#and i thought well its not really pain its more discomfort

[softness-and-shattering]

Its normal to need rest after a big day ITS NORMAL TO NEED REST AFTER A BIG DAY

[usedpidemo]

Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment. 

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday. 

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.  

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal. 

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent. 

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has. 

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else. 

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings. 

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye. 

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss. 

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word. 

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening. 

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties. 

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern. 

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest. 

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours. 

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts. 

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain. 

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer. 

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right. 

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her. 

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between. 

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best. 

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you. 

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt. 

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen. 

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left. 

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop. 

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release. 

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone. 

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state. 

“Can you do something for me? Please?” 

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.” 

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face. 

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever. 

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting. 

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger. 

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest. 

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met. 

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger. 

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten. 

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.” 

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?” 

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

[misctf]

Dude I saw that post about the dude becoming the football jock but like, upside down, and I gotta say I loved it. Has that ever happened before? Can it happen again? Love the idea of my hands becoming feet, feet becoming hands as a whole new person takes over my upside down self

You groaned as you slowly sat up in your bed, the morning light illuminating your room. With a sigh, you force yourself out of bed, grimacing at the pounding headache behind your eyes. Did you really drink that much last night? Were you really that hungover? You look down at your phone, the brightness bothering you somewhat as you notice several texts from your friends. Apparently something big was happening on the news. You figure it’s probably just another once in a lifetime event. You slowly stand up. You’d look into it in a moment, but only after you took some Tylenol or something.

“What the hell?”

You mumble, becoming acutely aware of your morning wood. It’s not uncommon, but fuck you were hard. And as you rub touch your dick through your shorts, your whole body shakes. The sensation is way too powerful, as if you hadn’t jerked off in weeks. And as that thought enters your brain, you suddenly realize just how horny you are. Your mind flashing with images of hot guys doing all kinds of things to you. You slowly pull down your pants, and fall back onto your bed. Your hand caressing your incredibly sensitive member. Each small touch sending a lightning wave of pleasure through your body. But as your eyes roll back into your head and you moan, you hear a sickening set of cracks fill the room. And you realize that something feels off. The hands around your dick don’t feel as soft. In fact, your hands don’t really feel like hands. Your eyes shoot open and you raise your hands to inspect them. Only they’re not hands. Your fingers have morphed into toes, your palms the bottom of two very large, masculine feet.

“What the fuck?”

You grimace at the smell that wafts from your two new feet. A muskiness that shares a similar odor to a gym locker room. And as your mind tries to comprehend what its seeing, you feel your arms violently contract. The pain and discomfort causes tears to well in your eyes and you watched through blurred vision as your forearms become shins. The muscles evolving into a set of powerful calves. You want to cry out, but the pain is quickly eclipsed by a pleasure that shatters your thoughts. Your dick seems even harder, pulsating and throbbing desperately for release. For freedom. The smell of your new feet sends you further into bliss and your mind tells you this is right.

“Fuck brah...”

The voice is just a whisper, but it carries with it a masculine edge that drives your libido even higher. It’s the voice of a total jock. The kind of guys you would only ever dream of sucking off. And in the haze of your splintering thoughts, part of you realizes something is wrong. Very wrong. You’re surrounded on either side by a pair of meaty thighs. Ones that squeeze your head, making it somewhat difficult to look around. But it’s not just that. From what you can see, your chest doesn’t look very much like a chest. Instead of two pecs, you see what looks more like a six pack, adorned on either side by a prominent V-line. All leading down to... all leading to you...

“Wh...”

Your voice becomes gargled as a salt liquid falls from your mouth, which is becoming increasingly more difficult to move. In fact, it seems like it’s being forced into a more oval shape. But you quickly become more concerned as you feel yourself lifted out of bed. Your face now pointing to the ground.

“Fuck this feels good.”

That masculine voices fills the room again. But it sounds louder. More prominent. Dripping with an arrogant confidence. You find it so sexy... so right. The voice of a real man... better than what you’d ever been. But in the midst of these blissful thoughts, there’s a resistance that surges. What are you thinking? You couldn’t... Any resistance fades though when you feel a firm, calloused hand wrap around your head.

“You’re gonna make me feel so fuckin’ good.”

The voice says. And before you can even think or muster up any kind of resistance, you feel the hand move up and down your new body. The feeling is beyond anything you’d ever experienced. As your body throbbed and stretched, the pleasure only amplified. The bag of your throat filling up with that salty taste from earlier. Your vision was starting to alter now- it was becoming harder to see. Even smell and hearing were starting to go. Yet, in these final moments, you could catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and the hand that was teasing you so much. All attached to the body of an adonis. The type of guy you’d gawk at in the gym. The cocky jock you’d jerk off to time and time again. Now he was jerking you off. Or well, himself. Because as your vision faded and you took one last glimpse of yourself, you knew what you were now.

“Just my fuck stick.” The jock breathed out, holding back a moan, “That’s all you’ll ever be from now on.”

He came just a moment later, coating the mirror with his seed. He fell back on his chair, breathing heavily. His one hand teasing his new, firm pecs while the others greedily pumped you. He smirked down at you, totally spent but clearly happy with his newfound independence. He looked down at your phone, noticing the messages your former friends sent. Just selfies of their new muscular bodies- their cocks limp and spent.

“Look at that lil dude.” He chuckled, “Don’t you worry,” He gave you a few strokes, your body instantly growing hard again, “We’re gonna have plenty of fun today.”

[im-so-tired-sorry]

The Yellow Blanket

fantasy!kiribaku x pregnant!reader

a/n: this was an inbox ask/request but it was anonymous so idk who to tag ;-; but ik @ashthesalamipiece wanted to be tagged too so here that is lmao also lowkey inspired by the kiribaku fantasy series by Yuzuya on yt also also didnt really know how to end it so its a little rushed sorry

cw: pregnancy, lowkey dont know who the father is woops

--------

Your feet were killing you. You had been walking and standing at this new market that had been touring the village for a good couple hours. With your need to see what vendors and good were available in the town for such a limited time, you gained the motivation to leave the house, even if the rounded weight that centered in your lower abdomen compelled you into a waddle type of walk.

You knew you were due in a couple of weeks, at most a month. And as much as you loved your child more than anyone in the world and as much as you prayed for the healthiest birth, you needed to push this baby out now. The constant aches, pain and general discomfort had you begging your baby to come out already. But as much as you cringed at the sting from your heels and ankles as you took each step, you were beyond excited to meet your addition to your family.

Well, maybe not as excited as your husbands were.

Bakugo and Kirishima and been preparing for the last nine months to be the best dads in the world. Bakugo, learning safety precautions for you and the baby for the birth and the first couple weeks post partum. Kirishima, on the other hand, looked into proper care methods for him and Bakugo to learn in case you weren't around/out of the house. Both of them spent their time building furniture, baby proofing the house, and most importantly, pampering you for the past couple months to make sure you were in the most comfortable state of mind. You were the one carrying their child after all.

If we're being completely honest... none of you knew whose baby it was. The little kicks you endured starting your second trimester had Bakugo's passion and intensity, but the constant hunger and cravings indicated that Kirishima's endless stomach was inherited. Not to mention that no matter whose it was, it was a dragon soul and you had researched that regular humans have experienced more intense births when it was to a dragon soul. Did that freak you out? Maybe. But you knew it would be worth it and that you would take any type of pain as long as your child came out beyond healthy and happy.

"Jewel!" You heard your nickname being shouted across the market by the only dragon shifter, the only man, who would call you that. You turn to see Kirishima making his way through the crowd towards you, and you noticed Bakugo closely behind him.

"Hey, what are you doing here love? Are you ok? We thought you were going to be home by now." Kirishima instinctively scanned his eyes over you to make sure you weren't injured in any way. When his scan came out clean, he placed his hand on your stomach, almost as if to check the baby's vitals as well.

"I'm fine Ei," you placed your hand over his, "just saw there was a market in town on my way home and I wanted to check it out is all."

"Not in this weather. It's a million degrees out." Bakugo scolded as he fanned you. Your husbands were obviously protective of you and the baby, and they always meant well, but sometimes it seemed to sprout an idea of paranoia. Like now, they want to make sure the weather doesn't bother you and they know that the weight has been causing a pain on your feet recently. But it probably has devolved into the idea that any bead of sweat is the last before a heat stroke and that your legs will crumble if you take another step.

But he did have a point; the summer season was coming around and living in the warmer region has slowly been bringing an intense heat. Reluctantly, you agreed it was hot and allowed your husbands to carry your things as you three walked home.

Before reaching the end of the market however, you noticed a particular stand. There were various types of clothes, fabrics, handkerchiefs, and blankets. Out of the selection of blankets, one had caught your eye. You walked towards the stall, leaving your husbands behind, and you grabbed the blanket. It was a small, yellow one, made of soft cotton with a satin lining. The feeling of the cloth was perfect; as soon as you had grabbed it, you couldn't do anything but imagine your baby swaddled up in it.

"When is the little one due?" The merchant lady had asked. She was an older woman, her white hair wrapped in an updo as she fanned herself under the shade of her stall's tent. "Within the next month." You answered, a gleam of excitment hitting your voice as you answered.

Kirishima and Bakugo walked back towards you at the tent and examined what you were holding.

"Do you want it?" Bakugo asked, easily prepared to spoil you. All you had to do was look up at him and nod with a smile on your face before turning to the vendor. "How much for it?"

The old woman looked at you three for a moment. She noticed how Bakugo had placed his hand on the small of your back as he had approached you; how Kirishima held your hand while examining the softness of the blanket with sparkling eyes as you showed it off to him. She knew that this baby was going to be loved by three people who would pour thier hearts and souls for this child.

"Consider it a gift." She answered.

All three of you gave the old woman shocked looks.

"Oh... no ma'am. Thank you but this material and quality is way too valuable to give up without a price. Just let us know-" You were cut off by the woman enveloping her two hands into yours.

"My price is that you swaddle this baby up every night, not only with this, but with all the love and care it deserves. That is all I ask of you." Your eyes began to water; you coudn't tell if it was the genuine kindness or the hormones that were making you so emotional. Either way, you thanked the merchant profusely, and your husbands guided you away before you started crying in front of the stranger.

You held the blanket in your hands all the way home, thinking of how long the blanket could last; you thought of how long it would stay ith your child. A year? Five? Could this blanket possibly be passed down generations? In any way, you vowed to keep the old merchant's wish. Of loving and caring for your baby every night, and to keep them warm and safe and happy, with or without the blanket.

[occamstfs]

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away. 

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to. 

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers. 

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates,  just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink. 

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet! 

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes. 

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

[hajimeseyo]

You're staring, Izana notices. 

He has no idea who you are, really, but you've been trying (and obviously failing) to sneak subtle glances at him the entire time since he stepped into the convenience store. It's starting to throw him off, just a little. For all he knows, you could be a spy from an opposing gang. Not a very good one, though. 

Your gaze follows him as he walks towards the cashier and pays, and even as he walks towards the exit, plastic bags in hand. He pays it no mind as he feels it shift off him, the sound of the cashier greeting you the last thing he hears as he steps outside the store. 

It didn't seem like you were going to pick a fight with him, he might as well just leave it be. 

Besides, any gang that dared to come after Tenjiku would just be mercilessly crushed under his heel. A spy or two wouldn't change that fact.

The clouds above him rumble, dark and heavy, and he frowns, looking up at the cloudy sky. It would be a pain in the ass if it rained while he was in the middle of walking home. Maybe he could call Kakucho to pick him up. Or he could just buy an umbrella from the store right behind him…

The sound of footsteps snap him out of his thoughts, and he glances to the side to see you, head lowered and lips mouthing numbers as you take inventory of the things in your plastic bag. You don't seem to have noticed him, he notes in amusement.

His theory proves true when you look up, done from counting, and nearly jump at the sight of him staring straight at you. Your eyes are wide, the way you freeze reminding him of a prey caught by its hunter, and he can't stop himself from having a little fun. 

“You were staring at me quite a lot earlier, huh?” He says, relishing in the way your face flushes with embarrassment, and the way you instantly try (and fail) to school it into a look of nonchalance. “Is there a problem?”

You cough awkwardly, eyes suddenly unable to look at him despite being fully glued onto him just minutes ago. Izana watches you squirm, all too used to these shows of discomfort. Based on most of his past interactions, you'll probably come up with some lame excuse on why you were staring at him, then take the first opportunity you have to run away. Or get defensive, and aggressively deny you were doing anything of the sort. People always act the same when confronted with their actions. Izana's used to the same old song and dance. 

He wonders which route you’ll take.

To his surprise, you take neither of them. 

You seem to come to a decision, gaze snapping up to him, nervous but suddenly full of what seems like determination.

“There's no problem, I was just staring because–” You falter a little here, cheeks reddening a little again, before you pull yourself together with a quick shake of the head. “Because, well…your eyes.”

“Hm?” That response certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “What about them?”

“They're beautiful.”

The words are said so plainly, without a trace of any doubt, and Izana is shocked speechless. 

While he doesn't deny that he's good looking, the word ‘beautiful’ and any part of him have never been together in the same sentence before. That he's heard of, at least. Even if any of his subordinates had the guts to consider him ‘beautiful’, they definitely wouldn’t have the guts to say it to his face. Granted, you probably don’t have any idea who he is, but still. This is definitely a first.

(And even so, the thought that something about him could be beautiful was something that had never occurred to him.)

“...Really?” The words come out in a whisper before he could stop himself.

You nod vigorously, and once again Izana is thrown off by the fact that it's something you're so sure of. As if the thought of it being untrue has never even crossed your mind.

His response seems to appear to you as an invitation to talk more, as you continue speaking, hesitation fading away with each word that comes out of your mouth. “They're just such a beautiful shade of purple, like amethysts. I've never seen anything like it before. And paired with your long white eyelashes and white hair, you look like someone's painting came to life.”

"I don't know if anyone's told you before, but you're really a sight to behold."

There's a light, pleasant feeling in his chest.

He doesn't know what it is. 

“Ah!” You suddenly slap your hands over your mouth. “I spoke too much! God, I must've sounded like a creep, I'm so sorry–”

A laugh cuts you off from your panicked rambling. Izana doesn't quite know why he's laughing, but seeing you panicking over saying the wrong things despite being fully shameless literally right before just seemed so funny, and well, there's such a nice warmth in his chest; indulging in it doesn't hurt, right?

(He doesn’t notice the stars in your eyes as you stare, almost in awe, at his laughing visage.)

“What’s your name?” You’re interesting, he’s decided. It would be a shame to let you just slip away.

“[name].”

He lets out a hum. “[name], huh…got it.” 

“Wait.” You call out to him, just as he turns and begins to walk away. “What’s yours?”

He doesn’t notice, but as he turns back, there’s a genuine, serene smile on his face that would’ve shocked even the noisiest Haitani twins into silence at seeing it on the face of the highly feared leader of Tenjiku.

“Izana. Don’t forget it.”

(He’s scolded nonstop by Kakucho when he shows up at home, soaking wet from the heavy downpour outside.

“It’s not like you to be so careless.” Kakucho huffs, drying his hair roughly with all the fierceness of an Asian mom. “You knew it was going to start raining on your way back, why didn’t you just call for one of us to get you from the store?”

Izana hums unconcernedly. “I was already walking away from the store, I couldn’t just stop and turn back.”

“Huh?? Why the hell not??”

“Don’t be stupid, Kakucho. I would’ve looked so uncool.”

“??????”)

(part 2 here!)

[meowzfordayz]

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Author’s Note: short and sweet, and hopefully a lil funny too. 😆

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Kocho Shinobu x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~800

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: could you write comfort for when Their S/o like absolutely hates speaking up for themselves, like someone could be walking all over them and they'd be like "Oh, its fine" bc conflict= worst enemy? I would like to request Muichiro (love him sm) and Sanemi if that's okay, and the rest you can decide (-if you want to add more.)

~faqs~

Mitsuri will be all over the situation (in a good way, ofc 😌)

“Baby, didn’t you want your drink hot?” —> she’s already staring daggers at the barista who made your drink 😒

“Hm?”

You do your best to conceal the pinch of your eyebrows, as well as the goosebumps raising on your arms 🥶

“I thought cold drinks made you cold, and you don’t like being cold?”

… “Hm?”

She’s not buying your nonchalance 🙃

“That’s it.” Uh oh. “I’m getting you your drink made right.”

😳🫣🫠

“Nonono, Mitsuri, it’s fiiine.” 😭

Arms crossed, her lips purse, eyes narrowed as you weakly grin and take a big sip 😄

“If you won’t let me get you another one, then at least wear my sweater?”

🤯 “Okay!” 🤭

So maybe she’s wearing a cropped tank top underneath — you’re only a mere mortal after all 

— #oops my thirst made an appearance 😅

Short girlfriend = scary girlfriend

And that’s a compliment 😎

Shinobu doesn’t need height, bulk, or a dick to defend you

Her scathing tongue and unnerving stare are plenty

Not to mention, she’ll go full Karen if need be, but the more eloquent, calculating, deceptively sweet version 😌

She can make anyone feel like a complete idiot in 2-3 sentences, give or take 

Which does include you, but you don’t argue too often 😅

Basically:

It’s highkey hot when she speaks up for you 🤭

But it may or may not make you cry when her sharpness is directed toward you 🥲

Fortunately, you in distress is also one of few things that immediately softens her — at least, when she’s the reason for it 🥺

Kyojuro always tries to solve your problems for you

Not bc he thinks you’re incapable, and not w/o your expressed consent/prior communication

But he just hates seeing you unhappy, uncomfortable, unsafe — really anything that isn’t grinning and laughing

He understands there’s a time and place for more difficult and painful emotions, but why on earth wouldn’t he go out of his way to ensure those times and places are as few and far between as possible????? 🤨

So, obvi, he more than willingly goes out of his way ☺️

“Do you want me to say something?” his quiet breath warms your ear, softening the frustration growing in your chest

“I dunno,” you sigh, gesturing hopelessly at the person who’d just cut you in line, “We’re all going to the same place anyway.”

“True,” he shrugs, “But that was quite rude and noticeable of them.”

“Do you want to say something?” you tease, elbowing his side with amused fondness

“Not if it discomforts you.”

“It wouldn’t discomfort me,” you mumble, cheeks darkening nonetheless, “You’re so cute.”

Albeit, you aren’t sure whether to feel proud or embarrassed when he somehow intimidates the person who cut you into leaving altogether 😅

On one hand, you know Sanemi has your back ☺️

On the other hand, you aren’t 100% positive that that’s a good thing 😬

“I swear, does that bitch even know I exist?!” 😤

… 🫣

“I bet she doesn’t! Otherwise she wouldn’t dare treat you like-” 😤

“And this is why she doesn’t know you exist.” 🥲

“Pardon?” 😐

“Sanemi, I love you, and I so appreciate how ready to go to war you are for me, but-”

“Ooh darling, you have no idea. Go to war? I will be the war for you.” 😤

“So sweet,” your eyes roll, “How about you just let me handle it?”

“And how are you handling it?” he scoffs, “With smiley face emojis?” 🙄

…

“You deserve kindness and honesty. Not her manipulative bitch shit.”

“I’ll block her.”

“You what?!” 😳

“Would that suffice?” 😅

“Actually… yeah.” Sanemi is very surprised. Gushing now, “I’m so fucking proud of you.” 🥰

It’s kind of alarming when Muichiro speaks up for you

Bc you get a faint taste of what he was like before he’d really opened up to love 😕

And that Tokito Muichiro is sharp and cold as steel w/ a -139% tolerance for bullshit

Impossible to impress 😬

But your Muichiro hugs you when you’re feeling low, rests his chin on your shoulder while you do your best to draft a stern, confident text msg to your asshole “friend”, and is more than happy to tell you what he would do were he in your shoes

… you usually ignore his advice 😅

Buuut sometimes he reaches over and hits SEND before you can stop him 🫠

“MUI! I was going to delete some of that!” 😭

“Nah, it’s great as is.” 😎

[lyn31]

Omg! I just read your Zayne fluffy oneshot "Lonely" AND IT'S SOOO GOOD!! Whoever request you is so genius! And your writing are good too!! I'm here to send a request... (Since I craving more of a pregnancy story with Zayne). Here's my idea : MC had a fake contraction when Zayne isn't around. She doesn't know it was a fake contraction, so she immediately called her husband in panic. After that he gave her a whole day lecture something like that. But then, MC protested that it was his fault for keep working late. The argument ended when Zayne got an emergency call so he had to leave immediately when MC was still pouting about it. Do you get it? I'm not good at words, hopefully you understand 😩😩

I'm hoping you also mean fluff because that's what I ended up with after all 😂 Well... I only write fluff, so I guess it was going to be fluff either way... 🫶🏻😩

And no worries, I gotchuuu! I'm also someone who has a difficult time with words. My writing is crisp because it went through A LOT of editing, research, and flipping through the dictionary 🥹🫶🏻 and I agree the first request is genius, hella cute and this add to it as well! (Also I'm sorry I change the after the call part but I thought this work well! Let me know what you think)

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Love

Summary

When an unexpected moment of unease catches you off guard, you do what you’ve been told to do—you call him. And even through the distance, his voice is steady, reassuring. But maybe… it’s not just comfort you’re searching for. Maybe what you really need is for him to come home.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Technically, this could be a separate universe, but it also fits right in the middle of the rest as well! The parts link is at the end! Either way, Enjoy! 🥰

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You’re just about to sit down when you feel it—a sudden jolt of discomfort deep in your stomach. It’s not exactly pain, not sharp enough to make you gasp, but enough to make you pause. Your hand instinctively comes to rest over your bump, thumb rubbing slow circles over the stretched fabric of your shirt.

Cramps aren’t unusual at this stage. You’re in your second trimester, and little aches and twinges come with the territory. So you shake it off, exhaling softly as you settle onto the couch, phone in hand.

You flip open the novel you were planning to read, but your attention drifts almost immediately. You could read, sure, but now you’re thinking about holding a real book in your hands. The way the pages feel under your fingers, the crisp scent of new paper. Maybe you should convince Zayne to take you to the bookstore soon—if he’s not too busy. Or maybe that grill place you've been craving since yesterday is open today.

You huff, tapping idly at your screen. It’s not like you don’t understand his job. He’s a doctor, a fantastic one at that, and you’re immensely proud of him. But knowing doesn’t stop you from wanting. From missing him.

It’s probably just the hormones talking. You try to shake off the thought and refocus on your book.

But just after you finish one page, you feel the aches again. Your stomach tightens—uncomfortably so. Not sharp, but deep. A pressure that lingers, almost taunting.

Your breath catches. That’s—that’s different. It doesn’t fade right away, and a strange sort of urgency prickles at the back of your mind. Your palm presses against the firmness of your belly, fingers twitching slightly.

It doesn’t go away.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’ll pass in a minute. But… what if it doesn’t?

"Okay..." you murmur to yourself. "Maybe... I should just..."

Your thumb hovers over your screen, another hesitation, before you press the emergency call button, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.

The call barely finishes its second ring before a familiar voice answers.

"Yes?"

Just hearing Zayne’s voice eases some of your anxiety—but not all.

"Um..." You wince as the sensation moves lower, not increasing but persistent, refusing to be ignored.

"Darling?" His voice spikes slightly, alert. "Something wrong?"

"I—" You pause, trying to find the right words. "I don’t know. Something feels off."

There’s a brief silence. "Lower stomach? Upper? Or somewhere else?" Zayne asks, his voice steady.

You hesitate. "Lower stomach, I think? It’s not exactly pain—just an odd, lingering pressure." Taking another deep breath between your words.

"Sharp or dull?"

"...Dull."

"Alright. You’re already regulating your breath—that’s a good start." His voice is softer now, gentle but firm. A grounding force against the growing unease inside you. It's a good thing at this point, because you feel yourself panicking a little bit. The feeling still hasn’t faded. How long has it been? A minute? More?

You're still around six months at this point, and all you can think of is labor contractions. That is not a good outcome.

There’s a pause, then his tone softens slightly. "Try lying down—slowly. Tell me if it changes."

"Okay... Yeah..." You move to recline, but pause. "Wait—aren’t you supposed to walk around during contractions?"

"Don’t." His response is instant, clipped but controlled. You can almost hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re alone. I can’t, in good conscience, let you walk around while you’re in pain."

"Well, it’s not really pain—"

Your word gets cut off when you hear him saying your name. Not scolding, not impatient. Just firm. Steady.

Very him.

You shut your mouth, swallowing down the argument. It can wait.

Carefully, you ease yourself back against the couch cushions. You brace yourself on the backrest, moving in slow increments, exhaling with each adjustment.

The tightness begins to fade.

You hear a muffled voice in the background—someone asking Zayne a question. He must cover the receiver because you can’t make out the words, but when he returns, his voice is as steady as ever. "Darling? How is it?"

"Better," you admit, rubbing slow circles over your stomach.

"That’s good. When did the first one start?"

You hesitate.

"How do you know this wasn’t the first?"

There’s a pause. A knowing silence.

You huff. "Fair enough. I think about five minutes ago? Maybe longer. I wasn’t keeping track, I thought it was just cramps."

"Hmm. And now?"

You push yourself up slightly, careful not to move too fast. "It’s gone now."

You let out another slow breath, feeling a little ridiculous now. You just interrupted your husband at work for nothing. Maybe you should apologize—but then again, isn’t this what he always tells you to do? Call him if anything feels off?

There’s a slight exhale on the other end of the line—subtle relief. "That’s good. I think it’s safe to say it was false labor contractions."

Ah. Now you remember. Yes. You’d read about it before, but in the moment, all rational thinking had gone out the window.

"You don’t feel anything else?" Zayne asks.

"No," you murmur. Then, a little sheepishly, "Sorry. I completely forgot about false labor. What was it called again? We read about it, but I just... panicked."

"Braxton Hicks," he supplies easily. "And don’t apologize for being cautious. Precaution is never a bad thing."

There’s another muffled sound on his end, someone calling for him.

"Ah, right," you say, feeling a little guilty, but also a little bitter. But you shake the feeling away. "You should go, I’m fine now—"

"No," he cuts in, voice still soft. "I still have time."

You feel a warmth in your chest at that.

But then, his tone shifts, just a fraction firmer. "Now, did you overexert yourself? Or forget to drink water?"

"I drink my water!" you insist.

You don’t answer the other question.

Because, well... You may or may not have spent the morning rearranging the living room. Specifically the sofa.

The silence from the other end stretches for a beat too long. Then—

A sigh.

"If you need something, just tell me. I’ll do it for you."

The words are simple. No irritation, no exasperation. Just pure sincerity.

And somehow, that’s what makes the loneliness bubble up, unbidden.

You press your lips together, fingers tightening slightly around your phone. You’re fine. He’s busy. He’s saving lives, for God’s sake, and you’re sitting here whining about missing him?

The thought doesn’t help. The weight in your chest doesn’t go away.

You swallow hard, trying to push it down, barely more than a breath at first. "I was just—" You catch yourself too late, lips pressing together, but the words have already slipped out. "Lonely," you finish, softer this time, as if saying it quieter might make it less real.

And then, once it’s out, it won’t stop. “And then this happened, and you weren’t here, I mean you’re barely around and I just—I don’t know!”

The second the words leave your mouth, you slap a hand over it, eyes going wide.

Shit.

He doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a pause, just long enough that you wonder if the call dropped—then you hear his quiet inhale. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more careful. "I’m sorry."

Another pause. Then, just as gentle, "Today, I should be home on time."

You freeze, pulse jumping. That wasn’t supposed to come out. “I mean—” You force out a light laugh, waving a hand as if brushing it off. “Not like— I wasn’t upset or anything, just, you know… hormones?” You grasp at the excuse, but it’s a weak defense.

“Darling.”

His voice alone is enough to make your throat tighten. You shake your head quickly, as if he can see that too. “No, really, I mean yes, I miss you, of course. How could I not? But I don’t blame you, alright?”

A soft inhale on the other end of the line. “I miss you too. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you soon.”

His voice is steady, warm—so sincere it makes your chest ache.

"You don’t have to make up for anything," you murmur, though your throat feels tight.

"I do," he says simply. "I know I haven't been around as much as I'd want to. But that doesn't mean I don’t think about you all the time."

You sniffle. Oh, no. Here it comes. You are not about to cry over this.

Zayne hears it instantly. “Darling?”

“No, no, don’t—” You swipe a hand under your eyes. “You’re being too sweet, stop it.”

A quiet chuckle comes through the phone, warm and affectionate. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“Well, don’t.” You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

His voice drops into something even softer, something almost intimate. “You know I’d rather be home with you, right? I’d rather be next to you right now, holding you, rubbing your back, listening to you rant about whatever new thing annoyed you today.”

You sniffle again, unable to stop yourself.

He sighs, indulgent. “Wipe your tears for me,” he murmurs. “I can’t do it right now.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too much. You cover your face with both hands, your phone barely on your grip, voice muffled when you groan, “Zayne.”

“Yes?”

“That’s too cute. Stop that.”

He hums, amused, like he’s not single-handedly making your heart explode. “I meant what I said,” he continues, like he’s speaking just for you. “I know it’s hard. And I know you’ve been lonely. But you’re not alone, alright? You never will be.”

A shaky breath escapes you. You can’t even answer that because you might actually start full-on sobbing.

Before you can pull yourself together, a voice calls his name in the background, sharp with urgency.

There’s a brief pause before he exhales. “Sorry, I have to go. Emergency.”

You sit up a little straighter, still trying to blink the tears away. “Don’t say sorry for doing your job,” you say quickly, before he even gets the chance.

A beat of silence. Then, quietly, “I love you.”

Your chest tightens again, but this time in the best way possible. “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

And then the line clicks off, leaving you sitting there with a slightly damp face, fully in love, and no idea how you’re supposed to wait for him to come home after that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Zayne gets home, the house is quiet, the lights are dim. His footsteps are careful as he steps inside, taking in the familiar scent of home.

But something is off.

His gaze flickers toward the living room, and his brows knit slightly. The sofa—it's not where it usually is. Only slightly shifted, but enough for him to notice.

A quiet sigh leaves him. So that’s why. No wonder.

And there you are—curled up on the living room sofa, blanket draped haphazardly over you, lips slightly parted as you breathe in steady, even rhythms.

Shaking his head, he moves closer, reaching down to carefully lift you, but the moment his hands brush against you, your lashes flutter. You stir, and then, before he can even say anything, you immediately reach for him, fingers gripping weakly at his sleeve as your sleepy voice murmurs, “Welcome home.”

His expression softens instantly. He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I’m home.”

You hum, eyes barely open, still clinging to him. He pulls back slightly, studying your drowsy face, and his lips press into a thin line. “I told you not to sleep here anymore.”

You yawn, stretching lazily. “It just turned out that way.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. His fingers brush lightly against the armrest, confirming his suspicion. “…And moving the sofa helped with that?”

Your expression flickers—too quickly. Suspiciously. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zayne exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but doesn’t push. Instead, he watches you, unimpressed but fond.

Then, before you can argue further, your gaze flickers past him—and you gasp.

“Grill meat!”

Zayne barely has a second to react before you’re fully awake, scrambling up as you spot the takeout containers on the coffee table. You turn back to him with wide, excited eyes. “You got it! It's open today?!”

His lips twitch. “You’ve been talking about it for two days. I wasn’t about to come home empty-handed.”

You beam. Absolutely beam. It’s almost too much for him. Almost.

Zayne steps forward, already reaching for the bag to open it for you, but you immediately scold him, smacking his arm lightly. “No—go change first! You just got back, you should wash up or—whatever you need to do! I can wait.”

Zayne exhales, the sound a soft mixture of amusement and surrender. “You’re so impatient, but now you’re suddenly willing to wait?”

You huff. “Well, yeah! I’m feeling generous, so go now.”

He snorts, watches you for a second longer, as if considering pushing back, but then shakes his head. “Alright,” he says simply. “I’ll be quick.”

When he returns—now dressed in sweats and a plain tee—you’re already sitting cross-legged on the couch, takeout bag in front of you like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Finally,” you say, eagerly patting the space beside you. “Come on, doc, you deserve a break.”

With a quiet breath, Zayne settles beside you, reaching to open the containers. Warm, savory steam fills the air, and you practically melt.

“Oh my God,” you whisper reverently. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Zayne watches as you take your first bite, the way your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss.

His lips press together like he’s holding something back.

But then, instead of teasing you immediately, his gaze softens just a fraction. “I really do love seeing you happy,” he murmurs, voice softer than before.

You pause mid-chew. The warmth in his tone catches you off guard, settling somewhere deeper than just the comfort of food or his presence. Your lips part slightly, something unspoken lingering on your tongue—

“Didn’t you say you could wait?”

You blink, barely processing the shift before narrowing your eyes. “...That was before I smelled it.”

“Hm.” He picks up his chopsticks, eyes flicking between you and the food. “And here I thought your love for me was unwavering.”

“It is,” you say immediately. Then, with a dramatic sigh, “But love won’t fill my stomach, Zayne.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

“You married this, by the way,” you remind him, grinning. “Willfully.”

Zayne barely fights off the curve on his lips, eyes glinting with amusement. “...Unfortunately.”

You gasp. “Take it back!”

“Hmm. No.”

“Zayne!” You reach out to smack his arm.

He only chuckles, catching your wrist easily before letting his fingers slip between yours. The motion is effortless, natural. You don’t even think about it—you just hold on.

His hand is cool against your skin, but his presence is warm, grounding. The laughter, the quiet intimacy of shared meals, the way his fingers stay laced with yours—it settles something in your chest.

For tonight, it’s enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

Ugh I love fluff 🫶🏻😩 Sue me 😂 This is ended up connected ahaha either way, if we're going for chronological order here it is: (this is part 1) more like a snippet (smut) part 0 part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 (smut at the end)

[starhvney]

(hope its not too late i dont get off of work until night :,3) winter cafe event:

Zenix (MCD) x Reader

coffee, cream, apple turnover.. can reader be injured instead of sick?

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: established relationship, fluff, injured reader

𝐚/𝐧: for sure!! i think you were one of the only zenix requests lol, i love mcd zenix, though! also… i hope this didn’t end up angsty..? i didn’t mean for it to haha it is totally meant to be sweet!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“That was dumb.”

You wrinkle your nose, glaring up at Zenix from the ground. Your hair was a mess, and you were now soaked as the morning dew that lingered on the training ground lingered on the ground. The cold air made it feel like icicles were sticking themselves to your back, and you grit your teeth at the discomfort as pain radiated from your right leg.

“You gonna lay there forever?” Zenix continues, walking closer to kneel next to you and setting down his dull training sword. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep letting your clothes get wet like that.”

“Yeah, well, you just bruised my leg pretty badly and I’m pretty sure my ankle is sprained. Would you like for me to limp home?” you quip back, unable to hold back an irritated pout from forming on your lips.

That gets a reaction from your courter, his face shifting from that hot-headed guard to a more guilty, genuine expression. You rise to your elbows when he tugs at your boot and leg pant, clicking his tongue when he sees a slice in the fabric. Red was beginning to stain around the rip, and you wince as the pain truly begins to settle.

“Damn it.” he curses under his breath, his hand coming up to pinch his lower lip in frustration, fingertips digging into the soft flesh.

“Always so angry.” you chastise, trying to blink away the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes. “You’re the one that knocked me over, why are you mad at me?”

His eyes dart to you, jaw clenching as he fiercely stares into your eyes, as if trying to chase away the mistiness in them by intimidation. You frown when he looks down.

“Shut up, I’m not mad at you. That’s stupid to say.”

He hooks his arms under your legs and back, lifting you up bridal style with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Then… what’s wrong?” you ask quietly.

His fingers tighten their grip, pressing you closer against his chest as he starts carrying you down Phoenix Drop’s quiet streets. 

“There’s dangerous things out there. You need to be prepared.” he says, his expression calm and tone almost unnervingly even. “If you’re going to be with me, you can’t be weak.”

The sudden, almost serious tone in his voice surprises you into silence. You knew how impulsive and strong-willed Zenix was, and if you were to pursue a guard of Phoenix Drop romantically you’d probably need to know a little self defense. But you weren’t expecting him to think of it so… seriously. Was he really considering that, in the case the village was attacked, you might be targeted just because you were with him? How could he guess if an outside source would even know of the romance between you two? Before you could conjure up any more theories, his voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” he murmurs. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“…It’s okay. I know you didn’t. The cut isn’t deep anyways.” You pause. “Though… you kinda scared me for a second. Your eyes almost looked a little red for a moment there.”

He flinches, going uncharacteristically quiet as he stares forward.

“Um, but I was probably just seeing things.” An awkward laugh leaves your lips when he doesn’t give a response, hands tightening as you ignore the strange tingling in the back of your brain. “It was probably just the sun shining on your pretty eyes.”

The tip of his nose wrinkles when you brush your finger along his lower lash line, as if he were trying to hide the pink color that was clearly rosing to the surface of his skin. He scoffs and shakes his head, but when his eyes drift to you again, the harshness in his expression doesn’t carry.

“No matter what, I’ll always protect you,” he confesses. “You know that?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah, I know.”

A best of silence passes, and the heaviness of his words settling in your bones makes you start to squirm. Suddenly you find yourself needing more of the playful banter you were so used to having with him.

“I’m surprised at your emotional range today. For once it’s more than a grain of hot, angry sand,” you poke his shoulder.

He stops his steps, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling at you. You smile cheekily, chuckles turning nervous as he slowly turns, revealing that the two of you were standing… right by the well.

“No. No, no! I was kidding!” you shriek, arms clinging around his neck when he starts to lean toward the edge, pretending to dump you over the side. “Zenix, you wouldn’t dare!”

Zenix’s evil laughter carries through the air, the amused sound sending heat to your face as he adjusts you in his arms, continuing on the path to your home. “What? Don’t wanna join Dale’s infamy as being the idiot stuck at the bottom of the well?”

“No!”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa @luvsymai @yoom-ss

[deceit-and-knowledge]

We want the preening session 👁️👁️

Ooc: giving you the preening session. Sometimes I wonder if this is a rp blog or a fanfic blog (not that I have a problem with that i am a writer)

s: sooooo~ you need help with your wingies, huh?

pv: just with preening.. you know I like to be clean..!..

*sits down on the bed*

s: *sits down behind him, leaning forward to appear in pure vanilla's trusty staff's view, it's glowing star turning to look at him as so do the eyes on the wings and his hair*

...do they see?

pv: mhm.. I suppose I'm not as blind anymore haha.. *he wiggles a bit to comfortably adjust him to a more proper position beside his "bluebird"*

s: *tucks himself behind pure vanilla, the lower wing brushes against his leg as he adjusts him behind pure vanilla's long blonde hair, being gentle as to not sit on those golden locks*

pv: mphm~.. (<- pain?.. uncomfortable? It's definitely not pleasure I can say that)

s: ...!..

hm..?

pv: sorry.. my wings are just very sensitive right now to even the smallest sensations.. even the air feels strange on them....

I'll get use to them, it's quite alright!..

s: if you insist, vanilly! *He gently takes a wing, wrapping his hand underneath it, the soft warm feathers, as pale as snow caressing the powder blue hand in its fluffiness*

*he takes the wing more towards him, being cautious as to not harm his darling out of respect and love. Whilst his own mind is plagued with odd thoughts and ideas about the situation he refrains from behaving off as to not alarm or cause his sunlight to be put off, he fights the intense urge to explore what this sensitivity entails. But that's torture, that's not who he is anymore afterall and this isn't even a redemption au*

now.. how exactly do you want me to go about this?

pv: simply check for any pin feathers or anything trapped in the wings..please be careful of pin feath-

s: I'm the once fount of knowledge and you think I don't know how to preen.. don't be a fool! *He begins combing through the wings, letting out a continuous soft purr as he does in order to keep the sensitive angel calm during this*

*[Spoiler it doesn't particularly work well..]*

*as he preens the wings, a bonding activity between a mating pair of birds, much a good reflection of a loving couple both winged or not, simply showing their beloved affection. Pure vanilla shivers, letting out a breathless huff.*

pv: p-please.. refrain ..d-doing that for a bit ..

s: whaaat~ can't take it? My, you do not last long, doesn't bode well for the future hehe.

pv: get your mind out of such an inappropriate crevice ..

s: really wish I could! But you know me~ everything's a little game to me.

pv: hmph..

s: aww c'mon, don't pout. Live a little!

pv: hmph!

s: now you're just being bratty..

pv: hmmmph! *Smirks*

s: ooooh~! 🎶 you're playing! Hahaha!!

*gently tries to go back to preening, this time the lower middle wing*

pv: ah! (<- ...this.."ah" is exactly what you think it is)

s: .........!?

pv: *covers mouth* I SAID REFRAIN! I need to recover.... it's too much of a sensation.....it's rather overwhelming you know .....

s: 😏

pv: what's wrong with you today... you're never this....bad.....

s: ....

...i....im just messing with you alright! Can't I flirt with my doll..

pv: ...you can....but flirting is more "ohhh~ you're so gorgeous" or "hot"...

s: flirting can be physical too.. and more unique then your clear limited knowledge and i thought I wasn't well versed!

...are you alright...pure vanilla cookie..?

pv: I'm alright now... if I shiver stop preening.. if I take my wings away you're hurting me.

s: alright, I'll keep an eye and ear out.

*he continues to gently preen, periodically taking his hands away at any sign of discomfort from pure vanilla, afterwards he moves to the other set, doing the same. During the second set pure vanilla's intense sensitivity dwindled, soon he was relaxed and enjoying the preening. His eyes closed and he looked like he could fall asleep.*

Are you asleep?..

pv: I'm still awake.. *he leans back, gently nestling himself onto shadow milk's chest, his long blonde hair draping down the rest of shadow milk's body and his knees, acting like an elaborate blanket of pastel gold. His wings coating the hair with its glorious nature. The eyes lovingly glaring up at the blue cookie*

s: ....*fidgets to adjusts himself, he tucks his arms around pure vanilla, resting his hands on pure vanillas souljam*

pv: thank you... I'm sorry for how...awkward that was...

s: it was no problem! I'll do anything for you~ ⁠♡

pv: ...heh.. aren't you a good boy~ ⁠♡

s: you are doing that SOOOO on purpose.

pv: *mischievously sticks his tongue out* heh!..

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Blue & Golden Peacock

Sentinel Prime x Reader - Transformers One

“I take it all back, you are a devil, not an angel,” said Sentinel, huffing and growling as he shooed the chickens away, finding their feathers stuck in seams and gears. Why did these pesky animals enjoy perching on top of him? They wouldn’t leave him alone, often trailing after him as he walked and followed close behind as you worked about the farm, being at the ready to lend a servo should you need it.

“Aaw, but the chickens like you, birdie. You’re like the exotic peacock on my farm, always strutting around and flashing your pretty feathers,” you say, laughing at his frown, though you miss the way his optics shimmer at your compliment.

“Why did you get these anyway?” he asked, hearing the clucking and cooing behind him, knowing the two largest chickens, Maria and Isabella, were close at his heels, their round little bodies happily hopping along to keep up with his long strides. “What function do they serve?”

“Well, my disability benefits can only help so much, and it’s encouraged that I work as much as I’m able to. So, the chicken will not only provide me with the eggs I need, but I can also sell them for cheap to my closest neighbours. Combine that with the income I’ll earn by renting out my stable once it’s restored, I’ll be able to live fairly comfortably here.” Smiling up at him, you tap him on the arm before pointing at a partly destroyed tractor. It wasn’t huge, a sad little thing, really, but obviously too heavy for you to pull away. “Move that for me, will you?”

Sentinel didn’t waste any time, moving to stand behind the tractor before gently pushing it forward, finding it easier than he’d thought. It must have been stripped for most of its parts long ago. Well, no matter, at least it made it lighter for him to push out of the way.

“You never told me why you need to live on disability benefits.” Said he, glancing at you to see if you were watching. You were, your eyes trailing across his frame, fascination clear as day in your face. He couldn’t help it, his wings jerked slightly outwards to catch the sunrays, and your eyes immediately flicked to them. Success.

“I was in a car crash five years ago,” you say, rolling your shoulders and stretching your back a little, “It left me half-dead with a grotesque spinal injury. Took me more than a year to just learn how to walk normally again, but it wasn’t until after everything had healed that the nerve damages were discovered,” you say, scoffing and frowning as memories flashed through your mind, “They told me the pain was normal, that it would pass. It never did.”

Stopping, Sentinel stared at you in wide-eyed shock, his optics scanning over your body to check for any discomfort. You were tense, and clearly not in the best of health, but nothing major indicated that you were in great pain. Looking at your face, he found you smiling half-heartedly.

“Some days are worse than others, but the pain is at its strongest at the end of the day, or when I’ve gone to bed,” you say, coming up beside him, “Besides the obvious scar trailing along my spine, you can’t really see how bad it is unless I’m in agony. When I take it slow and easy, I can handle it fairly well, but when I tried to work as usual the first few months after I’d recovered?” You shook your head, bitterness swelling within you. “People told me that I just had to suck it up, that I was whining and complaining over nothing. They told me that at least I could walk; that I wasn’t paralysed.”

Sentinel said nothing, his optics instead re-focusing on the task, though they were distant.

“Sometimes, I wish I’d been paralysed, bound to a wheelchair with a bitter personality to come with it,” you say, chuckling, though there was no humour to your tone, “At least then people would take me seriously. There’d be something there for them to see, and perhaps I wouldn’t be plagued by searing pain that makes me want to just end—” Stopping, you swallow and take a breath, your eyes stinging as you look down.

“I’m sorry.”

You huffed a dry chuckle. “It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it. Nothing to be done with it now.”

“… Did you suffer after you finished making my bed?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“I do think about it.” He said, coming to a halt before turning to face you, his face plate set with deep concern and frustration; but not for you. He was frustrated with himself, angry, even, with how blind he’d been, too busy wallowing in self-pity to see how you suffered right before him. “I think about how kind you are, how patient you are despite the agony you must be in most of the time, how much you’ve given and are still willing to give me just because I’m…” Taking a deep intake, he vents, shoulders lowering. “You’re willing to do so much for me, ignoring your suffering to care for a broken mech such as me.”

Startled by the clear sincerity displayed upon his face plate, you stare in surprise; mouth hanging open before you notice and click it shut. Looking at him, seeing him, you can’t help but smile as you reach up to gently grab the side of his helm, urging him to lean forward where you can reach him. Softly you kiss his cheek, earning yourself a near-silent gasp as air rushes into his intake, his wings flaring outwards to catch the sunlight.

“You’re sweet when you want to be, Sentinel.” You say, petting his cheek before letting go of him and he leans up again, his face plate noticeably heating up, but his optics do not look away from you; they seem unable to. “Yes, I do hurt most of the day, but I’ve learned to manage it and rarely overdo it. I’ve learned to accept that pain will be a part of my life now, and that’s why I don’t mind helping you learn how to live with what your life has become now.” Dusting off his arm, you nod towards the tractor and a spot by the driveway. “I don’t know how much your life has changed since you left your home, but looking at you and hearing what I’ve heard so far… Well, it’ll take time, but you’re safe with me, so there’s no rush.”

And Sentinel can’t do more than follow your silent request because his spark is pulsing and he feels as though he may overheat, so overcome with emotions he’s never felt before that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He can start by moving the tractor. Yes, move the tractor, and then help you feed the pesky chickens that seem to love him so much. He can focus on that first. Anything else, both pleasant and unpleasant, can be tended to later.

Previous / Next Music: Elyvilon – Sheltering from the Rains in Nimueh’s Domain + Stumbling into Eternity Through the Light in the Trees

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | epilogue

Summary: Cry Baby went on a date? And, it was with Bucky?

Warning: Fluff. Mentions of John Walker.

Word Count: 977

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Book Two: Good Graces

A/N: And that's it, done. Thank you to every single reader of this story. Thank you all for your input, your comments, and your requests. I know you all fell in love with Cry Baby as much as I did and I couldn't be more grateful to you all. As you know, this isn't the true end of Cry Baby and I will be revisiting it (technically this is only the first draft) however, I will take a small break from these two idiots until August to work on my other stories. So, if you want to check them out too, please do! I love you sweethearts. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan

The next few weeks felt like a dream. You spent every available moment with Bucky, rediscovering each other. It felt as if you were meeting for the first time, yet, the deep connection you shared made you feel like you were home. 

On the night of your first official date, Bucky knocked on your apartment door. He stood waiting with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. Your smile grew as you saw him, his usual confidence mixed with a hint of nervousness. 

“You ready?” he asked, a playful twinkle in his eyes. 

You held the pink motorcycle helmet he had bought you, matching his grin. “Ready.” 

The roar of Bucky’s bike and the warmth of his presence made you feel at ease as you rode to the restaurant. Your heart sank, and your smile faltered as you saw which restaurant he had brought you to. The same one as John Walker had almost a year ago. 

Bucky noticed the change in your demeanor, reaching out, he placed a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to him. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you took a deep breath, trying to mask the discomfort. “It’s just… this place brings back some memories.” 

“I know,” he spoke softly, his eyes filling with understanding. “That’s why I brought you here.” 

Confused etched its way to your face, clouding your gaze. “But why? Why would you bring me to a place with such bad memories?” 

His voice was earnest as his hand moved to cup your cheek. “I hoped we could create better ones, replace those memories with new ones, ones that we make together.” 

The apprehension you felt dissolved as your heart melted from the sincerity, and genuine hope in his eyes. “You really thought about this, didn’t you?” 

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I want to turn all the places that once held pain into places filled with joy and love.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you knew the verdict before he could ask. They were tears of happiness. “Bucky… that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” 

He took your hand, leading you toward the restaurant, stopping only to open the door for you. The ambiance felt different this time, the evening already felt lighter and full of possibilities. Bucky pulled out a chair for you as you both sat down.

As the night progressed, you immersed yourselves in conversation, sharing stories, and laughing as if you were strangers on a first date. “All I could think while he was talking was ‘I don’t even like steak, John!’” you exclaimed, recounting the details of that date with John to Bucky.

Bucky listened intently, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned forward, reaching his hand across the table– interlocking his fingers with yours. “Well, we both know how that ended up for him, Sweetheart,” he chuckled, his thumb gently caressing your own.

“Do you remember the first time you called me ‘sweetheart’?” you asked, fondness sparkled in your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. 

Bucky smiled, squeezing your hand gently. “Of course I do,” a small chuckle escaped his lips as the memory of that night entered his mind. “You were only eight years old, but you were terrified of the Ferris wheel… such a cry baby,” he teased, his smile turned into a playful grin. “You clung to my arm like your life depended on it.” 

You left out a soft laugh as he continued. “You looked up at me with those scared, teary eyes, and I couldn’t stand seeing you so frightened.” 

“You took my hand,” you began finishing his story, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “And told me, you would keep me safe, no matter what. And, you did, Bucky, you always have.” 

With a gentle look in his eyes, Bucky smiled. “Hey, wanna ditch this and go to the carnival now?” 

You nodded eagerly with a laugh. “Absolutely.” 

~

The carnival was a whirlwind of lights and waves of laughter. Once again you both rode the Ferris wheel, but this time, it was different. This time, you weren’t afraid. And, instead of closing your eyes when you reached the top, you gazed into Bucky’s for a moment before closing the distance between you and placing a gentle kiss against his lips. 

As the night came to an end, Bucky rode you back to your apartment building. You both content in each other’s presence as the ride was filled with comfortable silence and the city lights blurring around you. 

Bucky walked you up to your apartment, the carnival’s excitement lingered in the air as you felt a twinge of reluctance to part ways. 

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” you said softly, turning to face him after you unlocked your door. 

He smiled warmly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Anything for you,” he replied. 

Without a word, he closed the distance between you as his lips found yours for another time that night. This time, the kiss deepened, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

As you broke apart, his eyes filled with unspoken affection as they met yours. “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with emotion. 

“Good night, Bucky,” you whispered back. 

Bucky watched as you closed the door, reluctant to let go of you. As he waited a few seconds, his mind spun from the whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and the joyous turn of events.

Then, just as he was about to turn away, you opened the door again, revealing your smiling face. You pulled him back inside, without a word, your lips meeting his in a passionate, desperate kiss. 

And as you melted into each other, he guided you further into the apartment, his foot pushing the door closed behind the both of you.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Book Two: Good Graces

[shaynawrites23]

Remus Lupin's Hands

i am having thoughts-

alright i bet Remus has really nice hands

he's got long fingers and his hands are really warm

and you just can't keep your eyes off the veins running from his arm to his hands

Remus knows this

but he doesn't know if you know he knows

it's not exactly a secret though

you hold his hand whenever you get the chance

all of Hogwarts can see you walking down the halls with your fingers entwined with his

or during class

your professors have made remarks about it many times

but you both always insist it helps you focus

its really not a lie

"Mr. Lupin, Ms. (y/l/n)! Trust me, you'll be much more capable in making potions if you have both hands free."

Remus looks up from the book he's holding open with his left hand, his right clasped in yours, and blinks innocently up at Slughorn. "But Professor, I do my best work with one hand-"

Professor Slughorn puts a hand in his coat pocket and glances between you and your boyfriend. You hide a smile by busying yourself arranging the ingredients by color, and you miss the miniscule upturn of your teacher's lips.

"Well, we'll see how your potion turns out. Mr. Black, perhaps you'd like to consider investing more attention in your potion instead of in your classmates' love life." With these remarks, he moves on to the next desk.

Sirius Black, ever the rebel, leans over and whispers conspiratorially with a smirk, "If you keep this up, you might even beat Marlene and Dorcas in being voted 'most likely to get marri-'"

He's cut off by Remus smacking him with the book in his left hand.

sometimes you also just use his hands as a heating pad

like when your own are cold

or when you're having period cramps

just grab your boyfriend's hands

he doesn't mind one bit

even if it sometimes results in... unexpected reactions

bonus though: it comes with cuddles

There's something about being snuggled up to your partner that eases the pain of periods. Maybe it's magic, maybe it's psychological... you don't know what it is, but when you're menstruating, Remus already knows he may be dragged over to hold you until you feel better.

That's how you find yourself in this position, sitting between your boyfriend's legs with his hands pressed to your belly, the warmth easing your discomfort just enough to have you sighing in content. Remus has his textbook open next to him, but turns his head every so often to press a kiss to your cheek where you rest your head against his shoulder.

"Moony, McGonagall said- woah! Lovebirds, get a room!" Sirius slaps a hand over his eyes the moment he sees how his friend's hands are up your shirt, a second too soon to notice said friend's deadpan glare.

"She's on her period, you twat. Get your head out of the gutter, Pads, what'd McGonagall say?"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't. Or... anything Lily wouldn't." With a wink at the both of you, he's out the door again, ignoring Remus' deep sigh before he kisses you in apology.

another thing you love to do with his hands is kissing them when he least expects it

or anytime, really

just a soft kiss to his knuckles or his palm

you think its adorable how he gets flustered

no matter how many times you do it

he can never hide his grin

maybe you're a little in love with his hands

but he thinks he quite likes it

its cute to watch you tracing the scars over his hands

or to watch you playing with his fingers while you cuddle

so really

it works out quite well :)

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Under The Weather - Astarion X Male Reader

Title: Under The Weather

Astarion X Male Reader

Additional Characters: Karlach, Gale, Lae'Zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Volo, Reader's brothers (Mentioned), and Halsin (Mentioned)

Requested By: Anon!

WC: 3,359

Warnings: Sickfic, Astarion is ill, mentions of being sick/ill, italics, nicknames, stubborn Astarion, dramatic Astarion, suggestiveness mentioned briefly, banter, teasing, flirting, Astarion being himself, BG3 canon violence mentioned, blood, blood-drinking, brief mentions of death, mini angst, and fluff

The early morning sun slowly began to rise over the trees, its rays shining down on the dewy morning grass. Astarion groaned softly as he stirred awake from his meditative trance, a hand leaving your body beside his to rub his eyelids. His movements were slow, sluggish as he opened his eyes, his hands falling back down to his sides. His usually sharp eyes were clouded with an unfamiliar heaviness, dull. His head throbbed, and a sharp ache settled in his bones. Turning his head, he could just see the sun's light peeking through his tent, and he winced. Usually, Astarion would love the warmth of the sun’s embrace on his amazingly pale skin, basking in its glow. But, today, it felt different - like a cruel burn to his sight. The brightness only made his headache worse.

He groaned again, his throat as dry as a desert. His vision blurred for a moment, and he closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. The sound of your soft breathing beside him was a comfort, but it didn't change the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest. He forced himself to sit up, the movement jerky, but then he suddenly fell back. His back landed with a ‘thump’ on his bedroll, and he let out a pained groan. 

“What is wrong with me?” He asked himself mentally, shutting his eyes as you moved beside him. 

You stirred from your sleep at the soft groans that escaped from Astarion’s lips. Concern grew in your chest as you shifted, rubbing your eyes to clear the haze of sleep. As your gaze fell on him, you could see the discomfort painted across his face. 

“Astarion?” You asked gently, your voice low, as it was early in the morning, and you shifted closer. “Are you alright?”

He cracked one red eye open just enough to glance at you, only to shut it again. “Ah, you’re awake,” He rasped, voice strained. “I’m fine, just… The sun is too loud, if you must know.” He winced, before waving a hand in your general direction lazily, “Perhaps you would be so kind as to keep it down too?”

You shifted even closer, though that wasn’t saying much, since you were almost pressed up against his side from the night before. Your concern deepened as you carefully studied his pale face, his eyes closed, and the way his body trembled faintly in little bursts of shivers. You reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his bare chest, your touch offering a small comfort.

"Astarion," You said softly, "You’re not fine. What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this."

For a long moment, he said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he let out a small sigh, almost defeated, and his voice came out low and hoarse. “I told you, I’m fine. Just… A bit under the weather, darling.” He muttered, “It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

But you knew him too well. His tone wasn’t as convincing as he thought. "You don’t have to hide it from me, Astarion," You said softly, shifting closer, your eyes narrowing with concern. "You’re clearly struggling. Let me help you."

He looked at you, a dramatic roll of his eyes accompanying the movement, but it was less teasing and more tired than usual. “Help?” He repeated with an exaggerated scoff, "You know, darling, I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own. I don’t need a healer.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, sitting up fully, and crossing your arms. “Because you don’t seem like you’re managing all that well, if I’m being honest.” You huffed as he turned his head away from you, “Don’t make me say I told you so,” You continued, “You’re clearly not fine.” You reached out, placing your palm on his forehead, your eyes immediately catching the telltale signs of fever. His skin was clammy, the thin layer of sweat sticking to his pale skin. “You’re sweating.”

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed at the pressure of your hand, and he let out another dramatic sigh, "Ah, I see," He muttered, "Sweat, you say? Perhaps that’s the result of... Other activities from last night." He cracked his eyes open - half lidded - to glance at you, his lips curling into a smirk. "You do wear me out, darling."

You huffed in response, gently shaking your head, giving him a soft scolding look. "Astarion, this isn’t funny. You’re ill. I can tell, even if you’re trying to brush it off. I know you hate being seen like this, but I’m not going to let you suffer in silence."

“You’re a persistent one, but I suppose you can help, but only because you’re making that face.” He gestured toward you, “But don't get used to it."

You offered a small, knowing smile, unfazed by his theatrics. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” You replied, your voice soft but laced with amusement.

~~~

Astarion's voice suddenly rang out from within the tent, far more dramatic than the situation warranted. “Darling!” He called, his tone a mixture of exaggerated distress and feigned despair. “I’m positively dying over here! Do hurry!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile as you moved closer to the tent entrance. Inside, Astarion was lying dramatically across his bedroll, one arm thrown over his forehead as if shielding himself from the harsh rays of the sun. His eyes peeked out from under his arm, exaggeratedly squinting as he watched your every movement.

“Bring me... Something!” He continued, with all the flair of a stage actor. “Anything! A drink! A blanket! A song to lull me into my eternal slumber!” He paused for dramatic effect, groaning, a hand clutching his chest as though the very air was suffocating him.

You bit your lip to try and hide your smile, “Astarion, you’re not dying. You’re just sick.”

“Sick?!” He scoffed, throwing his head back and almost flinging himself off the bedroll in his exaggerated motion. “No, darling, this is beyond mere sickness! This is a tragic, heart-wrenching affliction, a malady for the ages!” 

You chuckled at his antics, stepping inside and crouching beside him, trying to hide the amusement on your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” He repeated, lifting his head in mock shock. “I am a victim here, darling! And all I ask for is just a little bit of sympathy!”

You raised an eyebrow. “I did bring you something,” You said, presenting him with a cold piece of cloth. It was a spare piece of fabric that you dipped in the nearby fresh water river, and ringed out. You thought it would help, and so, you placed it gently on his forehead.

The second the cloth touched his skin, Astarion hissed, clawing at the air, flinching violently as if it were burning him. The cloth slipped from his forehead and fell onto the bedroll, completely ignored. 

You just huffed in amusement, watching him for a moment before standing up. With a final glance at the absurdly dramatic vampire, you moved to shut the flaps of the tent, blocking out the harsh sunlight that still made him wince.

As you stepped outside, you took in the familiar sights of camp, breathing in the fresh late morning air. The fire in the center crackled gently, and you approached it, your gaze shifting to the small pot of soup simmering over the flames. Stirring the broth with a wooden spoon, you sighed, your mind lingering on Astarion’s condition.

A few moments later, Karlach emerged from her tent and walked over, plopping down on the log opposite you. She studied you with a curious, knowing gaze before speaking up. “Have you figured out what’s making Astarion so ill?” Her voice was steady, but there was a hint of concern behind it. “He seems completely miserable.”

You let out a sigh, resting your elbow on your knee and propping your chin up in your hand as you stirred the soup. “No,” You muttered, shaking your head. “He won’t even tell me what happened, if anything did happen. I didn’t even know vampires could get ill.”

Karlach gave you a sympathetic look, her large shoulders heaving with a deep sigh of her own. “Well, you’ve got this, soldier.” She gave you an encouraging grin. “I would help, but I don’t know anything about this type of stuff.” She chuckled out bashfully.

You smiled, “No worries, Karlach. Thank you for your encouragement.”

She nodded, “You’ll get him through it. Just don’t let him get away with too much. He’s really good at that.”

Before you could respond, Gale, sitting across the camp with his nose buried in a book, looked up at the two of you. His brow arched slightly, and he let out a soft, amused chuckle, the corners of his mouth curling into a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. Astarion getting away with too much,” He remarked in his characteristic smooth, well-spoken tone, marking his words with a slight flourish. “It seems to be his specialty, doesn’t it?”

You let out a huff, bemused by his words as you poked at the still-cooking soup, “It would seem so…” You mused, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Just as you were about to add something else, a sharp voice cut through the conversation like a dagger. “T’chaki! What is this nonsense?” Lae’zel strode over from her tent, her armored boots thudding heavily against the ground. She eyed the group, her gaze hard and direct, as per usual. “This talk of coddling and whining over a little illness. Pathetic.”

Karlach’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “What now, Lae’zel?”

With a scowl, Lae’zel crossed her arms over her chest. “With my people, when a warrior falls ill, they do not whimper about it. They endure. They fight through it.” Her voice dropped into a low, serious tone. “We do not take to our beds and demand healing. No. We drop them in the sun to burn away the weakness - if we cannot shake it off by sheer force of will.”

There was a collective silence, and then all eyes turned to her, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Gale raised a hand. “So… You’re saying we should leave Astarion in the sun?”

Lae’zel scowled, her golden eyes narrowing, “Not leave,” She snapped, “But hasten his recovery with a proper trial. Let him face the full strength of the sun - and a few combat trials to sweat out the weakness.” She waved a hand dismissively, as though it were the most logical thing in the world. “This would cure him in a day, two at most.” She huffed, “If that does not do the trick, then he is not worthy enough to be spared.” She muttered quietly, mostly to herself.

Karlach blinked, trying to process what she'd just said. “Combat trials? Are you suggesting... We fight him to make him better?”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed with frustration. “Do you not understand? He must push himself!” She snapped, glaring at the lot of you. 

The group fell into a stunned silence, exchanging looks that ranged from bewilderment to outright concern. Finally, Gale, ever the voice of reason, coughed lightly. “I must say, Lae’zel, while your passion is commendable, I’m not sure Astarion will appreciate your… Method.”

You raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to respond, but Lae’zel didn’t seem to care for any objections. “Chk,” She muttered, stomping off to find something else to occupy her mind, “I will never understand you soft-hearted istiks.”

Karlach watched her retreat, then turned back to you with a smirk. “Well, that was... Something.” She shook her head, clearly amused. “I guess we’ll pass on the sun and combat trial, huh?”

You let out a breath, stirring the soup with the wooden spoon, looking down at the bubbling liquid. “Yeah... I think that’s for the best,” You sighed, glancing up at Karlach. “Astarion is completely unwilling to even move from his bedroll. I doubt he would want to fight any of us.”

Before you could say more, Wyll, who had been quietly sharpening his blade nearby, scoffed softly, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, don’t be so sure. Ill or not, if Astarion thought he had the chance, half of us would probably be dead by now.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke.

Karlach’s head snapped toward him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and indignation. “Hey now,” She said, “That’s not entirely fair. Astarion’s... Well, he’s Astarion. Sure, he’s got his quirks-” She chuckled softly, “-But I don’t think he’d actually try to take any of us out. Not anymore, anyway.”

Wyll raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he glanced up from his blade. “Not anymore? That’s comforting.” His words were sarcastic, he still didn’t fully trust the vampire.

Lightly grinning at their words, you looked up, your attention then landing on Shadowheart as she emerged from her tent. She noticed the pot of soup immediately, and her gaze shifted to you, her tone almost curious.

“What’s this, then?” She asked, taking a few steps closer to peer into the pot, “Is this some sort of... Breakfast?”

You raised an eyebrow,  “It’s for Astarion,” You replied, lifting the wooden spoon to show the dark red, thick liquid inside the pot. “It’s just blood.”

Shadowheart blinked, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes before she leaned forward slightly, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Blood? Really? In the same pot that we cook our own food in?” Shadowheart hummed, looking at the blood-filled spoon with a deep frown of disgust. 

“I’ll wash it thoroughly,” You spoke, trying to reassure her. “I promise you that. I just thought having some nice hot blood would make Astarion feel better.”

Karlach peered into the pot, “Where did you even get that much blood?”

“A bear,” You answered, figuring the blood soup was ready enough.

From nearby the campfire, Volo’s voice chimed in, brimming with curiosity and excitement as he slithered over. “A bear, you say? No, no, that won’t do. Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t dragon-shaped and breathing fire?” He barely waited for an answer as he whipped open his book, quill in hand, and began scribbling furiously. “Our hero, locked in mortal combat with the fire-breathing dragon!” He thrust his quill into the air like a sword. “The beast roars, its fiery breath scorching the earth, but the hero stands undaunted! With a single, daring leap, they plunge their blade into its heart, silencing its infernal cries forever!” He grinned, triumphant. “Oh, the intrigue! The drama! Yes, yes, this shall make for another exquisite tale.” He then snapped his book shut and wandered off, muttering to himself.

Karlach shook her head, chuckling, amused, “That man’s got one hell of an imagination.”

You let out a sarcastic hum, stirring the blood in the pot one last time before sitting back against the log. “Funny thing,” You began, eyeing the fire as you spoke. “I’ve fought two dragons on this journey... Yet, for the life of me, I don’t recall either of them in full actuality.”

“Hopefully the bear was not Halsin.” Gale muttered, glancing up from his book with a raised eyebrow.

You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a breath before turning your attention to Gale, who was still eyeing the book in his hands. “The bear was not Halsin,” You said, before you tapped your finger to your chin, glancing down at the bubbling blood. “Although,” You muttered quietly to yourself, as though contemplating the possibility, “Hmm,” You shook your head, “No… Maybe not.”

“My love!” Astarion’s voice echoed from across the camp. You could almost hear the strain in his voice, but it didn’t stop him from calling out to you.

“Tch, always so dramatic,” Shadowheart muttered, her voice dripping with dry humor at his cries. “Well, good luck with that.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel, walking away, leaving the pot of blood behind. As she disappeared back into her tent, you couldn’t help but huff, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, thanks, Shadowheart.” You muttered sarcastically, before shifting in your seat, “Honestly, I don’t mind Astarion’s dramatics,” You mumbled, shaking your head, “Four brothers will teach you patience.”

"Four brothers?" Karlach exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

You nodded, a smile on your lips, “Yes, being the eldest of five brothers, you get used to chaos.” As you spoke, your tone softened, and an adoring expression crossed your face. You couldn't help the way your gaze shifted, almost absentmindedly, as if your thoughts were elsewhere - on someone in particular. “Honestly, I’d do anything for Astarion. Even if he is being a bit over-dramatic,” You chuckled lightly, the fondness in your voice unmistakable.

Karlach’s eyes widened in realization, her mouth falling open in an exaggerated awe. "Awe, you really love him, don’t you?"

You smiled, your voice quieter now, tinged with affection. “More than anything."

As you rose from your seat by the fire, a soft sigh escaped your lips and you took the bowl in hand. The hot blood swirled gently inside, the rich scent of iron filling the air as you made your way toward Astarion’s tent. As you stepped inside the tent, the warmth of the sun was replaced by the cool, shaded atmosphere that surrounded Astarion. His figure lay propped up against the bedding, his normally immaculate appearance a little more disheveled. You carefully approached him, lowering yourself to sit beside him on the bedroll.

Reaching out, you gently brushed his damp curls from his forehead, the heat of his skin still evident despite the chill in the air. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and he looked at you with a mixture of exhaustion and appreciation, though the usual teasing spark still flickered within them. “Ah, so you did hear me calling for you,” He murmured, a tired smirk pulling at his lips.

You smiled softly, taking a moment to admire him. "I made you something to eat.” Astarion’s gaze flicked to the bowl in your hands, and his expression lightened with a flicker of hunger. His fingers reached out, and just as he was about to press his lips to the rim, you gently stopped him. “Blow on it first,” You instructed, your hand hovering near his. “It just came off the fire. You don’t want to burn your mouth.”

He took a deep breath, blowing softly over the thick, crimson liquid. And when he finally took a sip, his eyes closed in appreciation, and a low hum escaped him. “Mmm, that’s better,” He sighed, the sound of his voice thick with contentment. He didn’t even bother trying to mask the pleasure, allowing himself to bask in the small comfort you’d provided.

“Now,” You began, “What do you suppose has made you so ill?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back slightly, his hands resting on his chest. “Well, my dearest,” He began, “It’s possible - just possible - that one of the delightful individuals we fought yesterday might have been harboring some vile disease.” He took another sip, before continuing, “And it is quite possible that I may have bitten them.”

You hummed, nodding, “That does make sense.” You reached up again, your fingers brushing through his hair, “Are you feeling any better?” You asked quietly, your gaze soft as you met his eyes.

Astarion opened his eyes, looking up at you, and for a moment, there was something far more genuine in his expression than you often saw. He nodded slowly, the faintest of smiles curling his lips. “Yes, my darling,” He said, “Thanks to you.”

Your fingers lingered in his hair a moment longer, the softness of it making you sigh. You could’ve stayed there forever, just watching him, taking care of him, knowing that despite his usual bravado, he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

“You don’t have to thank me,” You whispered, your hand leaving his hair to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb gently against his jaw. “I’ll always be here.”

Astarion’s eyes softened, “I know,” He murmured, taking another sip from the bowl, his gaze never leaving you.

~~~ Main Masterlist | Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

[lets-try-some-writing]

It's so tragic how, in your Twins AU, Optimus had to do the Cybertronian version of plastic surgery to look more like his brother. He could have gone through his primely transformation and said he, as Optronix, got a new frame because of the Matrix. Instead, he went all out and changed his body. I can only imagine what the Decepticons will think when they see Optimus again and notice his different yet familiar frame. Megatron might think he's having work done to "wear the face of his brother" instead of work being undone so Optimus can be himself again.

More for the Twin Au? Aight. Parts One and Two here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Wearing Optronix's face was not easy at first. It ached. It burned. Insults and slurs, hatred and constant attacks... if not for the Matrix, Optimus would have given up long ago and let someone kill him. But he had his duty, and he would have to be cut down before he let himself fall away from his purpose.

He allowed Optronix to become as cruel as he did. He failed to stop his twin when the war grew worse. This was merely a natural consequence. The constant ache of his spark from the lack of its other half was ignorable. The never ending discomfort with his frame was negligible when he was busy planning or engaging in battle. And as centuries passed, he honestly noticed less and less. Optronix's frame grew to be his own. The bulky and boxy build became second nature to him, his spindly frame from the archives all but forgotten. The eternally in place battle mask was something he grew to cherish as it allowed him to hide his expressions when the pain in his spark grew too great. The heavy set blaster he carried, as his brother was known to do prior to his death, became a memorial of sorts.

He was Optronix, a corrupt mech who changed upon becoming Prime. Every single cycle he repeated his mantra.

"I am Optronix turned Optimus Prime. I am the leader of the Autobots. I was once a tyrant, but no longer."

Every time he saw himself in the mirror, repeating again and again... it grew easier to believe the lie. He stopped missing things from his time as Orion, at least dulling the ache. He missed the archives, but that void he filled with reading reports. He lamented the loss of his mentor, but that too he supplemented through teaching Ultra Magnus throughout the war. It only really hurt when Ratchet and Jazz fought him, but even that was easy enough to work around if he reminded himself of what he was.

He was Optronix. He was once wicked. And this was his penance.

Then, of course, the truth had to come out swinging. One wrong poisoning attempt and suddenly his reality was broken. He'd been poisoned countless times. It shouldn't have been as dangerous as it was with his immunity. But Ratchet on synthetic energon was nothing to scoff at, and simple fuel line drainage wasn't enough. They had to remove his mask to have him purge whatever was in his tanks as well. And that was when it all fell apart.

The team had their reactions. Optimus tried his best to be neutral throughout the whole process, letting them figure themselves out and acting accordingly. He continued his mantra, having had it long since become second nature. But one thing led to another, and Ratchet, ever Orion Pax's most loyal friend, was determined to bring back the mech he thought lost.

"We are giving you a reformat." Ratchet's servos were firmly planted on his hips, his expression dead serious. Optimus could only find it in himself to frown.

"We do not have the resources for such an endeavor. It would be a foolish waste of material." A hint of bitterness entered his tone, training to mirror his brother returning with a vengeance in the form of backhanded commentary. This was who he was now. There was no Orion Pax. Nothing to reformat back into.

"Sure, we don't have enough for a complete frame overhaul, but we can fix some things. Your face, your optics, maybe even your shoulders." Ratchet scanned Optimus's frame, his optics running with calculation. Optimus shied away from it instinctually, prior experience warning him against giving too much room for a potential attack.

"Ratchet... I'm not him anymore. I know I said I was Orion Pax, and I'm sure somewhere deep in my spark, he yet lingers. But that is not me. Not anymore." Ratchet, unlike how Optimus's anxious predictions portrayed him in dreams, did not scoff or come off as cruel. His expression softened as he came closer, reaching out to cup Optimus's face, the one thing he'd left unchanged as he gave the rest of his frame up reformatting to match his brother. The doctor's digits brushed over pristine faceplates, not a scar to be seen below the optics. It was... comforting.

"I believe my friend is still in here. And if I have to drag him out again, then so be it." In an act of intimacy Optimus had not had with anyone other than Bumblebee since he was but a mere archivist, Ratchet brought their helm crests together. The touch was simple, but the way their fields mingled and melded was divine, a cube of energon to a starving mech in Optimus's mind.

He couldn't fight back if Ratchet was this gentle with him. How could he?

"Let me do this for you." Those gentle words were all it took for Optimus to cautiously agree. And from that moment onward, Ratchet took his duty to spark.

"Mask off, Orion." Constant but gentle reminders rang out through the base frequently. Ratchet made it a point to use his old name, constantly urging him to grow comfortable showing his face again. Optimus scared himself more than a few times when he passed a mirror and saw himself.

He politely ignored the pitying looks he earned from the team after such reactions.

"Hold still. You don't need to be wearing this slag all the time now, so it needs to come out." Having tweezers in his optics wasn't all that fun either. But again, Ratchet was devoted. And to be fair to him, the moment the thick optical glass was removed, Optimus found he could actually see things he'd long since become used to having to squint at to view. The optics of an archivist were meant for data collection and analysis. Having them back was overwhelming at times.

He spent three whole earth days standing around simply watching things, learning to recycle his optics for optimal data collection. One night he spent up on the roof, admiring the stars for the first time since his arrival on Earth. As much as his instincts screamed at him to put the glass back in place, he found himself content to leave his optics alone.

They were familiar. He hadn't realized how much he missed them.

"You welded your data ports closed?" Ratchet gawked at him and the welds along Optimus's sides. He nodded without any additional reactions. It was yet another augmentation.

"I had to play the part not just in appearance and presentation, but also in functionality." Arcee winced as she saw the damage. Bumblebee looked concerned. Bulkhead, Primus bless him, seemed a bit sick to his tanks as he looked at the welds. It wasn't as if they weren't cleanly done, but every mech knew that there were certain components to various castes that made them unique, and often tended to be sensitive. Having those parts removed or damaged was abhorrent to them.

It was to Optimus once, many long vorns ago.

"We're fixing this. There is no way you haven't been going through mood swings without access to your datacables." Well, Optimus couldn't exactly deny that. Sometimes it felt like he was about to die if he didn't hook up to the console. During such moments, he tended to lean on the Matrix.

Ratchet, not having gotten any sort of retort, promptly got to work. Optimus marveled at the feeling the moment he found himself able to reconnect to his cables. They were difficult to manage after so long with them locked away, but just having them free was a relief he did not know he needed as sorely as he did.

"Not much I can do about your frame shaping considering our circumstances. But these, we can get rid of." Ratchet looked Optimus up and down as he hooked up to the console, restoring his long dormant archival subsystems through dutiful training through monitoring human websites. He hardly noticed Ratchet at all until the doctor took one of his servos and promptly began delicately removing the armored plating he had welded onto each individual digit.

The whole affair did not hurt. But when Ratchet was done, Optimus looked at his servos and saw... himself.

He saw Orion in the long and slender digits meant for swift typing, not battle or the handling of a sword. He saw Orion in the gentle tap of his digits as he typed again with them for the first time in eons. He saw Orion in the speed in which they moved, graceful in a way he had not been since he slaughtered his brother before their slumbering god.

Perhaps there was some Orion Pax left in him after all.

"OPTRONIX!" Megatron's shriek of outrage rang out across the battlefield as Optimus strode forward, hesitating only a moment as the warlord's sheer wrath. He was seething, his armor flared and his field a wild whip of anger and grief all wrapped into one burning wave. His blaster blazed with energy begging to be unleashed, his denta clenched so hard Optimus could almost hear them grinding from a distance.

"You dare wear his face! You dare take pieces of his frame as your own! Is this another way to torment me, you pit spawned heathen!?" Every word stung on a spark deep level. Optimus had long since learned to look past whatever Megatron said on the battlefield. it had been easy with his mantra because Orion was hidden. Orion was not the one being insulted or hurt.

But now? It was different.

"I will tear you limb from limb and rip that face right off your frame to lay my brother to rest! Do you hear me!?"

He heard.

He heard every single word.

And Primus, did it hurt.

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.1; Awaken

Your soul is stuck in your corpse after your tragic demise...lucky for you the mortician who's prepping your body is a hopeless romantic willing to bring you back to the land of the living

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of death, corpses, and gore (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Heavily implied suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 2.4k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

If we can get our truths out now, you know exactly how you died.

This must've been the worst year of your life. The contents of it are blurry due to the effects of your soul and its current condition but you remember the feelings well enough. Although the memories didn't stick you remember the sinking pit that it felt like you were swimming in. Too far from the top to go back and too far from the bottom to see an end to what was an incredible amount of emotional suffering.

The one memory you do have is one of surrender. Relinquishing all your emotions and all the pain into a single, unforgivable action. There is no excuse but your room just felt so empty then. It had all your things in it but it didn't have you, you were not there. Your mind had wandered away with the joy, the joy that you were sure you hadn't felt in months maybe years. And the unfortunate thing about a mind that wanders too far from the body is that the body will do whatever it can to get its mind back.

This leads to the only reasonable-awful-but reasonable way to ground a person completely. Death.

For a split second before you did it, for just a moment before the full surrender, you thought "I wish I had someone to stop me.". At that moment, a really quick moment might I add, the thought of loving someone, the thought of someone loving you through all of the hardships and pain, it might've stopped you. But you didn't have anyone, did you? You had been lost and wandering for a while and it was time to come back home. You had no one to call you back so, yeah, you had to call yourself back.

And so you did.

The awakening process for a soul that has refused to move on, despite the wishes and through the confusion of the person themself, is an interesting one. It is almost like that feeling right before you go to sleep. You remember what you did up to a point and then you don't remember having actually fallen asleep. Or to be more correct you don't remember dropping dead. Then, with no prior warning or vision of heaven or whatever movies may have you believe this experience might be, you woke but you woke in a dark and cold space. An unfamiliar space. The laughter of a man could be heard from above you, you think. And in the middle of your reeling, you are met with blinding fluorescents.

The morgue.

For the sake of brevity and to not bore you with your own story I won't go into the processes that go on within the walls of a morgue. More or less it's identification, waiting, maybe an autopsy, and more waiting. Then you are shipped off in a body bag to either a mortuary or a funeral home. Lucky for you a mortuary was more than satisfactory.

Some amount of time passed before you felt yourself be lifted out of the car and onto some sort of table or stretcher. Now it seemed you were in the care of only one person. Quite strong as well to be able to handle the dead weight (no pun intended) of yourself. The sound of the zipper would've sent you jumping if you were able but perhaps more surprising was the visage before you.

A tall and handsome man, tan skin showing through what little you could see behind the protective gear he wore. Dark eyes studied you immediately and for some reason, you could feel them soften as they looked upon you. You didn't feel discomfort, in fact, a warming and welcoming feeling came to contrast the cold of-well-your everything at the current moment. The aura that came off the man was something like stepping into the home of the friendliest person you've ever met.

And he was oh so gentle with you. The way he was careful with his movements as he heaved your stretcher onto the main table. Your eyes followed him as he went ahead and gathered various things from around the room. Setting them on a smaller table next to you. A deep breath settled in him as he scanned your body.

You felt vulnerable in this state, not much you could do about it but still. He got a clipboard and read through it. "Y/n…" your name rolled off his tongue like a small prayer. He circled you, tapping gently at different parts of your body as he went along. Assessing your situation and what he would have to make "presentable" no doubt. Then he stopped. Pausing as he made his way back towards your head. Another sigh as he gazed at you.

"You were so pretty. I wish we had met under other circumstances y/n."

If a heart was in your body it would be beating so fast right now. His hand reached out and grazed your forehead. Is he moving the hair from your face? If you had working veins you would be blushing wildly.

This is crazy. You've decided that this is crazy. Your soul for some reason has decided to stick to your body instead of following the heavenly trumpets towards the pearly gates of paradise. And here you were, prisoner in your own skin, unable to move or speak or do much of anything. And the only thing on your mind is the man who is preparing your body???

Oh, Christ. What the actual hell is happening?

Also, why does it seem like the mortician is just as invested in you? Are morticians supposed to have organ jars in their preparation rooms? You suppose they do take care of those sorts of things, plus he's the professional in this situation, right?

"The more I look at you…The more I wish…What am I saying?" he shook his head with a huff.

Your eyes were open, not like you could willingly close them, but you were somehow able to see in this state. You could see the way the protective gown fell on his arm, very faintly outlining some sort of muscle. The way his breath caught on the mask, not shallowly at all either, a heavy breath. Almost like when he looked at you you had taken it away and he was grasping to get it back. The gloves that held snug to his big fingers, his warm hands, the ones that graced you gently with every touch. So caught up in memorizing his features you hadn't noticed that he was tracing your inner arm and staring right back at your lifeless eyes.

"Actually, you might be perfect and these might just be perfect circumstances y/n…" he tilted his head as he said those words, gazing deeply at all of you, taking you in like some person at the other end of the bar.

Why was he walking away? What did he mean by perfect? Is he walking over with one of those jars right now? Lord, you should've followed the trumpets you thought. And then the giggle came in. Like a wrecking ball to the heart, the man let out a sound of excitement and happiness. The confusion that writhed through you at this moment was unparalleled by anything experienced by anyone before. Not only are you dead but now you have some sort of weird mortician, handsome, but weird on your hands.

He came back, his arms full of the organ jars from the shelves. "Y'know some of your own should suffice for this little experiment but I always tend to keep extras…", he said this in haste as he set up a plethora of equipment around your body. For what it's worth you could listen to him talk about whatever nonsense he was on about for hours.

"I always was a fan of Frankenstein. It inspired me to do this profession, actually. I know strange but even stranger is my need for you at this moment. Sorry. Not in that way, not in a disrespectful manner at all if I am being forward. But your circumstance saddened me and well- it does not help that you are so beautiful. AH! I am getting ahead of myself. I must wait until I know that you are here and that you are mine, y/n. Forgive my rudeness."

He was frazzled and all over the place. His speech was punctuated by heavy breaths and before you can even begin to process his mess of words he is discarding the protective gear. The only things he thinks worth keeping on being his apron and gloves.

In the corner, although you cannot see it from this angle, sits a computer. Mingyu weaves around wires to get to it. His fingers work at a fast pace as he types. "I knew it. It's all just perfect. It truly is. I could just jump with joy!". Mingyu had confirmed his suspicions or rather confirmed if his memory was correct. There was a chance for a storm tonight and everything just kept lining up for him. As if a gift from god themself here you are, there the storm is, and here's Mingyu ready to conduct a risky experiment, one that he's been building up in his head for years, one that he honestly did not think would happen within his lifetime. It was just a hobby, a thing not meant to occur, and more than that it was probably illegal.

But he didn't care. He just knew, a gut instinct if you will, that you were the one. The person he was meant to be with. Love at first sight some might call it, he sure thinks it is anyway.

Hours passed as he continued with his ministrations of gathering items and setting them up. The sun began to set and Mingyu's confidence rose. The table where you lay was wheeled into the middle of the room, you hadn't noticed it before but there was a skylight in the ceiling. A large one at that. He centered you as best he could to match the opening and began to dig metal hooks into your skin at different points. Although gruesome in my wording these punctures did not hurt you. They felt like a pinch to the skin that left nothing in the way of actual pain.

He hummed and smiled as he went about this work. The last thing he did as he began to hear the pitter-patter of rain outside was give you another once over. His eyes were at their most intense. Taking great care in making sure all of your details were perfect. Fixing your hair in the way the picture he had of you instructed, moving your hands to be at your navel, and stretching out your joints which had been effected by rigor mortis many hours prior.

"Perfect. Really and truly." he tried to calm himself of the adrenaline rush that had been keeping him on his feet the entire time. He sat on the rolling stool near the computer using his feet to make his way towards you once again. From a lower angle, you could just barely see his figure from here. He gathered himself and a sad look overtook his face.

"God, what are you doing Mingyu? This is crazy. The probability is so so so low. And look at you. Sat here in front of the most enchanting person you've ever met and they're dead… If this doesn't work then what? I give up on love? I try to date again? Knowing that no one has set my heart ablaze so immediately as the one before me now? No. If this does not work I will just have to admit myself. This would be the heartbreak to define my life." He took in a big breath before allowing it to leave his lungs completely empty. He took off his gloves and rolled his sweaty palms along the length of his thighs.

"I have gotten this far, it is time."

Rolling thunder shattered through the night sky. Mingyu began to pull a chain and the skylight opened. Droplets of water started to saturate your skin. He turned his attention to the computer bringing up some program that allowed him to control the various devices he had set up. The whirring of machinery is all you can hear as he sets lighting rods to lift up at the top of the mortuary.

A crack of thunder whips through the air. 1…2…3…Then the lightning scorched its bright head in the sky. The storm kicked up, your body was at this point soaked in rainwater as the shallow table tried its best to keep the surface tension of the water at bay. WRSHKKK the thunder once again, 1…2…The lightning seemed all the more close as it flashed before your eyes.

Then time stood still, what was nothing but seconds stretched until you were almost sure you were outside of space and time. The water hits your face, seeping into your eyes because you cannot close them. Your view only being the sky but what you heard could bring you tears, thankfully the rain allowed your face to communicate your emotional intent as beads fell from your eyes like the statue of Mary. Amongst the chaos of the storm, a chant-like prayer is whispered as Mingyu makes his towards you in strides. Standing at your head, towering over you, he leans down and with the gentleness of a man defined by love that makes him soft, his lips graze your forehead as he says "Please y/n, please." repeatedly finishing each prayer with a peck to your cold, wet skin.

KRSHHK the thunder growled with ferocity, 1…The lightning finally answered the plea.

A forceful blast flung Mingyu back, leaving him to hold onto the counter behind him. Every device alight as electricity surged through their wires, all of them leading to you in a maze of information and metal.

And as that energy reached your body you were enraptured in pain and ecstasy and every single physical feeling a human could possibly feel. As if you were being held gently while needles pierced your nerves, like floating on a cloud of cotton as you were being burnt alive. Every sensation came online all at once and it was exhilarating. The rain on your skin felt cold and burning. Your soul and body finally connect with existential bliss as they reunite. You felt everything.

Then your lungs finally filled with air. Your chest began to heave as your heart caught up to the fact that you were here again. Blood coursed through your veins and warmed your skin.

With a jolt you were alive and awake.

…And also falling off the table.

A/N: It's out! I really do hope you all enjoy the weirdness that is this fic. I tried my best to not be too descriptive with the details of death and the body, trying to focus more on the emotional than anything. Let me know what you think and please reblog if you liked it and would like to see more!

{If you're interested in being on the Taglist for this series please let me know!!}