#Fully Refracted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tteokdoroki · 7 months ago

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𐙚 🪷 TRUTH OR DRINK katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

⋆˙ᝰ about ! “you love me, you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me." with the release of your husband's newest album and the announcement for his latest tour, the two of you are invited on set to film a special kind of promotional video for newlyweds. hopefully, this married couple leave without a hangover. ( 4.8K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. sfw, fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint, celebrity!au, all characters are aged up to 20s, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, drinking, newlyweds, exes, some family issues, long-distance, idol!bakugou, fem + model!reader - not beta read!

aali’s love letter ! happy birthday bakugou! another splendid year for our lord saviour dynamght !! i posted this late boo but its out!! i hope you guys are still able to enjoy <3 ty to @cuntcure for helping out n motivating me !! - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?”

across from you, katsuki bakugou shifts uncomfortably — ruby red eyes darting around the plain white set. studio lights glare from all directions, illuminating the slight sweat that beads at the blonde’s hairline. artificial lighting, bright and made to capture everything, refracts of the pearling perspiration and almost creates the illusion of a halo around the crown of your partner’s head. almost as if he’s an angel.

reaching over the small table that the producers have set up between you both, you grasp at katsuki’s rough fingers, toying with them as if to test the waters before you hold them fully — once he’s comfortable enough to accept your physical affection. his palms are warm and a little sweaty, but that doesn’t stop you from giving them a gentle squeeze.

“it’ll be fun,” you whisper, keeping your voice low and calm as the production crew continues to contrastingly flit around you in preparation for the shoot. “and it’ll be great promo for your album!” lifting his hands, you press a kiss to the blonde’s knuckles as though you’re sealing a promise, ensuring that they’re not empty. you smile reassuringly and bakugou returns it awkwardly, drawing back just a tad when a member of production sheepishly approaches the table to set down three different bottles of alcohol, two shot glasses and a pitcher of pineapple and coconut juice as your mixer of choice.

glass bottles of whisky, rum, and vodka glit under the white light too.

“we can back out at anytime,” comes your soft reminder once the crew member retreats to check the sound mic and cameras along with some other staff. “i want you to be comfortable.”

bakugou shakes his head, this time, bringing the backs of your hands to his lips — pale blonde lashes fluttering as he shuts away ruby framed eyes and takes a breath to calm himself. “wanna do it. like y’said it’ll be good. fun.” when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking at you with a toothy smirk that never fails to send a shiver down your spine and butterflies in a flurry through your tummy. “besides, we haven’t been able t’do somethin’ like this together in a while.”

nothing beats your grin after that and with a few more touch ups to your make up ( the both of you ) — you’re ready to begin filming.

“okay guys!” the director on set claps their hands. “wanna start us off? who are you and what are you doing here today?”

you give katsuki’s hands one last comforting squeeze before his crimson gaze slinks towards the camera that’s now rolling, fixating on its blinking red light as it matches his stare. “‘m katsuki bakugou ‘nd this is my wife,” he juts his head over to you gently, muttering your name with love laced between each of its syllables.

you too turn to face the camera, award winning smile settling gracefully on your lips. “and today we’re playing truth or drink!” you squirm excitedly. “we’re really happy to be here! thank you for having us!”

“i’m not.”

“katsuki!”

with a laugh behind the camera, the producer speaks again. “so, you’re some pretty special guests. what do you guys do? how long have you two been married?”

bakugou rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm. “i’m a singer-songwriter slash idol or whatever you wanna call it…and i’m on tour right now. so buy my album or you’re shit.”

“and i’m a fashion model slash content creator. we’ve been together for like…five years? married for half a year? a year?” musing out loud, you switch your gaze from the camera to katsuki — letting him know with your eyes that he’s doing a great job.

“eight months, three weeks ‘n two days.” he corrects you seriously, causing sweet laughter to bubble up on your lips.

“sorry, folks. eight months, three weeks and two days.” you retort jokingly. bakugou rolls eyes ruby framed eyes again.

“okay, so still pretty new. let’s start with a shot, shall we?”

ever the gentlemen, your husband pours you a decently sized shot using a drink he knows you like without even asking. he even tops it off with a mixer because he knows that sometimes you can’t get past a bitter aftertaste if the alcohol is too strong. once done with yours, he fills up his own glass before clinking it against yours — both of you knocking back the shot with practised ease.

“god, that shit’s strong.” the pale blonde grimaces.

despite having a facial expression to match, you somehow make light of the situation. “really puts hairs on your chest, doesn’t it, kats?”

“you like my tits naked and juicy, shut the hell up,” smirking cockily, katsuki slides your shot glasses to the side and toys with the stacked white question cards in front of him. “her words not mine.”

“anyways…first card please.”

doing as he’s told, katsuki flips the first card over — skimming the letters written in bold on the other side before he slams it back down. “‘m takin’ a shot.”

the shoot has barely begun and you already find yourself bursting into fits of adoring, amused giggles. “no! it’s not even your question to answer! you have to read it, it’s the first card!” you whine playfully.

“alright, fine,” flipping the card over again with a dejected air about him, bakugou announces the question to both you and the camera. “when was the last time we had sex and where did it happen?”

“oh god.” you pinch your brow.

“told ya. no shots, it’s the first card. y’gotta answer it, babe.” bakugou teases as he casts the card aside, leaning back in his chair slow and sexy like while he watches you hungrily. it’s like making you embarrassed has made him forget that he’s on camera.

sighing through your nose, you pout at the camera and producers who watch eagerly. “on the way here.”

“on the way to this shoot? oh my god!”

“yes! omg. shut up, this is so embarrassing. katsuki don’t laugh!” you practically wail as the set bursts out into laughter. “god, okay. it was on the way here and in the back of the SUV with the partition up. don’t ask me how we had time. katsuki always makes time.”

said katsuki wiggles two fingers towards the camera knowingly and chokes back a raspy chuckle when you frown in response, scooping up your own card. “next question,” your say as your gaze skims the card. “who is your least favourite parent in law? oooh, spicy.”

“definitely her dad,” your husband points a thumb in your direction without hesitation but mouths his words straight into the camera. “you’re a piece of shit by the way.”

the producer pipes in. “can we elaborate?”

“my dad was never the most supportive of my career…but claims everything i have is because of him. it sucks, he's a narcissist and we don’t really speak because of it.” you answer truthfully, attempting to shrug the weight of your familial situation off. you know that most girls dream of having their father walk them down the aisle on their wedding day…but it’s just not in the cards for you. sensing your anger, your hurt and your pain beginning to rise to the surface, katsuki takes the card from you and grasps at your hand — eyebrows raised earnestly into his hairline while he checks to see if you’re okay. a small, wistful smile plays at your lips and you give your partner a gentle nod. “it’s okay though, my mum, mitsuki and masaru have been great parents. katsuki’s mum and dad kept me grounded throughout our engagement, pretty much designed all of my wedding outfits. they were all custom.”

“outfits? as in multiple?”

“ah yes! mitsuki insisted that i had changes throughout the day.” you beam, a giddiness replacing any negative emotion you once felt. your future mother in law had done everything in her power to make you feel like a princess on your wedding day — to this day it made you feel extremely grateful for your positive relationship with bakugou’s family.

“they still fuckin’ spoil her, ma styles her for a lot shoots,” the blonde scoffs but the adoration dancing in the almost brown flecks of his carmine eyes tell a different story. “no seriously, ma ‘n pa love you so much. you’re like the daughter they never had.”

“aw, that’s so cute. i’ll cry.”

katsuki’s turn to pick a card rolls around again, but he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time — index finger toying with your engagement ring. “what’s was the most stressful part about planning a wedding?” he reads. “oh, definitely the micromanaging from other people. shit pissed me off,” your husband answers almost straight away, already preparing to fix himself a shot when the producer asks him to elaborate.

he shakes his head and the producer turns to you. “our managers thought that they could have a say in our ceremony since it was like the celebrity wedding of the year,” shrugging, you fix your own shot which makes your spouse grin. “we ended up having one public and one smaller, private wedding to say fuck ‘em. and no, they didn’t fire me for this.”

“so a follow up, when you announced your engagement to the world what was a difficult thing you dealt with publicly?” someone from behind the camera asks.

pursing your lips, you look to katsuki for an answer. “the fan wars? some of my fans were…are still caught up on my ex and others think the great singer katsuki bakugou is too good for an influencer like me.”

“they don’t know shit. you’re too good for the world baby, i don’t deserve you.”

“corny ass,” you snort directly into the camera’s shot. “i’m sure that’s one of his song lyrics.”

“is fuckin’ not!” bakugou pouts, though he’ll deny that he was later. “pick another damn card.”

he pushes the pile towards you once more and you cheekily swipe one from the middle to make the video a little bit more interesting for those watching from home when it comes out. hopefully the viewers get a laugh out of bakugou calling you a cheater and you sticking your tongue out at him in retaliation — he pinches it back.

“ouch! owie, okay! okay, let go!” flipping the card so that the text is facing you, you begin to read it out loud slowly — nearly bursting out into an incredulous fit of giggles at the question printed in thick black letters. “this is so ironic, baby you’re gonna love this one,” katsuki raises a brow, intrigued by the coy smile you’re barely trying to hide now. “i dare you to call an ex and remind them that you’re happily married.”

a small silence echoes throughout the studio as you stare at one another, waiting and waiting, until a loud, raspy and haughty laugh rips through bakugou’s throat.

“what’s so funny?”

the blonde sat opposite you, still as handsome as the day you first met him — with glittering gem eyes that sparkle under the studio lights and a toothy smile that never fails to melt your heart, suddenly grows shy. a rose tint spreads its way over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks that have lost their youthful roundness, katsuki blushes softly but laughs with his entire body — only just embarrassed by the secret he's about to reveal to his most dedicated fans and the rest of the world.

leaning forward on the table, elbows on the edge, while you tuck your chin in the seat of your palm — biting your lip in amusement. “do you wanna tell them or should i?”

“i wanna take a fuckin’ short first. can i?” katsuki asks, almost innocently. he knocks back a glass of dark, bitter whisky once he gets the go ahead. “she’s my first. my first everythin’. girlfriend, time, wife—“

“i sure hope i’m your first and only wife, kats.” you cut him off swiftly, a mischievous lilt layered thick on your tone.

he slings an arm over the back of his chair, waving you off lovingly. “—you know what i mean, sweets.” bakugou shrugs in the direction of the producers. “i don’t have an ex to call.”

“okay, we’ll have your wife call one.”

at the film crew’s suggestion, your voice raises an octave, notes of surprise littered through out your melodic voice. “me? who would i even call?” you can’t help but snicker, trying to reach for the juice used for mixer so you can plan your escape route out of the dare.

your husband snatches the bottle from your reach, holding it protectively against his broad chest. “call shindou.” he grunts out low but highly amused.

“oh no, i’m not doing that. let me take the shot katsuki.” comes your instant response, tone turning slightly serious.

“who’s shindou?”

“her ex.”

“my ex.”

the both of you announce in unison, though you’re a little less entertained by your menace of a blonde husband — still guarding the drinks as he chucks the used question card to the side.

“why not?”

“cause it’ll be mean? he still hasn’t recovered from finding out i’m dating the idol he used to train with. yanno, the one who debuted over him.”

bakugou clicks his tongue cockily. “he’ll get over it. call him. c’mon, it’ll be funny and you love making me laugh.”

“alright fine but you have to swear you’ll answer the next one.” you turn to the camera. “he’s right though, his laugh is the prettiest in the world.”

bakugou blushes as you pull out your phone and scroll to the bottom of your contact list, surprised at yourself for not blocking and deleting the number. holding up the sleek device for everyone to view, you jab a thumb into the speaker button and watch with baited breath as it begins to ring throughout the studio.

“hello, yo speakin’,” a voice a little higher pitched than your husband’s filters through the speaker. it’s familiar, but doesn’t hold any of the comfort that bakugou brings. it’s been years since you ended things with your ex, the relationship was rocky and full of miscommunications and mistrusts before either of you skyrocketed to fame. there’s no malice between you both or a reason to cause katsuki why worry, you hope, but talking to yo shindou nowadays is akin to talking to a stranger.

giving the camera an awkward thumbs up, you reply shyly. “hi shin, what’s up?”

“oh hey sweetheart, this is a nice suprise.” your ex purrs through the line. you click the buttons side of your phone to turn up the volume — making sure his every word is picked up by the mics in the room.

bakugou chimes in, clearly looking for an opportunity to show off. “hey asshole, don’t get too excited.”

“hello to you too kats, what can i do you for princess?”

“shin, don’t call me that. also we’re shooting truth or drink right now — newlyweds edition with kats. they wanted me to call, tell you i’m married or something… which i’m sure you know by now.” explaining in a rush, you push at bakugou’s forehead, right between arched, dark blonde brows to keep him and his laughter at bay.

“it’s all anyone can talk about these days, especially when i’m on set. married couple of the year.”

the producers mouth to you to ask shindou a question, in which you almost miss underneath the sounds of your newlywed husband suppressing snarky jokes and giggles. “they’re telling me to ask you if you’re happy for me ‘n kats. you don’t have to answer—“

“i am. happy for you. katsuki, as big as of an asshole as he is, makes you way fucking happier than i ever did. he’s good to you, but you’re better to him. the world wants to see you guys grow old together… i hope it stays that way or else i’ll have to swoop back in—“

cringing along the millions that will be watching in the near future, you slice through his words politely before bakugou can blow a gasket. “thanks, shin. you’re sweet.”

“anything for you, sweetcheeks—“

“alright, alright. you’re pushin’ it now, freak. r’member i’m the one clapping these sweet cheeks and i’ll always be a better fuck than you—“ abruptly, your newfound husband snatches up your phone — growling possessively down the line as if to ward your ex off.

“okaybyethankyou!” squealing you hang up the phone and breathe a heavy sigh of relief, head banging on the table in front of you as you try to hide your flustered face. “that went better than expected.”

the blonde before you shrugs nonchalantly as if he wasn’t seconds away from reaching into the phone and tearing shindou’s head from between his shoulders. “i do love an opportunity to show you off, rub our marriage in people’s faces.” alas, he pours you both a shot, adding a mixer to yours, sort of as a reward for making it through the call. “kay, next card,” he swipes one from the top of the pile once more, carefully murmuring its contents into the studio’s cool air. “can the both of you name one person you would have invited into your marital bedroom on your wedding night? see if you’re both thinking of the same person. easy. on three?”

“sure! one, two—“ you count, the temperature of the room raising as it awaits your big reveal. “kirishima.”

“kirishima.” katsuki says at the same time before smirking cockily at the film crew. “next!”

you join him just as your foot flirtatious slides up his leg from underneath the table. “kats says eijirou is packin’, by the way.” your husband’s smile fades into an embarrassed look, everyone in the room laughing along with you. of course he’s seen it. of course you’ve talked about this before. “anyway, my turn! most romantic thing i’ve ever done for you? c’mon now kats, you can think of something. i’m pretty sweet.”

reaching for your hand for the nth time during the shoot, bakugou laces his fingers with yours — decadent dark red eyes instantly drawn to the big rock on your engagement ring and the simple gold wedding band that sits above it as he recalls everything you’ve ever done for him. every gesture; every text, every act of physical touch or service. it would be hard to choose just one romantic thing.

the silence as he ponders almost fills you with dread, a nervousness fluttering about in your chest like a butterfly whose wings are beginning to fail them. they’d have to edit this part out if he couldn’t think of anything.

but then, those plush pink lips that kiss you and call for you, part gently and a soft sentiment escape’s from between them. “you love me,” is all bakugou can say, eyes wide and genuine. “you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me…and, if we’re talkin’ specifics, you remember that time just before my album came out? before our wedding? i was fuckin’ stressed ‘n i was always locked up in the studio, trying to figure out the track list, the final song…”

you nod slowly, exhaling deeply through your nose. “yeah?” the background noise from the crew, cameras and mics wither away until it’s just yourself and bakugou in the room — holding hands as though you’re one another’s life lines.

“it was three am ‘n you were in another city for a shoot but…you still made the drive over to have dinner with me. to make sure i ate,” the tip of katsuki’s rough and calloused thumb brushes over the bumps formed by your knuckles. “just to help me run through things even though i was freakin’ the fuck out and you had a flight to milan the next day. you ate with me and that meant a lot.” he seems wistful as he talks, forgetting that the world will be able to see his heart beating all tender like when the cameras are put away and the footage is polished up.

perhaps he doesn’t care if the world sees him being so vulnerable with the woman he loves on screen. they’ll usually find such openness hidden between the lyrics of his songs. so, perhaps it’s the little alcohol running through his system. nevertheless, quiet love and appreciation seeps from katsuki bakugou’s pours into the quiet atmosphere of the set, the emotions crash over you in waves that you welcome — almost reducing you to tears brewed just for him.

“you asshole,” you sniff, lacking all the spite the insulting nickname carries. “i didn’t think that night meant so much to you… i just wanted to see my baby. wanted to make sure you were okay.”

cocking his head to the side fondly, the blonde singer uses the back of his hand to wipe at your free falling tears you hadn’t realised were there. bakugou doesn’t let go of you the entire time. “don’t cry sweets, you know i hate t’see you cry.”

watery laughter bubbles up on the seam of your lips. “don’t tell me what to do,”

“you said she drove from another city, would you guys say that distance made things difficult for you?”

“sometimes,” you answer the director truthfully. “while we were engaged we’d plan our wedding across different time zones. when i was awake walking for fashion week he was sleeping in his studio making songs.” you explain, looking to katsuki to confirm.

he nods along with another squeeze of your hand. “it was hard yeah, but we got through it. now she has my ring on her finger ‘n she’s stuck with me.”

“send help.” you mouth to the camera.

resuming the game, you snatch up a card and secretly hope that the question is a little more light hearted than the previous. “has my line of work ever made you jealous? oooh, good one,” adding the card to the ones already discarded, you squirm in your seat — excited to know your husband’s answer. “no shots! i want you sober and honest.”

“i’ve hardly had anythin’ to drink!” katsuki snorts. “what’s the sayin’? a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts? let me have something.”

“no! i want sober words and sober thoughts, that’s the aim of the game, stink.”

katsuki rolls his eyes so hard you fear they might drop out of his skull. “spoiled brat,” he mumbles begrudgingly, sucking his teeth. “okay before anyone says anythin’, i’m a secure guy. i trust and value my girl’s word above anyone else’s. i love seein’ her on billboards in every country i visit, on magazines at every airport I’ve ever flown from…”

“it feels like there’s a but coming.”

“wait for it…” you hum gleefully.

“but i hate that one cover shoot you did with that nerd, izuku, for vogue. that’s it. never do that shit again.” bakugou finishes, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

nearly leaping out of your seat, you point at your husband — bewildered. “i knew it! you said it didn’t bother you!”

“of course it did! he had his grubby arms wrapped around you! he stinks.”

“you did not just call izuku stinky, he’s got a feature on your album!”

“his feature can kiss my ass,” you know that bakugou is only half serious, the two have written some beautiful songs together and the cover hardly meant anything — izuku models from time to time as well. it just so happens you also work for the same brands. “my turn again, rate my proposal on a scale of one to ten. how good did i do?”

“nine point five.” you nod assertively, speaking to your audience with love bursting through your heart. “he proposed to me at his first sold out concert, like literally stopped singing and apologised to all of his fans because he had something important to say. that’s when he asked me, in front of his entire world. kats’ is real private so it meant so much to me…”

the blonde leans back in his seat but brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss directly to your wedding rings. “only nine point five? cheeky fucker.”

“it’s only ‘cause your genius-self decided to chuck my ring into the crowd?” you scoff.

“oi! i have good aim, you’re just shit at catchin’ things!” katsuki scoffs back, nudging you with his foot under the table.

“back to the game love birds.”

the two of you put your playful little spat on the back burner and you grasp the next card. “how many years into our our marriage do you think we’ll stop having sex—?”

“never,” katsuki cuts you off, looking directly into the lense as he jabs a thumb in your direction. “i can’t ever get her off my cock. she’s fuckin’ insane.”

heat flares up underneath the surface of your skin in embarrassment. “fuck you.”

“right after this shoot, sweetheart.” he winks right back at you before nodding down at the cards. “last two, yeah? did your life turn out as expected?”

chewing on your bottom lip, you give the question some thought. life has an unpredictable nature, no matter who you are or where you come from. if someone had told you a year into your college degree, that you’d be in front of sorts of cameras as a profession for the rest of your life — you wouldn’t have believed them. if someone had told you that you’d find the love of your life shortly after, you would have called them a liar too. your past has been heavy, a dark cloud you never thought you’d be able to escape — hauntingly daunting.

and even though you know that it’s a burden to place the weight of your happiness on someone else’s shoulders — but you know that katsuki has always been your golden, blinding light at the end of the tunnel. he’s something you never expected, but someone you entirely deserve after everything life has thrown at you.

“no, it hasn’t,” you whisper softly, ever so slightly distinct. your lover leans in, watching you curiously from over stacked question cards and bottles of barely touched alcohol. “i never expected to be so famous so young, that a silly little dream of mine could come true. that i never expected, i still can’t believe it…but, it’s like… meeting you. falling in love with you, on top of all that? it’s like i was destined to be with you, kats. you’re my soulmate. i knew that from the start.”

just like you earlier, emotion wells up inside katsuki. it breaches the cavity of his chest, slows down the rate of his heart and lungs and brings a slight shine to his beautiful blood red eyes. he sniffs but doesn’t dare look away from you — reading deep into your soul despite knowing the pages of it off by heart. “i feel the same,” he mumbles, reaching over to cup your face even with all of the cameras around. “i never expected to go on tour, sell albums and make music…but i feel like my heart always knew you were waitin’ for me.” quietness fills the space between the two of you, neither of you needing to say much. you cup the wrist of his hand that touched your face, leaning into his palm and pressing a kiss to it. “we’re so fuckin’ corny.”

“you love it.” you reply instantly. “i love you.”

“see?” katsuki asks the production crew as he draws the last card for both of you — holding it out for you to read. “cornball.”

“it’s cute! she’s cute and corny!”

“what about the rest of our marriage do you look forward to most?” since the video shoot is coming to an end, and you hardly want to cry any more, you both decide to make your answers short and sweet. “i look forward to spending forever by your side, taking over the world one continent at a time.” you gush, meaning every single word, smiling adoringly.

“ditto, can’t wait to grow old with you, brat.” bakugou mirrors your expression and finally, finally ends the shoot by pressing the ghost of a kiss to your awaiting lips. you feel warm knowing how comfortable he’s grown over the course of filming, even more so at all of the truths he’s given you tonight.

“that’s a wrap! thank you so much guys!”

katsuki salutes the camera, finishing up for you. “we’ve been the bakugous playin’ truth or drink. buy my album, see me on tour, buy a magazine with my wife’s beautiful face on it. like and subscribe.” all the while, you reflect on everything that you’ve learned about your husband whilst filming — that he loves you a lot more than he lets on, that you have his heart for all of eternity, that nothing in this world and cause his love for you to waver,

and as your matching wedding bands continue to gleam beneath the dimming studio lights, you only hope that he knows that you feel the exact same way about loving him too.

3K notes · View notes

bunny584 · 8 months ago

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OBSESSED: SHOKO feat THE BOYS (FINALE)

A/N: Well, well, well. Oh how the tables have turned, dear reader. It’s not so easy — juggling two special grades and their personal physician…is it?

S/N: This is it. The pièce de résistance. I was…this is…NO ONE LOOK AT ME AFTER YOU READ THIS. No idea the word count. Long af, though.

C/W:….the trio is their own content warning lol. Mature. 18+, MDNI.

Part I, Part II.

Is this…a dream?

This must be what it feels like to hear Domain Expansion, Infinite Void.

White static coats Shoko’s brain. She’s breathing underwater. Thinking in molasses.

It’s a miracle her legs are working — they’re currently trailing behind you and the boys, back to her apartment.

Her eyes are working, too — they’re attached to the dress rippling and bouncing off your ass. Your hips are a hypnotic pendulum. Swinging back and forth.

Back and forth.

The tailwind from your strut is a bad actor.

Every so often teasing your cotton panties that won the lottery. Kissing up against your pretty petals. Riding along the plump curve of your mounds. Accentuating the intoxicating swell of your hips.

It’s paralyzing.

You are paralyzing.

Satoru’s hand is curled around the back of your neck. His azure glow is so pristine, so bright it refracts off your gorgeous cheekbones. Dampening his Limitless and intensifying his Six Eyes.

Because the first to taste a meal is usually one’s eyes…right?

Shoko can nearly hear the depravity ringing between Satoru’s ears.

Then there’s Suguru.

An arm is draped around your waist, capturing and releasing the hem of your dress every few seconds. Mindless movements. His sniper-like gaze focused on the apartment door at the end of the hall.

Cool. Calm. Collected.

One would think, if you don’t know Suguru well enough.

His normally, perfectly repressed cursed energy surrounds him. Flickering into the air like campfire embers just waiting for the next gust of wind to erupt. Amethyst and graphite swarm around her best friend — the only indicator of his disintegrating self-control.

20 steps left until she is expected to produce door keys. The only thing standing between everyone and you.

This is it.

This is the moment. The one chance you get at ‘doing it right this time.’

15 steps.

There are no more wishes granted. No more genies stuffed into bottles, or whatever. This is it.

10 steps.

Get your shit together, Ieiri.

Do not squander this on the sidelines.

Shoko wires around the three of you. Stepping ahead to slot the frivolous piece of aluminum standing between her and her wet dream.

The apartment door flies open. Satoru’s hand moves on autopilot — deepening his grip around your neck.

His conscious brain recedes. Triple distilled, unadulterated need moves in like a tropical storm.

Silky strands of your hair plaited in his fingers.

Wide, warm eyes locked into his.

Tiny slit in those pouty, siren lips of yours.

He will dismantle you. Piece by fucking piece.

Until you’re a babbling, sobbing brook beneath his fingers. Apologizing for being such a cocktease.

“Satoru…?”

There’s a change in your voice.

Fear? Nerves?

Prey finally realizing who is next on the menu?

Satoru is staring. Fully aware of how disarming his eyes can be. Born with godlike vision and somehow the only thing he can see in the room is you.

His greed is a threat to National Security. DEFCON Level 1.

His mouth ghosts yours. Barely registering Suguru encasing you from behind. Trailing his palms along your thighs.

“Safe word, princess.” Satoru maps every ridge, every teeth indent on that gorgeous bottom lip.

“For when you need to tap out.” Suguru augments Satoru’s command. Gentle nip at the tip of your ear and you moan. Bitten back and clipped.

“Such pretty sounds,” Shoko’s voice is distant. Breathy. Coated in Cabernet.

“I..don’t—”

Satoru slices your protest in half. Rolling your bottom lip under his teeth. Biting and licking his way across your pout. At the same time Suguru drops his mouth to your pulse point.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” Suguru murmurs into your neck. A filthy fucking whine escapes your lips and Satoru’s fingers go to your nipple.

Hard. Pert and neglected. Desperate for attention.

Just like you.

The way you’re panting into Satoru’s mouth. Listless and loose, bending into Suguru’s presence behind you.

“He gave you an order, baby.” Suguru’s smile is so tender. Almost torturous against your oversensitive skin.

“Don’t…ah..don’t need a safe word.”

A weak declaration against Satoru’s kiss. Earning yourself a sharp twist of your sensitive buds. And gifting him a kitten squeal that makes his cock twitch.

“Ohhhh Suguru, Shoko. We have a brat on our hands.” He muses, hovering his lips over yours. Satoru pets the steel rod between his legs. Already dewy with his arousal.

You are so beautiful, trying to resist their coordinated touch. The sound of Suguru’s large hand palming your ass reverberates throughout the room.

“I’ll teach her some manners.”

Suguru’s voice trails down your spine. Slow and sickly sweet. Like maple sap dripping down tree bark mid spring. He caresses the hot sting from his spanking.

“I—I have manners.” Voice as small as your frame engulfed between the 6’3 counterparts.

“I won’t ask again, princess.” Satoru tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. And Suguru continues sucking kisses into your neck, marking his territory.

“Uh..mmm..god, S—“ Your eyes flutter closed. An earnest attempt to stay present. And not settle into the fuzzy, warm submission they are baiting you into.

“Safe word, now.”

“B—um. Blue? Blue.” Your resolve is about as rigid as cotton.

“Blue?”

“Well that’s not fair.”

Shoko and Suguru’s incredulous reactions intertwine with Satoru’s smug chuckle. A dusty rose high on your cheeks.

You know why you chose Blue. Everyone else does, too.

“Blue, huh?” Satoru presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“To match me? Noted, baby.”

Shoko melts into her couch. Her heartbeat rattles around her skull. With short, ineffective breaths that taste like full bodied red wine. Wet heat surges around her lace thong.

The way you’re writhing between her best friends’ hands is sinful.

Gazing up at Satoru like he is Vincent Van Gogh and the Starry Night above you is the product of his paintbrush.

Incoherent as if Suguru’s fingers put the Sun to bed. Whimpering his name like a prayer.

Adorable, girl.

God isn’t going to save you here.

The pads of Shoko’s cool fingers nearly sizzle against her puffy pleasure point. Slick coating her with just one, two, three long stripes against her sticky folds.

“God...fuck..bring her to me.” The grit in Shoko’s tone scrapes along her voice box. Matching the aggressive pace of her fingers against her needy cunt.

The boys lock gazes with their third. Cavalier smile tugging against Satoru’s lips. Suguru’s brow touches his hairline.

Ladies, first.

“You heard her.” Satoru snakes your arms around his neck and hoists you around his waist in one fluid motion.

“S—sato—“ He bullies his tongue back into your mouth. No more protesting, gorgeous.

Slow steps towards Shoko, so he can drink from your well. A sweet, delectable spell dripping from your lips. And if Satoru doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning after eating your forbidden fruit, then so be it.

Suguru lets himself watch you from a short distance.

His hand can’t stop rubbing his cock. Shamelessly tugging his heavy rod. Burning your little expressions into his mind’s safe. The way your eyebrows come together at the center whenever Satoru bites your bottom lip. Your desperate grabs for air against his relentless kiss.

“Hi, pretty.” Shoko drawls the moment Satoru settles you down on her lap. Her thigh digs into your soaked, gummy core. Glazing her skin with your drool.

“Hi, Sho.” Still panting from Satoru’s embrace. So fragile. A harsh breeze could shatter you to stardust. And Shoko pulsates around nothing.

One hand is firm on your hip. The other tracing mindless shapes on your chest. Leaving a poetic cascade of goosebumps in her wake.

Reflexively, you go to caress Shoko’s shoulders only to be caught by Satoru’s enormous grip. Whipping both of your wrists behind your back. While his other hand toys with the erection straining against his pants.

“She didn’t give you permission to touch, did she princess?” He drops his tone into the shell of your ear.

“Oh, I—“

“Manners, gorgeous.” A gentle reminder in between smearing kisses along your neck. Shoko hooks her index finger along your neckline. One tug and your mouth-watering tits come into full view.

“Fucking, hell.”

“God, baby.”

“Perfect…fucking perfect.”

Satoru, Suguru and Shoko’s praises crash into one another. God took his time with you. Sculpting a fucking masterpiece.

To be praised.

To be worshipped.

To be taken.

Used.

Filled.

“Shoko. I want to hear her.”

Suguru’s command is guttural. Fist snug around the base of his cock. Shameless about the tears of precum falling down his shaft.

Shoko’s fingers work their way down to your pulsing clit. You preen into her touch. Pretty, tiny gasps against her cheek.

“Let it out, baby.” Shoko coos into your ear. Thumbing little circles around your clit.

You bury your face into her neck. Delicious ache swelling between your legs. Grinding along her slender thigh. Honey seeping around your clothed cunt.

“S—sho, mmnngh..fuck..” Desperation fans Shoko’s neck. Bucking your hips with your hands restrained.

“There she is.”

Suguru’s fist slams to his hilt. Now close enough to cup your perky mound. Rippling and bouncing with every jolt. Feathering his finger over your pebbled bud.

The sudden touch and velvet voice above you drags your gaze upward.

And Suguru nearly cums in his hand right then and there.

Misty eyes, drool covered lips. Breathy pants. Angelic features rewritten by lust.

“Suguru?”

“Such a good girl. Keep fucking her thigh like that, baby.”

Throaty praise in return. Suguru rips his hand away from his angry length. Staving off his finish.

Not yet.

They’re not remotely close to being done with you yet.

“She’s so responsive.” Satoru chimes in. Releasing his grip on your wrists.

Your hands fly to Shoko’s face. Melding your mouth with hers. Leaking precious sounds, from your lips and your sopping wet core. His hand kneads your neglected breast, pinching your nipple every so often.

Satoru and Suguru palming at your tits. Shoko fucking your mouth with her tongue. You humping Shoko’s leg like a dog in heat.

It’s too much.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes into your groin. You nestle into the crook of her neck. Grasping at her thick, brunette locks.

“S-sho, I’m close, I’m—mmgh..”

“It’s okay pretty,” Shoko husks. Her thumb at a perfect rhythm and pressure.

“You can cum, baby.” Suguru rasps, tugging at your nipple at the same time Satoru smacks the supple flesh he was petting.

“Oh fuck oh fuck—“

The delicious sting from their touches sends you over the edge. And the wire seated deep in your stomach snaps. Hips stuttering to an abrupt stop.

The room stills. Satoru, Suguru and Shoko studying your micro movements through your peak. So quiet that the walls have to lean in to hear you and your lovers breathing.

Six eyes laser into your body. Everyone’s appetite for you simultaneously tripling.

Satoru swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Subconsciously aware of the pool of saliva forming. His manhood mirroring the trail of drool running down his mouth.

He’s always been a fan of dessert.

“I need to taste you.”

“And I need a front row seat.” Shoko nibbles at your cheek.

Satoru lifts and spins you around on Shoko’s lap in a matter of seconds. You, still gummy and compliant from your orgasm spread your legs weakly over Shoko. Earning you a chorus of praise from your lust-drunk lovers.

He drops to his knees. His blushing, weeping tip in hand. Pushing your sodden panties to the side. While Shoko cradles your thigh in her hand, holding you open for her best friend.

Your rose blooms in front of him. Dewy with your slick. Candied scent holding all of Satoru’s senses hostage.

“Look at how pretty, she is.” He breezes against your swollen pearl. Your petals quiver, and his dick leaks.

“S—Satoru..please.”

Satoru’s head is spinning. Entirely drunk off of the sight of you like this. Choking back his own pathetic groans.

His tongue licks a long stripe up your ripe folds. And your taste pollenates his mind for an eternity. An addict with his chosen vice.

Your hands magnet to his snowy halo. The melody you sing from his kisses and licks could sink any ship. Echoing in Satoru’s and Shoko’s groin.

Shoko is in a complete haze. Molesting herself numb at the way you undulate against Satoru’s eager tongue. Pitiful little mewls that are worthy of a platinum record.

“Feeling good, gorgeous?” Shoko eggs you on. Quickly sinking into her own threatened orgasm.

“Y—yes..mmgh so..god..” Paper thin squeals from your lips.

Crystals line your eyes in response to Satoru’s tongue fucking in and out of your pussy. Suckling your clit. Figures of 8, and 8 and 8 again until your mind is mush.

Except Suguru refuses to let you get lost at Satoru’s sea. He grips a handful of your hair, whipping your head in his direction.

Both you and Shoko tilt up to see Suguru’s driveling manhood at your eye level. Veiny, heavy. So clearly abused by his hand. Volcanic eruption in his hooded gaze.

“Hands on my cock, baby.”

Barely above a whisper, but somehow your body recognizes his authority.

And you seem genuinely shocked by your visceral obedience. Immediate acquiescence to Surguru’s will.

An approving grin teases Suguru’s lips. Your hands are comically small wrapped around his length.

God, he could split you in half.

Heavy eyelids from Satoru’s agonizing touch, you’re mystical. Gazing into Suguru’s eyes like his soul is nothing but an appetizer. Yours to swallow, digest, play with.

“Ask nicely.” Suguru grunts, as your eyes rake over his leaky cockhead. Longing for a taste.

Satoru and Shoko come to a hush. Her fingers slow. Satoru forces himself off of your folds. Somehow knowing the next words to roll off your tongue will shift their brain chemistry, permanently.

Palatial lashes fan your utterly fucked-out gaze. Swollen lips millimeters away from Suguru’s blunt tip.

“May I suck your cock, please?”

Filthy-nasty-dirty-fucking-vulgar noises fill the room, while you swirl Suguru’s cum covered head around your tongue.

“Fuck. Your lips baby.” He hisses, his hips piston into your pretty, accepting mouth.

“So messy, princess.” Satoru murmurs into your swollen cunt, slipping his fingers past your tight ringlet.

Beautiful gurgles around Suguru’s shaft. Crystalline streams of spit glazing your puffy tits.

You buck into Satoru at a similar, haphazard pace that he strokes his thick rod. Shoko sinks her teeth into your shoulder.

“G-gonna c..gonna—“ high pitched, broken warnings spill from your lips. Just as a blinding wave of electricity surges down Shoko’s legs — curling her pedicure inward.

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

Suguru’s decadent baritone sends both you and Shoko over the hot edge. A cacophony of huffs and whines, coating the walls in your shared ecstasy. Spraying your essence all over Satoru’s face.

He’s slow to stand. Savoring remnants of your peak. He and Suguru exchange sordid glances. Sharing the same thought.

Pretty little doll.

Loose limbed and spent in Shoko’s lap. Hair mused. So deeply entrenched into sub space you’ll need to sleep it off of to come to your senses.

A work of art, you are.

But not quite broken, yet.

“It’s our turn now, little one.” Deep and measured. Thick with want. Suguru lifts you by your arms off of Shoko’s lap.

His back lays flush against the couch. You straddle his muscular lap. Satoru stands directly behind you.

Suguru’s manhood is rigid. You’d have to impale yourself on him to get any closer. Similarly, Satoru’s length makes itself very present along the curve of your spine.

“Look at me.” Satoru’s throaty demand comes from above your head.

Obedience is the only language you can currently speak, so you tilt back. Soaking in the celestial boy behind you. Closer to God than Man, from this vantage point.

“You want to taste yourself, baby?”

A rhetorical question from Satoru, but you still bobble your head in an eager yes.

“Such a desperate little puppy, aren’t you?” Suguru mocks you, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth.

“She is.”

Satoru affirms in between spearing your mouth with his warm muscle. Kissing the breath directly from your lungs until you’re air hungry and clawing at his neck. Leaving red streaks on his pale skin.

Shoko has since poured herself another glass of red wine. Settling herself on the long arm of her couch.

‘Far enough to drown into her own spiral. Close enough to register everything they do to you in the the most permanent part of her mind.’

Dèjá Vu.

But this lifetime? This reiteration of events? It’s fucking sublime.

Shoko’s lips curl into a cheshire smile against the rim of her glass. Hedonistic on every single level known to man and she wouldn’t have it any another way.

Her eyes flicker down to where Suguru’s hands are eclipsing your hips. And Satoru’s hands are cradled into the small of your waist. Hovering you over Suguru’s cock. The weapon of mass destruction that it is.

“Suguru…Suguru it won’t…” Beautiful little panic ascending in pitch.

“It won’t, what baby?” He teases. Eyes fixed on you like the apex predator he is.

Crimson erupts from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears. Fluttering away from his quicksand gaze.

“What’s the matter, pretty? Don’t tell me you think you can’t handle—“

“I can handle it—I can…handle it.” You cut Satoru’s taunt down, convincing absolutely no one in the room— including yourself.

But the shred of pride you have left comes forward. Bracing your hands on Suguru’s flexed shoulders. Digging little crescent moons into his olive skin.

He can barely bite back the groan in his throat when your wet heat drags along his cockhead.

Twitching around your opening.

Feigning for entry.

“Go ahead, little one.”

“You can do it, baby.”

“Oh FUCK..GOD.” Your volume is nothing in comparison to the fire incinerating your plush walls. Stretching your womanhood in a way that’s ungodly.

Suguru is blinding.

Flashing lights. Black spots in the visual field. Floaters everywhere kind of blinding. The prior encouragement from your lovers did nothing to soften his blow.

Knowing this would be the result of you trying to work his inhuman length inside yourself, Suguru buries himself in one side of your neck. Satoru mirrors his action on the other side.

Gentle adoration. Tender kisses. Light caresses to dull the pain.

“Such a good girl.”

“I knew you could take it, princess.”

“You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl.”

Suguru rocks his hips in a slow, dreamy pace. Back and forth. Encouraging your body to reset around him. And the pressure. The delicious fucking fullness from his cock is mind numbing.

“R—ready.”

Barely loud enough to register. But Suguru could hear your red blood cells colliding with one another in your veins if you keep him next to you long enough.

“Eyes on me when I’m inside you, sweetheart.”

“Yes sir.”

The smile on his lips is no where near as tantalizing as the smile in his crushed velvet eyes.

And for a moment that is going to be on cinematic repeat in everyone’s mind — Suguru thrusts into you like a man trying to repopulate earth. Never once letting you break his eye-contact.

Melodic sounds of bodies smacking together ring throughout the room. Beautiful ripples of flesh, like soft waves during low tide. Your wet sex colliding with his. Him locking you into place because nothing else exists at this moment.

Both Satoru and Shoko’s jaws are slack. Satoru can’t even bring himself to stroke his length thrashing wildly in his hands.

This is hypnotizing.

A motion picture worthy of an Oscar.

You can feel Suguru recreating the shape of your soul. With each thrust. Deliberate. Deep. Ensuring that he will be a part of you, permanently.

“God, ngh Su—fuck..purple..” unintelligible words, incoherent sounds. You’re grasping at rescue from this pleasure.

“Hah..” Suguru’s serrated breaths kiss your lips. “Try again.”

“Suguru, please. I’m cu—I’m pink..pink.”

“Wrong color, princess.” Satoru’s husks above you. Tears of his thick cum streaming steady down his shaft.

Suguru’s bucks into you relentlessly now. Chasing the high you both are riding. Shredding what consciousness you have left. Not that you wanted it, not that you needed it.

“Fuck.”

Suguru’s hips come to a screeching halt. Floating over Shoko’s cushion. Painting your warm walls with his seed. With you filling his lap with your dew. Delirious, choppy intakes of air between your lips and his.

Momentarily forgetting your audience, you instinctively fall into his chest. Every single muscle in your body, suddenly without tone.

Satoru’s mouth is ajar.

Still not completely comprehending the fact that he just came — hands free — watching his best friend rail the conscious mind out of you.

“Blanket, Satoru.” Shoko quietly nudges from her position on the couch.

She can’t blame him for being stunned in place. Her mind is still reeling at the dessert her eyes just feasted on.

“Come here, baby.” Suguru murmurs. Working himself out of you, while Satoru drapes you in Shoko’s throw.

“Thank you.” A tiny chuckle escapes your lips. Cozying into Suguru’s arms. They should be proud of your manners.

And as if you said your cheeky thought out loud, your three lovers break into soft laughter.

“Wait here.” Satoru presses a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. Disappearing into Shoko’s bathroom a moment after.

A small sigh of relief tumbles out of her when she hears the familiar sound of bath water running.

Satoru must’ve done this before. Once or twice.

Suguru, too.

Judging by the way he’s whispering sweet affirmations in your ear. Lulling you to sleep. In his warm, safe embrace.

She’s never seen her friend like this.

“Girls! Bath time!” Satoru beckons from the bathroom.

His voice rustles you out of your post coital daze. Nestling deeper into the crook of Suguru’s neck. Shoko watches the way his eyes rest on your flushed face; stroking his hand along your arm. Intermittently pressing kisses along your hairline.

An enchanting, glass doll they were so eager to shatter just a moment ago.

“Ready, baby?”

Suguru murmurs into your ear. And Shoko just knows he’s hoping for a no. Silently praying for more time with you, pliant in his arms like this.

“Mmhm.” Your puffy lips curl up into a sleepy smile. Glossy-eyed, when you finally pull your heavy lids open.

Suguru’s breath catches in his throat.

Shoko’s heart rattles around its bony cage.

How do you do this?

How do you make it so easy to trip and fall so hopelessly in love with you with a bat of an eyelash?

“…I get it guys, but the water will get cold. And that would be a shame. Because this bath is, perfect.”

Satoru teases from the bedroom doorway. Startling Shoko and Suguru out of the trance you unintentionally put them in.

“You don’t have to carry me!” A half-protest bubbles from your lips when Suguru stands with you wrapped up in Shoko’s favorite blanket.

“Shhh, let me do this sweet girl.” He coos, for your ears only. Navigating around Satoru’s lean stature.

Shoko follows closely behind him, itching for her alone time with you.

“You’re going to let her feet touch the ground, Suguru?!”

Her sarcasm is followed by light-hearted laughter settling around your bodies.

The four of you in tandem like a world class orchestra. Shoko is already lamenting waking up from this dream.

“Not if I can help it.” Suguru sets you down on the kitchen sink. Nudging enough space for his muscular hips between your legs.

He cradles your chin in his hand. Taking as many butterfly kisses as you’ll allow.

“Mmm, goodnight, Suguru.”

His name rolls sweet and soft off of your tongue. Like a dark chocolate truffle, and suddenly Shoko wishes her name was Suguru.

Satoru does too. Judging by the way he yanks his counterpart away from you. His eyes caress your face before his hand does.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

Hushed and saccharine. Doting. As if a decibel too loud is akin to Hollow Purple. Circling his fingers around your thighs.

How foreign.

Shoko can almost taste Satoru’s concern. Attentive in a way that’s inconceivable.

From her vantage point, she watches you ensnare Satoru in those big, helpless doe eyes. Tempting him to fuck the living daylight out of you (again) but also handle you like a butterfly with a broken wing.

“Just a bit worn out, pretty boy.” Said with a dreamy little laugh. And Satoru would chase your voice into the clouds if he could.

He drapes your arms around his neck and you’re putty in his hands.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby.” He grazes the corner of your lips with his. A dull, insistent ache welling between Shoko’s legs.

You’re irresistible like this.

“Unless you want us to wear you out, again.”

“Satoru!” Your tiny, ineffectual fists slam against Satoru’s pecs. Making the trio even more fond of you.

Their muse.

“Alright boys, I can take it from here.”

Unhurried but finite, Shoko shoos her best friends out of the bathroom. Not before Satoru can steal one last kiss from your swollen lips.

In a matter of minutes Shoko is settled in a sea of warm, eucalyptus bubbles. The light sheen of essential oil grazing her skin, still glimmering with remnants of love-making.

Her eyes ride the dips and swells of your alluring lines.

Balmy skin decorated with lust-drunk imprints from Satoru, Suguru and herself. Hand prints. Tiny crescent moons from fingernails. Ellipses of bite marks. A kaleidoscope of red, blue, deep purple. Living, breathing residue of the desperation — the need — you so easily draw from them.

“Such a pretty girl.”

You flush under Shoko’s praise. Newly stroked desire bubbling in the back of her throat. You’re so full of averted gazes and warmed cheeks. Twiddling your thumbs. Tentatively shifting a few paces away from the bathtub.

So shy, now. It’s adorable.

“Come here, baby.” Shoko curls her fingers inward.

“Okay.” Your response high and thin. Feet moving without resistance.

Obedient little doll.

Shoko’s wet dreams couldn’t even come up with a vision this decadent. You’re an oil painting. Soft on the hands, even softer on the eyes.

You nestle in the warm waters between Shokos legs. Her nipples pebble against your supple flesh. Resting the back of your head on her chest. A lock-in-key fit.

Comfortable, serene quiet sheaths the room around you. And Shoko is soaring.

“I like you like this.” She presses a small kiss against your temple.

“Like what?” You whisper.

Shoko’s hands travel up your navel, cupping your sensitive tits. You arch into her touch. Kitten mewls escape you. So responsive.

“Soft.” Your nipples stiffen between her thumb and index finger.

“Vulnerable…a little broken.” Shoko continues. Catching your needy gaze. Pupils blown to full moons. She hovers her lips over yours. Already parted, hanging open. Ready to receive.

“Shoko.”

Such a beautiful, pitiful little whine. Tilting your chin up, chasing Shoko’s lips. But she maintains the minimal distance. Instead, kneading your mounds. Drawing a gorgeous melody of whimpers; squirming beneath her ministrations.

“I like being the one to put your pieces back together,” Shoko teases, dropping her tone. And you draw her in like a moth to flame.

Shoko’s lips slot into yours with ease. Puzzle pieces meant to fit. She swipes her tongue over yours. Nibbles along your puffy bottom lip.

You’re delicious.

And panting, when Shoko finally pulls away. Aurora borealis in your eyes. Sparkling. Expansive.

And even though you are putty in her hands right now. Docile and pliant, hanging on every brush of a finger, every kiss. Shoko is falling.

Free falling.

Without a safety stop in sight.

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taylorswiftstyle · 7 months ago

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The Eras Tour | The Tortured Poets Department section | Version 1

Vivienne Westwood custom

For my own predictions post guessing at tour designers for The Tortured Poets Department set on the Eras Tour I noted: “When it comes to designers, I feel Vivienne Westwood would excel at this assignment.” The theatricality, the dramatics, the corsetry, the Britishness of it all (that cavalry / Black Parade moment). It’s the perfect style match and I’m so happy that Taylor and team fully hit the nail on the head when it came to selecting the right design partner for this moment.

The white colour of the gown ties into the established colour-leached palette of #TTPD while also adding to line of similar white gowns she wore for the 2024 Grammys announcing the album and in the album’s lead single music video “Fortnight”. There’s of course the wedding gown comparison, particularly for the way the skirt seems to mimic the gathers of a bride making a harried exit after being left at the altar. The way her lyrics are scrawled all over the garment also seems to combine Taylor’s emotive vulnerability in wearing her heart on her sleeve (and centering the ownership of her work) while also reading a little like the scribbling psychosis from The Shining when a single phrase was repeated in a typewritten manuscript. A part of me wonders if there will be additional variants of this skirt with other TTPD lyrics as we saw on the backs of the different album variants and Taylor’s grief playlist titles.

It also feels notable to me that this is an area in Taylor’s costuming that is absent of her signature sparkle. Sequins aren’t just a glittery aesthetic that Taylor loves to wear, but they also serve a function for stage to draw eyes to a performer and catch the light. In the same way she’s said that she can show us lies when “the lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night” in bravely going on stage every weekend amidst trying to heal a broken heart I also think there was a lot of catharsis and healing in performing these songs, her proudly owned body of work, for tens of thousands every weekend.

Photos by Kevin Mazur/TAS24 via Getty Images

#taylor swift #tour #outerwear #dress #vivienne westwood #eras tour

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dropsnectar · 2 months ago

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Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad.

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands.

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face.

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures.

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition.

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well.

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine.

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study.

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard.

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then.

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink.

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you.

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high.

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms.

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up.

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment.

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper.

You’d been played.

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp.

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in.

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good.

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind. The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive, and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below.

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid.

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight.

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma.

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you.

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in.

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil. It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed.

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality.

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds.

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts.

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent.

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way.

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought.

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason.

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled.

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!

#monster x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #monster #vines #tentacles #monster x gn reader #teratophillia #terat0philliac #tentacle smut #vine smut #monster smut #ovipositor

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bougiebutchbinch · 2 months ago

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hiiii your art gives me life it sustains me permanently. Thinking about a Logan that goes into ruts, and Wade has learned to keep a shit ton of Gatorade and towels by the bed when that time of the month (tm) is coming up cuz Logan just rails him into the bed for a week :3

AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo :howls at the moon:

It's brutal. It's animalistic. It would've killed literally anyone else.

We're talking a full no-refraction-period, healing-factor-fuelled, feral fuckfest. A 168-hour marathon. Face down ass up. Wolvie's teeth are BURIED in Wade's neck. His jaws barely ever relinquish their grip, because the bite mark heals as soon as Logan's teeth withdraw from Wade's bloody, tattered flesh - and Logan can't have that. He CAN'T. He needs his mark on Wade. Needs his smell all over him. Needs Wade's slick, hot hole clenching tight on his knot...

So, uh, Wade gets pinned to a progressively-more-tattered-and-bloodstained-mattress for a week while Logan fucks all those crazy rut-hormones out of his system.

Occasionally, when Logan nods off, Wade gets to sneak away and shower or whatnot. But sometimes Logan's not QUITE as out of it as Wade thought. In those moments, his teeth dig in and his grip tightens, and he growls around Wade's nape like Wade's a piece of meat and Logan is scaring off another predator...

the first time that happened Wade found it hilarious (and very, very horny-inducing)

.....but graaaadually

..........as the days bleed past and Logan's rut peaks in intensity

.............Wade's gets lost in this strange, dreamy, delicious, pleasure-pain haze. So, when Logan snarls and digs in his teeth, he just goes limp and spreads his legs on instinct... tamed and trained for him.......... a warm bloom of contentment filling his stomach as Logan slips back inside with a grunt, where he belongs. Fucking his seed back into Wade like he wants him bred.

He even makes this pleased animalistic sound. Like he's proud of Wade for presenting for him, for being a good little Omega, for doing a good job....

Anyway Wade gets to drift off happily into subspace for a couple days at the end. He loooooves falling out of his head and just existing, as a trio of fun holes for Wolvie to fuck (and sometimes. more than three holes. if Logan's feeling ESPECIALLY kinky and the claws come out)

And Logan is FULLY in feral headspace ofc. He's never been able to Let Go with anyone, quite as far as he has with Wade!

But gradually, over the passing days, as Wade sinks deeper into that trance-like submissive prey-state... Logan moves away from the violent animalistic fervor that initially drove him. He nuzzles Wade instead of biting him. Licking him, caring for him in a way that just makes Wade's brain even fuzzier.

In the aftermath, they're sitting 5 feet apart on either side of the UTTERLY ruined mattress, dehydrated beyond all belief (Wade severely underestimated the amount of gatorade they'd need). Staring into the middle distance like soldiers fresh off the battlefield.

"So," Wade ventures into the silence, scratching at a dry bit of wolvispunk that's leaked out down his inner thigh. "Uh. Same time next month?"

messy writing because I'm half asleep, please forgive me kdsflhglkfds

#poolverine #deadclaws #peanutbub #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #deadpool x wolverine #wolverine x deadpool #my fic #my art #bbb creates #teehee #nsft #lemon

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere Silver Headcanons

adhlbfypfqeyvf If you want to know why this is coming out of nowhere... I've been cooking (talking) with friends about this concept for over a month and now I'm going to dump it all onto you 🤡 This interpretation of Yan!Silver is in part based on Elbert Greetia from Ikevil 💀 so uh… be warned…

Regular Silver, staring at this monstrosity: 😨 TRIGGER WARNINGS: (slow burn) yandere themes, (unintended) emotional manipulation, gaslighting, spying/stalking, unhealthy possessiveness and obsession, mentions of blood, (Silver’s) delusions, minor character death

***PLEASE NOTE: writing yandere content is NOT the same as supporting or approving of these behaviors irl. This is also NOT what I believe Silver is canonically like; this is only meant to be a creative reimagining/"what if" scenario.***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

It all starts off like a fairy tale come true. But like Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon the witch’s candy house or a frog set into a simmering pot, the heat—the horror—isn’t fully cranked up in the very beginning. A dream doesn’t start like a nightmare, the nightmare comes later. And you, like the fool you are, were lured in by the promise of sweets and a prince.

The boy you've been crushing on for the last several weeks shyly approaches you and confesses. Handsome, earnest Silver takes your hands in his and gives you that lopsided smile you've been admiring from a distance. He swears himself to you as your loyal partner, vowing to protect you from the things that slither in the dark and prey on the unsuspecting. To keep you from hurt and sadness forever and ever.

You're giddy—positively over the moon and the stars—to finally (and proudly!) call yourself his. Every time you look at him, you swear it feels like a thousand butterflies are fluttering in your chest, or like you’re losing yourself in the aurora of his eyes.

You tell him his eyes are mystifying and unique, that they’re something you could stare at forever. He doesn’t seem to get it at first, but is pleased nevertheless and thanks you for the compliment.

It’s not until a few weeks later that the ramifications come. One day, out of the blue, Silver gifts you with a piece of jewelry (a ring, a necklace, an earring, etc; whatever your preference is!). Embedded in it is a clear gemstone that refracts the light in pastel pink, baby blue, and pale purple… exactly like his eyes.

He helps you secure it on for the first time and oh, how gentle his touch is as his fingers brush against your skin. Silver gives that small smile that melts your heart. “There. This way, you’ll always have ‘me’ watching over you,” he says, lightly tapping the aurora-colored jewel, “even if I am not right at your side.”

Sometimes you feel Silver’s own gaze lingering on you too. You know him to be an airhead or half asleep most of the time, so the thought never occurs to you that this spacey behavior is odd. But once or twice, when you’re stealing glances back at him, you notice a seriousness set in his eyes, a darkness creeping into the light. The same deadset look that scares off children and makes others mistake him for someone far more aggressive than he actually is, you think.

He lingers close when you walk to and class together, his protective instincts sending him into action to catch you if you so much as stumble, and remove errant leaves and petals that tumble onto your hair. “I have you,” he reassures you, oblivious to the electricity in his touch and how it makes you leap. “Don’t worry.”

Silver acts as though you’re as delicate as glass and as pure as freshly fallen snow. It’s not uncommon for him to praise your positive traits (while totally overlooking your flaws) or talk about how good of a person you are—and that also drives him to keep you that way. Untouched, untroubled. He’s so quick to steer you away from stressful situations or charging in to settle an issue himself, typically by talking down the aggressors. That’s thoughtful of him… right?

He has the habit of falling asleep on you when he gets to be comfortable. You usually don’t mind it, but sometimes he gets a little too clingy in his sleep. It’s hard to pry him off when he looks so peaceful and mutters your name under his breath while he has your body in a death grip.

Silver takes you on quiet nature strolls. You often drift off the beaten path and wander deep into the woods behind NRC, far, far away from the other students and staff. The sun sinks and sinister sounds come from the dark—you get nervous and leap into his arms, asking Silver if you should turn back now. He agrees every time, walking you back and wishing you sweet dreams. By the time you collapse into your bed from exhaustion, you don’t realize he has stolen you away for the entire day for himself.

It’s strange. You start to get the sense that you’re seeing Silver in your dreams just as much as you see him in the waking world. Rarely do you fully recall the details of your dreams, but there’s always that vague feeling of catching a flash of silver hair or feeling the heat of his eyes uncomfortably pressing into you when you wake up.

You tell him about this and joke that maybe he’s using his UM to haunt your dreams. “It’s impossible. You’re not Rook-senpai,” you laugh. He chuckles at the idea. But oh, how weird. Somehow the conversation tends to steer toward whatever you happened to recall of last night’s dreams. If Rook appeared in your dream, Silver coincidentally slips him into the discussion. Lightly probing questions like, “What is your opinion of Rook-senpai?” and, “Are you comfortable around him?”

Silver tells you about the stories his father has shared with him from his travels. Many are folklore from different regions in Twisted Wonderland, but more recently he has been fixated on fairy tales from the Shaftlands. “A couple finds true love and live happily ever after, nothing able to tear them apart…” he says dreamily. “It sounds just like us.”

Silver appears stoic on the outside, but you know that’s not the case. A few months into the relationship, you become acutely aware of his insecurities and his low self-worth. Not strong enough, not long-lived enough, not alert enough, not… enough. He will never be able to repay his debt to his father, Silver has confided in you many times.

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re doing your best to keep the people you love safe.” You do your best to soothe him in those moments of weakness, for which he is thankful for. With shining eyes, auroras in the dark, he whispers, “You’re so kind to me.” Raptly, as if beholding a higher being. “What did I do to deserve someone like you…?” And there it is again, that seriousness, the light fleeing from him, as he vows to repay your kindness.

You’re acquainted with Silver’s animal companions and get along with them. Now you’re noticing them everywhere, not just around Silver. In fact, you see them without Silver. Birds in the trees, a rabbit hopping alongside you, the stag poking its head out from the bushes.

Then those animals reappear when you meet up with Silver later, looking all innocent, while Silver asks you about your day. If there’s a slight discrepancy (due to poor memory) or a detail you overlooked, he’ll gently correct you or clarify. “Blueberry muffin? As I recall, you had a cranberry muffin for a midmorning snack.”/“Ah, you forgot to mention you asked Ace if you could borrow a pencil for the exam.” You blink, surprised. How did he come upon all that information? How can he recite your day better than you can? It doesn’t hit you until much later that his animal friends have been serving as his eyes and ears.

He sincerely apologizes to you when you confront him about it. “Please tell them I don’t appreciate them snooping!” you cry out. Silver promises he’ll ask them to curb their curiosity—and while it’s true that you no longer see the animals following you, you can still feel their beady gazes around every bend and corner. Paranoia claws at your scalp, and you try to calm your doubts with one thought: No way would Silver be encouraging this. I must be imagining things.

You try to get your mind off of your worries by hanging out with your classmates. Sebek, ever boisterous and over-the-top, uplifts your mood. Pretty soon, you’re chatting away with him at the lunch table (even if he loudly refers to you as a HUMAN), paying no mind to the shadow that has fallen over it until a deadly quiet voice speaks up.

“Sebek.” It is so cold, so hollow, it startles both you and Sebek when you realize the speaker is Silver. “I don’t like it when you talk with them like that.” Sebek makes to say sorry to his fellow knight—or is it to challenge him? You never find out, for Silver has grabbed you by the wrist and is yanking you away from him.

He doesn’t let go until you’re in a secluded area of the courtyard. There’s a red mark left behind, and it causes tears to well up in him. Silver collapse like a house of cards. He’s extremely apologetic—he has hurt you, hasn’t he? He failed to protect you. How terrible. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have been so petty and jealous.

It breaks your heart to see Silver a mess, blaming himself so profusely for what happened. You do whatever you can to calm him, and eventually the conversation somehow turns to you accepting some fault. It’s not, though, the little nagging voice in your head protests. You silence it, prioritizing the emotionally vulnerable Silver. “I’m sorry, I should have considered your feelings and avoided giving Sebek the wrong message. I’ll avoid getting all buddy-buddy with him in the future, okay?”

And it happens again, again, again. One by one, your friends are cut off from you in a similar manner. It’s always something they do or say that concerns your boyfriend, something that impedes or disrupts that pristine, picturesque fairy tale he has laid out in his head.

Silver’s presence in your life becomes increasingly invasive, like unwanted briars creeping into a garden, thorns cutting off your access to air. He’s soon consuming every second of your day, whether physically beside you or planted in your worried thoughts like a demon disguised as a guardian angel. You can’t do anything anymore without feeling anxious and watched.

He starts to talk about… strange things. Tall towers, glass coffins, the bars of a bird cage. All manner of motifs pulled from fairy tales, items and places meant to keep a character shackled and stowed away from the world. “I feel bad for the person locked up in them,” you’d tell him. “Sometimes,” Silver murmurs mysteriously, “people will take drastic measures to protect the ones they love.” You cannot explain why, but those exchanges leave you feeling immensely uneasy.

You timidly share your experiences with people you think are safe. Silver’s dorm members, his friends, his family. The people who know him best, who can maybe talk some sense into him. To your dismay, your concerns fall upon deaf ears. You earn many blank looks and dismissive comments, all citing Silver’s good nature. (“He loves you very much. This is his way of demonstrating that, he’s just sort of clumsy with it. Give him another chance.”/“That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you’re remembering it correctly?”/“You’re overreacting.”)

It beats down your spirit, starts to make you question your own judgment. You second-guess your words and actions. Is your perception of reality right when everyone else is telling you that you’re wrong, that Silver could never harm a fly.

Then comes the guilt like a wave crashing into you as you think about all the good times you’ve had together. Rose-colored days under a balmy blue sky. Your thoughts are like a brewing storm, and every evening when you tuck into bed, dread, unease, and uncertainty follow you.

You’re waking from the lovely dream that was a whirlwind romance, seeing Silver for the imperfect and obsessive person that he is. Unfortunately, you don’t have the heart to bring up the tough subject with him. He looks so darn happy with you, continues to dote on you and act the part of a valiant knight. Your mouth will open, then close again before any words can come out. It hurts, it hurts, and it is eating you up from the inside out.

You bottle it up for Seven knows how long, but it comes torrenting out one night. Silver is walking you home as per usual when you blurt out the suggestion of taking a break from each other. He stills, hurt crumpling his face. And then he has you by the shoulders, softly demanding to know what is wrong, has someone made you feel unwell? You, it’s you, you’re suffocating me, you want to say, but you cannot.

Silver presses and you resist, the two of you taking up the middle of main street with your desperate quarrel. He’s becoming increasingly frantic and desperate, his eyes dark and obsessive. It’s then that a passing mob student angrily speaks up, giving you a rough shove. You meet the hard ground, pain shooting through you. “Move already!” he gruffly stomps by—but he’s caught by Silver, his expression like clouds that have drowned out the moon. “You put your hands on them just now,” he says evenly. “Please apologize.”

“Like hell I will! They shouldn’t have been in my way,” the mob student grumbles. He attempts to leave but to no avail. There’s Silver walling off his escape route, an icy fury overtaking him.

You can’t bring yourself to watch what happens next. Wrenching your face away, you do your best to block out the horrible noises that come. The crunching of bones, the dull thud of flesh against something solid, agonized screaming. And then it’s silent.

You slowly gather the courage to dare a look at the scene. The world tilts, and bile rises in your throat. Silver calmly stands over a fallen figure. The street—and him—are painted in red. The mob student isn’t moving. Not anymore.

He smiles. The small, awkward one that once made your head buzz and cheeks flame. It only yields a gaping hole in your heart now. Silver strolls toward you, caked in blood but acting as though he isn’t.

You’re too paralyzed with fear to attempt backing away or rejecting his advances when Silver tenderly embraces you. You tremble violently, hiccups and tears spilling out.

A hand strokes your hair, his voice a lullaby to soothe you. “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I took care of the big, scary monster. You don’t need to look at it—it’s not fit for your eyes.”

Silver holds you and allows you to sob until you’ve tired yourself out and into a dream. He will carry you home, setting you down on your mattress like laying a corpse in its glass coffin and taking in the sight of you from the foot of the bed.

Not realizing that he, the knight, is the monster that keeps his beloved in a gilded cage. His arms and body, the bars that lock you in. Irony is a cruel mistress, and twisted is the love that it propagates.

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siren-serenity · 9 months ago

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early dawns

characters: trafalgar d water law, gn!reader warnings: fluff a/n: - HIS HAT!!! he doesnt look scary, no sirrrr - feedback is appreciated!

The sun's rising above the sapphire waters of the Grand Line. It begins its path, ready to emblaze its fiery passage across the skies. But under the seas, it refracts into thousands of tiny rays, and sea critters scurry from its brightness. The Polar Tang sails through these seas freely, unafraid. It is a reflection of the pirates within; the majority of them are still asleep and snoring away.

You mumble as the sunrays pierce through the portholes of the Polar Tang, snuggling closer to the source of warmth. A familiar, calloused hand cradles the back of your head and pushes you closer to his firm chest. Eyes opening, your finger trail along the ink-black tattoos, swirling and striking to the eye. You press a soft kiss to the smiling face in the middle and you can feel Trafalgar D. Water Law's soft smile gazing at you.

"Good morning to you too," He yawns, and you're greeted with the sweet sight of his vulnerability. He sits up, in an attempt to wake up for the day. But his tired appearance reveals his hidden desire to laze in and snooze away. Law's shoulders drooped with tiredness and his hair is mussed up and messy for the first time. His beloved spotted hat is nowhere to be found and you were free to run a hand through his messy locks. "So- hrk!"

"I'm so sorry!" You gasped, immediately untangling your fingers from his hair. Your fingers accidentally caught onto a knot of hair and pulled it. His eyes were widened, fully awake now. You mourn the loss of his sleepy looks; the way his eyes squinted cutely at the light and his cat-like hisses were adorable. "You need to brush your hair, love."

Law shrugs, running a hand through his own hair. "I'll do that later."

A firm arm guides you back to his chest and you snuggle into his warmth.

"But-"

'-Weren't you the one who wanted to sleep in?" He raised an eyebrow and you rolled your eyes. "Aye, Captain."

"None of that 'Captain' business in this cabin," Law traces the features on your face, dipping in between the contour of your nose and eyes before trailing down to your lips. He traces your Philtral column and then pause on your lower lip. "Here, it's just you and me, remember?"

You yawn, lazily dragging the blanket over your body and his.

"You and I against the world," You agreed. Against a warlord. Against other pirates. Against the Emperors of the seas. Against the entire World Government, if needed.

You raised your body and with your free hand, cradled his chin. Law's eyes fluttered as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. Although his favorite type of kisses were the bruising ones, where he would crush his lips to yours and run his hands all over your body, he loved these soft kisses as well. The gentleness, the featherlight touches, and sneaky tickle attacks to each other's bodies were something to be engraved in his mind as well.

"You seem tired, Law," You brushed some stray strands out of his face. A gentle smile crawled onto your face and as if it was infectious, Law's lips twitched into a tiny smile. "Back to bed?"

"Back to bed," He agreed and a yawn came out of his mouth immediately afterward. His back was suddenly enveloped with a familiar warm and you threw a hand over his waist. His fingers hesitantly tangled in yours before squeezing them tight.

You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. "Night, Law."

He smirked, but you couldn't see. "I thought it was morning?"

Law definitely deserved the pillow smack to his head that followed. But a giggle escaped from your mouth before turning into chuckles.

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar one piece

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milqueandsugar · 7 months ago

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🌼☕` Wearing His Clothes`☕🌼

Gen / Fluff

Includes / Alastor , Lucifer

| ALASTOR |

If Alastor could spend every evening like this, he would. A warm hellish day, a pleasant breeze that made the usual sulphuric smell that lingered in the air tolerable, and most of all, you by his side. The scarlet parasol you carried over your shoulder sifted the dying rays of the sun into a glorious red. If Alastor could devour an image he'd have this walk on a plate.

"Have I ever mentioned how marvelous you are in red?" The static of his voice crackled to life, so did the blood in your cheeks. "Very, very often." You tease, his grin widens. "Oh so not nearly enough."

You were working up a come back when something heavy dropped onto your shoulders. It smelled of chicory and black coffee, it smelled of Alastor. You poked your head up out of a collar, his collar. You stared up at your lover who twirled the parasol you must have dropped in hid hand. Spinning the red refracted light around the both if you like a kelidoscope.

"You are darling in red, I'll have to ring up Rosie to get you one of your own."

"Matching outfits Alastor? Tattoos next?"

"I was thinking rings, but by the by."

Alastor is definitely a possessive character but I don't think that translates at all to you wearing his clothes

He's actually quite protective of them, he's as particular as he is possessive and it has to be some sort of gesture for him to lend it to you

He especially holds off on lending clothes to you if you make it know you like it, just for teasing purposes of course!

He only truly lends you his bow tie or jacket and only, of course, on his terms

He finds it endearing, how flattered or excited you are at something as simple as a coat, though he holds this little secret close to his chest

It's not as fun if you can tease him back!

Due to his more animalistic tendencies/physicality he is particularly sensitive to smell

If you REALLY want to rile him up use his cologne or soap, it might take a day or two but it's impossible not to notice his increase in physical affection

Once he registers that wearing his clothes is another, far more subtle way of having you smell like him he'll be far more generous with lending you garments.

| LUCIFER |

Every few months you cleaned out the closet, Lucifer liked to buy things, you liked to wear things, both of you were terrible for over filling your closet. He was out for a day out with Charlie, which made things easier. You loved him truly but he made tossing things out difficult, it was too pretty or to cute, to sexy for him to part with. He wasn't wrong, he had an excellent eye for picking clothes you liked, but at this rate you'd need to buy a new home to accommodate for the mass amounts of clothes!

It was when putting the keeps back when you noticed it, his hat. A hat you both loved and hated, the golden snake around its brim gleaned in the light. You snatched it from the shelf at the top of the closet. Your surprised he didn't bring it today, he wore it always, especially when with Charlie. You wondered if she liked it, or if she liked it when she was a kid and bright colours were like moths to light.

You step over to stand in front of the floor length mirror. It felt like a normal hat, of beautiful craftsmanship of course, but just a normal hat. You couldn't see why he was obsessed with the thing. You felt a little silly wearing it, you felt even sillier when a snort sounded from behind you.

"Oh so that's where my hat went"

He thinks it's cute!!

He's confident so he doesn't see any real need to mark or claim you, he knows he loved you, and he knows you love him just as much!

Absolutely pleased to lend you clothes!

If it becomes a habit of yours he even goes out of his way to pick up clothes he thinks both of you will like

Turns into a fun shopping activity!

Be fully prepared for him to start stealing your clothes too though this is a two way street

Maybe it's for the best too he's got no style let's be honest

Absolutely tortures you if he discovers you think it's hot, wears your clothes out, wears your clothes in private, when your on a date

Good luck, they're pretty much his now

No hiding if you dress more feminely either he's not afraid of rocking a mini skirt

The act itself doesn't do anything but seeing you so excited about it?? That does it for him

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer imagine #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you

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lcfthaunted · 7 months ago

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Seven. Her breath audibly escapes. Turning her face away, she takes a moment to breathe, careful and even. It takes several too-fast heartbeats before she’s able to answer him. “They’ll come for me,” she confirms. “Don’t know if they’ll come this far out. It’s not like they have a way to track me.” Thinking about the logistics of Better Living retrieving her calms her a bit. She trusts Mallaidh not to give up until either she’s back in the city or confirmed dead, but… “If they don’t find me in the first few zones, they might try to write me off as dead.”

She meets his gaze again, considering him for a heartbeat. She has hidden behind this shiny veneer for a decade, with only her sister allowed to see past it, but… so far from the city, from the company’s view and reach, without the constant threat of surveillance she lives under… she makes the perhaps reckless decision to be honest. She's more than a placid piece of plastic, but how much more is the line she has to walk. Understanding the machinations doesn't mean knowing the granular details, after all.

“They’ll use this, you know. If I don’t get back fast enough, they’ll use my disappearance to turn against all desert dwellers. To further their control over the city. I have a significant following, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my disappearance has already been noticed by some of them. My-” and she falters, gaze darting away briefly before returning to him, “I have people who won’t stop looking, but they aren’t enough to hold back the entire machine.” Honest as she’s being, revealing her understanding of the machine she’s a part of, she cannot reveal her sister. She’ll keep Mallaidh safe to her last breath, even if that ends up being much sooner than she originally suspected.

It's hard to know what he'd been expecting – a spontaneous change of heart after a ride out spent in utter chilly silence? The initial haughty disbelief seems as good as he can ask for. Still, it touches his nerves. He resists pointing out the alternative to the faded couch is the floor, which is a generous word for bare concrete. At least this way, as she trades her faces for fronts, he can tell she's got a mind. And when the fear seeps through, he can tell it's a mind made of more than the deranged, plastic-wrapped placidity for sale in every district of the city, Neon or Silver.

Despite all appearances, sun-baked and wind-weathered as he stands now, he'd had a first day. A time when every step out was the furthest he'd ever been. His mouth pulls into more of a frown, but his eyes and the edge of his tone soften.

“Seven.” He pauses a beat to let it settle; officially, there is no seven. Officially, you cross that line, you cook. The hard lines are a fiction, of course, but settling here was a risk all the same, and an addendum's reassurance comes crawling up. “Only just. It's more on the outer boundary of six. Give or take a corner.” That, too, he leaves to land how it will while he considers the sleekness to her champagne hair the dust and terror haven't quite managed to erode yet, and what Diana told him to get him to agree to this at all. “...Will they come for you here?” Half a question of the risk he's taking. Half wondering if this, kidnapping and dust trails, is the thing that drives Better Living to brave the delicate edges of their bubble.

#ru5t #& the lights refract sequined stars off her silhouette • center city #grabbed a pen and an old napkin • responses #( me : is this... too soon to lob back ? )#( also me : too busy shoving every bit of this verse into my mouth to care )#( i've gone fully feral ty for this )

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novaursa · 8 days ago

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Legacy (strings of time)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dark wings

- Next part: long live the king

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The air on Dragonstone was heavy with the scent of salt and sulfur, the volcanic island shrouded in an eerie mist that clung to its ancient stone walls. Melisandre stood alone in the shadowed chamber of the Painted Table, her crimson robes flowing like molten fire as she chanted in the guttural tones of her native Asshai. The flickering flames of the surrounding braziers cast dancing shadows against the walls, the light refracting through the ruby at her throat, which pulsed like a heartbeat.

Before her, a small brazier burned with an unnatural intensity, fed by oils and powders she had sprinkled into its depths. The fire danced and leaped, responding to her incantations, its flames twisting into shapes that seemed to defy the natural world. Faces appeared briefly—shadowy, indistinct forms that flickered in and out of existence like ghosts.

She was searching, reaching across the vastness of Westeros for her target. The former Targaryen princess, now Lady Lannister, was an anomaly to her visions, an enigma that refused to be revealed fully. Melisandre’s lips moved faster, her voice rising in urgency as she pushed harder against the veil of the unseen.

But then, something shifted.

The flames, which had been obedient and malleable, suddenly roared higher, blazing with a white-hot intensity that forced Melisandre to step back. A wave of heat rolled over her, searing and oppressive, and she raised her hands to shield her face. The ruby at her throat flared violently, its light so bright it painted the chamber in crimson.

“No!” she hissed, her voice breaking. “Show me! Reveal her to me!”

But instead of clarity, the fire erupted in a burst of chaotic energy. A deafening roar filled the chamber, echoing like the cry of a great beast, and a sudden force slammed into Melisandre, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her head struck the cold stone with a sickening crack, and the room spun as she struggled to regain her bearings.

The flames in the brazier had turned black, writhing and twisting as if alive, and from within the inferno, a shape began to emerge. It was dark and indistinct, but there was a sense of immense power emanating from it—something ancient and wild, something that defied her control.

The ruby at her throat burned like a brand, and she cried out, clutching at it as a searing pain shot through her body. Her connection to the flames, to her magic, was being turned against her, and she felt the power she had called forth recoil like a snake, striking at its master.

“No!” she gasped, her voice a mix of pain and desperation. “This cannot be!”

The shadowy form in the flames surged forward, and for a moment, Melisandre thought she saw the outline of a dragon—massive wings and a serpentine neck, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The roar came again, shaking the very foundations of the chamber, and the flames exploded outward in a wave of force that extinguished the braziers and plunged the room into darkness.

Melisandre lay motionless on the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The ruby at her throat had dimmed, its light flickering weakly, and the room was deathly silent except for the faint crackling of the dying fire. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, her vision swimming.

“What… what was that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A faint whisper echoed in the darkness, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was deep and resonant, carrying a weight that made her blood run cold.

"You meddle in powers beyond your understanding, priestess."

Her breath hitched, and she looked around wildly, but the chamber was empty. The fire in the brazier had gone out completely, leaving only smoldering ashes. The ruby at her throat gave one final, weak pulse of light before dimming entirely.

Shaken, Melisandre staggered to her feet, clutching the edge of the Painted Table for support. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had sought to pierce the veil, to uncover the truth about the Targaryen woman who had eluded her visions, but instead, she had been struck by a force far greater than anything she had encountered before.

“She is protected,” Melisandre whispered, her voice trembling. “By what, I do not know, but she is not alone in this world.”

Her gaze turned to the darkened brazier, the lingering scent of burnt oils still heavy in the air. She felt a pang of unease, a rare crack in her unwavering confidence. Whatever power surrounded the Targaryen woman, it was beyond her control, and that realization sent a chill down her spine.

With unsteady steps, Melisandre left the chamber, her mind reeling. She would have to tread carefully now, for the game had become far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

The warm glow of the mid-morning sun streamed through the arched windows of the Red Keep as you walked with Ser Barristan at your side and two of Tywin’s personal guards trailing close behind. It had been one moon since the shadow had invaded your bedchamber, and the increased protection around you had become your constant reality. Every step you took was measured, every moment scrutinized, and yet, the weight of unseen threats lingered.

As you rounded a corner leading to the gardens, soft, muffled sobs reached your ears. Your steps faltered, and you exchanged a glance with Ser Barristan, who instinctively moved closer, his eyes scanning the area for potential threats. But it wasn’t danger that awaited you—just heartbreak.

There, beneath the shade of a tall ash tree, you saw Sansa Stark crumpled on a stone bench, her face buried in her hands. Her delicate shoulders shook as she wept, and beside her sat Margaery Tyrell, her arm wrapped around Sansa’s trembling form, whispering words of comfort.

Concerned, you quickened your pace, your gown trailing behind you as you approached. “Sansa?” you called softly, your voice filled with worry. “What’s happened?”

Both women looked up, Sansa’s tear-streaked face breaking your heart. Her blue eyes were swollen and red, her expression one of utter despair. Margaery, ever poised, gave you a faint smile of greeting, though her own eyes carried a shadow of frustration.

“My lady,” Margaery began, her voice smooth but tinged with sadness, “it seems the council has made a… decision this morning. One that has upset Sansa greatly.”

Your stomach tightened, dread pooling in your chest as you looked between them. “What decision?” you asked, your tone sharpening as your gaze fixed on Margaery.

Margaery sighed, brushing a strand of Sansa’s auburn hair away from her tear-streaked face. “They have decided that Sansa is to marry Lord Tyrion. The arrangement was finalized this morning.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. When they did, your breath caught, a rush of disbelief and anger flooding through you. “Tyrion?” you repeated, your voice low but incredulous. “This was not the plan. The Tyrells promised she would marry Willas, did you not?”

Margaery’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of resigned frustration. “We did, my lady, but Lord Tywin is not a man to be countered easily. It seems he was… persuasive.”

Sansa let out a quiet sob, shaking her head as she clung to Margaery’s arm. “They’re using me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I have no choice. They’re… they’re taking everything from me.”

You knelt before her, gently taking her hands in yours. “Sansa,” you said softly, your tone firm yet filled with compassion, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her tear-filled eyes to meet yours.

“This is not fair, and it is not right,” you continued, your voice steady. “But you are stronger than you know. Tyrion is not like the others—he is not cruel. If this is to happen, you will not be alone in it.”

Sansa’s lips trembled, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t love him. I barely even know him.”

Your heart ached for her, and you squeezed her hands gently. “Love is rarely a luxury afforded to those of us born into noble houses,” you said softly. “But you have survived worse, Sansa. You will survive this too.”

Margaery glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “You speak with such certainty, my lady. Do you truly believe this will be a kinder fate for her?”

You met her gaze, your own eyes shadowed by the weight of your experiences. “I know Tyrion,” you replied quietly. “He is flawed, yes, but he is not heartless. He will not harm her.”

Margaery seemed to consider this, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded. “Then perhaps there is some hope,” she murmured, though her tone lacked conviction.

Sansa sniffled, her tears slowing slightly as she clung to your words. “What if… what if they change their minds again?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if they decide something even worse?”

You shook your head firmly. “Then I will stand by you,” you said, your voice unwavering. “No matter what happens, you will not face it alone.”

Ser Barristan, who had remained a respectful distance away, stepped closer, his presence a quiet reminder of your own precarious position in the court. You rose to your feet, glancing back at him briefly before returning your focus to Sansa and Margaery.

“Stay with her,” you said to Margaery, your tone soft but commanding. “She needs someone who can keep her steady right now.”

Margaery nodded, her expression solemn. “Of course.”

You reached out, brushing a strand of Sansa’s hair away from her face. “Take the time you need to grieve this, Sansa,” you said gently. “But do not let it consume you. You are a wolf, and wolves endure.”

She nodded faintly, her tears slowing as a flicker of determination began to creep into her expression. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As you turned to leave, Barristan fell into step beside you, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “You spoke well, my lady,” he said quietly. “But this court is filled with vipers. You cannot save everyone.”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Perhaps not, Ser Barristan,” you replied, your voice low. “But I can try. And I will not let her be devoured by them.”

The weight of your words hung between you as you walked away, your mind racing with thoughts of how to protect Sansa in a world determined to break her.

The chamber where Tywin and Olenna Tyrell sat was austere. The Painted Table between them was littered with scrolls, maps, and the remnants of a freshly poured pot of tea. Tywin, ever composed, sat upright in his chair, his steely gaze fixed on Olenna, whose sharp wit and relaxed demeanor made the tension in the room almost seen.

"You do understand, Lady Olenna," Tywin said in his measured tone, "this arrangement is not up for negotiation. Sansa Stark will marry my son, Tyrion. It is the best way to secure both her claim to Winterfell and the loyalty of the North, should Roose Bolton’s efforts falter."

Olenna tilted her head, a sardonic smile playing on her lips as she sipped her tea. "Yes, yes, Lord Tywin, but you can’t possibly expect the girl to be overjoyed at this prospect. A Lannister wedding is hardly a maiden’s dream these days. You’ve quite the reputation, you know."

Before Tywin could reply, the door opened abruptly, and you stepped in, your gown trailing behind you as Ser Barristan lingered in the doorway. The room grew heavier as both Tywin and Olenna turned their gazes toward you, the latter looking more intrigued than perturbed by the interruption.

“Forgive me,” you said, though your tone carried little contrition. “But I need to speak with you, Lord Tywin.”

Tywin arched a brow, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “We are in the middle of a discussion, Lady Y/N,” he said, his tone cold but measured. “Surely it can wait.”

“It cannot,” you countered, stepping further into the room. Your gaze flickered briefly to Olenna, who watched with unabashed interest. “This is about Sansa Stark.”

Olenna’s brows rose slightly, and she leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased to witness the exchange.

“What about her?” Tywin asked, his voice edged with impatience.

You clasped your hands in front of you, your posture straight and unyielding. “I’ve just spoken with her. She’s devastated by this decision to marry her to Tyrion. She was promised to Willas Tyrell. You’ve taken her hope and replaced it with something she cannot understand. She is a child, Tywin.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his composure hardening further. “She is a Stark, and she is a key to securing the North. Her feelings are irrelevant.”

You stepped closer, your voice rising slightly. “Irrelevant? You would sacrifice her peace of mind, her future, for your ambition?”

Tywin stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the table. “Peace of mind?” he repeated, his tone cold. “You speak of peace as though it were a luxury afforded to those in power. It is not. Sansa Stark has a duty to her family and to the realm. Just as you do.”

Olenna smirked, sipping her tea as she watched the exchange unfold like a play meant for her amusement.

“Duty,” you snapped, your voice sharp now. “Always duty with you, Tywin. Did you ever once consider the weight of what you demand from others? Or is everything and everyone simply another puppet to be moved around when it suits you?”

The room fell silent, the air crackling between you. Olenna’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smirk growing wider.

“I fail to see why this concerns you so deeply,” Tywin said finally, his tone softer but no less commanding. “You’ve made your point, Lady Y/N. Now leave the matter to those who understand it.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly as you replied, “If you understood it so well, Tywin, you wouldn’t have to deal with me right now.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Tywin might argue further, but then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head slightly, his expression shifting into something almost amused, though his voice remained firm. “Very well. I’ll speak with Sansa myself and ensure she understands her duty. You may go.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden concession, but you refused to let it show. Nodding curtly, you turned on your heel and left the room, Ser Barristan falling into step beside you as the door closed behind you.

Olenna chuckled softly, setting her teacup down with a satisfied clink. “Well, that was entertaining,” she said, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “I must say, Tywin, I didn’t think you had it in you to yield so gracefully.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, lowering himself back into his chair. “It wasn’t yielding,” he replied, his tone clipped. “It was strategy.”

Olenna leaned forward slightly, her grin widening. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it now? Strategy? I’ve never seen you so…” She waved a hand, searching for the word. “Accommodating.”

Tywin shot her a warning look, but Olenna merely laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I like her,” she said, nodding toward the door. “She has spirit. A dangerous thing to allow in your wife, but entertaining nonetheless.”

Tywin didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to the maps before him, though the faintest flicker of amusement lingered in his eyes.

The echoes of your footsteps on the stone floor were accompanied by Ser Barristan’s steady presence behind you. The corridor felt colder as you moved toward your chambers, the weight of your conversation with Tywin still fresh in your mind. As you rounded a corner, a familiar figure appeared before you—Cersei, her golden locks framing her smug expression. Her arms were crossed, and the glint in her emerald eyes told you she had been waiting for this encounter.

“Well, if it isn’t the Lady Lannister herself,” Cersei drawled, her tone laced with condescension. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You stopped, your expression calm but guarded. “Cersei,” you greeted, your voice civil. “What brings you here?”

She took a step closer, her eyes flickering briefly to your midsection before returning to your face. “I was merely curious,” she said with a practiced smile. “How is the pregnancy progressing? My father must be… overjoyed.”

Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, though your face betrayed none of the irritation her words stirred. “It progresses well,” you replied evenly. “Better than Grand Maester Pycelle expected, though I doubt his predictions are ever worth much.”

Cersei let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yes, Pycelle has a way of overstating his usefulness. But how fascinating that you’re handling it so well. I wonder, is it because of your Valyrian blood? Or do you simply thrive on being the center of attention?”

You met her gaze steadily, refusing to rise to the bait. “It’s neither, Cersei. Perhaps I’m simply stronger than you give me credit for.”

Her smirk faltered briefly before she recovered, stepping even closer. “Strength is important,” she said, her tone softening, though her eyes remained calculating. “Especially when surrounded by people pretending to be something else. You should remember that.”

“I do,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “And I’ve learned that strength comes not from tearing others down but from knowing when to rise above them.”

Cersei’s lips tightened, but she masked it quickly with another smile. “How noble of you,” she said archly. “I imagine you must be feeling quite sad about all of this.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Sad? About what, exactly?”

Her smile widened, her tone turning syrupy. “About poor little Sansa, of course. Such a sweet girl, isn’t she? So naive. It must pain you to see her traded like a pawn in a game she doesn’t understand.”

You allowed a pause, studying her carefully before replying. “It does pain me,” you said softly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Cersei arched an eyebrow, her amusement flickering with confusion. “Oh? Do enlighten me, then.”

You stepped closer, your gaze steady and unflinching as you lowered your voice. “It pains me, Cersei, because I see so much of you in her. A young girl, trapped in a world she cannot control, used and discarded by those around her. But where Sansa may still find hope, you…” You let the sentence hang, your tone laced with veiled courtesy. “You’ve lost yours.”

Her face hardened, the smugness draining away as she stared at you. “What nonsense is this?” she demanded, her voice low but sharp. “I’ve lost nothing.”

You offered a faint, almost pitying smile. “Haven’t you? You wear your crown of bitterness like armor, Cersei. But all it does is isolate you, even from those who should stand beside you.”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “Careful, Lady Lannister,” she said coldly. “You may be my father’s wife, but that does not grant you the right to lecture me.”

“I have no intention of lecturing,” you replied smoothly. “Only to remind you that strength comes in many forms. You may believe yourself untouchable, but even the tallest towers can crumble when their foundations are weak.”

Cersei’s gaze burned into yours, her hands clenched at her sides. For a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out, but instead, she forced a tight smile. “You think yourself so wise, don’t you?” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “But wisdom won’t save you from this game. You’ll see that soon enough.”

You inclined your head slightly, the gesture both respectful and dismissive. “Perhaps. But for now, I must prepare for the rest of the day. If you’ll excuse me, Cersei.”

You moved past her, your steps measured and composed, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. As you walked away, you felt her gaze burning into your back, but you did not look back. Ser Barristan fell into step beside you, his expression stoic but his presence reassuring.

“You were bold,” he murmured quietly. “She will not forget that.”

“She doesn’t need to forget,” you replied softly, your voice steady. “She only needs to think.”

Tywin sat at the head of the table, his posture as straight and imposing as ever, his hands steepled before him as he continued listening to Olenna Tyrell with a mixture of patience and calculation.

Olenna, for her part, seemed perfectly at ease, perched in her chair with an air of casual authority. Her sharp eyes danced with amusement as she studied Tywin, her teacup cradled delicately in her hands.

“Lord Tywin,” she began, her tone laced with a sly edge, “you and I have had many discussions about alliances, strategies, and, of course, the peculiarities of your family. But today, I thought we might delve into something a little more… personal.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained stoic. “Personal, Lady Olenna? I was under the impression that our discussions were strictly political.”

“Oh, politics and personal matters are often one and the same,” Olenna replied breezily, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “Especially when it comes to you, Lord Tywin. You’ve built your house on both, haven’t you?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained cool. “If you have a point, Lady Olenna, I suggest you make it.”

Olenna set her teacup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly as her expression grew more pointed. “Very well. I’ve recently had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old acquaintance—someone who, let’s say, remembers the court of King Aerys rather vividly.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“This acquaintance of mine,” Olenna went on, her voice smooth and unhurried, “mentioned something quite interesting about you. Specifically, about your… ambitions during those years. A certain proposal you made to the Mad King regarding his youngest daughter.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint glint of something in his eyes—irritation, perhaps, or caution. “And what, pray, does this acquaintance claim to know?”

Olenna’s smile widened, the corners of her lips curling with satisfaction. “Oh, nothing too scandalous. Just that you were rather… eager to secure a match between yourself and the young princess. A match, it seems, that the Mad King outright rejected.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice low but measured. “That is old history, Lady Olenna. If your intent is to dredge up ancient slights, I suggest you focus on matters more relevant to the present.”

“Oh, but it is relevant,” Olenna countered, her tone sharp as a blade. “After all, here we are, decades later, and you’ve finally achieved what you wanted, haven’t you? A Targaryen bride, the union of fire and gold.”

Tywin’s jaw clenched slightly, though he refused to rise to her bait. “What happened in the past is of no consequence to the decisions I make now.”

“Isn’t it?” Olenna pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I find it fascinating, really. You’ve always prided yourself on being a man of logic and control, yet here you are, married to the very woman whose family’s rejection you’ve surely never forgotten. One might wonder if this is about more than just strategy.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. “You would do well to remember, Lady Olenna, that I do not allow sentiment to cloud my judgment. My marriage to Lady Y/N is a calculated move—one that ensures the stability and legacy of House Lannister.”

Olenna chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Tywin, you’re as predictable as ever. Always so quick to dismiss anything that might suggest you’re… human. But you forget, I’ve known men like you all my life. You can claim strategy all you like, but I see it for what it is. You wanted her. You’ve always wanted her.”

Tywin’s gaze bore into hers, his silence heavy and deliberate. For a moment, something unspoken was in the room, the air thick with unspoken truths.

Finally, Olenna broke the silence, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “Well, whatever your reasons, I must admit, it’s all rather fascinating. The Mad King’s refusal, your patience—or perhaps obsession—and now this union. I do hope it works out for you, Tywin. It would be such a shame if history repeated itself.”

Tywin’s voice was as cold as steel when he finally spoke. “I appreciate your insights, Lady Olenna. But you would do well to remember that my choices are mine alone. If you wish to continue speculating on my motives, I suggest you do so elsewhere.”

Olenna smirked, rising from her seat with a regal grace. “Oh, don’t worry, Lord Tywin. I have no intention of causing trouble. But as I said, I find it all very… enlightening. Good day.”

With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. For a moment, he sat in silence, his hands steepled before him once more. His face betrayed nothing, but his mind churned with the memories Olenna had dredged up—memories he had long since buried.

The memories unfolded in Tywin’s mind like pages from an old, worn book. The vivid colors and echoes of King’s Landing during the height of Aerys Targaryen’s reign came rushing back—though the stench of paranoia and decay that lingered in the Red Keep overshadowed its grandeur. It was the day Tywin had laid out his plans to the Mad King, the day he believed he would solidify the ultimate alliance between House Lannister and House Targaryen.

The throne room was alive with dread, its gilded splendor marred by the unsettling presence of Aerys on the Iron Throne. The Mad King, even then, exuded a sense of menace, his long, unkempt hair cascading over his gaunt face, his violet eyes burning with deranged delight as he listened to Tywin.

"You think," Aerys had said, his voice high-pitched and mocking, "that I would tie my daughter—the blood of Old Valyria, the dragon's line—to you, Tywin? To a lion? A beast of the field?"

Tywin had stood at the base of the Iron Throne, as unflinching as he had been when he first took up the position of Hand. He had chosen his words carefully, keeping his tone steady and devoid of the sharpness that often accompanied his temper. “Your Grace,” he began, “a union between House Lannister and House Targaryen would strengthen the realm immeasurably. My daughter, Cersei, is young and beautiful, a match fit for Prince Rhaegar. And I—”

“You,” Aerys interrupted with a cackle, leaning forward on the throne, his fingers twitching against the jagged edges of the swords that surrounded him. “You would take my daughter as your wife? A dragoness for a lion?”

Varys had been there, lingering in the shadows, his expression inscrutable as his keen eyes darted between Tywin and the Mad King. Several courtiers stood nearby, including Lord Chelsted and Lord Merryweather, their faces betraying thinly veiled discomfort at the volatile mood in the room.

“I would,” Tywin continued, ignoring the ripple of murmurs that spread through the chamber. “Lady Y/N is a princess of royal blood, but she is also young and unwed. A match between us would unify the crown and the wealthiest house in the realm. Such a bond—”

“Enough!” Aerys’s voice boomed, and he rose from the throne, his movements erratic. He descended the steps slowly, his robes trailing behind him like blackened fire. “You think to bind me with your gold, Tywin? To cage the dragons with your lions’ claws? No. Never.”

Tywin remained composed, though the heat of anger burned beneath his skin. “Your Grace, I seek only to serve the realm and secure the future of your house. A union with House Lannister—”

“Would be an insult!” Aerys snarled, his voice echoing off the walls. “The blood of the dragon is pure, untainted by the likes of you. Lions have no place among dragons. They belong in the dirt, clawing for scraps.”

Laughter erupted from Aerys, high and shrill, as he turned his back on Tywin and ascended the steps once more. “Perhaps your daughter can find herself a kennel,” Aerys continued, his voice dripping with malice. “And as for you, Tywin, you forget your place. You serve me. Do not presume to dictate terms to your king.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the courtiers, though it was hesitant, wary. Varys stepped forward then, his movements as fluid as a shadow. “Your Grace,” the spymaster said, his voice silken and unassuming, “perhaps Lord Tywin’s offer was made out of his deep respect for your house. A rare moment of… misjudgment, surely.”

Aerys turned to Varys, his expression shifting from contempt to suspicion. “Misjudgment?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Or treason?”

“Never treason, Your Grace,” Varys replied smoothly. “Lord Tywin’s loyalty is beyond question. But he is ambitious, and ambition often blinds even the most loyal servants.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked to Varys briefly, his jaw tightening. He knew the eunuch’s words were calculated, a subtle way of defusing the situation while also keeping Aerys’s ire focused elsewhere.

The Mad King waved his hand dismissively, his attention already waning. “Begone, Tywin,” he muttered, sinking back onto the Iron Throne. “And take your golden dreams with you. My bloodline will not be sullied by yours.”

Tywin bowed stiffly, his mind churning with barely restrained fury as he turned and left the chamber. The laughter of Aerys echoed behind him, a sound that would linger in his memory for years to come.

Back in the present, Tywin’s jaw tightened as he recalled that day, the humiliation of being so openly dismissed. Aerys’s madness had only grown after that, and the rift between them widened beyond repair. It was a lesson he never forgot: power was not given—it was taken, seized with unrelenting force.

And now, decades later, he had what Aerys had denied him. The Targaryen princess was his, bound by marriage and bearing his child. Tywin’s lips thinned into a faint smirk. Aerys had laughed at him, but the Mad King was long dead, his dragons reduced to ashes, while Tywin Lannister remained unbroken, building his legacy one calculated step at a time.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got #got x you #got x y/n #got tywin #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen

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muddypyro · 1 year ago

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this recipe is third generation, and after several attempts to 'breed' a dark crystalline glaze, I stumbled on this;

this would be a good example of cobalt and nickel competing for crystal coloration. it's a greener hue in person, but with so much refraction going on, photographing it has been difficult. another stable glaze, in terms of crazing and keeping up with the porcelain.

when soaked in acid to leach excess oxides;

quite different!

trying to think of a good name for this result...

and still trying to get a fully deep/dark crystalline glaze. already have some ideas from this result though, testing that out next firing!

#pottery #clay #ceramics #wheelthrownpottery #glaze testing #porcelain #crystal growing #full time artist #chemistry #blue #crystalline #green #black and white

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eoieopda · 1 year ago

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all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully.

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble.

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself.

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest.

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?”

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully.

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives.

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain.

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh.

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation.

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over.

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers.

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads.

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them.

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter.

How could you not?

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard.

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response.

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel:

“I l-love it when you do that.”

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

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