I tried // she/her pronouns
a/n: if you actually see this, hello Sem my beloved (@semmie)! remember when I said that the day I'll post the whole thing will be the day I'll go off anon? Well, this one's for you! (I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me after this </3 /lh) // I'm a sucker for soft-for-yuu-because-hes-so-in-love!Leona so I'll use that as an excuse for the ooc-ness
word count: 2k
There used to be a time when the silence was something Leona always leaned onto, when it was always something he searched for — something he cherished as it served the best scenario for his frequent naps.
‘Hah,’ he scoffed, ‘used to be.’
Oh, how he missed the serenity that came along with the silence. He missed the tranquility he often felt whenever his eyes closed shut for a nap. He missed feeling at peace as he rested for the rest of the hours…now the silence was louder than the chatter that echoed through the walls of the palace. Louder than the laughter that his brother and nephew often shared. Louder than the screams and roars he'd let out at the edge of a cliff as he let go of all the frustrations inside. It was louder than everything else but his raging thoughts.
Everything was supposed to be perfect.
Everything was perfect…so, what happened?
It was quite literally just two weeks ago when they were at their own place, arms wrapped around each other, nuzzling the closest that they could from one another to find their source of comfort. It was two weeks ago when they stayed in blissful freedom from the rest of the world; it was a mere two weeks ago when their eyes stayed glued to the other as they claimed that the shine in them was as bright as those of the twinkling balls of fire in the night sky (after a brief invitation from Leona to visit the palace the next week).
And then as they rode on his broom into the night sky, taking a closer look at the diamonds that scattered all throughout the void, was when the sound of her joyous laughter filled his ears — a sound he admitted to himself to always want to hear.
He remembers doing a sudden dive and hearing her shriek from behind him as she wrapped her arms around his waist the tightest she could, how he found her reaction amusing and not even bothering to hide the fact as he laughed. He received an earful from her that moment, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he only did it again. The feeling of her arms being tightly wrapped around him gave him the best feeling. He couldn’t really describe it but he knows it’s a mixture of comfort, content, joy, serenity, and security, maybe even more.
When he turned to look at her, he remembers getting lost in her eyes, unintentionally tuning out the string of playful curses she threw his way. The moonlight was to be blamed though, he remembers thinking. It was at fault for bringing out the beautiful color of her irises and how soft they looked.
And when she realized how dazed he was as he continued to stare at her face, the biggest smile made its way to her lips, heat coming up to her face.
He swears she wore the brightest smile he’s ever seen, and that’s actually saying something as he has a nephew and a former schoolmate who people would compare to the sun. He swears her smiles can brighten up a room surrounded by nothing but void — and most especially his darkest days; it was one of the things that kept him going, to progress his living.
He was so happy. He was so content. He was so filled with love to the point where the voices of his worries and insecurities started to become fainter and fainter with every day he spent with her. They became almost nonexistent.
Almost.
Tch.
Of course, it wouldn’t last as long as he had hoped. Of course, it would end up the way he is now — bitter, alone, sad, disappointed; he's just Leona Kingscholar after all — the second-born prince destined for nothing, the disgrace of the family, the lazy and arrogant lion, the one that’s never really… the one.
His lips pursed at the thought, further leaning his body to the railings of the balcony, somewhat hoping that the cold breeze of the night would wipe his thoughts clear. No avail.
Sigh.
…he expected nothing else.
Soft music filled the garden. Fairy lights twinkled alternately as they hang loosely on the branches of the trees nearby. It wasn't much, but it was enough to illuminate the small area where they currently stood — swaying to the music as they held onto each other.
Leona arranged everything in the garden (with unwanted help from Farena, his sister-in-law, and Cheka, and as well as from some of the servants). The decor was simple: a round table at the center, both their favorite meals neatly arranged on top, flower petals scattered all throughout the garden grounds, and the fairy lights that his beloved herbivore loved oh so dearly.
It wasn't much, which had him worried at first, but after a much-needed reassurance from his sister-in-law — that after getting to know his beloved, she was certain that he didn't need to do anything extravagant for her sake — he was able to calm his nerves.
How his brother convinced him to do this here, in the palace — his least favorite place, was beyond him.
'Keep it simple, but keep it sweet. I'm certain that this will go as smoothly as you deem.' she mused, patting his shoulder with a smile. He scoffed at the gesture but nodded his head with the tiniest smile he tried so hard to suppress.
Later that evening, when everything was perfectly set up, that's when the one of the words he was hoping to hear left her lips:
'Wonderful… This is beautiful.'
When he glanced down at her for a quick second, the limited light presenting him with the perfect sight that is his beloved, he remembered feeling every emotion synonymous to love hit him all at once. Of course, this all happened within him.
Leona was so caught up in his emotions (quite a rare occurrence) that what the usually attentive lion failed to notice was the waver that came along with her praise. Her voice wobbled. Her eyes watered. Her tone was unsure.
These were the important things that he failed to immediately discern.
He stiffened when a hand made its way to his shoulder, catching his attention. His first instinct was to shove it away, but the moment he saw that it wasn't anyone… unwelcome, he relaxed a little.
"I'm sorry."
He gave no response, nor any indication that he acknowledged his sister-in-law.
Because what was he to say? That he's fine? That they didn't need to worry? That he doesn't care? Because he cared. He cares so, so, so much. That's why this is hurting him more than it should.
He loved — no, loves — her more than everything he's ever cared for his entire lifetime…
So how can he ever be fine again?
‘...’
‘Rabbit? Herbivore?’ He looked up from where he kneeled, his palms holding onto the velvet box that carried a precious ring that was supposed to bind them to one another, a ring that signified another step taken for their relationship. He expected the tears in her eyes, his herbivore was always so emotional over the little things he did, after all (and he loved her for that), but what he didn’t expect was the frown that tugged on her lips. It was supposed to be an excited smile.
Her eyes were supposed to reflect excitement. She was supposed to let out a tiny sob, giggle, apologize, then scream out a 'yes!' — a yes laced with immense joy, excitement, and overwhelming adoration and love — because that's how he knew his herbivore. After the few years they spent getting to know each other back in school, and the next years they spent together after graduation, he could confidently say that he knew her…
But why was she frowning? Why was she on the brink of crying? — not in the way he anticipated, mind you. Why wasn't she excited? Why did she look like she's trying to carefully nitpick the words to mutter next, but failing?
‘Leona...I— sorry, I can’t.’
Just a moment ago his heart was pounding, nerves excited. A lengthy speech deeply engraved in his mind, word for word practiced until perfection with his reflection.
But now as he kneeled, as he processed the response he had just received, his mouth ran dry, his throat choking in unsaid words. He was at a loss for words— speechless.
His grip on the balcony railings tightened.
The memory of what happened just a few nights ago replaying in his mind, again and again and again, was the last thing he wanted.
Sorry, I can' t…
I can't…
Can't…
They say repetition is meant to give emphasis to a specific something. Unfortunately for him, that something was the memory of the night from a few days ago — more specifically, her words.
But he didn't want that; he didn't want that night to be given emphasis in his life! What he wanted was silence, but not just silence, but the kind of silence that brought along peace. What he wanted was an escape from the loud noise that keeps on playing in his mind — a noise that took the form of what he refers to as unwanted memories.
Great Sevens, why couldn't he find anything to provide him with some sort of comfort?
"Leona, there you are! Cheka and I have been looking all over for you!" he grunted upon hearing the familiar voice calling out to him — the voice of the current king of where he resided, his brother.
He refused to pay mind to his presence and proceeded to stare at the night sky.
Farena watched his younger brother ignore his presence and every word he threw his way; he watched Leona's tightened hold on the railings as if it did him all the wrongs that caused his disheartened state at the moment.
At the sight of him lost in his thoughts, he backed out. As much as he wished to comfort his younger brother, there was no doubt that he'd only cause him even more frustration. As if he would even listen to what he has to say; Leona's already doing a wonderful job at ignoring him right now, isn't he?
When the footsteps of his brother became fainter and fainter, indicating that he's once again left alone, he sighed. He was glad he left. He didn't want any company right now…
Unless it's her, the desperate part in him whispered.
Tense silence filled the atmosphere as they sat across from each other. Both were trying to find the words to say.
But how does one even speak after rejecting a proposal? How does one move on to another topic after just recently breaking both hearts?
"It's Crowley, he…" she started, hesitant to finish what she had to say. But continued in a soft whisper, "he found a way back…home."
Home...but didn't she find a home in Twisted Wonderland? Didn't she find a home in her friends? Didn't she find a home in him?
That meant she needed to make a decision. And based on her response to his question earlier, he’s certain that she already has. But that didn’t stop him from still asking.
"After all these years— after eight years?" his question asked more than one question; his question held more than one meaning.
But she answered as one. She nodded, head lowered and eyes stinging as she avoided his burning gaze.
He found it amusing, in a bitter way, that a simple nod would be the cause for the fortress that he's spent all his life establishing to keep his sanity and protect his heart, to crumble.
He never knew until that moment that a simple nod could manage to shatter his heart as if it was nothing but fragile glass.
Her nod meant two things: it was [1] a yes to answer the question of Crowley managing to find her a way back, and as well as [2] a yes to confirm that despite almost a decade with one another, she still chose to return to where she's originally from.
Her nod was an answer of 'yes,' just not directed towards the question he was hoping for.
It has come to my attention that a certain art piece of mine has, apparently and unfortunately, caused you guys to “thirst” . Now, I am just a good, little, innocent hawks art blog that knows nothing of this thirst!
And i also care for your well being and health so i offer y’all this glass of water.
Crows normally walk. This one seems to have both legs working, so he’s not hopping out of necessity, he’s doing it for fun. Corvids can sometimes be seen doing things like this for no evident reason other than enjoyment.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
discoholicmusic
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
areudirty
