#based on a rare vine

[precambrian-sea-pancake]

Mia: “It’s time for bed.”

Eveline, holding a teddy bear: “Mr Snuffles says I can stay up as late as I want and that you need to die!”

Mia: …

Mia: “What the heck, Mr Snuffles?”

[dropsnectar]

Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

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

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

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

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d been played. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

! ! !

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

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

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

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

! ! !

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mononijikayu]

love’s entanglement — ryomen sukuna.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths. “Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief. “Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), mild angst, one sided romance, complicated relationship, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, marriage, married life, physical touch, introspection, unexplicit mention of character death, pining, one sided confession, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of pining, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of cuts and injury, mention of yearning, mention of manga spoilers, mention parts of jjk chapter 222, heian! ryomen sukuna, concubine! reader;

WORDS: 8.7k words.

NOTE: i was honest with all of you when i said that i wasn't done with this story at all. there are still forty years of stuff to dabble in. so i'll write that. the title is based off an ost from the untamed called qingqian ( 情牵) which translates to love entanglement. i remember listening to this for a while and picturing in my head how complicated love looks like for concubine reader and sukuna. they love each other more than they want to admit. forty years of this, making each other suffer and making each other feel this way. how could they not want to be entangled? anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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THIS MOMENT WAS SOMETHING RARE. You do not usually find yourself around Ryomen Sukuna's own gardens. But today was quite a day for such a thing. For a good walk, after having been cooped up inside for so long. And yet, you did not find yourself in your own garden.

You after all have your own garden, courtesy of your husband who had allowed you to have a space of your own in your own hall, a luxury he extended to you — in contrast to his many, petty and envious harem. And all of it suited to fit your wants and needs, so long as you remained in his favor.

And because of that, you were particular with everything. Everything about it was more than enough to you, to last a lifetime of joy in a little space of paradise. Anyone who had been there would say so. Your Vermillion Hall was a serene haven, meticulously designed and tended to in ways that reflected your tastes and subtle touch. 

It was familiar, soothing, yet lately, a certain restlessness had stirred within you. The beauty of your garden felt too known, too safe. In search of a distraction, you drifted through the temple's quiet halls, each footstep echoing against the cold stone. The air was filled with the weight of silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient wooden beams.

Yet, you perhaps will not find anything that could rival it besides the untouched wonder of the Heaven’s Hall — where your husband resides. Before long, you found yourself at the threshold of your husband’s wide garden. Everything about this could be a pavilion of its own, a few Vermillion Halls, with just the greenery alone.

The space stretched out before you, vast and wild, a realm twice, no, thrice the size of your own. You cannot decide the accurate size. But everything about it was fit for a god. And yet, it was abandoned, untouched by the hands of anyone. It was presentable enough, and yet it was a bizarre sight to behold when you take it all in.

It was an unruly expanse, tangled with thickets of dark green and deep crimson, vines snaking around cracked statues and gnarled trees towering overhead. The paths, barely discernible through the dense growth, were cloaked in a mist that gave the air a damp chill. The scent of rich earth, damp leaves, and a hint of some distant, elusive blossom surrounded you.

You took a step forward, your hand trailing over leaves beaded with dew. The statues, fierce and ancient, seemed to watch with stone eyes as you moved past, their faces frozen in expressions of silent judgment.

Sukuna’s gardens were imposing, powerful, and unyielding; much like the man himself. He never spent time here, finding no need for the peacefulness that gardens offered. His presence, always commanding and forceful, left little room for such indulgences.

A rustle in the distance made you pause. You looked up, the hairs on your neck pricking. From behind a towering stand of bamboo, Sukuna emerged. His eyes, crimson and sharp, caught the faint light filtering through the leaves.

“Wandering somewhere you shouldn’t be, little one?” he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of you in his neglected domain.

You matched his gaze, refusing to be intimidated as you bowed before him. He towers over you as he tells you to be at ease. You raise yourself from your position and look at him with your uncertain eyes. He could tell immediately how you were.

He snickers. “You did not bring Chiharu with you?”

“She is at lessons,my lord. I did not wish to disturb her by my desire to walk.”

He raises an intrigued brow. “She would be throwing a tantrum then. You know of all people should know well enough that the girl likes to play.”

You purse your lips. “I am sure she will understand.”

“I should doubt that.” He retorts back to you. You did not reply. He was right. His eyes narrow at you tenderly. “How did you end up here, hm? Trespassers are not oft enjoyed by me, little one. Had you been some other unruly wench, it would be different.”

You feel chills echo through your bones at his words for a moment. You know well enough what happens to people who find themselves wanting around the King of Curses, even in his own land untouched by his hands.  

“You never come here, my lord.” you said simply, your voice steady, echoing with a curiosity that cut through the mist. “I would have thought I would be alone here.” 

Sukuna’s brow lifted, an unreadable glint crossing his scarlet eyes as he stepped closer, each stride deliberate. The ground crunched under his feet, the sound muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. You let out a small soundless breath as you waited for him to speak.

“And yet here you are, caught red handed, little one.” he countered, stopping just a breath away from you. “Does your garden hold no interest anymore? Your favorite space of your own and you abandon it for unruliness, little one.”

“I wanted something different, my lord….and it felt right today.”

“Things feeling right does not mean you ought to come without a word.”

“My garden holds no mysteries anymore, I merely looked for excitement.” you admitted, letting your fingers brush a tangled vine. “And I walked and walked and merely found myself here. If I had offended you thus,my lord….I apologize.”

A moment of silence passed, thick as the greenery surrounding you. Ryomen Sukuna tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if weighing the truth in your words. He releases a composed chortle, echoing intrigue at your words.

“You’re bold, little one.” he said, the smirk fading into something deeper, more contemplative. You could not read his face now. You found that your husband is even better at hiding what he’s thinking over the years. You can only wait.

“Very well, little one. I shall give you a bit more of the grounds surrounding Vermillion Hall for your pleasure. Do with it as you please.”

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly. Yet almost immediately, you thought to find yourself in collected composure. You could not falter easily, not in front of him. You bow slightly.

“I thank you for your generosity, my lord. I am sure Chiharu will enjoy that also. I thank you on her behalf.”

He grunts at you as he nods, crossing his massive arms together. Soon enough, you could feel his scarlet gaze shifting away from you, turning to scan the wild expanse that stretched around you both.

“These gardens have no order, no reason.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here, my lord.” you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. “Order can be stifling.”

His scarlet eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, the wildness of the garden seemed mirrored in the crimson depths of his stare. “Then it would seem that the heavens wish you to stay.” 

You lower your gaze for a moment, before lifting them slightly, your cheeks flustered red. “Does my lord wish that I shall stay here also?”

“What is the need for that question, when I do not say a word to dismiss you, little one?” Sukuna said in response, his eyes bearing intense more than ever.

You held Sukuna’s gaze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. It was rare to find him in such moments, raw and unguarded in the vastness of his own untamed world. Ryomen Sukuna was good at getting under your skin, getting you good with everything. 

With all this time that had passed, you would have thought that one would give in and surrender to the tides. The tides of all that had come and gone. You knew he would never love you. Not in the way he loved Hiromi. 

And yet, when he says such things, you couldn’t help but let your heart beat for him, who had caused you so much misery. You fold ever so easily when it comes to your husband. Even if that gets you nothing in the end.

You couldn’t help but be a fool, loving him in your own way. But perhaps, that is all that there will be in this life. You must accept it as it is.  

As you let your eyes drift from his face, they caught on the heavy folds of his finely cut silk  kimono. The gleam of the silken fabric strained at his broad shoulders, seams pulled taut over the sheer expanse of his chest. It was clear that the garment, though richly woven, was not made to fit a man of his proportions, nor was it well sewn to fit the needs of his divine flesh.

He noticed your glance, a shadow of amusement crossing his face. “Did something catch your eye, little one?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. He shifted, the movement making the fabric pull tighter, as if to emphasize the obvious.

“I was just thinking, my lord….” you began, hesitating for a moment. “ About your clothes... they don’t seem made for you.”

Sukuna chuckled, a sound low and resonant. “Even the finest they find would never be enough to clothe a god, little one.” he said, a touch of arrogance glimmering in his eyes. “None of them will be able to capture the needs of a god.”

There was no boast in his voice, only the stark acknowledgment of truth. He stood before you like a force of nature, a being who seemed larger than life in every possible way. Everything about your husband suited that being of a god. Everything about him was born to be divine. He knew that for a fact.

You didn’t know how to respond at first. The weavers, masterful in their craft, would sigh with frustration when tasked to make garments for him, their looms creaking under the weight of excess fabric. Sukuna was simply beyond what they could create; his existence outstripped the skills of even the most skilled artisans.

“You’re right, my lord.” you admitted, your voice a touch quieter. “You’re not... an easy man to define.”

He watched you for a moment, the flicker of curiosity hidden behind his usual veneer of confidence. “And yet, here you are, little one. Trying to find some meaning to it.” he repeated, softer this time, eyes searching yours as if tracing a hidden path within them. “I can see it on your face, how hard you think about it.”

You curse silently, but he almost looks like he was even more amused as he watched you try and gather yourself once more. Soon enough, the silence dissipates as the wind rustles through the garden, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and wildflowers damping the air.

“Do you resent it, my lord?” you asked, more boldness creeping into your tone than you intended. “The way nothing ever fits?”

His expression shifted, a crease forming at the corner of his mouth as he considered your question. “Fine clothing and steel, power and titles—they were never meant to fit me, little one.” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “They are tools, nothing more.”

You nodded, understanding dawning on you. There was something in his words that resonated, the idea that even the trappings of power were too small for a being who transcended them. The moment hung between you, a rare peace settling over the conversation.

“It must be lonely, then, my lord.” you whispered, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

He regarded you with a sharp intensity, and for the first time, his smirk faded into something closer to sincerity. “There is no such thing for a god.” he said, voice low, almost gentle.

The silence that followed his words was profound, charged with an intimacy that neither of you had anticipated. Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, measuring, weighing, as if considering whether to share something more or let the moment dissipate like so many others. 

His kimono, stretched and strained as it was, seemed almost like a metaphor for the man himself, something vast and untamed, constrained by forces too small to truly contain him.He shifted his stance, the faint creak of fabric and the whisper of leaves underfoot drawing your attention back. 

“And you, little one?” he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Do you find yourself longing for things that don’t fit?”

The question startled you, and you blinked, a shiver running down your spine as you pondered your response.

“I think we all do, in some way, my lord.” you said, choosing your words carefully. “We seek things that push at the boundaries of who we are. Otherwise, we’re just living within walls that keep getting smaller.”

A flicker of recognition passed through Sukuna’s expression. He looked away, his bright scarlet gaze drifting over the gardens, now cast in the golden hues of the fading sunlight. The air felt thicker, as if nature itself was listening to your exchange. 

“It’s easy for mortals to speak of boundaries, for you most especially, little one.” he said, voice almost a murmur. “But when you’re something... more, there are no walls to you. Only the question of what to do with the endless expanse.”

The way he spoke, not with pride but with a rare trace of weariness, made your chest tighten. You stepped closer, the distance between you narrowing until you could see the fine, jagged lines of old battle scars peeking out from beneath the strained fabric of his kimono. You reached out, hesitating for just a moment before letting your fingers graze the edge of one of those scars.

“And yet, you choose to build walls, do you not?” you said softly, your eyes lifting to meet his. “You push others away, keep yourself untouchable, my lord.”

He tensed under your touch, though he didn’t pull back. Instead, his eyes met yours in, the intensity of his stare pinning you in place. “Because if I let them in, they’ll see what even I cannot grasp. Power that bends to no will but its own. It’s easier to let the world see only what they fear, little one. Remember that.”

A breeze swept through the garden, carrying the whisper of leaves and the scent of wild jasmine. You watched him, understanding the vulnerability that hid in plain sight, wrapped in the guise of strength and distance.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear.

His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths. 

“Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief.

“Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

The garden held its breath as he took a step forward, closing the space between you. He towered over you, and yet, in that moment, there was an understanding—a balance between a force of nature and the one who dared to reach out and touch it.

“We’ll see, little one.” he finally said, the smallest tilt of a smile returning to his lips.

And for the first time, it wasn’t the smirk of a conqueror, but something softer, deeper, as if you’d both glimpsed a truth neither had expected to share.

══════════════════

YOU COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT WHEN YOU RETURNED. You cannot help it. You were only human. But it had been bad enough that it had distracted you for much of the day. And that rarely happens to you, as anyone else could attest.

Chiharu has been pestering about what has been so heavy on your mind, but you keep brushing her off. It was not her burden to carry. She was a child, after all. You would not let her find her way into the thought that consumed adults.

As you drank your medicinal tea, you couldn’t help but let yourself settle into the silence of the waning moon. That conversation had consumed you. Every little word between the two had endlessly lingered with you, its weight settling in your chest long after you had left the garden.

Your lord husband has always had a way with words. A Ryomen would — they were famed for intelligence and candor, for their wondrous words that echoed like the bountiful prose of a poet's mind. Everything about him is a gem more valuable than anything in the world.  

And yet, this may perhaps be the first time your husband had spoken in that way. He did not play with his words. He did not mince them either. Everything about it had encroached on you whole, like the darkness swallowing the day.

Ryomen Sukuna’s words and the rare vulnerability he’d shown played over and over in your mind, weaving themselves into your thoughts like the threads of a delicate tapestry. 

You found yourself thinking of him more often—not just as a powerful, untouchable figure but as someone who, despite his godlike presence, harbored something deeper beneath the surface. He was human once, after all. Wouldn’t such humanity at least remain, even unconsciously? 

For days, you wondered what you could do. You thought about how to reach him in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Sewing came to mind, but you quickly realized your skills were rudimentary at best. Your brothers had said as much as children. 

Your mother, however, was different. She had sewn clothes for your family for as long as you could remember, her hands weaving fabric with a mastery that turned every stitch into art.

The memory of her gentle hands, threading needle and cloth with unwavering care, bloomed in your mind like a warm, cherished light. Each stitch she made carried love, devotion, and the quiet strength that held a family together.

But a visit to her was out of the question. Ryomen Sukuna would never allow it; you knew that as surely as you knew the sun would rise. He does not find the need for you to debase yourself to such a life again, knowing you are a god’s wife.

And yet, you cannot help but think of her as you wondered what you could do for your husband. Everything about her echoed the warmth that one echoes with love. With devotion.

The thought of her touch, those fingers skilled in transforming cloth into something that fitted perfectly and comfortably, was a bittersweet ache. Yet, as much as you longed for her guidance, you knew this was something you had to attempt alone.

The desire to give Sukuna something beyond what words could express gnawed at you. He may not have loved you, not in the way stories spoke of love, but he cared for you in his own way.

He granted you freedom where he could, offered protection, and even moments of rare conversation like that day in the garden. You were alive because of his mercy, his whims. And you wanted to give him something in return. To show that you saw him, understood him, and cared.

With your resolve hardening, you purse the fullness of your lips in a flat line and find yourself calling over one of the temple servants. The young woman had soon approached swiftly, eyes downcast in the customary deference, but you caught a flicker of surprise when you made your request.

“What does my lady wish for this lowly servant to do?”

“If you may, could you bring me rolls of the finest fabrics, golden and silver threads, fine silver needles, whatever sewing materials you can find.” you said. The servant hesitated, her brows knitting as she processed the unusual command.

You offered a small smile, tilting your head. “Do not worry yourself too much. It is only that….I wish to indulge in some nostalgia.”

“I shall come and do as you ask, my lady.” she replied, bowing with great deference and desire to fulfill your request. 

As you sat there in the gardens waiting, your mind continued to wander back to your mother’s hands, the way she hummed softly under her breath as she worked, the warmth that filled the room as she crafted each garment with care. 

You breathed deeply, summoning that memory as strength. You would sew, even if clumsily, and you would give Ryomen Sukuna something he hadn’t asked for; a piece of your own devotion, stitched into every imperfect seam. You were after all, his most ardent follower, in all things.

The servant left quickly, her footsteps fading into the labyrinthine corridors of the temple, leaving you in a moment of quiet contemplation. You ran your fingers over the surface of a wooden table nearby, its polished edges worn from years of service, and thought about the task ahead.

You weren’t just sewing a garment; you were threading your thoughts, hopes, and unspoken words into every stitch. It would be a gift unlike any other—a piece of yourself, laid bare in the seams and folds of cloth.

Memories of your mother came flooding back like the sea against the cliff, more vivid and detailed than they had been in years. You could almost hear the gentle hum of her voice as she worked, an old song that spoke of love and patience.

You remembered how the light from the hearth would catch on the strands of her hair as she bent over her needlework, her expression calm and content. She worked slowly, meticulously, and with a grace that came only from years of practice and an abundance of love.

In those moments, her hands were not just sewing but crafting memories. You recalled the way she would glance up with a warm smile whenever you passed by, sometimes drawing you close to teach you the basics. Your child’s fingers were clumsy, the needle awkward in your grasp, but her voice had always been kind and encouraging. 

“Each stitch holds a bit of who we are, my daughter.” she’d say, guiding your hand. “So make sure it’s done with care.”

The thought of attempting to recreate even a shadow of that magic felt daunting, but the desire to give Ryomen Sukuna something meaningful pushed you forward. Despite his aloofness, he had become a fixture in your life. No, he has become your life. He is your life. You lived and breathed to do your duty to him and him alone, even if that burns you in suffering his lovelessness.

His presence, fierce and unwavering, was a constant in a world that often felt unpredictable. He didn’t need your gift, and he may not even value it in the way you intended, but that didn’t matter. This was for you as much as it was for him. This was the only way to express what words could not. Words will never be enough.

Time passed, and soon the servant returned, arms laden with fabric of various colors and textures. She placed them on the table, eyes glancing at you with a question that remained unspoken. You nodded, dismissing her with a quiet “thank you” before turning your attention to the bounty before you.

The fabrics ranged from deep, somber blues to vibrant reds that reminded you of Sukuna’s eyes. You ran your fingers over them, testing their textures. They were all interesting. Some coarse and sturdy, others smooth as the flowing water. Everything about it had found you pushing through with curiosity. You wanted to see what could happen if you choose to weave it together.

You chose a deep, rich indigo for the base, a color that spoke of strength but carried an undertone of calm, and a crimson thread to stitch with, a reminder of the fierceness you wished to honor. Another was plain and pure as the driven snow, bright as the moonlight striking down on the earth, put together piece by piece with the finest of silver threads. 

Settling into a chair, you took a deep breath, the weight of your resolve pressing against your chest. Your fingers trembled slightly as you threaded the needle, but you forced yourself to stay steady. The first stitch was hesitant, awkward, but soon you fell into a rhythm, each pull of the thread a quiet assertion of your purpose.

As you worked, the hours melted away, the room filling with the soft sounds of fabric shifting, the tiny click of the needle meeting cloth, and your own heartbeat thudding steadily in your ears. The memories of your mother’s gentle lessons guided you, each one a quiet assurance that even imperfect stitches could tell a story.

And so, you sewed. You stitched late into the evening, the flicker of candlelight your only companion as it cast golden shadows across the room. Every knot, every seam held a silent promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of what you felt and what you hoped to convey. It was more than an attempt to dress the god you worship.

It was an offering of yourself, an expression of your unfailing care, vulnerability, and the hope that even the wildest of beings could be touched by something as humble as thread and fabric.It was a human being’s prayer wishing to be answered at the altar of the god.

When at last you paused to look at your work, you felt a swell of emotion. It was far from perfect; the stitches were uneven, the fabric puckered in places, but it was real. It was honest. It was yours. And soon, it would be his for all of time. Just like you were.

══════════════════

IT WAS ASTOUNDING, HOW TIME PASSED. And yet how they were not peaceful. Ryomen Sukuna had not seen you for a week, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't as though he sought your constant presence or craved your company in the way mortals would seek comfort. 

No, his world was built on power, dominance, and the unyielding expectation that everything, and everyone served its purpose. They must submit to it. That is the fate of humankind in the face of a god.

You must, with all your might, carry out your duties by his side, as he demands. He did not care for how you spent your time in idle leisure, nor did he consider it his concern. But this week has been different.

You were absent from the audience halls, your soft steps nowhere to be heard drifting through the temple's stone corridors. You did not loiter about as you usually do when the sun comes around at dawn and or explore the temple gardens as you often did when the sun would set.

When he summoned Uraume to fetch you so you could stand by his side during the reception of the small folk and their insipid praises, Uraume returned with the same report: you had politely declined, citing that there was a rather important matter that required your attention.

And that too was confirmed by his daughter, who refused to tell him a word about it, even when Sukuna had threatened to be harsher upon her in training. Chiharu did not care about having to deal with more punishing punches and miles of running than betraying your privacy.

The first time, Sukuna waved it off, convinced that whatever occupied you was fleeting and of little consequence. The second time, he raised a brow but said nothing, allowing it to be an anomaly. 

But the third time, it grated at him, a feeling gnawing at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach. Was something wrong? Were you ill? The notion was absurd, but the idea still sat heavily on his chest.

The fact that Uraume provided no further explanation infuriated him. His trusted attendant simply returned with your refusals, a slight bow and an inscrutable expression that offered nothing more. Sukuna's irritation burned hotter with each day you did not appear at supper, each moment you weren’t where he expected you to be. 

He found it unnerving, a ripple of discomfort that was foreign to him. The mighty King of Curses did not worry, did not concern himself with the comings and goings of another. And yet, here he was, muscles taut and jaw clenched, pacing in his chambers as the unsettling sensation festered.

“This is absurd, foolish most of all.” he muttered to himself, voice sharp as the flicker of his irritation mirrored in the crimson gleam of his eyes. It was out of character for him to feel this way, and he knew it. 

A wave of frustration surged through him, not at you, but at the unbidden thoughts themselves. He could not help it, not when you were failing to fulfill your duties, not when you were not servicing him as you should. You, who were supposed to be by his side, a symbol of his reach, his power.

Ryomen Sukuna slammed a hand down onto the lacquered surface of the table before him, the sudden crack of wood splintering under his force echoing through the room. The servants outside stilled, their breaths caught in their throats as silence returned, heavier than before.

“Uraume.” he called out, voice ringing like a blade through the hall.

Moments later, Uraume entered, head bowed and expression carefully neutral. “My lord.”

“Find out what your lady is doing, this instant.” Sukuna commanded, each word sharp and deliberate. “And bring your lady to me, whether it be willingly or not.”

Uraume hesitated for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift of their eyes betraying curiosity or perhaps concern, but they only nodded and backed out of the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind them. They would not fail their lord Sukuna.

Uraume stood at the threshold, gaze steady as they absorbed Sukuna's command. “As you wish, my lord.” they said, bowing low before slipping out of the chamber. 

The sound of their retreating footsteps was soon swallowed by the silence, leaving Sukuna alone with the simmering tempest of his thoughts. That he hated more than anything. He hated having such thoughts by himself. But it cannot be helped. It would take a while. 

As Uraume went off to the other side of the temple and headed to Vermillion Hall in order to do their duty — that will take a while. He has to wait. Sukuna pressed his lips together as he sat there, tapping one of his hands on the stool’s armrest with great impatience. Everything about this is causing him more irritation by the minute. If he could, he would have a headache.

He clenched his jaw, staring down at the splintered wood beneath his palm. The sharp edges bit into his skin, grounding him in the moment, but they did nothing to ease the unfamiliar twist of irritation in his chest. It wasn't like him to be unsettled, to find his mind preoccupied with the absence of another. And yet, the past week had been a slow, relentless descent into that very discomfort.

“This is a farce.” he muttered, turning away from the table with a sweep of his robes. His dark scarlet eyes narrowed as he paced, the flickering torchlight casting his sharp features into a series of jagged shadows echoing through the halls. 

You, the one who had come to exist in the periphery of his life yet had managed to weave yourself subtly into his days, were defying expectations. One who he thought he would break and mold into his own — were still your own self, your own being and he cannot control what you do or what you want. 

You were you and he does not know what to do. The thought stirred something darker, something that demanded control and conformity. Something in him wanted to enrapture you whole over and over again. There was that desire. And he does not know what it all means, what he should do. And for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna does not wish to know. 

A little while later, as twilight painted the sky in dusky hues of orange and purple, there was a soft knock on the door. The waiting is over. He gathered himself for a moment as he looked towards the door. His gaze narrows.

“Enter.” Sukuna called, voice measured but laced with an edge that warned of his impatience.

The door opened, and Uraume stepped inside, their expression unreadable but posture tense. “My lord.” they began, pausing briefly as if to gauge his mood. “My lady, your concubine has been in the private chambers. I spoke with my lady, but my lady insisted that there was no reason to leave. My lady could not leave the progress on the work.”

“Work?” Sukuna echoed, a scoff forming at the corner of his lips. The idea of you consumed by something so important that you would refuse him was laughable. “And what work, pray tell, keeps my little one from me?”

Uraume shifted, eyes flicking to the floor before daring to meet Sukuna’s gaze. “My lady had tried to find the right words to say, but it is obvious that my lady is sewing, my lord. My lady has asked for time alone to finish the task.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then Sukuna barked out a laugh, harsh and devoid of humor. “Sewing?” He repeated, incredulity turning to anger that settled hot and heavy in his chest. “And my lady denies me for this trivial pursuit? For so long? Over needle and thread?”

Uraume’s shoulders stiffened at the rising tension in the room. “My lady spoke of... nostalgia, my lord. I believe it holds some personal significance to my lady’s past.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. His pride bristled at the audacity of it. You had chosen something so mundane, so mortal, over fulfilling your role by his side. And yet, beneath the simmering irritation was a glimmer of curiosity. Sewing, of all things. It was an image so incongruent with your usual self that it gave him pause.

He paced, his heavy footsteps echoing like drum beats against the cold stone floor. “Uraume.” he said finally, his voice low but lethal. “Bring my lady here. I will see this work that my lady values so highly. Immediately.”

Uraume inclined their head, an acknowledgment that they understood the urgency masked as command. “At once, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HAD RUSHED TO GET READY. Uraume had come once more and you knew that you must depart soon enough. You knew your husband too well. He would end up throwing a tantrum the longer you made him wait.

He was just like that. You had kept your company and attention away from him far too long, more than what was necessary. But it had to be done, if you were to finish all of this. 

You lamented not being able to finish the fourth one, but it would have to wait. You could return to finish it, once you show your husband the other three you had made. You looked towards Uraume and handed them two of the fine wooden boxes. They looked at you with a curious gaze, but the moment Uraume stared at your hand — perhaps there was some understanding on their part.

The heavy silence stretched between you and Sukuna, thick with unspoken tension. Every breath felt labored as you stood there, frozen in the doorway, your hands clasped tightly before you in a gesture that betrayed the anxiety tightening your chest.

Your eyes were cast downward, not out of fear, but because you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze just yet. His presence, like an oppressive storm, filled the room, suffocating any semblance of comfort. The weight of his stare, heavy and searing, felt as though it was burning through you, stripping you of any pretense or barrier.

Sukuna did not speak at first, but you could feel the intensity of his scrutiny in every second that passed. His crimson eyes locked onto you, an unrelenting force that seemed to penetrate deep into your very soul.

The room seemed to pulse with an energy that was entirely his own, and yet, there was something different about it now. Something subtle, almost imperceptible, but still undeniably present.

You shifted your weight nervously, unsure of what to say or do. Every instinct told you to bow, to humble yourself before him as you always had, but this moment felt different. The kimono, the one you had made for him, still lingered in his mind, you could tell.

The way his eyes flickered briefly to the space beside him where the garment was now laid out, the faint reverence in his touch when he had examined it earlier—it was as if he had been remembering something far more important than mere clothing.

You lowered yourself in a humbling bow in front of him.

Not once did his gaze leave your presence in that moment.

For a good while, you could feel the chills all over your body.

“Approach.” he ordered, each syllable cutting through the silence like a blade.

You stood from your bow and slowly stepped forward, heart thudding in your chest, carrying one of the boxes containing your work felt even heavier. You could feel how harshly you clutched it in your trembling fingers.

His eyes flickered down to it. You lay the boxes before him. Uraume laid the others before him. For the briefest moment, his expression shifted. There was less anger and more... intrigue.

“Explain yourself.” he demanded, though there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity woven through the command.

You swallowed, summoning courage from somewhere deep within. “I wished to make something for you, my lord.” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Something that would... fit you.”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but a question glimmered in his eyes, curiosity battling with the remnants of anger. “Fit me?” His voice was softer now, dangerous but tempered. “And you thought denying my summons was worth this pursuit?”

You nodded, holding up the fabric. “I wanted to show you that you could be seen, that I care enough to try. That I am devoted to you, my lord.” 

The silence that followed was suffocating, his eyes locked onto yours, searching, weighing.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stood, waiting for judgment, for the fury that could come like a storm. But instead, Sukuna’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it.

“Show me. Now.” he said, voice a low rumble. “This work that kept you from me.”

Uraume moved forward without hesitation, the ornate coverings making a soft, rustling sound as they were carefully untied and removed. The fabric shimmered under the dim light, revealing the fruits of your labor—a trio of kimonos, each meticulously crafted, each unique in its own right. 

The first was white, paired with a matching hakama and a black haori that seemed to drink in the shadows. The second was a deep, royal indigo with crimson accents, bold and regal. The third was a rich, earthy gray embroidered with intricate silver patterns that caught the light like scattered stardust.

Sukuna's gaze shifted from one garment to the next, expression unreadable as his crimson eyes took in the details on all of it. He could see the fine stitching, breathing life little by little in each piece seemed to carry a subtle elegance that spoke of both strength and devotion. You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of his scrutiny press against your chest.

“A–as I said, my lord, I made them myself.” you began, voice wavering but earnest. “I’m sorry if they are not as perfect as you would prefer. I know they may not be fit for a king or for a god, my lord. But I had carefully crafted all of it while thinking of you.”

His eyes flicked to you at that, sharp and assessing. He said nothing, and the silence stretched long enough that you felt compelled to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“I just wanted to make something that would suit you. Something that would… reflect who you are, my lord.” You hesitated before adding, “And to show that you are more than just—”

“Silence, little one.” Sukuna interrupted, though there was no malice in his voice. He took a step closer, gaze settling on your hands. 

The cuts and bandages were visible, stark against your skin, telling their own story of sleepless nights and determination. The marks of effort were not lost on him. The thought that you, a mortal bound by your own fragility, had poured so much of yourself into this—into him—sent a flicker of something unidentifiable through him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the edge of the white kimono with the black haori. The stitching was impeccable, bold yet refined, as if each thread carried a piece of your heart. It was the simplest of the three, but there was an understated power to it. A garment that spoke of purity juxtaposed with shadows, stark and unwavering, much like the man it was intended for.

“This is no easy task to do by yourself.” he said finally, voice deep and resonant. “You undertook this task like you are a wife of a god. You dare to humble yourself before me, yet your work is that of one who knows worth.” 

You could feel your eyes water slightly. “My lord—”

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, eyes dark and unreadable. “You have done well.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected praise, and you bowed your head to hide the sudden, overwhelming emotion welling in your eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

Sukuna stepped back, casting one last glance at your injured hands. “Uraume,” he said, a command rather than a question. “Go to the healers. Ask them to bring ointments for my lady’s hands. They will be treated.”

A flash of surprise passed over Uraume’s features before they nodded briskly and left to carry out the order. You blinked, stunned by the uncharacteristic gesture. Sukuna turned away, but before the silence could return fully, he spoke again, voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“Next time, you will not wait so long to show me what is mine.”

The room stilled, the weight of his words sinking in. You nodded, heart thudding with a strange mix of relief and something deeper, something you did not dare to name.

Sukuna's gaze lingered on the white kimono, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he took in each stitch, each line, and the subtle folds of fabric that fell with perfect symmetry.

The black haori had an elegant simplicity that balanced the pure white of the kimono beneath, embodying a duality that resonated with him—power restrained, shadow and light interwoven.

He reached out, almost absently, fingers brushing over the texture of the fabric. The quiet reverence in that small action caught even Uraume's attention, their eyes flicking between the two of you. Sukuna's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you could sense the battle raging behind his eyes, an internal war between pride and acknowledgment.

“You, little one….” he said, turning to face you fully. His voice was deep, almost resonant, as though echoing in the very bones of the room. “You claim to apologize for imperfections, but these garments carry none that I can see.”

The words caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your heart pounding a steady rhythm that resonated with the silent awe you felt. The faint sting in your bandaged fingers seemed to dull as he continued to regard you with that intense, unreadable gaze.

“Your dedication does not go unnoticed, little one.” Sukuna continued, stepping closer until the space between you was marked only by the breath you dared to draw. He reached out, lifting one of your hands with surprising gentleness, eyes narrowing as he took in the cuts and raw patches on your skin. “You have marked yourself in service to me. Remember that, and remember the value of your labor. As I will.”

He let your hand fall gently, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in the room shifted, not softening but changing, as if the unspoken had taken form and settled around you both.

“From now on, little one.” Sukuna declared, turning his back to you but with a final glance over his shoulder, “I shall command you to be the only one to make my clothing for me. I shan’t wear anything else. So do well, hm?”

A shiver passed through you at the rare acknowledgment, at the words that felt like both a demand and an offering. The title little one rolled from his tongue like an unfamiliar caress, a sign of possession and regard wrapped in one. You lowered your head, a flicker of pride warming the cold pit of exhaustion in your chest.

“Yes, my lord.” you whispered, voice trembling not with fear but with the weight of something new—something you hadn't yet fully understood but knew had shifted the ground beneath your feet.

“Come here, sit by me. Uraume will take a while.” He whispers back to you. His scarlet eyes are softly gazing at you. “Tell me about your work, little one.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A true smile that reaches your eyes. “If my lord wishes.”

Ryomen Sukuna let himself enjoy your smile for a moment.

He came to a good and true conclusion there and then.

You wear joy in the most beautiful way in the way no one else knows.

And he admits, he wishes to see it for the rest of your days.

══════════════════

epilogue

Ryomen Sukuna stood in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes narrowing as Uraume carefully moved boxes aside, clearing the clutter from the room. The sight of the discarded objects from a thousand years ago, long forgotten relics; they all seemed trivial at first. 

But then, something caught his eye, something that made his breath catch in his throat. A simple box, set apart from the rest, seemed too out of place for the cluttered heap of old trinkets and broken pieces. His loyal Uraume, not noticing his change in expression, continued to sort through the boxes.

"Uraume." Sukuna's voice rang out, low and deliberate, making Uraume freeze in place.

"Yes, my lord?" Uraume turned, posture stiff as they anticipated another order.

"Stop." The command was final, and Uraume hesitated for a moment before pausing, then obediently approached the box Sukuna had taken notice of. "Bring it to me."

Uraume did as instructed, carefully lifting the box and walking over to Sukuna, who stood with his arms folded, eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and something far more dangerous. Once the box was placed before him, Sukuna opened it with a measured slowness, as though savoring the moment, although he didn’t know yet what he would find.

And then, there it was.

The sight of the white kimono, the hakama, the black haori—all painstakingly crafted in a way that could only be yours. The way the fabric shimmered slightly in the dim light was enough to bring him back to a time long past, a time when you were still present in this world. 

The stitching so delicate and precise spoke of hours spent in quiet concentration, your hand steady as you worked. He recognized it immediately. His heart thudded in his chest, a sharp beat that reverberated in his bones.

The kimono was too big for him. Clearly, it had been designed for his old body.  And yet, it felt familiar, almost like a second skin he had never worn but was made to fit him nonetheless. The memory of your presence. Everything of you was shining through, even after all this time. He could see it clearly; your hands, your laughter, your quiet hums as you sewed—came rushing back with such intensity that it almost overwhelmed him.

Sukuna's fingers twitched, and for a moment, he stood still, staring at the kimono as if it were some precious, fragile relic he feared would shatter under his touch. He reached out slowly, as though he could still feel the warmth of your hands in the fabric, the echoes of your care woven into every inch.

His touch was tentative, almost reverent, as if the kimono might disintegrate under his hand. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he could hear your voice, soft and melodic, humming the same tune you always had as you worked. A soft ache settled deep in his chest, a yearning he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for centuries.

He stood, unmoving, eyes fixed on the fabric. His thoughts blurred together, memories of you flooding his mind—of your past selves, of your touch, your presence in his life. Of a long life lived together. 

And yet... you were gone.

All of that had come and gone.

Still, he can’t help but long for it.

Sukuna had long since accepted the passage of time, the impermanence of mortal lives, even the ones that had been his to command. But this, this feeling of loss; it was different. His thoughts were dark, bitter, yet they carried something deeper—a sharp longing for a time he could never reclaim.

"Uraume." he finally said, voice thick with something he couldn’t name. "Prepare this for me. I will wear it."

Uraume paused, sensing the change in him, the shift in the air that could only mean one thing. “At once, my lord.”

The room grew quiet once more as Uraume gathered the kimono, intent on following his command. But for a moment, Sukuna remained, staring at the fabric, his mind filled with fleeting images of you: your smiling face, your delicate hands working the needle with such care, the soft hum of a song that had once filled the empty spaces of his temple.

And then, in the stillness, it was as if he could see you again. Not clearly, but a shadow. A fleeting glimpse of your figure in the corner of the room, hunched over the cloth, the same rhythm of your sewing filling the air. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

But no, you were not there. He knew that. He could not allow himself to forget that. You had passed, long ago, lost to time, to the endless cycle of reincarnation.

For a moment, Sukuna let himself be still, standing in the quiet of the chamber. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the fabric once more, this time with more certainty, as if touching it again could bring you back, even for just an instant.

And in that moment, Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses, the immortal, the one who had never known regret, felt something in him break. It was a small thing, barely perceptible, but for the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna admitted something to himself, something he had buried deep within him and refused to acknowledge.

He missed you.

The realization hit him with the weight of a thousand years' worth of emotion that had never found its release. It wasn’t just the kimono. It wasn’t just the memories. It was the person you had been—the warmth you had given him, the way you had sewn not just fabric, but pieces of your soul into his life, despite all the darkness that surrounded him.

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, his breath deep and slow, before he looked down at the kimono once more. There was a strange sense of finality in the moment, as if the act of touching it somehow completed a circle long left unclosed.

“Uraume.” he said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “When you are done, make sure I can wear it tonight. No delays.”

Uraume glanced back at him, silent in their acknowledgement, and bowed. “Understood, my lord.”

And as they left, Sukuna lingered a moment longer in the quiet. The silence stretched, but for once, it wasn’t oppressive. He found himself lost in the memories of a time when the world had felt less cold, when you had been at his side.

And perhaps, he will never feel that again. Perhaps it was never meant to be. He had squandered his chance and now he suffers. He suffers life without you. And perhaps, that is his punishment. 

Ryomen Sukuna, this old immortal, this untouchable legend, this unshakable curse could not help but accept his fate. 

He accepted this punishment even if it was hard to do so, because there was nothing left of you without it.

For the first time in a long time that the King of Curses longs and yearns for his dearest concubine.

[graveyardcuddles]

Rhapsody - Astarion x GN!Reader one-shot

You and Astarion are ready to embark on a new journey together. You begin by shedding a painful piece of his past.

A/N: I'm brand new to hobby writing, and this is my first ever fic! This was based on something I actually did with my Tav and Astarion in-game.

tags/warnings: sfw, established relationship, gender neutral!reader, nondescript reader, tavstarion (reader is tav), kissing, in-game spoilers, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of Cazador-related trauma, feelings, fluff.

Word count: ~2000

It's a quiet early evening in the Elfsong tavern. The private room you share with your lover is warm, windows shuttered and curtains drawn. As you entered the room, you froze, stopping to admire the sight before you. Astarion was resting in the comfort of your shared bed. Trancing, to be precise. He hadn't been trancing these past few days, and the sight of your silver-haired love resting peacefully filled you with relief. Slowly, you peel off your boots and make your way over to your resting vampire. Your hands and knees sank into the plush of the bed cautiously in an attempt to avoid disturbing his trance. He was roused from it easily. Eventually, you managed to settle your head on the pillow, simply observing him in a rare moment of peace. He lay unnaturally still, chest unmoving, eyelashes resting delicately where his lovely dark circles ran under his eyes. Hair tousled, collar bones just peaking out of where the top buttons of his shirt clasped together. His face was calm, with no trace of tension he usually had during his night terrors. You smiled. Eventually, your lids grew heavy.

It had been only a week since you and your companions had destroyed the world-ending threat of the mindflayer Grand Design. Your little group of unlikely friends were declared Heroes of the Gate. You should be feeling triumphant, but your victory had been bittersweet. Despite taking pride in the fact he had been one of its saviors, Baulder's Gate would always remain host to Astarion's worst memories. Just returning to the city alone was overwhelming for him: facing his old stalking grounds, his siblings, Cazador. Your relationship had only recently evolved into something more after his confession in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You knew this would be difficult and messy for him, but you were already hopelessly devoted to this beautiful broken man who was finally trusting you with his heart, wholly and freely.

So you took his heart in your hands and held it gently through all his anxieties and fears. Through the sleepless nights, the sobbing, the flashbacks, and phantom pains. All of which only increased as his confrontation with Cazador drew closer, and the promise of power and security that came with ritual became more and more tempting to him. You feared dearly that you were losing him and that your love and pleas for him to see reason wouldn't be enough to stop him. The fear wound itself around you like a bramble, the heartache gnawing away at you daily.

In the end, your worst fears did not come to pass. He rejected the profane power of the ritual in return for freedom with you. In that bloody moment when Astarion finally ended Cazador, you were in awe of him. His glorious spirit and strength. You allowed him to let out over 200 years of grief and rage. Watched closely as he came back to himself. Helped him back to the Elfsong to clean him up and tend to his wounds. Later on that night, after things had settle and he was in the aftermath of his victory, you had asked him what he wanted now that he was free. "You," he had answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was you that he wanted.

He had taken you to the very soil where his two hundred years of torment had begun and made love to you in that very place as a declaration of his new life and freedom. He cleared away every painful thorn of doubt and fear covering your heart, much like he had cleared the vines growing over his tombstone with his own two hands. The beginning of a new life with you. Sadly, the two of you hardly had time to properly celebrate Cazador's death before returning immediately to securing new allies and calculating battle strategies against Orin, Gortash and finally the Netherbrain's forces themselves. It had all been a whirlwind in which neither you hardly had any time to truly relish in Astarion's new liberation.

You would never forget that horrifying moment the sun had turned on him. It's once gentle warmth that had given him so much comfort on your journey now becoming a burning, searing light. When you found him shortly after, hidden behind some crates, he was still scarred from the light. His face and hands were ashened, pieces of what were once his flesh practically flaking off in cinders. He was panicking, and you tried your best to stay calm for him. You offered him your wrist, reminding him he needed blood to heal. It only seemed to further distraught him. He was just as furious as you expected him to be and more so. Furious that after everything he went through, he was being forced back into the shadows again. Furious at you for pitying him. Furious at Cazador. But most of all, he was furious at himself for having dared to have hoped again. For thinking that just because he had been a very good boy and helped to save the world that the gods or fate or anyone would take pity on him and grant him this one thing. But no.

He sat there on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. He had yelled so much about how foolish he had been to expect any outcome other than this, you half-expected his voice to give out. Eventually, he went quiet for a few long minutes before looking up at you, his beautiful red eyes full of sorrow. He tried to smile at you, but it broke off into a scoff.

"I'm never going to see you in the sunlight again."

He let out a long laugh full of bitterness before pressing his face back into his knees and breaking into a sob. It was then that you closed the gap between you two, holding him as wept. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and swear a paladin's oath to him personally that he WOULD walk in the sun again. That you were making it your life's mission. But you knew that wouldn't help him now. It wouldn't lessen the sting. It wouldn't soften the blow. Right now, he needed to mourn, and so mourn you let him.

You held him there and let him weep in your arms. When you offered him your blood again, he finally accepted, drinking in your healing essence and regenerating the scorched skin and flesh. You caressed the newly healed skin softly, kissing it with tenderness and reassuring him that he looked good as new. Later on that same evening, after you managed to make it back to Elfsong with him and were together in bed, he took your hand in his.

"I want to apologize, darling," You were confused, but he continued. "I acted abhorrent to you in a moment of weakness. I was so... angry about what I had lost. I was blind to what I still had in front of me."

He cupped your face, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Your sweet vampire. You took his hand and kissed his knuckles one by one. You reassured him that he had nothing to apologize for. The sun was one of the few pleasantries from his mortality that he could relish in again while tadpoled. The caress of its rays had become synonymous with freedom itself for him. And with the new love between you two. To have that ripped away would make anyone angry.

It was then that you told him that you WOULD help him find a way to walk in sunlight again. He had been surprised to hear you say so, as if he had expected you to write it off entirely as an impossibility, as he already had. But your words seemed to spark a new sense of hope in him. It was what he said next that took you off guard.

"That is...if this is what you want?" Your heart dropped. Surely he didn't still doubt how you felt about him? "I can understand if you would want to part ways..." Even as he says it, his eyes momentarily drop to the floor, and he sways a bit uneasily.

He is still always expecting the worst. Anticipating more grief. You took his hands gently into yours, telling him that if you thinks you're seriously going to break up with him now after everything you two have been through together, then he's going to have to start being a LOT more annoying. Because he isn't getting rid of you any time soon.

The next several days would be spent together, processing everything you had gone through. Your companions had all gone their seperate ways fairly quickly after a hasty celebration: Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, Lae'zel to war against Vlaakith, Gale to return the Crown to Mystra, Shadowheart with her parents and Halsin with his foundlings. After only a few days, it just you and Astarion left in the city. You had stayed by his side throughout this time, only ever leaving to get food or check on the acquaintances you had made in the city. But you were both growing restless. He appreciated your presence, but you could tell the time was coming for the both of you to move on from this place and make a new adventure for yourselves together.

You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep until a few hours had passed. As you open your eyes, you see your pale elf has moved from the bed. He's seated on the floor, in front of the chest full of the shared things the two of you have gathered along your journey. You slide off the bed, and he turns his head to smile at you. "There you are," his eyes were a soft shade of carnelian in the warm lamp light. You came to sit by him. He seems concentrated on whatever he's holding. You touch his shoulder and look to see what he's examining. A dagger. Not just any dagger but one that made your blood run nearly as cold as Astarion's. Rhapsody. The dagger Cazador had used to scar his back, and the one which would ultimately end his wretched existence. Nineteen times. Astarion had stabbed Cazador nineteen times. You had counted each stab. Presently, he was turning the blade in his hand with a contemplative expression.

"Hideous, isn't it?" He scoffs. You noted he was taking care to only touch the dagger's ornate hilt and pommel, avoiding touching the actual blade at all.

"Is it..?" You stared at the twin design of the twisting gnarled metal.

"Silver? Naturally. How else is one supposed to permanently scar a vampire?"

You bit back the sympathetic words that were lingering on your tongue, knowing he wouldn't want to hear them now.

"Pretty effective at killing vampires as well, I'd say." You quipped gently. Astarion hummed in response, but his expression remained contemplative.

"Yes. I suppose it might be somewhat useful if we ever get on the wrong side of another vampire," he mused. You lean in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you pondered the dagger. "True. Could also be useful if Petras ever decides to come around and bother us."

You're almost startled as he throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. He sets the dagger down as it's obviously lost his attention for the moment. "Darling!" He exclaims. "You were the one who convinced me to save the poor wretch! Twice, in fact! Only to want him dead now? I mean, it's understandable, but clearly, I'm having a bad influence on you."

You couldn't help but smile back. This was the most you had seen him smile or laugh since losing the sun. His laughter was so light and airy it made your heart burst. "Yes, you are such a very bad influence on me, Astarion."

You crawled over to him, eyes locked. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his gaze softens as you asked permission to go further. He answers by giving you a series of playful kisses leading along your jaw from your earlob to your lips. He locks on those lips and deepens his kiss, going slow and taking his time. A deep, passionate kiss. Your hands find their way into his curls, and they twine their way around your fingers loosely. He sighs into the kiss, whole body relaxing into you. When you pull apart, he's smiling, a touch of melancholy still lingering on his features.

"I saw you in my reverie," he says unexpectedly. You listen to him intently as he continues. "We were leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands after Shar's curse had been lifted. I hadn't seen the sun in weeks, and then there you were, bathed in its light. I hadn't realized until that moment how beautiful you were in sunlight." He smiles sadly and kisses your hand.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and look him in the eye. "And it's a sight you will see again one day, my love. I promise you." Your arms come around him and hold him close, stroking his hair and simply letting him feel. After a few minutes, he seems to come back to you. "I want to leave this stupid city already," he says plainly. You chuckle and pull away from him. "Me too, my love. We can leave as soon as tomorrow if you'd like."

Astarion's gazes at your travel chest again. He takes out the dagger again, looking at this time with disgust. "And I want to get rid of... this thing," he says with bile in his voice. "It's hideous, just like everything else Cazador ever commissioned. All that damn wealth, and I swear it's like he challenged himself to own the ugliest pieces of art he could." He huffed and shook his head. "I want to throw this damn thing away." An idea came to you. Looking towards the clock, you note there's still a few hours left before sunrise. "Would you like to get rid of it now?" You ask him, careful to only present it as an option. He's still getting used to making big decisions, and you don't want to pressure him. He looks at you. "Gods, yes."

The two of you head out into the warm night air of the city, and Astarion's nose almost immediately wrinkles in offense. "Gods, how have they still not managed to fully get rid of that rotting squid smell? I thought there were clean-up and recovery efforts underway." You roll your eyes. "There have been clean-up and recovery efforts underway, silly. They've gotten rid of all the Mindflayer corpses already. Your nose is just sensitive." Cloaked in night, the many little homes making up the vast reaches of the Outter City light up on the horizon before you. You walk together and tell him all about the acquaintances you've made in the city and how they had been faring after the chaos of the battle.

Eventually, you make your way to your destination: the docks of Baulder's Gate where you had all pulled yourselves ashore after crash-landing the Netherbrain into the sea. Astarion slows down as you walk along the dock. The last time he was running for his life, burning up in the sun. You hoped returning here with him to do this will make for a proper end to your illithid odyssey. At you stop at the dock's end, you take Astarion's hand in yours. You say nothing, waiting on him to make the next move.

He sighs and takes out Rhapsody, giving it a final look. For a moment, you wonder if he might hesitate. He stares at the blade intensely, holding it as if its weight were far greater than it physically was. Two centuries of terror. Without any further warning or fanfare, the dagger is airborne. For a split second, you can just barely make out a tiny glint of moonlight reflecting off the blade as it flew through the air. With a small splash, it's gone forever. Astarion lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "You monster!" You exclaimed with mock horror. "You just murdered some poor innocent fish!"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Maybe the Hero of the Gate should go and rescue the poor thing." He grabs you around your waist, his newfound vampiric strength catching you off-guard. He spins you around as if he means to literally throw you off the dock, and while you're fairly certain he's joking, you panic nonetheless. You let out a high-pitched "ASTARION!" that practically comes out as a shriek.

He's giggling like a madman as he sets you down, holding your shoulders for a moment to steady you. "You're lucky I love you as much as I do, you know," you mutter as he continues to laugh at how easily he can tease you. "You're adorable when you pretend to be annoyed with me," he says. The two of you sit on the dock together for a long while, holding hands and simply taking in the starlight dancing on the water. "There's something else I wanted to discard as well, actually." He reaches into his pocket and produces two rings that you recognize as the twin Szarr family rings you had used to unlock your way through Cazador's mansion.

Astarion contenplates the rings in his palm. "You know I..." the words catch in his throat, seemingly paralyzed. You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments, he shakes his head, a smile barely perceptible.

"It's nothing, my dear. You know Cazador really did have the most hideous taste in things, including jewelry. Can you imagine wearing these? Ugh." You take one of the rings and examine it. "Hmm. Not my style, I'll be honest."

"That's because you're not blind, darling." He stands up and prepares to throw it.

"Together?"

"Together."

[misdeliria]

cowboy!katsuki x reader ? ? ? spicy spicy

—🧿 anon

goddamn anon, i don't prefer to post spicy content on this blog ( check my slut blog @migvelohara ) but i finna do it on here for the vine

blue divider for my slut blog ↘ 

cowboy!katsuki is rough and tough, and even though he's completely enamored by you, he can't help but be a little rough with you too

he has a bad habit of jumping you the second he returns from labor around the property

he's all sweaty, and the satisfaction from his productivity and the gorgeous view of you leaning over the stove with your ass sticking out is enough to make his cock harden in his dirty jeans

You hear his belt unbuckle before you notice he's in the room with you.

"You look delicious," he murmurs, pressing himself against your backside before you can turn around to greet him. His nose is nuzzling into the crook of your neck, brushing his lips against your skin and inhaling deeply.

"Bit early for a romp, isn't it?" You tease with a smile, reaching behind and combing your fingers into his hair.

"I'm having withdrawals," he grumbles, and you squeak when his massive hands squeeze your ass tight.

he loves missionary, drunk off of your tits bouncing in his face and feeling your legs lock around his waist to keep him deep inside of your sopping cunt

on the rare occasion, you're on top of him, and your juices dampen his blonde curls at the base of his cock, he almost nuts in your pussy when he feels you coating his balls as they slam up against your ass

his favorite position is reverse cowgirl (obvi) because when he gets impatient from your fatigue, he readjusts

Katsuki holds you upright with a hand over your mouth, muffling your throaty moans and satisfied gasps and restricting your breathing to your flaring nostrils.

He's snarling with pleasure like an animal as he bucks up into your cunt over and over and over again. There's not a lot of room for him to pull out, but he's so close to you that his cock hits your cervix with every quick rut.

Your ass is flush against his lower abdomen, like a perfect, smooth peach he wants to take a bite out of. Your arms reach back to dig your nails into whatever body part of his you manage to grasp onto.

"How's that big dick, baby?" He asks you with a smug, toothy grin that elicits a high-pitched moan, and your hot pussy walls clench tightly around his length. A broken gasp escapes his throat, and his eyes unfocus as they roll into the back of his head from the indulgence.

Katsuki's not ready to cum yet, so he holds you firmly by the hips as he forces himself deep and pinches at the fat of your ass. He twitches in your cunt as you weakly convulse and try to wiggle your ass against him.

"That's it. Push back against me," he murmurs, bucking his hips as you push yourself down on his cock. He pulls you back against his chest, moving his hand from your mouth to your throat, and he hears you pant, breathy moans. "It feels too good. Feels too fucking good."

"God, I love your cunt," he continues to blabber as he gets closer to his high but still tries to stave it off. "You gonna cum again, baby? Gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Oh, Katsuki," you whimper, head thrown back and eyes rolling around. He can feel you tighten more and more with every shallow thrust.

"You gonna cum with me?"

"Please, can I cum?" You say with a broken sob as Katsuki squeezes gently at your throat.

"Stop," he moans in disbelief because it's unreal how fortunate he is, as his hips slang against you on their own accord. "Are you gonna cum?"

"Can I?" You whine in desperation, and he almost chokes on his saliva.

"Cum for me," he demands, slamming into you harder and faster as he feels you gushing heavenly fluids.

He growls deeply as he finishes inside of you, continuing his long strokes until he can see his cum painting the lips of your pussy.

Katsuki pulls out with a quick swat to your ass, leaning down to bite harshly into your fat cheeks. He snickers like a boy when you squeal, jumping away from him as your body twitches from your intense orgasm.

a/n: lol did i correctly answer this submission? kinda just rolled with it lmfao

[azzayofchaos]

You said you wanted art requests, how about tango trying to bake something?? :D

Not me getting busy and then procrastinating this for a month and a half. O_O

oops.

Here’s the guy! I think he’s probably a good cook, and at least a decent baker, he’s been alive for far too long to have not figured it out. Unfortunately he’s partial to Nether food which doesn’t always sit well with his non-nether companions.

Probably not the image either of us would have thought of but it was interesting to draw at any rate. He’s making a ghast-jelly soufflés or something!

Some thoughts about food and the Nether? (You didn’t think you could escape my world building, did you?)

This particular dish I image to be a fluffy soufflé or mousse-like texture. It’s a relatively sweet dish, a rarity it the nether, though it could easily be modified for a more savory flavor.

The list of ingratiates might look something like this:

- The luminescent, warped-vine fruits that grow at high altitudes in the temperate zone. They are much smaller and more fragile than shroomlights, and are a rare source of sugar in the Neth. Most nether plants are savory, umami, or sour/biter,

— The viscous ichor from a ghast’s innards that whips up much like egg whites (there are eggs produced by some nether species but not ones well suited for this process)

— Aromatic herbs and spices that can be found in various biomes are a good addition especially when combined with the fruit juice to make a sauce. The specifics would vary from recipe to recipe, but the benefit of the dish is that it can easily be made with ingredients that don’t contain capsaicin which is present in many nether plants. (this dessert is considered one of the most palatable for overworlders as long as you can get past the use of ghast ichors.)

— some fat source, generally a hoglin lard or oil from stems.

— Salt! Readily available. It can often be found in large mineral deposits or salt flats in the rime zone or wastes.

Additionally, adding other ingredients can alter the sort of dish.

— The texture can be made more cake-like for example with the use of spore-flour, and hoglin or nut-based milks.

— Things like cacao, sugars, and fruit are coveted goods that the Neath has historically traded with the overworld for.

— I thought it would be interesting if there was a certain type of heat-resistant but heat-sensitive plant that curls/uncurls based on refined temperatures. It could be used as a thermometer!

[dee-writes-smut]

Learning Love Amongst The Flowers

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x reader

SUMMARY feelings bloom so easily in the safety of your secluded garden, it's a wonder that you and your love can't help but return to it throughout your lives.

CONTENT WARNINGS tooth rotting fluff, mentions of dead parents

AUTHORS NOTE don't fret my loves, Eris is still around, and he isn't going anywhere anytime soon ;)

Special mention to @littlestw01f, hope you enjoy this pure fluff my darling Anna, you deserve it <3

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow over the Autumn Court. Leaves, aflame with the hues of fall, rustled softly in the cool breeze. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of decaying leaves and the faint, sweet aroma of late-blooming flowers. You, an avid gardener with a love for all things green and growing, found yourself exploring a less-traveled path in the dense forest.

Your heart thrummed with the excitement of discovery as you pushed past the thick underbrush, guided by a sense of curiosity that had never steered you wrong. You had always been enchanted by the magic of the Autumn Court, but today felt different. Today, you felt drawn to something special, something hidden.

After what felt like hours of wandering, you stumbled upon a large, ancient oak tree with a hollow base. Intrigued, you knelt down and peered inside, only to find a narrow passageway leading into darkness. With a determined breath, you squeezed through, emerging on the other side to a sight that took your breath away.

Before you lay a hidden garden, a secret haven untouched by time. Wildflowers and climbing vines wove together in a tapestry of colors, creating a vibrant, living masterpiece. The garden was overgrown, but the beauty of it was undeniable. You stepped forward, your fingers brushing against soft petals and rough bark, feeling a deep connection to the forgotten plants.

Days turned into weeks as you returned to the hidden garden, each visit revealing more of its secrets. You brought tools and seeds, nurturing the neglected plants back to health. It became your sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of nature.

As you were carefully pruning a particularly unruly rosebush, you felt a presence behind you. You turned slowly, heart racing, to find Eris Vanserra, the enigmatic heir to the Autumn Court, watching you with keen, golden eyes.

"Eris," you breathed, surprised and wary. "I didn't hear you approach."

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Few do," he replied with a small, almost predatory smile. "What are you doing here, in this forgotten part of the forest?"

You swallowed hard, meeting his intense stare. "I found this garden by accident. It was overgrown, abandoned. I couldn't just leave it like that."

Eris's expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "And why would you care for a place that no one remembers?"

"Because everything deserves a chance to grow," you answered honestly, your passion for gardening evident in your voice. "Even forgotten things."

For a moment, Eris was silent, his gaze drifting over the vibrant flowers and lush foliage. "You have done well," he said finally, his tone thoughtful. "This place was once a sanctuary for my mother. She loved it dearly."

You looked at him in surprise. "Your mother?"

He nodded, a shadow passing over his face. "Yes. She tended to this garden for years, until… well, until she couldn't anymore. I had all but forgotten it existed."

The air between you grew heavy with unspoken words. Eris's usual arrogance seemed to melt away in the presence of the garden, replaced by a rare vulnerability. Without thinking, you reached out and touched his hand. "Maybe we can bring it back together."

Eris looked down at your hand on his, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then, he intertwined his fingers with yours, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'd like that."

From that day on, the garden became your shared secret. Eris was often busy with his duties, but he always found time to join you in the hidden sanctuary. He proved to be a surprisingly skilled gardener, his hands deft and gentle as he worked alongside you.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, your relationship with Eris deepened. What started as a tentative friendship blossomed into something more, nurtured by the quiet moments spent together in the garden. There, away from the prying eyes of the court, Eris was different. He laughed more freely, his sharp edges softened by the tranquility of the garden.

As the sun set and bathed the garden in a golden light, Eris pulled you close, his breath warm against your ear. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with a rare sincerity.

You looked up at him, confusion flickering in your eyes. "For what?"

"For bringing me back to this place," he said, his gaze intense. "For reminding me of something beautiful and true. For seeing the parts of me that I thought were long buried."

Emotion welled up within you, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands. "You are more than what you show to the world, Eris. I've always known that."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and dreams, of a future intertwined with the magic of the garden.

In the days that followed, your bond with Eris only grew stronger. The garden flourished under your combined care, a testament to the love and dedication you both poured into it. Each bloom, each new leaf, was a symbol of the life you were building together.

One particularly warm afternoon, you and Eris lay on a blanket beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient oak. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on your faces. You turned to him, your heart swelling with the depth of your feelings.

"Eris," you began softly, "I never imagined I would find something like this. Like us."

He propped himself up on one elbow, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. "Neither did I," he admitted. "But now that I have, I will never let it go."

You smiled, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. "Nor will I."

As the seasons changed, so did your relationship with Eris. The garden, once a hidden secret, became a place of solace and joy for both of you. You spent countless hours tending to the plants, your laughter mingling with the songs of birds and the rustle of leaves.

But it wasn't just the garden that flourished. Your love for Eris grew stronger with each passing day, rooted in the shared moments and the silent understanding that passed between you. In the garden, you were free to be yourselves, unburdened by the expectations and pressures of the outside world.

As the first frost of the season glittered on the leaves, Eris took your hand and led you to a secluded corner of the garden. There, amidst a riot of late-blooming flowers, he knelt before you, his eyes filled with a fierce determination.

"Y/N," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, "this garden has brought us together, has given us a place to nurture our love. It has shown me the depth of your kindness, your strength, and your beauty. And it has made me realize that I cannot imagine my life without you."

Your breath caught in your throat as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Opening it, he revealed a delicate ring, adorned with a single, perfect diamond that sparkled in the morning light.

"Eris," you whispered, tears filling your eyes.

He took your hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger. "Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you stay by my side, here in our garden, and wherever else life may take us?"

Your heart swelled with joy and love, and you nodded, unable to speak. Eris stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, sealing the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and the magic of your hidden garden.

As the years passed, the garden continued to flourish, a living testament to the love and dedication you and Eris shared. It became a place of celebration, where friends and family gathered to witness the beauty of nature and the strength of your bond.

And through it all, you and Eris remained inseparable, your love growing deeper with each passing day. The hidden garden, once a forgotten sanctuary, had become the heart of your lives, a place where you had found not only each other but also a love that would endure for all time.

In the quiet moments, when the sun dipped low and the world was bathed in the soft light of twilight, you would walk hand in hand through the garden, feeling the magic of the place seep into your very souls. And as you looked into Eris's eyes, you knew that you had found something truly extraordinary—an unbreakable bond, a love that would never fade, and a hidden garden that would forever be your sanctuary.

SUMMER: TWELVE YEARS LATER

You and Eris sat on a bench beneath the ancient oak tree, the very tree that had led you to the hidden garden so many years ago. The garden was in full bloom, its colors vibrant and its scents intoxicating. The air was filled with the hum of insects and the soft rustle of leaves, creating a symphony of life that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

Eris took your hand in his, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Do you ever think about how far we've come?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

You nodded, a smile playing at your lips. "All the time. This garden has seen so much of our journey."

He turned to you, his golden eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset. "It's been our sanctuary, our haven. And it's all because of you."

You shook your head, leaning closer to him. "It's because of us. We nurtured this garden together, just as we nurtured our love."

Eris's gaze softened, and he leaned in to kiss you, his lips warm and tender against yours. It was a kiss filled with the promise of forever, a kiss that spoke of a love that had weathered every storm and come out stronger. As you pulled away, you rested your head on his shoulder, contentment washing over you.

The garden was quiet, the world around you slowing down as you sat together, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The hidden garden had become a place of reflection, a place where you could appreciate the life you had built together and the love that had grown stronger with each passing day.

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you and Eris sat in peaceful silence, your hearts beating in perfect harmony. The garden, with its vibrant blooms and whispering leaves, seemed to hold its breath, honoring the love that had blossomed within its borders.

The hidden garden had given you so much more than you could have ever imagined. It had brought you together, given you a sanctuary, and become a living testament to the enduring power of love. And as you sat around, wrapped in the warmth of Eris's embrace, you knew that this garden, this magical place, would always be a part of your story—a story of love, resilience, and the beauty of life.

[live-love-be-unique]

Weekend Away

Summary: A weekend away camping with your friend Soap leads to the start of a new relationship.

My submission for @glitterypirateduck #CoDVacationMode challenge. The prompts I used were:

12. Camping

32. Friends to lovers

34. First time seeing each other naked

Parings: Soap x f reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut

It had been a rare weekend of downtime after you had finished the last mission and after an offhand comment that you were going to do absolutely nothing except crash into your bed and move only just enough so that people didn’t mistake you for being dead, Soap had declared you to be his camping partner. When you agreed to join Soap on a camping trip you didn’t realize how thorough his preparation was. It started with his sending you a joint Spotify playlist “we’ll be needing good road trip music bonnie” along with a detailed list of your favorite road trip and camping snacks as well as a list of “things you need to pack to survive”.

The day the two of you set off, Gaz left you with some of his words of wisdom: “If you hear banjos, clench your buttcheeks!”

“Really Gaz? You’re referencing Deliverance now? If I get killed in some back woods somewhere I hope you fall out of another helicopter” You snap as Gaz smirks. That little shit.

You jumped as a deep Scottish accent sounded from behind you “Relax bonnie, if I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t tell anyone where we were going” Soap smirked as you got into his jeep.

“Not comforting MacTavish!” He laughed and pulled out of the parking spot “you haven’t told me where you’re dragging me yet”

“Relax, would you! You’re going to love it”

For the next three hours of driving you had been treated to Soap belting out his favorite songs, which mostly seemed like The Proclaimers on repeat and drumming on the steering wheel, both he and the radio at full volume.

“…When I wake up, well, I know I’m gonna be

I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you…”

You were almost ready to kick him out of the moving vehicle and head back to base when Soap pulled onto a dirt track. He stopped the car near the small forest and jumped out.

“We made it? Finally!”

“Not quite lass”

“What do you mean ‘not quite’? We’ve been driving for hours”

“Little bit of a hike to get there but I promise it’s worth it”

He’d of course been lying when he called it a ‘little bit of a hike’. You’d been walking for ages, enjoying the scenery of the area, you did have to admit it was a beautiful spot. You watched a flock of birds fly over the lake, not watching where you were walking and crashed straight into Soap’s back.

“Careful there bonnie” he chuckled as his arms braced you from falling flat on your face.

“Thanks” you muttered. Blushing, you extracted yourself from Soap’s arms and brushed yourself off.

“We’re here!” He announced with a flourish, throwing his arms out with a giant grin on his face. You look around and see what Soap is gesturing towards. You look in awe at the ruins of a castle, the crumbling stone walls overgrown with vines as nature slowly took over throughout the years “I found it when I was out here last and you were the first person I knew who I had to show this too”

“Me?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the ruins.

“You love all those stories set in castles with ladies and knights and stuff so I just thought you might want to explore it and…” Soap rambled, suddenly nervous.

“I love it!..Wait, we’re camping here?!” You interrupted him, almost squealing with excitement.

“That was the plan, I thought we could set up the tent over by that wall there” he spotted you taking your camera out of your bag “I can set up the tent if you want to take a look around” he chuckled as you started admiring the sights through the lense of your camera.

You’d been exploring and photographing everything you could set your eyes on when you turned back to thank Soap for bringing you here but the words died in your mouth when you spotted Soap setting up the tent you’d be sleeping in tonight.

Dressed in a t-shirt and cargos, you watched as his arms flexed and moved as he pulled a support rope taut. You knew he was attractive, and might have been sporting a little bit of a crush, but as he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face you’re pretty sure he could ask you to run away with him and you’d happily go.

“Why don’t you take a picture” he smirked childishly “it’ll last longer”

“Maybe I can take a picture of you like one of my French girls” you laugh back.

“Come on you numpty, we need firewood” he bumped your shoulder with his as he passed by.

The two of you worked quietly setting up the remainder of your little camping spot, the setting sun casting shadows through the stone window frame that would have once held a beautiful stained glass.

Soap lit the campfire while you started preparing your food, pleasantly surprised Soap had packed everything to make hamburgers, he laughed at your little happy smile “couldn’t drag you somewhere and not pack your favorite food”

You leaned back against your rucksack, relaxing into the quiet night air, you could get used to this you realize, beautiful scenery, no technology, sharing burgers and beers with Soap as you told each other funny stories about your friends and family and the rest of your team.

Soap stopped his current story and glanced up at the sky “come here” he gestured for you to sit next to him. You made your way over to his side as he dragged you down to lay next to him, both of your heads resting on a fallen log “look up”

You turned your eyes towards the night sky and gasped in awe, the entire sky was full of stars, you could see every single constellation.

“It’s beautiful” you whisper “I wish I could stay here forever”

“Told you you’d love it here” you glance over and meet Soap’s eye.

You stared into his eyes for what seemed like hours before you felt him shuffling closer until he was nose to nose with you. You’re not sure who made the first move, perhaps you both did, but Soap’s lips found yours as his hand moved from his beer to the back of your head, holding you closer to him.

You yelped in surprise against his lips as his other arm wound around your waist and pulled you onto his lap “I’ve got you bonnie” he smirked as he left open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his hand resting underneath you jaw, tilting your head to allow him more access to your neck. You throw your head back as a giggle erupts from your throat as Soap’s lips find a ticklish spot on your neck, you feel him smile against your skin as he continues his journey down your throat.

You reach down and take hold of Soap’s shirt and pull it over his head, his lips leaving your skin for the briefest moment as the shirt is pulled over his face. He leans forward and rests his forehead against yours as you catch your breath, blue eyes shining in the light of the campfire.

Soap curses as the boom of thunder breaks through the air, looking up at the sky as the first large raindrops land on your skin, he maneuvers you in his arms and carries you to the tent.

Setting you down in front of him, he wraps his fingers in your hair and pulls you against his lips, kissing you. His hands find the buttons of your shirt and makes quick work of them before he slides the fabric down over your arms and throws it over his shoulder.

The wind howled outside the shelter of your tent as you slowly undress each other, eyes and fingers tracing over each newly exposed area of skin, committing every single thing to memory “fuck lass, are you trying to kill me?” Soap smirked as his eyes practically devoured you. Standing in front of each other, dressed only in your underwear, both suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of being naked in front of each other for the first time.

Soap laid you down on the mattress he’d brought for the base of the tent “Do you want me to stop?” He asked as he positioned himself between your legs, resting on his forearms as he hovered over you.

“No” you whisper, fingers trailing through the coarse hair covering his chest. Soap shivered as your nails drag their way down his chest towards the waistband of his boxers “do you want me to, stop I mean?”

“If you stop I think might die” he claimed dramatically.

“Is that so?” You grin.

“I’d perish” Soap grins playfully back down at you “slowly and painfully in fact”

“Well, we can’t have that”

He leans back and kneels between your legs as lean forward, hands dragging his boxers down over his hips, Soap’s hands cover yours helping to remove the boxers down off his legs as your eyes wander over the length of his body, you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes roam over his cock and he grins as your eyes meet his again “see something you like?” that cocky little shit.

Soap wraps his arms around you and lifts you up onto his lap as skilled hands make quick work of undoing your bra and throwing it to the other side of the tent. As he lays you back down you raise your hands to cover yourself, suddenly shy under the heat of his gaze.

“Come on now” he smiles softly “don’t tell me you’re going shy on me” You find yourself smiling back as you slowly lower your hands. His lips find yours “lift your hips for me love” he mutters against your lips.

“Christ” he mutters under his breath as his eyes roam over you “can’t tell you how many times if imagined you like this”

“You have?”

“Mhmm, seeing you now, definitely didn’t do justice to the real thing” you feel yourself blushing as you reach between your bodies to guide him towards your pussy.

“Soap…please” you grind yourself against the head of his cock.

“Please what love?” Soap grins, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” You sass.

He finally pushes into you with a single thrust “there she is” he smirks as you gasp. His forehead rests against yours as his crystalline blue eyes watch over every emotion that crosses your face. He hikes your thighs over his hips as his thrusts become more forceful, hands scrambling to feel every inch of exposed skin they can.

He lays kisses across your chest, blindly finding your nipple as his fingers graze your clit. Your thrust grow more frantic as you both begin to approach your climax. You cling to his shoulders, crying out his name Johnny as you as you come. Soap follows soon after, his own orgasm hitting him with a final thrust. He comes with a grunt as he collapses on top of you, you hold him tightly as you catch your breath. You hear yourself whimper as he pulls out of you, he wraps his arms around you tightly as he buries his face against your neck.

The next morning you find yourself curled into Soap’s chest as he lays on his back, one leg thrown over his and your head resting on his chest. Your stomach rumbling with hunger “What do you want to eat?” He asks, his morning voice made thicker by his accent.

You pretend to think, resting your chin in your arms over his chest “bacon and eggs”

“Oh aye, my girl wants bacon and eggs?” His arms tighten around you, holding you close. My girl, he calls you like it’s the most natural thing in the world “and what do I get in return?” His eyes glint as he smiles.

“Round two?”

Soap rolls the two of you over, laughing as he starts to lay kisses all over your face and neck “works for me”

[spirintom]

Herobrine headcanons 💎

sorry I wasn't posting for a pretty long time... needed to get over my hyperfixation on this guy

💎"He has changed"💎 Enjoy!

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

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

He has existed for a long time. Too long, to be honest. 

People were afraid of him even before legends and rumors were spread - every visit to the Overworld was accompanied by fear. When he appeared, the sky noticeably darkened, a strong wind blew, and it seemed as if even plants were hiding from his shining cold eyes. The world rejected him, everything living and non-living was afraid, and only Nether felt... like home? maybe... 

But that was a long time ago. Too long, to be honest... 

Now the world seems to be getting used to the man. Peaceful creatures curl up to his warm hands, ask him for food, play with him, look as if they understand him. 

And he developed a bad habit - to carry seeds, a couple bunches of wheat, and other treats for them... Perhaps that's why they follow him that much. But the mobs love him, and that pleases him. 

Herobrine himself seems somehow softer. 

Although villagers still fear even think of his name. And this is completely fair. Earlier he used to be excessively hot-headed. He ravaged cities, killed players who dared to look at him. 

So his name became a noun. Now all the world's troubles are attributed to him, not forgetting to recall the old ones. 

Not that he was mad about it. That's absolutely fair. 

But Herobrine has changed. 

Now combat achievements and strength hardly concern him. Of course, the man can still destroy a pretty large village with a slight move of his hand, but... is that really necessary? (And was it necessary at all?) 

Herobrine has changed. 

Now he prefers to enjoy the world: wandering at night or in the early morning, sipping coffee, watching some players, reading, studying redstone mechanisms, perfecting his enchanting or potion-making skills, spending more time with old friends. 

Sometimes in snowy biomes, near villages, he builds snowmen. (Of course, to puzzle and scare village children! Yes-yes. We believe him.) If he finds a spot with flowers, he picks some and leaves them outside random player's house. 

And sometimes (very rarely) he submits to curiosity and goes to some abandoned player’s base and explores it. Herobrine admires, looking at cities, castles, statues, and other structures that, according to him, used to destroy the nature of the world. 

He is especially pleased with one specific base. A small temple on a hill surrounded by cherry trees. There in the mountain, behind thick tangles of vines, lies the entrance to a cave with hot springs and a small pool of lava. The man loves to come there to relax. (how lucky that he’s immune to lava!) 

In these peaceful moments, he catches himself thinking that he understands Notch - understands that creating can also bring joy. The man, of course, grumbles something under his nose, but smiles. 

 Sincerely. Softly.

---------------------------------- 🩵Hope you liked it! Also sorry if there were some mistakes (i'm using a translator)

[nvirskies]

valeria thoughts at this wonderful time of 10:18 pm on a friday night before i have a swim meet.

no major warnings? scar appreciation, softer val, i have so many thoughts, descriptions of non-sexual partial nudity, lesbian valeria and i will die on this hill, descriptions of injuries

men, nsfw, non-sapphics, terfs, 16-/21+ dni

normally she'd be a pretty closed-off person, always preferring to have her hands on you instead of your hands on her. it was just a thing of your security and peace of mind mixed with possessiveness.

some part of her was always touching you, whether it be a hand on your shoulder, an arm wrapped around your waist, her arm interlaced with yours as she escorted you to wherever it was you had to go, a feather-light touch of her fingers tracing idle circles on your thigh during meetings or in the car, and so forth. all small gestures signifying and cementing her presence in your life.

the entire cartel knew that you were hers, it's painstakingly obvious. even the men her sicarios have gone after knew not to utter a word against you unless they wanted to be apprehended by el sin nombre herself. it was essentially signing and mailing their death wish if anyone was stupid enough to try it and walk out alive.

the first time she'd let you touch the scars on her back would probably be right as the two of you are drifting off to sleep. the rare occasion that she'd be the little spoon, facing away from you.

no shirt on her torso to obscure your view of the expanse of the bronzed, mexican sun-kissed skin of her back now visible to you. the only tattoo visible is the one she had done in commemoration of your relationship, a small pair of intricately detailed revolvers with intertwined vines holding them together, resting just at the base of her neck.

the thin, pale lines of healed-over scar tissue that littered her back were always a bit of a sore spot for her. remnants of the slashes that once ran along the length of her spine, jagged patches of toughened skin from burns past, and countless seemingly unconnected, smaller cut lines.

to her, they all represented the times her trust had been broken, that she'd been backstabbed in both literal and metaphorical contexts. they represented her hurt. they symbolized her mistakes in trusting and confiding in the wrong people, and the very real possibilities that everything she'd worked for in building the cartel from the ground up from its stint as la araña, now pitiful in comparison to the currently internationally infamous cartel of las almas, would all come crashing down as a result of her mistake in trusting the wrong people.

but to you, they represented her resilience. her strength in continually getting back up no matter what happened and working to preserve what she had poured so much time, energy, money, and effort into maintaining. her unwavering commitment to it all. and of course, the trust she held in you to even sleep so exposed in the first place, leaving it all for your eyes to drink in til your heart's content. or until she turned in her sleep, whichever came first.

[staar5384]

champange problems

neuvillette x gn!reader

hurt/no comfort, they/them pronouns, light cursing

this is slightly based off of the song champagne problems by taylor swift🫶🏼

might consider a pt. 2 if people are interested:)

The Opera Epiclese was beautifully decorated from top to bottom. Assortments of Rainbow Roses adorned the hallways, Lumidose Bells hung like vines from the pillars. Stunning satin and silk tapestries dressed the walls in different shades of blue and purple.

Everyone there could tell something was going to happen, though no one knew what. 

When the people of Fontaine received their invitations to the event, it did not state the reasoning for it. It was presented as a formal ball. People were expected to dress and act appropriately, and it was not a place for children.

As the guests arrived, they could see Chief Justice Neuvillette and the Hydro Archon Furina were sitting in the front row of the courthouse. They were chatting, glancing out at the crowd periodically, as if looking for someone.

Then you walked in. 

Neuvillette arose from his seat and walked down to greet you. You smiled at your boyfriend, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” He said, grasping your hand as he brought you toward the seats he and Furina were sat in.

“I’m glad I could make it too! Everything here looks absolutely gorgeous,” You replied, following him.

Furina greeted you with a smile and a wave before moving from her seat to somewhere backstage.

“So what is this grand party for, hmm?”.

“Oh you’ll see soon enough my love,” He kissed your hand. “Just enjoy the atmosphere and the music. The Melusines should come around soon with refreshments, and the band is about to play.”

You nodded, leaning back into your chair and taking a deep breath. It was nice to have a moment to relax and enjoy yourself. You very rarely got that anymore thanks to your constant traveling, but the work was so fulfilling.

Just as Neuvillette said, the Melusines came out carrying trays of various drinks. One of them stopped in front of you two, two glasses of sparkling champagne was presented. “Just as you requested, Monsieur!” She said excitedly.

Neuvillette grabbed both the glasses, handing one over to you, “Thank you very much,” He smiled as she skipped away.

“This is different from the other drinks,” You gave him a smirk. “Was this requested specifically for me?” You had always been a fan of champagne, more than wine which tended to be the people’s preferred drink of choice.

“How could we throw a party without having everything my beautiful partner desires?” He kissed your temple with a gentle smile on his face.

You returned his smile and sipped the drink, “You also opted for champagne I see.”

“Ahh, I figured I could try to enjoy your favorite drink for a change.”

Neuvillette had never cared for champagne, he made that abundantly clear when you two began dating, but when he saw your face light up at the thought of him sharing your drink of choice, he knew it would all be worth it.

The two of you chatted for a while, catching up on how things have been on both your ends. You had recently returned from a trip to Inazuma, a country you had longed to visit for a while. You were given a commission there, and left about a month ago. You had only returned the day prior.

Neuvillette recounted many trials to you, one in particular standing out. He talked about Fatui Harbinger, Childe, a man you had met once before in Liyue when you were there for the Rite of Descension.

“Ahh I know Childe,” You commented. “We crossed paths briefly a few months ago. He almost sank the entirety of Liyue Harbor.”

“Oh?” Neuvillette raised his brow. “And how have I not heard about this?”

You giggled, “I forgot to be honest. It was so insignificant for me at the time. I left the Harbor only a few hours before to visit some of the ruins. Who would have thought that someone would try to wipe out the nation’s biggest city?”

Neuvillette chuckled, his eyes sparkling, “You tell me the most fascinating stories. I hope someday I can give you a memory as fun and beautiful as the ones you make.” 

You felt your face heat up, “You’re such a flirt, Neuvillette.”

“Only for you darling.”

The band on stage began their show, the audience around them silencing. You glanced over and realized Furina had not returned to her seat.

Neuvillette placed his glass aside and rose from his seat. He planted a kiss on the top of your head, “Excuse me a moment.”

“But the music just started. You’ll miss it.”

“No worries dear, I’ll be back,” He took his leave, walking out the back doors.

You sighed, focusing your attention on the orchestral display in front of you. Just as you expected, the music was beautiful, as was everything else in the Opera Epliclese. If only you knew what the true reasoning behind this was.

Moments passed and both Neuvillette and Furina had yet to return. You contemplated searching for them both, but stopped when Furina walked up on stage.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen! It is quite the honor to be here tonight as we have such a lovely occasion to be celebrating!”

Whispers and murmurs flooded over the crowd. What could they possibly be trying to celebrate?

“Now, I know you all must be very confused. ‘Oh great Hydro Archon Focalors.’” You rolled your eyes. “What could we possibly be celebrating!’ I can hear your gears turning, and I can promise you this is an occasion none shall forget!”

From stage left, Neuvillette walked on. He almost looked nervous as he approached the front of the stage. Furina handed him the microphone and winked before hopping off to the side.

“Umm,” He spoke softly. “This isn’t really quite my thing, speaking about emotions and feelings and such, especially in front of a crowded room like this, but I believe this is something that should be shared,” His throat bobbed, his eyes flicking across the audience. “Emotions are not, and never have been, my strong suit. They are complicated, hard to understand, and feeling them is confusing,” He said. “But there is one person who has made these emotions less confusing. When I am around them, I don’t need to try to understand what I’m feeling.”

You knew instantly he was talking about you. The two of you had discussed his inability to comprehend human emotions a few times. You had helped him understand his initial feelings towards you, helped him learn to accept his love and care for you. All of these things he has accomplished was through your help, so he says.

His eyes locked with yours, and he gestured for you to join him on the stage. Hesitantly, you stood and made your way to him. The spotlight was bright and hot, making you sweat almost instantly.

Neuvillette took your hand in his, “I can’t think of anyone I would rather spend my life with.”

Your eyes widened. He was going to propose

He got down onto one knee, pulling out a velvet blue box. He opened it, and the ring inside was stunning. A sparkling blue crystal with a silver band. “My love, will you marry me?”

All eyes were on you at that moment as the audience eagerly awaited your response. You were at a loss for words. You loved Neuvillette, you truly did, but marriage? The thought had never crossed your mind, nor were you even truly ready to get married. You had so many more adventures to go on, so much more to see and do. Marriage would only tie you down and prevent you from experiencing those things. 

Your heart throbbed, an ache filling you that you had never felt before. You stepped away from him, shaking your head with tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry, Neuvillette,” You watched his face drop. “But I can’t accept,” As you finished the sentence you rushed off of the stage and out of the room.

Neuvillette watched you leave, the ring box slipping from his hand, and landing onto the stage with a thud. The crowd began to whisper, a mix of emotion swirling throughout the room.

Furina, despite her love for the drama, immediately jumped in at seeing the distress on Neuvillette’s face, “Alright everyone, I believe that is all for this evening. Feel free to get some refreshments outside! Guards, if you could escort our guests out.”

One by one, each person began to leave until the only people inside were Furina and Neuvillette.

She glanced down at him, he hadn’t moved a single inch. His eyes were glued to the floor as he replayed the event in his head, over and over again. You said no.

“Neuvillette?” Furina approached him, gently tapping his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He snapped out of his trance, picking his head up, “I- I do not know.”

“Well, why don’t we get you back home, yeah?”

The two left in silence, Furina remaining close beside him. People watched the two leave the Opera Epiclese and they wouldn’t stop talking. This news would spread like wildfire, Neuvillette would become the talk of Fontaine.

Outside it was downpouring. The rain was the worst it had been in a very long time. Furina knew why. 

“Even the weather is matching the mood,” Someone said from afar, noticing the Archon and Chief Justice.

“What a shame,” Another person spoke. “Losing out on a good lover such as the Monsieur.”

“They even rejected him in front of a crowd. The embarrassment he must feel… How cruel.”

“I do hope he finds someone better. He deserves someone less… fucked in the head.”

Each voice he heard was a nasty reminder, each word spoken made his heart twist and ache in an uncomfortable way. He tried to drown it out, but it was almost impossible.

“Thank you, Lady Furina,” He pulled away from her. “But I think I’ll go alone.”

“A-Are you sure?” She was hesitant to leave him alone in such a state.

“Quite sure. I’ll see you soon,” He left without another word.

Neuvillette decided to spend the rest of his evening alone, sulking in his hurt, wondering if maybe he could have done something to make you stay.

[lalunanymph]

𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — m. reo

↳ reo could never love you out loud. and you... you only belonged to him in the middle of the night.

𖨆♡𖨆 mikage reo x fem!reader

✧.* this is a sugar d*ddy reo and nagi’s daughter au ;’@@@ based on this post // ps: i also wrote this in an hour pls do not perceive my mega simp energy for this beautiful, beautiful man

✧.* age gap (reo is in his 40s and reader is in her early-20s), fem!reader, forbidden relationships, unprotected sex, lovesick reo & reader, mentions of food & alcohol

— mini masterlist (tba)

#1: HURTS SO GOOD

Everything about Mikage Reo is refined. Tasteful. Classy.

From his neatly pressed collars and stainless shoes; perfectly steamed slacks and neatly parted lilac hair, anyone who had a pair of eyes could see how attractive Reo was.

Even you, with your bright-eyed youth and life laid ahead, weren’t exempted from his charms. How his smiles directed at you during those rare gatherings attended by your father’s old soccer colleagues made your heart spin and stop.

How his subtle grazes on your arm, thigh and lower back made your skin all warm and tingly.

The truth was undeniable: you wanted Reo and he wanted you, too.

One day, fueled with alcohol and pent-up frustration from yet another stupid college boy ghosting you, you had taken dad’s friend by the elbow and crashed your lips to his, tasting his low moan of surprise and sudden, quick gasp.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured even as he lifted your thigh to wrap around his still lissom waist. And you agreed. But, you never stopped him; neither did he want you to stop.

His lips stained your consciousness with guilt even as you laid sated in his arms. The next day, he bought you a bouquet of roses and sent it to your apartment as an apology and a promise last night would never repeat again.

You had sent it back with a note saying he shouldn’t hurt a woman’s feelings like that and he pulled up not even an hour later, holding a packet of takeout and another bouquet, this time not attached to any regrets.

Everything would’ve been perfect in this blossoming relationship except for one glaring fact.

Reo could never love you out loud. And you…

You only belonged to him in the middle of the night.

“R-Reo…”

The rough rasp of his palm sliding up your waist to hold you in place makes you stutter, and your eyes crossed in pleasure when he started to angle his hips deeper; taking everything you gave him with an enthusiasm which belied his creeping age.

His tongue charted a path from your earlobe to your jaw, the slickness of his spit leaving goosebumps trailing on your skin. “Yes, sweetheart?” He breathed onto your neck, and you wished you could hold him there; keep him glued to your side so he would never leave. So he could be the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes in the morning.

The sickly tendrils of love fester around your heart, vining rose thorns that spiked and pricked your tender hopes. But, like a true masochist, you continued to pluck and prod at the sharp edges, yearning to cup his affection in your hands like it was a beautiful, ruby red rose. Even if it would hurt you tomorrow; you would treasure the redolent scent and velvet touch till morning came.

“Please,” your slurry moans goaded him to gently prop you onto your knees, exposing your leaking pussy to the cool room air and your swollen nipples to his endless tweaking and teasing. “Kiss me.”

Your gasp was laced with ardent longing, and Reo’s low groan made your heartbeat stumble like a metronome. He gently lifted your face and tilted it closer to his. Reo’s kisses were soft as petals, tasting like sin. His tongue touched the inner rim of your mouth, and you let him in; let him taste and take you. Let him pillage and own you over and over again.

His cock stilled deep in you, and his calloused finger pads from a youth on the soccer field, dragged down your thighs, straight to your pulsing clit. Reo loved to kiss you deeply as he played with your throbbing bud; pinching it, rubbing tight circles onto the slick flesh—anything to get you gasping and preening in his touch.

“Sensitive, hmm?” he murmured and you nodded, hazy and fucked out.

“Mhm—want you, Reo.”

He kissed down your neck, slow and achingly romantic as his thrusts picked up the pace, approaching a fever pitch. “I want you too, sweet one. So, so much.”

His left hand curled around your neck, holding you firmly to him, and his bare ring finger dug into your pulse point, making you choked softly.

Once, you had asked him why he never married and he told you, wistfully, that he couldn’t see himself in a long term relationship with anyone. Most women wanted him for his money, and they left after they got their bills paid; their mortgages cleared and new leases signed. Reo swore he would never make that mistake again—the mistake of loving someone so wholeheartedly and foolishly.

Until you came along.

You, with your gentle smiles, sarcastic rebukes and firm principles so different from your father’s detrimental slacking. Growing up, you were never left wanting for any material need in life courtesy of your father’s colourful football career.

You never asked Reo for anything, but strangely, the ex-pro player and CEO of Mikage Corp wanted to give you everything.

It’s just too bad you could never fully be his.

“R-Reo, I’m…” your pretty face screwed up in pleasure and he felt your walls starting to shudder and melt around him. Reo doubled down on your clit and started to lightly spank the little, flushed pearl.

“Cum for me,” he murmured, low and carnal into the shell of your ear. “Cum for me and let me feel you, baby.”

Baby. You would always be Mikage Reo’s baby.

Your hips surged forward, white staining your vision and you released a stream of moans, panting his name into the dark room.

His soft grunt and hips stuttering alerted your ringing mind to his cum filling you right to the brim, and you both tumbled onto the plush couch in a haze of limbs and heavy breathing.

Reo was the first to pull you into his arms, and you didn’t resist, seeking his warmth like how a child would find comfort in their favourite blanket.

“Do you really have to go to that stupid conference?”You murmured and he chuckled, nosing your hair. His mid-length lilac locks and sigh tickled your shoulder.

“Unfortunately, I have to, pretty. Isagi will kill me if I miss this one out.”

“But, it’s our anniversary.” He didn’t have to look at you to know you were pouting. Reo hummed, tracing random patterns onto your back.

“I’ll take you out to somewhere spectacular, baby. I know it’s been a long time coming and I want to make it perfect. Just you and I, yeah? I’m gonna choose your outfit and what you get to wear underneath that pretty dress. Then, we’ll come back home and I’ll fuck you on this sofa and make you some frozen strawberry daiquiris to celebrate. How’s that sound, pretty girl?”

You snorted at his meticulous planning but inwardly swooned with nerves and anticipation, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

Suddenly, the lock of your apartment turned and you yelped, about to throw a quilt on your lover’s bare body when your dad’s unmistakably tall frame lumbered into the living room.

“Baby girl? You here? Oka-san wanted me to pass you some herbs. She said you weren’t feeling well. What a pain it is, huh? I know you must be bothered—“

Nagi Seishiro stopped dead in his tracks. On the lush sofa he remembered pointing out as a good choice for his daughters’ apartment, his baby watched him with wide, fearful eyes.

Beside her, similarly made of stone, his best friend since high school, the man who followed him everywhere from the ends of the earth and back; who was there for every high and low of his soccer career and even attended his precious baby’s isshou mochi ceremony, was completely pale with fright.

Naked as the day he was born, cock against his defined thigh, and arms around his daughter.

His baby girl.

“What the… what the hell is this?!”

©️ all rights belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[thebramblewood]

That moment you find out the girl you’ve been seeing is famous - for being a 130-year-old missing persons case with an entire "theories and speculation" section on Wikipedia.

Previous / Next

Yes, I made Lilith a Wikipedia page because I'm just that extra. If you want to read it (I threw in some new information), you can find the whole thing following the transcript below the cut.

Real-time footage of Helena researching:

[Snippets of Caleb's letter echo in Helena's mind] I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years. Faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside. I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

Helena, thinking: It's just a hangover, Helena. It's just a hangover. Yeah, that crazy bitch bit you, and her crazy brother wrote a dumb letter to scare the shit out of you. But vampires aren't real.

Thank god Ulrike left all these fucking tarps. This sunlight is murder on my eyes.

Several internet rabbitholes later... [Helena scanning Wikipedia page on computer screen] Last seen alive March 16, 1918... disappeared under mysterious circumstances... seemed to fall ill... Tangled Vines... immortal vampires... This can't actually be her. It's impossible...

Lilith Violetta Vatore (December 2, 1891 – last seen alive March 16, 1918) was an heiress and socialite who disappeared under mysterious circumstances at the age of 26 along with her brother, Caleb Vatore, 24. Before vanishing, the siblings were poised to jointly inherit the Vatore fortune, home, and 100-year-old vineyard and winery. This was considered unusual for the period, as family property, wealth, and business interests were often only passed to women in the complete absence of a male inheritor.

Despite societal expectations, Vatore reportedly had little interest in courting or eventually marrying. She was said to have rebuffed dozens of engagement offers, much to her parents' dismay. However, she rarely turned down an invitation to a ball, and her baldly flirtatious escapades were frequently reported on in society columns. One such columnist wrote that she "bandied about in a bold and bawdy manner most unbecoming of a respectable lady, laughing uproariously, drinking excessively, and making coy conversation with every handsome man in sight." Some historians suggest based on a series of candid letters from Vatore to fellow socialite and confidante Prudence Crumplebottom, donated to the University of Britechester by Crumplebottom's daughters, that she may have preferred the company of women in private.

The Vatore siblings were said to be so close that one was rarely seen without the other. The society columns were not kind to Caleb Vatore, calling him a "poor chap" who seemed "nothing more than a playmate, servant, or lapdop, his role at any given moment wholly dependent upon his dear sister's whims." Little is known about his personal life.

In the days preceding the siblings' disappearance, Vatore seemed to fall ill. She sequestered herself to her bedroom, allowing no one but her brother to enter. On the morning of March 16, a maid found Caleb's chambers undisturbed, and Vatore's locked bedroom door was forced open, whereupon she was discovered to have absconded in the night, along with her brother and her finest jewels.

Various court battles ensued over the fate of the Vatore estate, and interest in the siblings' disappearance was briefly renewed when their alleged children materialized in the mid-1950s. However, the entire ordeal all but disappeared from public consciousness until the recent publication of Tangled Vines: A Complete Investigation of the Vatore Disappearances by journalist Salim Benali. Benali posits that the Vatores are immortal vampires who still live today, and though some scholars find elements of his research intriguing, others dismiss his argument as an elaborate, attention-seeking hoax.

[lostgracestories]

Morgott Romantic headcanons-ish (because I said so)

OKAY so I'm impatient and I'm writing this to tide me over until the poll for a fanfic choice is over AAA (also, I often write for chubbier characters so enjoy fellow girlies) most of this is just word vomit lol

ALSO MARRIAGE AND CHILDREN HEADCANONS IN HERE (they're labeled so skip if not interested <3)

WC: 969 TW: Pregnancy (skip the pregnancy+children section)

~Romantic Relationship Headcanons~

At first, when Morgott enters a relationship, he FOR SURE struggles with self-worth. He is 100% terrified of intimacy like; "No don't touch me, I'll taint you/ruin you"

He definitely still calls you tarnished but adds a little endearing term before or after it (Little tarnished, sweet tarnished, etc.)

After a while, Morgott will eventually become accepting of fleeting touches (and by a while I mean a WHILE) he'll give in every once in a while to a hug or even more rarely a kiss (only on the cheek) if you give him those eyes...

You can BEG and BEG but he will NEVER flirt with you. At least, not like a normal person (because he's far from normal) instead of pick-up lines, cheesy compliments (okay, maybe a couple), or fleeting touches, he always offers you gifts based on things he hears you talk about. There's a book you mention you want? It's in your hands the next day. You want to try a new chocolate shop? There's a giant heart-shaped box on your nightstand waiting for you in the morning, maybe even with a love note.

After finally getting comfortable in the relationship (he's rough around the edges so it takes at LEAST quite a few months) he finally lets you truly kiss him. It startles him at first and he won't look at you as if the golden order is going to smite him for indulging himself in such a thing and when nothing happens, it's like a weight is lifted. Now, whenever he sees you, public or not, he has to steal a kiss.

Even though he still struggles with his own image, he absolutely praises you like a Goddess. Your hip dips? Perfect for him to hold while dancing in the kitchen. The roundness in your cheeks? Perfect for kisses, squishy and cute. The pudge of your lower stomach? The perfect pillow. And he means it. He will lay against your stomach whenever he can. He can't get enough.

Although he denied every request you ever made to touch his horns, afraid you would realize how disgusting he truly was if you touched them, when he wakes up from a night terror one night to find your gentle hands tangled in his hair and horns, a look of soft worry on your face, he feels like his heart is going to leap out of his throat. It is quite possibly the most comforting thing he had ever experienced. Now, when you asked to touch them, he would eagerly oblige you, laying his head in your lap.

~Marriage Headcanons~

When Morgott proposes to you, he is a nervous wreck. It takes everything in him not to retreat into his self-loathing, something that you had worked on with him so hard. He takes you out to his erdtree flower garden and it is beautiful. All the flowers are in bloom and they glow golden under the beginning of the sunset. After offering you a hand-crafted golden ring with intricate designs like vines in it and asks the question, his heart nearly explodes with relief when the answer is yes.

The first year of marriage is hard on Morgott. He feels deep regret that he can not be at your side as much as he wishes to be and so, whenever you come into his study late at night while he's deep in his work, spectacles on the tip of his nose as he reads, he allows you to lay wrapped in his tail by the fireplace behind him. Sometimes, if you fell asleep, he would carry you to bed when he was finished.

Morgott wasn't sure how the topic had been brought up, but the moment he heard the mention of children he immediately became apprehensive. Although, deep down, he would love to have little children of his own, he was absolutely terrified that they would bear his curse and that you would struggle to love them even if you loved him.

~Pregnancy+Children Headcanons~

After A LOT of discussion, you and Morgott had decided that children would not be in either of your best interests for the time being (mostly to make sure Morgott was comfortable with his choice) so when you came hurrying into his study, disrupting his work late at night nearly 3 months later and told him you were pregnant, it was like being smacked in the face. He was excited as much as he was terrified.

Morgott absolutely DOTED on you the whole pregnancy. He would neglect his work as long as possible if it meant taking care of you. Even despite his fears, you were always quick to tell him that you would love their child unconditionally, omen or not. this always eased his tension and sent him out of his spiraling

When the time finally came, Morgott was probably more of a mess than you were. He silently cursed himself and blamed himself every time he heard you in pain and for 13 hours it ate him up.

Morgott's fears were immediately washed away the moment he laid eyes upon the beautiful child you had gifted him. He could swear he cried just a little bit when he found out it was a girl. Despite her being an omen, she was so perfect in both of your eyes. Morgott thanked the erdtree that she would never experience her childhood in the shunning grounds like he and his brother had.

As years pass by, Morgott would dote on both of his girls, his daughter being a daddy's girl especially. He would do anything for her. During each stage of her life. Whether it be scaring away the monster in her wardrobe, reading stories to lull her to sleep, bandaging her wounds when she fell, and eventually comforting her after her first heartbreak, he would ALWAYS be there for his little girl

[my-naughty-writings-and-musings]

You suggested some merformer based asks, so consider this: Merformer! Shockwave x reader? Maybe the reader is a marine biologist and isn't used to being studied, especially this... thoroughly?

As usual I went way overboard, and with a slightly different vibe than you might have intended so I hope you like this, anon!! I was imagining a TFP Shockwave but of course you're free to imagine him as you choose!

For those who don't know: if you like my writing style, you can always commission me, and please reblog to help spread my work! Thank you!

Note: Thalassicon is just my word for what merformers call themselves.

Holding on tightly to Shockwave, you reminded yourself that oxygen was limited as you sucked in each careful breath from your scuba tank, and that he'd promised you it was just a quick swim through these dark tunnels to reach his lair. You trusted him completely, but it was impossible to shake your instinctive anxiety as his massive frame pulled you through the underwater caverns without a trace of light. Time seemed to drag on until a light blue glow at the end of the path caught your eye through your goggles.

As the light grew brighter, the water around you became warmer as Shockwave had promised, and you clung less tightly to his back to raise your head for a better look, almost forgetting to breathe when he finally swam clear of the tunnel and entered a massive underwater cave.

Bioluminescent plant life gave the water a beautiful blue glow, their long, delicate tendrils swaying with the currents Shockwave left in his wake as he pumped his tail without urgency to swim forward. You barely remembered to hold onto his back as you tried in vain to mentally catalog the rich biodiversity before you, wondering if the mech had cultivated it all himself just to keep his home suitably lit. As you stared in open awe, a sudden gesture for you to let go caught you quite by surprise, and you blushed at having lost yourself to the beauty of it all. Releasing your hold on his back, you allowed the merformer to take control when he spun to face you, trusting him completely as he cupped your tiny body in one servo and pointed upwards. Overwhelmed by everything, you merely nodded and allowed him to take you to the rippling surface overhead.

The air above was thankfully far fresher than you could have anticipated so far beneath the ocean, and there was also no shortage of light to see by either, thanks to a similarly breathtaking species of bioluminescent plant casting its soft glow down from the high ceiling above.

"You can breathe freely. I installed air scrubbers to keep oxygen at an ideal level." Shockwave instructed, holding you at the surface so you didn't have to waste your energy treading water. Happily removing your mask, you took a deep breath and massaged the creases left on your face, savoring the feeling of unimpeded oxygen before you looked around for a better idea of your surroundings. The cave was absolutely massive, and had a number of adjoining caverns with varying levels of exposed stone atop which Shockwave stored his less water friendly technology and salvage. More than a few boat engines the size of automobiles were stacked about and waiting to have their parts repurposed, along with a number of shipping containers you doubted had been pulled from shipwrecks. All in all, his lair felt just as much like a pirate's treasure cove as it did a scientist's lab, and you loved it more than words could convey.

"I never thought you'd actually bring me here. Am I your first visitor?" you asked in awe, allowing him to pull you in as he floated on his back. Setting you down atop his ample chest, he ensured you were lying comfortably on your belly before he answered your question with a single word and a nod.

"Affirmative."

You smiled and looked up at the glowing vines swirling along the stalactites overhead, sighing softly at the beautiful scene and the warm water lapping at your wetsuit. Despite rarely understanding his technological feats thanks to your biology focused education, you were awed by everything he'd accomplished, and were beyond grateful to be given the privilege to behold his home. More than a few conversations had alluded to how his culture considered visiting one's home to be a great gesture of trust saved for only the closest of friends and lovers. Considering the hidden depths of your feelings for him, that thought carried far more weight in your head than you'd intended, so you quickly pushed it down as you always did such things. "Thank you for trusting me, Shockwave. I'm honored."

"You have proven yourself to be my ally." he affirmed, gently taking your hand between his thumb and foredigit. The touch made your heart flutter, especially as you met his single red optic and saw his helm accents twitch as they did when he was processing deeper than usual emotions. "I am not one for my people's superstitions, but I do believe in our custom of reciprocating gestures of trust. You gave me reason to trust you completely, and I wish to do the same." 

Straight away, your mind snapped back to the fateful day he spoke of, the terror and uncertainty still raw thanks to how little time had passed. It had been a blur; the ambush by government officials, the net that had unintentionally caught you with him, and his shock when you took the time to cut him loose after freeing yourself. Echoes of the shots that had so narrowly missed the both of you were still clear in your mind, and you could easily recall how he'd held you close to take the hits as he swam for your lives... In the moment freeing him had just been a matter of course, and looking back on it you couldn't imagine doing anything else. You needed him to know that, even if he still seemed to struggle believing it. "You don't have to reward me for what I did. It was the right thing to do, they were going to hurt you."

"Perhaps." he mused in deep thought, going quiet and averting his optic. You allowed him time to think, able to tell from his twitching antennae that he was running over something very challenging in his processor. Looking ready to drop the topic and move on for several defeated seconds, he suddenly steeled himself and met your gaze, holding your hand all the more tightly as he carefully enunciated every last word. "But you have done far more than earn my trust. I have found our time together... enriching.

Though he obviously didn't expect a reply, you were in no shape to give him one, the shock on your face giving him another moment of pause before he forged ahead. How like him, you'd have thought if your brain weren't frozen, to drop something like this so suddenly... Neither one of you excelled at handling your emotions.

"You are unlike any human I have ever met, observed, or would have theorized possible." he continued to confess, obviously struggling but feeling a deep need to get through this. Your heart flipped at his words, beating strongly enough you were halfway worried he'd be able to feel it through your wetsuit, though if he did he didn't let it stop him. The merformer looked to your tiny hand in his, sharp optic tracing all the details imperceptible to the human eye as he allowed himself a rare emotive sigh from his vents. "I have grown very close to you, even if our relationship started on purely academic terms."

"Shockwave..." was all you could say, your voice locked in your throat and your eyes damp with more than seawater. Perhaps in your most self indulgent dreams you'd have allowed yourself to fantasize about such a moment, but to have it happen in reality, which was hardly known for its kindness, you simply couldn't dare to believe you'd be so fortunate. Then again, hadn't your entire relationship been a kind of fantasy made reality? Bumping into this brilliant mech, earning his interest with your scientific endeavors, beginning a relationship of mutual academic benefit that had deepened into something more... You only wished you could find enough words to tell him you felt the same, and had for such a long time. Some of the other feelings he created within you could be discussed at a later date...

Before you could try to force out a reply, Shockwave shifted once again, his antennae twitching backwards and his gaze dropping more out of what you dared to call bashfulness than simple nerves. It seemed the merformer wasn't done surprising you with shared yearning

"For my people, bringing another to your home means more than displaying trust. It is also intended to express a certain amount of... desire." he explained in the most halting voice you'd ever heard from him, usual confidence nowhere to be found.

"O-oh?" you squeaked, hopeful the glow wasn't bright enough to betray the blush turning your entire face to fire. He couldn't possibly be speaking of the same kind of desire that had made you wonder what his servos would feel like on your bare skin, or the kind that had you theorizing what certain parts of his anatomy looked like and hoping to find out... Thankfully for your sake, he seemed even more overwhelmed by what he was trying to say, enough that he didn't even seem to notice your struggles.

"We... do not approach such matters like humans. When a Thalassicon wishes to have a relationship that is more... intimate, there is not a period of courting. That is not to say we do not engage in courtship, only that it is not a prerequisite for physical relations. Intimacy is more for... expressing a certain level of trust, as well as desire, and..." he drifted off, the uncertainty in his voice so thick it weighed down every last word. Slapping his face into the palm of his servo, he mumbled in total defeat, too overcome to continue. "This is very hard to articulate."

The last thing you wanted was for him to stop, especially when you could swear you understood what he was trying to say, and very much wanted the conversation to continue in the direction it seemed to be heading. Taking a firmer hold of his hand, you pulled it close to yourself and sat up quickly. Something primal within you gave you the capacity to speak. "Then... show me? Use your hands?"

"If I have your permission-" he began, holding his servos just shy of your wetsuit.

"My full consent, and ask questions if you need to." you explained as you stripped off your mask and oxygen tank in record time, fully motivated to get things moving. You dared to hope you really understood just what he was getting at, that he yearned for your relationship to be more physical, and that your own desire for the same was soon to be quenched. It was much harder to be bashful with such giddy excitement fluttering through your belly.

A surge of similar energy moved through his massive frame, and you felt all thirty or more feet of him become alive beneath you, making your position straddling his chest all the more exciting. Biting your lip to hold back an overwhelmed whimper, you welcomed both of his servos as they lifted from the water, taking a hold of each one and guiding them to your body until his digits settled on your hips. Straight away you felt how different the contact was from any time he'd touched you in the past, a realization that only intensified when he began to explore, sliding his servos over the tight fabric of your wetsuit with all the deliberation one would expect of a scientist. You sat up straighter to open more of your body to him, jaw going visibly slack as his thumbs massaged up your front and stopped just shy of your breasts.

Recalling that you also had a pair of hands that were very skilled at studying aquatic anatomy, you let out all of your pent up curiosity and arousal and began to explore his massive frame, tracing the seams on his chest and savoring the smoothness of his mesh. As his touches stirred something in you, so did yours in him, the hum of his spark intensifying beneath your very fingertips. You were flattered and awed by the mech's receptiveness to your obviously desired advances.

"May I see you as you are?" he asked suddenly, tapping a digit over the tiny zipper on your front. Thoroughly pleased by the bold request, you met his gaze to find far more of his usual confidence had returned, a change you hoped was here to stay. Your certainty that it would intensified when his other servo traced your curves and took their time savoring the softness of your organic body. "I wish to know you without obstacles."

"Here, let me..." you began helpfully, pulling down the zipper in a manner you hoped read as inviting. He'd made his fascination with human anatomy known only in passing, but as you unzipped your suit and revealed a thin sliver of skin beneath, his optic betrayed far more than just academic interest. Loving the attention, you tried to play it cool as you peeled the wet fabric off your shoulders, moving slowly thanks to how the swimsuit clung to you when it was soaked. You managed to free the upper half of your body without too much trouble, baring your breasts to the open air and earning a quiver of excitement from his frame before you decided help would make the remaining process much easier.

"If you could help me pull off- oh!"

To your continued surprise, he didn't hesitate to follow your instructions, peeling off your wetsuit in a series of precise movements and leaving you naked on his chassis as he tucked it away in a convenient subspace. 

Completely bare and wet, you looked to him in a brief moment of total vulnerability, fears of rejection rising up only to be quickly squashed down when his optic dilated and his voice rumbled more deeply than you'd ever heard it before. "Fascinating..."

Shockwave did just as you'd bid and began to explore, starting at your legs that had so often fascinated him as a being with a tail. Tracing the shape of your muscles and somehow finding every sensitive nerve along the way, he made a point to massage your thighs, encouraging you to spread them but not yet focusing between them. The mech was approaching your body as one would an exquisite meal, savoring every last bit and saving the very best parts for last. You were a bit too overwhelmed to be impatient when he made it to your ribs, circling his thumbs over the tender flesh on the sides before he dipped inwards to heft your breasts, making your breath hitch as he finally got to your erect nipples. Biting your lip was the only way to hold back a moan.

Beneath you, his frame grew heated, and you felt an almost crackling energy building in the mech as his arousal increased with your own. All the little feelings for him that you'd pushed down over the past few months were returning with interest, creating a fire between your legs that refused to be satisfied by simple touches and demanded attention. Granted your own boldness by your pent up needs, you took a hold of his wrists and pushed them downwards, sitting up to bring your pussy into view in the hope he might skip exploration and go straight for experimentation. A needy whine was your attempt at an invitation.

To your delight and near overwhelm, Shockwave growled at the sight, his desire letting you know the move was the right one even before he spoke with the same level of open, feral want. "How do you prefer to be stimulated?"

"Clit, circles, please." you begged, incapable of anything more eloquent. Thankfully he was quite the master of blunt communication, and seemed to find the invitation more than sufficiently invigorating from the desperation with which he slipped his servo between your legs. Supporting your weight entirely, he began to rub his way from the tender skin between your legs to the sopping lips of your entrance, where he found a wealth of lubrication to get started with. 

Your first moan echoed along the ceiling when his digits met your throbbing clit, the smooth mesh delighting you more than you could have ever imagined as he began to circle the erect bud as you'd requested. It occurred to you that you'd never once described such human anatomy to him, and even though you'd learned your species were shockingly similar in this regard you were confident the speed with which he'd found your sweet spot meant he'd been doing research. That thought alone had you moaning far more shamelessly, your hands holding on tightly to his servo as he adjusted you to press his thumb into your clit whilst his foredigit fingered your entrance to test its flexibility. Your eyes rolled back when you felt the heavenly stretch of him slipping inside.

"Need this. Need you." he said quickly, tail slapping the water as your open enjoyment egged him on. Dropping his spare servo to his waist, you had just enough scientific curiosity available to whip your head around in time to see his modesty plating retract, which allowed for an erection nearly as long as you were tall to swing forth with a splash. Beholding the full size and intensity of his arousal made your walls pulse around his digits, something that was not missed on the mech as he began to pump with a groan of pent up, frustrated arousal. You were hypnotized by the impressive purple length, watching in open mouthed desire as his digits moved up and down its streamlined ridges and simple rows of red biolights. 

"Shockwave..." you moaned again, grinding down into his palm as the water around you grew choppy from your shared exertions. Hearing his name had exactly the effect you wanted, his thrusting digit going deeper and curling up into your sweet spot as his thumb pressed firmer circles into your clit. The warmth of your arousal running down to pool in his palm made the scientist all the more eager, his tail churning the water as his other servo splashed into the waves with every pump of his erection. Though you wanted to watch him work, you found your eyes rolling back as a familiar coil began to build in your lower body, the promise of a long overdue release making it more or less impossible to care about anything beyond the ecstasy of the moment. 

"I'm so close!" you announced to encourage him, cries spilling out of you with every thrust of his wrist. Thighs quivered on either side of his palm as you practically bounced in his grasp, moving yourself to the rhythm of his masturbation and praying both of you could reach completion at around the same time. Judging by how his every sound was some animalistic growl or moan of want, you doubted it would be long, especially with his noises adding so much to your own enjoyment. There was something unspeakably flattering about having such a massive, beautiful, intelligent being moaning over what they were doing to you...

A sudden twist of his deeply buried digit and an increase in the pressure on your clit did you in without warning, making your entire body spasm in his grip as you came hard around him, throbbing walls sending waves of ecstasy through your very being. Stars swirled in the spinning lights overhead, forcing you to grab him for balance as you rode out the release you'd needed for weeks without relief.

Seeing you so overcome pushed Shockwave into his own explosive release, his spinal strut arching as he came in plentiful ropes of transfluid that gushed over himself and grazed your bare back. Moaning in euphoria, he somehow managed to keep you balanced and upright as his hips twitched into every throb, the remainder of the mess being washed away by the waves even before reality came hurtling back. You managed to catch a glance of his near theatrical release before your own orgasm faded into the afterglow, and by the time he did the same you were much closer to unconsciousness than you would have thought possible.

Collapsing in his grip, you very nearly fell off into the water before he released his spent spike to hold you up with both servos, chassis rising and falling as he ventilated hard to cool off. Naked and completely satisfied, you allowed the warm water to welcome you as you were laid flat on his chest, your own ribs expanding repeatedly for deep breaths of exertion. You weren't sure you'd ever been more spent in your life...

"I built a small station on the far side of my lair. There is a platform on which you can rest and dry off." Shockwave said suddenly, total exhaustion belying the monumental step forward the two of you had just taken. It didn't even really hit you when you nodded for him to proceed, your limp body staying just where he kept it on his chassis as he swam slowly in the direction indicated. Purring, you noted the lingering warmth of his release on your back with a bit of pride. Shockwave had needed this just as desperately as you had...

Laying on his chest as the two of you lazily floated towards your destination, you wondered what might come next in your relationship, but admittedly couldn't think of much of anything in depth with so little energy to spare. It was enough just to be happy with him, with how everything had turned out since the fateful day the two of you had met... Judging by how tenderly he cupped you to himself as he swam along, you dared to believe he felt the same way, and if he preferred to show such emotions the way you'd just experienced you were more than fine with it.

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

For drabble ideas: MQF and SQH feat. rare medicinal plants.

(I feel like SQH doesn't know it but on MQF's side they're totally friends)

Hope you like this one, thank you for your hard work! ^-^

I LOVE THIS. and i liked it so much that i didnt answer for like 3 weeks im s o so r r y. HOWEVER it is also twice as long as my usual prompt fills so i hope you enjoy pt 1

—

As the Lord of Qian Cao Peak, there are few things which cause Mu Qingfang to make anything like a ‘walk of shame’ across his peak. He is an esteemed scholar, a competent fighter, and a doctor who is considered by many to work miracles. People come to him to solve their problems, and when he must consult his sect siblings, it is with the self-assured confidence of an expert in one field seeking the wisdom of an expert in another.

It is with a heavy heart that he is forced to trudge across Qian Cao, over the rainbow bridge, through Ku Xing Peak, around Xian Xu Peak, and up to An Ding to knock at the Peak Lord’s door in the middle of the night. 

Shang Qinghua answers on the second knock. He appears in the doorway, backlit by the lanterns behind him, accompanied by a wave of cool air and an anxious smile. The man is still fully dressed, guan in place and ink turning his fingers black and smudging darkly across his jaw. No—a bruise, blooming purple. Mu Qingfang’s hands itch to check it, but instead he folds his hands in a shallow bow as Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows go up at the sight of him. 

“Shang-shixiong, this one apologized for disturbing you so late.” 

“Mu-shidi! A pleasant surprise. Don’t worry about it, there’s no way I would be asleep at this time. I thought you were gonna be one of my disciples telling me something was unexpectedly on fire, so really, this is an improvement. What can I do for you?” 

Mu Qingfang sighs. He really hates doing this.

“I’m afraid I must ask your expertise on a sensitive matter.” 

“Oh—? Ooooh. One of those nights, huh? Come on in.” 

Shang Qinghua steps aside, waving lazily over his shoulder for Mu Qingfang to follow him. He calls out, facing his sitting room, 

“Make yourself at home, Shidi. Sorry about the mess, you can push some scrolls over if you need to.” 

Mu Qingfang steps into the front room, taking in the familiar papers, scrolls, and cushions scattered around the floor, the desk, the shelves… he sees one booklet poking out of a plant pot. A Snow Lion Bush, red berries gleaming and viny tendrils swaying as if in an invisible breeze—maybe that is what’s responsible for the unusually cool temperatures Shang Qinghua always seems to keep his rooms at. Mu Qingfang almost wishes he’d worn an extra layer. 

Shang Qinghua starts making tea, and Mu Qingfang moves to take the kettle from his hands.

“Please, allow me. I’m the one who is disturbing you so late.” Best to step in before they both end up sipping bitter tea. 

Shang Qinghua chuckles and raises his hands in defeat, stepping away to ease himself down at his overflowing desk. Mu Qingfang makes a note—stiff, moving gingerly. Fatigue, muscle strain, or an injury he’s avoiding aggravating? He roots around Shang Qinghua’s cabinets until he locates slightly stale dried danshen and curcumin, makes a note to bring more by later as a thank you. 

“So… who’s the lucky victim?” Shang Qinghua asks. 

Mu Qingfang nudges some scrolls aside with his foot and sits in front of the man’s desk, pushing more paperwork aside to set down the pot and two cups of tea with Shang Qinghua’s consenting hand-wave. 

“You know I can’t tell you that, Shixiong.” 

“Ah I know, I know. Can’t blame me for asking. I really want it to be that one guy from Qiong Ding who keeps denying my funding requests for—anyways, it doesn’t matter. What are you looking for, exactly?” 

Mu Qingfang knocks his tea back like downing a cup of wine. “I have two victims of a spring plant. Contact based—their clothes were coated in an opalescent pink powder, fine grained. I spoke with them both individually. One described it as ‘vine like,’ the other ‘bush like.’ Both said the flowers were white and pink, with green stems and leaves and a darker pink tear drop shaped metal emerging from a soft, fur-like white bud.”

“Ahh, ‘Drawstring pulled tight upon sweet fragrance pent within’1?” Shang Qinghua asks, quoting something Mu Qingfang doesn’t recognize. He tilts his head, and Shang Qinghua waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Those sound familiar! Should I assume the sect members in question are, ah, feeling some effect?” 

“They have refused the… ordinary methods of relief from a trained service worker, myself, each other, and any other member of the sect who might be asked. One of them has a fever that’s making them hallucinate, and the other has developed an unusual rash.” 

TBC...

1王文英 (Wáng Wényīng) Poems of a Hundred Flowers: number 70 - Purse Peony

玲珑奇巧涎欲滴