#/The Winter's Heart/Recollections

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #10: Stable

She fantasized about it more often than she’d like to admit. Was that something she shouldn’t say- even to herself? Inwardly, at least, she supposed it meant that she wasn’t entirely as well-adjusted as she’d prefer to pretend. But who really was?

Rakaso didn’t truly care to carry a weapon. Her cane, of course, was another matter entirely. A symbol of her work and something that might make another think twice before picking with a conjurer. It shielded her some of the time. Most of the time. But there was always someone… Too drunk, too high on their own importance, too possessed of a certain kind of self-righteousness… Her magicks dealt with some of them. Ice to bind their feet or chill them to the bone. To make them stop, wait, and contemplate if this was the hill they wished to die on- for she would surely oblige them even should it jeopardize her and them both. A healer could stop a heart just as easily as they could restart one after all. Of course. That was for some of them. Her fists handled the rest. The belligerent who wouldn’t see reason were always the first to see her gloves removed. The first to see stars, if they were lucky- The floor if they weren’t. Tossed out on their ass as need be. It rarely came to that. A few Adders officers had received that treatment in the past; something that she regretted insomuch that it caused her undue grief but found immense satisfaction in punching them in the face. She swirled her glass of wine as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d really changed if she found that an enjoyable experience.

Her stance on weaponry had changed not long after her late wife had disappeared. It was around then that she realized she’d needed more independence, as well, which had resulted in her taking up training her body as well as her mind. She blankly ignored any stray comments about “hitting the gym” after her wife left. But it was the dawning of another apocalypse that dragged forth something more inspired by her. A need for something more immediate than magicks. Something stronger than fists. In one hand, her wine glass. In the other, she lifted a conjured blade of jagged ice. It almost seemed to glow in the low light. She let it break apart into the grass as the magic holding it together dissipated with a breath of fog. She’d learned how to wield a sword in as much secrecy as one really could. There were many… adventurers and soldiers willing to part with their knowledge. And plenty of beasts, creatures, and oddities in the Twelveswood that warranted her practice on. She’d perhaps never intended to need it in such a situation as the end of all things. But it had been helpful then. More than such. But gods above did it have to make it a tempting option in her heart when she felt such visceral hate for someone?

That first dream of that soldier- agent, assassin, nuisance- and how she’d taken out her rage on that cat after she’d harassed Nathalie… It’d come to her multiple times. First with her guitar as a weapon. Then her fists. Her magic. Her sword. She took a long drink from her glass. Some part of her was amused. All it took was some of her walls cracking for the dam to break? For some part of her to admit that she did want to hurt someone. After so many years of her greatest fear being a death at her own hands. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was just what happened when you started screaming your heart out on a stage to your own music. The other part wished it had taken a little longer, at least. She’d’ve liked to pretend she was still that kinder woman. She took another drink.

She really was rotting from the inside.

[hoseoksluna]

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[ooogaboogabeepbop]

The Ball

(Image is NOT mine, it’s from Kate Kotova’s YouTube Community.)

Astarion x F!reader

Word count: A LOOOTTT

First time writing so please give any constructive criticism. Tell me if Astarion is out of character or whatnot. Here I wanted him to be pretty frustrated so he’s rougher than usual. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.

Summary: You were getting ready for a ball until Astarion randomly fucks you into oblivion.

Warnings: use of gross words, cervix fucking, VERY rough sex, extreme discomfort, neediness, blood, ruined makeup, anger, cnc, pain, tears, ripping of clothing, weird inconsistent pov, scent, breeding kink, cringe writing, past trauma, voyerism, harsh choking, lots of eye rolling, short sentences, regret

——————-

The edge of the drawer dug into your ribs harshly and the pain was becoming intolerable. Your palms flat against the waxed wood, pushing against the weight behind you. You winced when the figure behind pressed harder into you, being far from comfortable. It was like talking to a brick wall when you opened your mouth to speak. He was stuck in a deep trance involving your scent, and the unsteady beating of your heart. All he could hear was the hammering of the pulse and you smelled and looked absolutely amazing. Beyond amazing. Astounding. The way your dress fitted you perfectly. Breasts threaten to burst out of the dress, almost overflowing from the top. Your cleavage being the most prominent part of your whole get up, other than the accessories. The dress was white with laces on the rim surrounding your breasts, and on the end of your clothing as well. The outfit shimmered and was made to stand out from the others in the ball. The jewelry was what really stole the show though, dangle earrings, waist chain over the fancy fabric, bracelet, and a pearled necklace. You were adorned head to toe, your beauty would stun the crowd. Yet Astarion has you here, secured in his grip. It’s like he didn’t want anyone to see you in such a glamorous outfit. Someone could steal you away. It has been a while since Astarion initiated such intimate touching. With his view on sex tainted, you withheld from being inappropriate in any way. Worried about scaring him away, or reminding him of anything unpleasant. You stuck to loving words and affections that he so eagerly accepted and appreciated. The man was madly in love, and you, yourself. You showered him in so much care that it perplexed him. He only imagined or dreamed of being looked out for during years of hell, and never thought that it would actually come to fruition.

His nose and lips firmly pressed against your neck, providing soft kisses here and there. Cold breath sends shivers through your body. It was like a chilly winter breeze, making your hair stand. The kisses were sloppy, leaving small trails of saliva up and down your throat. You had an expensive perfume on, a bitter flavor to the tongue that he did not seem to mind. Too engrossed in this moment to care, wanting to feel and taste more. Maybe he liked the combination of the perfume and the flavor of your skin. Grabbing the arm that was locked around your waist, you squeeze, giving him a small warning to stop. The ball had already started, he promised to take you out dancing and flaunt your beauty to everyone there and show that you were his. It appears he regretted this decision. You were excited to sway and spin, to be close to him and your companions. You longed to see the others and the others wanted to see you too. You wanted to see the lights and the decorations. To see just how fancy the place was.

“I want to greet everyone.” You say, with his arms still locked around you. You tried excusing yourself to not remind him of ugly recollections. Trying not to have him cringe in disgust at any possible moment. Even with all of his confessions, he still held 200 years of secrets and uncomfortable experience that he was not willing to share. His coldness migrated behind your ear, hearing his sharp inhale. Very touchy this evening. What has him so worked up? Was he okay?

“They will see you soon enough, my love. Be patient.” He assured whilst rubbing his face against you, groaning, trying to lock in all of your musk mixed with perfume. He was ravenous. Mouth agape. A strong hand traced your left arm all the way up to your shoulder, and flipped the few wisps of your hair to the other side. Kisses now traced your jaw. Lips dry and chapped, moisture gone from the smooches. You could see the white curls come into view. Body flush against yours like a mold. Pale hands gripping your waist harshly and angling them to have the curve of your ass on his groin. “You look like an absolute treat tonight.” You could feel how each roughened finger dug deep to the point of almost hurting. Oh how you loved this. You missed his touch. Whether it be soft or hard, you still managed to enjoy yourself. Every movement made warmth course through you. Unexpectedly, he pricked your skin with one singular fang and licked the sweet red bead that came out with a sigh. Driving him crazy. Cool tongue teasing the sharp pain.

You grabbed the curls and ripped his lips off you.

“How about you be patient?” Your grip was firm, hurting his sensitive scalp. He hissed and even dared to flashed his fangs at you.

“You are hurting me.” You say bitterly. He presses less of his weight against you, letting you finally breathe better. But still being sandwiched between him and the drawer caused a sting.

“Still hurting me…”

He reluctantly pulls back, not much, but enough to keep the edge of the drawer from biting at your skin.

“I am starving—“ Words nothing but a whisper.

“I can tell.”

“Well be a dear, and give me just one bite?” He asked with honeyed words and puppy eyes.

“It’s never just one bite with you, Star.”

His hands roamed your body through your white dress, pawing at your breast, then down in between your thighs. The dress being an annoying obstacle.

“Oh how I missed you.” He sighs. You giggle at his words while you twirl a strand in your finger. It has not been long at all. He was quite literally in the other room while you did your makeup. And before that, both of you organized and planned your outfits for the day of the party together. You look over your shoulder with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Star, I was simply getting ready for the ball. I won’t take much longer.” You take a glimpse at his attire. All white, matching yours. The turtle neck, the colors, the swirls and patterns of his suit were all beautiful. Just like him. The shoulder pads that pronounced his shoulders. And his broad chest. You wanted to run your hands up and down his muscular figure but he firmly held you locked in place. He leaned into you again, though not as hard as before, your back arching to accommodate his body. Grinding on your bum. Noticing just how steel hard he was, your knees shook and your heels almost gave out.

“One bite? It won’t take long, love.” The man was hungry despite being fed the day before.

“Yes.” He immediately dives in and pierces your jugular. Fangs cause a sharp sting that makes you flinch. He will feed, then the two of you can finally go to the ball. Not wanting to suck you dry, he took shallow gulps. A moan rumbled from his chest and it vibrated through you. Astarion looked so hot with his composure uncharacteristically broken. The blood dribbling from the puncture being the sweetest he's ever savored. It was like some form of drug. Astarion’s favorite medicine. Faint whines of his satisfaction adding to the wetness below. You could see his brows knit together in concentration from the corner of your eye. Savoring you. He continued to rub your cunt through your dress while your hips circled to increase the pace that was set. He was too distracted to notice the teasingly slow speed of his fingers. Or maybe not. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to drive you insane. The friction of your panties and dress mixed with his talented digits made your clit throb. Your hand pushed his down, trying to create more traction to satisfy your need. Your hips still managed to gyrate even under his hold, rubbing right up on his erection. You moved faster against him, earning a whine from your vampire's throat. The hard rod pressed to your bum had you yearning for more. He kept moaning. Large pale hands traveled up to the very start of your dress and roughly pulled down, ripping the clothing and bra with it. The initial sound of the rippage filling the room with its sheer force. You shrieked as your tits suddenly jumped out of its confinements. Bouncing from its vicious release. Soft and supple skin, round and pretty nipples. Your outfit is in complete tatters.

“Astarion!” You shouted. Visibly upset. Such a beautiful dress put to waste. You waited months for this dress to be tailored, for its patterns and shimmers to be suited into it. So happy to try it on, so happy the way it hugged your curves when you got your hands on it. You attempted to turn to scold the ever living shit out of him but he held you in place with his strength. “Ugh!” You leered down at the irreversible mess and felt your face grow hot with rage. Then you looked into the mirror at the sight. Your nipples out in the open. How you wished to see him behind you, to see the dark and lustful red eyes looking deep into yours. What's gotten him so wild? Shifting his gaze towards your tits through the mirror, he moaned at the view of you. Quickly moving his palms onto your plump flesh; his big hands dwarfing both mounds. Astarion squeezed and played to his heart's desire and all you did was watch. Pliant skin caving and yielding. You were angry, livid, exasperated but… when was the last time he’s sought you out to touch you so sensually? When was the last time he felt okay with pleasure? You would put your anger aside, albeit begrudgingly, for this rare occasion. You were gonna give him hell afterwards though. Have him pay for the dress AGAIN and some complaining. It felt amazing, having him play, grope, and gently dig his fingers in. Savoring you. Passionately massaging them. You were upset. So upset. But you loved the touch. He was disorganized and chaotic which was so uncommon of him. Eventually, once you’ve calmed, your hands combine with his large ones, joining in on the fun. Then you realized something. The door to the room was open. Your head swirled to its direction and you were able to hear the distant chatter. Terror took a hold of you.

“Star. Stop. They will see.” Your concerns meant nothing to him though even when you pushed. He was too lost in you to even care. A huff was his only response. His fangs soon left you and he raised his head to nip at your ear. The blood from the wound seeped into your pearled necklace.

“I am being serious.” He grabbed your face, the skin indenting in his strong grip, and turned it enough to give you a searing kiss. The smooch was slippery from the gloss and the lipstick stained him, mixing with the blood he took from you. You sighed at the way his lips pressed upon yours. He parted his lips and snaked his tongue in your mouth, drawing an obscene moan as you unhinged your jaw for him. The blend of lipstick, gloss, blood, and the perfume he kissed off was rather tart. You opened your eyes and looked into the mirror. You looked so lewd. Both of you panted into the kiss. His left hand still played with your breast. His right hand grabbed yours and placed it flat against the wood, fingers interlocking. Astarion abandoned your mouth and licked long strides up your neck, cleaning the remaining blood then proceeded to give more pecks to it.

“What is this all about, Star?”

“I simply crave you little love. Is that so bad?”

“You ruined my dress. It was so glamorous…I waited months for this you damned bastard.”

“I’ll have another one made, my treasure.” He did not seem phased by your anger. The glam clothing was being pulled and balled up, enough to show your plush thighs. Wearing stockings and lingerie underneath. You half expected to fuck, just not so early.

“My, my. What’s this all about, dear?” He repeated your question from earlier as nimble fingers ran along the stockings. You blushed deeply at his words. Hands fixed on your butt. Delicately rubbing.

“Astarion, the door. Least close the door.” He pushed your face against the drawer, and raised the rest of your dress, showing your pretty ass. The fabric laid right above your hips. He slapped it hard. Another one came after that with full force. The sting was so intense tears began to form. No, you were not going to cry with how much effort you put into your makeup. He grumbled at your request.

“Not a chance. Where else will I get my warmth from? Karlach? Lae’zel?” He tsked. Red marks adorned your bum now from the manhandling. Blood rushing and heating the stinging flesh.

The warmth radiating onto his icy palms pleased him as it made a nice contrast. “You know, It gets quite cold being undead, darling.” Pouting as he feigned sadness.

“I will still be here once you come back. It's just mere feets away! Plus I'm sure Karlach wouldn't mind sharing her never ending heat.”

“Ah, but that would be no fun. Truthfully, the possible thrill of being caught excites me to no end…and I believe it does the very same to you too, darling.” He said, slipping the panties to the side to expose you. “I can tell just by your heartbeat.” He murmured. You purred when his rough thumb slithered up and down your wet slit. You sway your waist to taunt his desire. Without warning, he soon rooted two digits deep inside to prepare you to fuck hard. The sudden intrusion caused you to bite your lip. He grazed and memorized each ridge of your soggy cunt, especially the spongy part. You grinded in tandem to his fingers but it wasn’t enough.

“Then please, hurry up.” you whimper. He hummed.

“Since you asked nicely.” He caressed the bud halfheartedly. Swiftly he lost interest then pulled his fingers out. You could hear the belt buckle and his pants unfasten.

He slid all the way into your gummy walls with a loud hiss. You felt incredibly full, so stretched out and already worn from his dick. Cunt squeezing and contracting, trying to adjust to the fullness. You were so overwhelmed that it made you dizzy. Your pussy ravenously swallowed his thick dick which was not helping with your lightheadedness. The tip of his cock snuggling your cervix, causing your knees to weaken.Good thing he was holding you up. There was an impossibly deep, deep want inside your walls that set you ablaze. The feeling so intense your legs wobbled more. The desire was gut wrenching, so powerful and desperately needed his cock. He was fully sheathed but it was not enough. You needed him to move, drag and stroke himself along slick walls. Your clit throbbed. Placing your fingers onto the bundle of nerves you spun quick circles that briefly had your eyes roll. You couldn’t wait anymore and began to throw yourself back on him, forcing a garbled moan out of him. Both of you needed to get this over with fast. Cursing yourself for falling into your own desires as easily as he did. All he had to do was close the door but no. He loves risks and this situation made his dick painfully hard for him. What is pleasure without a little pain? You imagined him saying. He observed you like a hawk, watching you fuck yourself. Hearing him gulp then heave faster. His mouth was open, curls misplaced (from his usual hairdo), and brows knitted together again… A deafening laughter came from the halls when you began to panic. You stopped to peer at the cracked open door. He tightly grabbed onto your waist and pressed his thumbs into your back dimples, treating them as thumb holders. The first thrust was hard. You were caught off guard when your body lunged forward, causing objects to fall from the desk you leaned on. The laughing paused. Then the next one was even harder. He barely even started and tears began to sting in your eyes. His hair now falling towards his face, ruining his perfect pomade. Each movement he made, his locks swiftly followed. You felt the way his cock hauled to and fro. He knew how tight and warm you were but it always left him in shambles. Your walls clenched, subduing his bulging veins, and molding his dick on each thrust. He wanted to cum. He wanted to be deeper. He wanted to be one with you. Anxiety was through the roof but, thankfully, the people accompanying the halls continued with their conversation. All your attention was on the door where all the sounds originated from. The pace changed as you tried to listen for any footsteps.

Then all of a sudden he trembled and went stiff. He placed his chest against you for leverage. Lowering his head, listening how each breath was a struggle for him. You could see his wet curls in your peripheral vision. You turned your head to look.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You asked with genuine fear in your heart. Endless questions began to flood in your head. What if he didn’t want it? What if he regretted this decision? What if a bad memory was prompted? Was he disgusted by the thoughts of long ago?

“I’m close.” He choked out, “I need you to come first.” You found yourself relieved that he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was far from it. He withheld his own pleasure though, choosing to serve you before anything else. Being used to lifelong servitude and to pleasing others, it was only natural to him. This was going to change eventually. Astarion was walking on a thin line and quickly losing his balance. It took all his will and power just not to cum deep in your womb. He was right on the edge, so close all he needed was a push. You whined and wiggled your hips.

“Do not move.” He ordered, cock violently twitching inside you and mouth pulled into a snarl.

“Just cum!” You could see his head shake from the corner of your vision, “please!” You lifted your face from the drawer and held onto the wood the best you could. Your hips snapped back into him. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as if it pained him.

“Please, please, please, please!” You continued to beg. He was seconds from bursting just from your pleading. Your manicured nails drove deep marks on the drawer and the mirror began to shake back and forth. Your rapid breath fogged up the reflection in front of you and blocked the view. You kept going faster. Your earrings swayed back and forth with all the movement, along with your long necklace that was repeatedly bumping against your breasts. His whole body weight was on you now, ceasing your thrusts, and he placed himself deep inside. The drawer was back to painfully jabbing at you and it kept you from breathing properly. And whatever air trapped in your lungs was forced out of you when he rammed into you one last time. His cockhead glued to your cervix when he blew his fat load into you. His eyes went wide. Hair completely down. He looked like he was dying and ascending at the same time then damn near screamed.

He leaned back to give your aching bones some rest with a sweaty forehead against your shoulder. He was groaning even past his orgasm. You reached up to caress him.

“My star. I really wanted to go to the ball.” You sigh. He held onto your breasts again and pinched your nipples. “Are you not done?” Your makeup was ruined and so was your dress. You didn’t even get to cum either. But that was okay, as long as he relished in himself for once.

“Not quite. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sure there’s a spare dress.” He lifted his head and applied soft kisses to your cheeks

“Star, I really liked this dress.”

“I am sorry, my treasure.”

“This occasion was important to me.”

“I’m sorry…” It’s not often he would apologize. “Please, one more…” He sounded so weak and shattered. His head against your back just huffing and puffing. He held onto your waist, lovingly running with thick fingers down your exposed skin. Your skin was squishy compared to his rough finger pads. He was still hard and deep within you, his tip still cuddling your cervix. Another sigh escaped your lips, and you felt your clit throb again. Still unsatisfied. Your eyebrows arched upwards at the sensation. He wanted more and so did you. He felt so good just being seated inside you with his cum seeping out of you, most likely staining his pants and traveling down his balls. You could feel the stretch his thick dick provided to your abused walls. The same familiar feeling of want was still coiled up within, you needed release so badly. You wanted him to fuck it out of you. You bit your lip and looked into the mirror. Pretending to see his own reflection standing behind you. The thought of it made you clamp down on him and you both moaned. You turned your head and looked into his cat-like eyes. His broken voice did not match the way he was glaring at you. Seeming possessive.

Astarion pressed your back against his chest and your lips instinctively pressed on his jaw when he did so. When he pulled out, you could feel his cum spill between your thighs. Must’ve been very pent up. He moved his hand up towards the torn dress that was clinging to your hips, and tried to pass it down your legs, but the waist chain kept it from doing so. He ripped the pearled chain, and the beads fell onto the floor with the dress itself. The torn material was a tripping hazard that pooled around your feet. You didn’t even try to express your anger since he wouldn’t have acknowledged it. The only clothing you had on was the lace panties, the stockings, the jewelry, and your high heels. The vampire behind you was still completely clothed. You could still sense his icy coolness even through the layers of his attire. Your slim hand went down to begin playing with your clit.

His arm wrapped around your waist as the other slid his dick back inside you. Your pussy welcomed him hungrily. Your other hand grabbed onto his strong forearm as he began his thrusts. You kissed his jaw and cheeks, staining them a nice red with the remaining pigment you had on your lips. Astarion shut his eyes for a brief moment, cherishing in your care. He felt overwhelmed with love and lust. He had no idea how to express it. You were the best thing that’s happened to him. Finally someone who would put him first. Providing him soft affection and kind words even when he thought he didn’t deserve it. Being treated so kindly angered him in a way. The way you kissed him was so gentle compared to the way he was fucking you. Astarion felt guilty for rutting into you so harshly, but he couldn’t contain what he was feeling. Whatever that feeling was.

He looked down to watch as you played with yourself. Seeing your hand movements down between your breasts. Each thrust had them bounce. Your mascara ran down your flushed cheeks as your lipstick smeared against your chin and nose. Your eyeshadow and liner was smudged as well. It was all a mess and he loved it. He loved this. He loved you. Something so beautiful ravaged by him. Astarion kept going and wouldn’t stop; he couldn't. Not with the way your walls eagerly swallowed him. How it would squeeze down on him everytime he pulled back, asking him not to leave. You were velvety, tight, and wet. Feeling every ridge and every flutter. Felt your legs shake and wobble. He sensed how you would progressively compress on him the closer you got. Barely even able to shove himself fully into you. The tip kept hitting that perfect spot, the spot that had your eyes rolling and he kept striking and beating it devastatingly fast. You stopped kissing him, having a hard time breathing through the vicious motions. You can’t think. Everything was a blur and you felt dizzy. Your pretty nails dug into his forearm without a care in the world. The sound of your hips meeting was far too loud, anyone with ears would be able to listen. You tried your best to stay quiet, but the hits Astarion kept giving was blowing your cover. The slapping was loud, the way the desk rumbled was loud, the way the mirror shook was loud and each time it trembled it would hit the wall. You hoped the music was deafening enough to muffle everything while he was giving you a throrough fuck. Completely surrendering yourself to him. Taking him so well. Your hair was all over your face now, whisps sticking to sweat, to tears, and to gloss. The edge of the drawer was pinching the hand that was between your legs and it hurt, squishing your arm. Astarion began to lean forwards now which made it even worse making your nails dig deeper into his sleeved arm to brace yourself. He was never this rough before. One hand came up and moved your hair out of the way to smooch you.

“Good pet.” He whispered rasply. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He bended further into you. Not only did the drawer now hurt your arm but it went back to crushing your ribs. You were on your tippy toes from the positioning and positive that your heels were breaking. Your fingers rubbed quick circles on your clit while he plowed through you, which had a sob escape you. You’ve been trying to keep quiet. Despite the other ruckus the both of you have been doing, the last thing you wanted was someone hearing you delighting yourself in such a publicly debauched way. He himself wasn’t holding back though. Anyone would be able to hear him panting. You were doing this to him. It all felt so wrong but it only further encouraged the throbbing in your core. He let a long, pained groan go while baring his teeth. The sharp fangs gleamed in the light as he slowly glided his tongue over them. He was frustrated and wanted this to last longer.

“Gonna cum again?” You tease.

“Yes.” His eyes were wide now as he slammed in. He looked crazed. Like a rabid animal chasing his own high. White silver hair framing his sculpted features. Red orbs peering through the strands. He was actually enjoying himself. Actually enjoying sex without the weight of his past bearing down on him. That realization made you gush. Eyes rolling as you felt his (previous) cum and wetness drip down your ankles.

“Yeah?” You coo.

“Yes.”

“Then do it. Fuck your child into me. Do it. Fuck me.” You said through gritted teeth. You didn’t mean for it to sound like a command and it made your heart drop the second those words left your mouth. You could only hope at the moment that he was okay with it. You were going to apologize until he jerked your hair back and forced your face upwards. Unleashing something primal the second you finished that sentence. He wanted you to bear his child even if it was an impossible feat. Astarion hates kids but the thought drove him mad and he was willing to give you everything you desired. He kept pulling until you were able to look into his red eyes. Towering over you. You could see just how deranged he appeared. Consumed by passion. The insatiable hunger that radiated off his cold body was intoxicating. Your back was impossibly arched now and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. Even more so whenever he bucked his hips. The severe pain on your arm made you abandon your needy clit.

“Yeah? Like that, darling? Huh? Just like that?” You couldn’t say a word. Not one. The ache in your ribs, back, scalp and neck was intolerable but you needed him to cum. To not care about anything else but his own pleasure. You could feel his dick pummeling through your guts and mistreating your cervix. Somehow you were still reaching your high.

“This is what you want? Huh? Yes? No? Tell me.” He spoke but it didn’t mean anything. All words lost their meaning. Astarion was fucking your brains out. The heels broke under his ministrations. He was wrecking everything. Your vision went blurry from the tears, they kept spilling and wouldn’t stop. You were going to cum crying. You were gonna cum just like this.

“So cockdumb you can’t even answer me?” The eye contact was driving you both crazy. The view he had was so fucking hot you wouldn’t believe it. His cum stained balls smacking your clit with each hit. You grounded your cunt against him just to grind your clit against his balls and you rolled your hips for more. Finally your bundle of nerves was getting the attention it deserved. Your mouth was open, spilling silent cries when your eyes moved to the back of your head. No longer able to stare into his blown pupils. He gruffed in anger and grabbed you by the throat instead of your hair.

“Look at me.” He told you as his hand squeezed ruthlessly. You listened. “There you go, my sweet little treat. You’re taking me so well.” Astarion smiled down at you villainously, teeth white and shiny. Silver hair all over the place. Eyes manic. He was fucking mental. Juices flowed down as you came, If his pants were not ruined before, it was ruined now. You came looking deep into his soul, violently trembling and jolting in snapped heels. You needed to scream but couldn't because of the choking. Mouth opened and closed for air. The tear soaked makeup slightly burned when it slipped into your eyes. Veins pulsing the best it could despite the blockade Astarion’s ivory hands gave. Your head was hurting and thumping and your palms laid on what was in front for any form of support. Once again your nails worked itself into the wooden drawer leaving behind more horrible marks in its wake.

Astarion fucked your beaten pussy past your orgasm. Back being all sorts of blown out. Your walls were milking his dick and balls, begging for his seed to flood your womb and hoping to knock you up. It made him grip your throat even tighter. Your Adam’s apple tried bobbing up and down to swallow up any breath you could seek. In his point of view your face was a light scarlet because of the lack of oxygen, with a vein protruding from your forehead. Him mistreating you, and you letting him sent shivers up his spine. He let go once your vision almost faded and blurred, then brutally drove his fangs into your neck. You gasped for air when he unclasped, somewhat because of the sudden pain and mostly because of the choking. Having large amounts of air fill your lungs helped you regain vision. The mirror was no longer foggy and you could get a good view of the situation. You were in tatters. Hair. Makeup. Outfit. Embarrassment creeped in with just how fucked out and shameless you seemed. Is this what you really looked like? Or was the mirror playing tricks? Is this what Astarion has been seeing this whole time? How depraved and disgusting. He loved the view though. Your jewelry, tits, and locks kept moving with the thrusts. But with the aggressive and speedy drinking, your sight would blur up in no time. And with your desperate breathing, the mirror would soon fog up again. The tang in your blood was sweeter than before and his fangs pushed further in to drain you better. Astarion was properly feeding this time and didn’t hold back in greedily sucking you up. Every muscle was sore and you were surely going to pass out. Then the taste of euphoria in your blood made him burst. Abruptly grabbing onto your breast, his yell was muffled since his teeth were still latched. He jerked with each rope of cum he shot into you. The tip probing and nuzzling your spent cervix. You let out a long moan when he started filling you to the brim a second time.

“Fuck. I'm sorry…” Astarion wiped your tears away when he came to his senses. Heavy pants mixing together. Your body was in horrible pain and limp but you felt joy in bringing him pleasure. He nuzzled you while skimming his fingers on the dark bruises kindly. “I’m so sorry darling. I don’t know what possessed me. I’ll make it up to you… what do you want to eat? I’ll bring food to you.” The marks on your neck began to show and he felt intense regret. How could he lose himself like this? How could he treat you this way? To someone he loved and appreciated so vastly? “Please forgive me, my love.” He said, fear in his trembling voice. He fucked up badly.

“Gods…” he whispered. You slumped onto the desk. Astarion was going to be hellbent on compensating you for the harm he had done.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“Then it’s okay.”

“No. It is not okay. I am truly sorry. Do not try to validate my actions. I am so sorry about the ball, darling.”

“Yeah, you’re an asshole for tearing my dress and for breaking your promise to take me dancing.” You admitted as he embraced you. “But you can make it up to me by buying me a new dress. AND by giving me lots of cuddles. If you’re up for it.” You offer.

“Of course, my treasure, how could I say no?”

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter vii.

Your interactions with the entity holding you captive begin to escalate.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

My human.

From the very second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. While you were gifted to him by the woman in a raincoat, that fact alone had little influence on and could not even begin to encapsulate his desire for you.

He had a clear recollection of the moment he found you. You had been injured by the aforementioned woman, sanguine, exquisitely oozing out of the wound on your head. The sight of blood spilling down your delicate features was one he’d never forget, the image having been seared into his mind. You were so, so lovely. A hint of colour against the dull monochrome building; a singular rose blossoming in the dead of winter.

Pretty.

You were just as beautiful now as you had been upon your first meeting, if he could call it that. Though he had adored the way the fresh steaks of red glistened on your skin, he did not find you any less enchanting, even with the blood having dried and crumbled away.

You were truly a gift for him, and he’d cherish you as such.

Which is why he failed to understand your reaction, disagreeing and arguing with him about not having been given to him.

Despite his mild frustration at your incomprehensible response, he wouldn’t get angry with you. You were already afraid of him for some unknown reason, and he didn’t want to exacerbate that fear. Instead, he’d try his best to explain to you the situation. You had no reason to be frightful of him; he’d take good care of you.

Human not communicate. Me worry.

For a moment, you were unresponsive, leading him to worry that you would continue to protest. But then you slowly nodded your head at him.

Human understand. You understand me.

Me happy, he thought. Grateful.

He was unable to do anything but smile, grinning widely from cheek to cheek at your acceptance. You had accepted his desire to take care of you. You had accepted being his gift. You had accepted him.

“You want me.” His statement came out plain and simple, uttered more to himself than to you.

Eyes pretty.

You didn’t refuse him, however. You merely glanced at him with wide eyes, eyes that reflected away all the dreariness of this place with the utmost brilliance. He simply allowed himself a moment to gaze into them, admiring the way they glimmered.

You nodded once again, such a small, slow tilt of your head that he almost failed to catch it.

Human want me. You want me.

“You want me,” his smile widened. “You want me, you want me...”

He feverishly chanted those words, as if each repetition was a stronger confirmation of your feelings than the last.

His heart throbbed, an aching pulse that pulverized him from the inside. While the words existed in his language, he never understood them—not until now. What was once a foreign concept to him now became all too present and all too real.

He craved you with a primal need that swirled deep in his viscera, longing for you in ways he only just now began to comprehend.

And you wanted him too.

Want me.

Just that simple fact was enough for his chest to rumble with tremendous force, the world inside his heart shifting much like the larger expanse he resided in.

Want have human. Want touch.

You were here looking at him still with doe eyes, the sight only further amplifying his desire. As the urge to have you filled his mind, he reacted accordingly by reaching out to you. His fingers brushed against your hair with the intention of stroking it, but you instantly flinched away from him.

Head damaged, head hurt, he suddenly remembered.

He couldn’t run his fingers through your hair, but that did little to diminish his coveting for you. Instead, he settled for touching your face, his fingers tracing along your forehead, your cheeks, your jawline. When they trailed over your lips, he realized he preferred touching them over the rest of your face.

He brushed his fingers over your lips a few more times and each time he did, he yearned for you a bit more than the last.

Want mouth touch.

He wasn’t sure where that thought came from. It was unfamiliar, yet somehow, it felt natural. There was an aspect about the gesture of touching your mouth with his that made it seem different from doing so with his hands. He wasn’t sure why that was, but it was intriguing, this newfound concept.

Slowly, he moved his index finger between your lips, gently pushing them apart. Your lips were a bit damp there, something he found strangely inviting. He wanted to bring his mouth to yours, he wanted to feel your lips against his—and you wanted him, so you wanted this too.

“Want you,” he said, his voice softer than usual, yet filled with fervour.

Want you. He looked at you for a moment longer, before he followed his instincts, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

Pleasant.

Your mouth was astonishingly warm, all molten heat and liquid velvet against his own. So soft, so alluring, so inviting. It was a sensation that felt oddly familiar, stirring up something in his chest that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He didn’t pay it much mind, instead enjoying the feeling of your mouths touching in a way that was all too intoxicating.

Me you together.

In that very moment, with his lips encapsulating yours, the two of you were connected. He liked that.

He liked the togetherness, wanted more of it as he tried moving his lips against yours, hoping you’d do the same. To his own surprise, he found himself disappointed at your lack of reaction. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he wanted more than just this. He craved you with an aching need, desperately longed for more of you. He wanted to feel you against him, he wanted you.

Still, you were inanimate, leading him to wonder why. He reasoned that you were likely new to this, much like he was. Perhaps you didn’t know what to do, or maybe humans had a different way of expressing desire. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he should be patient with you and give you time to get accustomed to this. He would be gentle with you. He would take good care of you and show you that you had no reason to fear him. He would treasure you as his gift. He would express how much he craves you.

He pulled away briefly so he could speak.

“Together,” he mumbled. “Me like.”

Your eyebrows scrunched slightly, your parted lips—now faintly glistening—pressing together into a frown. His own eyes widened in shock; was there something wrong?

“You hurt?” he tentatively asked, a myriad of concerns welling up in his chest. “You okay?”

Human upset. Not know why.

Your frown seemed to deepen, your eyes glazing over with moisture that confused him greatly. He waited patiently for you to respond. After a long moment of silence, you finally uttered a singular word.

“Hurt,” you reluctantly stated.

“Why?” His response was instant. He had been so careful with you. He was aware you were fragile, and he treated you like such. It was hard to imagine he had hurt you in some way.

“Hungry,” you answered. He briefly wondered if there was more to it than just hunger, but he realized then that you had told him about needing food quite some time ago. It made sense. It made sense, but he found himself wishing that wasn’t the case. He wanted to continue what he was doing with you; he wanted to keep enjoying the feeling of togetherness that he experienced with you. But he said he’d take care of you, and that meant ensuring you didn’t go hungry.

He nodded his head, pulling back from you and reaching over to give you the box that you claimed was consumable. You gingerly took it from him, pausing for a moment before a small smile formed on your face.

Human happy. Me like.

“Thank you,” you said. For a second, he was awestruck—the way your lips curved upwards made his heart throb tenderly in his chest. He instinctively put a hand on his own chest, though nothing about it felt different.

Heart change? Not know.

“Welcome,” he muttered, his voice almost breathy.

—

As you chewed on the granola, you found a variety of thoughts coming to mind. At the forefront, you found yourself thinking the granola was extremely delicious. You had not had granola this tasty before. That’s what hunger does to people, you supposed.

In the back of your mind, you found yourself wondering just where exactly your current circumstances would place as far as the misfortune side of the misfortune-complaining matrix went. You had thought being kidnapped and held captive by a ghostly entity was a seven. Being kidnapped, held captive, and kissed by said monster, however—that should probably rank higher, right?

The concerning part was your uncertainty about that point. It should rank higher. In anyone’s sane mind, it would be worse. But somewhere in the very back of your mind, hiding in the shadowy, dark recesses, was the realization that you didn’t find it repulsive.

It was most definitely strange; there was no doubt about that. No matter how you looked at or thought about it, kissing an inhuman creature was an abnormal thing. The very experience was bizarre, from the coldness of his lips, to the stiffness of his movements, and to, well, the fact that he wasn’t human.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate it. If you were being fully honest with yourself, the kiss was... fine. Not how you would imagine a kiss to happen, but nonetheless not displeasing.

Perhaps you had gone insane in the short time span of being here—you weren’t sure. You most definitely felt like you were losing your mind as you ruminated over the kiss.

You had only gone along with it because you didn’t want to upset him, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel extremely flustered about it.

It’s just a kiss, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t even understand how it works.

Your thoughts did little to convince yourself that you were not becoming mad. The ever watchful gaze of the red umbrella man was still on you, increasing the discomfort and awkwardness that you felt. You found yourself shying away, eyes fixated on your lap, on the granola bar that you had stopped chewing, on everything besides him.

“You okay?” He suddenly interrupted your thoughts to ask a question.

“C-Correct,” you stammered, slightly caught off guard. You didn’t know how exactly to say you were okay, so you settled for the closest word you knew. The language barrier still proved to be endlessly frustrating, even with the help you received from Mr. Silvair.

The red umbrella man touched his hand to your cheek, the unexpected movement causing a startled jump.

“Face hurt?” he questioned. You thought his question over before responding.

“Face hurt,” you agreed, lying through your teeth much like you did earlier. You hoped he wouldn’t notice; the sparseness of the language should be enough to cover for any unusualness on your part.

“You ▮▮▮▮?”

You knew Mr. Silvair used that word when speaking to the red umbrella man, but you didn’t quite know what it meant.

“Not understand,” you replied. You weren’t as hungry anymore, but you chewed on your granola bar anyway, hoping it would save you from further conversation.

He didn’t talk after that. You finished your granola bar in silence, its wrapper soon joining the other packaging that you had discarded into the box, using it as a temporary trash can.

A wave of exhaustion washed over your body all at once, the adrenaline from the day’s events finally all wearing off. You could feel a mild ache in your head still, causing you to frown.

You glanced at the red umbrella man, who had been soundlessly observing you—very much unsettling behaviour—and back at the bed, where a small pillow was. It didn’t appear that he planned on letting you go anytime soon. You decided that you might as well rest now. Maybe once you recover some energy, you would be able to find a way out, though having to go through those terrifying rooms again was not something you looked forward to.

You let out another vexed exhale before sliding your shoes off and crawling into bed.

“You ▮▮▮▮?” The red umbrella man—which you were getting tired of mentally using—asked again. The word must mean ‘rest.’

“Correct,” you nodded. “Me rest.”

—

Human need rest. Human weak. Cute.

He didn’t understand the exact sleeping needs of a human yet, but considering how you woke up not long ago, you needed to sleep much more than he did.

His needs for rest were mostly limited to his mind. His body rarely needed any fuel; besides the occasional meal and fluid, he required little else. However, silencing his mind was a different matter.

It wasn’t a thing he needed often, but it was more constant than his need for consumption and physical rest. Every here and there, he slept in order to give his mind a break. Continuous thinking proved to be bothersome after a lengthy enough period, and so he would refresh himself by shutting down temporarily.

Human rest. Me take care.

As you made yourself comfortable in bed and lied down, you reached to pull the covers over yourself. The covers were just slightly too far away, which he noticed when you were about to sit up again.

Quickly, he reached for the covers himself, gently tugging it over your body. Your eyes opened in surprise, but as he rested the fabric on your shoulders, you seemed to relax.

Human happy. Me like. A lot like.

You raised your head slightly to look at him before smiling, seemingly content. The organ in his chest fluttered once again, an unsettling sensation. He looked down to examine his torso—nothing was wrong.

Not understand, he thought.

It didn’t matter too much, however. Your mouth was curved upwards in the most delightful way, and he felt the urge to touch it with his own, but refrained. He would take care of you and allow you to sleep first.

“Goodnight,” he couldn’t help returning your smile. Yours faltered for a slight second before you let out a nervous laugh.

Pleasant.

“Goodnight,” you repeated back to him.

You snuggled into the pillow, seemingly comfortable in the bed. He felt proud of having taken good care of you, like he decided he would.

Your eyelids fluttered briefly, but just when he thought you’d fallen asleep, you abruptly opened them.

“You have name?” you unexpectedly inquired.

He opened his mouth, about to tell you that he didn’t, when a sharp, buzzing static pierced through his skull. 

next chapter ->

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thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[mondaymelon]

OMGGG what about the tall genshin men reacting when u suddenly distance urself from them, but they dont know its bc of something they said? feel free to edit n modify this as much as ud like :3

₊˚ෆ "𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄…" | diluc, childe, kaveh x gn!reader

art by @/kongqingkoqi on twitter! (not too sure on who you meant by tall characters, so i just chose a couple males with the tall model~ thank you for your request!)

— cw: angst + comfort ? injury (diluc), ngl reader is kinda a bitch in childe's but it was the only way i thought up of of making the situation work so. lmao. cries

[ Perhaps it was the winter cold that had bit him so, or perhaps it was merely a gloom that had briefly descended upon him. Either way, an unfortunate slip of the tongue has wounded you, yet they themselves remain unaware. ]

"Love?"

DILUC's eyes are round with worry, and his concerned gaze sweeps over you - from your crestfallen form, and then to your eyes that shy away from his. Ever since he had returned to the estate after being out of business since morning, you've been avoiding him, not wishing to speak a single word to his self and not even bothering to spare him a fleeting glance.

At first, it was bearable. Perhaps you just had had a long day and wanted some alone time, no? It was always a possibility, that is, until he saw your smiling self as you busied yourself in chatting away with the maids, and most importantly, that brother of his.

What had he done to warrant such treatment? You loved him, that he was sure of. Otherwise, you would've rejected him, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have let him take your hand and bring it to his lips ever so slowly, pressing a kiss into your knuckles?

"Love, I... I'm sorry. Please, tell me what I did wrong." His voice contains a shred of his desperation, and his crimson eyes only hold you in their gaze. You, who had broken past his carefully crafted walls and rekindled the flame that had long since been extinguished within his heart. "If it's something I did, if it's something I said-"

“Diluc, you…” Your quiet voice ebbs to silence as your eyes glance away, landing on everything except for the red-haired man before you, whose broad shoulders give the slightest tremor. The darkness in your expression, the displayed hurt… Ah.

Diluc’s weary mind raced, recollecting the hasty conversation from this morning, when dawn had yet to break and he had arrived home, coat blazing, skin littered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts. You had rushed out of your bedroom, still in your night garments, panicking over the wounds that covered his body and the red that blackened his already dark clothes. In a strained voice, eyes wide and frantic, you had called for the maids, only for Diluc to forcibly shush you, steadying himself on shaky legs.

“Love, what happened, what were you doing and how did-??”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His tone is low, tired. “Stay out of this, you won’t be able to offer any assistance anyhow.”

Begrudgingly, the man recalled his absolute exhaustion, having just returned after a bloody night of battling monsters, muscles sore and crying for relief. There was no need for your concern, his cuts would mend and his wounds would heal. Yet he hadn’t meant for his words to come out so harsh, for his tongue to pierce you in the way it had.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind when I said that- I just... I just didn't want you to be hurt also... If I'm injured, those wounds will fade with time, but I.."

His words trail off, replaced with your silence - a voiceless agreement, one that Diluc takes as an answer. Holding both your hands in his gloved ones, it's somehow easy to feel his fiery warmth despite his cold demeanor. Cold... was it really so? The male's eyes shone, and then you were in his arms, tightly intertwined.

"..I don't know what I would do if harm were to befell you, love..."₊˚ෆ

"Love!"

CHILDE's playful smile fades at its corners as you walk past him, the way you're failing to even acknowledge his presence painfully apparent. "Hah... what's with you today?" Another absence of a response. You dash your way out of his sight, and he's left alone in the dark living room, a half-smile still on his features. The fuck?

Okay, maybe it was just one of those days. There had been several since the start of the relationship, and the harbinger offered his utmost understanding. Sometimes people just felt like shit, and didn't feel like doing shit, and he could understand that to some extent.

There, mystery solved, yeah? Ah, but just one problem, how come you had been completely fine just an hour before? He had the day off, and so did you, so there was a mutual agreement to just stay home and laze about in one another's presence - yet it was only nearing lunchtime and you had already given him the cold shoulder? For what..? You hadn't even gone outside or did anything today-

Oh. Then he had to have been the problem. He raps his knuckles on your bedroom door, but it's really his bedroom too, and is bold enough to poke his head through the frame without waiting for your confirmation, a hesitant grin decorating his lips. "Love, I'm sorry- for ah... whatever you disliked...?"

You're sat at your desk, weariness evident in your darkened eyes. "Childe, do you find me someone who needs to be protected?"

He blinks. "...What?"

"Childe, do you really just want to spend the entire day lying around?" Snapping your fingers, your eyes lit up with sparkles. "We should go to a cafe or something for lunch, maybe, and then-"

"Why through go all the effort? We're staying home because I thought you wanted to, aren't we?"

"Not to that extent Childe... if you were with friends, what would you be doing? Not sitting on the couch all day, I hope?" A sheepish smile crossed your face.

"Hmm.. friends... I suppose we'd duel...?"

"Then-"

"Nope, no way am I dueling with you, you're way too weak, love, that's why I gotta protect you, hm?"

He immediately shakes his head at your words, almost frantic. "W- No, I didn't mean it in that way, love. You're capable, it's just that... Well- you don't have a vision, or a weapon, or-"

"Childe." Not your usual 'love', a bright smile on your lips, and he flinches just the slightest at the sight. "We're in a relationship. I don't want to be in a give all take all relation, you know? I.. I want to be independent, I want you to rely on me sometimes too... I just feel like sometimes I'm just such a burden to you and-"

"A burden?" His eyes widen, features instantly shadowing with disbelief at your words.

You, a burden? Such a thing couldn't possibly be. The warmth that you had granted him, the delicate arms that had held him in its hold, the lips that had whispered such affections and pressed kisses on his skin-

"No, love. You are not a burden, not when you are someone who makes life worth living." ₊˚ෆ

"Love...?"

KAVEH's in instant full blown panic mode, the dark bags under his eyes especially evident with how wide they've grown. "H-Hey, are you okay?" Of course, something wasn't okay - otherwise, why would you be ignoring him like this? But his sleepless mind has grown frantic, and he's desperate for relief. His hand latches onto yours before you can disappear into another room, holding onto your wrist loosely enough to not seem forceful. "Ah..."

He'd moved without thinking, almost as if on instinct, and now that you had glanced back with something colder in your gaze, that same urge told him not to let go. "I, I'm sorry!" For what exactly, he wouldn't even be able to tell a soul, yet the words seemed to have done the trick, as your feet pause in the middle of a step away from him, hesitance clear in your expression.

"For what, Kaveh?"

Shit, he's fucked. This was it, all the all nighters and hours of laborious planning and calculations had led to this one moment... His mind was spurred into action as his mouth sputtered useless stutters and... oh, could it be?

"Kaveh, you should go to sleep, it's already so late, and you haven't gotten a good rest in days, love..." Your concerned tone rang clearly in his ears, but he shook the words away, his disheveled form only focusing on the work before him, the endless tasks he had yet to complete.

"No, I... I can't. Love, could you brew me a cup of coffee, the extra strong kind? Thank you..." He gave his sleepy eyes a rub, completely missing the look that had flitted across your face in that moment.

Your sigh invades his flashbacks, and you look completely done with him, brows furrowed a fraction and lips drawn into a thin line. "Kaveh, please, for the love of the archons, take some better care of yourself."

"...Ah?"

Suddenly, your tone had shifted in the span of a half second, and instead of the angry gaze he had expected, it was more so... scolding. Concern. "Close that jaw of yours, Kaveh, how come you look so surprised? I've told you this time and time again, you need rest!"

An accusing finger was pointed in his direction, the bearer someone he was certainly very familiar with. "Well, it's a big project, I have to finish it by next week and there's barely any time, so I need to-"

"-And how can you possibly plan on functioning if you haven't gotten any sleep?"

Curses, a valid argument. Kaveh slowly held up his empty hands in defeat, chuckling sheepishly. So this was about him, and not you? Thank the archons, for a second he had thought he had messed up big time-

"That look of yours, you better not be thinking what I think you're thinking! And, besides..." You glanced at the ground, as if suddenly reluctant to speak another word. "I was waiting for you so we could sleep together..."

...An angel? Was that who was before him?

"I-I'm sorry... I promise I'll take better care of myself and... you won't have to wait for me, tonight. I'll turn in early, love." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) not all that proud of this one. but here. sigh

reblogs are veryyyy appreciated!! if you liked this fic, please consider following, as im super close to a follower goal id love to hit before new years! thank you.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

[weskie]

The Future of a Past Life (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

1700 words, domesticity, themes of corporal punishment, recollections, established relationship, somehow fluffy, part of the lover, leader, liar series | Fic Directory

“What was your childhood like?” 

“So what exactly made you think to do this?” 

You appear caught off guard by such a question.  Good.  You should be.  

Wesker had asked you to stay and eat with him after you’d surprised him with lunch from the sandwich shop he frequents.  It was the least he felt he should do.  Simply taking it and ushering you out felt wrong.  How you’d discovered his preference was a mystery, though it would not surprise him if one of the team’s blabbermouths had spotted him there.  He wasn’t shy about how often he frequented the store, but why should he be?  

“Well, just…” You start, head nodding from side to side as you try to formulate your answer.  You’re a peculiar thing to him.  Always have been.  “I heard you’ve done two all-nighters already this week and thought it would be nice.”

He’s already thanked you, but he hums another expression of gratitude before biting into his sandwich.  He’d never tried this one in particular before.  A ‘wedgie sandwich,’  you’d called it.  Essentially just an Italian sub mashed between thin pizza dough.  Messy, but certainly something he would get again.

“How much was mine?”  Wesker asks, wiping away a dribble of sauce that had leaked onto his fingers.  Gift or not, feelings of indebtedness were not optimal.  

“It’s a mystery.” You smirk.  

“Then I’ll call the shop and ask for the prices.”  He replies, lip quirking just the tiniest bit as he slowly reaches for the rotary phone. You don’t budge.  Maybe you know that he doesn’t know the number off the top of his head.  The phone book is in the cabinet behind him.  He could find it, but he decides not to.  “Fine,” he relents.  “I’ll just have to return the favor sometime.”

You often sit with him while he works.  There wasn’t much for you to do around the facility given the different varieties of research were far beyond your expertise.  You were Alpha Team’s field medic and the one in charge of maintaining their firearms back at the station. Virology was beyond your understanding. At least for now.  

Sometimes you occupied yourself by trying to further your knowledge of him, asking questions that had been too far off the table of whatever it was that you two had been prior to what you were now.  It was fine.  You’d ask; he’d answer. You’d share; he’d listen.  But then you inquired about… that.

“What was your childhood like?” 

He’d decided to work at the kitchen table while you cooked.  Your occasional banter was not unwelcome and he’d been meeting it with apt replies despite how absorbed he’d been in test results and future trial concepts. 

Ink bleeds from where his pen had halted on the paper.  Like a dark void staining the present, growing with each passing second that he doesn’t lift it.  What should he tell you, hm?  Should he tell you anything at all?  Would it be wrong to regale you with the tales of his youth?  He doubts you’d ever betray him.  And, even if you did, so what?  Other than a broken heart, there was little you could do to him.

“I…”  He begins, but he doesn’t quite know where to start.

His bed was beside the window.  A privilege of the school’s top students.  The dormitory had cleared out entirely. They’d all gone home for the holiday.  To their families…  Everyone but him, of course.

He’s spending his eleventh Christmas alone.  He’d done exactly the same for the past ten.  What was one more?

Flakes of snow swirled beyond the glass.  The cold bite of the wind leaked through the old seals, chilling him beneath his wool blanket.  Albert tried his best to calm the chattering of his teeth and shivering shakes that rattled his body, but he couldn’t.  The dorms always froze terribly in the winter.  Normally the collective body heat of the others helped warm the room enough to be bearable.

It was forbidden to take another's bed, but the thought always left his skin crawling anyway.  The others were unkempt and strange.  Poor hygiene was a punishable offense, but it seemed to matter little in the eyes of the staff.  Only rare cases of such were ever met with discipline.  The occasional booger picker didn’t go unnoticed either.

He’d rather freeze than sleep in another’s rotten bed.  He curls in on himself to conserve body heat.  Tears bite at his eyes.

His body is numb when he wakes the next day.  His legs refuse to stand.  He hardly registers the chill of the floor.

Discipline… 

To not rise this very instant is to be late. To be late is to miss the morning headcount. To miss this is to violate the rules.

Obedience…  

Violations are acts of disobedience. Such acts beget punishment.

It takes every ounce of willpower to get on his feet and stumble to the bathrooms.

He must warm up enough to function.  He has no choice.  The heat of the shower burns white hot against his reddened skin. 

Wesker makes it early to the morning headcount.

“I was raised in a boarding school.”  He says cooly, pen still bleeding into the paper.  Wesker’s eyes are locked onto the glass of water you’d placed in front of him long ago.  Condensation drips along the sides and settles into the wood grain of the table.  Your kindness to him will leave behind a mark on the furniture. “I lived there year round.”

There’s a pang of something in his chest when you turn from the stove to look at him.  You’re wearing some silly ruffled maid apron that you thought would be far funnier than one of a more standard design. He has to clear the tightening of his throat before continuing.  

“It was alright.”

A wooden yard stick slams down onto his bloodied knuckles for the umpteenth time.

He’d gotten into a fight.  Another one of the boys, Andrew Haines, had accosted him in the courtyard. It wasn’t his fault the lad made a fool of himself in class.  If he hadn’t wanted to be shown up by Wesker and his correct answer, he should’ve gotten the question right in the first place.  That the teacher berated his classmate’s subpar performance was no fault of his own.

One sucker punch was all it took for Albert to sock him right back.  The supervising staff, of course, only witnessed the second hit.  They were never truly watching.  Only when commotion began did they ever pay any attention, but it was always too late by then.  

His assailant got off scot free. 

“You will learn quickly that fighting is not tolerated here.”  The headmaster grits, teeth bared behind an ugly mustache as he brings the ruler down once more.

Wesker swallows harshly, but he doesn’t react.  Why give him the satisfaction?  It hurts, of course.  It hurt very much the same as the time prior when he’d been met with the wooden paddle after correcting his teacher in mathematics class.

The trick is simply not minding that it hurts.

“Impudence will only get you so far, young man.  You should be thankful that we care enough to correct this behavior.” 

“Yes, sir.”  He answers. “Thank you, sir.”

Whack!

“Recite the tenets.”  The headmaster waves the yard stick in his face.

“Through discipline, we find strength.”

Whack!

“Through obedience, we excel.”

Whack!

“Through unity, we gain power.”

The headmaster doesn’t stop until the stick breaks.  Excessive pain for stoicism in the face of punishment.  

“Damn you, boy!”

Typical.

Wesker’s fingers drip crimson all the way to the bathroom.  It hurts terribly, stinging something fierce when he runs cool water over the broken skin.  Antibacterial soap scalds his trembling hands like fire.

He meets his own eyes in the mirror.  There’s something missing in their icy stare.  Not even the pain touches them.

“I was at the top of my class.”  He continues.

He is seventeen years old, hailed as the best and brightest of his peers.  Doctor Albert Wesker…

He stands at the window next to his bed.  His permanent privilege even in a new school.

He’s got his eyes locked on the moon.  He wonders what it must have been like when Armstrong first stepped upon its dusty surface.  A whole world away…

Away from the nearly silent sound two beds over of his classmate suffocating on his own blood and bile.  His peer’s death will not spawn a monster.

The real one is working in the basements below.

“Mm, that’s not surprising.”  

When did you come so close?  Shouldn’t you be worried about the– oh.  You moved the pan to the oven already.  He knew that.  He saw you do it.  So how did you catch him off guard like that…?

You lean against the table and bring a hand to his cheek.  The scent of lemon tickles his nose and he can’t help but bask in your touch.  It’s so very warm compared to the chill of his memories.

His knuckles tingle…

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.”  His answer comes too quickly and you shoot him a raised brow.  He’s not used to talking about it.  What was the point?  No amount of rehashing it would change the past.  Even then, was it something he’d want to change?

“Your eyes get brighter when you’re upset, you know.”  You tilt his face toward you slightly, just enough to bring his gaze back to yours.

Perhaps he should start wearing his glasses around you again.

“And there’s this.”  You say, tapping at his paper with your free hand.  You’d noticed the ink stain.  “I… If that question made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

Part of a successful relationship is the willingness to share with the other person.  What kind of partner would he be if he denied you that which you’ve so willingly given to him?  He shakes his head.

You didn’t make him uncomfortable.  You never have.

“I was an orphan.”  He blurts.  But you already know this.  The night he showed up at your house after your parents died, he’d bumbled through a weak apology that his ability to empathize was less than stellar.  “I spent a lot of time alone.  The others were… different.”

He was different.   Stronger.  Smarter.

Better.

Somehow his hands find their way into yours.  Your thumbs smooth over the backs of his knuckles.  It’s like you know how to soothe him without actually knowing.  There were no marks there to indicate past damage.  No scarring.  Perhaps later in the evening he’ll confess the worst of it to you.

“Hmph, but I earned the title of Doctor before I’d even turned eighteen.”  His lips quirk.  It’s a humble brag compared to his other accomplishments.  “Academia can be a very beneficial friend.  However, I did find myself involved with the football team as a running back for a time.”

You chuckle warmly and squeeze his hands.  “I unfortunately don’t speak sports, but it sounds like you were an amazing kid.”

He’s received such praise countless times in his life, but it feels different coming from you.  It always has.

“I received many awards.”

Your sweet laughter enchants him somehow, as does the quick kiss you press to his lips.  “Someone sounds humble.”  You tease.

“Humility is my middle name.”

The beep of the oven interrupts another round of soft giggles from you.  Frankly he’d rather allow dinner to burn and keep you where you were, but he can’t quite complain.  Never in his life has a relationship gone so far that home cooked meals were able to become an occurrence.  Domesticity has never been his speed, but he finds that he’s got quite the sweet tooth for it when it comes to you.  He supposes there will be many firsts with you.

He’d like to experience all of them.

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - Second round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

Propaganda in favour of Primo Levi by @itsmalombra

What to say about Primo Levi? Jew, a leftist until his death, Holocaust survivor (thanks to beng a chemist, he was considered useful by the SS and wasn't killed as soon he arrived to Auschwitz), he condemned with decades of advance the first cases of violence from the just started Israel occupation aganst the Palestinians, having still care for the difficulties that many jews like him were experiencing in Europe. He is one of the author you have to read if you want to understand the contrast and the difference between anti-semitism and anti-sionism. The horrors he endured were the cause of hid death in 1987, possibly by suicide.

About his relationship with other italian jews who moved in Occupied Palestine/Israel but at the same time his distrust to Menachem Begin policies and latent antisionism: Levi was clearly inspired by them, but not enough to follow their example and join his fate in the postwar period to the Zionist project in Israel. He had a complicated relationship to the country. […] Like other Jews, Levi kept up with news from the region, especially during times of crisis. His responses to two of these crises reveal a strong attachment to Israel on a personal level but also some sharp differences with the country’s policies. His criticisms were political and generally lined up with the views of the Italian Left. They came to a head in 1982, during Israel’s incursion into Lebanon in Operation ‘Peace for Galilee’. […] Much of public opinion in Western countries, including Italy, turned against Israel, especially following the Christian Phalange militia’s massacre of Palestinians in Sabra and Shatila in September, 1982. Levi joined his voice to the protests, signing letters urging Israel’s withdrawal and calling for Begin’s retirement from office. In turn, he himself came under criticism from prominent leaders of the Italian Jewish community, who called for communal solidarity at such a time. Fearing an intensification of hostility against Jews in Italy as a result of vehement anti-Israel and antisemitic demonstrations breaking out across Europe, they also thought it unwise for Jews to join their voices in protest against Israel, as Levi and others were doing. Levi’s Italian Jewish friends living in Israel, some of whom lost family members in the country’s War of Independence and subsequent fighting, also spoke out against him. ‘I retain a close sentimental tie with Israel,’ he confessed at the time, ‘but not with this Israel’. [source]

Another article about this important part of him is here, unfortunately is in italian.

I don’t think there is another author as representative of the Holocaust horror (and war horror in general) in Italy like Primo Levi, considering also is eminence in contemporary literature, his interviews with Philip Roth or Judith Butler, him being the namesake of various international associations against discriminations and violence like the Primo Levi Center, the raw and vivid power of his writing and poetry:

You who live safe In your warm house; You who find, come evening, Hot food and the faces of friends: Consider if this is a man Who struggles in the mud Who knows no peace Who fights for crumbs Who dies because of a No or Yes Consider if this is a woman, Nameless and hairless Without strength to remember Vacant eyes and a womb Cold like a frog in the winter: Consider the fact that this has happened: These words I suggest: Etch them on your heart When staying home and going out, Closing your eyes and rising back; Repeat them to your children: Or may your house crumble, Illness bind you And they turn their faces away from you.

If This Is a Man, Primo Levi, 1947.

To describe his importance not only in the italian, but also european and world-wide canon, it takes months and pages of space, a thing that sadly now I don't have, but if you, readed, have never heard of him, you have in front of you so much of books, essays, poetry and writing by Levi that will let you amazed by his depth of though and sensivity, but most importantly, vote now for him👆.

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Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

[milunalupin]

— things i used to do

post azkaban!sirius black x reader ★ 400 words

You were exhausted when you came home from work, quickly toeing off you shoes and face planting into the couch, lightly groaning as you felt the weight of the day off your shoulder. You heard footsteps coming towards you and suddenly you were buried under a pile of warm clothes. You squirmed your through the mountain of flared jeans and band tees to see your long time boyfriend standing over you with an empty laundry basket.

"Sirius, what are you doing?" You squinted your eyes up at him.

He had a confused smile on his face, his grey eyes staring down at you with a cloud of recollection.

"I think I used to do this, right? Because you're so cold all the time."

Your breath hitched as you realized that Sirius had remembered something the two of you did before he was sent away to Azkaban for so many years. When Sirius first came home, he was nothing but an empty shell. It took him days to let you help him bathe, and even longer to let you hold him through the nightmares and panic attacks.

It's been several months now, and for the most part he's settled back into a generic routine, but this was the first time he's done something specific to the two of you. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make your heart swell with pride. Sirius was intrigued by you doing laundry the muggle way, and was surprisingly better at folding clothes. Since you usually ran cold anyways, and especially in the winter when your shared flat got chillier, Sirius would throw the freshly dried clothes on top of you to keep you warm while he folded everything.

"Yeah, yeah you did. Remember, you would put on a movie while you folded laundry? And I would just sit there, because I never had the patience to fold everything nicely like you did." A small laugh escaped you as you sat up and reached for Sirius' hand, squeezing lightly.

Sirius squeezed your hand back and smiled down at you, looking like a puppy who'd learned a new trick. He couldn't but just throw himself on top of you, the warm laundry cushioning your body from the force. You squealed as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring sweet nothings as your cheeks flushed with his words and the warmth of the clothes.

[historiaxvanserra]

Depraved

Pairing: Cassian x female!reader

Description: On a reconnaissance mission deep in the Illyrain Mountains you and Cassian come under the spell of some strange and exotic plant that sees you both subject to your basest desires.

Word count: 5.3K (ish)

Warnings: 18+ only! this wasn’t a request it’s just shameless smut with a smidge of plot (unedited sex pollen fic, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v, kind of dubcon but not really, etc).

For my fellow Cassian girlies. this is kind of a hot mess but honestly at least i'm writing something.

The winter sun is sinking low into the western horizon when Cassian motions for you to fall to your knees beside him. It’s depraved the way you drop to the floor wordlessly as Cassian towers over you, his large frame concealing the last slivers of sunlight as they give way to the rapidly falling night. 

“How we doin’ this, then, General?” you ask, peering through the thicket of blackberry bushes and into the small encampment nestled into the depths of the valley. There are three Illyrian’s gathered around the campfire and two flanking the makeshift entrance to the north. 

Cassian seems to be lost, somewhere distant and far away. Abandoned to the hazy recollections of warfare and bloodshed. He wears blood well you think. Carries the weight of war with the deference and respect it deserves. 

Still, he looks peaceful then. Despite the storm raging inside of him. He wears peace  well too; the sulk of his lips and the straight slope of his nose and fine-high cheekbones give the impression he was carved by the first Gods. Primordial and celestial.

He is as good as a God himself in this light-- the way the burnt sienna of the winter sun reflects in his hazel eyes. They look like molten gold. 

Your heart is thunderous in your heaving chest as he finally turns to you and offers you his large, broad hand. It’s rough against the smooth silk of your palm and his fingers flex around your wrist in a way that makes heat coil in the lowest parts of your stomach and the leathers you’re wearing cling to your skin in a way that is not all together uncomfortable. 

“Are you even listening to me, princess?” Cassian huffs running a hand over his face, leaving a smear of dried blood in his wake.

“I’d pay good money to know what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” He muses.

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” You say smiling wide at him. It’s only half-teasing. 

Cassian watches you curiously as you begin to readjust your thigh holster and reach for your Illyrian daggers in an futile attempt to distract yourself from his shameless flirting.

“You’re the second prettiest girl I know,”

“Only the second?” You say feigning offense and bringing a hand to rest on your chest. 

“Az is the first, obviously.” 

“Obviously, Azriel is the prettiest person I know too.” You tease, catching his eye. 

The smile. No. Smirk, that spreads across his face then is full of devilment and harmless flirtation as he pulls you closer to his side in a sidelong hug. 

“And here I thought I was the prettiest.” he says, nudging you playfully.

Once again his eye hone in on the group gathered around the campfire in the dip of the valley. The way his face sets so beautifully as he takes the time to calculate his next move is enough to take your breath away. He is utterly devastating you think. 

“I say we go in quietly,” he nods to you as he unsheaths his dagger from its holster. “Take ‘em by surprise.”

You nod slowly in understanding and agreement as you follow him into the thicket. 

You sink low and take a fighting stance as you begin the descent down the side of the valley with Cassian in tow who only laughs and huffs pulling at his own knife. 

No more than ten minutes later you’re both caught up in the fray, the dusky haze of combat falling over the encampment and the roaring of the campfire and Cassian’s deep primal shouts permeate the darkness.

You hoist yourself up from the floor with a flourish and flip your assailant onto his back in the mud as a determined elbow braces the nose of the Illyrian below you. His wings flare and flail helplessly under you in an attempt to free himself as your knife meets his chest. 

He goes limp in your grip as the sickening squelch of blood and bone echoes in the night air. You pull your knife from him with a grimace as his blood spurts and pools on the soiled bedroll. 

Standing on unsteady feet you’re surrounded by bodies; an assortment of splintered bone and broken glass, set against the backdrop of the velvet night. 

Cassian comes to stand by your side, taking in your disheveled appearance. His large hand comes to hold you by the hip while the other brushes your hair from your face as he murmurs praises quietly. When you have regained your breath he pats you twice on the shoulder before leaving you with a firm squeeze. 

There’s an uncertain tenderness in the way he regards you in the haze of battle that always catches you off guard. As though the fine line between friends and lovers is itself blurred. You can’t say you mind it. Sometimes it is this tender and rough version of him that warms you through winter nights. The fleeting memory of this version of Cassian is enough to sate your wanting. 

When you look at him he’s coated in a thin veil of sweat and you swear you can hear his heart hammering in his heaving chest. His wings slump and strain in fatigue as he allows his body to falter in a state of near-exhaustion.

The reprieve is short lived when three more Illyrian brutes armed to the nines come trailing through the northern gate. All bared teeth and snarling fury. 

“Shit!” You curse under your breath and catch Cassian’s glowing hazel eyes. 

He looks feral in the moonlight as his eyes survey the three bodies approaching the encampment. His smile is wicked and glinting against the dark, his hair is wind-beaten and unruly, and his muscled chest draws in heavy, labored breaths as he struggles against his own exhaustion. 

Even so, he is beautiful. And deadly.

“You got one more fight in you, big guy?” you say to Cassian regarding him warily as the three men approach.

“I should be offended you even felt the need to ask.” he says, smiling wickedly at you before charging head first into one of the three soldiers while the other two begin to circle like vultures as you descend upon them. 

The soldier underneath Cassian shouts orders to his comrades but is quickly drowned out by the sickening crack of his neck as Cassian cradles his softening body in his strong arms. 

In a flurry of movement you attack one of the other assailants with a fierce determination that sends you both tumbling to the ground in a violent struggle as you grapple with him. It takes a few moments but once he is disarmed you overpower him with a rehearsed ease as your dagger kisses his neck and you watch as his flesh gives way and his blood oozes hot and thick against the gravel.

You take a moment to gather your wits again, feeling slightly disoriented as you pry yourself away from the thicket of flowering bushes you had landed in before you see Cassian again. 

A sudden rush of wind and a flash of movement that your eyes follow instinctively as Cass falls into view. He’s sprawled face down in the dirt near the bushes on the west side of the encampment, two bodies at either side of him. 

Unmoving and silent. 

Worry pools in your stomach when Cassian does not roll over with his signature smile on his face, the one that makes you weak in the knees. Instead he stays there, in the first, eerily still. 

“Shit, Cassie” you ask, throat hoarse and you hand on your hip as you catch your breath, “You alive over there?”

Only Cassian doesn’t respond. He’s hunched over in the thicket of ferns and blackthorn bushes. You can hear his breaths, broken and ragged, as they come in sporadic succession. 

Tentatively, you sink to your knees beside him. Still he doesn’t move. Your heart hammers violently in your chest and a wave of nausea washes over you. When he turns to face you.

His brows are drawn together and his full lips sulk before pulling into a frown as he holds a small flowering plant in his large, calloused hands. He’s sheened in a thin veil of sweat and you can hear the fluttering of his heart in his heaving chest. 

He lets the flower fall limply in his hand.

It’s an unusual little thing.

Tender stemmed and pale pink petals that split open to reveal chartreuse orbs of pollen. 

The air is cloyingly sweet, like candied rhubarb and honey.

You blink a few times as the word begins to falter around you and you fall to your knees in the mud. 

The world spins on its axis and blurs at its edges as the white spots cloud your vision momentarily. 

By the time you come to night has fallen over the camp casting the world in amethyst moonglow. 

“Cassie?” You call out into the night.

You take a few moments to gather your wits and survey your surroundings. You’re in the main tent of the enemy camp and for a moment panic sinks low in your stomach, twisting and coiling. There’s heat too.

You’re so hot.

But there is no sun for which to ascribe the terrible heat that blooms in your chest. It runs a steady line from your fluttering heart and pools between your slick thighs.

You rise on unsteady feet from the bedroll and walk out into the night air. It’s cool as it kisses your skin but offers you little relief for the aching heat between your legs.

Cassian is pressed against the wagon in front of the campfire, his skin glows a soft ochre in the firelight and you notice then that he has rid himself of his shirt. The exposed contours of his chest glisten in the light of the flame and he looks haunted.

“Cassie,” you plead as you approach him carefully. Momentarily taken aback by the pure unadulterated need in your tone.

Cassian turns to you suddenly and there is a hypnotic, sinking dread painted on his face as he takes you in. The skin sheened in sweat and the flushed skin on your cheeks and the tips of your breasts. The sporadic rise and fall of  your chest. 

“Stay where you are,” He warns, his arm outstretched to you, “you need to stay away.”

You stop in your tracks for a moment to take him in.

He smells like fir trees and ginger.

“Cass what are you talking abou-” you ask before his voice cuts you off.

“please,” He says through grit teeth, his voice is thunderous and settles in your chest like a lead weight. “Just go!”

“Cass, I-i don’t understand,” your voice softens as you take in the pained expression on his face.

You remain firmly in place, mere feet between your body and his, and you can’t fight the heat that flashes through you then. Nor the ache between your legs as your eyes trail over his chest and toned thighs clad in his leathers. 

Another pained groan from Cassian has you inching further towards him, your hands outstretched in caution as you close the distance between the two of you. 

You lower yourself onto the ground, resting on your knees as you take his chin between your fingers, turning it in your firm grasp. His face, once golden, is pallid and veiled in sweat, his jaw, once set in determination, is slack and the words that leave him are pained. Tained with something darker. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Cassian laughs cruelly, his eyes ardent gold boring into yours before flicking to your lips and then back. His voice is hoarse, and wanting. Animalistic.

“Yo-you need to leave, princess.” He whispers, it’s laden with dark promise as he rasps “or I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

You let go of his chin and fall back onto your knees.

“Stop yourself from doing what, Cass?” you narrow your eyes at him.

Cassian visibly stiffens, the muscles in his broad shoulders tense against you and his whole body seems to follow suit. His fingers flex around nothing, clawing at the floor in an attempt to ground himself as a wave of something washes over him.

The snarl that tears through him is inhuman.

Your trembling hands reach for him, brushing the hairs that stick to his forehead back and away from his face as you whisper reassurances to him. 

“It’s going to be okay, Cass,” You murmur affectionately, “I’m not going to leave you.”

There's desperation in the air as you continue to comfort him through the onslaught of…well, whatever it is. He convulses violently in your hold and only when the convulsing subsides do you place a hand against his bare chest. 

The jolt of electricity you feel as your hand comes to rest against his muscled chest elicits another growl from him. He whines desperately at your touch and heat pools between your thighs once more. 

“You can’t,” he says, taking your hand delicately before pushing you away with such force that it nearly knocks you backwards.

“You can’t touch me like that.” He laughs cruelly as he cards a hand through his damp curls. 

Cassian heaves a heavy breath and releases a broken cry like some sort of wounded animal. He looks utterly undone. 

Your eyes trail him hungrily as heat rises in you again. It’s unbearable the pull you feel to him. The way your body reacts to his. 

It’s then your eyes fall onto his leather clad legs, watching as he palms himself through the skin-tight material in a way that speaks to the pure depravity that clouds your judgment. Shame creeps up on you as your eyes meet. His eyes blown wide and darkening as he tugs his lip between his teeth while another snarl tears through him. 

“Cassian?” you say firmly, drawing his attention to you once more “What is happening?”

You don’t give him leave to stop you as you once again sink to your knees to be by his side, placing a soft palm on the curve of his jaw, forcing him to look at you. Cassian lets his body melt into your touch in response as he lets out a shaky breath that fans your face as his eyes search yours desperately. 

He seems to sober at your touch as the world around him falls into perfect view once more. 

“The flowers,” he says, his voice hoarse and strained, “the-they only grow deep in the Steppes.”

“The flowers?” you repeat tentatively, “What do they do?” you ask. 

“They use them in rituals,” he clarifies, his eyes boring into yours as if willing you to understand. 

When you don’t seem to catch his meaning he breathes deeply before continuing “They lower your inhibitions completely until all that is left is your basest desires.” He stresses the last part hoping to jog your memory.

“Oh.” is all you say as realization settles in your bones and a new wave of arousal washes over you. You squeeze your thighs together hoping to find some temporary relief. But to no avail. 

Cassian seems to go ridgid as the change in the air becomes apparent. It’s electric and heavy charged as he looks to you once more and his eyes glaze over with lust. 

“You need to leave,” He warns his large hand coming to cover yours and he squeezes with all the tender reassurance he can manage in his half-delirious state, “right NOW!”.

The tension rises when the scent of his arousal hits you. Dark musk and sweat tainted with the faint smell of florals that sends your senses into overdrive. The urge to reach out and touch him is always maddening as he lets out another agonized snarl. 

“Please, princess,” he pleads once again, “I won’t be able to hold off for much longer.” his voice is dark now and laden with desire as his eyes trail your form beneath your leathers. 

You smell so good. He murmurs so low that the sound burns into the darkest, most base parts of your mind. That murmur you will think about in the nights to come. 

“I can’t leave you, Cass,” you say seriously watching the way his brows knit together before allowing his jaw to go lax. 

“I won’t leave you.” 

“You have to,” he huffs as he palms his cock through the material of his leathers again, a sharp hiss leaving him at once, “or I-I’ll not be able to stop myself.” 

“And you won’t either.” 

The words hang heavy in the air as he allows the gravity of the situation to settle around you both and you try to ignore the way his words send a wave of pure unadulterated pleasure through you. 

“And if I don’t want to stop you?” your hands trace lazy patterns into the slick skin of his chest, following the lines of his inky tattoos. 

“Fuck darling,” he says letting his forehead to rest  against yours as his eyes flutter shut,  “you can’t say things like that to me and expect me to be able to control myself.” he chuckles darkly. 

“Not when you’re lookin’ at me like that,” he takes your jaw between his thumb and index finger to bring your lips to his before placing a tender kiss there.

“Not when I can practically taste you.” His tone is much darker now as he nips at your  lower lips to pull you into a bruising kiss.

“Then let me help you,” you whisper airily, your fingers ghosting along his arms, following the contours of his chest, running gently over the swell of his pectoral muscles, down along the ridge of his abs and coming to rest on the  deep ‘v’ that disappears into the hem of  his leathers. 

Your free hand comes to the hinge of his sharp jaw, cupping his face as you pepper wet kisses along the skin there. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he says, his voice tense and body malleable under your deft touch. It takes all his self-control to insist again “I won’t ask that of you.”

In truth, you’ve wanted him this way for the better half of two decades but now, looking at him, all desperation and depravity, you’re not sure there’s any going back to the way things were. You want to be his friend. But you want this more.

You want to watch him come undone around you. You want to feel the rough pads of his fingers and they bruise the tender flesh of your hips and thighs. You want it to be you who he finds release. It has to be you. 

“You’re not asking, Cass” you remind him, your hands coming to grip his face, “let me help you.” 

He looks at you and something flashes in his hazel eyes; it's something dark and needy. A wordless plea. 

He nods gingerly, letting his hands come to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into the skin so tight that he is sure to leave his mark upon you. 

As you swing a leg over him so that his lower half is caged between your spread thighs he lets out to growl he has been holding. It’s feral and steeped in want. He’s near a primal trance by the time your hands find their home wrapped around his broad, strong shoulders as he bears your weight in his lap, letting you grind your wet core against him. 

The whine that leaves you as his thigh comes into contact with your clothed core is perverse and has you clenching around nothing. Your body sings in his bruising grip and you fit in his lap like you were made for him. 

His kisses are brutal and leave you half-breathless as he pulls away to gaze into your eyes. 

“I won’t be gentle with you.” he warns sternly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he finds none he wastes no time taking the material of your leathers between his strong palms and pulling until they are bursting at their seams. Giving way to his strong grip and exposing your bare flesh to him. 

The sound that leaves you as your bare cunt comes into contact with the cool night air is pornographic and has Cassian groaning into the bare skin of your shoulder. 

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me, Cass” you say to him as your lips skim his.

“I can take it.” you breath airily nodding to him. 

He doesn’t say anything but dips his head into the curve of your neck before parting his lips. The feeling of his teeth sinking into the junction of your neck and shoulder feels as close to heaven as you might ever get. 

As your back arches away from him in protest Cassian takes the opportunity to free himself from his leathers with a pained hiss that melts into soft whimpers as you grind against him. 

He looks so beautiful like this; lips parted as his hand strokes his hardened length, the heavy length of him angry and red as the beads of precum glisten like pearls at his tip. He releases a heavy breath and pumps himself once more before dragging the head of his cock through the slick of your folds, gathering your arousal before pulling you down onto him with a force that sends tingles down the line of your spine.

You sink down onto him painfully slowly, savoring the dull ache as you take a moment to accommodate to his size. 

“Takin’ my cock so well, princess.” he hisses through clenched teeth as you sink down impossibly further. He splays an open hand over the bulge in your stomach pressing lightly as he begins to roll his hips at a brutal pace. He moves without warning, unforgiving and cruel as he fucks into you roughly. 

“‘Thought about this so many times, Cass.” you say burying your face into the crook of his neck as his hips snap against yours as you grind down onto his cock.

Cassian falters momentarily, a glimpse of the man you know through the haze of his carnal trance. His eyes glow golden in the low light and his hands come to hold your face in place as he brushes the stands away from your face behind the shell of your ear as he places a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose before his eyes darken once again. 

“I’ve thought about it too, princess” he says softly to you, barely more than a whisper.

He takes hold on you firmly, one hand spread across the expanse of your back and one on your hip as he flips you over with all his brute strength, his careful hand beneath you cushioning your fall. 

“Thought about how you’d look wrapped around my cock,” he growls, pulling all the way out of you before sinking back in with a harsh rut of his hips that  has you fluttering around his cock like a velvet vice.

“How pretty you’d sound begging for my come,” he groans as you wrap your legs around the small of his back, pushing him deeper into you as you moan gospel into the shell of his ear. 

“Beggin’ for me to make you mine.” It takes you by surprise as the words leave him, his voice is low and dark but laced with a certain clarity that rings true. 

You want him to claim you. Make you his. 

“Then make me yours, Cassie.” You beg prettily, your eyes boring into his with a vulnerable desperation.

He stares at you for a moment, a strange look of longing and awe on his beautiful face before it morphs into something carnal and animalistic that makes arousal coil in your stomach.

His amber eyes meet yours again, his hands coming to rest at either side of your head when your legs wrap tight around his middle as he resumes his brutal pace. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his calloused palm runs over a hardened nipple before enclosing your breast and squeezing with fond pressure, “and all mine.” he finishes quietly, murmuring to himself. 

Cassian pulls back slowly so that he comes to rest on his knees, his large hands honing in on your thighs and pushing them further apart exposing your cunt to him with a guttural moan as he regards the way you’re wrapped around him. The milky ring that appears at the base of his cock and the way your back arches with each slow drag of his cock as it reaches that spongy spot inside of you. 

��This pussy is mine,” he snarls, fucking into you again before finding his brutal pace,  “look at how well you take my cock, baby.” he praises. 

“Like you were made for me.” he murmurs to himself, reveling in the feeling of your tight cunt fluttering around him again. A ripple of pleasure roars through him again when he feels you pulse around him and he senses your inevitable orgasm as you begin to chase it. 

“Say it, princess” he commands you, his breath hot and dangerous as he lowers himself so that you are chest to chest, “I need to hear you say it.”.

You nod enthusiastically, your hands coming to tangle in his hair, dipping down to his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos as you roll your hips to meet his. 

“I’m yours, Cassian,” You confirm, your voice certain and thick with need. It’s desperate and depraved the way you beg for him until your voice is hoarse. 

I need you. Need you to fill me up. To make me yours. 

The words break apart in your mouth as your pleasure hits you like a tidal wave that crashes to the shore with a violent shudder.

“That’s it baby,” Cassian whispers as he fucks you through the last ripples of your orgasm. He draws one hand to rest against your abdomen, pressing lightly so that he can feel his cock move deep inside of you. 

In a feverish desperation you claw at him, his shoulders, his waist, the delicate flesh of his sculpted thighs drawing him impossibly closer to you. 

His own growl comes out in a broken rasp as he starts to lose himself to the euphoric feeling of your cunt clenching around him again in a desperate struggle. 

You cling to him fighting to find purchase, to brace yourself against the steady wall of muscle while Cassian chases his own orgasm, setting a cruel pace that begins to blur the lines between pleasure and pain and threatens to tear a broken sob from as you fight against the urge to come on his cock again. 

You kiss him desperately; nipping at his collar bones before pressing bruising kisses into his neck, mapping the broad expanses of his chest before coming to rest at the junction between his neck and the sharp line of his jaw.

Chest to chest, his heart thunders violently against yours and with every hungry kiss he seems to slip further into his primal trance. Another feral snarl rips through his chest as your lips connect in a kiss that tears the breath from you. It’s ceaseless, and leaves you senseless as he keeps fucking you at his brutal pace. 

It’s all consuming and devouring as Cassian gives in to his basest desire, drawing his cock all the way out before driving back in with an animalistic force that has you coming undone with a gentle sob.

Cassian slumps against you so close you can feel his beating heart as he groans against you, kissing the skin of your neck before coming to your parted lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake, all while his hands map the contours of your body. 

“That’s it, Cass,” you encourage him gently, pulling at the curls at the base of his neck as you feel him pulse inside of you as his hips begin to slow to a tortuous and teasing drag as he finds his release.

You feel the heavy tip of hip pulse violently in your cunt, the thick vein that runs along the underside of his marble length and the warm ropes of cum that coat your walls until you feel his release leaking out of you. It is depraved, the way your legs tighten against him, unwilling to let him go just yet.

His chest heaves, the rise and fall sporadic and wild as he breathlessly collapses against you, the weight of him a comforting crush as you chase the last waves of pleasure as your heart plateaus to a steady rhythm. 

You look at him through thick lashes searching for any sign of regret but finding only a strange reverence and unspoken longing in his amber irises. It is a longing you have wanted to see in him for so long. And perhaps it has always been there, behind the darks of his eyes but now, in this light, they shine with it. It glints in his eyes with a knowing acknowledgement that it is keenly felt and received.

He’s dazed and still half-wild when he places another kiss on your lips. This time it is tender and loving. Not completely free of lust but there is something else there too. Something new and sacred and gentle. 

His hair is damp and his skin glows golden in the dying light of the fire and the air is still thick with the smell of your union but you feel somehow lighter. Unburdened by the release of emotion you’ve both been holding for so long. You breathe deeply and your body relaxes into his once more. 

Like you were made for him and him alone. 

“You alright, princess?” he asks softly in a way that arches on anxious as his eyes meet yours in an unwavering stare.

“I’m just fine, Cassie.” You smile carefully, bringing a hand to rest on his cheek, rubbing tentative circles into the skin there. 

“We’re going to be just fine.”

Cassian searches you for any sign of uncertainty all he finds in its place is love. A love that burns bright against the dark skies. A love that comforts him in the knowledge that his life is forever changed by what passed between them. A love that will warm him through the long nights. 

The smile that blooms on his face is one full of ardour and child-like awe as he takes you in once again. Pressed so tight against him that he can feel the curve of your breast and the beating of your heart. Skin flush against him and flesh malleable in his deft grasp. 

His eyes trail the line of your body, committing the curves and divots to memory as he recalls the sound of you coming undone around him again. In his memory it sounds  like birdsong or some ancient song. Hypnotic and depraved.

He had dreamt of this so many times before and in the haze of dreaming you always felt so real. But having you here, in his arms feels like some cruel trick. 

Like he’s just waiting for realization to set in. For you to recoil in unadulterated horror. 

But you never do. 

Instead, you take his face in your hands again and kiss him with a devotion that you reserve only for him before opening your mouth to whisper to him what he assumes are words of reverence and praise. 

“I hope you know we’re going to do that again.” and your laugh sounds like birdsong in his ear.

[slayagami]

𐙚 synopsis: after losing consciousness in a villain attack, you wake up 2 and a half years later in the hospital. the time doesn't feel long to you, so adjusting to the new updates takes you by surprise. like your boyfriend of 2 years, izuku midoriya, apologizing that he found love elsewhere, in your best friend ochaco uraraka. you find refuge and comfort in your old friend todoroki, who visited you everyday you were out. does new love blossom or do you fight for midoriya back?

𐙚 pairing: midoriya x afab!reader x todoroki

𐙚 warnings:: mild violence, cursing, cheating?, love triangle-ish, angst to fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, depression, nonchalant reader but over thinker, reader struggles expressing emotions, characters are 22

𐙚 readers quirk: poison arrow. can appear a bow and produce arrows that are ingested with poison that can temporarily paralyze or slow down the movement of who was shot. effects lasts roughly 20 minutes but depending on the victim, possible to move but will be slowed down. quirk allows the reader to have sharp sight, and can see farther and more clearer than most. reader has to train to shoot arrows more accurately. strength of poison depends on readers emotions. hero name: artemis.

𐙚 a/n: slow writer </3 SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT im such a slow and unmotivated writer but thanks for being patient and im sorry if this sucks or is short! also went ahead and added to the tags, included people who were interested in the second part! 3.03k words! [previous] [next]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° m.list ! ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° mha m.list ! ┊ love again

you left the hospital in daze, bitterly rethinking of the harsh words from midoriya, reliving the uncharacteristic look in ochaco’s eyes. the thing that bugged you the most is the raw emotion in his viridescent irises, the way his eyes told you so much but was trapped. like he was under control. and it pained you, because you knew he wouldn’t be with ochaco if he didnt love her. he must be confused. you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but every time you tried reasoning with yourself you became pressed and bothered, eyebrows bunching together in discomfort. it was his choice to leave, his choice to move on, his choice not to wait. that underlying fact should’ve been enough for you to ration, but your heart weighed over your reasonability.

you walked aimlessly, taking in the change of scenery. it was winter now, or at least the cusp, as trees bare nakedly from the ground, the wind blowing coldly across the tip of your nose. it grew a hue of pink as well as your ears, and you silently cursed the hospital for allowing you to walk off without warmer clothes — or even a blanket. you took in the newer buildings that were placed around, or the updated shops that took over some hole-in-wall restaurants. it felt so familiar to you, holding a sense of nostalgia, even if it wasn’t all that long ago.

your feet carried you a long way, sniffling ever so slightly as the run of your nose. you glanced up at the penthouse in front of you, neck craning to eye up the several stories it compiled. you heart pinged, migraine oncoming. this place felt familiar, and it was almost at the tip of your tongue, but i felt like your body knew where to take you. knew where you’d find comfort. knew where you’d feel safe. grudgingly you stepped forward into the building, hair blowing in several directions at the different air pressures. only then did the penthouse look familiar, the lobby remaining the same as it did years ago when todoroki first moved in, asking you for help with some boxes and casual hang outs. you dragged your feet to the lobby, allowing your body and faint memory to recollect the door your friend lived behind. a funny number to you, something so easily remembered. 808. eighth floor, eighth room. you remember always commenting how the numbers looked like a silly face, a face that could be used as an emoticon during texting.

you tried your best not to stand out, sinking your head lower and sliding your hands in your pockets, slipping into an elevator, though thankfully it was empty. the numbers glowed softly, changing as it passed each floor with a soft ‘ding’. you rocked on the balls of your heels, roughed up black and white converse your parents had left you fit snugly with a double knotted tie. your eyes watched the numbers, slowly growing anxious. you haven’t seen todoroki in — for him — two and a half years. the last time you remember seeing him before the hospital was moving into this penthouse, carrying boxes with yaoyaorozu. oh yeah, you remembered, nodding to yourself, he was dating yaoyaorozu last time i was here. the elevator dinged softly, the speaker muffling a short announcement as the doors shifted open. your feet stepped onto the hardwood floor, turning a hard right and letting your feet carry you to his room, large ceilings aligned with marvelous paintings and chandeliers. you remember gawking at it when you first visited his place too, hopelessly praying you were able to achieve a living space like this too.

you didn’t even know if he was home or not. if he had work, or was on an errand run. you didnt think about much, just knowing you wanted the comfort of your friend, wanting to let him know you were awake finally with your own words. a gentle knock hit the wooden door, eyes glancing down to the doormat with a faded ‘welcome’ message on it, some stains of red pressed on the corners. it was quiet, no noise or rustle, no television or mumbling. maybe he wasnt home. your teeth nibbled at the bottom plump of your lips, the nervous feeling growing increasingly worse. maybe i should leave? you sighed and spun around, lowering your head as you walked off, hands back into your pockets. you made it about halfway down the hallway before the soft sound of the door unlocking filled the air, the gentle pull from the door with a quiet squeak. you froze, not knowing if you should turn around or keep going. but the familiar voice rang in your ears so softly, and you knew exactly why your body aimless took you here in the first place.

“excuse me? what that you knocking?” you can gear the tired croak in his voice fighting back a yawn, “did you need anything?” your body turned slowly, feet picking up as you walked towards him excitedly, that nervous feeling from earlier gone. his eyes met yours, the bi-colored orbs widening with shock, lips parting ever so slightly. for him, time had completely stopped. in fact, todoroki could’ve sworn he was still asleep, replaying a dream he had often of being able to see you again. seeing the radiance that covered your face, the way your arms were outstretched in a hug. but it felt so real he swore if he woke up, the whole world might as well burn.

your body collides with his, pushing him back a few steps before his head catches rest on top of your shoulder, perfectly fit in the crane of your neck. his arms held you tightly at the waist, your own arms circling around his shoulders and neck, sniffles and pants reaching his ears. he was shocked, obviously, but stayed in the hug, not daring to move an inch. the familiar hospital spent fills his nostrils with a weird ease, his hands softly rubbing the small of your back as you sobbed. he knew now this wasn’t a dream, far too real to be. and as happy and relieved he is to see you, he cant help the worried pain he feels as the shirt on his shoulder grows more and more wet, your chest heavily heaving as you hugged him and sobbed.

after giving you the time to recuperate, he invited you inside his home, bending down softly to help you unlace your worn out converse, a hand holding leverage on your shin as the other tugged gently at the shoe. you stood there, surprisingly unfazed, using your forearm to wipe any tears from your eyes while your flushed nose sniffled here and there. with your pearly white socks now stepping onto the soft carpet of his home, a cold hand tugs your wrist to lead you to his grey couch, expectant eyes finding your face.

he had so many questions to ask, so many things that filled his brain on what to say and what he wanted you to know, but he just stared. he let you take your time. let you breathe. the sincerity of his entirety made your eyes water once more, chest puffing out whiney sobs while you laid ur head on his shoulder, a hand holding onto his forearm. it was such a domestic hold, so natural between the two. though your cries were too important for him to worry about anything else at the moment.

you gulped inaudibly, taking a small breath. you began to slowly tell him everything. the moment you woke up, seeing your parents show physical signs of aging, midoriya rushing in, the stupid look in his green eyes, uraraka expecting you to give her your blessing, and finally not even being able to remember the fight you were involved with in the first place. time did not feel long to you, which is why its even harder to understand how much things have changed.

the entirety of the situation felt completely unfair.

shoto hummed softly, letting you talk it out to him. he felt the grip on his arm grow strong as the topic of your now-ex-boyfriend came up, his own feelings getting twisted inside his heart. seeing you cry over someone like him making a stupid decision, he wished to comfort you in a domestic manner yet refrained.

"i need to tell my supervisor i need a break. and to switch me to a different agency. there's no way i can still work with izuku after this." another hum, his back sinking into the couch. "do you have any ideas where you want to go? or how long you plan to take your break for?"

you sighed, the thought of it all already giving you a headache. your yawn filled the small silence, before responding. "agency? no clue. someone who wants me to become the best version of myself and not only wanting me to make their company look better." another yawn, your eyes growing heavy. "i need to consult with my doctor since i can't strain myself for a while anyways. gotta see what she recommends me, first."

todoroki nodded in understanding, noticing the change in demeanor. his blue blanket was folded on the arm rest of the couch, inching away from you slowly to not disturb you. he reached out for the blanket and slowly laid it over to your body. he muttered softly, telling you to lay down and that you should rest before you decide to go home.

"today was tough, so take a quick nap to replenish your energy. don't worry, I'll still be here when you wake up."

warmth enveloped you on a soft cushion, a light weight draped over your body making it unbearably hard to wake up. but with a groan straining out your throat and scrunch of your face, your eyes peered open slowly to look at the familiar apartment. the room smelled of some kind of soup, the broth being enough to make your mouth water. you glanced down at the suspect of the newly added weight to your body, a red blanket on top of your figure. it was weighted, along with a fluffy white cat balled up at your feet. in the kitchen, was todoroki. you can hear the clash of metals as she shuffled through various pots, placing them as quietly as he could on the stove, yet the smallest noise still ringing through the apartment. it felt homey. and it made you feel guilty. todoroki was important to you, but so was izuku. spending the night here, feeling and finding comfort in him, waiting patiently as he cooked you some dinner, it all felt wrong. you still felt the unbearable tie between your ex, and even though your brain finally understood that things were different, and that time has changed, your heart reminds you otherwise.

your hands picked up the ball of fluff at your feet, cradling the tiny baby in your arms to ease your mind. it purred softly, nudging its head into your fingers, its heterochromatic eyes of blue and green peering up. your socked feet scuffed its way towards the kitchen, watching fondly as todoroki lifted the ladle of broth to his mouth, taste testing his soup concoction. he winced at the taste, almost in disbelief at what he tried. who knows how long he's been trying to make this. with a stifled laugh, you offer to help.

"do you even know how to cook? let me taste it and I'll tell you what you need!" for being a pro-hero, him not noticing your presence was a little silly. he jumped a little but played it off, eyeing you softly. the cat meowed, jumping out of your hands and onto the floor effortlessly, rubbing itself on todoroki. it was a cute scene, his cheeks a pale pink and his ears flushed, the soft purrs of his cat and the disheveled wrinkles of his shirt was so cute. cute? oh, the guilty feeling is back again. your smile faltered as you walk to the pot, taking whatever leftover broth was in the ladle into your mouth to taste. you had the same reaction as him, grimacing in distaste. it was so bland, like, uncharacteristically bland. and watery? and.. missing every single spice needed to make it flavorful. you giggled, lifting yourself on the tips of your toes to reach into his cabinet, pulling out every spice needed and some other ones you wanted to try.

you spent the rest of the night cooking the soup, engaging in another game of catch-up over the past two years you were in the hospital. he mentioned the newer stores that opened near your home, or the stores that closed down recently or changed locations. because, of course he would remember all your favorite locations. he kept tabs on probably everything you had an interest in. he wasn't sure if that was good or bad, though. you listened intently nonetheless, nodding in understanding or gasping at the new news. he gave you updates about your friends, how mina went abroad to model for a partnership, or how bakugou actually mellowed out for once. he wasn't as invested in you guys' friends as he was about the things in your life, so there wasn't too much said, thought he said as much as he knew.

"oh, and yaoyaorozu? last I remembered you guys were together, no? we helped you move in here!" right. yaoayorou. he refrained from saying much about her. things didn't end well with her, and to be completely honest, he was to blame for it all. with an uneasy look, he pet his cat in his arms. shoto looked over the digital clock on the wall, 1:29 am. the story was far too long to explain. but he knew neither of you were tired. but if he explained it all, would you view him differently? he bit his lip in thought, uncertain and nervous.

"we broke up not too long after you were in the hospital." he breathed, allowing himself to get comfortable in the solace of his couch. "she said I was invested in everything but her, and that I never acted like a boyfriend to her but a.. placeholder." his blue and grey eyes peer in your direction, your orbs wide but focused, taking in the new information. you didn't want to believe though, you always believed shoto would have been a great boyfriend.

"she said that? im sorry for asking about it, but I'm sure you weren't as bad as she claims. maybe you guys were compatible, to she wanted more than you could give, y'know?" you tried to reassure him, but a part of it only made him feel guilty. he pressed on, thanking you gently while he continued his story.

"I visited you in the hospital every day, for several hours at a time. I went when I woke up before my shift, I went after, I went on my days off, I went on lunch breaks. I sat in the hospital chair, talking to you and sharing a meal more than I ever did with yaoyaorozu. My life had completely revolved around your well-being and it made her upset, rightfully so. I was never intimate with her, we hardly ever slept in the same bed. Our conversations were bland unless you happened to be brought up. Only then did I become interested, or it ended up in an argument. She said if I cared for you so much then why was I even bothering with her?"

the long tangent had you shocked, feeling the irresistible heat crawl up the back of your neck to your cheeks and ears, a hand covering your mouth as you watched him. he sunk further into the couch, almost sulkingly, clinging onto the white cat on his chest. maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the magic of being up late into the night, but he continued to talk and speak nothing but the truth. as bare and open as it was.

"I think my whole life has always been about you. but you were interested in midoriya. I figured it would have been a smarter move to move on from you since you were with him. and since yaoyaorou was the only person who could've been an option I half hazardly chose her and practically exploited her feelings for me to form a relationship, just to find closure in some one-sided feelings. that's why I visited you often in the hospital, and cut all ties with midoriya and ochaco when all those articles came out."

another look at the clock read 2:33am, before his eyes landed on yours. wet, big, and full of raw emotions. you let out a small sob, before sniffling and wiping your face, the faintest blush your nose. you scooted closer, laughing.

"if you say all that, I can't help but feel bad for yaoyaorozu. I can't imagine how that must've felt, for both of you. but i won't take your feelings lightly. give me some time, okay? things are complicated for me, too. if im being honest, hearing you say all those things makes me beyond happy, its almost embarrassing. but my conscious can't help but feel guilty, I still feel tied to izuku. I mean, just the other day in my timeline we were talking about marriage. then I wake up and find out hes with my best friend." your hands reach out towards the cat as well, scratching the top of her head as she purred, your fingers brushing up against todoroki's every now and then, before he decide to holds your fingers between his, his ow eyes never leaving your face as you spoke.

"I want to take your feelings with honesty. so just give me a little more time, okay?" even though the wallowing pain of guilt still continued to eat at you, you persevered and kissed the softness of his pale cheek, his face flaming up in red. he nodded meekly, giving your hand a squeeze.

"of course, anything for you."

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[shroudandsands]

Prompt #7: Morsel

Her fingertips skittered across the strings like sparks between blades. Her heart rattled against her ribcage in tune as the heel of her hand slammed against the body of her guitar in her frantic rhythm. Her voice clawed its way out of her throat and scraped itself against her sharpened teeth. Her thoughts minced, bitten down, and mauled by it all only to arrive to waiting ears with words that could only be described as raging. The dagger-sharp-heel of her boot dragged against the stone as literal sparks flew. As pale gold eyes burned as hellfire in the low light.

When you were an emotionally stunted winter of a woman with all the social abilities of a particularly poisonous plant, what did you do? How did you go about having the conversation? With yourself, or if you were being particularly generous, with someone else? A specific someone else who’d actually been the topic of thought for some time now? Did you just drop it there, in the midst of something else, as a cold open and pray for the best? Did you wait for the conversation until the moment was right? Did you stuff it away and pray the thought never came to you again for as long as you lived? Rakaso wasn’t Ishgardian or repressed enough for that last option. No. Instead, then, she sidestepped all of the above with all the guile of someone who’d only ever been able to barely survive brief moments of emotional intimacy by pretending they hadn’t happened at all. Or by blaming booze on the moment of weakness. No, no. Instead of all of the sane or perhaps insane options. Instead of holding up a letter, sealed, and asking of its contents without needing to open it. Instead of flicking it open herself and simply reading within. Instead of stewing in her thoughts and letting them spiral out of control in that melodramatic way she’d been rather fond of lately. Her claws screamed their way down guitar strings in a display of sleep-deprived mania.

The heel of her hand sped with the beating of her heart as she screamed her way out of the start. Out of the rough, quiet, unhelpful beginnings of the song. Get to the speed, the rage, the therapeutic escape of thoughts. Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- The wrong string, the wrong chord, a bash of her heel against the amplifier as she careened her way back on course. If she couldn’t do it right the first time, do it first the right way, she’d force it anyways. Who cares if she fucked it up one way or the other? To the audience it was all the same, maybe, and to the target of it all it wasn’t going to matter anyways. Through it all, if she was going to admit it, there was only the question only the dread only the worst thing she could possibly say to herself in the midst of the lyrical self-flagellation that was happening. What do we do now? If for some odd reason, any reason at all, if she wanted it to be more than just some awful song to sing. More than a heart between her teeth. More than blood and bone. More than some long, dark prayer that was filled with the selfish wants of a woman who didn’t know if that was what she wanted at all. Gods above just kill her. It’d be so much easier.

At least by the time she was coming off the stage she’d gotten it out of her system. Even if it was that same, half-flushed smile that was greeting her. She’d tired herself out. Her heart’s energy all spent on running as fast as the percussion. As running as fast as her thoughts. Enough that even flicking the other across the chin with her claw didn’t even elicit a skipped beat or an aching chest. Enough that she could slow down to see the flicker in Nat’s expression. That same change. That same reaction. She clicked her worn claws in practiced Huntspeak that she knew the other couldn’t repeat or even begin to understand. Still. As she glanced back. That look of hers that Rakaso had long since given up parsing. She returned it with a lopsided grin, a wave, a beckon.

She headed for the door.

[ddarker-dreams]

much to your disbelief, chrollo's actually a fan of the holidays. you took him for a covert scrooge type. or, more fittingly, the grinch, considering his occupation. nevertheless, you overhear him humming some classic christmas tunes as he goes about his business. should you point out that this merriment is unusual for him, he'll shrug it off and throw in a line like 'maybe you've unthawed my heart?' for good measure. this grimace-inducing remark is a deliberate red herring. your newfound revulsion distracts you from pursuing the topic further.

the actual reason for his high spirits? it's the meteor city anecdotes he gets to share. he'll regale you with stories such as the year he found a mp3 player that worked if held just right, or when there was enough gas to power the generators for heat so more children survived that winter. you always look mortified when he casually recalls these childhood staples.

consequently, you're nicer to him in the days that follow. your normal vitriol regresses as you consider him with vaguely concerned eyes. he doesn't embellish the stories or act the part of a wounded gazelle, no, if he's to experience your compassion, he wants to experience it as himself. observing how conflicted you become after hearing his blasé recollection of tragedies is a delight. empathy is such a foreign concept to him, the mechanics of how yours works interests him greatly.

[kcwriter-blog]

Just recently I asked myself an important question. Why do I, a person not usually into angst, continue to romance Solas. It’s not like it’s going to end differently. My Lavellan will always get her heart broken. 

The simple answer? It’s worth it. There is a gentleness in how they treat each other that you don’t find in many real-life relationships much less in a video game. It’s soft, quiet, and tender. It’s what love looks like after years with someone you truly care about.

How can that be? Solas isn’t being honest with her. To Solas’ credit, he realizes that. He takes her to Crestwood to tell her the truth. When he realizes he can’t, he breaks it off. Which in and of itself is an act of love.

What he is honest about is his love for Lavellan. He never denies his feelings. A case in point is the aftermath of the first kiss. It would be so easy for Solas to say that he just got caught up in the moment. He doesn’t. He may say that it’s been a long time and that he thinks a relationship isn’t a good idea, but he never denies that he has feelings for her. Even when he breaks it off, he refuses to lie and say she was a casual dalliance or that he doesn’t love her. 

For her part, Lavellan never pushes Solas. When he asks for time to think, she grants it. “Take all the time you need.” She understands him. He has trust issues. Getting into a relationship with her would be a big step for him. She may not know what made him that way, but she cares enough to let him decide if a relationship is something he truly wants.  She is willing to wait.

This demonstrates a respect for each other and for their budding relationship. They are honest about their feelings. They are willing to take it slow. They talk about it like adults. They go into it knowing there will be risks.

An underrated aspect of the relationship is the conversations where Solas shares his recollections of things he saw in the Fade. Solas isn’t just randomly pulling stories out of his hat. He is telling Lavellan about the things he saw that meant the most to him. He is opening up to her, trusting that she won’t laugh at him or dismiss him. For her part, she actively listens. It’s a quiet kind of loving and, for me, one of the most intimate things you can do in a relationship.

The balcony scene is another place where this plays out. Solas wants to be with Lavellan. He has come up to the balcony to tell her that. He still has reservations. He wants her but he doesn’t want to hurt her. 

Lavellan knows he must be the one to make the choice. Instead of kissing him, she puts her hands behind her back. If he wants this, he will have to kiss her. He balks. She asks him not to go. Many people interpret this as begging. That’s not it. She is telling him, quietly, that if he leaves, she won’t wait any longer. “It would be kinder in the long run but losing you would…” He can’t. He loves her. He decides to take the risk. 

There is also a strong spiritual component to their relationship. Solas isn’t attracted by her physical beauty. He is all about the spirit. To him she is wonderful. Someone wise. Someone who thinks before she acts. He calls her beautiful in Crestwood, but I think he is talking about her soul, not what she looks like. 

There are many other small moments that give us clues as to what their relationship looks like post balcony scene. Solas attempts to comfort her at the Winter Palace by dancing or taking her in his arms. She reassures him that he can trust her. They hold hands in Crestwood. He calls her “my heart” and it’s clear she is precious to him. His voice when he speaks with her in Crestwood is intimate. It’s a vocal tenor we don’t hear anywhere else. He remonstrates with Sera when she jokes about his relationship with Lavellan. 

I find it interesting that even if Lavellan is angry, when Solas finds the broken orb she isn’t fist pumping because he didn’t get what he wanted. She treats him with kindness. 

He goes out of his way to tell her what they had was real – or that she was right to be angry. No matter what happened they acknowledge each other’s feelings. 

Everything paints a picture of an intensely private, intimate, loving relationship. That’s what I love about it and it’s why I keep coming back for more. 

[spookypete-94]

Dead!GhostxLiving!Reader

Just for you @meraziam. I liked this concept and I'm glad you do too!

Part 1 here

Ghost followed you home from the cemetery curious about who you are and what exactly happened to make you so angry.

TW for mentioned abuse and suicide

Enjoy!

The idea of going to the cemetery to tell off your dead abusive ex made you feel better... at the time. Now you just felt ridiculous. Someone could have seen you curse out and spit at a grave... what were you thinking?? You had to look insane.

Maybe the walk home would calm the nerves, wearing off the anger and embarrassment of your recent tantrum.

Leaving the graveyard, you couldn't help but notice feeling cold. Like the frigid from being outside too long on an icy day, seeping into your bones. Lingering and making your bones ache.

Perhaps sickness was setting in. Maybe winter right around the corner.

If only you could see the large hulking figure with an arm wrapped around your waste. It was black, longer than a normal human arm. A shadow holding you close, trying to console your feelings, but he was pulling your energy away making his stronger.

Returning home, Ghost stepped through the main door after shutting it on him.

Rude, but he couldn't blame you. He would close the door on himself in turn if he could.

Looking around he noticed the damage. The holes in the walls, broken items of yours from being thrown around, glass and debris scattered. It was all familiar to him. He was used to seeing this from growing up, but his heart fell, nonetheless. Memories of everyone in his household hiding and cowering from his father returned. Pieces of the puzzle all coming together.

You on the other hand made a cup of hot tea, still trying to shake off the cold burn you had picked up on your walk. Adding honey to your tea made Ghost feel nostalgic, something his mother did when he wanted something sweet.

Glancing over, he looked down at the laptop you were aimlessly scrolling on until you had clicked a press release from the local news. Reading over your shoulder, he learned what your name was along with verifying the name of the man you had visited that was in the ground. The man had been drunk when he struck you, trying to hold you down while you were trying to get away. Anger and panic rose within him, probably the same you had felt during the event. Luckily, you were able to slip away, calling for help... But the police were too late finding your broken lover gone. Maybe it was shame that caused him to take his own life, maybe it was something even greater than that.

How he would give anything to console you, to hold you and make this right. Can't you see how better off you are without someone hurting your beautiful self? You have Ghost now to look after you and keep you safe. He was here to take care of you, to make you his new home.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn a shadow was there. Every time you would look over though, it seemed to blend in with the rest of your surroundings. A trick of the eyes? Or maybe your head was still rocked from the assault. Either way, it pleased Ghost to know you could at least see something about him even if it wasn't his entire self. This fed him and made him stronger in his state.

Sure, you had noticed the little things around the house being done. Like the dishes being washed and the laundry folded and set on your bed. Pretty panties left on the top of the pile. Maybe your memory was still short from the trauma, but honestly you had no recollection of doing any of these tasks. It was like someone was taking care of you. Someone making sure your house and routine was running smoothly.

It was you hiring a handy man to come fix the holes in the walls however that Ghost learned more about his new abilities. Watching another man step into your home enraged him. Ghost wanted to protect you and have all to his self. He made himself tall, form black as night, not even a chance of any light shining through. Approaching the handy man slowly, like he was stalking his prey. The poor victim turned and ran, unsure of this unnatural being that was encroaching, all too sure that it was not of this world.

So, when you came home and the work was done, you didn't even think about it at first. Until you noticed tools left next to the check to pay for the job left on your table was when it seemed suspicious.

Who does the work and doesn't take the payment for it? The handyman even had gone as far to block your number after reaching out to get him his check.

Finally, what made you even think about someone else being in the house was the heavy footsteps sounding down the hallway and into your bedroom one night.

Sitting up in your bed, you glanced around, trying to calm down. Were you dreaming again? Still breathing heavy, trying to convince yourself that was the case and everything was fine. Until you saw the other side of your bed sink down... like someone was laying on it. An indent in the blankets and pillow where a head would be. The feeling to get up and run away was overwhelming, but at the same time you weren't exactly terrified.

Was it your dead ex?

"Who are you?" You asked.

Just as expected, no answer.

Instead, the indent moved as someone rolled closer to you, an arm slithering around you to pull you back into them.

He never held you like this... this was someone else entirely.

"Who are you?" You asked again. Still no answer. The cold feeling was back, and your energy was zapped, leaving you tired and craving sleep.

That's fine. You would find a way to communicate somehow.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[chuuyrr]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO — DAZAI OSAMU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𐙚₊ CW(s): f! reader, exes to lovers, angst to fluff/comfort, christmas/holiday setting, he still calls you pet names like baby, love, and sweetheart

𐙚₊˚⊹ SYNOPSIS: underneath the twinkling christmas lights, you and osamu embrace the promise of a love rekindled

𐙚₊ NOW PLAYING: santa doesn't know you like i do by sabrina carpenter && new years day by taylor swift ᝰ.ᐟ

in the heart of yokohama, where the winter winds whispered secrets and the city adorned itself in festive lights, you find yourself wandering around in a deep sigh, clutching yourself with your coat adorning you.

the city exuded warmth, and the scent of roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, and an open fire from christmas markets and stores mingled with the laughter of children and adults enjoying the holidays.

as you strolled through the festive scene, you couldn't escape the echoes of your shared past with dazai.

you then stop in front of a familiar bar which was decorated with bright christmas lights and wreaths, and at that moment, you find yourself lost in a sea of memories, reminiscing about the shared moments with osamu, before the inevitable drift that led to your breakup.

among those recollections, two particular scenes painted themselves vividly in your mind, haunting yet bittersweet.

one memory that lingered like a gentle melody was the night you and osamu ventured into the same dimly lit bar, saying that you two deserve a treat.

the air hummed with the soulful tunes of saxophones and pianos as you two nestled into a corner booth. the ambient glow cast a warm aura, reflecting in dazai's brown sugar eyes as you and him clinked glasses of your high-ball whiskeys, toasting to the beauty of the night.

your laughter resonated with the rhythm of the music, creating a symphony of shared joy. osamu, with his enigmatic smile, leaned in to whisper secrets that only you could understand amidst the jazz-infused atmosphere.

it was a night where time seemed to suspend, and your connection deepened through the language of music, laughter, and stories which lead to a shared kiss that became your first.

another memory that tugged at the corners of your heart was the night you spent at osamu's apartment. the air was thick with familiarity as you found solace in the haven he had crafted, even if it was quite empty and rather mininalist, considering how he didn't have much.

either way, you and osamu talked about everything and nothing, the conversation weaving effortlessly between trivialities and profound truths—some even about his day at work, how annoying working on reports was. you even find yourself dancing with him around his kitchen in the middle of the night.

as that night unfolded, osamu's clothes became a comforting embrace, wrapping you in the scent of familiarity. wearing his oversized shirt, you found a sense of closeness, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you once shared.

the cityscape outside his window faded into the background as you and him reveled in the simplicity of being together in his futon, you in his warm embrace, head tucked beneath his chin as you lay on his chest, and he hummed a peacefully melody with his fingers running through your hair to lull you.

the quiet hum of his apartment became a sanctuary in those stolen hours, and even he thought it became a place he could call home when it was previously simply a scarcely filled space, and now it felt more than that. that is, until the fall arrived.

it was a night where the barriers between you and him melted away, leaving only the echoes of whispered confessions of "i love yous" and sweet nothings, along with the soft rustle of borrowed clothes.

now, you stand alone with the weight of these memories, you couldn't help but wonder if those moments were fragments of a love that had slipped through your fingers.

the bar and the borrowed clothes became artifacts of a time when you and osamu reveled in the magic of each other's company, a magic that time, circumstances, and perhaps your own choices had dimmed.

and still, you held onto those memories, recognizing them as delicate fragments of a past that was, in its own way, a testament to the beauty of what you two once had.

the air was crisp, and the city bustled with the festive energy of the holiday season, and you were about to turn away from the bar only to walk and bump into a familiar figure.

there, in the midst of the bustling crowd, stood dazai, and time seemed to freeze for an instant as your eyes met his ever same, warm brown sugar eyes, and the weight of unspoken words lingered in the air—a moment suspended in the delicate dance between past and present.

"osamu," you murmur softly, the name escaping your lips almost as a reflex. his gaze, once distant, softened with a recognition that mirrored your own.

a tentative smile played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the shared history that bounds you both, "hey, fancy meeting you here," he remarks, his voice carrying the hint of a memory you both couldn't escape.

as the crowd flowed around you and dazai, you find yourself standing in a pocket of stillness, a space where the weight of your past lingered.

"what are you doing out here? looking for presents, dear?" dazai strikes a conversation, but you can tell he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. you can tell he was very much ecstatic to see you again despite before.

"no, i was just going for a walk," you respond, rubbing your arm as you blink softly at him.

"just going for a walk this holiday, huh?" he narrows his eyes, a small chuckle escaping his breath, and his gaze soon draws towards the bar where you two would go for a drink, dine, and date.

like a canvas of unread stories, his eyes then hold, a mix of emotions, "funny how memories have a way of catching up with us," he replies, his gaze tracing the invisible threads that connected your past to this chance encounter.

"you know, sometimes, i do wonder if our memories are trying to tell us something," dazai muses, his words resonating with a quiet introspection as you two stood there, grappling with the unspoken question of what these chance encounters meant.

dazai's eyes, once filled with the mischievous sparkle that characterized him, now furrows in a subtle frown as he observed your quiet and somewhat awkward demeanor. the cheerful and festive background chatter of the city around you seemed to fade, leaving only the palpable tension between you and him.

"so," dazai began, a playful lilt in his voice as if attempting to break the uneasy silence, "you've become the epitome of quiet contemplation, i see. is this a new tactic to throw off my deductive skills?" his words were accompanied by a teasing smile, a familiar attempt to coax you into banter.

however, your response remained trapped in the awkwardness that seemed to have enveloped you. reminiscing memories had resurrected emotions that you struggled to articulate, and the weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

his playful demeanor faded slightly, replaced by a genuine concern mirrored in the subtle downturn of his lips. "heh, you're usually more... animated," he mutters, his gaze searching for clues in the quietness that now defined you.

"i guess i've changed, dazai," you mumble, attempting to offer an explanation for the unspoken shift in your dynamic. the words, however, felt inadequate, like leaves carried away by the wind before they could settle.

dazai's eyebrows knit together in a mild frustration, especially when you no longer address him as such, "change, my love, is a curious thing. but this quiet version of you doesn't quite suit the narrative i had in mind," he teases, yet the tease carried an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

as he continued to speak, the air between you two seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. his attempts at light banter fell against the backdrop of my quiet contemplation, creating a dissonance that neither of you anticipated.

a sigh escapes him, a subtle acknowledgment of the unforeseen awkwardness, "i thought we could maybe reminisce and laugh about old times, but it seems like i've stumbled upon a different scene altogether," his frown deepening.

in that moment, the vulnerability beneath dazai's usual charm became apparent. the frown on his face reflected not just confusion but a genuine longing for the familiarity, the connection that once flowed effortlessly between the two of you.

"hey, since we're already in front of the bar we used to frequent, do you mind sharing a drink with me tonight?" he asked, his tone carrying a mix of nostalgia and vulnerability.

your eyes widen a bit in shock. you know you shouldn't, but it just feels so right to say,

"no, i don't mind at all."

memories of laughter, music, and stolen glances resurfaced, painting a vivid scene against the backdrop of the night in the bar of cozy glow of christmas lights and laughter and merriment, yet the weight of those moments hanging in the air.

dazai's gaze became more introspective, his words chosen with care as the two of you sat together by the bar on the cushioned stools with your usual high-ball whiskeys.

"you know, i've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about us and everything that happened," he starts quietly after taking a sip from his drink, "there are words left unsaid, and i think it's time to address them."

as dazai spoke, a rare sincerity colored his voice, unraveling the layers of complexity that often shrouded his emotions, and the night now became a stage for a conversation that held the potential for healing.

"i suppose so," you say back quietly as you swirl your drink around, holding it by the rim and making the ice cube clink against the glass.

you turn to look at dazai, and you see him a take a deep breath as he places his hands in the pocket of his sandy brown coat.

"i want to say sorry," dazai continues, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, "sorry for the moments i let slip away, for the words i said and didn't say, and for the distance that grew between us, and i never meant for it to end like that.."

the rare vulnerability in his admission hung in the air, a bridge between the past and the present. the ambiance of the bar now stood witness to a moment of genuine confession.

"and i miss you," dazai confesses, his gaze never leaving yours, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice, "i miss the laughter, the shared silences, and the way you understood the chaos within me, and if i can be completely honest, i still love you."

the weight of those words settled in the air, carrying with them the echoes of a love that had weathered storms and yet lingered in the recesses of the past. the quietness between you two even seemed to amplify the significance of the moment, as if the universe itself conspired to create a space for the honesty that had long been overdue.

your heart, a mosaic of emotions, responded to his words, caught between the scars of the past and the possibility of a future rewritten.

you, too, couldn't deny the resonance between you and him, "i guess, christmas has a way of making even the coldest hearts nostalgic," you say in a quiet giggle, your gaze meeting his.

the chilly night seemed to warm however.

"i'm sorry too. i'm sorry for giving up on us," you sigh, taking sip of your drink for liquid courage as the unspoken words became spoken now, "i just, it felt like there was no other way, and that this is for the best for us, osamu."

"you called me osamu again," a smile now tugs on his lips, his eyes lighting up with hope.

"oh, shut up," a smile, too, breaks on your face but you sigh softly once more as you look at him once more, "but i mean every word, osamu."

"i know you do, sweetheart," dazai says with a nod before he raises his glass to you.

"yeah," you hum softly as your raise the glass in return to his, toasting to him.

amidst the snowflakes and the soft glow of christmas lights outside, dazai and you find yourselves in the midst of an unexpected reunion, the chilly air echoed with warm memories, and beneath the twinkling stars.

this festive season really had a peculiar way of unraveling emotions, and as you crossed paths with dazai and it was evident that the connection between you two was more than a mere coincidence.

after a heartfelt conversation of unspoken words between you two with a few drinks at the bar, dazai offered to take you back to your place since it was quite late despite the holidays.

however, in a quiet corner just near your place, away from the laughter and merriment, dazai's eyes met yours as he walked right by your side.

"what is it?" you ask, looking up at him.

a subtle smirk plays on his lips as he pauses his tracks, and so do you, "you know, santa doesn't know you like i do."

it was a statement layered with memories of shared secrets and intimate moments.

as you exchanged glances, the familiarity of your history danced between you two, like a delicate snowfall. you genuinely smile nonetheless at his words, "maybe we've been on the naughty list for too long," you teased, a hint of nostalgia in your voice.

dazai took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, "and santa may not understand us, but perhaps we can rewrite our story," he suggests, his gaze holding a sincerity that transcended the mask of indifference he often wore, "yeah?"

surrounded by the symphony of the season, you can't help but feel a little emotional as a genuine smile tugs on your lips as you nod and whisper, "yeah."

the clock struck midnight, time reaches its crescendo, and the world around you both seemed to pause in reverence to the magic of christmas, and just like that, coincidentally beneath the mistletoe that was hanging on the street light, his arms wrap around you and pulls you to him.

dazai's lips then meets yours in a kiss that spoke in volumes—a reunion of past and present, a bridge between shared memories and the promise of a love rediscovered.

as you two pull away, breathless, the quiet acknowledgment between you two lingered in the cold air of christmas eve. snow falls as he leans in again, and dazai holds you in his embrace like he always does.

"merry christmas, my sweet girl. i love you," dazai softly whispers in your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek this time around.

𐙚₊ A.N.: advanced merry christmas from yours truly my lovelies ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ hope ya'll enjoy this christmas dazai fic i cooked in the kitchen—this is also my first time writing an exes to lovers fic, especially with dazai, so yeah !!

𐙚₊ TAGGING: @anqelically (here's ur food <3), && @dazaiyohane @lovedazai @osaemu (my dazai lover moots too ofc hehe, i think you guys will like this- ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ )

[wonderlandwalker]

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫:

-✧ Against All Odds[fluff/smut] [1.2k] Nobody anticipated this game of strip poker between the four friends. It’s only when James loses his cool that the game ends

-✧ Nurse Nightingale [fluff] [1.0k] Someone wakes you up in the middle of the night, when you realize it's James looking for help, you don't have the heart to refuse him

-✧ Gentoo Penguins [angst/fluff] [1.9k] At the anniversary of a bad memory of yours, James can't quite figure out yet why you're avoiding him. But he doesn't give up easily

-✧ Shining Bright [fluff/smut] [4.0k] You and James reunite after the winter holiday, reminiscing old memories and stumbling into new ones. Except Sirius doesn't know you're dating yet, and James is not particularly good at hiding it anymore.

-✧ Oh Captain, My Captain [smut] [2.5k] James discovers a new kink

-✧ Falling in Love [fluff/angst] [in progress]

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

-✧ Worship [smut] [1.8k] You're recollecting the different scars you've both acquired over the years, and it leads to something more

-✧ Pt. 1, Desperate Times [angst] [1.6k] Remus doesn't want to hurt you, but you can't sit still any longer. When you do inevitably get hurt, he tells himself that enough is enough. -✧ Pt. 2, Desperate Measures [fluff/smut] [3.4k] After your break-up, Remus doesn't know what to do with himself, but when he finally gets to see you again he promises to make it up to you by any means he can.

-✧ Morning Routines [fluff/smut] [coming soon]

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 ��𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

-✧ Pt. 1, Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold [angst/fluff] [3.1k] James is trying to get back at Sirius, Sirius is in panic mode, and you do not understand what is up with either of them -✧ Pt. 2, Turned Tables [in progress] After the prank James pulled, you and Sirius decide to give him a taste of his own medicine

-✧ The Doughnut Shop [fluff/smut] [1.0k] It's just a doughnut shop, no harm in stopping by right?