#Night city parlor

[lumilasi]

Fun fact: this is the first time my friend went "I'd date him too" about my character lol

I honestly really like how this came out; dynamic poses are hard so I'm pretty happy I didn't mess this up. I still don't like drawing feathered wings, but at least they look passable here.

Another fun fact: Marco going back to his roots by having a bone/claw blade. His OG version had ones too.

I considered if he should also have like a beak mask for this form, but I didn't want to hide his pretty face, so he only gets his beak when fully transformed.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (IV)

Happy Holidays! Remember your plans to visit friends and family back in your home country? Scratch that. The Yakuza men have other ideas for you in this cozy Christmas special. And you finally get to meet their fearsome Boss, who has a request for you.

Content: female reader, fluff

[Part 3] | [Part 5] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

You stare at your phone in disbelief, rereading each line and hoping you've misunderstood the kanji. Daitou and Kazuya are quietly frowning behind you, unsure how to help in such a situation. Their lack of response only confirms it.

The brief paragraph is written in bold, red font: Due to weather conditions, all flights are cancelled until further notice. Passengers have been refunded and will need to repurchase their tickets at first convenience.

One glimpse at the last-minute prices and you're certain of it: you won't be going home for Christmas. You slouch and sigh, somewhat at peace with the idea. What else can you do? You might as well get yourself a KFC bucket and stare at the holiday lights in the city center. You and the couples taking cheesy Christmas selfies, who will later wonder about the gloomy loner behind them philosophically crunching on spicy wings.

"Don't look so defeated, (Y/N). You can just spend that time with us instead. We're not such terrible company, are we?" Kazuya jokes, trying to cheer you up.

"We could even go on a trip around New Year."

Your eyes light up in anticipation, the sadness vanishing almost instantly. 

"Can we go to one of those hot spring inns? I've always wanted to visit an onsen." You put your hands together pleadingly. 

"Whoa! Take me out to dinner first if you're that eager to see me naked." The blonde man winks at you smugly. 

"How would I see you naked? The baths are separated, aren't they?" You inquire. 

"We can't go to the regular ones." Daitou pulls his collar slightly downwards, revealing a fragment of his traditional tattoos. True. A yakuza would never be allowed among the civilians. "We'd have to book a private bath, so there wouldn't be anyone else."

You blush at the prospect of being alone with the two men. Kazuya notices your nervousness and is about to continue his teasing, but Daitou speaks before him, unbothered and oblivious:

"Besides, you've already seen me naked. I can tell you Kazuya doesn't look much different. There's nothing to be shy about."

The blonde man can only gawk, taken aback, and you shove Daitou in a flustered panic, fumbling to find an excuse or a change of subject.

He didn't have to make your business public like that, or he could've at least announced it without you being present. Judging by the blonde's speechless reaction, you're guessing he hasn't been told about your sneaky office smooching that led to the occasional sleepover. If you think about it, there's nothing shameful about being intimate with your boyfriend, but...It's not something you're fully accustomed to yet.

As promised, after the coworker incident you were soon greeted with a job offer in the neighborhood. When you went to your old office to discuss the mandatory year contract, the managers nervously handed you an approval for resignation and refused to discuss any details. You were free to go, no penalty or obligation. They had a fearful demeanor and you hoped Daitou didn't dismember anyone involved. Regardless of his means, you were now at the liberty to pursue other careers.

On the other hand, you were rather anxious about your new workplace. You had flashing visions of drug cartels and gambling parlors, with thugs rattling their drinks at you and demanding proper service. Windows breaking and masked men rolling onto the floor, armed to the brim. Ginza hostesses scurrying behind you and asking for help against an angered client. The night before your first day, you restlessly shuffled in your bed, plagued by second thoughts. What could you possibly do for the yakuza? What ghoulish demands would they prepare for you?

Daitou was the one to accompany you in the morning. He showed you to your desk, and you could discern the blurred frames of people angrily discussing matters in the opposing meeting room, separated by a large window. You gulped.

"They're building a new apartment complex two streets down." Your boyfriend mentioned casually, helping you settle with your belongings. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were curious about their talk."

"I mean, I am, but...Is that it?" You gazed at him incredulously. 

"What else? This is a real estate office. Upstairs is the stock investments."

"Oh...Oh...I thought..." You were a little embarrassed. The imaginary scenarios of bloody battles and crimes that kept you awake felt quite ridiculous now.

Daitou seemed to have picked up on your assumptions, because he chuckled and ruffled your hair, following with an explanation. 

"Boss is very strict with our Ninkyo-Do. If you're caught with drugs or petty theft, you're excommunicated. We used to have a bunch of gambling casinos as main income, but nowadays there's too much pressure from the police, ya know? Half of our members aren't even officially registered with the Yakuza, so they can't be tracked. We mostly do stocks and real estate. That's where the cash is. 

Heh. Kinda boring, ain't it? I'm afraid you showed up way after the golden times. Even I'm too young for it. If ya want, I can ask one of the retired seniors to tell you about it. He has a lot of great stories."

You held your tongue from bringing up his frequent killing sprees and just nodded, amused by the fact that his code of conduct didn't register human casualties as wrong. The Yakuza have strict rules of ethics that set them apart from regular mafia. Depending on the Oyabun, or Head of the Family, this chivalrous way of living is reinforced to all members or conveniently swept under the rug. Daitou's Boss seemed to fit in the former category. 

Therefore your "office job" turned out to be an actual office job without the quotes. Although you were often reminded the people passing by weren't your regular salarymen. Many of them were entirely transparent with you, striking up conversations about their latest arrest, or complaining about the poor quality of their pinky finger prosthetic they'd ordered from the Philippines. 

But this isn't the time to reminisce. The prolonged silence is unbearable and one could fry eggs on your hot, burning cheeks. Kazuya is the one to break the awkwardness. 

"Oh, yeah...You coming to the Christmas thing this evening?"

"We'll be there." Daitou smiles innocently, unaware of the discomfort he just caused.

Kazuya raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks at you.

"Did you...?"

"Yup. It's all fine." The dark haired man nods reassuringly. 

"Then I'll see you at dinner, little (Y/N). Don't catch a fever with all that steam blowing out of you." He laughs at your still baffled expression and places his large hand on your head, departing.

Daitou holds the door open for you and you hurry inside. As you both walk down the hallway of the luxurious restaurant, you can't help the nagging feeling that he's once again omitted some vital information. 

"Can you tell me again who else is coming? Just Kazuya?"

"Oh no, it's a Family meeting. So Boss and the rest of the Seniors, too."

You gasp in horror, but before you can scold him, you find yourself behind the canvas screen divider, facing a table of older men in suits, holding their drinks and eyeing you suspiciously. 

"Oi, who the fuck is this, Daitou?" one of them growls. 

"I already told you before, (Y/N). My girlfriend."

"Huh? Did you seriously just bring a civvy to our meeting? I knew you got a loose screw, boy, but this tops it all."

Daitou frowns and steps in front of you, visibly annoyed. 

"If ya got a problem with my woman being here, I can settle it for you, old man. When was the last time you fought someone?"

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've gotten too comfortable sitting up there and barking orders. Let me remind you why they leave the killings to me."

The thick tension in the air is quickly dispersed by a loud, relaxed laugh. At the end of the table, a heavily scarred man with grey hair is clapping his hands in delight, seemingly amused by the events unfolding. He glances at you and pats a cushioned seat to his right. 

"There you are! Come join us, miss (Y/N). Ignore those rusty grumps, they ain't seen a woman outside a host club." He throws the instigator a brief glare. "Is that any way to talk to my guest, Oota?"

The man swallows dryly and mutters an apology. He goes back to his drink, preoccupied, and the rest follow suit. 

You hesitantly kneel down to your designated place, sheepishly peeking at the mysterious figure. Could it be? As if reading your mind, Daitou places an encouraging hand on your waist and lowers his head to your ear, swiftly whispering "that's Boss" before going to greet the others at the table. 

"I-it's a pleasure meeting you, Sir." You mumble nervously.

"No no, pleasure is all mine. I'm Eiji Ijichi, 8th Head of our Family." 

His introduction is unexpectedly warm and his easygoing way of speaking reminds you a lot of Daitou. The faintest grin threatens to appear, but you cover your mouth. With enough imagination, this could be the equivalent of meeting your in-laws. This is Daitou's family, after all. A criminally scary one, but nonetheless you've been welcomed with open arms.

"Do you drink?" The older man asks you, raising his porcelain cup.

"Naturally." You exclaim and lift your own cup enthusiastically. 

"Attagirl!"

As the night progresses, the men at the table are loosening up under the influence of expensive alcohol. Kazuya seems to be caught in a terribly involved conversation with Daitou and one of their Captains, gesturing dramatically and occasionally raising his tone. You notice your glass has once again been filled by the waitress and take another sip, satisfied with observing their fun from the sidelines. Boss has a similar approach, gazing nostalgically over the rowdy group of thugs.

He reaches for his pack of smokes and you scramble to pick up the lighter, politely bowing as you light up his cigarette. He smiles at your gesture. 

"I see Daitou's trained you already."

He ponders for a moment, gently blowing a cloud of smoke upwards. 

"You'll make a good wife."

"Excuse me?" You question, startled by his sudden remark. 

"It's hard to tell, but I'm getting pretty old myself." He snickers at his self made compliment. "Soon it'll be time to pick my successor. I have no children, unless you count that rascal I picked from the streets." He says as he tilts his chin towards Daitou. 

"I love him like my own kid, but I'm sure you noticed he's a little off. Everyone is terrified of him. You can't have a leader if everyone runs away from him, ya know? I was starting to get worried I'd work myself through retirement. Kazuya can only do so much!

Then he comes up to me grinning like an idiot. I thought, 'There it is. He finally lost it', but instead he asks me if I want to see a photo of his girlfriend. Girlfriend?! I was ready to witness some crusty body pillow, my hand was on the phone to call our Family doctor. He shows me a cute foreigner standing next to him. Now I'm pretty sure he's not smart enough to fake photos like that, so it must be the real deal. 'How the Devil did ya pull this one?' I asked him. Cause listen, I was rather handsome back in my day and I still wouldn't have been this lucky.

And would ya look at that, it's the miss that moved into our apartments! How's the living conditions, by the way? Everything going fine?"

You nod energetically.

"Good, good."

He crosses his arms and nods himself, satisfied. He turns to gaze at you intently, with a face you can't quite read.

"You gotta excuse a drunk old man for rambling so much. What I'm trying to say...well...

Take care of him when he becomes the 9th, will ya? If he has you, I'm sure he'll manage. But don't tell him I said that! You gotta keep them humble. See, that's a lesson for you too. If there's one person the Head of the Family bows to, that's his wife! But I doubt he'd let the power get to his head."

You both turn to Daitou. He just finished pouring more sake to his superior and notices your stare. He blushes slightly and waves, unsure why he's suddenly being observed. 

"I think so, too." You respond, waving back. 

How would that look on a CV? Ane-san of a Yakuza family. 

[witchywithwhiskey]

for so long as you live

pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: the fearsome boss of new york city's russian mob proves a point about who you belong to

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), very mild dubcon, intoxication, fingering (f receiving), public play, finger sucking, choking, breathplay, very mild blood kink, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (printsessa), very possessive bucky

word count: 2.0k

a/n: i wrote this for @the-slumberparty's emoji game using these: 🍕❤️🔥 i hope the plot twist in this actually works (idk if it counts as a PLOT twist but whatever). i just hope it's surprising but still makes sense!!! also all the russian words are from google translate so if any are wrong, let me know and i'll fix them (translations are down at the bottom because one is a spoiler!) anyway i hope y'all enjoy!!

It was a warm summer night in New York City, the kind where even the breeze was pleasant enough that you didn’t resist when a balmy gust slipped beneath the hem of your short white dress and slid up your legs, tickling the soft skin of your thighs. 

Neither did you resist when the breeze was chased by the searching hand of Bucky Barnes, his fingers skimming up your smooth skin as he curled his body around yours in the back booth of the late night Brooklyn pizza parlor.

The front door of the shop was open, and all manner of drunken Brooklynites traipsed over the threshold, intent on ordering a greasy slice that would soak up some of the alcohol in their stomachs. The crowd was loud and rowdy and thankfully unobservant, because you were painfully aware that any one of them could very easily catch you with Bucky’s hand up your skirt. 

The back booth wasn’t nearly dark enough, nor secluded enough to hide you entirely from view, but the insistent desire and warming liquor pounding in your blood made it difficult to care. 

Bucky’s fingers slid another inch up your thigh, pressing between your soft curves until they found the wetness that had dripped from your folds and made a mess under your skirt. His rumbling chuckle felt like another warm, summer breeze, suffusing you in a heat that burned from the inside out. 

Your thighs fell open of their own accord, giving Bucky unfettered access to the place that ached for his touch, even as a protesting whine worked its way up your throat.

“Bucky…” you mewled, your reticence clear in your tone. Your fingers closed around the sinewy forearm that was disappearing up your skirt, intent on pulling him away from your soaking heat. Your nails dug into his golden skin when his other hand darted out and grabbed you by the throat. 

With his thumb pressed to the hinge of your jaw, he turned your face to him, a warning sparkling in his ice blue eyes. A thrum of fear and excitement churned low in your belly at the way Bucky was looking at you—like you were prey, and he was a predator who had already decided he was going to eat you for dinner.

“I hope you weren’t about to tell me not to touch this pussy, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, his voice deep and low like an oncoming thunderstorm. His hand wedged between your thighs beneath your skirt, shoving your legs wider so that he could cup your bare heat in his palm. “I hope you haven’t forgotten who this cunt belongs to.” 

Your breath was coming in short, rabbity pants, your heart racing in your chest and your blood pounding in your veins like you were running for your life. But your mind knew what your body did not—it would be pointless to run from Bucky Barnes. 

The Zimniy Soldat was the most feared boss in the city’s Russian mafia, a fact you’d learned the hard way when your father had paid off his debts by giving you to Bucky. 

Bucky’s gaze bore into your own as he pushed two fingers into your tight channel, his eyes watching hungrily as your face went slack with pleasure. 

“I’ll touch you whenever I want,” he growled, dragging his fingers back and plunging them into you again slowly, his eyes never straying from your face. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want—where ever I want.” 

His other hand held you pinned to the leather booth by your throat, your body responding so eagerly to his touch that it felt like a betrayal. His thumb and forefinger pressed into the sides of your neck making your pussy spasm around his fingers. 

Your body proved Bucky’s point before he made it as he rumbled, “This cunt belongs to me, printsessa.” 

You hadn’t said a word since his name, but your slow submission was clear in every little movement of your body—your thighs spreading even wider for Bucky’s hand, your limbs loosening and melting into his hold, your lips falling open in a soundless moan as he fingerfucked you. Bucky owned you, and you both knew it. 

And he relished your submission, even if you hadn’t quite accepted his possession of you yet. But you would.

The victorious smile that curved Bucky’s mouth was sharp and dangerous as a knife. When he spoke, though, his voice was as warm as the balmy summer breeze. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, “give yourself to me.” The ice in his eyes was slowly but surely melting as he watched pleasure dance across your face, his smile widening into something hot and hungry. “This life of yours is mine now, printsessa, but if you’re a good girl for me, I can make sure it’s filled with pleasure and happiness,” he purred, his lips brushing against the apple of your cheek, their softness followed by the rough scrape of his scruff. 

Bucky slid a third finger into your tight hole, stretching you wider and making you bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out in pain-edged pleasure. Your chest heaved with the effort to stay quiet and, unbidden, a tear slipped from the corner of your eye while blood pooled on your lip. 

But Bucky never stopped fucking you with his fingers, his hand working your body expertly as the soft, wet sounds of your obscenely sopping cunt reached your ears. Instead, the Zimniy Soldat kissed the tear from your cheek and licked the blood from your swollen lip, pulling back to stare into your eyes as he watched you come undone for him. 

“You are mine,” he said with a tone of finality, as if his statement was an incontrovertible fact. Any protest you might’ve had—though in truth, you didn’t have any left—died in your throat as he choked you harder, his fingers working your pussy faster, grinding the heel of his palm into your wet, puffy clit as he continued on, pushing you to the edge of your release. “Moya printsessa, moya zhena.” 

You felt Bucky’s ring—your husband’s ring—smooth and unyielding and warm from his skin, slip inside your cunt as he buried his fingers in your body. He rubbed your clit ruthlessly until he made you come right there in the back of the pizza parlor, not caring if anyone in the crowded shop could see it.

Your left hand, bedecked in a dazzling white sapphire ring and matching wedding band, wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to the most dangerous man in all of New York City while he made you come harder than you ever had before. Pleasure tore through your body as you held Bucky’s warm blue gaze, staring at the man who’d staked his claim on you.

The man you’d married only a few hours prior because it was the only way to settle your father’s debts.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Bucky growled, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm, his eyes watching you hungrily, greedily.

Already, you could read him well enough to know he was thinking about watching you come on his cock as he claimed you in the most base, primal way possible. Your pussy clenched harder on his fingers at the thought, your body aching for it even as you came.

“Come all over your husband’s fingers—see how good I can be to you when you obey me, printsessa.” 

Your teeth had sunk deep into your lower lip to quell any sounds of ecstasy, but the pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and you threw your head back. Your breathy cry was muffled by Bucky’s fingers choking your throat harder, which only wrung even more bliss out of your body as black crept into the edges of your vision. 

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, your husband’s relentless touch dragging out your release until your strangled moans devolved into desperate whimpers. Tears gathered in your lashes, and your entire body trembled in the red leather booth at the back of the pizza parlor.

Only then did Bucky relent. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured before his lips slammed down on yours, his mouth claiming yours just as surely as his fingers had claimed your cunt. 

He swallowed the keening whine you let out when he pulled his fingers from your throbbing pussy, your body aching at the loss of him. But then he replaced his mouth with them, pushing his fingers between your lips so you could taste your release—the release he’d wrung so masterfully from your body.

“Clean up your mess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, his eyes sparkling with depraved delight as you dutifully licked his fingers clean.

When he decided you were done, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and let you collapse against his chest, your cheek pressed to his white cotton dress shirt—the one he’d worn to your wedding earlier that day. 

His jacket had been shed at some point during the party at one of his nightclubs—a club decorated in neon red hearts. Bucky had smirked in amusement when you’d pointed out the irony of celebrating your forced marriage in a place where the theme was love. 

That infuriating smirk had made you decide the best way to celebrate your sham nuptials was to drink and dance the night away. You’d spent your night trying not to notice how handsome the mob boss you’d married was, or how delicious he looked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Or how a very small part of you enjoyed the way his eyes never strayed from you for long. 

It had been your idea to get some pizza after the club, a last ditch attempt to put off the wedding night you were certain Bucky expected. You kept telling yourself you didn’t want him to touch you, but the second his fingers had grazed your bare knee beneath the simple white dress you wore, tingles of pleasure going straight to your clit, you’d known it was no use pretending you didn’t want your new husband. 

When your father told you he’d arranged for you to marry the Zimniy Soldat in exchange for having his debts cleared, you never believed you could find anything to like about your mob boss husband. But Bucky had proven you very wrong in that back booth in the pizza parlor, and you were warming up to the idea of being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.

“Tell me you’re mine, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, drawing your thoughts back to the present moment. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head where it was tucked under his chin, and your heart flipped happily in your chest.

The words were no less a command for the warmth in his tone that he seemed to reserve for only you, his new wife. 

Perhaps it was because of the pleasure still thrumming through your body, or because you weren’t so convinced anymore that being married to the Zimniy Soldat would be a bad thing, but the words came much easier to your lips than you would’ve expected. 

“I’m yours, my husband.” 

A pleased sound rumbled in Bucky’s throat and you felt the way his heart beat harder in his chest with your cheek pressed to his sternum. You couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips when Bucky threaded the fingers of his left hand through yours, your matching rings slotting next to each other and glittering beneath the yellow lights of the pizza parlor.

“You’ll be happy with me,” Bucky promised, the most recent of many vows he’d made to you that day. His words rang with determination and an emotion you’d never expected to hear from the mob boss—adoration. “So long as you always remember you belong to me, moya zhena.” 

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at his possessive words, finding yourself liking them much more than you would’ve thought. 

Something told you that you’d never forget you belonged to Bucky Barnes. Not at any point during the hopefully long and happy life you were going to live with him. You were his wife, and he was your husband, for so long as you both should live.

translations:

printsessa/moya printsessa - princess/my princess

Zimniy Soldat - Winter Soldier

moya zhena - my wife

[aleskie]

ANYTHING THAT CAN GO WRONG WILL GO WRONG | Nico Hischier x Reader

SUMMARY: Nico wants to marry you. He's more sure of that than anything else. Things just aren't going according to plan.

Warnings: no warnings, just fluff and a lil bit of murphy's law -> happy endingggg!! Author's Note: I'm baaaaaack~~~ Happy 2025! Here's a quick lil thing to start us off this year! Thanks for tuning in MWAH

If there was one thing Nico was sure of, it was that he wanted to marry you.

He wanted to plan a wedding with you—debating seating arrangements and floral designs, choosing party favors, and having all the little arguments couples have before they find a compromise. He wanted to go on a honeymoon, maybe to Costa Rica like he’d always dreamed, or maybe somewhere else you’d want to go. Maybe both. It didn’t really matter to him, as long as you were together. He wanted to see you walk down the aisle, knowing he’d be wiping away tears as he watched you walk closer to him, step by step, towards your shared future.

He wanted to carry you across the threshold of your new home, to go furniture shopping and hang pictures on the walls. He wanted to decorate a nursery, pick out toys, and watch you laugh as you played with your child—a little person who was so perfectly both of you.

From waking up beside you each morning to arguing and making up, to coming home to you after a long, tiring day—he wanted it all. He wanted everything with you: the good, the bad, and all the imperfect, fleeting moments in between.

He has it all planned out. He’s gotten a reservation at the restaurant you had your first date in, complete with the course you had the very first time you went. Unfortunately, they said he couldn’t just reserve a specific table but they did offer him a private area that overlooks the city, so it wasn’t too bad. He’s made sure they have your favorite wine on hand, and your favorite cocktails too just in case you were feeling it that night. 

After dinner, he’d take you to the ice cream parlor where you’d kissed him on the cheek for the very first time. He’d already called to confirm they still had that one niche flavor you loved—the one he was pretty sure only you ever ordered. Then, to end the night, he’d bring you to the little bookshop café where you’d shared your first real kiss.

There, he’d tell you he loved you. He’d tell you how much your smile and your laugh meant to him, how you made him a better person because you inspired him to be the best version of himself. Because he wanted to be the best person for you. He’d list all the little things he adored about you, and then he’d say what he’d been holding in his heart for so long: he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He wanted to grow old together, hand in hand.

And then, he’d kneel down and ask you to marry him.

If he was lucky—and he knew in his heart he would be—you’d say yes.

So, why has nothing been going his way?

Summers in Switzerland were one of Nico’s favorite things in the world. The weather, the views, the precious time spent with his family—Nothing could beat it. The cool breeze that wasn’t too cold, the ideal weather for hiking through the nearby mountains with his siblings, the serene lake perfect for lounging and sneaking in lazy afternoon naps—it was heaven. Most importantly, he got to see one of his favorite views: you lounging around in your swimsuits. The summer music festivals also added to the magic, offering nights filled with dancing to everything from EDM beats to indie melodies, with stolen kisses tucked between songs. Everything was just…perfect.

But it was during what was supposed to be an idyllic lake day that things began to unravel.

He and Luca were on the porch, getting the grill ready for lunch. They worked and chatted side by side, oiling the grates, filling the drum with coal, and securing everything in place. From the corner of his eye, Nico spotted you and Nina lounging by the pier, chatting and sipping the margaritas you’d mixed earlier. You were all smiles, relaxed in a way that made his heart swell. He loved how effortlessly you fit in with his family. It only strengthened the resolve in him to officially make you a part of it.

He gave Luca a pat on the back before heading toward you, his steps light, his mood lighter.

“Well, we’ve talked about it, but maybe we’re both not there yet,” he heard you say as he approached, “I mean, I am. But I don’t know if he is.”

“Oh, you’re both there,” Nina replied confidently, her voice teasing and certain, “Trust me.”

“You think so?” Your voice softened, and Nico could almost picture the way your lips curved into a smile. As he got closer, curiosity stirred in his chest. What were you two chatting about? There wasn’t much you hadn’t discussed or aligned on. Communication was a cornerstone of your relationship.

Then Nina spoke again, her voice laced with the telltale looseness of someone a little too tipsy. And just like that, everything clicked.

“Oh, honey, you should’ve seen the ring!”

Nico froze, his stomach flipping. He saw the instant regret flash across Nina’s face—eyes wide as she processed saying something she shouldn’t have.

“What ring?” you asked, tilting your head in curiosity, the gears in your mind already beginning to turn.

But Nico wasn’t about to let you connect the dots. Not yet.

“Nina!” he called out, his voice cutting through the summer air as he quickened his pace, “Luca needs you with the grill!”

Nina turns back, a wave of relief flashing across her face as she downs the rest of her drink in one swift motion. "Tell him I’m coming!" she calls out, her voice a little too cheerful as she rises from her seat.

Before rushing off, she leans down to give you a quick hug, murmuring just loudly enough for Nico to hear, “I didn’t say anything.”

Nico rolls his eyes as she brushes past him, clearly trying to cover her tracks. The damage was already done, but he wasn’t about to let it spiral further.

He stalks closer, his annoyance melting away as his gaze settles on you. You’re lounging in one of his shirts, the oversized fabric falling to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves brushing your forearms. The way it drapes over you makes his heart flutter—like you belong to him in the most effortless, natural way.

“Hi, baby,” he says, his voice warm as he leans on the armrest of the thick lounge chair you’re perched on.

You look up at him, your brows slightly furrowed, your lips parting as if to speak. He knows that look—you’re trying to piece together what Nina let slip, to draw some kind of answer from him without having to ask outright.

He doesn’t give you the chance.

Reaching down, he picks up the margarita you’d been nursing and takes a slow, deliberate sip, all while keeping his eyes on yours. “Mmm,” he hums appreciatively. “This is good. You make the best drinks, you know that?”

“Honey.” Your voice is sharp with curiosity, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “What ring is she talking about?”

He chuckles, a soft sound meant to disarm you as much as his grin—a grin he hopes doesn’t betray his nerves. “Nina’s just had a little too much to drink. It’s nothing you need to worry about.” He shrugs, aiming for nonchalance.

Not yet, anyway.

You tilt your head, skepticism written all over your face. It’s clear you’re unconvinced, and Nico can feel a bead of sweat trickling down his back despite the cool summer breeze. He knows you well enough to sense that you’re on the verge of figuring it all out. He also knows you’re kind enough to let him off the hook, to leave the surprise intact—if only because you love seeing him squirm just a little.

A knowing smirk tugs at your lips, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alrighty,” you say, drawing out the word teasingly. “If you say so.”

Nico exhales a small breath of relief, his grin widening.

“Did Luca actually need help with the grill,” you ask, arching an eyebrow, “Or did you just want to steal my drink?”

He laughs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Who knows?” he murmurs, handing the glass back to you.

As the two of you settle back into the quiet, the soft lapping of the lake filling the space between you, Nico can’t help but smile to himself. He’d already bought the ring—in the exact cut you wanted, with the metal band you’d once hinted was your favorite—and it was scheduled to arrive soon.

The moment Nina had so carelessly hinted at was fast approaching, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when it finally happened.

It was rare for Nico to have an entire free day to spend with you, which made the moments all the more special when they came around.

The day had started perfectly. He woke up to find your arm draped across his middle, your soft breaths tickling his skin. For a moment, he stayed there, watching your peaceful frame, memorizing the way the morning light kissed your face. Eventually, he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb you, and made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

When you woke up, you found him at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the air as you padded over to wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You ate together, sharing syrupy bites of pancakes and stealing sips of each other’s coffee.

After breakfast, you both moved to the sink. It turned into a dance of domestic harmony—you washed the plates while he dried them, sneaking in playful splashes of water that made you both laugh.

Later, you got ready together. In the shower, he lathered shampoo into your hair while you ran soapy circles across his back. When you stepped out, he sat you on the bathroom counter, your lips forming a dramatic pout as you begrudgingly trimmed his beard.

By mid-morning, you were tangled together on the couch, a blanket draped over you as a show played in the background. His arm rested beneath your head, your legs stretched across his lap. It was his own little slice of heaven, perfect and untouched by the outside world.

And then, you said you had errands to run.

“It’ll only be for a few minutes,” you promised, stroking his head with a teasing grin as he groaned in protest.

“Fine,” he relented, though his pout remained firmly in place. He basked in the soft kiss you planted on his lips before you grabbed your bag and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt too loud. He sighed dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch. Reaching for a pillow, he hugged it against his chest, letting it stand in as your replacement.

With you gone, he turned his attention back to the show, finding himself unexpectedly drawn into the plot. Still, every so often, his mind wandered to you—wondering how long the errands would take, what you might bring back, and how soon he could coax you back into his arms.

He sighs. Even a few minutes felt too long without you.

It takes an hour for you to return, your tote bag filled with simple ingredients for a late-lunch-early-dinner combo. Nico perks up from the couch as soon as he hears the door open, his pout fading into a grin. In your hands, he spots a small brown package, which you place on the kitchen island before unloading the groceries.

“I ran into the delivery guy on my way back,” you explain casually, arranging the fresh vegetables in the fridge. “This came for you.”

“Ah,” he says, pausing the show he was watching. “Must be the hoodie I ordered a few days ago. I was wondering when it would show up.” He glances over, smiling. “Wanna open it?”

“Open my new sweater?” you tease, shooting him a knowing look as you retrieve a pair of scissors from the drawer. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. He knows full well that every hoodie of his eventually finds its way into your closet.

Carefully, you slice open the tape and pull apart the packaging. But instead of a soft bundle of fabric, you reveal a small box, no larger than the palm of your hand.

You pause, curiosity piqued. It doesn’t look like a hoodie, and for a moment, you think maybe it’s one of his surprises for you—a pair of earrings or a delicate necklace, perhaps. With a small smile, you lift the lid of the box.

Inside, nestled against a soft velvet lining, is a ring.

It’s not just any ring. It’s the ring. The one you’d described to him in passing all those months ago. The gemstone, the cut, the metal band—every detail is exactly what you’d envisioned, as if he’d plucked the idea straight from your heart.

Your breath catches, and your vision blurs as tears spring to your eyes. It’s not just the ring—it’s what it represents. The thought of him listening so carefully, of him tucking away every detail you’d shared, hits you like a wave. You already knew he loved you, that he listened to you, but seeing it embodied in something so meaningful overwhelms you.

“Baby?” Nico’s voice pulls you back. He’s standing behind you now, concern etched on his face. “What’s wrong?”

You turn to him, your lips trembling as you hold up the small box. His eyes flick down, and the moment he recognizes it, his heart drops.

The very box he chose so carefully. The very ring he agonized over, wanting every detail to be perfect for you. The very thing he’d been planning to surprise you with, just a few weeks from now.

For a second, neither of you speaks. The air feels charged, suspended between panic and love, between what was supposed to be and what is now.

“I…I wasn’t supposed to see this, was I?” you finally say, your voice soft, tinged with both awe and regret.

He rubs the back of his neck, letting out a breathy laugh. “No, not quite yet.”

You place the box down on the counter, turning to him fully. “But you were going to ask me?”

He looks at you, his nervous energy fading as he takes your hands in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he admits. “I was.”

“You want to marry me?” Your voice trembles, thick with emotion.

He nods.

The tears fall freely then, happy and unrestrained, as you throw your arms around him. His hold on you is firm and protective, his heart pounding against your cheek as you press against his chest.

“The answer is yes,” you whisper, your words muffled by his shirt but carrying all the weight of your feelings. “You know that, right? It was always going to be a yes.”

“I know.” His voice is soft as he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there. “But I want to do this right. I’m going to propose properly—on one knee and everything.”

You lean into his touch as he cups your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “Is that okay?” he asks, his gaze earnest.

You smile, your heart filled with nothing else but love for the man holding you in his arms. “It’s perfect.”

Today was the day.

After months of careful planning, of waiting for just the right moment, Nico was finally going to ask you to marry him. Every detail had been meticulously thought out, adjusted, and readjusted after that fateful day you accidentally found the ring.

The memory still made him cringe. He’d quickly hidden it in a new, foolproof spot (his gym bag—a place you never ventured) and rescheduled everything. The bookstore café was unfortunately booked for an event tonight, but the ice cream parlor was still part of the plan, and the dinner reservation at the restaurant where you had your first date was secured.

He’d chosen tonight—your anniversary—for the proposal because it felt just right. The date was sentimental enough to mean something but obvious enough for you to dismiss it as “too cliché.” It was perfect. You would never see it coming.

“Nico, can you help me zip up my dress, please?” Your voice called out from the changing area of your shared bedroom, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned to see you standing in front of the mirror, the white dress he’d picked out for you half-zipped, slipping precariously off your shoulders. You looked stunning—effortlessly radiant, like you always did—but tonight, something about seeing you in that dress made his heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” he said, his voice soft as he walked over to you.

His hands brushed lightly against your back as he grasped the zipper, pulling it up slowly. But he couldn’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Then another, and another, his lips trailing up your neck in a way that made you laugh softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room.

“Nico,” you chided, though your tone was anything but stern.

“What?” he said, grinning against your skin. “You’re gorgeous. Can you blame me?”

He finally finished zipping up the dress, his hands lingering on your waist as he turned you to face him. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his eyes focused on yours.

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re just saying that because you picked the dress.”

“Maybe,” he teased, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “But you’re always breathtaking to me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at the sight. He was going to make you blush like that every day for the rest of your lives, starting tonight.

“Whatever you say, Captain Smooth-talker,” you said, shaking your head but still smiling, “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

He nodded, his heart racing with anticipation. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

He took a deep breath as he grabbed his jacket. Tonight was the night. By the end of it, if you hadn’t changed your mind, you’d be his fiancée.

The two of you arrive just in time to be seated at the table Nico had carefully arranged. The private area overlooked the city, the lights from the streets below twinkling like a sea of stars. It was breathtaking, but not nearly as much as the way you looked as you gazed out at the view.

“Honey, this is beautiful” you say, your lips curving into a soft smile as you sat down.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied smoothly, earning an eye-roll and a bashful grin from you.

The waiter arrived promptly to take your drink orders, and soon, the meal began. The first plates brought out were appetizers—delicate and artfully arranged. But Nico knew you well enough to know that, for you, the true star of the opening act wasn’t the small plates but the breadbasket that accompanied them.

“God, this bread is amazing,” you said, your eyes lighting up as you took a bite.

Nico chuckled, watching you enjoy the fresh, crusty loaf slathered in butter. “I had a feeling you’d like that.”

“You know me so well,” you teased, reaching for another piece.

“I try,” he said with a chuckle, though the statement carried more weight than you realized. Tonight was all about how well he knew you—what you loved, what made you happy, and what kind of future you dreamed of.

The entrees arrived next, perfectly timed to follow the appetizers. Nico tried to focus on his meal, but his mind was racing. The ring in his jacket pocket felt heavier than it had any right to, as if it was reminding him of the significance of what he was about to do.

He stole glances at you throughout the meal, his heart swelling every time you laughed at something he said or leaned closer to share a bite of your dish. You were the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with, and tonight, he was going to make it official.

As the plates were cleared and the waiter offered dessert options, Nico mentally rehearsed what he was going to say. He cycled through his bullet points, recalling the memories he wanted to highlight—the milestones, the quiet moments, the inside jokes only the two of you understood. Every detail of your relationship had led to this moment, and he wanted to do it justice.

While you shared a slice of cake, he alternated between admiring the way your eyes lit up with every bite and fine-tuning his speech in his head. The sound of your laughter when you joked about how you could live on this dessert alone was enough to settle his nerves for a fleeting moment.

“Here,” he said, offering you the last bite of cake with a smile.

You took it gladly, humming in delight as you savored the sweetness. Nico couldn’t help but grin. This was what he loved most—seeing you happy, knowing he was part of the reason why.

He shifted slightly in his seat, reaching for his jacket draped over the back of his chair. This was it. The moment he had been planning for months. Everything was about to fall perfectly into place.

His fingers slid into the inner pocket, brushing against the fabric as he searched for the small velvet box.

Except it wasn’t there.

His heart stopped.

He stilled, trying not to let his expression betray the rising panic inside him. Discreetly, he checked the pocket again, this time more frantically.

Nothing.

His breath hitched as he patted down every pocket—inner, outer, even the ones he knew he wouldn’t have used. It wasn’t there.

Panic tightened in his chest.

You tilted your head, noticing his sudden fidgeting. “You okay?”

“Uh—yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just…thought I forgot something, but it’s nothing important.”

It was a lie. A big one. Because what he’d forgotten was the most important thing of all.

The ring.

His mind raced, retracing his steps from earlier in the day. And then it hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t here. It was still at home, tucked away in the hidden compartment of his gym bag where he’d stashed it months ago for safekeeping.

Fuck.

He glanced at you, trying to keep his composure. You were oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him, busy taking a sip of your drink and remarking on how beautiful the view looked under the night sky and how the restaurant has always been one of your favorites.

He was supposed to be getting down on one knee right now, asking you the question that had been on his mind for what felt like forever. Instead, he was sitting here empty-handed, grappling with the colossal oversight that threatened to derail everything he had planned.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Resigned, he sighs quietly.

At least you’d still get your ice cream afterwards.

For the rest of the night, Nico’s heart raced as he scrambled to act normal, though he knew he was failing miserably.

“You’re acting weird,” you said from the passenger seat, concern etched on your face as you took another bite of your ice cream. “What’s wrong, hun?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Just…a little tired, I guess.”

Understatement of the year.

You hummed in response, a little unconvinced, but quickly launched into a happy recount of the night—the food, the breathtaking view, how much the evening reminded you of your first date. Nico nodded along, forcing a smile and interjecting when he could, though his mind was racing. He was relieved to have deflected your attention, but the frustration simmering inside him was relentless.

How could he have forgotten the one thing that mattered most? The question plagued him, cycling in his mind like a broken record. He needed to clear his head, or else the night would spiral even further.

Without warning, Nico pulled over to the side of an empty road, the car coming to a gentle stop next to an open field bathed in moonlight.

“Nico?” you asked, confused as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. You watched him for a moment, his silhouette illuminated by the glow of the streetlights and the faint flicker of fireflies in the distance. Concern gripped you, and you quickly followed, calling after him as he walked into the field.

“Nico, what’s wrong? Please, just talk to me,” you pleaded, your voice soft but insistent as you reached him.

He turned to face you, his expression shadowed by a mix of guilt and vulnerability. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you—really looked at you. The way the light caught in your eyes, the slight furrow of your brows, the way the wind tugged at your hair. Even like this, worried and uncertain, you were breathtaking.

A pang of guilt hit him like a punch to the chest.

Taking a deep breath, Nico reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I wanted tonight to be special,” he said, his voice low and almost apologetic.

You tilted your head, confusion softening your features. “What do you mean? It’s our anniversary—it is special.”

“Not like that,” he said, shaking his head. He stepped closer, his hesitation palpable. “I…I forgot something tonight.”

Your frown deepened. “Did we leave something at the restaurant? We can always go ba—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice a little firmer this time. “It’s not about the restaurant. I forgot something important, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t do what I wanted to do.”

“Nico?” you asked again, your voice laced with curiosity and a flicker of nervousness.

He closed the distance between you, pulling you closer until you could hear the rapid thrum of his heart. His hands trembled slightly as they held yours, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

“I’ve been planning this for months,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted everything to be perfect—the dinner, the timing, all of it—even the ice cream. But I messed up. I forgot the ring.”

You blinked, the words sinking in. “The ring?”

His gaze softened as he looked deeply into your eyes, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered, his fingers cupping your cheek gently. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady despite the rapid pounding of his heart. “The ring I was supposed to pull out tonight. The ring I picked out because I knew it was exactly what you’d want. The ring I got because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes as his words settled over you like a warm embrace. Your lips trembled as you watched him drop to one knee, his hands enveloping yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“I don’t have the box with the ring. And I’ve completely forgotten everything I’d planned to say.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But know this—I love you. Even now, especially now, when all I have is me and my love for you.”

He pressed a kiss to your hands, his touch reverent, as though grounding himself in the moment. Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, earnest and raw. “This isn’t the perfect proposal I had in mind, but I have to ask…”

He looked up at you, his eyes glimmering with sincerity and hope. “Will you marry me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. The gentle rustle of the grass, the soft hum of crickets, the distant glow of fireflies—it all faded, leaving just the two of you.

Then, like a dam breaking, laughter bubbled out of you—a breathless, joyful sound that lit up the quiet night. Without hesitation, you dropped to your knees, pulling him into a kiss so fervent it knocked the two of you backward onto the soft grass. He landed with a gentle oof, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as you hovered over him, your tears mingling with your smile.

“Yes,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. “A million times yes.”

Relief and pure, unfiltered happiness coursed through him, his grin widening as he pulled you close, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. “I’ll make this up to you,” he promised, his voice muffled against your shoulder, though there was a lightness in his tone now. “The perfect ring, the perfect proposal—I’ll do it right.”

You pulled back slightly, shaking your head with a radiant smile. “You already did.”

He smiles and pulls you into another kiss. The fireflies danced around you, the world continuing on, but for you both, time felt suspended—an endless moment of love and joy and a future that had just begun.

[kentocidal]

lucky winner

users: piercer!bakugou x afab!fem!reader x tattoo artist!kirishima

internal warnings: descriptions of needles/tattoos/piercings as they occur, long fic, wow there's plot in this!, consensual threeway, established krbk, oral (m and f!receiving), piv, spit, size kink, light dacryphilia, spitroasting, inaccurate positioning, ask to tag

internal notes: three way won the poll so i went ham. my fault og. final word count somehow came to 5.2k ish.

new notifications: @kaedescara

you stared blankly at the notification on your phone, wide-eyed and jaw agape. you blinked slowly, rubbed a hand down your face, and then clicked your phone off and back on again. the screen lit back up to your screensaver and the single notification that sat covering it. ‘@sincitytattoojp tagged you in their story! check it out!’

you looked up from your phone to your friend, who you now realized was calling your name and snapping her fingers. “uh, hello? earth to y/n? what’s going on? did your ex message you or something?”

“i think i won something.” you mumbled, turning your phone to show your friend. she furrowed her brows together and took your phone from your hand, studying the notification before cracking a grin. 

“is this that tattoo parlor in tokyo that you keep talking about hypothetically going to?” she laughed as she punched in your passcode and opened up instagram, pressing on the icon to the parlor’s instagram story.

you were quick to snatch your phone back to watch the story yourself, raising the volume on your phone to hear it. it was a video of someone’s hand reaching into a very full fishbowl of printed instagram handles, pulling out a tiny piece of paper and unfolding it to reveal your instagram username. the caption read in big red lettering, “congrats to @[y/n] for winning the human canvas raffle. reply to this post by midnight to schedule your slot.”

you swallowed thickly and looked up at your friend. “i won the fucking raffle. i won the nine hour session.”

your friend sucked in a breath before laughing and lifting her glass to you. “godspeed, soldier.”

you looked back down at your phone and clicked back to rewatch your name be pulled from the bowl. you had entered the contest on a whim – you hadn’t expected to win. you had reposted the parlor’s picture and tagged your three closest friends to enter a bid into becoming a human canvas for a day, i.e. getting tattooed and pierced until you tapped out. the parlor owners couldn’t seem to decide on whether to call it the human canvas contest or the no mercy challenge, not that it mattered. both fit the bill to describe what you had just won.

you swiped up on the story.

you: i dont know whether to be terrified or excited.

@sincitytattoojp: both, sweetheart. sign this and get it back to us [1 attachment]

you had gone through an extensive back and forth that night, printing and signing and scanning different waivers and papers to ensure that you would be able to handle an entire day of sitting in a chair getting poked and prodded with needles and getting art permanently printed on your skin forever. you were grateful that they took so much precaution in ensuring you were well aware of the situation you were putting yourself in, and getting ample consent confirmed ahead of time. you already felt comfortable as you stepped off the train in tokyo and started towards the shop.

sin city tattoo and body art. the small tattoo shop had garnered a massive following around the globe for the gorgeous work that consistently poured from the studio. the artists had never shown their faces on their page, but it was clearly just a two man show. sometimes one of them would film the other doing their newest piece on a client they handpicked from the waiting list, and it was clear that the two were a little more than close friends. 

you trusted their work. you were a new client, obviously, but after following their page for over a year, you knew you would be okay with going through with this. you were just… inexperienced. you had a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on your ankle and your ears double pierced in the lobes, but that was it.

you rounded the corner and saw the neon sign over the glass doors to the shop, the shutters pulled down. you took a deep breath and tried the door, mildly surprised that it opened up. a tiny bell chimed over your head as you stepped inside.

the shop was small, but it was clean. absolutely pristine. for a tattoo shop called sin city, you were expecting a bit more of a grunge theme, not exactly the creamy white walls littered with black picture frames of flash art available for purchase, a tall cabinet filled with various jewelry for fresh piercings, plants in the corners surrounding two chairs that were supposedly for a waiting area. there was a tall partition behind the front desk, and the shop stretched backward, most likely leading to a tattoo chair and then a piercing table, respectively. 

you stood awkwardly by the front door, gripping your bag in front of you. you had brought a few little snacks and some water in preparation for being there all day. you shuffled your feet as you heard footsteps coming up from the back of the shop, and suddenly you were reconsidering your outfit choice. you had tried to be helpful by going with a tight spaghetti strap tank top and a high riding skirt, knowing that you would probably need to shuffle clothes around during the course of the day.

your thoughts got clogged almost immediately when a brick wall of a man rounded the partition, scratching the back of his neck and staring down at you with big red eyes that looked curious, almost playful. he had to have been at least six-five, looming over you with broad shoulders and bulky arms that were covered in tattoos that went all the way down to his knuckles. his red hair was tied half-up half-down, the black roots at his forehead showing through.

you gaped at him like a fish out of water, face starting to feel warm as he glanced you up and down, and then smiled, revealing a wide set of sharp sharklike teeth. “aye, kats! i think she’s here!” he called over his shoulder before stepping behind the front desk. “you’re our pretty contest winner, right?”

“uh-”

“my name’s eijirou kirishima. i’m the main tattoo guy here.” he grinned at you, boyish and peppy, and it stifled your nerves somewhat as you returned the smile, but you were flustered beyond belief. you had seen the videos of him tattooing, you knew at least that his hands were big, but not the rest of him.

“ah, yeah, hi. i’m y/n. it’s nice to see your fsce for once.” you giggled nervously, and he laughed and nodded.

“yeah, we’re not all about showing who we are online. the page got too big, tokyo’s a big place, we don’t want the extra attention, yknow?” he smiled warmly at you as he bent down and shuffled through some paperwork under the desk, pulling it out and gesturing for you to come closer. “i know we already got a lot of your stuff online, but this is the last waiver. pretty much a final agreement that we get to do whatever we want to your body until you either tap out, or the clock hits six, whichever comes first.” 

you made a little squeaking noise at his phrasing, glancing at his face as he just continued to smile. he fumbled around for a pen and held it out to you, and you reached to take it, but he snatched it back and leaned across the desk. “just so you know, you can say stop at any time. we’re not forcing you to be here. if you say no to an idea, we won’t do it. stuff like that. okay?”

you blinked at him. he seemed so genuine, really making sure he was thorough in his explanations of the paperwork and of your position in this. it helped you take a deep breath and nod. “i know. i’m all good.”

“awesome. you seem like a real trooper.” he chuckled in a deep, rumbly voice, and finally held the pen back out to you. 

you took it, your soft fingers brushing over his rough skin and making you feel like your hand was alight in flames. you signed your name at the bottom of the form, dated it, and slid it back across the desk to kirishima. he just grinned at you and shoved the paper into the desk again.

“bakugou! come on, man! she’s all good!” kirishima leaned his head around the partition, and you jumped slightly when the familiar voice of kirishima’s partner sounded from the back of the shop.

“i fucking heard you the first time, i’m not fucking deaf!”

“well, just hurry up!” kirishima laughed and turned back to you. “sorry, he’s a real stickler for making sure his spot is all clean. i’m clean, but he’s a neat freak.”

“who’re you calling a neat freak, red?” a slightly shorter man stepped out from down the hallway, and again you felt your breath catch in your throat.

he was still tall, but far more intimidating in his black wife beater and jeans. he took off his mask that had been covering the lower half of his face, revealing a nose piercing and snake bites around plush lips. his fluffy blonde hair was standing up in all the right places, piercing red eyes looking your form up and down as he cracked his knuckles. his arms were littered patchwork-style, much different than kirishima’s full sleeves, and he clearly liked to hit the gym seven days a week.

you gulped and shifted your weight as bakugou’s eyes drifted over you. “name’s katsuki bakugou. you’ve already met red. didya sign the form?”

“uh, yes. all of the forms.”

“great.” his eyes locked on yours. clearly, this guy was all about professionalism and business, at least while he was on the clock. then he turned his head to kirishima. “so, where did you want to start her?”

you found yourself laid down on your chest, head turned to the side to stare at bakugou’s back as he organized something off to the side. music was playing, but you could hardly hear it over the buzzing of the tattoo gun and the weight of kirishima’s hand on your back.

you chewed on your lip as you felt the needle trace over the skin of your lower back, occasionally lifting to get more ink, only to return and start the ministrations over again. it wasn’t an easy spot to get ink done; tramp stamps were adorable and sexy, but the skin on that part of a person’s back is notoriously thin. despite this, however, you always found the pain to be… enjoyable. 

you felt kirishima’s free hand slide over to the middle of your back, splaying out, applying some pressure to get a better angle as he leaned over you. if he wasn’t wearing a mask, you would be able to feel his warm breaths fanning out against your sensitive skin. your eyes fluttered and you did your best not to move as your neurons fired over the sheer size of his hand against your back. splayed out like that, his fingertips were on one side and the heel of his hand almost felt like it was on the other. perhaps your perception was being warped on account of the buzzing needle poking your back, but you couldn’t be entirely sure.

kirishima added more pressure even as the needle lifted away from your skin, pushing you down into the bed, making you squeak softly. bakugou’s head turned briefly to you, glinting in the white overhead lighting almost devilishly, before turning away again.

“so,” kirishima’s low voice made you flinch slightly, having been entranced by the weight of him looming over your form, “i don’t really see any ink on you. is this your first time?” you heard him chuckle into his mask as he waited for you to relax again, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down, before pressing the needle down again. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, hun.”

you felt like some kind of high schooler talking about her virginity. “it’s- it’s fine. no, it’s not my first, but it’s my first big one. i’ve got a little one on my ankle.”

“your ankle?” he repeated, still pressing the needle to your skin and definitely coloring a shape in. “who did that for you? wasn’t us.”

“right, yeah.” you giggled slightly, really trying not to move as you wiggled the foot that held the little tattoo. “just an old friend who was an apprentice somewhere else.”

“ankle’s a rough place for a first tattoo,” grumbled bakugou, finally turning towards you and sitting down in a chair a little ways away, manspreading in your peripheral. “how’d you sit for that?”

“it hurt, but i liked it.” you mumbled back honestly, glancing back when you felt kirishima put the tattoo gun down and reach with a gloved hand towards your ankle, bending your leg at the knee to study the work.

“hm. it’s real cute on you, but i would’ve done it a little different.” his thumb brushed over the tattoo, over the thin skin of your ankle, sending a spike of heat through your body. “i could touch it up later.” he guided your leg back down and brushed his hand over the back of your thigh briefly before picking his tattoo gun back up and reapplying that heavy pressure to your back again.

“yeah, okay…” you murmured breathily, feeling small underneath kirishima’s weight and the power of bakugou’s gaze where he was staring at you, at kirishima, at how kirishima’s hands left indents in your skin as he worked.

your mouth felt like it was full of cotton, your head feeling like all the blood had drained from it and gone south. you shouldn’t be thinking like this, feeling like this, not while effectively getting stabbed thousands of times per minute.

bakugou hummed as he stood up again to get within your line of sight. “you said you liked the pain, huh? you one of those weird people that gets a high off of getting ink done?”

you felt your face burst with heat, unable to move as you opened your mouth and stammered. kirishima chuckled behind his mask.

“don’t tease, kats.”

“‘m not teasin’. i was just sayin’ that i agree with her.” bakugou smirked at you before stepping around the wall to go get a water from the fridge.

kirishima’s free hand slid from your middle back to just above your ass, his thumb rubbing into the fabric of your tight skirt as he worked.

“you’re sitting really well for this, doll. ‘m proud. probably one of my favorite things to do is back tattoos. especially these.”

you hummed softly in the back of your throat, probably mumbling a thank you that just made him laugh again.

you didn’t say anything when his free hand squeezed your ass as he leaned back to get more ink in the gun.

kirishima had spread the second skin across your pretty new tramp stamp with precision, making sure it wouldn’t wrinkle or peel away until your tattoo was healed. you were given a snack of chips and a bottle of water to recuperate while bakugou prepped his area, pulling on a mask and snapping black latex gloves over his hands. “so, how ya feelin’?”

“good,” you took a breath as you capped your water, sitting quietly on the tattoo bench and waiting to move to the piercing table. “ready to move on, i guess.”

“hope you don’t mind, but i took some photos when red was doing you.” he glanced over his shoulder, and you smiled and waved it off.

“i don’t mind at all. my friend didn’t believe me when i said i was actually gonna come.”

“that so?” bakugou cocked a brow, his mouth hidden behind the black mask. “anyway, what’re you thinking for this next bit? industrial? nose?”

“ah.” you shifted on the bench, glancing away from him as kirishima rounded the corner. “i was, uh. i was thinking i could get my… i could get my nipples pierced first? get the worst ones out of the way?”

kirishima blinked once and immediately shot a look to bakugou, who made eye contact. it was like telepathy; there was a silent exchange between them before bakugou nodded and waved for you to step over. “sure, whatever. it’s definitely not the worst pain, though.”

“really?” you stood on jelly legs and walked over to the piercing bench, sitting down in front of bakugou, who pulled a chair over to sit.

“mhm. worst i would say for a girl is the clitoral hood.”

you flushed and shook your head. “no thanks. i think i’ll stick to this for now.”

“okay.” bakugou sat back in his chair, staring at you. you stared back, tilting your head. bakugou furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue, making an ‘up’ motion with two fingers. only then did it click that you needed to take your shirt off.

you looked around as you started to tug your tank top up, looking over at kirishima, who was leaning against the wall with fascination. “ah, sorry! if you really want, i can leave.”

“no! no, it’s fine.” you shook your head, and finally got the courage to lift your tank top up and over your head. in preparation for this, you had simply forgone your bra in the morning.

you were left in just your skirt and panties, essentially. kirishima hummed low in his throat, earning him a glare from bakugou. you felt like you were on fire when bakugou reached a hand out to your shoulder. “lay back. slow.”

you shuddered under his grasp and laid back on the table, bringing your feet up and bending your knees to be a little more comfortable. your nipples pebbled and hardened from the cold air of the parlor.

bakugou studied your tits with an intense gaze, clearly focused on his job in a way that kirishima was not. where kirishima was flirty, groping and grabbing, bakugou was cold and practiced.

“so this is gonna go something like this. one of these is gonna hurt more than the other. when i tell you, you gotta breathe in, and then breathe out all at once. it’ll make the pain a little easier to handle.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be quick, but we gotta do one at a time.” he grabbed a skin safe marker and finally his hands reached for one of your tits, rubbing his thumb into the skin as he marked where the needle would enter and exit. you felt like you were shaking, being grabbed and examined in such a professional manner.

“you can’t have any fuckin’ saliva or jizz or whatever touch these till they’re fully healed, you got that?”

you squeaked, almost jumping in surprise at his words, before laughing and shaking your head. “no worries there.”

“you sure?” bakugou tilted his head, eyebrow raised, and kirishima laughed as he walked over towards the bench.

you didn’t get a chance to answer bakugou, because kirishima was by your head, offering his massive hand to you. “you can squeeze my hand so you don’t pass out.”

you looked up at him through your lashes, squirming on the bench as bakugou squeezed your tit. you didn’t answer, just reaching your hand up to hold onto kirishima’s. his hand was large, warm, and so rough. you wanted to feel his-

“alright sugar. take a deep breath in for me.”

you sucked in a breath through your teeth, and then suddenly a white hot pain shot through your body, something never experienced before. your vision whited out and you may or may not have cried out and dug your nails into kiri’s hand, gripping it tightly.

your head swam as you were encouraged to breathe, and then to breathe in again as the wide bar was slipped through the new piercing. you yelped and jerked on the table, making bakugou put his gloved hand flat between your tits to try and ground you. “relax, brat. stay fucking still. gotta get this stupid ball on.”

“aw, she’s cryin’.” kiri chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. your cheeks did feel wet as the pain subsided slowly. you whimpered as bakugou leaned away from you and reached to grab another needle package and the second bar.

“one more, drama queen. you can do it. just one more.”

“already?” you whined, shaking your head at him as he scooted his chair closer to get a better angle on your other nipple.

you did not get a chance to beg for mercy. “breathe in deep, good fuckin’ girl.”

you screamed this time. bakugou had been right, one hurt more than the other. your head felt so light all of a sudden, your vision blurring as you gripped kirishima’s hand like a vice and shook. your breath punched out of you when the bar was pushed through and the little ball at the end was screwed on.

you stared up at the ceiling and tried to get your bearings as kirishima let go of your hand to pet your hair and keep it away from your tears. “you did it, pretty girl. you got it. just breathe. did such a great job, yeah?”

you gathered your thoughts together as you listened to bakugou get up and take his gloves and his mask off, tossing them away, ever the professional. he walked back over to where you were laying and held up a mirror over you to show you your new jewelry. the sight made the pain worth it; your nipples, perky and red and hard, glittering with bars pushed through.

“what do ya think?” bakugou cocked his head at you, and you let out a deep breath.

“they look… really nice.”

“really sexy, more like.” kirishima chuckled over you as he openly ogled your chest.

you made a noise of surprise, which was immediately followed by your voice getting caught in your throat when bakugou’s free hand moved to start rubbing up and down your thigh. “you okay?”

“y-yeah.”

“you need a break?”

“i think so.”

bakugou nodded and looked to kirishima, who broke into a grin and bent over you just a little, his voice dropping an octave. “let’s take a nice long break, then, huh doll? you think you might wanna relax a bit with us? take your mind off the pain?”

“what?” you shifted to sit up on your elbows, wincing from the pain in your chest, looking between them.

kirishima laughed, “come on, doll. i know you didn’t come in here wearing just that tiny skirt for nothin’.”

“you can say no.” bakugou’s hand moved off your thigh, clearly the more level headed of the two. “we’ll take a break and come back in a half hour to keep going-“

“wait.” you flushed and put up a hand to make him shut up, glancing between them. “you’re not- together?”

“well, yeah, fucking obviously we are,” bakugou rolled his eyes at you while kiri chuckled, “but if we see a hot chick, we’re not gonna say no.”

“true.” kiri was practically purring.

they were standing over you, broad shoulders and tattooed hands and muscle, red eyes honed in on your shirtless form, and for some reason you allowed your inhibitions to fall away.

you took a deep breath and pouted. “just don’t make me get an infection on my new piercings.”

“never.” bakugou cracked his first real grin, foxlike and dirty, already moving back down towards your legs to start pushing your knees apart. you sat up a bit more, onto your hands, sucking in a breath when the bench dipped under bakugou’s added weight as he pushed your knees far apart and revealed your plain cotton panties with an obvious wet spot in the crotch, your pussy throbbing with the realization.

bakugou hummed as he slid rough fingertips down the insides of your thighs. “look at that shit, red. she’s already soaked. got this pretty pussy all needy even after pokin’ her.”

“figured as much. she was all spaced out during her tat.” kiri’s meaty hand slipped around the column of your throat, practically engulfing it in one palm as he turned your head to make you look up at him.

you gasped, and kirishima’s mouth came crashing down onto yours; he had to practically crouch to get even close to you where you were sitting. your hands flew up to his hair, body twisting slightly as bakugou started to work his fingers along your hips to further push your skirt up around them.

you felt yourself start to whimper as bakugou pushed your panties to the side and slipped two fingers through your wet folds. you shook and moaned as his fingers skillfully rubbed slow circles into your clit, making your hips jerk.

kiri laughed against your lips and squeezed his hand slightly around the column of your throat, pulling away from your mouth to look at your dazed expression. “lay back, doll.”

he guided you back to lay on the bench again, letting go of your throat only for a moment to start unbuckling his belt. “kats, i’m takin’ her mouth first, mkay?”

“hm?” bakugou glanced up from where he was licking his lips, about to press his nose to your pussy. “oh, yeah sure whatever. i’m getting a taste first.”

“someone’s got an oral fixation.”

“shut the fuck up, you red-haired loser.”

you felt yourself start to giggle at their interactions, but suddenly there were lips wrapped tightly around your cliff and a fat cock hanging over your face, drooling with pre.

you swallowed as your mouth practically started to water. your head was spinning as bakugou worked his tongue against your clit, a finger starting to push its way into your right, wet heat. you moaned and felt your eyes flutter, fingers curling into the sides of the piercing bench. “ah, i-i don’t know if i can fit-“

“shh. all you gotta do is swallow. can you try just the tip?” kiri cocked his head at you, suddenly all puppy eyes as he stroked his cock to his boyfriend eating you out.

you whimpered and nodded. how could you say no? you ground your hips against bakugou’s face as your lips parted, and kirishima pushed just the fat head of his cock past them with a low groan.

you felt full. bakugou started to push a second finger into your weeping hole, drool and your juices dripping down his chin and dotting the bench as he ate you out and found the spongy spot within you that made your back arch off the bench, knees attempting and failing to snap shut around his head. bakugou growled against your pussy, unhappy with you disturbing his meal.

you couldn’t respond what with kirishima shallowly thrusting into your mouth, working inch after inch into you. you felt his heady tip hit the back of your throat as your head hung down over the edge of the bench, and you coughed and sputtered.

“shh, careful, careful. breathe.” his hand returned to your throat, feeling the way he slipped further and further in. his balls hung down in your face as he started to effectively fuck your throat, groaning when you whined around him.

you did your best to suck his cock, slobbering and drooling down your cheeks as your eyes rolled back when bakugou removed his mouth and rubbed circles into your clit with his thumb. “she tastes fuckin’ good.”

“yeah? y’think so?”

“yeah,” bakugou breathed out, almost like an offering, and as he pulled his fingers out of your wet pussy, he shoved them directly into kirishima’s mouth.

kiri groaned loudly and sucked on bakugou’s fingers with the eagerness of a dog, gripping your throat with one hand and bakugou’s wrist in the other. he made sure bakugou’s fingers were clean before letting go and rolling his hips against your face. “shit.”

“mhm.” bakugou was panting as he hurriedly fussed with his jeans, shoving them down enough to get his cock free. it was difficult, positioning himself on the bench, but he made it work as he slapped his tip against your clit.

you cried out and gagged again on kirishima’s fat cock, gurgling pathetically while they both laughed at you.

“poor babydoll,” bakugou hissed, pressing his tip to your entrance, “she can hardly breathe, eiji.”

“she’s doin’ a good fucking job. i can feel how deep i am in her throat.”

“i can fuckin’ see that.” bakugou snapped right back before taking a deep breath and sinking so slowly into your pussy.

your walls fluttered around his cock as he sheathed himself inside you, one hand gripping your hip dangerously tight and the other reaching to grab for kirishima’s free hand. “fuck, red, she feels so fucking tight.”

“if- if you think her pussy’s tight, wait till you feel her throat.” kiri panted lowly as he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand over you.

you felt like an object, a plaything, lightheaded and so, so full, almost screaming when they both started to fuck into you at once; they were slightly off pace, both focused on their own pleasure, chasing their highs and smothering you all the while.

kirishima’s hand slid from your throat to the middle of your chest, a compressing weight that left you truly breathless as his balls practically smacked into you. you did your best to try and suck his cock, really, you did, but it was so difficult when bakugou was bullying your pussy and making you shake and cry out.

kirishima was the first to falter, his hips starting to jerk erratically as your vision blurred from tears of pleasure. “oh fuck yeah, fuck, ‘m gonna cum-“

“already? pathetic.” bakugou snapped, only egging kirishima on and making him whine as he tossed his head back and came deep in your throat, making you gag and choke.

he didn’t pull out until the thick, heady ropes of his cum were seated on your tongue, taking a step back to let his fat cock slap wetly against his thigh. it was clear, then, that his refractory period was short; he was already at half mast again as he watched bakugou fuck you into the bench, hiking one of your legs up around his waist to get deeper.

you cried out loudly, voice ragged and ruined as bakugou’s thumb returned to your clit.

“come on pretty girl, lemme feel you cum around my fuckin’ cock first. come on. i know you’re close. i can feel ya squeezin’ me in. shit, baby, fucking cum for me.”

your back arched off the table and your eyes rolled back as you came hard around his cock, your vision going white as you jerked and spasmed on the table. bakugou moaned and dropped his head forward, holding on until the last second when he could pull out and cum all over your twitching cunt, jerking himself off all the way. thick ropes of cum splattered against your skin and made you shiver, all parts of you sensitive.

kirishima, cock still out and hard again, stepped over to swipe his fingers through your pussy and get a taste of yours and bakugou’s cum, groaning deep in his throat as he pressed an almost chaste kiss to bakugou’s cheek. “you wanna fuck her throat next?”

“fuck yes i do.”

[bunni0nbanhg]

|Ink| 02

Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship

Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink

Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 3- ࿐ྂ

The tattoo was healed relatively quick, as quick as most tattoos.

Chan kept his promise to see you too, a few days after the tattoo you hear a knock at your door.

It’s not too late, around half an hour his shop closes. You know this because it’s written on the card Felix handed you before you left.

“Who knew I could charm someone enough to make them want to see me so soon.”

The older laughed in response, shaking his head as he held up a plastic bag with snacks inside. “What can I say, drunk girls who look like they’re about to throw up are my type.”

It was your turn to laugh, tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek out of mock annoyance.

You stepped aside to let him walk in, watching as he kicked off his shoes next to yours already there.

He was wearing another one of his black tank tops, maybe he knew to wear it, saw when it caught your eyes during the session.

“K, show me the wrist.” He turned around as soon as his shoes were off, effectively pulling you away from your trance or staring mindlessly at his back.

“Oh? Really going to use that excuse for real?” Chan grinned in response, tilting his head to the side while taking a careful step forward.

“What else am I here for?”

He turned back around before you could answer, taking your flushed face as a good enough response and deciding to change topics.

“I brought beer too, where’s your fridge?” He held up the bag again to enunciate his question and you nodded before showing him the way to your kitchen.

It wasn’t like he needed you to show him, your apartments had the same layout, but it was the polite thing to do. You didn't care for beer so much, it was bitter and sometimes tastes too much like wheat, especially if cheap. It did the job though, and gets less bad through out the night longer you drink it.

After he put the beverage into your fridge and took out the snacks from the bag he turned back to you again. He bought some salty and sweet stuff, what caught your eye was a chocolate bar, your favorite brand of chocolate.

"I know what I'm calling dibs on." You grinned, snatching the sweet treat from the counter as he tried to grab it before you. You raised an eyebrow as his arm drops with a dramatic pout. "That's my favorite."

He mockingly whined and went to grab it again, but you hid it behind your back. "And I called dibs!" Your voice wavered as he continued trying to get the candy. Even going as far as to try and reach behind you, stopping you from stepping away by wrapping his other arm around your lower back.

It made you nervously laugh, trying to shift your shoulders and wiggle free from his surprisingly firm grip. When seeing no way out, you made a fake hissing sound.

His arms pulled back in a flash and concern immediately filled his eyes. It made you feel guilty for a moment as his eyes darted to your wrist. "Did I squeeze it?" He asked while obviously gesturing to your healing tattoo.

You grinned in response, making him immediately groan in annoyance at being fooled, but also sighing in relief. "You're sly." He shook his head while pointing an accusatory finger.

He seemed to forget about the chocolate, or gave up and let you eat it in victory.

You two settled on a movie, not hungry enough for anything past snacks so dinner was out the way but you needed something to do to squash the lingering awkwardness when you're not too familiar with a person.

"Favorite movie genre." He started, watching you as you picked up your remote to scroll through the movie options. You hummed in though as if you didn't already know. "Depends on my mood, you?"

He copied your hum, leaning back until the back of his head lit the back of the couch. "Action Sci-fi. I love Marvel." You smiled in response, you enjoyed a superhero movie too.

"Favorite movie theater snack." You threw back at him, eyes darting to actually pay attention to what movie you wanted to watch.

"The classic, a big bucket of popcorn with extra butter."

Questions flew back and forth between you two, steering off topic of movies to things like dog breeds to hobbies. Conversation seemed to flow easier than you'd expect, and any awkwardness seemed to fade quickly.

The movie long forgotten and your first cans of beer already cracked open. "Why'd you move out here, just because?" He asked, taking a long swing after.

You looked down at the small opening in your can to drink out of, sloshing the liquid side to side. "Same reason I got the cover up."

His eyebrows raised a little with a thoughtful hum. "So it was a recent break up? I thought it was a while ago." You shook your head with a tightlipped smile, tracing the rim around the can with your index finger.

"I needed a fresh start, it was one of those relationships that should have ended months before it did. I have a habit of talking myself through tough things think it'd get better, but running as soon as I see something good happening for myself. Unintentional self-sabotage you could say."

Chan knew what that was like, to some extent. He'd convinced himself he wasn't worthy of certain things, ultimately ruining a lot of things in his life from overthinking.

"Those relationships suck. I've had my fair share of bad ones before, especially a few long ones."

You'd be lying if you said his words didn't pique your interest, curious to know more. "What was your longest one?"

His eyes flickered down to the bear can just as yours had done, biting down on the two lip rings pierced into his skin. "3 years.." His tone seems reluctant, but you're more surprised by the time he gave you.

"That's a... serious amount of time." You nodded with a little bit of shock obvious in your voice. "Can I ask why it ended or is that too personal?"

He laughed almost bitterly, quickly looking back up to you while resting his free arm over the top of the couch. "We were at different stages of our lives, and it wasn't something we properly discussed."

It was vague, but told a lot at the same time. Some relationships were just that, confusing but natural. Easy but stressful. It made your chest tighten with annoyance at how much you could relate.

"In short I wanted to settle down together and she still wanted to keep her options open."

You sucked in a sudden breath, shocked again. "That'll end a relationship." You nodded with a curt nod. He chuckled again, less bitter and more in amusement at your obvious words.

"Was your last one your longest?" He asked while taking another sip. You took one too before sighing deeply. "Yeah, a year, that's why I got the tattoo. Thought I'd be in it for the long run."

"Thought it was bad, so why stick around?" It didn't mean to sound judgmental, but Chan felt like it did and quickly added. "Was it just, easier?"

You hummed with a nod. "Part of it, yeah. It was mostly because I felt like I was losing out, running out of time. Wasn't the shittiest of past partners I've had, you could say I settled for less than I deserved and didn't realize until I was too far in."

Silence hung in the air as you took another large swig, looking up to see his expression, maybe try and guess what he was thinking despite not knowing much about him as a person and body language.

His eyes were directed at your black screen T.V, still nibbling on his bottom lip in thought. His eyes are darker than usual, but not out of annoyance. The soften when they lock with yours, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he put himself in.

"I'm guessing you're going to take a break from dating?" He cocked an eyebrow before immediately breaking eye contact with you again.

"I always say that but end up talking to someone again, I think I'm more in a... drifting with the current phase. Whatever I bump into and wants to stick around I'll see if it's worth it."

"But, if it's too good you'll peel them off you?" He guessed, making you sigh at how accurately he can read you. "It's not like I think I don't deserve something good, but you could say I psyche myself out. Get so attached it's scary, I don't like being needy to something that can easily be taken away."

Your fingers trailed up and down the side of your almost empty can, sipping the last of it back before setting it down on your coffee table and getting up from your couch. "Another?" You asked and he nodded.

You handed him the chilled can when sitting back down, simultaneously cracking it open. Yours foamed over a bit and you quickly had to slurp it up before dripping down your hand and arm.

"Have you moved on since your ex?" You asked to resume your conversation, and you got a sigh in return. "Yeah, mentally. Haven't really gone on a date or anything. The night we met was me trying to try my luck but nobody really stuck out to me."

That night was still foggy in your mind, you hope he hadn't seen you do any embarrassing faces or said anything uncomfortable. "What made you stop to help me?" You knew it was probably going to be some bullshit answer about how he just wanted to help, because that's how considerate he seems to annoyingly be.

He's a lot of things actually, stuff you've been able to gather through the back and forth questioning and this conversation alone. It's annoying how he's effortlessly able to keep the flow going, it feel natural to keep on talking. He seems thoughtful in a way that is entirely selfless, and mature enough to not need any parenting.

That's more than most of your exes can account for.

"You were the only one that caught my eye at that point into the night, well, in the night in general. Had no idea I'd get the honor of meeting you again so soon. Much less becoming your neighbor."

There's an obvious teasing tone to his voice and it makes you roll your eyes. He's able to make you want to throw a pillow at him and kiss him at the same time, a dangerous feeling for someone who's already becoming something more than just a neighbor.

"Wow, so flattered, so should I count this as both of our first dates since our shitty breakups?"

He laughs in response, jokingly raising his can to yours to softly clank them together. "Technically, but if I were to take you on a first date I would have hoped it'd be nicer than this."

"My apartment is very nice." You teased with a fake annoyed expression, Chan easily able to see past it with another laugh. "It is, but that's probably because you stuffed all you mess in your room probably."

Your foot gave his thigh an annoyed nudge, shaking your head before taking a long swig of your beer. "I'm not some kid that shoves their toys underneath their bed."

"Sureee." He drags out, jokingly acting like he wasn't convinced. Your eyes narrowed before grinning to match his. "I'd invite you to go check but I'm afraid you might get other ideas, and I'd hate to bump into my new tattoo."

He let out a dramatic scoff, face flushed at your implications, though if asked he'd blame it on the alcohol. "I have self control, might not seem like it with how eagerly I was to show up tonight but that's only because I had to check said tattoo."

You rolled your eyes again, him back at using your tattoo as the excuse to see you. "Guess I'll just have to invite you back when it's healed so we can stop using it was a get out of jail free card."

His eyes darted to you, surprised at how casually you practically invited him to "check your room out" with him. "Because, Y'know, gotta test to see if I put my bedframe together right."

He choked on the sip of beer he just took, topic seemingly escalating far more quicker than he anticipated. Sure, his goal was to flirt here and there, test the waters to see if you were open to something. After all, he was the one to cover your tattoo that was for an ex.

You grinned at being able to get a reaction out of him, also taking another sip. That is until he propped his head with his free hand and leaned a bit closer after recovering from initial shock at your smug look.

"A little bump or two to it won't harm it's healing process much, just gotta make sure your arm stay's above your head."

It was your turn to freeze, having thought you had the upper hand of teasing for a second. His head tilted to the side with a hint of mockery to the action, almost challenging you to say something back.

And you did, challenge him I mean, just not with words.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You'd have to apologize to your neighbors next to you, your headboard positioned on a wall connected to their apartment. The good thing however was that now you knew your bed frame was stable.

The buzzed feeling wasn't just in your head, and it wasn't there just because of the few cans of beer you two both downed. It was the adrenaline of doing something you knew probably shouldn't be done, I mean, come on, fucking your tattoo artist after just two days of knowing each other was crazy work.

What was worse than fucking your tattoo artist, someone you could avoid if shit hits the fan, is fucking your neighbor. Who knows how often you'd inevitably run into each other to take the same elevator or throw your trash in the dumpster on trash day at the same time.

The awkwardness of running into someone who've you've seen naked and know they've seen you naked is something hard to avoid no matter how hard you try to without talking about it.

You hope it wouldn't end up like that between you two; not when his tongue felt so good pressed against your own. It made you moan when feeling something cool hit the roof of your mouth when he lazily flicked the pink muscle up.

"How did I not see your tongue piercing until now?" You panted against his lips already beginning to look redder with how aggressively you two pulled on each other's bottom lips. You could feel the smirk growing on his lips as he pressed them back against yours.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you become well acquainted with it."

And that he did, right after sliding off your soaked underwear down your legs and throwing it somewhere on your floor. Your nightshirt and bra didn't last long after, Chan getting hungry to taste more of your skin.

You shivered as you felt the ball of his tongue piercing drag across your collarbone, it retracting as his lips sucked on your skin right under that part of your skeleton.

He groaned as your legs shifted, brushing against the hard on in his basketball shorts. "So desperate for me already." You practically purred with amusement, earning yourself a glare from the man above you. "Princess has a cocky mouth, doesn't she?"

"Only speaking facts baby. Maybe pretend to be a little less eager if you don't want me to call you out on it."

You knew you were a hypocrite, heat pooling at your core that ached for some sort of relief. Chan knew it to, knew it even before reaching a hand down to lazily drag through your folds, earning a surprised gasp from the sudden but appreciated friction.

He brought his two fingers up to suck on and grin back at you. "I'm the eager one?"

You huffed, going to reach a hand down to flick at his forehead when you were reminded of his free hand pinning them above your head. "Oh, forgot about that, did you Princess? I'm only making sure you don't bump your wrist on accident."

His hand held onto yours by lacing together with your fingers, making sure not to touch the plastic around your healing tattoo. Your tongue clicked in subtle but half-hearted annoyance, distracted as soon as his lips started pressing kisses down your exposed chest.

Your eyes glanced down to watch with bated breath, his hot breathing fanning over your skin as he continued going lower and lower. He paused at your lower stomach, making to presses multiple kisses around there while switching occasionally to both your hips and hip bones.

He trailed back up before giving you exactly what you wanted, saving your heat as an indulgence for afterwards.

"Gonna be a good girl and keep your hands up for a second?" He presses his lips to your ear, enunciating his question by squeezing your hands. An embarrassingly desperate whine fell past your lips, effected by the careful movement of his lips earlier down your torso.

"Such a good girl." You mumbled with a nod of your head, Chan satisfied with your promise as he momentarily let go. Your hands laid limp, making no attempt to move from their spot on the upper part of your mattress.

His hands left your body to quickly strip off his tank top, making drool pool in your mouth like wetness did in your cunt. What really made you moan was seeing the entirety of his tattoo when he twisted to throw his tank top in the same pile of your clothes.

He looked back at you with a grin, biting his lower lip to suppress a laugh. No matter how many people complimented or flirted with him based on his body alone never made it any less flustering when someone who's opinion he truly cared about also complimented it.

Next was his shorts, the bulge already noticeable despite the loose material. What you didn’t expect us to see an Ampallang piercing right as his hard length was freed from his boxers.

“How did your ex not lock you down?” You groaned, hips shifting to adjust as you felt your wetness almost trickle down your inner thigh. Chan this time really laughed, throwing his head back with a hand to his chest.

He bent down soon after getting himself to stop laughing, a pleased smile still stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to your downstairs ones. “You gonna make the same mistake?” He hummed before pressing a light kiss on your upper inner thigh.

The action was more affectionate than anything, a total contrast to how he later becomes aggressive with his tongue pressed to your clit.

The barbell of his piercing provided an extra stimulation you didn’t know you needed until now, especially with his mouth was doing an amazing job by itself.

You had to stifle most of your moans with the back of your hand, still being mindful of your neighbors who could not even be home at the moment for all you know.

“What’d I say about your hands?” Chan asked, lips departing from your puffy clit that pulsed with want and need from the sudden lack of touch. You whined in slight annoyance and desperation but moved your hand to rest next to your other wrist.

“Don’t want to be deprived of those pretty little moans.” He grunted before diving back in to seemingly swallow you up whole.

The sound of your panting, little ah’s and whines every time he pressed practically good against your clit sent heat straight down to his dick that already ached painfully so. He’d hold out though, wanting to taste your release on his tongue before anything else.

The knot in your lower stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing your end, breath hitching. Chan immediately began speeding up, hands gripping your thighs to stop them as the threatened to close.

“Close princess?” He grinned, pressing sloppy kiss through your folds as you moans in response. “Is that all it takes to make you cum? That desperate for a man you just met?”

Your eyes widened as you felt yourself clench around nothing, his tongue immediately sliding in with a quiet almost nonexistent groan falling from his lips. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Fuck, more of that.” You mumbled with a shaky breath, hands lacing together as your fingers twitched to grab onto something. He chuckled against you, eyes trained on the feast he was devouring.

He knew what you meant, and he’d make sure to give you all of the demeaning words and insults he can when fucking it into you, for now he just needs to coax this first orgasm out of you and onto his tongue.

He made sure to flick his tongue up, pressing the medal if his piercings on the roof of you gummy walls. “Shit!” You gasped, stomach tightening.

Chan groaned again, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as he pressed himself closer, your legs resting over his shoulders. You would have worried about if he was able to breath or not if it wasn’t for him grunting and groaning with every movement he made with his tongue.

And then it hit you, a flash flood wave as the knot in your stomach snapped and heat spread throughout your cunt. “Chan!” You gasped, hips bucking up before you could control them.

He moaned against your folds with pride, not tearing away until you were shaking and trembling and he was able to drink up all of you.

“Such a good girl, took it so well.” He instantly praised, propping himself up to lean his face into your neck.

He pressed sloppy kisses to your skin before wiping your release from his mouth to kiss you. “Think you can handle being in top?”

You nodded pathetically into the kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

He’d have to make sure to do that again, maybe even wake you up by burying his tongue deep inside you, only if it was something you gave him permission to.

“Hands don’t leave my chest.” He grunted before flipping you two over, easily maneuvering you to straddle his lap.

You shuddered as you felt yourself pressed against his cock, eyes staring back down at the surprise piercing through his tip.

He hummed while watching you gaze hungrily, hands back to rest in your hips before gathering your hands to pull you forward slightly and rest them on his chest.

“Right here.” He enunciated with a tap to your knuckle, making you nod again. “Can’t even talk? Too needy for me to fill you up? Such a desperate girl.” He clicked his tongue as you moaned in response.

Sure you’ve been domed before, possibly the only good reason you stayed with a few exes in your past, but the mix between praise and undeniable affection with degrading words did something to stir need in your chest and pussy.

“You should be prepped enough from my tongue, or are you about to ask me for your fingers too?”

You but your bottom lip in thought, already knowing your answer as you shook your head.

His fingers tapped against your thighs before squeezing the flesh there. “Words slut.”

You shuddered before letting out a moan. “I’m ready.”

He hummed in seemingly approval before lifting you up by the bottom of the ass, making you look back as he moved his tip to align with you.

Gathering some of your wetness by smearing precum into your folds, he finally lowered you to sink down onto him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to just flip you back over and ram into you, but he was able to stay still to let yourself adjust.

You weren’t doing much better yourself, feeling like you could feel him and his piercing in your guts. It was a feeling of being full nonetheless and it made you even more needy.

“What, can’t handle me” he moved one of his hands to grab onto your chin and make sure your gaze locked with his. “Need to pull out?”

You whined instantly in protest, grinding down harder to prove your point. “Don’t you dare.” You gasped as he let out a chuckle.

“Might get the wrong idea if I don’t see you drooling for me to move.” He teased right before you raised your hips up to slam back down.

His own moan cut off any words he wanted to add, making you grin. “Baby can’t believe that a pussy can feel this good.” You mockingly cooed, Chan grunting in response to your tease.

“I had you falling apart on my tongue.”

“Well let’s hope your dick can achieve the same goal.”

Chan decided he liked it better when you were on your back. You gasped as he flipped you toe over again, able to not have to disconnect himself.

“What’s that? Princess gone quiet?”

You shivered as he slowly dragged himself out maybe only half a centimeter, making a point for you to feel the silver barbell rub against your walls.

You moaned as he pressed back in, pulling out a bit more with every thrust until he was setting a pace. “Not so quiet now.” He groaned, eyes trained as he watched himself disappear into you over and over again.

Your hands still laid over your head, one of his hands laced back together with them again.

It was intoxicating, making your mind foggy with bliss. How long had it been since you got a good fuck? Along with the insanity inducing head he gave you; you weren't sure how this man could possibly still be single.

"Spacing out?" His breath hit's the shell of your ear, earning a whine in response. His chest pressed down into yours with his hands between your bodies to grip harshly at your hips and keep them in place. Your head would be smashed into the headboard if he didn't hold you down against his thrusts.

"Can't believe I already got my princess dumb on my cock. What was it you said? Let's see if your dick can do the same? Tell me, is it?"

Your breath hitched as he arms looped underneath your lower back, making your back arch off the bed and he continued ramming into you. Your hands, now free, carded into his hair.

He groaned at the faint burn of his hair getting pulled, same cocky grin on his lips. It made you want to make them red all over again, bite and swap spit like you had done desperately as soon as he pressed you into your mattress.

"Please, please-! Don't stop, don't slow down!" You moaned, knowing your face was flushed impossibly red and eyes glossed over in a haze of bliss and need. "That's not a yes or no." He hummed, moving one of his hands to hike up your thigh to wrap over his hip.

You yelped in response, overwhelmed with the change of position as he drilled at more of an upwards angle. "Yes! yes- just-" Your chest heaved, a shaky moan leaving your lips at the intense familiar feeling of your abdomen tightening.

Chan moaned back, eyes squeezing shut once he felt you clench around him. He knew what it meant, having felt it when his tongue was buried deep inside.

He felt his own impending release start to build up, sighing out. "Tell me, in or out?"

Your mouth dropped open, not quite registering his words fully when he was fucking into you like a god. "Princess, need to know." He urged, dropping the hand on your thigh to tap your cheek.

Your eyes snapped up to look at him as soon as you felt his finger touch the side of your face, still panting with every moan he was able to coax out of you. "In."

Chan could feel his eyes almost roll back, that was the response he was secretly hoping for. Just the idea of getting to see his seed spill out of you when he pulled out. Maybe he'd be able to push it back in with his fingers and fuck more of it into you, if you'd allow him.

There's a lot of stuff he'd gladly do to you if you gave him the ok, and just the image of your cunt, dripping and creaming from your mix releases made him almost cum on the spot.

That mixed with how tightly you were clenching around him, mind and body both wanting to milk him for every single drop he could give you. You hadn't realized how hot it made you feel to know someone was about to cum in you before Chan, maybe it had more to do with the person than the action.

"Really? Eager to carry my kids?"

Like a switch in your mind, your eyes screw shut and something akin to the loudest moan in existence left you, along with the knot in your stomach undoing for the second time that night.

Chan wasn't far after you, breath hitching as you gushed around his length with no warning.

That wasn't a problem for him, never. He gladly fucked into you needily, knowing he looked like a desperate puppy as his hips snapped against yours quickly.

You could have cum again from just the feeling of his seed shooting into you. Hot ropes of cum stuck to your walls, kissing your cervix along with his tip. You best believe Chan had to capture your lips in a kiss if he didn't want to scream like you did.

The bedframe was able to handle more than you could imagine, maybe Ikea furniture wasn't so bad.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Taglist: @sarastayy @estella-novella @danceonmyheyday @iweirdthingsblog

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

No one mourns the wicked

Synopsis: No one mourns the wicked except it’s Alastor and his loving wife after he dies and the people realize he was in fact the killer terrorizing New Orleans

A/n: i was listening to this song after watching the movie and it kind of reminded me of multiple characters, one of them being Alastor, so here we are :)

Warnings: timeline tweaked to fit the storyline, Major character death, grief, obsession, dark themes, implied past violence, mourning, religious elements

Navigation

The bells tolled for Alastor.

The sound rang out over New Orleans, a slow, deliberate chime that echoed off the cobblestone streets and wrought-iron balconies. A funeral procession wound its way through the city, black-clad mourners moving with somber grace, their eyes cast downward—though not for grief.

There was no grief.

Only fear.

Alastor, beloved radio host, lively entertainer, and charming presence in every parlor and ballroom, was dead. But the man the city had adored was not the man they had buried.

The real Alastor—the one with blood on his hands and a smile on his lips—had been unmasked at last.

And now, no one mourned the wicked man.

No one except her.

She stood apart from the rest, a lone figure swathed in black lace, her veil obscuring the grief-stricken expression beneath.

His wife.

The word felt hollow now, as though spoken from another lifetime. What was she now, if not the wife of the man they cursed? The whispers had already begun—how could she not have known? How could she have laid beside a man with the devil’s grin and never seen the hellfire in his eyes?

But she had known.

She had known from the very beginning.

She had met Alastor on a summer evening when the air was thick with the scent of magnolias and the sound of jazz curled through the streets like smoke. He had been charming, so very charming, his voice warm like the whiskey he poured her, his laughter infectious.

She had loved him immediately.

Perhaps that had been her first sin.

He had taken her hand and led her into a world no other woman dared enter. His world—one of secrets and shadows, where the missing never returned and the wicked were punished not by law, but by him.

It had frightened her.

And yet, she had stayed.

That had been her second sin.

And now, she committed her last: grieving a man the world had condemned.

The funeral was held in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, beneath a sky choked with heavy clouds, as though even the heavens refused to shine upon the dead man’s final resting place.

The priest spoke in measured tones, his voice a thin veil of piety stretched over the weight of judgment beneath. There were no kind words, no lamentations for a life lost too soon—only the murmured prayers of a man who feared for his own soul in speaking them.

She knelt at the grave as they lowered him down, her hands clenched in the folds of her dress. Her breath hitched, but she would not cry.

Alastor had never liked tears.

That night, the city rejoiced.

The terror was gone, the Monster of New Orleans put to rest at last. Music poured into the streets, the living celebrating while the dead turned in their graves.

She sat alone in their home, the ghost of his laughter still lingering in the walls, in the floorboards that creaked beneath her as she walked. The gramophone sat silent, its usual melody absent.

She could not bear to play it without him.

She could still hear them outside—people whispering his name, cursing it, spitting it into the dirt.

Had none of them loved him? Had none of them seen the brilliance in him, the fire that burned so hot it could only consume?

No.

Only she had seen.

And now, she was alone in her mourning.

The city moved on quickly, as cities often did. Another scandal would come, another name would replace his in the papers. Soon, he would be nothing more than a ghost story, a hushed warning spoken to children who strayed too far after dark.

But she would not forget.

She could not.

Late at night, when the streets fell silent and the candlelight cast long shadows against the walls, she swore she could still feel him.

She would wake to the phantom press of fingers against her wrist, the faintest trace of a breath against her ear. The scent of cigar smoke lingered when she had not lit one. The record player clicked on in the dead of night, playing a tune she had long since stopped hearing.

He was still here.

And oh, how she wished he wasn’t.

Because if he was here—if his soul still roamed these halls—then he had not found peace.

And she could not bear the thought of him suffering, not even in death.

The knocking began three nights after the funeral.

At first, she thought it was the wind, rattling the shutters in its restless wail. But then she heard it again—sharp, deliberate.

Three knocks.

Like a gentleman at a parlor door.

Like a husband returning home.

She hesitated only a moment before crossing the room, hands trembling as she reached for the handle. The air was thick with something unspoken, the kind of quiet that sat heavy in the chest.

She opened the door.

Nothing.

Only the dark, stretching out before her in endless silence.

And yet, as she closed the door, she swore she heard it—

The low, familiar hum of a tune.

A tune only he would sing.

It continued.

The soft shuffle of feet behind her when no one was there. The sudden flicker of candlelight when the air was still. The radio tuning itself to static, then settling on a voice she had not heard in days.

His voice.

“Did you really think I’d leave you all alone, my darling?”

She gasped, the breath stolen from her lungs as cold fingers brushed her cheek.

Not a trick of the mind.

Not a dream.

He was here.

He was with her.

She pressed a hand to her lips, a sob choking its way free. “Alastor?”

His laugh curled around her, warm as the summer nights they had once shared. “Who else would it be, dearest?”

She shuddered. “You—”

“I know.” His voice was teasing, affectionate. “A terrible shame, isn’t it? I had such plans for us. And now look—stuck haunting my own home! How embarrassing.”

She swallowed thickly. “Are you… are you in pain?”

A pause.

Then, softer, “No, my love.”

She exhaled, her body sagging with relief.

If he was still here, still him, then perhaps there was justice yet.

Perhaps the city had not won.

She no longer feared the voices outside, the ones that spat curses at his name.

Let them speak.

Let them call him monster, murderer, devil.

He had been all those things, and more.

And yet, he had loved her.

Was that not proof enough of his humanity?

So she loved him still.

Even in death.

Even in whispers.

Even as she sat alone, her fingers tracing the cool wooden surface of his coffin, her lips parting to hum the song he had so often sung.

The melody drifted through the house, carried by the wind, by the dark, by the presence that lingered just beyond sight.

And somewhere, just behind her ear—

A voice joined in.

Laughing. Loving. Hers.

Always.

[digitalgirlguide]

WHY AREN'T YOU DATING YOURSELF TOO?

As I sat sipping my morning coffee, I couldn't help but wonder: why do we often wait for someone else to take us on a romantic date when the perfect partner has been there all along—ourselves?

We get so caught up in chasing love from others we often forget that sometimes that you can give yourself the love you need too.

There’s something soooo empowering about falling in love with your own presence. I mean why wouldn't I want to hangout with myself? I'm amazing, fun and smell good too.

When you take yourself out, you're not just spending time alone— you're setting the standard for yourself everytime you get dressed up and go to that fancy restaurant, everytime you grab your tote bag and favourite runners and go exploring in your city, or even monthly spa visits to pamper yourself. make your solo dates pop so you don't settle for less when it comes to romantic partners and platonic friendships

Physical Solo Date Ideas

Sunset Beach Walk: Slip into your cutest sundress and wander along the beach as the sun sets. You could even pack yourself some of your fave sparkling drinks and some fruits! and everybody always feels better after they spend some time by the water.

Picnic in the Park: Pack a basket with your favorite snacks, a cozy blanket, and a good book. Find a shady spot under a tree 🍓📖

Yoga in the Garden: Roll out your mat in your backyard or a nearby garden. Breathe in the fresh air and stretch your body 🧘‍♀️🌸

Gallery Hopping: Spend an afternoon exploring local art galleries. Take your time admiring each piece and journal about it after 🖼️

Stargazing Night: On a clear night, lay out a blanket in your backyard or a quiet park and look up at the stars ✨

Food Solo Date Ideas

Café Hopping: Spend a day exploring cafés in your city and act like the main character in a sitcom or romcom. My fave thing about cafe's is people watching and making up storylines about people. ☕️

Gourmet Dinner for One: Dress up and take yourself to that fancy restaurant you’ve been eyeing. Put on that dress you've been "saving for a special occasion" and order yourself the whole bottle! 🍷

Baking Adventure: Try out a new baking recipe and create some new sweet treats, whatever you have leftover you can share with your girls 🥮🍪🍰

Farmers’ Market Feast: Visit a local farmers’ market and pick out fresh, seasonal ingredients. Then, head home and cook a delicious, wholesome meal just for you.

Ice Cream Parlor Indulgence: Treat yourself to a visit to an ice cream parlor.

Remember, darling, you're the star of your own show. Every moment spent with yourself is a chance to fall head over heels for the fabulous person you are. So, slip into that cute outfit, step out with all the confidence of a city girl in stilettos, and let the world bask in your glow.

After all, the greatest romance you'll ever have is the one you create within yourself.

[illusioninfnty]

kinktober 2024

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✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

"I Want Your Dad, Too!" જ⁀➴ Boyfriend's Dad

feat. Harwin Strong, Jacaerys Velaryon || You have a problem with your boyfriend's performance in the bedroom. Luckily, his dad is here to teach him a couple of tricks to keep you satisfied!

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Seeds of Sin જ⁀➴ Dad's Best Friend

feat. Joel Miller || You and Joel get up to some naughty activities when your dad tasks him with keeping an eye on you.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

On Your Knees (For Me) જ⁀➴ House Husband

feat. Jacaerys Velaryon || Your husband knows just how to help you unwind after a long day of work.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

I'll Take You to Heaven જ⁀➴ Childhood Best Friends

feat. Josh Washington || A game of seven minutes in heaven has you and your best friend revealing your feelings for each other...and then some.

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Of Honor and Duty જ⁀➴ Peeping Tom

feat. Miguel O'Hara || Being from a different dimension won't stop Miguel from watching you.

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Oil Me Up! જ⁀➴ Masseuse

feat. Bo Sinclair || You've received a gift certificate for a free massage at the sketchy parlor down the road! Hopefully there aren't any weirdos working there!

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In the Dead of the Night જ⁀➴ Stalker

feat. Jake Lockley || Who keeps breaking into your apartment when you're asleep?

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Are You Still Watching? જ⁀➴ Sex Tape

feat. Josh Washington, Sam Giddings || Sam is in for quite the surprise when she inserts that video tape and clicks the play button...

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! જ⁀➴ Brothel

feat. Rhaenyra Targaryen, Alicent Hightower || Rhaenyra shows you and Alicent a new kind of fun to be had.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

"I'll Gut You Like A Fish!" જ⁀➴ Ghostface

feat. Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto || What's wrong with your boyfriends killing a random sleazebag here and there? You just like to indulge in the celebration that comes after.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Fight, Flight, Fuck! જ⁀➴ Fuck or Die

feat. Josh Washington || A scary man corners you alone, hopeless in only a mere towel. Your first reaction? Plead that you'll do anything to stay alive.

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The Taste of the Divine જ⁀➴ Cult Leader & Worshipper

feat. Alicent Hightower || Alicent is your most devoted follower. You offer her another way to prove to you why she deserves that title.

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The Sea's Delight જ⁀➴ Mermaid & Pirate

feat. Rhaenyra Targaryen || Rhaenyra is the most fearsome pirate on the seas...and the most glorious lover in the bedroom.

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Zombies Are My Sweetest Slaves! જ⁀➴ Zombie Apocalypse

feat. Simon "Ghost" Riley || Oh no! Your boyfriend got bit by a zombie! Good thing he still knows how to pleasure you!

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Bite Me, Suck Me, Stake Me! જ⁀➴ Vampire & Hunter

feat. Simon "Ghost" Riley || Ghost is a skilled vampire hunter, but you're an even better vampire. Too bad you haven't convinced him to let you take a little bite out of him yet...

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Make My Kitty Purr! જ⁀➴ Black Cat & Spiderwoman

feat. Sam Giddings || As New York City's sexiest burglar, of course it was your duty to tease the friendly neighborhood Spiderwoman. It helped that she was real cute and got easily flustered.

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i'm looking forward to posting these :) @gogogodzilla is doing the other half of the days with different kinks/tropes, make sure to check out her fics too!

[brunchable]

Golden Hour

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Set in 1940s. Confession. Reciprocated love. Friends to Lovers. FOR HOPELESS ROMANTICS. FLUFF, FLUFF FLUFF, I'M GOING TO CRY.

Summary: They say if you catch a falling maple leaf, you will fall in love with the person you are walking with….

A/N: IT'S AUTUMN SO WHY NOT AN AUTUMN FLUFFFF. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH. That's all I can say for this oneshot. HEEEEEEELP.

tags: @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss

They say if you catch a falling maple leaf, you will fall in love with the person you are walking with…

You’d heard it once, some playful superstition from a passing stranger or tucked within a ladies’ magazine you’d read in the parlor. A charming, innocent idea, really. But as autumn swept in, bringing with it the rustle of leaves and the scent of burning wood, it was hard not to dwell on it every time you found yourself alone with him, that ache in your heart growing quietly beneath the weight of all the things you couldn’t say.

It started with the glances. Fleeting moments where you’d catch Bucky watching you across a crowded room, his gaze soft and unguarded, only to see him look away the moment he knew you’d noticed. And while every sensible thought told you it was nothing, a part of you, tender and foolish, couldn’t help but wonder. Wonder if maybe, in those stolen glances, there was something he didn’t say. But then he’d laugh, smile, and carry on, as if you were just a friend, a confidante… nothing more.

The doubt settled heavily in your chest, a quiet weight that seemed to deepen each time he stood just a little too close, each accidental brush of his hand against yours. Every polite touch, every lingering smile—it was agony and comfort all at once, and you told yourself it was only natural, the way he acted around you. Yet it didn’t stop your heart from racing with every small kindness, hoping, praying, that maybe… just maybe, there was something more hidden in those smiles.

Still, it was a longing you knew must be yours alone, a secret you held tightly, tucked away like a pressed flower in a favorite book, something you feared would wither if he saw it too clearly. Because what if he did notice? What if he saw how your breath caught when he laughed, how you spent sleepless nights replaying every moment he’d lingered too close, his presence warming the air between you, as if he belonged there? The mere thought of him realizing, of knowing you looked at him that way, was as thrilling as it was terrifying. So you’d almost convinced yourself it was safer this way—to keep your distance, to save yourself the heartbreak of expecting something that wasn’t yours to hope for.

And yet, those little whispers of hope refused to fade. You’d wonder, late at night, if he noticed how your smile softened when he was near, if he ever sensed the way you held onto his every word. It was that quiet, fragile hope that kept you walking beside him now, clutching the silly old superstition as if it were a lifeline. If only you could catch that falling leaf, you told yourself, maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would make these quiet, one-sided glances into something real.

It was a ridiculous thought. You knew that. But as you strolled beside him beneath the blazing colors of the trees, your heart beating in time with each leaf that drifted to the ground, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing—wishing that, just this once, he would look at you and truly see.

× × × ×

The park was alight with the fiery colors of autumn, the soft hum of city life drifting faintly in the background—horns honking in the distance, the murmur of people milling about in their wool coats and fedoras. You strolled side by side with Bucky, wrapped up in your coat and scarf, the crisp October air nipping at your cheeks. He wasn’t one to join you on leisurely walks, especially on his rare day off, but here he was, his hands in his pockets, letting you nudge him now and then, teasing him about looking so out of place among all the folks enjoying the pumpkin displays and hot chestnut stands.

As you walked, you kept glancing up, scanning the branches above, hoping they might give you just one chance at catching a leaf. Every time the breeze rustled through, a few would break free, fluttering down to the ground, but always out of reach. You tried to be subtle, sneaking looks upward every so often.

But Bucky wasn’t so easy to fool.

“You keep looking at the trees like they’re about to start talking or something,” he finally said, raising an eyebrow. “Something on your mind doll?”

“Hmm? Oh, just taking in the leaves,” you replied quickly, glancing away to hide the color rising in your cheeks. There was no way you were going to tell him about the silly superstition that had been occupying your thoughts since you’d left home: the one that claimed if you caught a falling maple leaf, you’d fall in love with the person you were walking beside.

Ridiculous, really, you told yourself. Just a bit of fun that didn’t mean anything. And yet, the hope of catching that leaf lingered, even as you kept up the act of enjoying the autumn air like anyone else out for a stroll.

You kept walking, chatting here and there, and just as you were about to give up on the idea, a bright red maple leaf broke from the branches above, twirling down like it was dancing on the breeze.

“There!” you gasped, reaching up on your toes without a second thought, laughing at your own attempt. But it floated just out of reach, swaying side to side like it was toying with you and just as you thought you had it, a warm hand reached past your shoulder, catching it effortlessly.

“Got it.” he said, voice low, his breath warm against your ear.

Bucky was right behind you, his chest brushing against your back, and you felt your heart skip a beat as his fingers closed around the delicate stem of the leaf. He slowly drew his hand back, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with him, his blue eyes fixed on you, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. Just as you reached for it. He held it up, drawing his hand back ever so slightly, holding the leaf just out of reach with a smug glint in his eye. You shot him a look, reaching again, but he raised it even higher, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Is this what you’re after?” he asked, holding up the leaf between you both teasingly dangling the leaf above your head. His voice was low, his gaze warm, and for a second, the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, standing in the dappled sunlight beneath a canopy of brilliant colors.

“Actually,” you replied, shrugging, trying to play it cool, “just throw it away.”

“Throw it away?” His eyebrow lifted, still holding the leaf just out of reach. “Why’s that?”

You sighed, hoping he wouldn’t catch the faint blush rising to your cheeks. 

“Because,” you muttered, trying to sound dismissive, “if you catch a falling maple leaf, you’re supposed to fall in love with the person you’re walking with. So… throw it away.”

A flicker of surprise passed over his face, followed by a look of curiosity, his smirk softening as he held the leaf up between you.

“Oh really?” he asked, voice low, like he’d just uncovered something unexpectedly fascinating. “Then why did you try to catch it?”

Your mind scrambled, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Because there was a cute guy over there.” You pointed vaguely behind him, your heart hammering with the hope that he’d buy it.

“A cute guy?” He stilled, eyebrows furrowing, his jaw tightening slightly as he turned, his gaze scanning over his shoulder. 

In that split second, you seized the chance, swiping the leaf from his hand and tucking it into your coat pocket just as he turned back around. When he did, his eyes dropped to your hand resting protectively over your pocket, a knowing smile pulling at his lips.

“So… a cute guy, huh?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual, though the racing in your chest was anything but. “Yup.”

He tilted his head, studying you, a soft chuckle slipping from him, one that you felt more than heard, as if he’d found the whole thing irresistibly charming. He gave a small shake of his head, his eyes still fixed on you, his gaze holding just long enough to make your heart trip.

“Guess I missed him,” he said, his voice carrying a softness that made your stomach flutter.

“Guess you did,” you replied, fighting a grin as you started walking again, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped every time his gaze lingered a little too long.

And as the two of you continued walking, he kept glancing at you, his eyes holding a spark you hadn’t seen before, as if he was seeing right through the playful mask you’d tried to keep up. Then, after a few quiet steps, he looked up again, as if guided by instinct. Another leaf had broken from the trees above, twirling down toward him, and before you could even react, he lifted his hand, fingers closing around it with smooth ease.

You swallowed as he lowered the leaf, holding it between you once again, but this time, the teasing spark in his eyes was gentler, softer, with a warmth that made your breath hitch.

“Got another one,” he said lightly, though his voice was gentle. You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest, the warmth in his eyes undeniable.

“What are you going to do with it?” you managed, voice barely a whisper.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his gaze slipping from the leaf to you. 

“Well,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer, slipping the leaf into the pocket of your jacket, his hand brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken. “Guess we should keep this one safe, too.”

His fingers brushed over yours as he pulled his hand away, his touch warm even through the fabric of your coat, and for a moment, he didn’t step back. His eyes held yours, the silence between you electric, his expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.

“Maybe these superstitions aren’t just legends after all,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, the words hanging in the air as his gaze swept over your face, almost as if he were memorizing it.

With a slow, knowing smile that sent a thrill down your spine, he straightened, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly as he turned to keep walking. He only made it a few steps before glancing back, an amused spark in his eye as he looked at you, still standing there, your cheeks warm, your heart racing.

“Well?” he called, his tone a soft invitation. “Are you coming?”

Before you could gather your thoughts, he reached out, taking your hand in his. His fingers intertwined with yours, your smaller hand fitting perfectly in his larger one, his touch warm against the chill in the air. Then, in one smooth, gentle motion, he brought both your hands up and tucked them inside his coat pocket, pulling you closer, the fabric soft and warm around your hand.

You glanced up, caught off guard by the quiet tenderness in his expression. His hand remained steady around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a subtle, comforting motion as he held you close, shielding your joined hands from the cool autumn breeze.

As you began walking together, his arm tucked protectively around yours, he glanced down at you, a hint of that warm, knowing smile still lingering on his lips. And as his eyes met yours, you felt that spark again, that unspoken promise that this, whatever it was, was only the beginning.

[lumilasi]

Really wanted to draw baby Caelan suddenly, so decided to utilize this art meme template again. At this point I've drawn his past kid self more than his current adult form lol

[drunkenlionwrites]

Bodyguard!Toji x rich girl!reader

This guy does something to me 🥵 I'll be the sugar mama for this freeloader any time no questions asked. Based on the ask: 'bodyguard toji makes me so feral!!' Warnings: afab! reader, mentions of ptsd, depression, panic attacks, reader's unhealthy attachment, mentions of smut, toji is his own warning

You’ve hired a stay-in bodyguard Toji among few other men after the kidnapping attempt of you, minister’s daughter was successful and you’ve felt restless and plagued with ptsd, cooped in your apartment constantly watching over security cameras footage.

Bodyguard Toji that had a reputation of notoriously callous man, often behaving rudely and having violent outburst which affected the image of rich/famous people who have hired him previously.

Bodyguard Toji, who despite that was a professional, expert marksman and specialist in close combat. A walking intimidating mountain of muscle.

Bodyguard Toji, who threw off his suit vest, tie, and cufflinks once he received the uniform and never wore anything like that, sticking out like a sore thumb among other bodyguards of yours. His most formal look being a sweatshirt and dress pants.

Bodyguard Toji, who never hesitated to call his job “babysitting” in front of you. Nevertheless, always being on guard and diligently doing what he was paid to do.

Bodyguard Toji, who remained your sole bodyguard, who proved in time that he was enough. He was too much sometimes.

Bodyguard Toji, whose phone number you refused to give to all your acquaintances who’ve been inquiring about him.

Bodyguard Toji, who surprisingly turned out to be pretty intelligent and smart man and a great conversationalist, despite his attitude and crude language.

Bodyguard Toji, who intimidated/beat up people who’ve been to handsy with you in bathroom stalls when you went out clubbing.

Bodyguard Toji, who took you out for late night drives, brought you to shady pachinko parlors, underground clubs, cheap fast-food places to “show the spoiled brat the real world”.

Bodyguard Toji, who found the paparazzi who took a photo of your coochie when you’ve been getting out the car and broke his camera and both legs.

Bodyguard Toji, who loved to fuck you against a huge window of your penthouse apartment, looking down the city view and mocking you for spreading your legs for your good-for-nothing bodyguard instead of some rich Ivy league boy or businessman.

Bodyguard Toji, who knew your mind and body like no one else. Making you come with only a few precise thrusts of his cock paired with few praises and slurs.

Bodyguard Toji, without whom you cannot picture living your life anymore, your anchor, your protector and companion.

Bodyguard Toji, who’s helping you cope with panic attacks and anxiety better than any psychiatrist, therapist, or pills.

Bodyguard Toji, who notices your unhealthy attachment to him, but does nothing about it, relishing the feeling of power he has over you + all the benefits he has of working for you.

Bodyguard Toji, who smugly smirks at your father whenever he frustratingly remarks that “the savage brute” is still working for you.

Bodyguard Toji, who fucks you silly, tucks you in bed but never stays to sleep with you, despite your desperate pleads. “It’s not a part of his contract” he says and leaves to his part of your apartment after wishing you goodnight.

[aurorasgate]

will we make it through?

diluc ragnvindr x fem!reader | 7.7k + words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hurt/comfort/smut, oral (receiving), very emotional and loving sex, over stimulation, cream pie, mating press if you squint. i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed anything!

the doors of the winery seem heavier than usual as diluc pushes them open, the parlor quiet and cold like the night outside and it makes his chest ache as much as his hands that held too tightly onto the hilt of the claymore tonight. usually the manor would blanket him with warmth the moment he stepped inside, especially when he knew you were waiting for him. finally being home, in your arms, simmered the flames of his duties that pushed him to work harder and harder and ignited a softer flame, one of love, more fierce and all consuming.

of late, that flame had been accompanied by a black smoke and uncertainty, clouding the once clear and comfortable distance between you. before it had been enough so that you ran as free as you pleased, for he would never hold you back, but close enough so he could reach out and pull you into him, watch over and protect you. bath in your light and love even when a man as shrouded in darkness and broken as him did not deserve it.

it started off manageable at first. a clench of his fist at his side when he had gone in to kiss you passionately, to convey how much he missed you, but ended up hurting you instead when his fingers tangled into your hair painfully. you yelped out in sudden pain and he pulled away so quickly, as if he had burned you, but it had only made it worse. he had swallowed down the lump in his throat when you sweetly told him it was okay and stood on your toes to kiss him softly but it was only the first of many loving intentions that did not turn out as he hoped. 

a pang in his chest when the only time he saw you was when he came home from being the dark knight hero, your tired form half sat up and in an uncomfortable sleep, the light in the bedroom still on and an askew book in your lap. he took great care in tucking you in with gentle movements and felt so badly when you woke up anyways, welcoming him home and whispering ‘i missed you’s before falling back asleep even if you tried to fight it off in order to be with him for just a little longer. 

his heart was torn between his selfishness to want these small moments with you and the need to protect you in any way he could, including your health and your sleeping habits. just because his own suffered at the cost of his duties should not mean that yours should too. he needed you to be well and with a reluctant heart told you not to worry about waiting up for him, that your sleep and well-being was far more important. 

the distance, that smoke that hidden you from him, had only grown since that day. 

reluctant and displeased in your own right, you still did as he asked and stopped waiting for him to return late in the evening, each night getting farther and farther from him, your sleep not improving at all. with the seasons changing it always made the winery grow busier, the threats to the city more eminent and with it all the moments you spent together becoming fewer and fewer. it was agony being away from you, diluc thought each time you popped into his mind, so frequently throughout the day, and yet you continued to be out of his reach, three or more paces ahead and he was falling even more behind. 

and as each of you passed by the staff at different times throughout the day, the same light missing from your eyes, they began to wonder if either of you knew the other was in just as much pain.

he trudges through the heaviness of his own whirling thoughts. as if every step he took through the manor the loneliness of years past came flooding back; the coldness of the first night without a father or a brother, ice in his bones and blood on his skin. an untouched room left to collect dust and remained familiar but was not quite home when he returned years later. except this time it wasn’t burned pictures and items full of bittersweet memories that haunted him, it wasn’t secrets and death at his own hands that followed everywhere he went. it was the fog of what was becoming of your relationship that painted his fears in every room he passed.

the emptiness of life without you..

and how could it not when your rescheduled dinners together have become forgotten entirely or when every day it felt like you were no longer on the same page, off sync and so unsure of the others feelings. when he’d go in to kiss your forehead in a brief moment of passing, just for you to move at the wrong moment and instead of a sweet kiss meant to show you his affection, remind you he was thinking of you, you hit heads, hard. you try to act like it wasn’t affecting you too. having you knock quietly on his office door, unaware of the important business partners in front of him but hurrying to apologize and leave before he can excuse himself for a moment to tell you it’s okay and that he’d come find you once he was finished, so please wait for him. thinking he’d have the night off work and you try to surprise him with dinner only to find he would be unable to join you and when he did the same in return, your schedule too wouldn’t allow for it. you smiled despite it all, a silent promise that you were okay even if your eyes told a different story.

to say it had been hard recently would be an understatement, trust him he is feeling it so strongly too. but even if it had been this way and he was getting by, barely, it doesn’t stop how much it rips his heart from his chest when he slips into bed tonight, strong hands with a slightly detectable shake to them caressing your lovely visage, moving hair from your face. he drinks you in, takes in every inch of the person he loves more than anything else in this world, tries to memorize your face like he hadn’t already a thousand times over, like he might never see you again, and with such attention it’s impossible to not see the dried tear streaks on your cheeks in the moonlight coming from the window. 

who knew one's heart could feel like it was still beating and breaking outside of their chest while the hole in their ribcage bled without mercy.. diluc felt just that knowing he was the cause of your pain and your tears and he wasn’t here to do a damn thing about it. how many nights had you spent like this while you were trying so hard to be strong? his thumbs caress the soft skin of your cheeks, as if they were attempting to wipe that which had already long passed and make up for a moment he had already missed.

diluc had always thought you deserved better, so much more than him because, even if he would give you the world, surely his darkness would take you like it had others and perhaps that was exactly what-

“‘luc?” your raspy and tired voice brings him from the words that surely wouldn’t be well for his heart but your bleary eyes, slowly blinking open and immediately collecting more tears, are just as telling to what he already knows. your tone wrought with lingering pain that you suffered in alone and it’s killing him, “y‘re home?”

“i’m home,” he assures you, his own voice unsteady as he pulls you close to try to hide, to not let you see the tears pooling in his eyes because he felt them burning the moment yours started to water at the sight of him. right now, in the middle of the night when you were both so close and yet so far, he didn’t know what else to do but try to be strong too and hold you against him while wishing he could carry the pain for you both, even if it broke him.

he can feel you shaking in his arms, knows the wetness of his shirt where your face is buried in his chest is from your silent tears but before he can speak, sooth you with a voice already breaking, your words stop his every function. he swears he’s not even breathing when you weakly ask him.

“diluc.. are- are we going to be okay?”

with the breaking of his heart, his whole body flexes and he holds you so close, in a vice grip you might have found crushing had you not needed it so badly yourself. one hand cradling the back of your head, burying in your hair, the other around your middle and keeping you pressed to him so nothing could get between you. he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t let you go for even a second, like every part of his rationale told him you would slip from his grasp if he gave even an inch. 

“yes. of course.” despite the tear escaping him when he speaks, he says the words tenderly, reassuringly, strongly as he believes them, feeling your hands bunch the fabric of his shirt in a tight grip in a silent reply. he could not even begin to imagine a life where you were not together, where you were not beside him until the end of his days. you had to be okay and he would do anything to see that through.

* * *

bustling life in the winery started early in the morning. even if the master bedroom remained quiet and peaceful, the rest of the manor had workers coming and going and maids floating from task to task as soon as the sun began to rise from behind the hills of mondstadt. diluc and the many tasks he had to see to were not immune to the earliest hours of the morning either, no matter how much his body and heart begged him to stay in bed with you.

this morning had been the hardest of all. how was he supposed to leave when you had cried yourself back to sleep in his arms last night and held on to him tightly even in your slumber? when he rose with the sun anyways he did his best to let you rest, with the intention of getting as much work as he could done early before coming to wake you up with breakfast, behind the closed door of your bedroom where it was only the two of you and he could take the time to have a proper discussion and tell you that he loves you.

but it seems yet again you were not aligned when not forty minutes after he settles into his study with large stacks of paper on either side of him, waiting for his immediate attention, you quietly knock on the open door frame and smile. one that makes his chest both flutter and ache. 

“morning ‘luc.” 

“good morning darling.”

you both say at the same time and are just as quickly flushed with heat and a kindle of hope. he stands from his desk and with long strides makes his way towards you as you stumble over what you were going to say next while diluc falls silent against the strike of the match deep within his heart, so full of conviction and the truth of the words he spoke to you last night. you were going to be okay. he had meant it with his entire being. 

the shy chuckle and smile you give him only fuels his hope more; so genuine and beautiful, full of the brightness he worried he was taking from you when all he ever wanted to do was preserve it, let himself get lost in it when you pulled him in so easily and found your own comfort in his shadows. the dress you wore, one you often put on when picking grapes in the vineyard that he recalled purchasing for you, one he knows well, only served to amplify how much he misses you, how absolutely divine he finds you. he would do absolutely anything for you. 

“i.. um, i know it’s busy around here but i just wanted to let you know i’ll be around the winery today if you need anything,” you say, that sweet smile still on your face. all he needed was you.. your smile falters when you hesitate to speak your next words, your gaze moving from his handsome face to the floor beneath your feet. feeling his heart pick up speed at the sight of your distress. he moves closer to you, his gloved hand ever so gently grabbing yours and it catches your attention. when your gazes meet again, he sees determination behind your sparkling eyes. “.. could we have lunch together later?”

he’s eager to answer you, wants to ask if you’ll stay in his study with him the rest of the day even if it’s a selfish request, even if it means not much work will get done when he’ll need to have you right in his lap. his grip on you tightens, his pink lips stretch into a loving smile but as the words leave him, they meddle with the sound of quick footsteps and elzer calling for the young master, unaware of the moment he was interrupting. had he known, he would have done more to delay himself even if this was rather urgent.

“master diluc, is the paperwork for the wangshu inn order ready? the shipment from liyue is -” elzer stops in his tracks, green eyes widening when he sees the two of you at the threshold of the study nearly chest to chest. diluc still holds onto your hand but both of your gazes are now on the butler. “i’m so sorry -”

“it’s okay,” you interrupt with a squeeze of your beloved's hand, trying to reassure you both that your words weren’t a lie. you smile despite the snapping of your heart strings. the universe was hell bent on keeping you apart, wasn’t it? “i was just headed out,” the words felt strained coming from your throat but you knew right now you were only interrupting and needed to let diluc get back to his work. 

as you let go of dilucs hand, your eyes return to looking up at him and you see emotions that seem to mirror yours, like in the deep ruby shade of his eyes you can make out how much it hurt him to hear you say you were leaving even though you would not be far. the push and pull of the many duties he carries on his shoulders and how painful it was when you pushed yourself away so he could focus on another, though he understood why.

“i’ll come find you.” a promise that you wouldn’t be apart for long but archons it was utter misery to have you be away from him for even a moment and watching you walk away and disappear from his view before he was ready had only made it worse, had only made his chest ache.

he wonders if you are holding back the tears you had, and hadn’t, shared with him last night as you push the front doors of the manor open, trying to keep your head up when he could see the heaviness of your heart like a blanket weighing down on you. it wasn’t until he couldn’t see you anymore that he returned to behind his desk, forcing his feet to move in the opposite direction of you when they screamed to follow, and did all the work he could before he could not hold off being with you for a moment longer.

the melody of your voice coming from the open window, distant but close enough that all it would take is a minute to get to you. his hand twitching at the remembrance of holding you for such a brief time hours prior. the picture of you from this morning, in that dress, smiling and blushing at him, flashing behind his eyes with every blink. your sweet scent lingering on his clothes. the love and devotion he holds for you, the distance and tears that had torn you both apart, the need to be close to his very heart and never ever let you go- it all stopped diluc so suddenly and he knew he was at his limit.

he needed you. more than air and water, more than his strength and the fire that had always been within him. more than anything else in this world and celestia he needed you. 

his footsteps are determined, not stopping for even a moment and only slowing when he nears the front doors, seeing adelinde among the few others in the fourier having finished the worst of the workload already.

“adelinde that will be enough for today. please excuse the staff for the rest of the day.”

“yes master diluc,” she doesn’t question it and is quick to let the others that hadn’t already overheard know, looking forward to any early day they rarely got.

the afternoon sun paints the fields in a lovely yellow, bringing out the shine of plump purple grapes and the brightness of the lush green leaves. among it all he easily found you and feels his heart surge at the sunlight illuminating the exposed skin of your chest and legs even at this distance. 

you hadn’t asked for the dress you adorned today, hadn’t even seen it before unwrapping the gift box he gave it to you in. it wasn’t extravagant but simple, comfortable, and of a shade that had always reminded him of you. it was years ago now but he remembers from the moment he saw it he knew how beautiful you would look in it and he was right. every time you wore it he had thought so and today that felt especially rue.

you caught a glimpse of bright red in your side view, the bounce of crimson locks and the darkness of his black coat in contrast to the vibrant day, before he made it to you but just the slightest sight of him had you paying not another thought to what you had been doing mere moments ago. the butterflies in your stomach began to flutter about wildly, the invisible tether of your love, that tied your hearts as one, going taut and bringing you to his side quickly, having you reaching for him as soon as you could.

“diluc~.”

“my love.”

he was just as eager to feel you, pulling you close to him with a large hand on your lower back as soon as you were within arms reach, the fingers of his other curling to caress your face tenderly. you melt against him, leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering closed, your hands holding onto his jacket tight. 

yes all he had needed was you. and in your hold, he felt how much you needed him too.

“spend the rest of the day with me?” he asks, voice little more than a whisper as he leans in to place a kiss to your cheek. the warmth it left on your skin was like the nourishment you had needed so desperately and you love how it lingers when he moves to kiss your lips, delicate and reassuring. 

“really? what about-” 

“please.”

“i- i would love that, so much.” 

your lips meet again, long and gentle, and you smile into his replying kiss, feeling that heavy weight of worry and anxiety melt away under his affections, the way he held you and kissed you softly with no intention of letting you go.

he had missed your smile against his lips, had needed it more than he thought possible and relishes in the way it lingers on his lips. it makes him feel lighter, as you always had, but in comparison his next words are serious, dripping with conviction and truth, telling you he needed you to hear his words and never forget them. 

“i am unable to envision a universe in which we are not together,” he pulls you closer so you’re now chest to chest, forehead to forehead, sharing every breath, every heartbeat. 

your chest tightens at the remembrance of last night. the thoughts that overtook your every worry, dug into every wound deeper and deeper until you weeped and dreamt of the terrible outcome of everything keeping you from him. a life full of still and dark numbness because truly how could the world keep spinning and moving so easily when you were without diluc.

“i cannot be without you,” he says, stopping your every thought, your every worry, kissing you again and again, whispering when he comes up for air, continuing to steal your breath. “not now. not ever.”

* * *

your feet hadn’t touched the ground since diluc lifted you into his arms bridal style, carrying you past the workers leaving for the day who didn’t disturb the soft gazes and wordless affections you shared as you disappeared past the front doors and into the now quiet manor. the heaviness of dilucs boots and the sounds of your lips now on his were the only sounds to be heard until the door to the master bedroom was flung open and you gasp at the intensity of which diluc presses you between his broad chest and the wall with a groan that made your core ignite.

the familiar wall cools your burning skin but it wouldn’t be too long now before the entire room was as warm as you and diluc were when entangled in each other. before the back of your head can be pressed against it too, with you so eager and pliant to accept everything he gives you and him so very desperate to not hold back, a large hand cradles the back of your head and keeps it from ever touching the wall as diluc kisses you deep, so full of love and desire. you can feel it with every movement of his lips on top of yours, the way his tongue swipes along your bottom lip and into your mouth, his fingers sinking into your hair, pulling you into him.

you can feel every heaving breath he takes, the weight of it on your body and the heat of it on your face. mixed with his normal scent of oak and wine it had you lightheaded, your thighs squeezing around his thin waist, your hands clinging onto his shoulders for more purchase even though he could easily hold your entire weight on his own and loved to do so. having you depend on him in any way always made his chest swell and right now, while he held you there grinding his hard clothed cock against the dampness of your panties, the fingers of his hand not in your hair squeezing the plush of your thigh, the flames of his heart threatening to devour every inch of you both, was no exception. 

how long had it been since he had touched you more than in passing or late into the night? since he could remind you in this way that you are everything to him? you had been a constant on his mind even if physically he was far away. every moment without you was spent yearning, worrying, aching and now that he had you in his arms once more, nothing to interrupt you, and the universe be damned, he would not be ever letting you go again.

he groans your name against your lips at the feeling of your fingers sinking into his hair and tugging on his roots when he grinds against you particularly hard, in perfect time with you chasing after him. “i need you so badly.” his kiss is consuming, nearly teeth clashing and absolutely breath stealing and with every thrusts of his hips, he swallows your sultry moans. 

he untangles his hand from your hair and grabs your other thigh, lifting you further up on his waist and easily carries you to the bed, each step confident and steady even with you distracting him, cupping his face in your palms, not wanting your lips to be apart from his for a even moment and he's sure to stay close as he crawls onto the bed. like you were the most precious of glass, he lays you in silky sheets and pillows slowly with your legs straddling his, your hands still holding onto his face, his strong arms keeping him from crushing you completely with his full weight.

you don’t realize you’ve started to cry until you taste the tears on your lips, warm and salty against the sweet taste of each other. diluc attempts to pull away, not far, but enough to check that you're okay and wipe your tears but you don’t falter in your hold on him and he cannot resist your gentle urgency. you can only deepen your kiss, tasting his tongue and lifting your hips to feel his cock that was making his pants incredibly tight.

neither of you know how long you stay like that, unable to part but when you finally pull away for air you desperately need, you’re panting and trying to tell him how much you need him too but it’s so hard to put into words right now. all you can get out is his name while you try to wipe your tears that just won't stop no matter how much you try to will them to.

“i’m here,” he assures you, bringing up one hand to wipe your wet cheeks with his thumb, watching your tears collecting on the dark of his gloves, feeling his own eyes burning. “i’m yours.”

“i’m yours,” you repeat in earnest, even if your voice is weak from your uncontrollable tears. your grip on him grows tighter as you pull him into a kiss, salty wet and desperate for him to know just how true your words were. “i’m sorry ‘luc. i’m so sorry..”

sorry we’re in this mess, that i can’t stop crying. sorry that i worried we might not make it through this, even if only for a night.  

he hushes you with a gentle caress of burning fingers along your face and through your hair, the press of steady lips against your cheek. “there’s no reason to be sorry, my dear. everything is  going to be alright, we will be alright.”

you nod your head, his words wrapping around your spine and seeping throughout your body, every ounce of you thrumming with the belief and the love you found in his words. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” he doesn’t miss a beat in his confession to you. he nuzzles into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet scent and the feeling of you underneath him, letting himself sink further into the mattress with nearly his whole weight enveloping you but it was more comforting than crushing and it had been exactly what you both needed. “more than i can put into words.”

your body was bursting with all kinds of heat, that from your beloved that he so naturally emitted and the burning, blazing flame within your heart that was a twin to his own. fueled by your love, by your devotion. and there was no denying the heat pooling between your legs either, the way your panties already felt so wet and the press of dilucs impressive erection against your inner thigh was not making it any better.

he felt it all too, wanting to let its fire consume him, bright and burning hot with his feelings for you, how he would do anything for you, how badly he needed you in any and every way. a familiar heat that he had felt for you since you stole his heart but even when he thought it impossible, it had only grown since that day and his inability to live without you grew with it.

his lips meet the skin on your neck, soft kisses placed along the length of your neck to below your ear and back down again, making your skin burst out in goosebumps. “can i have you?” he asks when his lips return to where they started.

“please.” you say with eagerness, your hands tugging at any part of his clothes that they can hold onto. 

every move diluc makes is delicate, intentional, showing you the truth and intensity of his love. first, he removes his gloves, needing to feel all of you against his skin. vivid, hungry, scarlet eyes never leave your figure as he pulls off the leather from each hand and tosses them onto the nightstand, feeling you shudder under his touch when one hand grabs your thigh, spreading your legs further apart and the other ghosts over your collarbone, skilled fingers dipping below the strap of your dress, moving along the hem that plunges to your breasts.

“you are so soft,” he murmurs as if he hadn’t known he said it outloud, as if it had been the first time he had ever felt your skin in a way only he should touch you. the pads of fingers ghost along the tops of your breasts, barely moving below your dress to feel all of you but still hardening your nipples under the fabric. 

your chest is heaving, like his touch was burning into your skin for you to remember for all time, your heart hammering in your chest every passing moment, every touch diluc gives you. your back arches to allow space for his hand snaking around your waist to your back and in his endless strength, he lifts your figure, your arms wrapping around his neck for stability. his movements are swift as pulls up the fabric of your dress, your arms leaving his embrace so he can take it off you completely.

in your needy movements you try to reach back with one arm to undo your bra but a strong grasp holds onto your wrist before you can unclasp the prongs. you feel it more than see it, the shake of his head in protest.

“let me take care of everything,” he says, deep and rumbling against your body, his breath fanning against your neck where his lips have once again found their home. 

diluc guides your hand to his chest and you grip onto the fabric on his coat, wishing he was just as bare as you, especially when he unclasps all the hooks of your bra in one motion, pulling the fabric from between you and discarding it by your dress.

with a last kiss and a small lick of his tongue against your skin, his hand still splayed on your back, he guides you back down into the plush mattress, staying on his knees between your spread legs. now only a thin pair of lace panties keeps him from seeing all of you and he takes his time revealing you to him, unwrapping you like the gift you were and making you tremble with his hands and lips.

he kisses you, strong hands squeezing your waist when you moan into his lips and you might have cried in protest when he breaks away but they don’t leave you long, finding your collar bone and moving across your chest, down your arm, each finger, every knuckle and back up again only to move to the other arm, not a bit of you going unloved.

you shudder as his lips cascade down your middle, leaving a humming warmth in their wake all the way to the edge of your panties and back up to your breasts. he kisses the underside of one while grabbing the other with a gentle squeeze that has you mewling, arching for more. his breath fans against your sensitive skin, hot and heavy with parting of his lips as he envelopes your hardened nipple and presses into you, letting you feel how hard he is with a roll of his hips against yours.

every sweet suckle and lick of his tongue, attention that he gave to both of your breasts, had the pooling wetness between your legs soaking through your panties and your hips bucking to feel more of him. when diluc finally does part from your chest, he sits back on his knees, his tall frame towering over you and archons you swore you could cum just from the sight of him like this.

his muscles flex as he gets himself out of his coat and vest, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, throat bobbing, his cock painfully hard and thick in his pants, a familiar stickiness already smearing along where it rests in his boxers but it’s the last thing on his mind. there's a deep flush to his cheeks, his eyes rich with longing and love and behind it there's no hiding a lick of flames that are that of a man starved and so beyond desperate for his other half.

you’re not even sure you’re breathing watching him tug off his tie with one hand, your gazes never breaking, his other hand traveling down your leg to behind your knee and lifting it to his chest. long dark lashes flutter closed as he nuzzles his nose near your ankle before placing a kiss there and another and another, your legs already getting a light shake to them.

“you are so beautiful my love,” he whispers against your skin, his hand on your leg squeezing your flesh. another kiss, chaste and sweet and full of devotion, it’s heat lingering on your ankle even after he’s pulling away and tugging at the hem of your panties, lifting them up your legs.  “i could never be without you.”

“‘luc..” you feel the tears pricking at your eyes again, hear the way your voice is wrought with emotions you’ve held back, tried to deny, pent up when you couldn’t be near him like you need to. “please, i need you.”

he knew all the ways you meant it, for he felt it too and knew what lay within the heart that he swore to protect and cherish. the very one he had been apart from in so many ways for far too long and that lay in front of him now, completely his to take again and again even if he didn’t think he deserved such a wonderful thing.

with your leg easing over his shoulder, his hair tickling the inside of your thigh, he spreads your legs further apart to allow space for his broad shoulders and doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath after seeing him between your legs looking like heaven before his tongue, hot and flat against you, licks your dripping pussy with a deep moan that rumbles the bed under his chest.

the taste of you melting on his tongue makes him drunk so quickly. in a way wine and alcohol couldn’t attempt to rival and even more potent with intoxication. your reactions to his lapping tongue only add to that state of euphoria, diluc always finding that your pleasure was his own.

any other night this could have been enough to ease the overwhelming need he felt for you. sucking your clit between his lips, hearing soft and hazy curses drifting down to his ears, your fingers tugging at his hair with every intense shake of your legs that he kept pried open with strong arms when they threatened to close around his head. not that he would ever mind suffocating in between your thighs but this gave him the perfect angle to taste you and thrust his tongue in and out of your tight hole and tonight, he isn’t sure he’ll ever get enough.

every breath you took was deep but it was never going to be enough against the man you love utterly devouring your pussy, spreading your legs wider and diving his tongue deeper into you, his nose pressed against your clit until you worried he wasn’t even breathing.

your orgasm came before you could even try to hold off for a little longer, bursting on his tongue and eagerly drank down. your body writhes in his persistent hold, your hand buried in the mane of his hair pulling him closer and farther away, his name a melody of pleasure and need for more on your lips. 

diluc doesn’t pull away, the languid movements of his tongue turning soft and soothing, letting you ride out every last bit of release without over stimulating you too much, allowing him to capture every bit of your essence on his tongue and feel your small shake when he rolls his tongue over your clit, too much and somehow not enough on your electrified body.

at the release of one of your legs, your warm skin rests over his shoulder again and he sighs against your clit at the contact.

“ah..!” you can’t help the jolt of your body at the feeling of skilled and calloused fingers parting your folds, the mixer of you both wetting them perfectly enough to slip one into you with ease, knuckle deep and curling right into the perfect spot. “diluc!”

he keeps a steady rock to his finger, lewd wet noises following every pump and lick on your clit that he gave with so much fervor, rebuilding that knot behind your tummy in seconds and when he added another thick finger, there was no holding back how quickly he could have you creaming and clenching around his digits.

you cry out, sweet and shaking and feeling like you might die if you didn’t feel him inside of you, if you couldn’t look at his handsome face and show him in this way just how much you loved him, how much you missed him, too. and before you can even fully come down from your high, with diluc still kissing your pretty pussy, you’re begging for him.

“love - please.” 

he pulls away from your cunt with lidded scarlet eyes, your juices sparkling against his chin and nose as he sits back on his knees. it leaves you so incredibly empty when his fingers follow but your wanton whimper was due to the way he licks his fingers clean, long soaking digits slipping past his pink lips with a groan, dark lashes fluttering closed at the taste of you.

tugging at his shirt, you plead again but you never have to with him. all you ever had to do was ask and anything he could give you would be yours. “need these clothes off you. need to feel you against me.”

any worries, any self doubts, of what your touches could perhaps do to the other, hurt you again, not be attuned like you once were, melt away in the heat of every touch you give one another with no hesitation and no question on where your heart would be from here on out.

your fingers overlap as you help each other with every button of his shirt, the buckle of his belt and ties of his pants. your hands roam his body with each article of clothing he takes off and throws to the side, mapping out the scars you know every place of and a new scratch you had never felt before on his right pectoral.

it made your heart ache that he got hurt and hadn’t told you, that you hadn’t had the chance to care for it yourself but knowing him, you’re sure he hardly called this ‘getting hurt’. it wasn’t deep, likely nothing more than the tip of a blade nicking him that was nearly healed but you can’t stand the thought of any harm coming to him. let alone during a time where you were so apart. 

using one hand to prop himself up, diluc slides out of his pants and boxers, cock resting against the thin red trail of hair adorning his lower abdomen, his tip sticky against his skin. with him hovering above you, your lips replace where your fingers touched over his injured skin, gingerly kissing him, pouring your love over every heartbreaking inch of his injury.

as if he had sensed the worry swirling in your heart, he lifts your gaze back to his with a gentle pull under your chin that you easily followed but he didn’t speak any words and instead he calmed you with a loving kiss to your lips that told you it was okay. he was okay, here with you now and forever.

he follows your lips as you lay back down, now resting on his forearm to be closer to you, chest to chest, the heat of his fingers like butterfly wings down your stomach to line his cock with your aching sex, sliding his tip between your wet folds until he could feel the mix of saliva and slick on his fingers.

the thickness of his cock head was a lovely mix of pleasure and burning stretch that had you clinging to him when he was barely inside you but he could have cum from the small, squelching thrusts into your perfect pussy alone. deeper and deeper with every few roll of his hips, he groans your name between his kisses that steal every bit of your sanity and diluc feels his own slipping with it. 

“fuck angel,” a rare curse falls from his lips when he’s fully sheathed inside you, so tight around him, and stilling his hips to allow you to adjust to his size. his forehead finds yours, crimson hair now completely free from its ribbon falling on the sides of your face and wafts the scent of his shampoo into the air. “you are so perfect.”

shaking your head with a breathy chuckle, you cradle his face with both your hands and instantly he melts into your touch, feeling the small rock of your hips letting him know you were ready for more. he doesn’t part from this closeness, each heated breath shared with the thrusts of his hips that start slow and deep.

you try to force them away but you can’t help the tears that well in your eyes being so full of him, being close to him again, the love you share so evident you were overwhelmed in the best of ways. but you still wanted more, wanted to be overtaken and drowning in it until it was all you knew because for so long, longer than you thought you could endure, you were without and right now, as you held him with as much need as he held you, you hardly knew how you survived up until this moment.

more of him wasn’t something you had asked for. he was yours for the taking in heart, body and soul and in every delicious roll of his lips, in and out of your sweet tightness, each one with more fever than the last, you were lost in the scent of sweet wine and smoke, the burning flames of your beloved that cradled you and protected you and the undeniable love that was sewn between you in an unbreakable bond.

diluc brings you ever closer, a large hand sliding underneath your head to cradle the back of your skull and kiss you. your lips meet, full of so much love and longing and muffled murmurs of pleasure. you feel his hair tickle your face with the pace he set, his chest following to get closer, pressing right against yours and loving the way your breasts bounce against him each time he bottoms out, hitting the perfect spot in your gummy walls. he was pressed so close you wondered if it was his own heart beat you were feeling or your own, not knowing where his body ended and yours began.

he was so deep inside you with every snap of his hips, so close in every way possible, and when you felt him picking up the pace of his thrusts, using the arm not holding the back of your head to grab onto your thigh, strong fingers sinking into your flesh with gentle power and bringing your leg to rest at the side of your chest, you couldn’t help but whimper against his kiss swollen lips.

“oh gods… ‘luc!”

your back bows off the bed, at least the best it can with diluc pressed against you but you were unable to control the way your body reacted to how well he split you open on his cock, his leaking tip always hitting your g spot, perfectly fitting inside you like you were made for each other.  

but it's the way he says your name, dripping with liquid fire and the stars he would pull from the dark night to show you how much you meant to him, that sent you over the edge of euphoria and when dilucs ruby eyes flutter open to see your crystalline tears that sparkled with the light of your love, love he had always been sure he didn’t deserve but couldn’t live without all the same, his own release followed, heavy and throbbing in the tightness of you.

he stays inside of you, feeling his cum leaking from your hole and down towards your bum but thoughtfully he moves your leg to a more comfortable position at his hips and lifts a bit of his weight off of you to allow you to take deep breaths, his arm flexing as he moves but not being able to be far, both because he couldn’t bring himself to, not yet, and because your hold on him remained snug with your arms around his neck.

all you could do was hold onto him, never wanting to leave this moment, and confess your love over and over, every one returned in kind with a burning passion.

“we will always be okay darling,” he whispers, brushing the tip of his nose along your own before placing a sweet, long, kiss to your lips. “i swear it.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[likethe-month]

The Time Between Us

-Historical Yandere x Reader-

Yandere x Accidental Time Traveler Reader

This was so fun to write, and I have more for this particular story so I will probably post more soon.

Reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns

Warnings: Yandere/possessive behavior, outdated ideas about gender, mentions of mental health, outdated ideas about mental health,

-

You are a college student writing a history paper about big cities in America’s Gilded Age when the dusty old PC belonging to the school sends you back to 1881.

You find yourself in the same building and room, but 143 years into the past. A man walks in and is utterly shocked to see you sprawled out on the ground in your confused state.

His name is James Harrington, and he is an architect who visits the school archives room to do his work. He is of average height with dark brown hair with a matching mustache and brown eyes that seem to linger on your bare legs for extended periods of time.

He informs you that ladies usually wear a skirt, and you start to think this man has never seen a bare set of women’s legs.

Your comfortable shorts and T-shirt aren’t exactly considered “lady-like” in this day and age.

It takes a lot of convincing to convince James you’re telling the truth, and he finally believes you when you show him your smartphone.

He is absolutely buzzing with questions, and you attempt to answer as many as you can before you figure it’s time to try and find a way back to your time.

Holding the paper in front of your face, you retrace your steps back to where you were sitting when you were transported here and closed your eyes.

Back in front of the school PC, you breathed a sigh of relief. Today’s events called for a night in, so you headed back to your dorm room.

Against the more logical part of your brain telling you to stay away from the computer lab, you make the decision to return.

You still have work to do, after all!

Over the course of the week, you go back to 1881, and James is always in the room, anticipating your arrival. You both decide it would be safe for you to stay in the room and only talk to James until he can get you some proper attire.

When he does, you sneak into a restroom when James assures you no one else is around, and you change into an outfit consisting of a high-necked blouse and skirt.

James feels proud, and he tries unsuccessfully to hide the light dusting of red on his cheeks. He informs you that you look like a “proper lady.” A part of him misses the strange, unfamiliar clothing and hairstyle you don, however, and he tends to mistake your modern ways for eccentricity.

James will absolutely romanticize the differences between the two of you, viewing your confusion as innocence, and his image of you makes his stomach twist in a way he's never felt before.

Then, he lets you know that his employer is hosting a dinner for his employees. He invites you as his date, and you eagerly accept, not willing to turn down the opportunity to see a lavishly decorated house belonging a Gilded Age businessman.

On the carriage ride there, he instructed you over exactly what to say and how to behave. Having seen your fair share of historical dramas, you were only half-listening, your eyes taking in every detail of the carriage.

The dinner goes well, and you even impress your hosts with your knowledge and mannerisms.

James' boss, Mr. Whitney, pulls him aside after dinner while everyone in the parlor room is deep in their own conversations.

“She’s a unique woman, indeed, Mr. Harrington. You’d be wise to keep a girl like that in your future prospects.”

Those words seemed to change something in James. Suddenly, he looked at you in a completely different way. Initially, he was planning on trying to persuade you to stay with him in 1881. He now knew that a real man, a successful businessman like Mr. Whitney, would take away your ability to choose. James would have to keep you here.

When you finish your drink, he asks you to join him in the ballroom where the other guests are dancing, and you do so, jumping a bit when he wraps a hand around your waist without hesitation.

He whispers lowly into your ear about how glad he is that you were “sent to him” as the two of you dance.

You grimace to yourself at his words and decide then and there that it may be a good idea to stay in 2024.

When you return for the final time, you plan on taking a walk through the city with your period-appropriate clothes to take everything in one last time.

You go back to 1881 and enjoy the sights while your final moments in the past last. You return to the archives room to be met with a sight that makes your stomach drop down to your feet.

James is holding the building plan, observing it with cold, observant eyes. You’re not sure what to do here. He’s holding your only way back home in his hands, eyeing it in a very strange way…

“Hello, James,” you say carefully. “Have you had a chance to enjoy the sunshine today?”

He turns to you briefly to signal that he’s listening. “You do understand why I have to do this, don’t you?”

You freeze, feeling faint. “Do what?” you say, trying to not let your desperation show. “James, what are you doing?”

Without another word, he rips the paper in two, then into four, then six, eight, countless pieces.

It takes everything you have not to fall onto your knees. You were trapped. You were trapped in 1881.

He looks at you, but before a taunt can escape his lips, you lunge at him, a scream ripping from your throat. Hands suddenly apprehend your attack, and your held firmly in place by two policemen who seemed to come out of nowhere.

“It really is so unfortunate,” James says, sounding almost bored. “She’s gone completely mad. I’m not sure what warranted this sudden change in behavior. I’m glad I was able to contact the authorities before she hurt herself.”

“These cases of women gone into hysterics are common. She’ll receive the proper care at Somervault Mental Asylum,” one of the men says, grunting as you thrash and shriek.

“I’ll visit you soon, dearest. For now, just make sure to get better,” James says, grinning wolfishly at you once the social workers weren’t looking.

You’re hauled off to the asylum, and for just a second, you believe you really would fall into insanity.

[fridayth13]

Could I request Zhongli reuniting with his wife after the two had a falling out 500 years ago?

crushed cor lapis.

↳ zhongli × gn!immortal!artist!reader

↳ part one, part two

↳ genre: soft angst at the beginning, but it's mostly bittersweet | wordcount: 1.6k | warnings: none

↳ notes: i ended up with less angst than i thought i would have. but i did want to explore the thought of time passage and fighting for people who are going to live forever, even if it's subtle; reader is immortal and implied to be an adeptus or a god, but the kind isn't very important; ive had an idea for zhongli and an artist reader for a long time so i tried to combine it i hope you don't mind; as with the gender. i did write with a fem!reader in mind as per the request but in the end, the gender didn't need to be specified for anything so i left it gender neutral; i tried to give reader a more divine disposition about them so the writing ended up really flowery, but in any case i hope you enjoy! i really did have fun writing this one

You were a painter.

In your old life, as you liked to call it, however, you were a god. Your domain of influence laid in artistry and beauty.

Or rather, that was what Morax used to tell you. Archons like him were the only beings in Teyvat with real domains of influence. But you wouldn't really stop him if that was his way of calling you pretty.

That was about five hundred years ago. Nowadays was a very different story.

You crushed the yellow berries in your mortar and pestle to turn into paint for tomorrow's commission.

You liked your job in Liyue Harbor. As quaint and.. human as it was, you thought there was divinity to be found in the painstaking recreation of the things around you. Though a painting couldn't rival a Kamera in terms of accuracy, you were certain it completely surpassed the device in most other things.

You slowed your movements, surveying the consistency of the paint and the color. That would probably do. You'd collected quite a lot, so you supposed it was time to head back. All you were really lacking earlier was yellow.

And so you trekked on home from the terraces, skipping over stumps of cor lapis and sunset-painted grass along your way.

As you finally reached your home in the harbor, the sun had fully gone down. The lanterns lit, casting the entire city in a soft, warm glow. The neighboring waters reflected the deep blue of the sky and the speckles of rust and gold adorning every building in sight.

You opened your door and you thought of Morax, wondering if he knew five hundred years ago what beauty would settle upon his previously war torn nation. Leaning on the doorframe, you watched over it for a while. Children playing, kites flying, dinner being prepared, laughter and joy running amok.

You don't like to think about him too much, or how his silence is present in every part of the city that was all him, despite having nothing to do with him any longer. No matter how much time had passed, you seemed stuck in the first night he decided not to apologize.

Still, five hundred years was a long time. Although it felt like the blink of an eye, even immortals had to move on eventually.

You gathered your materials inside and closed the door behind you.

—

The mountains may erode, but they will always be mountains.

You recalled his own words as you saw him again for the first time in five hundred years.

A human-sized Rex Lapis stood before you, hands behind his back, dressed to the nines, pristine, and put together, and perfect, and not at all like he ought to have seemed like at your first meeting in several centuries. Though at the very same time, you couldn't imagine him looking any other way.

You bitterly savored the way he avoided your eyes in front of his boss.

"So this is him!" She said. The lively Director Hu Tao of the local funeral parlor was Rex Lapis's boss. You tried not to laugh. "Our new consultant, Mr. Zhongli."

You set your canvas down onto its easel, then the bulk of your dyes and paints on the floor. You did this without averting your eyes, as if trying to burn him if he ever had the nerve to look back at you.

He did not. And to her credit, it seemed Hu Tao noticed it as well. So as not to make your client too uncomfortable, you decided to take a step towards them.

"Mr. Zhongli." You said. With the proximity you put between you, he had no choice but to look back at you. Not a lot changed about him in human form, but by far, his eyes were the most the same. Down to the hard, intense stare, and the set of his brows. You wondered how many other people in Liyue he'd enchanted with them while he was busy avoiding you.

"Mr. Zhongli?" You repeated, a little less amused. Though you somewhat enjoyed how stupefied he looked at your appearance, you'd endured his silence long enough. "My name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet you here."

This seemed to regain him his senses. That, or Hu Tao's suspicious back and forth glances between the two of you.

Zhongli cleared his throat.

"..The honor is mine."

Hu Tao nodded, seeming satisfied for now. She clapped her hands together in excitement, turning to you.

"Alright! I suppose I'll leave you to it then. I have complete faith that you'll be able to depict the poise and elegance of my esteemed consultant."

You gave her your best half smile.

"Well, I'll try."

"No need to be modest! I've seen your work before. You're one of, if not the best, painter in Liyue. Just ask Mr. Zhongli! He's been very taken with your paintings even before we first met. He speaks very highly of you."

You crossed your arms. "You don't say?"

Five hundred years or the blink of an eye, you could still see his embarrassment without him having to say a word.

—

Director Hu Tao had business to take care of for the funeral parlor, and so left with a flourish, and a "Make sure to get his good side!" as she ran off.

You both continued to speak as civilians for a little while. He sat down at a table on the porch, a steaming pot of tea on said table between you. Your face was obscured to him through the thick white canvas.

Avoiding conversation was easy, but not. Comfortable, but not. Natural, but not. It shouldn't have been. As such was the nature of a marriage to the Geo Archon, you supposed. Or rather, the current lack thereof. But even that was up in airs.

"How.. How have you been?"

Your responding glare was unseen to him, but he heard it in the vitreous tone of your reply.

"Fine." You said. "Something must've happened to you though. Your eloquence seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"..You are still upset. I see."

"In what world would I be upset, Mr. Zhongli?" Your use of his mortal name created a crease in his brow. You gently brushed over it on his painting.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You still could've asked." You muttered, momentarily leaning sideways to look him in the eye. "For someone so revered for his wisdom, your brain still seems to be as hard as rocks."

You caught his surprised expression as you turned back to the canvas. You didn't allow him another word.

"Honestly, who ghosts their own spouse after an argument like that? You'd think the best time would be after.. five hours. Five days. Maybe five weeks after. Not five centuries—"

You caught him mumble, "Well, it's not as if you tried to talk to me either."

"I didn't think I needed to. You made it very clear you wanted me to leave you to die in the Archon War all on your heroic lonesome."

When he didn't respond, you snuck a glance.

The sun's rays were at the precipice of turning gold in its descent into the sea. The glow smeared his porcelain cheeks in amber, his eyes in glitter, the metallic components of his suit in light. He looked like a monument. Tall, statuesque, and lonely. Almost like his mountainous true form. More beautiful than even his numerous statues across Liyue could capture. More than you could capture. Though you did certainly try.

Annoyed and angrily pining as you were, you still tried to get his eyes right. The little flecks of rust against gold. Like cuts of cor lapis crushed to shimmering powder in the Archon's hand. A man of his own making.

You looked at Zhongli as the golden hour faded, slowly turning dusky pink. His eyes swam in wistfulness as he stared out at the harbor. You couldn't help the dull twinge of sorrow deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know how to follow up. You weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for. But it felt nice to hear it back from him.

When he finally looked back at you, you were tracing the rich scarlet of his eyeliner onto the canvas.

At some point, he turned on the lamp and set it down beside you while you worked on the finishing touches.

"You're better than I remember." He whispered like he thought you couldn't hear him.

You weren't sure what to say to that either. You just kept painting.

—

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still angry with you."

"Of course."

Zhongli never seemed to run out of tea. Despite not having brewed a new pot throughout your stay, the one on the table continued to steam, its aroma wafting leisurely throughout the room. When he offered you a cup after you left the canvas out to dry, you let yourself take it. You allowed him a calmer response when he spoke.

"This may upset you a bit more, but I am also somewhat bothered you never tried to talk to me."

"So we are at an impasse."

Of course, it did occur to you that you were both being hardheaded and moronic. But you were comforted by a few things.

"It would seem so." Zhongli nodded.

"Or maybe not." You quipped, glancing pointedly at an old painting on the wall. "You seem to have been stalking me, Mr. Zhongli."

"I think stalking might be a slight exaggeration."

"Oh, really."

Even as the mountains erode over the centuries, from the dust, they are fated to reform anew.

dividers from @clutteredfun

[heron-knight]

grafting parlor

a little biopunk short story I made as an example of what I want to see more of in the genre. feel free to use any element of it you want in your own writing.

I stared out the window of the train as it skittered along the track through town, its frantic pace for the sake of meeting the schedule making the seat a bit warmer than I would have liked as its countless legs accelerated to a blur. It always gets hard to focus when they run this fast, their heavy breaths reverberating through each segment. Outside, the dim streets glowed with the last lights of the night-taxis as they returned to their nests, the soft blue of their photophores contrasting with the piercing sunlight of dawn, their diurnal counterparts just starting to wake up and crawl tiredly from the garages. I yawned and carefully took a sip from my coffee, inevitably spilling some of it due to the train’s pace. “Why so fast?” I mumbled, running a hand along the chiton of the wall. The train did not respond. Maybe it couldn’t hear passengers, or maybe it was just one of the older generations that couldn’t understand anything but its own conductor’s neurosignals. The scenery of the city rushed by outside, streets and trees and buildings and combinations of the three melting together in the sunrise in that way that always makes you start to feel tired no matter how much caffeine you’re on. I mean-- it wasn’t like I had really gotten that much sleep the previous night, the anticipation of the day’s upcoming events having caused me to stay up so late that I’d only managed to fall asleep a few hours before my alarm had gone off-- but still, there’s something about a train’s undulating steps that makes it so you can’t help but doze off a bit. I must have, as I was jolted awake so heavily by the chirping of an incoming call that I fell suddenly from my seat onto the soft floor of the segment. My phone scampered from my shirt pocket as the train’s long, spindly arms descended from the ceiling and lifted me gently to my feet. “Who’s it now?” I asked as it climbed up my sleeve and perched on my shoulder, tugging at my ear until I picked it up. This was one of the newer breeds of phone, only having entered full production a couple months ago, though I’d had mine for quite a bit before that, from back when it was still in R&D. Swiping it from the lab may have set the Sciurus Corporation back a bit, but they could afford to deal with it. The prototype I had was always a bit too insistent that I answer calls as soon as they came in, a feature that I didn’t know whether or not was present in the final version. It squirmed slightly in my hand, all six limbs flailing as I held onto it with both my right thumbs, holding its head in place with my other hand, squinting in the sunlight as I looked at the screen set into its face. “Oh!” I exclaimed, loosening my grip. The phone proceeded to smooth out the fur that I had ruffled, staring at me intently as it continued to chirp. If a phone screen could look irritated, this one did. An impressive feat, considering the otherwise total lack of facial features-- not to mention that bio-transmitters hadn’t had subjectivity in years-- a mutual agreement by the Chordata Group had made it so. I pondered if I had time to answer and, deciding that I did, gave the phone a light tap in between the ears. “Sam!” I said, my voice half excitement and half tiredness, a theme that was quickly emerging for this part of the day. “How’re the legs?” my phone hopped back over to my shoulder, holding onto my ear securely before speaking into it.

“Sore.” they replied. “Can’t really walk, even. Should be at least a week before it’s done.” I leaned back in my seat and glanced out the window again. 

“Damn. How long since you started?”

“Eight months, if I’m keeping track right. Feet started changing about four days ago, and apparently they’ll grow wrong if I put any weight on them for too long. Not that I could if I wanted.”

“Can you bend them the other way yet?” There was a couple seconds of silence on Sam’s end, followed by some barely audible sounds of discomfort.

“Kind of.” Digitigrade legs were a highly recommended enhancement, but there was a reason why most people choose to have them grafted. Ambystomagen treatments were a lot of things. Well established, for one-- older than grafting by over a decade-- and with a nearly zero-percent rejection rate compared to grafting’s 8% for first-time recipients, but also weren’t known for being either quick or painless. Still, there’s something about feeling your own body change that meant I wouldn’t have disagreed with Sam’s decision in a million years-- and was in fact, the reason I’d recommended that they grow the legs themselves. It’s all about that moment-- that one morning when you wake up, see yourself in the mirror, and realize that it was the first time you’d truly done so. When I’d got my ears done, I’d had a hundred such moments, and each time I saw myself in the two years it had taken had been more euphoric than the last. My favorite part was that day I’d realized I had become able to angle them in the direction I’d wanted. Iris had needed to tranquilize my computer because I’d lose so much sleep otherwise staying up late watching videos on how to exercise the newly-grown muscles. “But….”

“Let me guess, ‘significant height gain?’” I sighed. 

“And I can just feel how much faster I’ll be able to run!” from the moment they’d had the effects of digitigradization explained to them, they’d been extremely excited about not being the shortest member of the team anymore. “Still hurts like hell though.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to head back to base once my appointment’s over? Help you take your mind off it for a bit?” Sam’s response was somewhat flustered.

“I… should be fine. Besides, Iris is still here.” I rolled my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, Iris is great to have around, but she’s not exactly someone I’d trust to take care of me while my new legs were growing in. 

“To do what, exactly? Their medical knowledge is limited to “here’s half a liter of knockout venom directly into one or more of your veins.” I could be back by lunch if you want.”

“An enticing offer…” Sam muttered, “but you’re getting a major graft today. No walking around until everything’s fused, and you know that you probably won’t be able to with what Doc’s going to have you on. Not to mention…” their voice dropped to a semi-conspiratorial sort of tone. “We all know you’d been waiting for a chance to spend the whole day in its office.” 

“I’m guessing that’s not why you called, though.” I glanced around the segment, making sure there was nobody else there before changing the subject. “You’ve got an update, don’t you.” 

“It’s on the move.” they said gravely. “Iris got a ping from one of their eyes a few minutes ago. Apparently, they’ve got the cargo loaded onto an Arktos-class freighter.” I snatched the phone from my ear so suddenly that it let out a pained squeak. Had I not finished my coffee, I would have spilled it for sure.

“Arktos?” I half-shouted into its ears. “Where the hell did they get one of those?”

“They’re a Chordata corporation.” the phone said, a bit of distortion present in the words as it caught its breath. “Tytonidae may not be the highest ranking, but they’ve got more net worth in one of their executives than we have in the whole city.” I took a deep breath, withdrawing a tin of mealworms from my pocket and handing one to the phone as an apology. 

“That still wouldn’t explain how they got a military grade chimera that, need I remind you, shouldn’t exist. This isn’t just a corporate agreement, this is World Pact level stuff. All the Arktoses got put down after the war, and every single fused pilot had to be severed. All of them, Sam. I once knew a former pilot who said they’d needed to cut both his legs off to meet the decommissioning schedule because they didn’t have time to remove him from it properly. The Pact Keepers do not take half measures. A surviving one would be worth billions.”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about. Either they’ve had a huge leap in sales to be able to afford it from whatever the rich person equivalent of a back-alley flesh market is…”

“...or this cargo’s worth way more to not just them, but the whole group.” 

“Exactly.” The segment  was silent for a moment, the only sounds I could hear being the train’s footsteps. 

“Sam…” I said, staring out the window and looking ahead in the direction of the Doctor’s parlor. The city at dawn was as beautiful as a coral reef, and certainly not without its sharks. “If they’ve really got an Arktos… then this is big. This isn’t just swiping canisters of Ambystomagen from a branch pharmacy, this is something so important that Chordata’s willing to risk being the target of the Pactkeepers just to make sure it gets where it needs to go. I… I think I’m going to need to cancel the appointment. Get back to base, make a plan. With you out of commission and Iris’s situation… We need to-”

“Why do we do this?” Sam asked. Their voice was firm and declaratory despite their obvious exhaustion and I suspected a bit of Iris’s venom-- not as strong as a grafter’s but still effective. I took a second to center myself, slowing my breathing to match the train’s.

“To become ourselves and live the lives we always should have had.” I’d said those words a thousand times in a thousand different contexts, and they had never lost any meaning whatsoever. I still remembered the first time they had been said to me-- the first memory I’d had that wasn’t melted into the fog of half-repressed events that my mind had been up until the moment I’d first felt the sensation of ambystomagen gel soaking into my skin.

“And not let anyone or anything stop us. Don’t forget that what you’re doing today is the reason we all started working together in the first place. The journey’s important, but don’t let it make you forget the destination.” there was another brief silence. “It’s fine. Trust me, Eva. Today, you don’t need to worry about this. Iris got a few bugs on board the Arktos before it submerged, and from the path it’s taking, it’ll be at least a week before it gets remotely close enough to be of any concern. Go become yourself, and don’t forget to enjoy it.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I sighed. The train was starting to slow down now, and the sunrise had begun to disappear behind the dense canopy that covered Nyx Town. “Looks like I’m almost there. I’ll call you back later if I can.”

“Iris will swing by around eight to pick you up. I’m guessing you’re going to be pretty high on… whatever it is that it uses, so…” they trailed off for a moment. “I’d better ask now instead of later if that offer of a distraction’s still going to be good then.” I rolled my eyes and leaned in to whisper into the phone’s ear. 

“If I’m still conscious by the time I leave its office, I’ll provide all the distraction you need.” The train hummed a short tune that reverberated through its carapace as it pulled into the station, flexing its seats to inform any passengers that hadn’t been listening that we had arrived. “But also, don’t be afraid to let Iris put you under for a few hours if your legs start hurting too bad.” The phone’s screen went dark and it climbed back into my pocket as I stepped off the train into the warmly-lit streets of Nyx Town. 

The sun never reached this part of the city, blocked almost entirely by the enormous trees that towered above even the highest buildings around. It was the kind of place that gives you a feeling like being safely hidden beneath fallen leaves from the moment you step off the train and watch the fireflies meander across the skyline like stars that had come down to earth for a night on the town. The streets were mostly empty at that time of morning, as most of Nyx Town’s residents formed a large chunk of the city’s nocturnal population, and had probably just returned from their various night shifts across the city and gone to bed just a few hours ago. A few windows were still lit, but the only real activity then was the fireflies and the occasional homunculus that would wander past every so often, a tray of fliers or a clipboard with a petition on it balanced on top of its head or held in its stubby hands. 

“♪♪” I heard, looking down to see a smaller homunculus holding out a stack of papers. I sighed, reaching down to take one as I knew that it would just follow me around until I looked at what it was selling. I read through the flier absentmindedly, making sure it could see that I was doing so, though the contents of it did intrigue me. “𝅘𝅥𝅰𝅗𝅥”

“20% off first visit? Really?”

“♪!” 

“I’ll be sure to check it out, then.” the homunculus turned and waddled away as I folded up the ad and slid it into my pocket. It was for the new place that had just opened a few blocks down from where I was, which Iris had been wanting to take me to since they had started setting up. I’d never been in a tentacle pod before, but every time I heard someone talk about them made me more excited. The ones that this place had were apparently big enough for two people at once, and according to the flier the homunculus had given me, they were working on installing one that was big enough for three. Really, I had no Idea why I hadn’t gone to one as soon as I’d learned about their existence. Anyone who’s met me could tell you that it perfectly matches my idea of a good time, and Iris said they were great for dealing with soreness-- in fact, they were originally invented for use in spas. Maybe we could go after my appointment. The day was already going to be amazing, and three hours high on whatever was in the pod’s fluid while thick, slippery tentacles massaged me inside and out would be the perfect way to round it out. 

The restaurant was busy with all sorts of activity as I stepped in from the street, many-armed waiters and homunculi hurrying between tables under the soft, pulsing orange glow of the Lux Beetles as they scurried though the colony-tubes which branched out across the ceiling. In the corner, a large homunculus hummed a slightly familiar tune, its eight-fingered hands dancing across the crescent keyboard that it sat in the middle of. Pandora’s Box was the kind of place you could only find in Nyx Town-- an atmosphere devoid of any concept of time, tinted windows blocking out what little sunlight managed to reach the street to the point that even the fireflies were barely visible unless one flew right next to the glass. It didn’t matter when it was, where you had come from, or where you were going after, the warm lights of Pandora’s Box would shine all the same. The symphony of sizzling oil always managed to cut through the most frantic cacophonies no matter how many people were talking, sending out smells that you could pick up from a block away of everything from dollar-fifty synthflesh to the most top shelf of products so fresh that the meal was cooked up and served before whatever unmodded farm-raised livestock it had come from could be pronounced dead. No matter what they were cooking here, no matter what the customer could afford to order, the smell alone was enough to make you believe in a benevolent universe. I sauntered over to the bar and slid into one of the seats, a small team of office ants carrying a menu over to me as I waited.

“What’ll you be havin’ today?” Damian asked in his signature, all-over-the-place accent, not yet having recognised me. He traced a hand along the shelf, looking through his not-insignificant collection of expensive looking beverages. I leaned in as far as I could, not that the words I spoke were particularly secret to any of the place’s regulars. 

“A tall glass of all that I am” he spun around, grinning as he set his hand on the table and allowed the ants to crawl up it and into his sleeves.

“How long’ll ya be staying?”

“Until I can live with myself.” He reached under the counter and withdrew a wooden box, like the ones in which food was served  there but a bit fancier. It contained nothing except a small piece of paper, three words printed just below a dotted line--

Who are you?

A few ants crawled from the messy curls of his hair and pulled the pencil from behind his ear, carrying it down his arm and placing it in my hand before returning to their home. Slowly and deliberately, I signed with a flourish. 

Evalin Veritas, nothing less. Damian closed the box and set it aside.

“Good seein’ ya, Eva.” he said, reaching behind him and grabbing a bottle without looking. How’s Sam? They started gettin’ results for that latest change a’ theirs?” 

“They’re in the middle of the worst part now.”

“Ankles snapped yet?”

“Not yet, but it’s close.” he poured the drink into the glass just as the ants carried it over, then slid it over to me.

“Gets better after that, trust me.” I couldn’t see below the counter, but I knew that he was hopping from foot to foot in that way he always did when he felt euphoric. I remembered how Sam had nearly died from mod envy the first time they’d seen him step out from behind the bar. “This one’s on th’ house for Doc’s favorite customer.”

“Thanks.” I said as I sipped it. It was one of my favorites, imported from Europe. The kind of drink that was right on the edge of what Worldpact considered legal, fitting nicely the tone of an establishment that was one live jazz band away from feeling like it would be right at home in the 1920s. The kind that made my ears twitch no matter how small a sip I took. I never did understand how he managed to always pick the right one without looking at it. “Really, I feel like the authentication wasn’t necessary. You know who I am.”

“Ya can never be too careful.” he twisted around and placed the bottle back on the shelf, a few ants falling from his vest as he did so. “Got a Monopoly Man ‘round here just a few days ago with Liam’s face-- high-dollar stitchwork too, and cloned so good I’d thought they’d cut it off the man ‘imself. Besides--”  he tapped the box under the counter. “--I know how much ya like t’ sign your name.” I laughed as I finished my drink. 

“And my mom said I was no good at signatures.”

“I bet that’s the least of what’d surprise ‘er if she could see ya now.”

“Eh, she still wouldn’t be impressed because she’d think I wasn’t signing with the right name.” I said. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind putting her in the ground right next to the name she would want me to sign.”

“And give ‘er the satisfaction of knowin’ ya cared at all about what she thought?”

“Good point.” I sighed. “Well, I’d better head downstairs. Don’t want to keep Doc waiting.”

“Alright then. See ya after, and don’t forget t’ say hi t’ Sam for me.”

The lights downstairs were softer than the ones above, the glass-covered veins of algae along the walls dim enough that I nearly stumbled as I descended the stairs that led down from the kitchen. The waiting room was small, and the few couches and chairs had so many heavy blankets piled on top that I had to move a few out of the way before I sat down. Down there, below all the frantic activity of Pandora’s Box, a long staircase and a door hidden behind a spice rack between me and the rest of the world-- it just felt safe in a way that few other places really did for me. not through any danger present, but simply the lack of the warm, comfortable atmosphere of this hidden place beneath the city. With none of the bright lights, rapid activity, or constant schedules of the world outside, this place was where you went to forget whatever worried you, and just beyond the large doors opposite the staircase was where you went to become something that was able to handle it. I hadn’t really been to any other grafting parlor, but I assumed that I was incredibly lucky to have found this one. I might have fallen asleep for a second as I waited.

“Hello~” I heard from behind me as something heavy leaned onto the back of the couch. I looked up to see the Doctor, its face inches from mine as it stood over me. 

“Um… hi.” I stammered. I froze for a minute, unable to think of what to say. How’s it going? Been to the new tentacle pod place yet? What big teeth you have? Not to mention the fact that wherever it got its venom from, just breathing in the air that it exhaled was enough to make me lightheaded. It laughed in a sort of way that sounded as if it was laughing with several voices at once-- a sort of layered quality that, in the several years I had known the Doctor, I had not been able to figure out how exactly it had the effect that it did on me.

“That’s all it takes to freeze you?” it said playfully, a pair of right hands sliding out from under its coat to scratch under my chin. “The way it’s going so far, I might not even need to use venom to numb the site.” one of the hands traveled up my face slowly, stroking the top of my head in between my ears. “In my medical opinion… it seems like all I need to do is say hello and you just become completely helpless. Don’t worry though, you’ll still get plenty. I won’t hurt you.” I stood up and stretched, taking a second to center myself as the Doctor smiled warmly at me.

“You just surprised me is all.” I said, not exactly confrontationally and not exactly making any attempt to disprove its conclusions. It stood up to its full height, nearly nine feet tall. To anyone who didn’t know it, the Doctor might have seemed somewhat imposing-- towering over just about anyone else, who knows how many arms hidden beneath its coat-- the more you looked, the more you saw. That seamless transition from fur to feathers to scales on just about every patch of exposed skin, the way that no two of its limbs were quite the same despite the sheer number of them-- it really was on a different level. Chaotic, huge, and absolutely beautiful to anyone brave enough to let themselves see it that way. 

“Shall we get to the grafting? I bet you’re excited.” it gestured to the large door before heading through it, holding it open with one of its longer arms as I followed.

The office of the Doctor’s grafting parlor had much of the same atmosphere as the waiting room-- the same soft lighting, all the cushioning on the seat-- even the shelves of medical instruments were populated by just as many plushies as scalpels. The Doctor yawned, the whole lower two-thirds of its face splitting open, rows upon rows of teeth glinting in the algae-light as it stretched out each section and layer of its beautifully complex jaw and flexed its tongues, thick saliva starting to drip down its neck. I blushed slightly as I watched from the chair. “So how have you been, Eva?” it asked, the structure of its face all folding in on itself like a flower blooming in reverse until in under a second, it had all snapped back to its original position. 

“Not bad.” I replied. “We’ve got good intel on the next job, but there’s a bit of a complication involving… an Arktos.”

“Really?” it said, turning to face me as its tails organized the shelf behind it. What was the deal with the people here being able to do things without looking? Maybe its tails simply had their own subjectivity, or a portion of the Doctor’s had been assigned to them. “I got to take one of those for a spin a while back. They’ve got enough nerve feedback to scramble the sense right out of you unless you’ve been trained to take it… or you’re willing to surrender to it. But, that’s not what I meant. I was asking about your mods. Any trouble with them?” I thought for a second.

“No… not that I can think of.” the Doctor slid over to where I was.

 “Don’t worry about work, Eva. not here.” it said. “It’s been a bit since the last time you stopped by. Do we have time for a checkup before we start?” I nodded, and immediately I felt countless hands run across every part of my body, tracing around the seam of every graft and feeling the progress of each ambystomagen course. I laid back in the seat and let it do its work, trying and failing to keep my mind out of the gutter.

It’s strange, the way the Doctor examines someone-- a sort of exploratory embrace formed from hands alone, wrapping around you completely and taking in every bit of information all at once-- feeling how much softer your skin’s become, every tiny change to your shape, how well blood flows through a new artery. All you can really do is relax, and that’s really all you’d want to do. It always laughed softly whenever it felt me go limp like that. “Your ears have grown in nicely.” it said gripping one of them softly and moving it from side to side. “And they look great on you. So it’s that, the extra thumb, the estrogen, the larynx, and a few other assorted mods… am I forgetting anything.”

“And the lung.” 

“Oh right, the lung.” it said as it tilted my head up and ran a finger along the scar on my throat. It could have gotten rid of it easily long ago, but the voice change had been one of those mods where I’d decided to keep the marks of its installation. Simultaneously, it slid a pair of hands to each button on my shirt, ready to unbutton them all at once as soon as it had my permission. “Mind if I check the scars?”

“Sure.” I stammered. Of all the changes I’d had, the lung might have been my favorite so far to get installed. The Doctor never told me exactly how it’d managed to perfect its venom formula, but once all the capacity for pain is temporarily removed from your nervous system, feeling its many hands moving around inside your ribcage as it pulls out a failing organ before cracking open its own chest to withdraw the replacement it had been growing for you and sliding it into yours-- the sensation is really quite interesting. It always connected its own cardiovascular system to yours whenever it did major work like that, so as it worked it could feel exactly how much your heart was pounding. 

“It’s all feeling good? No pain?”

“A little bit if I run too fast, but it’s been getting better.”

“Voice is sounding good?”

“Yeah. Did it feel ok? It’s been a bit itchy.” It thought for a second.

“As… far as I can tell from just a quick examination. I’ll check a bit more thoroughly once you’re nice and relaxed.” I blushed slightly. Larynx and other throat mods were easier to examine internally than from the outside, and the most noticeable difference of the Doctor’s business model from other grafters is “who needs an endoscope when you’ve got several foot-long tongues?” 

“It looks like everything’s going well, then…” one of its eyes continued looking at your face as the other three slowly glanced down. “...and so’s the estrogen, I see. You just don’t get results like these unless you combine them with an ambystomagen course. Just the hormones and nothing else, and the results would be much less impressive.”

“My eyes are up here.” I said, a clear lack of any actual irritation present in my voice.

“Only for as long as you wish to limit yourself to two. Just say the words, and I could give you eyes everywhere." The office was silent for a minute, then we both laughed. 

“Thanks, but I’m good. Maybe a tail, though.”

“You would look great with a tail.” the Doctor leaned back, setting me down in the chair. “I’ve got a few options for you if you’d like to grow it yourself, or you could have one of mine. but now, let’s focus on your new arm.” I grinned as I remembered why I was there in the first place.

“Which one is it?” I looked at the many limbs I could see. All of them looked fantastic. It pulled back its coat and stretched out one arm, letting the others hang at its sides.

“I’ve been growing this one just for you.” it said as I reached out and touched it. The skin was soft and had a strange but pleasant smell to it. “Six fingers and double-shouldered, just what you asked for. I even took the liberty of putting a few helpful muscle memories in it.” I sat up and slid my hand along the length of it. “A high-quality limb like this, not to mention unchipped and unregistered… ordinarily, one of these would be worth its weight in gold. But…” it held my face in a few of its hands, smiling at me with a sort of warmth that you might not think was possible with all those teeth. “Just seeing how great you feel after a new graft-- that’s all I need. I just want to know that it’s helped, and that’s enough… That and the couple thousand dollars you paid upfront.” I chuckled slightly. “Hey, all the ambystomagen I need to grow these isn’t exactly free. Besides, I do need just a little bit of entertainment now and then, and with what it takes to hold my interest, I need a significant budget.” 

“Shall we start?” I said, leaning back again and rolling slightly to one side to show the part of my back that I wanted the arm attached to. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I had been to the Doctor’s grafting parlor many times before-- I had been expecting the sensation long before I heard its face split open again and felt its tongues against my skin-- but no matter how much I would prepare for it, I would always shudder at that first moment of contact. That tingling sensation wherever its saliva touches you, followed by a gradual numbness as it sinks in. it didn’t spread through your body like its venom did, but it still always left me a little tired. I’d never seen a modification like that advertised, let alone on anyone other than the Doctor. It’d said that it was a bacteria that it had worked almost five years to imbue with all sorts of useful functions-- antimicrobial, anesthetic, a little bit paralytic-- and also cherry-flavored, though I’d only learned that a few months ago with a bit of firsthand experience. It wasn’t entirely necessary-- every grafter had some variant of total anesthetic venom, the Doctor included-- but it was nice to know that it was willing to spend years of its life and who knows how much money spent on plasmids for the bacteria, just to make it not hurt when it sunk its fangs in. All it felt like was two gentle points of applied pressure, followed by that wave of calmness as almost 250 milliliters of venom wrapped around each nerve. I could feel my mind start to slow down almost immediately.

“Doing okay?” the Doctor asked. I couldn’t quite get myself to form the words, so I just nodded. “That’s good.” it said, lifting me up for a second to adjust my position. “Try to relax.” At the moment, relaxing was really all I could do. My vision was starting to blur to the point where I couldn’t answer when it asked me how many fingers it was holding up-- meaning the amount of venom had been sufficient. 

I barely felt it as the Doctor began to cut, peeling back layers of flesh and holding them in place with its hands alone-- a nearly imperceptible warmth as blood flowed from the incision, a numb pressure as it held it open, and a strange tingling as I felt air against my spine. It always worked quickly, dozens of limbs all moving independently, hands filled with scalpels and jars of stem cells-- sculpting the bone itself as its remaining hands ran through my hair, stroking my ears as it told me how good I was doing. 

It’s strange to think of your bones as having nerves. Soreness in them can be proof enough in their capacity to hurt, but you often might think of your skeleton as simply an inert frame-- no actual life in it to speak of. Still, that intense feeling as preexisting nerves connected to new ones was strong enough that I could feel it through the venom. It didn't really hurt-- that part of my brain had been sealed off completely-- and without it, all that was left was sensation. Like the feeling of a neutral texture against your skin, magnified by a factor of ten thousand until it was practically electrifying. Through the venom and the nerve signals, I could hear a sound from behind me-- a sort of suppressed whimper as the Doctor worked on getting the new arm ready to graft. More and more of the scalpel-holding arms left the graft site as it worked until finally only a few pairs of hands remained, holding the incision open until the new bones solidified. There’s a reason why major grafts are often so expensive-- not just to get them registered, not just all the ambystomagen needed to grow a new limb entirely from scratch-- but because giving an arm to someone else is much harder for the person that’s not allowed to use any sort of numbing agent. Laying back as a new appendage is sewn on is one thing. Cutting off one of your own limbs is another, even if you’ve got plenty to spare. 

I could barely move then-- it took all my energy to lift my arm, to reach up over my shoulder, and to hold it out. The Doctor accepted it, squeezing it with one hand, then another, then another. I struggled to form words, but I had to say it. 

“You’re… doing… great.”

It leaned over me for a second, the flesh around the arm sliced and pulled back until only a few fibers around the bone held it on. A few drops of blood dripped down onto my face as it smiled weakly. “Thanks.” it whispered, before it gripped the arm right next to the ragged edge of the cut and tore it suddenly from its socket. 

The graft went smoothly after it took a second to catch its breath-- bones were lined up, ambystomagen slathered on the cut ends of veins and nerves, and flesh stitched into place with the Doctor’s personal silk. It told me as it bandaged itself that it would take a bit for everything to merge together, but I was already half asleep. Getting a major graft done takes a lot out of you-- a good grafter can get you through it with only a little bit less blood then when you’d started, but getting new nerves connected is exhausting. I tried to stay awake-- even if the Doctor had been doing major grafts for years, some part of me couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Trying to stay conscious, however, was as futile as trying to move. The sheer amount of venom inside me made it completely impossible, and I passed out from the effort of trying to turn myself over. 

You always wake up slowly after one of the Doctor’s grafts-- an element of its business model that few other grafters share. Go to a corporate parlor and you’d be out the door just a few minutes after waking up, but it tended to value customer satisfaction over keeping a tight schedule-- besides, it didn’t have the option to clock out and bring in a new grafter following each major graft. As a result, you really get a good while to fade in and out of consciousness, your brain too exhausted even to think “I should really get up now.” not to mention how with just how safe you feel in that place, you wouldn’t be thinking that anyway.

The first thing I felt as I regained consciousness was the Doctor’s breath-- a slow, gentle pattern against my shoulder as I lay on my side, its arms draped over me, but its grip was weak enough that it was at first indistinguishable from the blankets I was wrapped in. my eyelids still felt too heavy to open and I still hadn’t fully regained sensation in the ends of my limbs, but I could tell immediately that it was asleep. Asleep, but still taking care not to damage the new graft as it held me, all its many arms surrounding me like a nest. I was vaguely aware of some sort of movie running in the background, the sound of it seeming muffled at first, but slowly becoming clearer as the venom began to wear off-- likely an attempt by the Doctor to find some way to stay awake. Leaving an unconscious patient unattended is generally something that grafters avoid doing, but this wouldn’t cut into my review of the place in a million years.  

I focused on the textures around me as I lay there-- the blankets, the arms, the fur that covered the Doctor’s chest, thinning the further down it got until it left that warm, soft patch of skin on its stomach, not unlike one that a bird would have to incubate eggs. I could feel its additional heartbeats through it-- the second and fourth hearts, I think. It might have gotten some new ones since last time, or moved them around a bit. Did it know that I liked to listen to them? Did it get them installed somewhere where the sound of them wouldn’t be muffled by layers of fur so that I could?  This was one of those moments where I felt allowed to not care about anything else-- the plans, the world outside that room, even the Arktos and however the corporations got their hands on one-- none of that mattered. What did matter was that the feeling as each nerve connected as ambystomagen fused new tissue with old was one of the best things I’d ever felt, even through the remaining venom. That moment, that place-- that euphoria that flooded my brain with each pulse of calcium ions through my nervous system-- that was what I had been looking for. That was why I-- no, why we did this. The knowledge, clearer with each time I flexed the muscles of the new arm, that I was more than I had been before.

(oh, and @estrogenandspite— your move.)