#bb x twist

[lovelyllamasblog]

For @oya-oya-okay's Black Butler x Twisted Wonderland AU!

Snake (Octavinelle), Finny (Savanaclaw), and Soma (Scarabia)

I tried to give Snake his scales by giving him the vitiligo option in the picrew. I think it worked. I would have loved to give him his snakes too 😢 I tried to give Finny his freckles too. Their there if you squint.

Soma is definitely my favorite out of this batch. Snake and Finny are my favorite of the Phantomhive servants. They are adorable. I want to squish all of them!

[oya-oya-okay]

Finny, Soma, and Snake tsum :)

[traumxrei-archive]

What if Ortho get a cute little kid crush on us (real or just a set-up lol) and it's because of that that Idia starts crushing on us too? Goes from "stay away from my brother" to "oh no, we're competing for the same person"

HELPPP but ortho's oblivious about it. he just thinks that it's great that idia's also becoming friends with one of his best friends meanwhile idia is having a level five mental breakdown bc oh my god he had a crush on the normie that he thought was going to take way ortho but actually you were a decent person who was willing to play pvp games with him even though you lost—

at first, idia was suspicious of your intentions. because...to be honest, no one had ever tried to befriend ortho with pure intentions. (he couldn't count the amount of times he had an alert on his tablet and rushed over to find someone stun-gunned next to where ortho was. seriously, it was way too many times.) and idia had a bit of a protective streak when it came to ortho. okay, he had a lot of a protective streak, but that was besides the point !!

it wasn't like ortho needed help picking out his friends. he had equipped ortho with an interface that had a built in heart rate monitor, and surely with having the literal internet in his mind, it was easy to differentiate the mob characters from the friendly npcs.

and even so, friendly npcs stayed friendly npcs because he scared them away. he wasn't really trying to, it was just people found him...too depressing. hell, even idia found himself too depressing at times, so he couldn't blame them. all the affection points ortho gained were balanced by the negative points that idia gained.

but what he couldn't understand was how you took his presence in stride. he remembered the first time he walked in to you and ortho huddled on the floor of his room. he had tried to turn around and leave, but ortho had spotted him. and he couldn't just leave, because in scenarios like this if he left it would look like he was running away. he played enough rpgs to know at least that much.

so he stood there as ortho introduced you as his friend. friend. friend. not an npc, not a mob, but a friend—

idia was about to pass out. he snuck a glance at you only to find you staring at him. he immediately looked away, scolding himself because that was a mistake only an absolute noob would make. he clearly didn't have enough AP to try and deal with you now, plus he would attract ortho's aggro if he was discorteous toward you in front of him. so idia bided his time.

okay, so idia was both forgetful and a coward, both un-protagonist-like traits, but he still had them! this was the reason why he liked playing rouge or magician characters in his rpgs. but, okay, he was getting off topic.

it's just that you were...nice. you were nice to him, and he could see how happy ortho was whenever you two were together. his room became a place you visited often, and idia had gotten used to you. just a little bit.

(do not remind him of the first time ortho left you in his room together. idia had felt like he was about to explore. his brain was lagging behind and you were staring at him expectantly. he had said a couple of jilted sentences to you and now his social skill was on cooldown. but no, idia wasn't going to talk about that or remember it)

and he found that you weren't as normie as you looked. you liked anime and mangas, which was already a death flag avoided for your future in idia's eyes. if anything else went wrong, you could get isekai'd, you claimed, and idia had seconded your opinion. but he would've probably been reincarnated as a canon fodder character. you immediately told him that even if he was canon fodder, he could easily break the system.

(idia wouldn't admit it, but he found you extremely based for around 0.8 seconds before he regained his sanity. he wasn't supposed to like you. or get along with you.)

and you weren't that bad at the pvps that he showed you. you showed a lot of promise. your movements in-game were clumsy, but you had a pretty good reaction time. and you always voiced out creative strats that gave idia goosebumps.

over time, he even got you hooked into one of his favorite rpg gacha games. and whenever ortho left you two alone, you would proudly show him your levels and characters you had accumulated. idia would only snort, because you had barely scratched the surface of the game, but then you would launch a pillow at his head, so he learned to hide his gloating from you.

ortho was delighted by this progression. he exclaimed that it was nice that they could all hang out together now, and play three-player games that idia had been saving for years. (the three of did do that one weekend. they spent the entire time playing those games until even idia's back started hurting. but he was having such a great time that he couldn't stop.)

it was all fine and well until idia started noticing how you came up to him in the rare times he went outside. to be fair, he was grateful to have someone to hide behind whenever ortho wasn't there, but his heart was beating too damn fast.

like that time when you went into the mystery shop to get his box of snacks for him because it was rush hour. it was so....so pog, that he couldn't help but feel his heart flutter—

wait...was he playing too many otome games, or did his heart just flutter at the sight of you....?

oh no.

oh no, this was bad, this was nightmare level, death flag raising type of bad, because...you were supposed to be ortho's friend. you weren't supposed to be his irl, 3D, not-virtual-reality c-word ! (c-word. cru— no, idia couldn't bring himself to say it, it made it all more real)

and now he can't get that affection bar out of the his periphery, nor can he get the sparkles and roses out of his eyes whenever he saw you. he was playing to the rng gods that he would pick the correct dialogue options that led to the good ending. after all, he wouldn't mind you being his official player two.

— okay, that's it from me ^^ such a cute concept and i ended up writing a lot more than expected haha— i just love the idea of idia going from strangers to acquaintances to friends to gaming buddies to c-word. idk i love writing idia sm,,,and the addition of ortho being the oblivious but supportive younger brother is the cherry on top sjfkjdsfk

[darkspellmaster]

I already have a possible reaction towards how Ciel would react towards the Senate’s treatment towards Lilia after Malleus’s miracle of a birth.

Like how the hell could THREE GREEN LEVITATING MASSIVE WASTE OF SPACE PARTICLES, that have done LITTLE to NOTHING, speak to Lilia that way?

Book 7 popularity has made me wonder massive time jumps since the fanfic point for now is book 3.

I know. When I saw that all Ciel could ask in my head was "Why are these balls of gas at all being revered? They're nothing but age old farts, possibly literally, that are taking up space and forcing their version of traditions down everyone's throats. It sickens me to think that someone as powerful as this Queen Malifica has to resort to listening to ancient ghosts to appease the people. I don't buy it for a second that they're worth anything. How dare they speak to Lilia in such a manner, they're not even worth the oxygen they're taking up as flames. Why haven't they been extinguished yet?"

No massive time jumps, not going to rush things as I am building up to that story since a lot of it will be covering several relationships and connections between the Diasomnia family and Ciel himself. Not only that but more importantly the relationship between Malleus and Ciel and how that is going to one of the many reasons for Malleus to overblot as well, since, unlike Yuu, Ciel is actively fostering a bond between the two of them. So when we get there, Book 7 is going to pack a more massive wallop to readers. Hopefully they'll enjoy it.

[zetsubobu]

What's a character you love but what absolutely be intimidated by if you ever met them irl?

[honamisdrumsticks]

They're like a gacha siblings or dating couple

[phoenixtakaramono]

New Threadfic Announcement + Sugar Baby AU Threadfic Update Status

(TNotG’s prologue can be read here)

The one addition I forgot to mention, I probably may or may not drag the Truce universe’s Supe!Butcher & Homelander into the threadfic’s multiverse shenanigans, because why not? It adds a bit of extra danger & incentivizes TNotG Billy to want all of his parallel universe selves to gtfo back to their worlds.

If you want more context details about the threadfics, you can read about them here that I organized for easy reference.

Tl;dr let’s cross our fingers that Twt doesn’t shadowban me because this’ll be a lotta tweets that’ll be tweeted within a span of a few days (I’ll of course screenshot them and crosspost those tweets over here on tumblr for y’all). I’m hoping they do not mistake my account as a spambot when these updates come out 😬

And regarding the next update for Operation Babylon (the Sugar Baby AU) which’ll be posted first:

[shrimp-anon]

FUCK YOU I CRIED AGAIN WITH AZUL AFTER I CRIED OVER MY OWN ANGST WRITING OC X BLADE 😭

# when you don't like them back !

TO. riddle, leona, azul, kalim.

c/w: vague mention of alcohol dependency

my thoughts will echo your name

until i see you again.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS.

riddle rosehearts is a man who does not possess a weak heart. he's someone who's learned the hard way through laborious tasks, a pious student who's vigorous enough to use up all the remaining ink in each and every pen he owns. but use do they all add up to when they're just a faulty, forfeitable protection against your transcendent beauty?

you tore down his walls, stepped into the craven parts of his heart, and became the spring to his winter. and all of that affection that stormed in his head multiplies tenfold when he catches a glimpse at your fleeing figure, illuminated by the flickering hallway lights that shone down on every strand of hair, every footprint left behind, and the sparkle that glimmered in your eyes that makes his heart stop and stare.

he thinks—and thinks, but he doesn't understand how he thinks the world of such trifle actions that sets his heart aflutter. he clutches his chest, achingly, to put a stop to his heartbeat that only resounded through the wounded walls of his body just, and only for you.

the adoration that pines for your touch on his skin, your fingertips padding along the sides of his jawline, all so close yet so far. the painfully horrific confines of his heart that encloses his utopian memories with you, ones where the golden hour that lays onto the horizon of the earth as it disseminates its glory at such right times its uncanny—like you're some other being apart from him.

but god, has he always stooped this low?

what happened to the different monographs regularly bounded beyond the protection of his hands, why are they strewn all over the ground and looked like it's been violently mauled by some beast? why is the lamp on the floor, that god damned clock broken—fragments of glass protruding out from the carpet and all?

he's losing it, and he knows. mother has never taught me any of this, so why—what am i doing now? just then, his eyes meet a stranded shard of glass. his reflection staring back at him, and he starts to sob.

it's useless, everything. no matter how smart he gets, your presence always crawls to haunt him back. he tries to recollect, but it's been long since he was ever vulnerable around anyone. and queen forbid—the sugar cubes he so much treasures doesn't taste as sweet anymore.

in spite of everything, he doesn't let his grades falter. he still consumes the same meals daily, and he continues to act as heartslabyul's destined housewarden, for the betterment of himself and his dorm. but the words 'of himself' sounds vacant, as if they don't mean anything if you aren't there for him, to cloak him in your warmth. and truthfully, he feels bad for his helpless outbursts that are powerful enough to bring even the devil to his knees.

he finally found someone he could have fun with, who he could break the rules for. who he was able to fulfill his lifelong wishes with without the nosy eyes of his mother. did they mean nothing to you, in fact?

nevermind, it's time to stop this useless dawdling and get up to start the day right. another day of being riddle rosehearts, another day of never being good enough.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR.

he's inebriated in the way you trace the scar around his eye at the crack of dawn, eyes of emerald that fall shut as you make the jagged margins of his life glisten with fervour. being in a relationship was certainly not on his 2023 bingo card.

he's expressed his solid condemnation into having a significant other—'having the hots for someone', as they say, and it's as clear-cut as it is. the thought of being in one sends a rush of bile bubbling up his throat, pushing him to double-over and let it all out. he can't imagine committing and spending a future with someone, no matter how high their royal status is. he finds the decisions dependent in the name of hierarchy nothing more than mind screwing.

and you proved him right. proved him so right that his heart swells with drunken affection which numbed at the tip of his tongue that usually rolled out grimy remarks. you heal him—like vinegar to rust. regardless of how big of a crowd he has, how many brilliant trinkets he was gifted, they'll all pale in comparison to the time he spends with you.

smudged lipstick marks and tousled bedheads has him feeling new, like his faith has been restored and crystallised into something precious—as his hands desperately grasp on to the remaining shreds of his life that he bled for.

but he never expected himself out of all people to descend into the pit of delusion, an immersive dimension that he thought he was immune to. but he's a human with—emotions, after all.

he woke up at the call of daylight, noticing the message on his phone that emerged from nothing into something as quick as he could tell. and it wasn't about his studies—or his family—or whether he had a good rest the previous night. and certainly not a 'good morning' either. your message seemed...too long to be just that.

"just asking...will you be able to get me with ruggie somewhere by the end of this week? i want to tell him something."

his reaction isn't timely, in fact—he leaves it on read for a while to brood over his morning happenings before his expression morphs into something morose. and because of you...?

and as quick as dandelion seeds whirling away, the lion-and-hyena tandem he held so dear to his heart loses its face on the earth. and he can't say that losing multiple people at once was a first.

cheka frets, and falena has to cover his eyes just in time for him as he gives leona a once-over before admonishing the younger with heated disapproval. "what has gotten into you?"

"yeah, yeah. run away." he flicks a hand his direction, and uncorks another labelled bottle once again. if he can't have you—or anything at all, then he'll feed and feed on your tears until they become his own.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO.

one exchanged smile with him, and you paint his world in a myriad of colours he had yet to see down the darkened expanse of the sea.

you lay his incremental need for approval to rest behind the crevices of his mind, your flawless touches of sparkles that has him feeling like a person who could take on the entire world with their bare hands. and he's devoted—if money means something, you mean millions. if the sky looked too bright for a midnight sight, he'd gladly pluck you out of the billions that dared to shine brighter than you.

he frankly held no opposition to how cheap you may have lived—he'll favour you a job at the lounge as a lounge singer, listening with passionate awe in his eyes as you coat the grounds in layers and layers of euphoria while holding your microphone with a heartfelt grip that captures the hearts of people nearby.

he sees the way you pace back and forth before your weekly gigs on the stage, wringing your hands like how you do in class as you get called up to unveil your conglomerate of ideas, readying yourself for the work and business life. azul has to contain himself before his chuckles dominated the backstage, silly as you may seem. he slowly saunters over to rub his hands up and down your forearm.

"thank you," you beam at him, and tighten your grip on the microphone, like he'd just stabbed a yearslong of confidence straight into your deepest weaknesses.

you're grateful, and you can't wait to finally sing your heart out to the person that saved you through countless sleepless nights where the moon looked like it was about to drop at any moment. he's your salvation—a source of light when you were at your lowest.

you climb up the stage, and sit on the designated stool azul had acquired just for you. every night, day, weeks—he looks forward to the mellow sound of your voice to come mend his trembling spirit, as if he's a pathetic child once again that carved the initials of his enemies onto the sea sand. though, he doesn't miss the faded glint in your eyes being directed towards the crowd, possibly at someone, like passing letters in secrecy.

he arrives at his table along the twins, and waits for you to start.

you giggle, and adjust the microphone until it's in close contact with your lips. "this is for you, jamil."

azul's lost throughout the entire performance. he can feel his glasses starting to slip off, and why does your voice sound a bit off? he hears it, love, forever, the words jumbled up in a single song that brings an ear-splitting sound of ringing up and about in his ears until it shuts out everything else, missing jade's furrowed eyebrows and worried persuasions to take him to the bathroom.

soon after, you hear the indistinct sound of chair legs scrapping across the ground and hurried footsteps reverberating off the walls. he wonders how long it's been since he's made a fool of himself in front of everyone?

he turns the deadbolt to the nearest restroom, slams the door shut, and lunges his body forward towards a sink. it's not long until he hears the door bursting open, before his vision of the sink bleeds into inky, pitch black darkness.

KALIM AL-ASIM.

"hey, hey, you up?" he'd shake your shoulder until you were wide awake, resplendent eyes of vermilion that shone behind silvery streams of moonlight, rivalling each other as if it were ruby and sapphire.

you weren't sold on the idea of a late night escapade at first—given the fact that there was school the very next morning. if your time anxiety wasn't a mountain of a task to get over, you'd interlock your hands with him in an instant with tender-hearted laughter encompassing the area, like two fated runaways who were bound together by the everlasting strings of love. kalim holds these moments close to his heart, as if it's his own treasure trove that nobody could ever get close to opening.

kalim wasn't even aware of the feelings he caught for you until jamil actually took him through a quick rundown of things—for example, how he notices the slight twitch of kalim's hand that ached for the warmth of yours. how he always views you through rose-tinted lens which filled a certain part of his heart that he didn't know that he wanted to fill. he knew there was something deep down that he was missing, through childhood and his teenage years of living with a silver spoon in his mouth.

and you sprinkled him in stardust. he's grateful for all the days where he gets to feel the sun's rays from heaven that hovered over his body that reminds him of your smile that he's so keen to protect. it just tells him that if he gets to live to see the next day, that means he'd get to see you. you make his entire being soar like no other.

despite the provocative whispers that run like water down the hallways due to his upbringing, you still manage to spend time with that airhead that you wish you could love back.

a few people knew he was a lost cause, so who were you to interfere?

you keep telling—convincing yourself that it was his fault that he got attached too quickly. but you can't help but feel a sense of foreboding at the back of your mind as you scrawl down your confession for another being in hot red.

"don't come crying to me when things don't go the way you planned. i've warned you." jamil is there to watch him as kalim scrambles to take out his bouquet of roses that he hid so "skillfully" without you knowing from his locker just in time for valentines day, along with a hand-written letter that he adorned so carefully in hearts.

he had a feeling that you were about to arrive to your next class somewhere about now. but someone else was your priority while you were his. what were the odds?

"don't worry, they'll like it!" and he jogs up to you once he sees you ambling down the—crowded halls. jamil tries to hold him back, but alas.

there's something weird going on with your face. you whisper to yourself to not cringe at the confession that he prepared and presented so widely out in the open, the loving lilt in his voice that continues to strike your heart with hard, unceasing blows. this can't be happening, you should have never spent so much time with him.

you hurriedly push him out of the way and bolt to the nearest class you could find, and he stood there, appalled out of his mind. everything happened in a mere second that the people surrounding the two of you had to process what just happened.

and the whispers overflow like a forgotten tap once again. some laughing and whispering that 'pure-hearted people such as him should've never gotten his hopes up'. or 'what time does he have to focus on love when he'll continue to bomb the next set of upcoming exams?'

and kalim has nothing to say. weird, aren't rodeo clowns supposed to be on old thing by now?

[leona-hawthorne]

AURORA / mattheo riddle

requested / part 2

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: in the aftermath of the second wizarding war, mattheo is sent to azkaban for his crimes. when released and faced with the harsh reality that you had, unbeknownst to him, had his child and had been raising her alone all these years, he falls apart.

based on this lovely request right here!! @isntthatsweetiguessso sorry for taking literally a month bb ily and this brilliant concept

warnings: angst, mom!reader, dad!mattheo, swearing, sad but happy ending!!

words: 4.6k

a/n: so sorry to the person who requested it for taking so long :( i hope this is something like what you had in your head. its very long, fluffy part 2 is out now!

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist part two

The world outside Azkaban had always felt like a distant memory to Mattheo. The walls, the cold, and the constant torment of his own mind had been his reality for six long years. But now, walking the streets of Diagon Alley as a free man, the memories felt sharper, more painful. He had imagined this moment so many times—stepping back into the life he'd left behind, finding you, and maybe, just maybe, picking up the pieces of what you two had.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

It was supposed to be a simple walk—an aimless stroll to ground himself, to remind himself that he was no longer trapped in that hellhole. But as he turned the corner, there it was: Brews and Stews. The same café you both used to sneak away to when the world got too loud. His heart clenched at the sight, and before he knew it, his feet were pulling him closer, as if some invisible force was guiding him back to the past.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting at one of the outside tables, sunlight bathing you in a warm glow that made you look almost ethereal. His heart stuttered in his chest as he stood frozen on the cobblestone street, staring at you like a man starved. Six years, and you were still the same. Beautiful, captivating. You were reading a book, the furrow of your brow as mesmerizing as ever.

For a moment, he considered turning back. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. You had probably moved on; you had to. Six years was a lifetime. But just as he was about to retreat, the small figure next to you caught his eye.

A little girl, her brown curls bouncing as she laughed, sitting beside you at the table. She was a blur of motion—happy, full of life.

"Mama, look!" the child giggled, holding up a small trinket, her voice full of excitement. "Isn't it pretty?"

You smiled, reaching over to stroke her hair, and that’s when Mattheo felt the world collapse around him. Mama. The word echoed in his head, ripping through his chest like a knife. His stomach twisted painfully as he watched the scene unfold before him.

You had a child.

For a split second, his mind couldn’t process it. A child. A little girl. With you.

His heart thundered in his chest, and his fists clenched at his sides. It wasn’t possible, was it? You had moved on. Of course you had. Six years was too long for anyone to wait, especially for someone like him—a man who had done unspeakable things, who had been imprisoned for it. Why would you wait for him? And yet, the thought of you with someone else, of you having a family, was enough to suffocate him.

He took a shaky step back, the weight of the realization crashing down on him. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t prepared himself to see you like this. But just as he was about to turn away, you glanced up.

Your eyes locked with his, and the world seemed to stop.

"Mattheo?" Your voice was a breathless whisper, as if you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. The expression on your face shifted from shock to something else—something he couldn’t quite read.

His breath caught in his throat as he stood frozen, every muscle in his body tensing. You were staring at him, those eyes he had dreamed of every night in Azkaban now filled with confusion, and something else... regret, maybe?

But then the girl looked up too. She had your eyes, but the rest of her—the wild brown curls, the soft slope of her nose—it was like staring into a mirror. She had his features.

He couldn’t move. His gaze flicked between you and the girl, heart hammering in his chest as his mind screamed for answers. The question hung heavy on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it.

"Come on, Aurora," you said quickly, standing up and gathering your things. Your voice wavered, the panic evident as you scooped the girl into your arms. "We have to go."

You brushed past him without another word, holding the little girl tightly as you hurried away from the café. His body moved instinctively to follow, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He watched you walk away, the weight of the unanswered question heavy in the air.

Aurora looked back at him once, her big, curious eyes staring into his, and then she was gone, disappearing down the street with you.

He stood there for what felt like hours, his mind spinning. That girl—Aurora. She was his. He could see it now, clear as day. He could feel it. The brown curls, the shape of her face, the way her eyes had stared at him with that same intensity he’d seen in his own reflection.

His daughter.

The realization slammed into him, nearly knocking the wind out of his lungs. How could you not have told him?

With heavy steps, he set off down the street, following the path you had taken. His heart pounded in his chest, each step bringing him closer to the confrontation he had dreaded but needed. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure how you would react.

But one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to lose you again. And he wasn’t going to lose his daughter. Not after everything he had already lost.

Mattheo’s heart pounded in his chest as he strode through the narrow streets, the weight of what he’d just seen pressing down on him with every step. The world felt suffocating, spinning around him in a blur of emotions—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. His hands shook at his sides, clenched into fists as he tried to keep his mind focused on the only thing that mattered now: finding you.

You couldn’t have gone far.

Aurora. Our daughter, the thought kept repeating in his mind like a relentless drumbeat. His daughter—his little girl, and you had never told him. He hadn’t known, hadn’t been there for anything. The rage simmering inside him was barely contained as he searched the crowd, every face blurring together until he finally saw you, ducking into a quieter street with Aurora still in your arms.

His legs moved before he could think.

“Y/N!” His voice was a shout, desperate, raw. You didn’t stop. “Y/N, stop!”

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide with panic, but you didn’t slow down. Mattheo’s breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, forcing his way closer. He wasn’t letting you run from this. He wasn’t letting you run from him. Not again.

Finally, you reached a quiet alleyway, and Mattheo caught up to you just as you were fumbling with your wand, trying to Apparate. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“Mattheo—” you started, but he cut you off, the fury burning in his chest.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” His voice boomed through the narrow alley, raw and loud. “Is this what I think it is, Y/N? Is that my goddamn kid?”

Aurora flinched at his raised voice, her small body shrinking into your arms. You immediately shifted her to your other hip, turning her face away from him.

“Mattheo, not here,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down at your daughter. “Please.” And the first conversation you’re having after six years is going to be an argument.

“Not here?” he spat, eyes blazing with fury. “That—That’s my daughter,” he sputtered. “You fucking kept my daughter from me. Don’t tell me to calm down.”

You winced at the venom in his voice, but you didn’t move, your eyes pleading with him to lower his voice. “You don’t understand. Let’s just talk about this. I didn’t know how to—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he repeated, louder this time, his voice trembling with rage. “You didn’t know how? You knew damn well how to keep her from me! You didn’t even try, Y/N.”

“I…” You hesitated, the guilt written all over your face, but Mattheo wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” he forced out, the pain bleeding into his voice now. “I fucking rotted in Azkaban for six years, thinking I had nothing left. And all this time, you had her? I—I had a kid? ”

Aurora shifted again in your arms, and Mattheo’s heart wrenched as he saw her big, curious eyes peek out from beneath your hair. She didn’t know him. She had no idea who he was, and that realization broke something inside him.

“How could you?” His voice cracked, his eyes burning as he stared at you, searching for some explanation that would make any of this hurt less.

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as if steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again. “I didn’t know what to do, Mattheo,” you said softly, the edge of panic still there but buried beneath layers of hurt. “You were in Azkaban. I didn’t think you’d ever get out.”

“That’s bullshit!” he snarled, his hands trembling as he ran them through his hair. “You could’ve written. You could’ve found a way! You could’ve let me fucking know I had a daughter!”

Tears welled in your eyes, your lips trembling as you looked away, the guilt eating at you. “I… I was scared,” you whispered, barely audible over the sound of his labored breathing. “I was scared she’d grow up without you. That she’d grow up knowing what you were forced to be… and I didn’t want that for her.”

Mattheo’s chest heaved with the weight of your words, but it only stoked the fire of his rage. “That’s not your decision to make, you had no right to keep her from me!”

You blinked, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clutched Aurora tighter. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You weren’t here. You literally couldn’t be here. I was trying to protect her—”

“From me?!” he shouted, the words scraping from his throat like broken glass.

Aurora’s tiny whimper cut through the air like a knife, and Mattheo’s heart shattered. He hadn’t meant to scare her, hadn’t meant to let his anger bleed into his voice, but it was too late now.

You stepped back, rocking Aurora gently in your arms, trying to soothe her as you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mattheo.”

“Then what the fuck were you trying to do?” he spat, his voice low now, hoarse with emotion. “Because it sure as hell feels like you didn’t give a shit about what I’d feel. I missed everything. Everything, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket of regret. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered. “I didn’t know if I could. And by the time I thought about it, too much time had passed. I thought… I thought maybe it was better this way.”

Mattheo let out a bitter, hollow laugh, his eyes wild as he stared at you. “Better? Better?! How the fuck is this better? I lost all six years of her goddamn existence! Six years! I didn’t get to see her first steps, didn’t hear her first words, didn’t even know she existed. And you think that was better?”

You sobbed, clutching Aurora close to you as if the little girl could shield you from the onslaught of his anger. “I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Mattheo.”

But sorry wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to undo the years of pain, the years of loneliness and anguish he had endured in that cell, thinking he had lost you, lost everything.

He took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to look at the little girl—Aurora. His daughter. She was watching him now, her big eyes wide and confused, her small fingers gripping your shirt. She looked so much like him.

“Aurora,” he said, his voice a broken whisper.

She blinked at him, tilting her head slightly as if she didn’t understand why he was looking at her that way. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger to her. And that hurt more than anything else.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Mattheo whispered, his voice barely audible now. “You kept her from me.” He shook his head, tears of his own threatening to spill over. “You took everything from me.”

You wiped at your eyes, shaking your head. "I didn’t want her to grow up around this—around what we were part of. I didn't want her to know the darkness.”

“But that darkness is a part of me, Y/N,” Mattheo snapped, his voice breaking. “It's who I am. I can’t escape it, no matter how much you want to pretend it’s not there. And you—you kept my baby from me because of it?”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of your decision hanging between you. “I made a mistake, Mattheo. I thought I was doing what was best for her.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time since you’d left the café, Mattheo’s anger began to ebb, replaced by something even more painful—regret.

Mattheo stood frozen, his chest heaving with the weight of all that had just transpired. His gaze shifted between you and Aurora, trying to piece together the shards of the life he thought he’d lost. His anger still simmered beneath the surface, but as he watched you, tears streaming down your face, and saw Aurora clinging to you with wide, confused eyes, something inside him softened.

But the more he looked at you, standing there with Aurora in your arms, the more the anger started to unravel into something deeper, something rawer.

Because it wasn't just about Aurora. It was about you. You, the woman he'd loved so fiercely before everything fell apart. The woman he had held onto in the darkest hours of Azkaban, when hope was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind.

He had missed you— fuck, he'd missed you— and now you were here, standing in front of him with his daughter. And as furious as he was, as shattered as he felt, that love hadn't gone anywhere.

He hadn't seen you in six years, but you still made his heart race in ways he couldn't control.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the anger in his voice beginning to crack, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

"I used to run my fingers through her hair every night," you whispered suddenly, your voice cracking as you glanced down at Aurora's curls. "Because she has your curls. And it made me feel closer to you."

Those words hit Mattheo like a punch to the gut, his chest tightening as the reality of it all began to sink in. You hadn't forgotten him. In all those years, despite everything, you had tried to keep a part of him with you-through Aurora.

He swallowed thickly, his throat constricting. "Why didn't you write me?" he asked, the question soft now, almost a plea. "I could've—hell, I don't know what I could've done, but I would've known. I would've been there in some way. Anything but this."

You sighed, wiping another tear from your cheek. "I didn't think you'd ever get out. I thought..." You took a deep breath, struggling with your words. "I thought it'd be easier if she didn't know. If you didn't know. And I was wrong. I see that now."

He falls silent for a while, his eyes trained on the beautiful girl in your arms.

“She’s really ours?” Mattheo asked, his voice softer now, though the tremor of rage still lurked. “That’s her name? Aurora?”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks as you pressed a kiss to Aurora’s head. “Yes,” you whispered. “That’s her name.”

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, his heart clenching at the sound of it. Aurora. His daughter. Aurora’s wide eyes met his, so innocent, so big and full of wonder, but also a little shy, hiding in the safety of your arms. She didn’t know him. How could she?

His heart broke even more.

“Well, you do look like quite the princess,” he murmured, his voice soft and careful as if speaking any louder would scare her away.

Aurora’s brow furrowed, still unsure, but Mattheo could see the curiosity shining in her eyes. She stayed pressed against you, her small fingers clutching your shirt.

“Mama,” she whispered, looking up at you, her voice trembling. “Why are you crying?”

Your breath caught as you tried to answer, but words seemed to fail you. Instead, you simply stroked Aurora’s hair, trying to steady yourself. Mattheo watched, helpless, as Aurora’s small hand reached up to touch your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m just—just a little sad, baby.”

Mattheo could feel the weight of everything pressing down on you both. He had a million questions, a million things he wanted to yell, but none of it would make sense right now. Not with Aurora watching, her innocent eyes darting between the two of you, trying to make sense of something so much bigger than her little world had ever allowed.

“Who is that, Mama?”

"Remember when you asked me where your Daddy was and why he wasn't here?" you whispered to Aurora, your voice shaking as you cradled her close. "Remember how I told you your Daddy loved you, and that he'd find us one day?"

Aurora’s gaze flicked back to Mattheo, her little forehead creasing in confusion.

“That’s him, sweet girl,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “That’s your Daddy.”

Mattheo’s breath caught in his throat as those words hit him like a tidal wave. That’s your Daddy. For all these years, that’s all he should have been—her father, her protector, her everything—and instead, he was a stranger. He blinked back the sting in his eyes, trying to keep himself together for her sake.

Aurora’s little fingers clung tighter to your shirt as she processed what you’d said. She looked back at Mattheo, her eyes wide and uncertain.

Mattheo’s heart ached with the silence, with the lost years that could never be undone. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he knew he couldn’t—at least, not yet. She didn’t know him, and that hurt more than anything else.

You looked down at Aurora, gently prying her small hands from your shirt before setting her down on the ground. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly. “You can say hello.”

Aurora hesitated, her little body leaning toward you, and then slowly, cautiously, she moved to hide behind your legs. Mattheo’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her shy little face peeking out at him. His own daughter was scared of him.

He crouched down to her level, making himself as small as he could, hoping it would make him seem less intimidating. He had no idea how to be a father, no idea what to say to this little girl, but he had to try.

“Hey there, Aurora,” he murmured softly, trying to keep his voice gentle, steady. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t respond, just kept her wide eyes on him as she clung to the back of your leg. Mattheo’s heart shattered further, but he swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile.

But Aurora, as shy as she was, was still a child. And as she looked at him again, her small voice broke the silence. "Are you really my daddy?"

Mattheo's throat tightened, the words lodged there, unable to come out. He was scared—terrified, really— of what to say, of how she would react. But he nodded, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Yeah. That's me."

Aurora stared at him, her eyes big and full of questions, her small hands clutching onto your shirt as if grounding herself. But after a long, silent moment, she seemed to relax, her lips parting into the tiniest smile.

"I always wanted one," she said softly, her voice full of innocence. "All my friends at school have daddies. I wanted one too."

His chest ached. He was the stranger here, and yet, in her little mind, he was still the man she had been waiting for. The man you had told her would one day come for her. He could see it— the confusion, the shyness— but there was something else in her eyes too.

She'd been missing him. She just didn't know who he was.

Mattheo's chest ached, the guilt and sorrow clawing at him from the inside. "I wanted to be there," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I wanted to be with you, with both of you. I didn't know."

Aurora looked at him for a moment longer, and then, to Mattheo's shock, she smiled a little wider, still shy but no longer fearful. She reached out tentatively, her small hand gripping his for the first time. The warmth of her touch sent a wave of emotion crashing through him, and for the first time since seeing you again, something inside him shifted. Maybe this wasn't all lost. Maybe he hadn't missed everything.

Aurora giggled softly, her small hand still wrapped around his. She brought her other hand to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek. "You're my daddy," she said again, as if testing out the words.

Mattheo's throat tightened, tears stinging his eyes as he smiled-truly smiled-for the first time in what felt like years. "Yeah, princess," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm your daddy."

Aurora's little laugh was music to his ears, and when she finally released his hand, she took a step back, hiding behind your legs again but peeking out from around you with a shy grin.

“You know, when I look at you…” He trailed off, his throat tightening as he swallowed down the lump that had formed there. “I see so much of your mum in you. But I see me too.” He let out a soft, shaky laugh, blinking through the tears that threatened to spill. “You got my curls, huh?”

Aurora’s wide, curious eyes flicked between the two of you, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of your pants. Mattheo felt a surge of protectiveness, an instinct that told him to reach out, to hold her, to assure her that everything would be okay. But he hesitated, unsure if he even had the right to touch her after all this time. She had been a stranger to him just moments ago, and now… now she was his entire world.

Her small voice broke the silence again, tentative but filled with the kind of honesty only a child could muster. “Do you love my mama?”

Mattheo’s heart lurched at the question. His gaze snapped to you, meeting your teary eyes. The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation. You quickly glanced away, biting your lip as you tried to keep your composure.

Aurora blinked up at him, waiting for an answer. “All my friends’ parents love each other,” she continued, her voice soft, innocent. “They kiss and hold hands. Do you love her?”

Mattheo’s throat tightened, and he felt his pulse quicken. How could he even begin to explain the depth of what he felt? The years apart hadn’t dulled it—if anything, the ache had only grown sharper. You had been his world before Azkaban, and every lonely, torturous day behind bars had been filled with memories of you, of your laugh, your smile, the way you used to look at him as if he was the only person that mattered.

He had loved you then. He loved you still.

But now, standing before you, the mother of his child, the weight of everything left unsaid between you was crushing.

He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting back to Aurora. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I do.” Mattheo’s eyes softened as he glanced at you again, his heart aching with everything he wanted to say. “I’ve always loved her,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “I’ve never stopped.”

You looked at him, your lips trembling as another tear slid down your cheek. You were trying so hard to be strong, but the years of separation had taken their toll on both of you. And now, with Aurora standing between you, the bond that had once been so unbreakable felt fragile, like it could snap at any moment.

Aurora, still holding onto your pants, tilted her head, watching the two of you with that same curiosity. “Mama,” she said softly, “why are you crying again?”

You let out a shaky breath, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I’m okay, baby,” you whispered, brushing a hand through her hair in a soothing gesture. “It’s just… a lot.”

Mattheo stood up slowly, running a hand through his curls, trying to compose himself. He felt a swell of love for you, something he had been suppressing in his anger. You had raised this beautiful little girl all on your own, carrying the burden of their absence in silence. You had done it for Aurora—for him. And even though he was furious that you had kept it all from him, a part of him understood. You were protecting her, protecting yourself.

He took a deep breath, his voice soft but unsteady as he spoke again. “I missed everything,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “Her birth, her first words, her first steps... all of it. I wasn’t there.”

You flinched, guilt flashing across your face. “Mattheo, I—”

“No,” he cut you off gently, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to blame you. I just… I missed it all. And I don’t know how to make that right.”

Aurora, sensing the tension, leaned into you, her arms wrapping around your leg. “Mama, is Daddy staying with us?”

Mattheo’s heart clenched at the word. Daddy. He had never thought he would hear it—never thought it was even possible. But now, hearing Aurora say it so casually, so innocently, it hit him all over again. This was his daughter. His family.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, crouching down again to her level, his voice gentle as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m going to be here. I’m going to make it right, okay?”

Aurora blinked, processing his words, and then her lips curved into a small, shy smile. She still seemed a bit confused, but there was a trust forming, something fragile but real.

She looked up at you, her tiny voice full of hope. “Does Daddy love me too?”

You sucked in a breath, your eyes flicking to Mattheo, waiting for him to answer. His throat tightened, but he didn’t hesitate this time.

“More than anything,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he held her gaze. “I love you, Aurora. I loved you before I even knew you were here.”

[roguishcat]

Upon reflection, I find you perfect

This is for an ask by @pebble-bb where Astarion gets to see his reflection for the first time. Absolutely lovely idea and I'm sorry it took me ages to actually post it!

@busy-baker has already posted hers because she is amazing! The writing is gorgeous, tender and beautiful! Here is the link so check it out!

This has no beta. So I apologise in advance for mistakes.

Word count: 2.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female Reader

"What have you got there, love?"

"Nothing!" you say a little too quickly and attempt to hide the package behind your back.

Astarion clicks his tongue and slips his long fingers under your chin, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look straight at him.

"Tsk, cheeky pup. Lies don't become you. Out with it!" he says in a stern voice, but his eyes shine with mirth and his lips twist into a smile.

"What are you hiding that has you flustered such a fetching shade of red, hm?" he lifts his other hand to push your hair back and expose your neck. Soft digits touch skin, making you shiver.

"Nothing?" you try again, wriggling away from him, but you know it is futile. When one becomes the subject of a vampire's attention, one does not get away until the said vampire decides to set the victim free. And Astarion obviously has no intention of doing that.

"I see. Well, this nothing must be worth something, seeing as you are ready to risk baiting a predator to conceal it. Is it really a wise move to entice me when I'm itching for any excuse to devour you?"

As pleasant as that sounds, you have to be out of the inn and on your way. You have an appointment with an artificer that you must keep. It was difficult enough to convince him to take on the project, as he stated that he 'was an inventor and objects of petty vanity were beneath him'. It took coin, promises of securing rare materials, and some thinly veiled threats for the ingenious but somewhat mad artificer to begrudgingly agree to work on your project.

But you know what Astarion is like. You have to tell him something or he will not let you out of his sight at all.

"Fine. It’s a present for you, happy? "

You give a petulant pout which only makes his smile grow wider.

"Aren't I lucky that you want to spoil me? And my goodness, how your heart flutters!" he chuckles and places a kiss over the bitemarks on your neck. "Must be a very, very special present."

"It is, but it's not done yet. So you better not try to take a peek!" you push against his chest.

"Oh my sweet, you wound me! Are you insinuating that I will try to steal it and see what is inside?"

"Not insinuating, telling you outright that you better not go snooping through my things."

"Fine!" he sighs, pretending to be hurt by your words. "I will not go through your things. Cross my heart and hope to- well, you get it," he grins and finally moves, allowing you to get up.

You have the package in your hands and clutch it to close to your chest. You can feel ruby red eyes follow your every movement and try to ignore him as you quickly dress, keeping the present close at all times lest Astarion decides to swipe it when he thinks you are distracted.

Several hours later you find yourself stomping your way back to the inn, absolutely livid, fingers twitching as you try to contain your anger.

That ass! How in the world did Astarion manage to replace your package with a near identical one? You looked like such an idiot, standing in the middle of the forge and gawking at the unexpected contents that spilled out as soon as you unwrapped it.

Astarion gets away with a lot when it comes to you, with you having near no immunity to his charms. But not this time! You are in a terrible mood and he is going to hear all about it!

You storm into your shared room, pushing the door with too much force. It slams against the wall and bounces back with a loud protest, almost hitting you in the face.

“Astarion, you are unbelievable!" You point an accusatory finger in his general direction. "I have half a mind to-”

Then you stop abruptly as you notice shards of glass scattered about the floor, tens of your reflections frowning back at you.

“Oh yes, darling, I do apologise. I- I’m afraid I couldn’t resist,” Astarion's back is to you and he makes no move to turn around.

“What happened?” you ask softly, picking up what is left of the mirror off the floor. This clearly is no accident. It has been smashed violently and, from the looks of it, repeatedly.

“You know how it is sometimes,” Astarion says woodenly. “Butterfingers, I’m afraid.”

You take a tray off the table and put the remains of the mirror on it with shaking fingers. Distracted and barely paying attention to what you are doing, you accidentally pierce one finger with a jagged edge. Blood pebbles on skin, but you care little. The wound does not worry you as much as Astarion's lack of reaction to the smell of your blood.

Choosing to deal with one issue at a time, you set the tray aside and walk towards Astarion. His head is hanging low, silver curls somehow looking lacklustre as they hang limply over his eyes.

“My love,” you tilt his head, and although he does not resist, he keeps looking down rather than at you. “Can you please tell me what actually happened?”

Looking downcast, Astarion takes a breath he doesn’t need and swallows, fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap.

“I didn’t believe it at first. But once I realised… ” he finally lifts his face to look at you, his expression momentarily child-like as he recalls making this wonderful discovery. "My own reflection. At first, I was elated. Drinking myself in, turning my face this way and that. But then,” his lips twist, smile turning sardonic, “I looked into my eyes and saw the eyes of a monster staring back. I guess it isn’t often one looks into a mirror and is met with an abomination.”

“Don’t say that,” you plead. You want to hug him, kiss the hurt away. But you feel that this is not the time for touch, no matter how well-intentioned and comforting.

“For years I couldn’t remember what my eyes looked like. Could hardly map out my face from touches and ministrations, through blows and cuts. But now…”

“Now?” you echo, wanting to press your face into the crook of Astarion’s neck and hold him close.

“I guess actually seeing myself as a vampire for the first time brought about the feelings of disgust and self-loathing that I thought I was getting rather good at dealing with,” he gives a little mirthless chuckle, tossing his hair back. Curls fall back into place and as Astarion's face settles into a neutral expression he might as well be a statue. Eerily still and lifeless.

You say nothing at first, letting the silence stretch and gingerly lay a hand on top of his. He does not attempt to move it away. After a while, he turns his hand palm up to interlock his fingers with yours.

“I’m sorry for assuming,” you begin cautiously. “I thought you would love it.”

You feel like crying. You should have asked. Perhaps if Astarion knew about what you have been planning, this would have gone better.

“I did, if only for a moment,” he nods. “It was perfect until it felt tainted.”

 Astarion pulls you towards him and you settle into his lap, putting your head on his chest. His hands snake round you and he hugs you close, his shoulders relaxing gradually.

“But this just makes me more determined than anything to enjoy my reflection again, once these feelings pass,” he murmurs.

You look up at your vampire, brushing an errant curl back into place with loving, gentle fingers. "I want to tell you who I see when I look at you."

"Oh, I'm well aware of what you see," he says quietly. "I've long accepted the cards fate dealt me. But it's sweet of you to try."

"Hush, you," you put your fingers on his lips. "Just let me speak."

He doesn’t try to move away or attempt to contradict you. Instead, Astarion looks at you with genuine vulnerability that he allows few to see. You want to tell him how much he makes your heart race, his nearness making you feel dizzy and overwhelmed. You want to tell him how brave, how amazing he was when facing Cazador. How you felt proud of him, honoured to be at his side as he refused to give in to temptation. But there would be other times for that.

"When I look at you, I see a hero,” you try to condense all you feel into few words. “The one we are all indebted to. Savior of Baldur's Gate."

"It does have a rather nice ring to it," he nods.

"Hm, does it not?"

“So my being celebrated is the only reason you are sticking around then?” he teases.

"Maybe in part,” you shrug, corners of your mouth twitching. “But you are so much more than that. I see my best friend, lover, confidant. Someone I can trust with my life. Someone I put my faith in-”

"Well, the jury is still out on whether trusting me is sensible."

"Don’t interrupt,” you move to nip his earlobe with blunt teeth, his mouth immediately clicking closed as he supresses a moan by burying his face in your hair. “And I see someone who trusts me in return. Even if you are very vocal about my battle plans being borderline suicidal, you still have my back."

Astarion mutters something into your hair but otherwise does not attempt to interrupt you.

"You make me laugh. You say the weirdest shit and no matter how awful I'm feeling at the time, your words take my mind off it."

You sit up and gently cup Astarion’s face. Red eyes lock with yours.

"My love, you have survived so much, you are so brave and strong. These feelings, the shadows that haunt you still... You will overcome all of it.”

Astarion does not say anything at first, then he puts his hands over yours, moving his face forward until your foreheads touch.

“I will overcome this,” he says quietly, but with determination. “We have been through so much already! Besides,” he moves his hand to wipe a tear off your cheek, “I would very much like to see us standing side by side. As equals.”

His lips quirk into a smile. It is ghost of a smile still, but it makes you release a shuddering breath of relief.

“I would love that too. More than anything,” you admit.

He kisses your temple and his eyes are drawn to the slowly bleeding cut on your finger.

“Oh dear, it seems that you injured yourself there, you sweet fool,” he admonishes you teasingly, putting your finger into his mouth and lapping at the digit.

You feel your cheeks warm. How is it that he still manages to make you blush with so little effort? It is ridiculous how much you are infatuated with this man.

"And for the record,” you clear your throat, so your voice doesn’t tremble, “I happen to like your fangs and eyes. As an elf or as a vampire, you cut a dashing figure."

Astarion smirks, ruby eyes on your face. He withdraws your finger from his mouth with a pop, giving it a kiss. “How ever did you manage to create such a mirror?”

“Well, it wasn’t actually done. Not properly,” you grumble, remember that you are meant to be annoyed at him for stealing the mirror. “Which is why I told you to stay out of my stuff!” you punch his biceps playfully. He catches your fist and gives it a nip.

“Well, as I admitted earlier, I couldn’t resist taking a peek. Not when you flushed so deliciously when I tried to get an answer from you.”

“You are incorrigible! Had you actually waited, the mirror wouldn’t be so murky and would be floor-length. I have been planning it for weeks, I have you know!”

“My, my,” he gives an amused, toothy grin, “weeks of sneaking about behind my back and I was none-the-wiser! And just when I think that I’ve learned everything about you, you turn around and surprise me with something like that. What a naughty, clever girl,” he purrs against your neck, humming in approval when he hears you gasp at the sensation.

“I believe that we might just call on that artificer after all.”

“We? Who said anything about you being invited along?”

“Hence my inviting myself along, darling. Honestly. Do keep up!” the words are punctuated with shallow nips on your neck, asking for permission.

“Fine,” you laugh, threading your fingers through silver curls. “But just a quick bite, we have to leave straight after. We might be in luck, that man is so fickle and forgetful, he probably hasn’t noticed that I was gone a while.”

You feel fangs pierce skin and then a pleasant, familiar numbness as your vampire drinks, humming in delight as your blood hits his tongue and the taste briefly overwhelms him.

"Perhaps," he resurfaces, lapping at runaway droplets, "that artificer of yours might wait a while still. Give us enough time to indulge in a quick afternoon delight even?"

"Astarion! No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

He doesn't answer this time, but you feel his palm against your side, fingers making their descent deliciously, torturously slow.

You grip them firmly, ignoring the way your heart beats wildly, which Astarion picks up on and tries to move in for a kiss. You turn your face at the last moment, his cool lips meeting your cheek.

"Tsk, you're no fun," he chuckles, moving back enough for you to scramble away.

"Because you are the designated 'fun one' in this relationship," you tug sharply at your shirt and clear your throat. "You're coming?"

"Apparently not anytime soon," he grins at your unamused look." But I will walk down to the forge with you. Since you asked so nicely."

A few weeks later in spite of some minor mishaps, your project is complete. You can scarcely believe it and hope that Astarion will not find the experience overwhelming.

And this is how you and Astarion find yourself standing hand in hand in front of the improved, bronze-backed mirror, the artificer's magic tweaking its properties and supposedly making it as good as any other mirror out there.

"Ready, my love?" you give his hand a light squeeze.

"With you by my side? Always."

And so Astarion lifts his hand and pulls the fabric off with a flourish.

"Show off," you mutter, making him grin widely as fabric flutters through the air, falls on the floor and finally stills.

You look at Astarion, watching his face closely as his eyes widen and his mouth falls open slightly. Feeling his fingers tremble, you give them a reassuring squeeze and turn away from your vampire to look at the mirror.

And there you are. Side by side. As equals. Not just lovers, but comrades-in-arms, friends. Because come hell or high water, you are there for each other.

"Oh my," you hear Astarion breathe out as he studies his face, "I can see why you can't keep your hands to yourself, my sweet! I'm simply stunning!"

"And humble, too," you tease, enjoying the way Astarion’s eyes light up in delight.

The setting sun frames Astarion's face and threads through his curls, making him shine and glow so beautifully you feel overwhelmed.

With some effort, Astarion tears his eyes away from his reflection and focuses on you.

“Thank you.”

A kiss on your temple.

“Thank you.”

Another on your cheek.

“Thank you.”

His lips find yours. The kiss is languid, unhurried, perfect.

It is a kiss that is full of hope for the future. Your shared future. The future filled with warm, golden days and cool silvery nights. The future where everything seems possible.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900,

@ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78,

@starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[macbethsymphony]

charlou my love! I'm about to invade your askbox with all my horny thoughts. Dont' you dare answer them all at the same time, I know you're busy <3

Ok so! As you know I'm rewatching Wano and you know that gif of Marco's mouth? (sent it to you I don't know how many times). Anyways it sent my mind spiraling into what if Marco was angry with you and it just made him snap? My pretty usually composed bird just losing it? I bet he'd fuck good hehe

love ya! -M✨

Millie bb!!!!! I was gonna keep this one really short but you made it spiral out into something almost complete!!!! How dare you?! (jk love you for it)

It's this gif, right? ngl it sends my mind spiraling into unholy territory too

You're infuriating

Marco x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re angry at Marco and he’s angry at you and you fuck. It’s that simple ;)

tw: MDNI, 18+, nsfw, rough-ish angry sex, fingering, p in v sex

wc: 3.2k

It was a well-known fact that the first commander of the Whitebeard Pirates was nearly impossible to anger, notoriously difficult to rile up. Countless people had tried and failed to provoke him. But you? You didn’t even have to try, didn’t have to lift a single finger to bring him to the edge of madness.

"Do you even realize the risk you took back there, yoi?" Marco's voice thundered through the narrow corridor leading to the infirmary, every word laced with barely contained fury.

The stomps of your footsteps against the wooden floor echoed loudly, matching the volume of your voices and punctuating the escalating tension between you. Each of your step left a small imprint of blood, the pain in your leg raging but ignored as wrath blinded your senses.

"I had everything under control," you shot back, your own tone rising in defiance. "Until you—" Abruptly, you halted, turning around and jabbing your index finger into his chest with force. "Until YOU decided to fucking swoop in."

Marco's eyes blazed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched visibly. "Under control? You call that under control?" he retorted, his voice dangerously low. "You were inches away from becoming sea king feed, and you think that's control?"

The infirmary doors loomed ahead, your destination within reach but forgotten, the tension between you crackling like electricity. "I sure as hell didn't need your heroics," you spat, words dripping with bitterness. "I had it perfectly laid out, and you ruined it."

“Ruined it?” Marco scoffed, his expression darkening. "Your plan nearly got you killed. Again." His statement hung heavy in the air, the weight of his frustration palpable. “When are you going to learn to fucking listen to me, yoi?”

Listen to him? That made you see red. "Listen to you, Marco?" You stepped closer, and he instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening at the pure rage in yours. "You are not MY commander. Ace is." You looked him up and down, a sneer twisting your lips. "I don’t have to listen to a single word you say, pretty bird." The usually playful nickname was now laced with venom as you spat it out.

He regained his footing, stepping forward as you stepped back, the anger in his gaze blazing harsher than you'd ever seen. He started to speak, but you turned on your heel, determined to make your point, your quick steps leading you toward the sanctuary of the infirmary.

"Oi, get back here," he yelled after you. "I’m not done, yoi."

"Oh, fuck you, Marco." You shouted. "As I said, I don’t have to listen to you."

Marco's frustration boiled over. With a swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to face him. The sudden movement brought you chest to chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he growled, his voice low and threatening, his breath hot against your lips.

You laughed in his face, a rich, bitter sound. Fucking asshole. With your free hand, you unclasped the holster at your side, expertly cocking one of your guns and pointing it right at his face.

“Unhand me right now, pretty bird, or I swear I’ll fucking shoot.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. A manic smile broke on his lips. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered, his voice a mix of challenge and something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your finger twitched on the trigger, but you didn’t pull it. He took a step forward, then another, and another, until he had you flush against the wall. His free hand shot over your shoulder, and he leaned close, effectively trapping you in.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he repeated, his lips brushing yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger and something you’d never admit to.

Fucking asshole.

The adrenaline still surged through your veins, the proximity, the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes—it all combined to create a heady, intoxicating tension that made it hard to breathe.

“You think you can intimidate me, first commander?” you whispered, your voice full of insolence. You cocked your head back, looking down at him from your low vantage point. You slid the nozzle of your gun against his neck, across his chest, pointing it at his crotch. “It’s your last warning, pretty bird.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the air between you charged and electric. Then, with a sudden, desperate urgency, he crashed his lips against yours.

It was a violent collision of emotions, a raw, unfiltered exchange that left you breathless. Marco's lips were demanding, his grip on your wrist unyielding as he poured all his pent-up anger and passion into you. And you responded in kind, matching his intensity with your own, all teeth and tongue, clashing and almost snarling into it.

For a moment, everything else drifted away—the battle, your argument, the constant push and pull between you. Your hand fell to your side, gun forgotten and all that remained was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the taste of his lips, and the desperate need to assert your own power in the midst of his.

But you were nothing if not defiant. With a sharp twist, you broke free of his grip, shoving him back hard enough to make him stumble. Your eyes were blazing as you leveled the gun at him once more, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Don't think for a second that you can just kiss me to shut me up," you snapped, your voice trembling with fury.

Marco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a wild, dangerous light in them, a reflection of your own intensity. "And don't think for a second that I won't do it again, yoi," he shot back, his voice low and rough, a deadly promise that shattered the careful balance between the two of you. Slowly he stepped towards you.

Fucking asshole.

You retreated, each step a painful reminder of the battle that had just ensued, leaving smears of blood on the wooden floor that turned into dark smudges on the sterile tiles of the infirmary. Marco's deliberate footsteps echoed behind you as he closed the door, the latch clicking ominously in the small, quiet space.

Locked in a silent standoff, your eyes defiantly held his, the air thick with a volatile mix of anger and desire that pulsed between you. You leaned heavily against the cool surface of a nearby medical cabinet, swallowing hard against the rising tide of pain. The throbbing ache in your wounded leg grew more insistent, a stark contrast to the adrenaline high still coursing through your veins.

Gun held steady, your aim unwavering over his heart, Marco advanced with a dangerous calmness that belied the tension in the room.

“Put the gun down, yoi,” Marco growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that ignited a primal response deep within you. “I know you won’t shoot.”

Your narrowed gaze bore into his, finger twitching with a tantalizing urge to prove him wrong.

“Not a fucking chance, pretty bird,” you shot back, words edged with defiance. “Not until you fuck off.”

As the barrel of your gun hit his chest, you could see light blue flames grazing his skin.

You scoffed.

Fucking asshole.

He wasn’t taking any chances, huh?

“You won’t shoot, yoi,” he commanded this time. There was an unusual sharpness in his gaze, condescension thick in his tone as he emphasized each word. 

And you hated it.

"You don’t get to order me around." Your finger tensed against the trigger, and as his hand moved to the barrel to push your gun away, you squeezed it.

It all blurred together. Bullets streaked through the air, passing through the haze of blue flames, burying themselves in the wall behind. In a swift motion, he disarmed you, gun falling with a loud clang on the tile. His grip on your wrist was so tight you felt the bruises forming, his other hand tangled in your hair, wrenching you back, your own fingers shooting to his forearm to keep your balance. Your body arched against the cabinet, and he closed in, looming over you, his ragged breaths brushing against your brazen smile.

Fucking asshole.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the chaos of your mind as Marco pinned you against the medical cabinet with a ferocity that you didn’t know he possessed. You liked that look in his eyes. Unbridled fury suited him well.

“You fucking shot me, yoi,” he shouted in your face in bewilderment.

“I wish they’d been seastone bullets, you asshole,” you snarled.

He didn’t flinch at the harshness of your tone. Instead his lips curled into a predatory smile. As the shock subsided, amusement and lust swirled and mixed with the anger plaguing his features.

His tongue met your lower lip, then his teeth, taking all the time in the world, relishing the power he held over you in the moment.

His hand in your hair gripped harder, pulling you back further, nails dragging against your scalp. He wasn’t kind and the pain made you gasp, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. Your eyes fluttered close as his lips found yours and his tongue darted in, dominating yours.

The heat of his mouth melded with the anger still simmering beneath your skin, igniting a firestorm of desire that you fought to suppress. But resistance proved futile against the raw intensity of his touch, the taste of him searing into your senses.

Fuck.

Your legs felt weak and not because of the gaping wound on your thigh. The familiar dizziness of lust was starting to overtake the edges of your mind. A muffled groan escaped your throat, half defiance, half surrender as he deepened the kiss, devouring your response with a relentless hunger. His body pressed into yours, every line and angle hard against your own, a testament to the storm of emotions raging between you.

His hand left your wrist, and slid down your side, hairs rising in the trail of his touch. You struggled against the overwhelming pull of him, the magnetic force that drew you closer even as you fought to regain your composure. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, tracing upwards with a deliberate slowness that set your nerves alight.

As his touch grazed the curve of your breast, you let out a low, involuntary moan, the sound mingling with your ragged breaths. Your hands, no longer restrained, buried themselves in his open shirt, nails digging into fabric, pulling him somehow closer still.

He moved your head back, exposing your throat and his lips trailed along your skin. His hand roamed down to your hip, then to the front of your pants, fingers deftly undoing the buttons. He stopped at the lace of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, a plea whispered against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. The grip on your hair loosened and you slacked against him slightly. "Tell me to stop, yoi, and I will."

“Oh, fuck you, Marco,” you mewled into him, words muffled as your lips found his again. 

With a growl of approval, he pressed himself closer, his hand slipping past the edge of your underwear. You bucked against his touch, a dangerous need driving you forward.

He took his time, tips of his fingers dragging up your slit, gathering your arousal. He teased and relished the desperation slowly etching on your features.

As you opened your mouth to complain, his fingers found their mark, and you let out a broken cry, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. Marco's touch was skilled, knowing exactly how to unravel you with each deliberate movement.

"Fuck, Marco," you gasped against his lips, your hips moving in time with his rhythm. You felt his fingers enter you, his palm delightfully dragging along your clit. 

Oh gods. You felt your legs start to shake, the sweet promise of rapture so near.

He drank in your whines and mewls, lips moving lazily against yours, his focus entirely on you, fingers working you closer and closer to the edge. His gaze seared in the image of pleasure twisting your features into his mind. So pretty under him. 

The world suddenly ceased to exist, the only reality the heat and intensity of his touch, the way he made you feel alive and on fire all at once. A sharp cry escaped you as you came, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

He quickly turned you around, the edge of the cabinet digging uncomfortably into your abdomen. You dimly heard the rattle of glass bottles and whatever instruments were locked in there, but it didn’t matter. He rolled his hips against yours and you could feel how hard he was against your rear. Suddenly you were ready to go at it again, craving to feel him inside you and you needed it now.

"Fuck me already," you demanded, impatience lacing your voice as you turned to face him. The sight that greeted you made you instantly regret it. His lazy grin of victory made your legs into jelly, and the satisfaction in his eyes ignited a desperate longing within you, making you want to moan his name.

Marco's grin widened, and he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Always so impatient, yoi,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

You glared at him, trying to maintain your defiance despite the tremor in your legs and the pool of arousal he’d just left in your underwear. "Just shut up and do it already," you snapped, words wavering slightly.

He hummed, considering.

His hand trailed up and down your back, dragging your shirt, fingers brushing over your skin with deliberate slowness. Every touch sent a growing need to your core, heightening your anticipation. You let out a frustrated growl, your body aching for more. "I swear, Marco, if you don't—"

“If I don’t what?” His hands played with the waistband of your pants, still stuck against the curve of your hips.  He let them pool at your feet and as he dragged down your lacy underwear, his lips traveled along your neck. “There’s nothing you can do to me little feather.”

You weren’t aware of when he’d undone his own trousers, but you could feel his tip against your folds, your slick coating his length. Your hand shot to the edge of the cabinet for balance, a shaky moan escaping your lips as he pressed against your clit, against your entrance. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see him, but he felt so big between your thighs and so frustratingly good.

You tried to back into him but he stopped you with a bruising hold on your hip. “Didn’t say ya could do that, did I?” he said as his hand tangled in your hair once again, pushing you forward, lifting your hips until you stood on tippy toes.

“I can do whatever I fuckin—” he started to enter you tortuously slowly. “Ah,” you gasped, he was stretching you so fucking much. “F-fuck.” Your thighs trembled and your knuckles went white as you gripped the edge of the cabinet with all your might. It was so fucking much.

“Ya can take it,” he grunted in your ear the strain of restraint evident in his voice. “Fuck that’s it. Be good for me, yoi.”

Once he was fully sheathed inside you, he stopped, recentering himself.

You could barely hear the soft unsteady laugh that escaped his lips through your own pants. His hand trailed from your ass to the curve of your spine, firing an electric shock to your core and your cunt twitching around him.

“So fucking wet, and warm and tight.” You could feel the satisfaction in his voice. “Who knew you could be so obedient, yoi?” He punctuated his statement with a slap to your ass that sent you positively keening under him.

You felt some of your slick drip down your thigh and your cheeks heated. You ached to feel him move. “Just fuck me already, Marco,” you pleaded.

He leisurely slid out of you, teasingly unhurried and you felt the absence of him, the growing need to feel him fill you again. He let out a low chuckle as he sensed you spasm against his tip, your body telling all you stubbornly kept to yourself, begging for him in your stead.

“Look at you, yoi.” He palmed your ass roughly, making you wait. “You’re dripping to the floor.”

He slowly pushed back in, the friction against your walls making the world around you go blurry. You were grateful for his hold on you as his pace gradually picked up, entirely unable to trust your own legs. You shook beneath him, completely claimed, your moans sticking at the back of your throat, but he still frustratingly teetered right at the edge, never enough to allow your orgasm to build.

“Please, Marco,” you keened, your voice a high pitch cry you didn’t recognize. “More.”

He snapped his hips at your demand, turning his pace hard and brutal and it was suddenly too much. Every drag of his cock made you see stars, shattered your breath. You sobbed out his name in a desperate plea but instead he brought his fingers to your clit.

The moan you let out was obscene, only enhanced by the squelching noises and Marco’s forceful grunts. You were certain that something had broken in the cabinet, the sound of glass loud but it was evident neither of you cared as he somehow increased his pace.

Your body sought to curl upon itself but you were trapped and it was all too much. You were aware he was almost just as close as you, his erratic thrusts and the way he bit into your shoulder clear indicators.

The world seemed to fade around you and you were suddenly lost in the moment. Every sensation was amplified, the intensity of the waves of pleasure washing over you consuming you. As the tension built to a breaking point, you cried out his name, your body trembling with rapture.

Marco followed soon after, his own climax a fierce, shuddering release that left him breathless and spent. He held you close, his forehead resting against the damp skin of your neck, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Marco muttered, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder before backing off. You whined as you felt him pull out, felt his seed along your thigh. Your legs gave out and he quickly pulled you into his arms before you could hit the floor.

“Real infuriating, yoi,” he repeated, bringing you to one of the infirmary beds.

You smiled as he sat you down and as he made to retreat, you dragged him to you by his shirt. "Right back at you, pretty bird," you replied as you kissed him softly.

It was tender this time around and he cupped your cheek, thumb tracing soothing circles.

“Let me clean that for you,” he murmured, eyes looking at the wound on your thigh. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected, yoi.”

Masterlist

[oya-oya-okay]

Finny and Snake🐥🐍 Crossover!!!🐙🐉

[therealbatgirlishere]

Trips in. (Tripin.) p1!

First fic! Kindness or constructive criticism is allowed. No req 🫶🏽

miles morales e-42 aged up! X bb mama reader aged up! miles age: 23 readers age: 22

context: you and Miles had broken up, due to a bad fight (petty argument) with a bad outcome, but anyways It’s been months and you’ve both pretty much moved on…right? Well, after you had finished getting dolled up to have a fun night with you and your girls, you had to drop your son off.. as you were planning to leave you might have been a bit.. interrupted?

You were chilling, just having finished your makeup and hair, you were going out with your girlfriends so you wanted to look nice as usual. Miles was comin in to take you n his kid,  sure. It’s a bit awks having to still communicate with the baby daddy after you both broke up but hey, at least your boy got a dad in his life. You were packing your sons things, placing clothes in his little bag, spare shoes a toothbrush and more, including a small treat for the road (a twix or stm Wtv u want.) after you had finished, you called your boy over. 

“Zion! ven aquí!” You shouted from upstairs, seconds later you heard the pitter patter of tiny feet coming up the stairs, your child then poking his head out of the door. 

“Mama?” Zion asked, in his cute lil voice you could see his little brown fro poking out as well as his eyes. You smiled, “Zion, you ready to see your papa?” You questioned, lips curling upwards. Zion gave a small nod. Cute. Your 4 year old son waddled his way over to you and gave you a hug, small arms wrapping around your knees and face dig into your legs. You patted your sons head.

 “Alright, I’ll put your bag on so you’re all ready.” You then picked up your son and settled him down on his comfy race car bed. He looked up at you, when you really looked at him, you could see miles, a resemblance between him and you in there…what were you just thinking? No. Stop thinking about that man. Focus. you were halfway through putting on his bag.

Knock knock knock

The sound echoed through the house, you had a feeling it was him, who am I kidding it was him. But, you had to make sure. 

“Zion,  stay here okay? I’ll call you down if papas here.” You said, holding his shoulders and being eye to eye with him before pecking his forehead quick and softly, then making your way downstairs and to the door, you were calm. Why wouldn’t you be? Face blank as you headed to the door.

Click.. creeeakkk

You opened the door, and there he was the 6’3 tall dark skinned male, mini Two-Strand twists,   the same blank expression as always. Wearing a white coloured wife beaters n a black zip up jacket with loose fit jeans, a silver chain and ring on his finger. 

(If ur wondering why he looks different it’s because he’s aged up, so ofc he would get taller and want to switch his hairstyle up etc. dw tho you can still imagine him looking the same ig.)

“…” he stared down at you,  hands in his pockets a lacklustre expression on his face as he then looks behind you. Searching for his son.

Where’s Zion at?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks behind you still. Wow. Rude much? 

The man can’t even be bothered to say hi to the mother of his child.

“Well, Hi to you too. Miles.” You reply, giving him a sarcastic smile before rolling your eyes and turning your head back towards the house.

 “Zion! Your dads here!” You called him over, your son then poked his head out, a grin from ear to ear appeared as he then let out a small giggle. He then ran down the stairs, loud thumping being heard as he made his way down. 

“Ay.” You sucked your teeth in slight annoyance when you saw him running to fast down the stairs, almost tripping but saving himself. 

“Hijo, don’t run down the stairs you’ll fall.” You scolded him, putting a hand on his shoulder as he went to go hug your knees again, nodding a bit then looked up at his dad. 

“He’s jus a kid Chica.” Miles said, looking at you. What an ass. He still had that deadpan expression going on. You shook your head slightly and scowled.

“Just looking out for my son.” You replied, scowling removed as you looked back at him, crossing your arms. Jeez, did he have to be this annoying? You questioned in your head.

“You mean our, son.” He responded, then stared slightly more closely to your face, his eyebrows then knit together. “You wearin makeup? And what’s up with yo fit and hair?” He asked, staring you up and down as he pointed. Does he have to know every single little thing about you? 

This is p1 cause I can’t be bothered writing the rest 😜

[darkspellmaster]

What do you imagine a TWST Sadira to be like?

Haven't figured her out yet, but I'm getting an idea. She's friends with Najima that much I know. I loved her in Aladdin's tv series, still wish Disney could put it up on Disney plus. Guessing licensing for pop culture refs is what's keeping it off.

[ariseur]

hey so uhhhh i got this idea for a sephiroth post 🥺 i was imagining what wouldve happened if his wing developed pre-nibelheim. i imagine bb would be really scared and disgusted with himself and id wanna make him feel better :( bonus points if his wing is an erogenous zone and he doesnt realize it 👀

please, please, please, let me get what i want 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

(the smiths / deftones ref???) omg i forgot how it feels to post on hereee. i miss you guys but i’ve just been super busy because of all my music festivals for school n stuff! thank you for this request it was soo lovely!! 🫶

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of blood, mentions of sephiroths underlying sorrow and yearning for a familiar comfort in his life, i forgot he only has one wing so lmk if i messed up and mentioned two 😭

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1281 words, 7018 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

a contorted face found staring back at itself in the glass of the clear mirror, only the light from the overhead lamps and his reflection ricocheting off of it. sephiroth’s eyebrows furrowed as he held his breath, lungs allowing what seemed to be limited air inside of them, the smell of his shampoo and hair oils still lingering in his nose.

his fingers danced along his wingspan, flinching at the sharp feeling of sores on his back— his eyes flickering towards the once pristine white counter, now littered with black feathers and bloody marks against the marble. he couldn’t soothe the feeling of bile at the back of his throat this time as he shuddered once more, his shaky breaths slipping between his parted lips.

“sephiroth?” he heard at the door followed by a few gentle knocks against the hard wood. his eyes darted to the door, watching as the doorknob slowly jiggled. his hand rushed to the wood, cold against his palm as he urged the door to stay shut.

he sputtered, “i’m indecent.” despite remaining with his cool tone of voice, you couldn’t help but notice the waver in his tone as he winced at the slight strands of hair that fell against his back when he whipped around. he placed his forearm against the door to further stabilize it as he tipped his head back, exhaling sharply through his nose while he heard you scoff out, “nothing i haven’t seen, before.”

his eyebrows furrowed and he scrunched his eyes closed. his back aching with every sharp pain that traveled throughout his upper torso. a cool wave washed over him as he watched the door slowly open, your own brows knitted in concern as you finally let your eyes gaze upon the bloody counter and his almost shameful expression. he didn’t falter in his eye contact, mako irises only following you as you walked into the bathroom and touched one of the strays of black feathers that had fallen atop the sink.

“sit down.” your voice came out soft and gentle, the only sound that dared to interrupt you was the whirring of the air conditioning. sephiroth tilted his head a bit before finally taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. despite having fragments of a single wing sticking out of his back, he somehow managed to always maintain a straightened posture.

you rummaged through the cabinets under the sink, trying to ignore the small thin trickles of blood that dripped on the floor as you felt for the first aid kit in the very back of the space. you caught a glimpse of sephiroth, staring down at his hands as he almost sneered at himself. seeing him without his shirt on wasn’t anything new, but the way his shoulders tensed up and his breaths shook made your stomach twist. you could’ve sworn his breath hitched as he felt another sharp pain travel through his bones.

as he watched you get up and walk over to his seated frame on the toilet, his eyes stayed glued to the floor until your feet came into view— signaling you were there and ready to finally patch him up. he couldn’t look up, ever too embarrassed to peel his eyes off the tile and up at you as he knew he’d probably meet your concerned gaze.

sephiroth was only worried over when there was something that could ruin his image or his ability to fight, although when did that ever happen much?

it was hard getting accustomed to the feeling of being loved. and not the admiration he received from his fangirls and superiors alike, he knew he was talented— but he didn’t know he was loved. and that was the hardest part of you coming into his life, being able to feel loved and appreciated when you embraced him and not stiffen at just the gentlest brush of your fingertips, so gentle and soft compared to his calloused skin. when he recoiled at your benign touch, it wasn’t out of appallment— it was pure fear for what the next step was and if he was truly ready for this or not.

“sit backwards, sephiroth.” even as you sighed, the way his name left your lips never failed to make his heart skip. he hummed in acknowledgment and changed his position on the toilet lid, wincing at the small gasp you let out once you fully saw his back. the skin was broken as his wing had poked through, and sephiroth didn’t help as he picked at it either. his wing, black and thick coated with a sheen layer of blood from birth. you frowned, who knows how long sephiroth had been containing this.

he let out a small sigh of anticipation, lightly drumming his fingers against his toned thigh as he felt your hands meet his back.

sephiroth’s eyes scrunched close as you moved them along his spine, being careful not to touch the wounds themselves but instead the areas around them. he tried to ignore the growing warmth in his stomach and instead took a deep breath as you finally pressed the alcohol soaked cotton ball against the wound, watching as the white material quickly turned a deep red.

it was only silent for a moment— yet the whirring of the fan was starting to piss you off. sephiroth didn’t say anything either, but you couldn’t blame him. by the flush of his cheeks and the shaky sighs he took, you almost felt as if you were doing something wrong but instead your brain just resorted to the thought of, ‘he’s been at this for a while, he’s just tired.’

you worked your way with dressing his wounds and cleaning his wing, watching as it fluttered beneath your palm.

and when he heard the familiar click of the first aid click closing shut, he maneuvered his way back to face front on the toilet— even if he couldn’t bear to look at you. mako infused eyes stayed glued to his lap, unmoving even as he heard your footsteps shuffle over towards him. another touch as your hand snaked up to cradle his jaw and it was like electricity shot through his body. it took him everything not to flinch away at the foreignness. not to flinch away from the comforting feeling he was so scared he’d fall face first in.

you urged his head to look up at you, having his eyes immediately trail to your soft smile.

“don’t hold it in,” you began, your eyes never failed to make sephiroth melt even in the harshest states, “let me feel you, sephiroth.”

your whispers curved their way into his ears and were now etched in his brain, the absolute adoration that laced your voice now sheathed any shameful thoughts. pulling him into you, sephiroth finally moved his hands away from his lap and wrapped them around your waist as he let himself bury his face into the comfortable place of your stomach. he felt you, he realized. he felt all of you— and he understood now that this was real. fingers reaching for the fabric of your clothes or the arch of your spine made him acknowledge you more than he ever has before. and you could’ve sworn you felt a slight dampness on your shirt.

your kindness was almost too much for him— it was too overwhelming considering he grew up most of his life being tested on and seen for any changes in growth. sephiroth was divine to you, and as you cradled his face within your palm, you realized that you didn’t mind worshipping him as not just a divinity, but as a human.

[honamisdrumsticks]

Got bored