#dearly held and deeply felt!!!!

[owlmylove]

sunshine gives you wrinkles and laughter leaves lines and late nights will stamp bruises beneath your eyes. life will always leave its mark on you. live it anyway!!!

[prettyliittleviolets]

˗ˏˋ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♫ ˚. ⋆

⋆ ｡˚ remmick x reader ˚｡ ⋆

INTRODUCTION

NOTES remmick x fem reader. 1920s jazz club au. non canon plotline. reader’s race and features not specified. no use of y/n. possibly ooc remmick. pathetic remmick. slight sub remmick. slight dom reader. slow burn. pining. remmick is a man who yearns. eventual smut. full length fic, multiple parts.

WARNINGS touches of angst maybe?

SEE ALSO moodboards.

1921, new orleans, louisiana.

it had been years since he felt at home somewhere. immortality came with cost, surely, even if he never asked for it. for remmick, it happened to be a suffocating feeling of isolation, no matter where he went, no matter who he surrounded himself with. the place he had once called home so dearly had grown cold and lonely, and he was filled with a sense of loss he didn't know how to comprehend. However, He was sure this feeling was temporary, a circumstance of chance. That if he moved somewhere new, a blank slate, he could recreate the community he once had.

new orleans was nothing like he had ever expected. it was a vibrant, busy city – full of life and mystery, where every street corner seemed to hum with music. he was drawn into its allure, the place buzzing with something that made him feel more alive than he had in ages. but, it was also dangerous. the people were attentive, skeptical, and he had to remain vigilant – careful about when he fed, who he was around, what wandering eyes might see. it was as if the city itself was taunting him, a phantom promise of what he had spent centuries searching out.

quiet, reserved, and rather lonely, remmick had started to frequent a late night jazz club in town – one of the only places where people were too occupied to note his presence. the atmosphere was soothing: the low clamor of conversations and rich, vibrant music – much akin to the folk songs he held so deeply in his heart. the club was grounding for him; it provided a vibrant beam of life in his dreary eternity, and satiated the desperate longing for a community he hadn't had for centuries. despite this, he kept to himself while he was there: careful not to interact with anyone too much, careful not to reveal himself too much, and careful not to get too close to anyone, physically or elsewise.

that was, until recently. he was walking down the quiet town street, his only company the occasional weary traveler or giggling group of tipsy young women, approaching the club he had almost grown comfortable in – but something was different. a shift in the air, maybe; or, if he listened closer, a distinct, sharp new voice accompanying the ever-familiar jazz music. he enters, as he always does, but the change in atmosphere has sent his head reeling, a sensation he just can’t seem to control. he sits closer to the stage than he usually does, abandoning his secluded seat in the corner for something hauntingly more vulnerable. he watches you a little too intently, drawn not only to your honey-sweet voice, but everything that radiates off of you: charisma, warmth, charm, and a scent so enveloping he can't think straight. still too reserved to do much of anything, he returns to the club like it’s a ritual, desperate to catch a glimpse of your presence again, even from afar. obsessive doesn't suit him quite right – intoxicated. he is wine-drink on your being, and far too shy to do anything but watch, utterly enthralled.

that won’t stop you, though. nothing much ever has, and nothing much will – not even the way his eyes glint in a way all too animalistic. not even the fact that when he bites down on his lip, a nervous habit, you've noticed, his too-sharp canines poke out ever so slightly. not even how he shies away from every interaction, every word, every touch; as if he’s scared you’ll see too much. or, maybe he’s scared that you’ll break him into pieces he can’t put back together. maybe you will.

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[regency-monster-love]

regency maiden who's eager to be wed, bed, and bred by her dragon lord husband who loves his treasure of a wife.

Thank you for the request! I got inspired into creating a two-parter, so this is actually the lead-up to the wedding and bedding, though there is a hint of spiciness at the end...

Dragon lord x female reader, part 1 of 2

Your longtime dragon friend wants to keep you as part of his treasure, courts you the dragon way, and then tests the limits of your restraint

Mild NSFW: references to oral and masturbation

The dragon lord felt a peculiar…itch, at having you standing here amongst his treasure hoard for the first time, niggling at him like scales that hadn’t been groomed properly and needed his attention. He frowned in confusion. He was definitely protective of his hoard, but you were his trusted friend, not a threat.

You noticed his uncomfortable expression. “What’s bothering you? Did the frog you ate for breakfast not agree with you?” It was an old joke between the two of you, referring to a story the dragon had told you about a time when he was a youngling and had eaten a frog on a dare from another boy, but the dragon never seemed to mind your teasing him about it.

He did away with his frown so he could play along. “Oh, the frog on toast was perfectly agreeable. Perhaps it’s those salamander scones I just served us both at tea that are causing the trouble.”

You stuck your tongue out in an expression of disgust, though you knew he wasn’t serious, and he let out his deep, barking laugh.

As you strolled onward, scanning over the display of the dragon’s riches, you looked for another way to tease your friend. A little gold ring with a green gemstone caught your eye. You plucked it up, slid it onto your finger, and held your hand out to pretend to admire it.

Which meant that you didn’t catch sight of the dragon’s eyes going sharp and dark as he stared at you wearing a piece of his hoard. It looked right, like you belonged amongst the rest of his most precious things, like he’d been adding treasures to his hoard all these years trying to fill a hole when only you could make it, and him, complete. He already cared deeply for you as a friend, but this made him want to keep you for his own, awakening his mating instinct, opening his eyes to a possibility with you he’d never considered before, but suddenly needed as dearly as he needed air.

“What if I was to keep it?” you teased, expecting the dragon to gripe at you to put it back.

“Yes, keep it,” he rumbled.

You laughed, thinking he was joking along with you, as he normally did—until you saw that earnest fire in his eyes. He was serious. “Oh no, I was only teasing,” you assured him, beginning to slide off the ring.

“Don’t take it off,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, something between a growl and a purr.

Your eyes went wide as a strange warmth curled in your belly. “Alright,” you breathed.

Something was different about him after that day. He sought you out more, yet smiled at you less, his intense stares boring into you. But he didn’t seem to be angry at you, because he brought you gifts every time he saw you. Sometimes it was a trinket for your house, but more often it was jewelry, outrageously valuable pieces that you couldn’t possibly wear, but he insisted you keep. So you did, not wanting to hurt the feelings of your dearest friend.

You mentioned his odd behavior to a different friend of yours. “You do realize he's courting you, do you not?” she commented.

“What? No!” you laughed.

“Giving lavish gifts is how dragons court their mates.”

“But he and I are just friends, we have been for years, and he's never expressed any interest in me in that way.”

Your friend shrugged. “Something has changed for him. He's definitely expressing interest now.” She peered closely at you. “Are you interested in him?”

“I-I don't know.” The truth was, you had been interested in him when you first met him, years ago, but the frivolous, joking way he spoke to you made it clear he wanted only to enjoy your company as a friend, so you had buried the idea of more. However, you had never ceased finding him attractive, and your feelings for him had only deepened in the years since then, as you got to know him well. Your heart began to speed up. “Perhaps?”

“Well, you best decide. If you don't give him a courting gift back soon, he'll take that as your answer and stop his pursuit.”

“But what could I possibly give a dragon with a hoard like his? I have almost no money of my own.”

Your friend had no ideas to share.

Social rules prevented you from being able to tell him outright how you felt and from asking him his feelings. But perhaps you could buy yourself a bit more time, and gather some hints to confirm his intentions toward you, by at least showing him that you welcomed his gifts. 

The next time you saw him, you made sure to be wearing a necklace he had given you, and his face lit up and wings flared out in excitement when he saw it. Although neither one of you mentioned it, you noticed his eyes flick to it multiple times when the two of you were speaking to each other, and every time he looked at it, his wings trembled. It was rather adorable.

You continued wearing his gifts whenever you knew you’d be seeing him, and his smiles returned again. One day, he finally commented on what you wore.

“The jewels suit you.”

“Yes, because my appearance is so unremarkable without them,” you teased.

“Is this an attempt to secure a compliment on your beauty?” he smiled.

“Maaaybe,” you trilled.

He leaned in closer to you. “The jewels are inconsequential compared to the radiant beauty of your countenance—the sight that most pleases me, without any other adornment needed. Your face, that is the true treasure.”

“Oh, that’s, ah…thank you.” You had expected a playful response from him, in the way you were used to him speaking to you, but this compliment was completely sincere, and took your breath away.

It also gave you an idea for what you could give him as a gift.

A week later, you were handing a small package over to him on a walk through his gardens. “I have a gift for you,” you said as your heart raced with nerves.

“For me?” His eyes darkened, staring intently at your own.

“In return for all the gifts you’ve given me.”

“I see.” He spoke slowly, his voice even deeper and rougher than normal. “I gladly accept.”

He unwrapped it, and now his intense gaze was fixed on the tiny frame he cradled in his giant hand. It was made of nickel—you could not afford gold or even silver—and contained a miniature portrait of your face, which you had painted by your own hand. He had said your face was a treasure to him, so that is what you gave him.

He raised his gaze back up to yours. “It’s beautiful. A tremendous gift.”

“It’s nothing compared to all the treasures you’ve given me—”

“No, it’s better. I feel as though you have given me part of yourself. Is that not so?” he asked quietly.

You matched his low, careful tone, as you replied, “Yes, a little piece only, for that is all I’m permitted to give you right now.”

“And would you give me all of you, if I asked you for it?” His voice was smoky-rich, heating your skin.

“I suppose you’ll have to ask me to find out, sir.”

He snorted, a wisp of smoke escaping from his nostrils. “Always such a cheeky one. Very well.” He straightened himself out and adopted an air of formality. “I wish to have you as my mate, and wife. Would you do me the honor of accepting my proposal, madam?”

An open-mouthed smile stretched across your face as happiness zipped through your body, though you tried to rein it in in order to copy his formality. “I would be most pleased to accept, yes.”

“Oh thank God,” he huffed, and snatched you into his arms to kiss you. Or at least, he tried to kiss you—his mouth was so different from yours that he basically just shoved the end of his muzzle against your lips. From under its press, a muffled laugh escaped you.

He pulled away from your face to huff out a laugh of his own. “We’ll get better at that, I’m sure.”

“Yes, surely.” You stole a glance around the garden, then looped your arms around his thick neck. “Perhaps we should start practicing right now.”

His answering smile was delightfully wicked, and his claws tightened on your waist. “What splendid ideas you have, my treasure.”

And the practicing did go splendidly. By the end, he was kissing you so thoroughly that you could scarcely draw breath.

Unfortunately, your parents watched you like hawks after they learned of your engagement later that day, so there was no further impropriety between the two of you beyond those kisses.

It began to drive you mad. Despite having no experience in intimate matters, your body instinctively knew there was pleasure to be had from your fiancé’s body, and it hungered for it.

Your fiancé didn’t make it any easier on you, continually teasing you with suggestive comments, and even going so far as to write you filthy letters:

Now that we’ve engaged, I am permitted to write you. You probably find it strange to receive a letter from me, when I could simply walk to your home and speak to you in person. But you see, my treasure, there are things that I wish to say to you that I cannot speak in front of others.

What would your father think if he was to overhear me telling you that I have not been able to stop thinking about the feel of your tongue against mine, your hips filling my hands, your breasts pressed against my chest?

What would your mother think if she was to overhear me confess that I wish I had taken you that day? I could have laid you on the ground and prepared you with my tongue between your thighs.

You know why I must prepare you, do you not? How large I am, everywhere? Will you prepare yourself for me, with your own fingers? Do this for me, sweet one. On our wedding night, I fear I will be impatient, but I don’t want to hurt you. No, I intend to make you positively delirious with pleasure.

I expect you to write back with an account of how your preparation went. In great detail.

You wrote him a short note back that made him grin, despite not containing the content he had requested:

You are a wickedly cruel tormentor.

Your wedding night could not come quickly enough.

~ 🐲🎩 ~

The ring bit at the beginning was inspired by this scene from Once Upon a Time. I just love how intensely David stares at Snow when she puts on that ring! So hot and romantic.

Part 2 will be very explicitly NSFW 😈 Edit: Part 2 is up now!

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing or my master list.

[georgestabbedalot]

Arthur Morgan - A father [again]

After a whole day of painful sounding contractions, yelling and crying - the day Arthur had been waiting for ever since his wife told him that she was with child, was here.

A beautiful baby girl. Ten tiny little fingers, ten tiny little toes. A few wispy tufts of hair on her otherwise bald, wrinkly head. She was so small that Arthur could pick her up and hold her in just one arm. He was sitting on the bed now, watching as she slept, her little chest rising and falling peacefully. 

He very gently reached forward and began stroking her little face with the back of his index finger. She stirred in her sleep and gripped his finger with all of her might. He loved her so much that his heart felt full and fit to burst. 

Little Beatrice. His dearly departed mother’s namesake. She would have adored her granddaughter.

The peaceful silence of the night was soon shattered. His daughter’s face went red with fury, it crinkled and she began to cry. The noise made Arthur’s heart break and he picked up his newborn to cradle her in his arms. This soothed her but she still continued to cry.

She had been fed not half an hour ago and her cotton diaper was clean. Arthur turned to look at wife, who was beginning to stir in her sleep. He slowly stood and left the bedroom, his wife deserved to sleep peacefully after enduring a painful labour and strenuous birth. 

Arthur paced around the small ranch that the little family called home, all the while gently rocking his precious bundle and whispering soothing phrases.

“You’re alright girly. Ya pa’s here. I gotcha.” He murmured over and over, gently shushing her as she continued to cry. He remembered doing this with Isaac whenever he went over to visit him and his mother. It sent a pang through him, many years had passed since the death of his son but he still grieved deeply. 

He shook the sad thoughts away and returned his full attention to his daughter. He remembered Abigail doing something when Jack was fussy, and boy could that kid wail.

Arthur struggled for a while with unbuttoning his shirt with just one hand but he eventually managed to remove the piece of cloth from him. He then carefully took Beatrice’s little nightdress off and sat down in one of the armchairs. He leant back slightly and placed his daughter onto his chest and she immediately began to calm down. Her little hands furled and unfurled as she grasped his chest hair and her cries died down into little sniffles. 

His hand went to cup her back and he gently rubbed it to soothe her. Immediately she fully calmed down and closed her eyes, now feeling safe and comforted. 

Arthur thanked whatever God was out there that he had listened to Abigail when she complained about Jack keeping her up half the night and only falling asleep when she held them skin-to-skin. 

With his daughter now settled, Arthur too closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the back of the chair. Sleep eventually caught up with him and if he woke up to find he and his daughter still curled up together, with a blanket placed over the two of them, and a knowing, loving glint in his wife’s eyes, then he wouldn’t complain.

Thank you so much for all the love on my previous post! When I posted it, I honestly expected to get like 10 likes, since my blog is so new, but I was very surprised. Thank you again!

[xxelenorexx]

Please give us more of Bumblebee suffering 🙏🙏

Resigned; B-27, Bumblebee.

Dorthy stepped outside of the room where Thrash was resting after a fairly bad injury. She was a bit frustrated at how loud the scout and the prime were, arguing like a parent and their uncontrolled teenager. However, the more she stepped out to get a better understanding of their bickering, she grew concerned.

“Bumblebee. I had alerted you hours prior that this was an important mission. We needed all hands on deck, and yet despite the announcement ahead of time, you didn’t arrive until the mission was nearly over.” Optimus was trying to prove his point, but he wasn’t doing it with patience like how he normally would.

Truth be told, Optimus’ patience with Bumblebee had completely reached its breaking point after the disaster that occurred, let alone the failure of the entire mission itself. He had tried to be understanding, to gently reprimand him, and yet every time Bee went against him. He rebelled against Optimus’s orders time and time again. Despite making excuses for him, despite trying to maintain his scout’s image, Bee proved the whispers about him right. He proved to Optimus that he was no longer as capable as he once was.

“Primus, Optimus!” Bumblebee’s expression hardened, he was quick to come in with a defense, “I make one lousy mistake and all of a sudden, I’m the worst bot to exist?! I mean- look at yourself! You’re supposed to be the great Prime, yet you’ve made mistakes! You’re acting like you’re the only one who can make mistakes and not be held to it!” Of course, this only added fuel to the fire. The entire point flew over his helm, completely caught in his processor and stuck in his own little world.

Optimus’s optics narrowed at the accusation. He didn’t appreciate it at all. Yes, he’s made mistakes. He may be a prime but he is still a living being, bound to make mistakes despite the standard he’s held to. “Bumblebee, that isn’t the point. Yes! I’ve made mistakes. But that isn’t what I’m trying to tell you. Because of your absence, Thrash was injured! He’s very lucky that it’s nothing severe! You are supposed to protect the Terrans! Not endanger them!” That was an order given to him last year, a protocol he gave to Bumblebee because he trusted his scout with such a task.

However, he didn’t back down. Instead, Bumblebee took a step forward, and what he was about to say would be the last straw, the last ounce of respect that they would have for each other, “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT US, AND YET MULTIPLE BOTS DIED BECAUSE OF THE MISTAKES YOU’VE MADE!”

The room fell silent. Ironically it was like a drama show. Soft gasps scattered around, some had their mouths open, but the look of pure shock was universal among the base. To hear that come from Bumblebee, it was unexpected. The yellow mech looked up to Optimus so dearly. He knew him the most. He knew his feelings, his guilt. It was a shallow move for him to use that against him. No one said anything due to how sudden it was, but also because truthfully, this wasn’t their fight.

The silence was especially loud from Optimus. He was honestly at a loss of words for a few moments. He stared at Bumblebee, feeling so much yet expressing so little. However, you could see the twinge of guilt in his expression. Not even a prime was immune from hurtful words. Finally, he sighed deeply, and closed his optics momentarily before opening them.

“I’m disappointed. I expected better from you.”

Bumblebee’s hardened expression began to quickly fade, and his strong stance had faltered. His optics flickered wildly, and he took a step back, looking at Optimus with a different kind of hurt that he hasn’t expressed before, or at least in a long time.

I’m disappointed. I expected better from you.

That sentence rang through his audials and into his processor, and it repeated itself over, and over, and over again. The yellow mech’s wings lowered, his gaze reverting downward. Something inside him felt so off. He felt, broken. He felt. He was feeling. What was this feeling? He- he broke protocol. He disobeyed protocol. He failed his protocol. He disappointed his leader, his mentor.

Bee disappointed his father.

Something in Bumblebee’s processor clicked, and no one could tell what was running through his mind, but his systems knew what was running. If he had failed to protect the Terrans, he failed protocol then. And, that means he failed Optimus. And if he failed Optimus, then he failed to be an Autobot. The click in his system was the final line that successfully made him defect as a scout.

He didn’t speak, but Bumblebee’s expressions said everything. His face scrunched up a bit, vision beginning to blur with small amounts of coolant.

You failed.

The obvious sadness only lasted momentarily, as Bumblebee closed his optics, the coolant suppressed itself and when he opened his optics to look back at Optimus, he let out a saddened smile.

“You’re right.” He didn’t come off as strong as he did previously. In fact, his voice became quite soft, timid almost. Bumblebee looked up at Optimus, he slowly took a few steps forward but then walked past the Prime.

He looked down at the keypad and entered his digit to let it scan and give him access to his file in the system.

“I never knew what peace was or is, Optimus…” Bumblebee took a deep vent, “My memories of Cybertron before the war are so distant..blurry. Sometimes I try to fill in those missing memories, but then when I open my eyes, all I see is dust and dirt, fire, the chaos…” he began to say what he should’ve told his mentor long ago. At least now, Bumblebee didn’t have anything to lose saying what was running through his mind.

Bee laughed a little bit, it was weak and filled with sorrow, “I know my midlife crisis gets a good laugh from everyone. I find it funny myself.” He pulled up his profile, “But it isn’t so funny when you look at the picture directly.” He stared at his old picture. His first alt mode. He looked so young, so full of youth in this picture. His soldier days during the early war.

“I was born into this war. Peace was never meant for me. Even though I fought for it beside you, it was never going to fit me. Despite how…terrible the chaos was, that’s all I remember. All I can recall. The death, the fear, the chaos. It’s..haunting. And yet, that was home for me.” Bumblebee started to delete his data one by one from the system, “And…I miss it.” He choked down a broken down sob that came off as a deeply emotional laugh.

Bee watched as his information was wiped from Autobot data from GHOST’S center, not just here but all throughout the different systems. He didn’t leave a trace of himself behind.

“I sound so shitty saying that. I know I do. I sound…insane. How could I say that? Let alone think it? How can I miss that environment? The constant run? I…I can’t even explain it. A sense of comfort of what I was surrounded with for so long? Yeah. Yeah…I guess that’s what you can say in simple terms.” Bee started to eradicate any emergency contacts, his comms, completely ridding of his existence among the Autobots.

“But I can’t lie and say that I don’t miss it. I miss the chaos, the danger. It made me feel fulfilled. It made me useful. It made me into the bot I am today. Bumblebee, Optimus Prime’s head scout. I wore it like a prized badge, it was my pride. My existence is surrounded by war. It’s what bots know me for, what humans know me for. What I’m known for. Without that, without being on the field, what am I? Who is Bumblebee, if he isn’t on the field, being a scout, a soldier?” More began to unravel, he didn’t mean to rant as much as he was right now. But how else could Bumblebee say what was on his mind without reaching into its roots?

“I don’t know who I am. I don’t feel safe being at peace. At least back then, I knew that more was to come. Now there isn’t. I’m scared. I feel like something is going to go wrong. What am I supposed to do now that it’s so quiet? I never liked it to be so quiet before…” The funniest part was that everything had gone wrong, at least to Bee. And there was no fixing it this time. After all, he himself was the cause of it.

“I miss home. I miss being useful, I miss…I miss being your prized scout. And-…I was too afraid to say it, because how could I? Let alone say it to you? After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed for us, how could I say that?” Bumblebee turned to face Optimus, his expression was deeply pained, filled and twisted with guilt that seeped through each atom of his metal.

“How could I look you in the eye, and say to the one bot who gave up everything that I miss the chaos?” The irony was how Bumblebee was doing just that. And it made his spark ache so much that he finally managed to do it, underestimating the guilt that was crashing over his entire body.

Bumblebee’s derma quivered just a tad as he spoke again, “And I failed you so miserably…I failed to be your scout. I failed at being an Autobot.”

He reached up to gently touch the symbol over his chassis. Most assumed it was spray paint, but truly it was something that was engraved into Bumblebee both literally and figuratively. He pressed against the symbol, a small click could be heard as the Autobot symbol, the pride of his identity, slipped into his servo and out of his chassis. Leaving behind only a small mark of it that was still left where it stood so proudly for all to see.

“This- this symbol is meant to be hope. Meant to be good, meant to stand for all.” He took Optimus’ servo and opened it, “That isn’t who I am anymore…I’m far from it now.” Bumblebee’s voice dripped with disappointment of himself, but also revealed just how deeply insecure he’s become from the confident, prideful yet humble mech he was before.

The scout placed his Autobot symbol inside the prime’s palm, and then closed it. Optimus felt his entire body go cold at the notion. He knew what was happening, and yet he was in disbelief despite it all happening in front of him.

“Bumblebee-“

He had taken a few steps back from Optimus, he looked so small. He made himself look small, making himself look weaker. Bumblebee kept his helm a little low, his optics remaining locked on the floor for a few moments. Optimus held the symbol in his servo delicately, he didn’t want to crush it by accident, “Bumblebee.” He reached his scout, and finally they made eye contact.

And when they did, the look on Bumblebee’s face would haunt him forever. All Optimus could see was the face of his young scout, the face of the Bee that he first met. Timid and young, nervous, but also sweet. A mech filled with so much spirit. It never faded, it was just hiding itself deep beneath the mask of a soldier, who had to go into the front lines and face death on the run.

Bee slowly turned away, still, their optics remained locked. Bee just smiled, trying to keep it together, “It was an honor being by your side. It was an honor to be your scout…” the emotions started to slip, the mask was cracking, his face twinging with sheer pain.

“It was an honor to be mistaken as your son at times.”

Now the coolant was pooling out of his blue optics that glistened.

“Goodbye, Optimus.”

He turned away, facing his back to Optimus and he started to walk away, his body trembling with each step. Then, his pedes started to pick up, and then the speed started to increase. Walking, turned into jogging, turned into running, and then turned into him transforming into his vehicle mode to speed off, exiting out of their base.

[trickbxbes]

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

[𝐃𝐚𝐞-𝐇𝐨 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Summary: After being the sole winner of the games, Dae-Ho realizes he’s not the same man anymore. Does this version of him deserve his wife?

Warnings: Angst, hurt and comfort, sole survivor Dae-Ho

The sky poured as Dae-Ho reached the front of his apartment building. The dark clouds blocked the twinkling stars in the night sky. His clothes drenched with rainwater. He stared up at the building, more specifically, a window. There was a faint glow of yellow on the walls of that studio.

He shakily sighed, you were home.

But just as he takes a step to enter the building, he finds himself frozen where he stood. His first thought was a simple ‘why can’t I move?’, before it sunk in. It hadn’t been that long to the rest of the world. To Dae-Ho however, it felt like an eternity. All he wanted when he was in those games was to run back into your arms. Your loving arms that always made him feel safe, loved. He had entered the games to pay off his debts so you and him could live a normal life. Because no matter how he tried to keep you from his problems, your kind heart always kept you involved. He felt like he didn’t deserve you, no matter how much you told him otherwise. And that was before the games.

455 people died so he could be here. The money he now owned, came from the blood of those 455 people. Why? Why was he the one to survive? It played in his head like a sick record. And when he thought about it deeper, how many of the 455… did he kill with his own hands?

He was as still as a statue. He knew for a fact, he wasn’t the same person as the one who first entered the games. His once beaming heart of light was now shrouded with grief and darkness. The kindness in his eyes was replaced with a jaded anguish. 455 people. 455.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You were in your kitchen, trying to make a meal for yourself. But every movement you made felt heavy. Invisible weights shackled your limbs. The bags under your eyes were deep. Your eyes roll down to the wedding ring on your finger. A reminder of the man you loved so dearly, a man you haven’t heard from in a week.

You knew your Dae-Ho, he’d never do this to you. All of his stuff was still here. Which led you to worry deeply on another possibility. Perhaps the loan sharks caught up to him? Maybe they took him somewhere, and you’d never see him again. The wait was agonizing.

Knock knock knock.

Your head perked up to the door, and you bolt to the door. Could it be? Have your prayers been answered? Opening the door, you see your beloved standing there. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. Dae-Ho looks at you, his eyes softening. “(Y,n)…”

Without wasting a second, you hug the man desperately. “Dae-Ho!” Tears well up in your eyes as you clung to him. He’s stiff, stiffer than you’ve ever felt him be. But as he steadily wrapped his arms around you, his grip then got tight. His strong arms nearly squeezed your breath out of your lungs. His shoulders shook slightly, as he held back his own overwhelming emotion.

When you pulled back, you felt his hands gently grip at you as if you’d disappear once he let go. You cup his face, your face contorted with concern.

“Oh God, where have you been? A-are you hurt? I-I was so scared I—“

“(Y,n)…”

Dae-Ho’s voice sounded as if someone had their hands around his throat. Thin, and croaky. Then, you took notice of how different your man looked. His skin was paler, his frame thinner. There was no light in his eyes. “Dae-Ho… what happened…?” You closed the door, and then put your hands on his shoulders.

Your love took a deep breath, he pulled out a card from his pocket. You looked at it with some confusion, but you allowed him to elaborate.

“This card… has all the money to pay off my debt, and more.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he continued, his lip quivering. “But to get this money, I had to endure and do unspeakable things. Things that… made me not the man you once knew.” His hands shakily take yours, as his eyes watered. Your heart twisted in knots seeing him look so broken. Before you could speak, he then asks,

“Would you fall in love with me again… if you knew all I’d done…?”

His question carried a burden he didn’t wish to place on your shoulders. You’re quiet, processing his words. You didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Your lips part, and you ask,

“What kind of things did you do?”

Your query made Dae-Ho take a shaky breath. The memories of the games made him let go of your hands, as if feeling unworthy. “I-I had to play games, for my survival. So many people died. I found a group though, people I soon called my friends.” A single tear rolled down his cheek, he’s unable to meet your gaze. His shaky hands rose to his chest, holding each other. “But every one of them are gone now. And some of their deaths… were my fault.” His voice cracked, he tearfully looked at you again.

“But all of that was to bring me back to you…!”

Despite everything, all the trauma, all the guilt, he still hoped and begged… he wouldn’t lose you too.

“So tell me. Would you fall in love with me again? After everything I had to do, I’m… I’m not the same person. I’m worse, I’m… I’m not the man you married. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people…I can’t change any of that…!So… I have to ask… because…”

You knew what he meant. He loved you, of course he did. Your silence only increased his anxiety. You lift your hand, looking at your wedding ring on your finger. There was a distant look in your eyes.

“If that’s true, can you do me a favor? Let me sell this wedding ring. If you have all that money, I’m sure you’ll be able to find one for yourself. Better than any pawn shop.”

Your words broke Dae-Ho’s heart into little pieces. He looked like a kicked puppy. Even though he was setting it up, he didn’t expect for you to agree with his guilt. “You…really…?” But one thing in your statement brought him anger. The last comment. His eyebrows furrowed. “‘P-pawn shop?’ That ring… belonged to my halmoni. A ring she saved specially for me as the first born son! It’s a family heirloom! A blessing of our love! To sell it… that’d make her roll in her grave!”

“Only my husband knew that! So I guess that makes him YOU!”

You shout back instantly. Dae-Ho’s wide eyes stared into your soul with shock, before they melt into realization. “(Y,n)…”

You take a deep breath. “I will fall in love with you, over and over again. I don’t care what you had to do to survive…! You’re mine!” Hot tears pooled in your eyes next. All the emotions you had been experiencing this past week coming out at once. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person! You’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting for you…!”

That broke your Dae-Ho into sobs as the two of you embraced each other emotionally. All the pain he had inside of him, spilled out intensely. Everyone who died, everything he lost, all to make it back here. He didn’t need to speak, you knew what he wanted to communicate through his wails.

He didn’t think he’d make it back.

He did everything he could to be here back in your arms.

He loved you, so much.

Your hand found the back of his head, and you stroked it gently. His cries wet your shoulder, his hands gripped your back. You softly wept beside him. He had went through so much misery. The two of you are unable to stand, slowly sliding down to your knees.

Dae-Ho pulls back to hold your face tenderly. His eyes scanning your face for any sign of dismay or deception. But all he saw was your loving gaze as you held his hand on your cheek. He sniffled.

“I’m yours.”

You smiled tearfully, kissing the inner palm of his hand. “I love you.”

Your husband sinks his head into your shoulder again, letting you cradle him soothingly on the floor. “I love you…” You knew there was more to come. He may have escaped the games, but he’d never escape the horrid memories. The monsters of his grief would always come to taunt him. But little did they know that you weren’t going to leave him to their mercy. You’ll be his protecter, just as he was to you.

[xoxoaugust]

lacy, oh lacy

In which: Rin Itoshi feels, no knows that no matter what he does, or what he’ll do, he is still just Sae Itoshi’s little brother. His stomach is in knots, Sae has everything that Rin wanted, it was a dream they crafted together. But does have something to himself, and they say to be loved is to be seen, truly seen.

An: did cry while thinking about THIS 💜

Friday nights should be relaxing, the time to unwind and spend time with friends and family.

Family?

Rin Itoshi loathes looking in the mirror, only to see his greatest enemy staring right back at him, it could be him or it could be Japan’s treasure Sae Itoshi.

From his profession to his eyes, from his lashes to the demeanor, Rin and Sae were more alike than Rin wanted them to be. Maybe if they weren’t so alike, he would be okay with looking at his own reflection.

You unlocked to the door to your shared apartment, expecting Rin to be on the couch watching soccer highlights while wearing a set of PJ’s you got with him (that are definitely highwaters for him).

But you were met with the sound of the A/C and dead silence. His shoes were there, so were his car keys, and his duffel bag. So where the hell was he?

You walk towards your shared room and walked straight to the bathroom, only to see Rin hunched over the sink with his hand covering his face and water dripping from his hair and face.

“Rin? Are you okay?”

Nothing, he didn’t respond.

He slowly stood upright, still facing away from you, but you could see the expression on his face in the mirror, there was something seriously wrong.

You didn’t say anything, you just walked up to him and hugged his back, pulling his hands on top of yours right around his abdomen. You rested your head on his shoulder and sighed softy.

“Is this about him again?”

He slowly turns around to meet your eyes, standing fully faced towards you, gazing down at you with the very eyes you loved so dearly. The look on his face said everything you needed to know. You pulled him into a warm hug, cradling his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, as you felt the fabric of your shirt dampen.

“Why must I look just like him?”

You felt tears prick in your eyes, but you were here to comfort him, so you held it in.

“You look like him? How so?”

He paused before swallowing hard.

“My eyes, my face, my job, my aspirations he has everything first. While I’m stuck here being labeled as his half-good little brother”

You pulled his head out of your neck to look at him. Staring deeply in his eyes with a pained expression on your face.

“Your eyes are beautiful, because they are yours. Your face is beautiful because it is yours. You are the product of your own talents and goals, you are your own person through and through. You aren’t half-good, you’re amazing. I’ve never met someone as talented as you are. I hope you know that.”

He stared back at you with glass eyes,

There is one thing that he will always have that Sae won’t,

You.

xoxo, august

[roxabellas]

Someone Else's Bed

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..��*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

part one two three four five

word count : 11,224

warnings : sex work, cheating, age gap (19 & 39), he is still very sad, unprotected sex, he pulls out, bath sex, riding, daddy kink, theres actually no feet in this one, hes weird

The steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek gently pulled you from your sleep, your face slightly squished against his warm, mildly sweaty chest that rose and fell in slow, steady movements as he held you tightly against him, one hand cradling the side of your face and holding you close. Your hair felt damp, stuck to both his skin and the cotton of his dress shirt he still hadn't taken off.

You could tell he was already awake before you even opened your eyes. You could feel his gaze burning into you through his heavy eyelids and his soft lashes. His breathing was too formulaic, a little too quick, and not quite as deep as it would be if he was still asleep. His thumb was gently stroking your cheekbone, his fingertips just barely grazing over your hairline as he admired you like a glittering constellation in the night sky.

He swallowed, the soft click of it just barely audible in the quiet of your room as the thick saliva rushed down his throat, like a subtle fracture in a glass, his Adam's apple bobbing with the small motion.

He adjusted his grip on you, one hand remaining firmly splayed across your lower back, his fingers spread wide, possessive, like he needed to be touching as much of you as humanly possible at once. His other hand held your face with deeply reverent care, as if he was scared to break you, like you were precious, fragile porcelain, or a treasured, irreplaceable jewel, and to him, you were.

He wanted to protect you from the cruel world around you, wanted to nurture you the way you deserve, wanted to hold you dearly when everything got too hard.

The feelings he had for you scared him. They festered in his stomach when you weren't next to him, tightly winding their way up his organs and bones like poison ivy, contaminating every inch of him with the way his body yearned for your touch, constricting and suffocating and aching persistently until he got to see you again.

The love he felt for you was like a bruise. A bruise that would form after you hurt yourself doing something you knew you weren't supposed to be doing anyway. A bruise that was so large and so deep, you'd have to hide for weeks after it formed, trying to disguise the forbidden way that it had bloomed. A bruise that came back again and again and again as you kept trying, really trying, to make what you knew you couldn't have work.

He sighed, brushing his thumb along your eyebrow gently, and you kept your eyes closed. His hand that had been holding your cheek slowly drifted down the soft skin of your neck, over your shoulders, across the bunched up fabric of your shirt that was still pulled up beneath your armpits from the night before, and his hesitant fingers sought out the flesh of your chest.

He cupped one of your tits in his palm, your other one pressed against his ribcage, and he squeezed it gently, not for pleasure, not to get himself horny, but just giving him something to hold onto, something physical to focus on to help prevent his mind from descending .

Your skin was warm against his hand, sending a gentle heat rippling through the veins in his wrist, up his arm, to his chest, and wrapping around his heart like a ribbon.

His lips jutted out a little as he pursed them slightly, and he brushed his thumb over the soft skin of your breast before freeing it from his grip, and he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of your shirt, gently tugging it down over your chest to cover you up.

You kept your breathing slow, even, steady, keeping your eyes closed, and he tilted his chin down just slightly, pressing his dry lips to the top of your head. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the soothing scent of your hair and letting it fill his lungs like an internal cuddle. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, maybe honey, maybe berries, or maybe it was marshmallow, but it comforted him in a way he couldn't put into words.

You shifted on his chest with a small, bleary sigh, your skin that had been stuck to his from sweat peeling apart just slightly, and his hand came up to cradle your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your soft, plush lower lip as you flickered your eyes open.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw your lashes flutter, the slight movement mirroring a moth wing, and his fingertips gently ghosted your face, followed your jawline, brushed over your nose, and traced the soft lines of your neck.

His voice was rough with sleep as he spoke, deep and gruff, but his words were as sweet as caramel, the warmth drizzling over you like a blanket. “Good morning, beautiful girl…” he took a breath before continuing, his voice quieter, dropping to almost a whisper, but with no less sugar. “Are you awake, petal?”

You grunted softly in response, pulling your body taut on top of him as you stretched after sleep had tightened your muscles, the tension releasing from your body like sand through a sift. You'd been awake for a while, of course, just with your eyes closed, but you'd wanted to feel how he cared for you, loved you, cradled you, even when he thought you were asleep, even when he didn't know you could feel it.

“Big stretch, baby…” he murmured, almost like a coo, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over your back as he coaxed you awake. “You sleep well?”

You nodded, just a slight movement of your neck as you nestled further into him, and he welcomed it, holding you closer and tighter. “Mhm,” the soft hum barely made it past your lips, almost lost between you as you buried your face in his chest.

“Did you dream about anything?” he asked, his hand on your back settling between your shoulder blades, his palm warm against your skin as he sprawled his fingers out.

You tried to recall your dream, broken fragments and wisps of strange but vague memories from your sleep coming back to you in a jumbled, incomplete order, blurring anything that you might've remembered.

You shook your head the best you could, your cheek still squished against his sternum, and you heard him let out a small laugh, just a huff of air through his nose.

You could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Do you remember if it was a good dream at least?”

His fingers traced small, spiralling patterns across your shoulders, like winding rivers, or a maze that he'd pay to get lost in if it meant being close to you.

“It was good,” you murmured, your voice still raspy, tainted by your drowsiness, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head as he pressed his lips to your hair once more, like he was unable to go more than a minute without contact.

You felt him smile against your scalp, just a slight tug of his lips, before he let his head fall back onto the pillow with a dull, cushioned thud, the soft fabric of the pillowcase crinkling where his head dented the cotton.

“You're beautiful, baby…” he said after a moment of quiet, his voice slightly airy, his heartbeat beneath your cheek speeding up slightly with each word he breathed. “Really. I look at you, petal, and it's like…” he sighed. “I don't know. It's selfish, really. Keeping you all to myself. You should be with someone your age.”

You swallowed hard at that, your fingers gently brushing over the crook of his neck. You knew the difference in your ages frightened him, that it was something that made him insecure, so you muttered, “Don't say that…”

“But it's true,” he replied insistently with his gruff voice, placing his hand over yours and holding it in his palm, his skin warm against yours. He brought it up to his lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he kissed it, rough and chapped against your gentle skin, before he released it with a muffled click, threading his fingers with yours.

You could feel his cock against your thigh, soft, but with a gentle pulse rippling through the length like a heartbeat. You lifted your head off of his chest, just by a little bit, your cheek damp, trying to ease the ache in your neck from being in the same position all night, and you looked down over him, over the moist, wiry hairs sprinkled across his chest, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

His shirt from the night before was still on, white, creased beyond belief, untucked, and half-unbuttoned, exposing most of his abdomen, one cuff still clasped and the other pushed up past his elbow.

The mattress creaked and groaned softly beneath you as you rolled off of him, the springs old and reluctant, and he looped his arms around your waist, keeping you tucked against him.

His hip was warm under your hand, his skin soft, veined, the way men's skin gets when they're ageing. Thinner, in a way, and papery in places. You didn't mind, you liked the feel of him. The years etched into the lines beside his eyes, the fine crease just above the bridge of his nose, the salt and pepper in his stubble that scratched lightly at your skin whenever he nestled his face against you.

He turned on his side with you, facing you, and he brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear before he kissed your forehead, your thin, pilled duvet long abandoned and kicked down out of the way.

His fingertips brushed along the side of your neck, and his eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment, soft and plump, before he opened his mouth.

“I couldn't…” he began before pausing, his tongue poking out and swiping over his lower lip, wetting it. “I couldn't have a bath here, could I?”

You blinked, a little surprised, before you smiled, and you watched as it infected him, the corners of his lips pulling up just slightly. “I didn't think you were a bath person.”

“I'm not,” he said, a small huff of laughter leaving his lips as he tried to reword it. “I meant, I want one with you, petal. You like baths, don't you?”

His thumb stroked your cheekbone as he scanned over your face, and you met his eyes. His eyes had that look in them. That gloomy, solemn whisper floating somewhere deep in his iris, prominent for just a moment before dissipating like smoke, a warning sign, telling you that feelings were imminent.

He seemed to have an internal bullet point list of things about you, constantly adding, constantly updating, even the tiniest things you hadn't realised you'd said, he remembered.

“I do,” you murmured, and he pinched your cheek between his index finger and thumb like a baby, a grin breaking out onto his face as he saw your smile. He pressed a kiss to your skin as it flushed from the pressure, his eyelashes fluttering against your temple like butterfly wings.

Your smile was the most important thing to him. He'd do anything to squeeze one out of you, to see your eyes squint, to see your cheeks crease, to hear that little huff through your nose that acted as a laugh when you were too tired to give a proper one. Your happiness was everything to him.

You gently untangled yourself from his damp limbs and sat up, straightening the crinkled fabric of your shirt and pushing your hair out of your face. Your shirt felt cold, and slightly damp with last night's sweat, clinging to your spine. Your thighs ached a little from the way he had you the night before, practically folded in half, and you glanced back at him lay on your bed. He looked so out of place there. Bare, long-limbed, still in half a dress shirt in your dingy little bed, the springs squeaking beneath him every time he moved. It was a miracle it hadn't collapsed already.

You left him on his back in your bed as you padded barefoot to the bathroom, his cock lay limply between his legs and the hem of his creased shirt resting on the tops of his thighs. He tucked one hand behind his head while he draped the other over his belly, his fingers idly playing with the small patch of hair there as he stared up at your ceiling, the plaster slightly cracked, and a damp spot in the corner invading like the moon darkening the daylight.

The bathroom floor tiles were cool against your feet as you stood beside the bath, the grouting beside the tub still stained slightly pinkish from when you tried dyeing your hair red a year ago. You leaned over the porcelain edge, and you gripped the slightly rusted hot tap, twisting it with all of the strength you could muster up before the stiff handle finally gave way, the water sputtering once, twice, before gushing out and steaming instantly, the temperature near scorching, flooding the room with the harsh crack of the stream thundering against the tub.

You pulled your hand from the tap, the strangely shaped red indent on your hand giving a slight ache as you clenched your fist around it, trying to ease the pain, and the sound of the water echoed in the small, dingy space, louder than it should've been, bouncing off of the cracked tiles and fogging up the mirror above the sink. That mirror, smeared with impossible to remove fingerprints and specks of old toothpaste dotted around like freckles, caught your reflection in slanted slices. You looked tired, flushed, fucked-out. You almost flinched.

You watched the water rise, the steam climbing quickly, the air growing thick and humid, sweetened as you poured in a peach-scented soap, the pink liquid ribboning through the water like syrup, spreading in lazy clouds before the harsh flow of the tap swallowed it. Thin, white foam gathered at the surface like a frothy blanket, clinging to the sides of the porcelain and rising with the waterline, as the sweet peach scent merged into the steam that rose from the bath.

You leaned down and let your fingers skim the top layer of the water. It was just hot enough to sting, to redden your skin for a few moments after, to boil away any tension that resided deep inside of your bones.

You watched the sheet of bubbles part and twirl beneath your touch, a few of them popping and disintegrating, the delicate skin of them rupturing silently, and you slowly swirled your hand through the sweltering water, watching as it lapped up the sides of the porcelain, greedily climbing higher as the tap continued to gush noisily.

The scent of artificial peaches continued to fill the air in the small room, acidic, sweet, and sickly familiar, comforting, in a way. A scent you'd come to associate with your down time, relaxation, when you can let yourself simmer in the quiet as the water washed away even your most secluded troubles.

The fog made the room feel smaller, like it was folding in on you, the walls closing in as the steam thickened.

You heard the springs of your mattress creak, just barely audible over the loud crack of the water, as Alex moved, maybe sitting up, maybe getting out, maybe just shifting in the sheets you hadn't washed for a week. You stayed still, your feet rooted to the peeling linoleum floor, watching the water continue to rise and swirl.

You waited until the water reached just below the rim, just by a few inches, the foam thick and inviting, bubbling gently across the surface like clouds. A few small clusters of suds clung to the sides, sliding down slow and lazy, dissipating into the heat. The scent of peach hung heavier now, warm as it travelled through your nose, but almost burning from the intensity of it as it hit the back of your throat, making it itch.

You leaned over and gripped the tap, interlocking your fingers with the rusty metal, and you tugged and twisted it off with a stiff squeak of reluctance from the handle before it coughed and sputtering, the stream finally coming to a stop. The last few dregs of water in the pipe continued to leak through the tap, dripping rhythmically onto the surface with tiny, muted sounds, disturbing the stillness of the water and the otherwise quietness of the room.

You stepped out through the doorway, the hinges creaking quietly as you pulled it open, and you padded back to the bedroom, the artificial sweetness of the soap oozing through the crack in the bathroom door and following you through the hallway.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, the mattress dipped beneath his weight, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands hanging loose between his knees. His white dress shirt was gone, crumpled and discarded beside him on the sheets, leaving him completely bare, his skin flushed in places and still carrying the glow of last night's sweat, slightly dappled from where your hands had held him, gripped him, marked him.

His chest rose, slow and heavy, the muscles there slightly soft with age, dusted with fine, dark hairs that shadowed across the centre of his chest. His cock hung between his thighs, thick and unbothered, already half-hard.

He looked up when he heard you, and his eyes softened instantly. That raw, tired tenderness that he only ever showed you in mornings like these, early and quiet, before the day ruined him again.

“Bath's ready,” you said softly, a small smile flickering over your lips as you looked over him, over his tousled brown hair, his big, deep eyes, the subtle hue of pink to his dry lips.

He didn't say anything at first, just reached for you, slow, and when you stepped between his knees, his hands came up to your hips, warm and certain, before drifting up your sides, caressing slowly, letting them rest on your waist. He pulled you in gently, the outer sides of your thighs brushing against the insides of his, and he tilted his head upwards to kiss your sternum, just once, but his lips lingered, keeping them pressed to your skin as he closed his eyes like it was the only place he'd ever want to be.

Then again, slightly lower, on your ribcage, just beneath your boobs, pressing his face against you as he kissed that soft spot. He moved again, lower once more, to just above your navel, his forehead pressed to your abdomen as he succumbed to the kiss.

You brought your hands to the back of his head, lightly tugging on the strands of his hair as you threaded your fingers through it, and you held him close, his hands lightly squeezing your waist as he pulled back, his lips parted.

You looked down at him, holding his head in your hands, and you scanned his eyes as he gazed right back up at you, trying to see if you could see anything floating in his eyes, worry, distress, or something that would gloss over his eyes in the way that always made your heart ache when you saw him like that.

“Come on,” you whispered as his hands ran across your lower back slowly. “It'll get cold.”

He gave a faint hum, but didn't argue, instead pressing one more kisses to your belly before standing, his body brushing right up against yours, warm and bare, and he let you guide him to the bathroom, trailing after you like a shadow.

He stepped in after you, his hand finding the small of your back once more like gravity, and you turned to face him, only catching a glimpse of him for a second before his mouth was on yours, slow and deliberate. Not rushed, not urgent, not frantic, just a tender pressing of lips, as if he hadn't had enough of you yet. His thumb brushed your cheekbone as he deepened it, and when he finally pulled back, he kissed the corner of your mouth too, then the dip in your chin, like he was unable to go even a few seconds without it.

You smiled against his mouth, the feeling of his kisses combined with the overwhelmingly sweet peach scent in the air making you dizzy.

His fingers found the hem of your shirt, still rumpled, and he peeled it up over your shoulders, slow and careful, like he didn't want to stop touching you for even a second. You lifted your arms without a word, letting him undress you, and he pulled it over your head before letting the fabric drop to the floor, leaving you both bare in the steam, flushed from the heat and the weight of each other's gaze.

He looked at you properly then, no attempted pretence, just that sad, quiet awe he always wore when he thought you weren't watching, like you were something he didn't deserve but couldn't bring himself to walk away from.

You folded your arms over your belly as you watched him lean over the bath, one hand gripping the edge, and he dipped two fingers into the water, but the moment his skin touched the surface, he hissed and yanked his hand back with a startled laugh, shaking the droplets off with a flick of his wrist.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his eyes flickering up to you once more. “You trying to boil me alive, petal?”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing down over the water. “You'll get used to it. It's meant to be that hot. It's how I like it.”

You watched as he tutted before he hesitantly stepped over the rim of the bath, careful and slow, his foot cautiously dipping into the water like he expected it to bite, and in a way, it did, just not with teeth. The moment it sank beneath the surface, he winced, pressing his lips together tightly as his face scrunched up, his whole body tensing as if he'd just been electrocuted.

“Christ alive,” he murmured through gritted teeth, one of his hands braced on the wall while the other dangled at his side. “You should've told me you liked them this hot before. I would've done them for you.”

You smiled. “You don't seem too keen on it now.”

“I'd've been happy to watch you.”

You ran your hands along your sides as he grumbled something about human soup before slowly lowering himself into the bath, slow and stiff, until the water swallowed his thighs, then his hips, then his belly, his face twisting into an exaggerated grimace as he sank down, his back meeting the porcelain with a sigh that was half pain and half surrender.

He pursed his lips, his lower one jutting out as he blinked slowly, his fringe already damp against his forehead from the humidity. His forearms rested on either side of the tub, his fingertips idly brushing over and smearing the bubbles that clung to the sides as his breathing slowed, relaxing despite the scalding temperature.

He looked up at you expectantly, just to see you gazing down at him submerged in the water. “You getting in, love?”

You smiled as you stepped forward, turning away from him as you lifted one leg over, easing your foot in, and you felt one of his hands slide up the back of your thigh before resting just above your ass cheek to steady you. His other hand came up to your waist, holding you as your second foot followed, and you settled yourself between his legs, the water climbing over your limbs and wetting your skin in glistening sheets. He looped his arms around your waist, just beneath your tits, his forearms pressed to your stomach as he pulled you closer to him, your back flush against his chest.

It was quiet for a while, the kind of quiet that always came with the bath, muffled and womb-like. Just the soft sound of water against skin, the faint fizz of the last stubborn bubbles giving up, and the occasional groan of an old pipe behind the wall.

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, the back of your skull cradled against the hollow of his throat, and he turned his face slightly, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. You could feel his stubble, coarse and damp, scraping gently against your skin, and he kissed your hair, just once, without a sound as his lips met your scalp.

He tightened his arms around you, not crushing, just close, like he needed to feel all of you, every inch, to remind himself that the world wasn't all bad. He sighed in the way you'd grown painfully familiar to. It had become a sort of warning sign for your nerves, to brace themselves for the tsunami of emotions that were to follow.

“Sometimes I think she's waiting for me to end it,” he said after a pause, his voice just audible over the soft sound of damp skin against damp skin as he rubbed his hand along your torso. “Like she wants me to be the villain. Like she wants an excuse. But neither of us want to be the one to actually do it.”

He closed his lips, and you could hear the quiet, slick sound of his tongue wetting them as he prepared his mouth to shape his next words, breathing softly against your hair.

The heat of the water now settled into something bearable for him, almost comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket after being outside in the cold, the way the warmth seeped into your skin, through your veins, down to your bones, melting away the chill.

His voice came again as your legs brushed against each other beneath the water, making the surface ripple slightly.

“I lie awake at night sometimes, when I'm with her,” he said, his voice rough as if he needed to cough. “I just stare up at the ceiling, and she'll just be lying beside me asleep. If she's even in bed with me, that is. She doesn't care.”

You didn't move, couldn't move, his grip holding you like a vice.

“When I wasn't seeing you, after that argument…” he swallowed, his voice going brittle with regret as he thought about it. “I'm sorry, baby…”

He pressed his forehead to the top of your hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a shaky breath.

Your heart ached, your stomach clenching at the sound of his guilt. You placed your hand over his beneath the water, giving it a small squeeze, and he sniffled before he continued.

“When I wasn't seeing you, I was really trying to make it work with her. I really fucking tried,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I bought her flowers, I cooked for her, I cancelled work shit just to spend time with her, took her out to the stupid fucking restaurants that she likes.”

You felt his chest rise a little sharper, a little harsher, his breath catching half way through his throat.

“I can't even remember the last time we laughed together. Like, properly laughed. One that makes your stomach hurt. We used to all the time, even when things were rough, before… this. Now she barely looks at me. I don't know if I want her to.”

He paused, his lips brushing your hair again, absentminded, or maybe just to keep himself from falling apart completely. He let out a soft but bitter laugh.

“I took her shopping, all those fuckin' Christmas markets. She didn't even thank me. And when we got home, she just went straight upstairs. Not even a fuckin' goodnight.”

Your fingers squeezed his hand beneath the water, but he didn't squeeze back, he just breathed, heavy and tired.

“She used to kiss my neck in the mornings,” he continued, his voice tight. “When she thought I was still asleep. Just… I don't know. And then she'd put the kettle on, and I'd lie there with my eyes shut pretending I didn't notice.”

He paused again, trying to dissect his own words.

“I miss that version of her,” he whispered. “Even if she was faking it. If she was, then I miss the part of me that believed it was real.”

His voice broke on the last part, but he didn't cry. Not physically, anyway. But something inside of him gave way. You felt it ripple through his body like a wave. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you let him, his eyes scrunched against your skin as he tried to keep anything that might spill out in. You reached up and tangled your fingers in the back of his hair, holding him there, reminding him that you were there.

Neither of you spoke for a while, the water cooling slightly around you, still warm, but not as sharp, not as biting. You watched as the steam kissed the mirror, and as the little droplets slid down the glass in crooked trails, leaving behind a shiny line in their wake before disappearing into the mist.

He shifted behind you, as best as he could in the small space, and you felt the water lap at your limbs from his movements as he pressed his lips to your nape, featherlight.

You felt his mouth shape each word against your skin as he spoke. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“There's nothing wrong with you,” you whispered, the feeling of him behind you sending a trail of goosebumps rippling across your skin.

He didn't reply, but you could tell he didn't believe you. He just let his hands continue to drift across your abdomen, slow, absent but reverent.

“I just really feel like I'm wasting my life,” he said after a moment. “Wasting it with someone who's already gone. But if I leave, completely, officially, physically, it'll mean I failed. And I don't know if I can handle any more.”

You turned your head slightly, not enough to look at him properly, but just enough to catch a glimpse of him in your peripheral vision. You could tell that his eyes were half-lidded, his lashes clumped and heavy. He looked so tired, like every last dreg of life had been wrung out of him.

“I don't care about her anymore,” he added, and the way he said it made your heart tighten in your chest. “Not in the way I should. But I still feel like I'm cheating when I'm with you.”

Your breath caught, not out of hurt, but out of surprise. You were shocked that he was so willing to admit it, to say it out loud, something you knew he was afraid to do if he knew the words he uttered would try and bite back.

He hadn't said it before, but you'd felt it. Of course you did. In the way he always looked around when he was out with you, constantly checking, constantly anxious. In the way he'd always hesitate, just for half a second, before kissing you like he meant it. You didn't blame him, but it still ached.

He kissed your shoulder, his fringe lightly tickling your skin, and he whispered, tender, quiet, “But this…” his hands splayed across your stomach again, his fingers spreading out like spiders. “You. This is the only part of my life that I look forward to anymore.”

You swallowed, and you felt his breath against your back now, even warmer than the bath water you were both submerged in.

“The shitty little hotel rooms I see you in,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice tight like a piece of elastic being pulled taut, nearing the breaking point. “The way you look at me like I'm not completely gone. The way you listen to me when I'm like this. The way you let me fuck you when I'm hurting.”

His voice cracked towards the end, like he was embarrassed, but he moved his head, slightly lower this time, his lips brushing against the soft skin just behind your ear.

“I don't want to go back tonight,” he breathed, his voice brittle. “Please don't make me go back.”

Your eyes trailed over the chipped enamel of the bath, before you leaned your head back against his shoulder, and one of his hands came up to the base of your throat, his fingers spread out slightly, and he held you there as his lips found the side of your neck, dragging his dry lips along the soft, damp skin.

His lips were warm, slow, tender, and he pressed them just below your ear and you sighed, tilting your head further to one side to give him better access.

“You can stay here again tonight,” you whispered softly, and you felt the muscles in his stomach that were pressed against your lower back tighten, twitch, in the way they always did just before his blood rushed, and his cock gave a low pulse behind you like punctuation.

He let out a soft sigh against your neck, his hand on your throat drifting down to your chest as he cupped one of your tits in his hand, his thumb lightly brushing over your nipple as it tightened into a hard peak against his touch.

He moaned softly as he squeezed your breast, the sound muffled by your skin, and you felt him stir against you, slowly hardening, the pressure nudging against the small of your back, and you reached behind you to lightly touch the side of his upper thigh underneath the water, your fingers gentle and reassuring.

He peeled his mouth from your neck as he felt the heat simmering in his belly, pressing up against his organs, and he licked his lips before saying softly, hesitantly, “Is it, um… is it okay without one today, baby?”

You tilted your head to the side slightly, just barely meeting his eyes, and there was a slight crease in his brow, and his gaze was a little too full. Not just of lust, but with exhaustion, sadness, longing for something to feel good. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

A flicker of something flashed through his iris, maybe gratitude, maybe pure, unadulterated joy, and his lips twitched. “Are you sure, petal?”

He looked over your face, scanning deeply for any ounce of uncertainty, trying to see if you were just agreeing to make him happy or if you truly wanted it, but he found none.

You nodded again, his fingers squeezing your tits and trying to pull you impossibly closer as he pressed his lips to your skin once more.

“Thank you, baby…” he whispered, his voice slightly strained, and his other hand travelled down to your thighs before he flattened it against your soft flesh beneath the water, his cock continuing to stiffen as he touched you.

His hands finally found your hips, and he gripped them as his cock pressed against his belly, wedged between his stomach and your lower back, throbbing and twitching with anticipation as he slowly lifted your hips as much as he could.

You bent your knees, your feet now planted on the porcelain floor of the tub beside the inner sides of his calves, and you leaned further back against him as his fingers found your heat, dragging his fingers over your folds and feeling the slickness, even in the water.

You gripped the edge of the bath with one hand as he looped his fist around his cock, and he exhaled shakily. He was so sensitive, so needy, that even his own fingers made him twitch.

The stretch when you sank down onto him was slow, almost torturously so, and he let out a long, shaky moan, the warmth constricting him in a way that made his toes curl.

You could feel every inch of him in ways you hadn't been able to before. Now with no barrier, no latex, absolutely nothing between you dulling the sensation. Just heat, just skin, just the tight pulse of your body adjusting around him.

His head fell back against the edge of the tub with a moan, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fucking hell…” he whined.

He held your hips tightly as you took him all in, his tip pressing against your cervix with a pressure that made your muscles tighten, and you both stilled for a moment, adjusting, your knees still bent in front of you, poking above the surface of the water, the air cool against your skin, contrasting the tepid water the enveloped the rest of your body.

He was deep inside of you, thick and hot, every slow throb making you clench gently around him, holding his cock in.

“It feels so different,” you breathed, your tone airy and laced with a soft whimper.

“It's too good,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You're so warm, baby… you're holding daddy in so well…”

His lips gently traced along your jawline while one of his hands slipped between your legs, lightly running along the inside of your thigh, teasing you, barely ghosting over where he knew you ached, where you itched for him to touch.

You shifted slightly in his grip, easing your weight while the water rippled quietly, lapping against the sides of the tub, but you were careful, your movements measured and slow. The last thing either of you needed was a flood in your tiny little bathroom. The bath was barely deep enough for both your bodies, and even the smallest shift sent warm waves licking over the porcelain lip.

His thumbs stroked soft, continuous circles on your hips like he was trying to soothe you, or himself. “You alright, petal?” he asked quietly, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, gripping the rim of the tub for balance, the cold enamel biting into your palm a sharp contrast to the storm of heat swelling inside of your lower belly.

You rose slowly, gradually lifting your hips inch by inch until just the leaking, scorching hot tip of him remained inside you. The water followed your movement, lapping gently around your thighs and your waist as he held onto you, your hips, your ass, your lower back.

You sank back down onto him, letting him fill you again, the head dragging along the most sensitive parts inside of you, leaving a trail of salty precum along your walls in its wake. His cock pressed against your insides, hot and bare, and you could feel every tiny detail of him. The thickness, the curve, the ridges, the veins, the stretch as your body swallowed him down.

His breath hitched behind you, and you felt his fingers tighten on your flesh, just a little, not urging you, not rushing you, just holding you there, like he needed something to hold on to to guide him through the sensations as you made him take it.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured, pressing his forehead against the back of your shoulder.

You stayed there for a moment, your thighs trembling slightly as you adjusted, and just as the water had gone still once more, you moved again, slow, so slow, so slow it barely counted as movement at all. Just the smallest roll of your hips, easing up and down in a rhythm that matched the lazy swish of water around your bodies. The friction was deeper this way. Slower, hotter, more intimate. With no barrier between you, it felt like his cock was nudging against your soul.

You tightened around him instinctively, and he let out a low sound in response, something that was caught between a groan and a gasp and a whine. His grip slid lower, his fingers digging into the soft flesh at the tops of your thighs, like he couldn't control himself.

“Shit…” he whispered through clenched teeth. “You feel so good like this, love…”

You didn't answer, you just kept moving, gentle, steady, up and down, your pace almost torturous, in a way. You weren't trying to chase anything yet, just the feeling of him inside of you, the slow, liquid stretch, the way your body opened for him so willingly, was enough for now.

Your head dropped forward slightly, your chin brushing against your chest and your lips parting slightly, and the scent of sickly sweet artificial peaches harshly invaded your nostrils once more, tugging you from the haze of pleasure with the intensity.

You lifted your head, the water sliding over your skin with each movement, catching the morning light from the bathroom window in soft glints.

His chest was warm behind your back, his hot breath fanning over your shoulders as he panted. One of his hands drifted up your damp body, over your stomach, across your ribcage, settling just beneath your breast, his palm flat. He wasn't groping, wasn't squeezing, just resting it there, like he needed to feel you breathing.

You reached for his hand, your fingers sliding up the wet skin of his arm to get to it, and you covered it with your own as you rode him, your hips rising and falling in that slow, careful rhythm, the water kissing the edge of the tub but nothing spilling over. Yet.

The rhythm had began to dribble into something deeper, something smoother, your hips moved in slow, fluid rolls, and your thighs trembling just slightly as you worked yourself over him. The water sloshed around your bodies with each motion, licking at the edge of the tub like a warning.

He was so deep inside of you, every movement making your body tighten around him in slow waves, and you could feel him throbbing, heavy, warm, helpless, with every grind of your hips.

His hand squeezed yours while the other slid back to your hip, his fingers gripping a little firmer now. “Go faster,” he murmured, voice rough and needy against your shoulder as his cock twitched helplessly against your inner walls.

You hesitated, just for a second, before you nodded, and you shifted your knees to find a little more leverage, and you began to move again, this time a touch quicker, still careful, still measured, but increasing the pace the best you could. A bit more sound rose from the water, the tiniest splash, but you managed to keep it under control.

“Mhm…” he breathed, his lips parting around a soft moan. “That's it, petal… that's better.”

But he didn't even let a full minute pass before his grip tightened again, and you felt his greedy cock twitch inside of you, his body trying to thrust up slightly beneath yours even as he tried to hold himself back.

He pressed his lips together, trying to seal them to keep the words from spilling out, but he couldn't hold them in. “Faster, baby. Please. Just a little bit more for daddy.”

You bit your lip and braced your palms harder against the edge of the bath, and you tried, you really tried, to pick up the pace again. It wasn’t easy, not in the slippery porcelain tub doused in that peach soap, not with the water threatening to surge every time your thighs dropped harder onto his, but you gave him more. Shaky, careful bounces, the slap of your skin barely muted by the shallow water.

It still wasn’t enough for him.

He whined, a proper, needy, desperate whine, his forehead pressing into your spine as his fingers dug deeper into your hips, bound to leave persistent marks in their wake. “Fuck, come on. Faster, love. I need it, baby, I need you.”

His voice was at the edges, breaking with every other word, his palpable desperation bleeding through every syllable. You felt his cock pulse inside you like a second heartbeat, so thick and twitchy now, like he was barely holding back.

You winced a little as your heel slipped slightly on the enamel beneath your feet which was slick with a thin sheen of soap that had settled there. The bathwater sloshed hard against the side, a sharp wave that nearly spilled over, and you stilled, panting, your pussy aching with the desire to go faster, to take him deeper, but the physical consequences threw you off.

“I can't,” you said, looking down at the trembling water, distorting and warping your body parts beneath it, making things appear rippled and larger than they actually were. “If I go any faster, the water will spill over.”

He let out a shaky laugh, half pained and half apologetic, his head falling back against the edge of the tub again, his Adam's apple on full display, and his eyes fluttered shut, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“Sorry, baby,” he breathed. “You just… you feel so good, petal.”

You looked over your shoulder at him as he opened his eyes slowly. They were dark with need, heavy-lidded like his eyelashes weighed a tonne, and his pupils were blown out wide, almost bigger than his deep brown iris.

You leaned back against him again, rolling your hips just once, slow and deep, squeezing around him to pull a reaction from him. His breath hitched, and he gripped your waist again, this time just to hold you there, steady and still, and you said softly, “I'll go as fast as I can.”

You managed to find a rhythm, the fastest you were able to go without the water tipping over the sides. It wasn’t frantic, it wasn't rough, but it was steady, intentional, purposeful, and it made him claw at your sides.

Your thighs burned with the effort, your knees slightly wobbling as your feet pressed harder into the slick floor of the tub, but you didn’t stop. You moved for him, your hips rocking back and forth, up and down, your back arching gently against his chest, water lapping quietly with each motion. It was everything but silent between you, though. His soft groans, your stuttered breaths, the muted, barely audible sound of him sliding in and out of you beneath the water.

His hands were everywhere, one tight on your waist to steady you while the other trailed forward across your belly. His touch was slow at first, almost hesitant, in a way, but then his fingers slipped between your legs, finding the slick ache of you above where you took him in.

You jerked slightly, your hips faltering in their rhythm as his fingers brushed your clit, sweet and reverent, putting all of his care into the tiny movement. He did it again, more deliberately this time, in soft, slow, continuous circles, like he was matching your pace, and it made your moan catch in your throat, tumbling out of your mouth in a gentle but broken crescendo.

You gasped when he pressed a little firmer, his fingers moving in tighter, quicker circles, and his cock pulsed inside of you as your walls fluttered around him, around his thickness. Every sensation felt heightened, saturated, the heat of the water, the slick slide of your bodies, the weight of his cock inside. He was whispering things now, half-formed thoughts, a stream of babbled consciousness that sounded like both a praise and a prayer, and still, you continued to move.

You rolled your hips a little harder, a little faster, the water sloshing dangerously close to the rim, but you didn’t care anymore. Not really. You needed it. You needed him. All of him.

“Gonna cum,” you panted frantically, brokenly, your hand desperately clinging to the side of the bath to keep you tethered.

“Yeah, petal?” he coaxed, his voice tinged with a whine, his neediness seeming to bleeding into his hand as his fingers quickened on your clit in small, fast circles. “Come on, baby, cum for daddy. I've got you.”

His other arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer as his cock twitched again inside of you, thick and aching, and you could feel him holding back, just barely, just enough to hold on until you came.

And that was it, with a few more flicks of his wrist and a few more bounces of your hips, that tether inside of you snapped, your body tensing and your breath catching in your throat as the wave broke through you. You came with a quiet, shuddering cry, your muscles clenching hard around him, desperately holding him in, your thighs trembling as you fell forward slightly. The heat, the closeness, the intensity, it all drowned you.

He clutched your waist, his hand on your clit cramping with the franticness as he desperately tried to hold back until he'd fucked you through it completely, his balls drawing up tight beneath you.

His face scrunched up like he'd just sucked on a lemon, chewing on his lower lip as his thighs tensed, rock solid under the pressure of trying to hold back.

“Baby, I'm gonna-” he whined, his voice strained beyond belief.

You nodded, barely able to speak, and you lifted yourself up off of him just in time for him to slip free.

He wrapped his hand around himself with a sharp breath, his cock slick and flushed pink beneath the water, and he only pumped it once, twice, before he came with a low, broken groan, thick spurts painting and splattering across your lower back and the surface of the water, his forehead dropping to the back of your neck as his entire body trembled behind you, panting, spent, the tension finally melting away from his limbs.

Silence settled in the bathroom, broken only by the faint ripple of water and your breathing, shallow, matching his, and he pressed a soft kiss to your spine, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned in.

You leaned back against him, your heart still racing, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself bask in the afterglow of your orgasm as his hands gently caressed your hips, his grip looser now, but still holding on, still connected.

“I never feel like this with her,” he murmured, his words hanging between you for a moment in the quiet as he racked his mind for more words. “I don't think she cares whether I cum or not.”

You said nothing, as always, just letting him speak, and you felt the pulse in his wrist against your belly, slow, steady, human.

“She used to touch me afterwards. And hug me. And kiss me,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Now she just… leaves me. Rolls back onto her side of the bed and takes the duvet with her.”

Your tongue swiped out over your lower lip, dampening it, and you felt the small patch of now damp hair on his chest scrape lightly against the centre of your back, his skin warm.

He sighed again, deeper this time, and you felt it in your bones. “I don't know what I'd do without this. Without you.”

His words landed heavy, like an anchor, and you didn't know what to say, but you didn't need to. He interrupted you before you even got the chance to open your mouth.

He nudged you gently with his chin. “Come on, petal. We're gonna go pruney if we stay in here any longer.”

You smiled as you slowly shifted off of him, wincing slightly at the cool air hitting the rest of your body as it broke the surface of the water. He helped you up, his hands lightly squeezing your hips as you stepped over the edge, small droplets of water raining off of your body down onto the shower mat beneath your feet.

He groaned softly as he moved too, holding onto the rim of the tub as he got up, supporting himself and his stiff muscles, and his face scrunched up as he finally stood, one of his hands going to his lower back as he grunted.

You grabbed a towel from the radiator, the thin, scratchy fabric torn in places, and you dragged it over your limbs as he climbed out of the bath.

You felt his hands on your shoulders, dampening your skin again where you'd only just tried it, and he turned you around to face him. He took the towel from your hands, and he wrapped it around your torso, gently rubbing, padding away all of the water that clung to you.

He didn’t look away from you, not once, even as water beaded on his collarbones, slid down his stomach, glistened at the sharp lines of his hips, his gaze stayed fixed on your face like glue.

“Beautiful,” he murmured quietly, one of his fingers trailing along your jawline.

You felt your heart tug in your chest, not just because of the compliment, but instead because of the way he said it, like it hurt him, like the sight of you was both a relief and a tragedy, a contrasting collision in his mind that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of.

He towelled you off carefully, his movements slow and meditated, gentle strokes down your arms, soft glides across your thighs, and he left your hair mostly wet, dangling in thick, damp strands around your face and sticking to your back and collarbones in wavy clumps like snakes.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a few moments longer than necessary, and he pulled the towel from your bare body, now dry, but covered in small goosebumps. He wrapped the fabric around himself, dragging it over his chest, his arms, his thighs, the rough towel absorbing the dampness, and he still, he kept his eyes on you the entire time, like he was hypnotised, unable to peel his gaze away no matter how hard he tried. Not that he wanted to.

He shook his head, sending water flinging from his fringe before he tossed the towel aside, landing in a loose, damp heap on the floor near the radiator.

You padded barefoot back to your bedroom first, leaving a small trail of water droplets from your hair behind you, your footsteps soft on the carpet, and you pushed open the door with a quiet creak, the sound mirrored just a second after like an echo as he pulled the bathroom door open as well.

The air in your flat was cooler now, likely from a window that you'd cracked open just a tiny bit and forgot to close, or maybe it was the draft that leaked in from beneath your front door.

You reached for one of your shirts that had fallen off of the broken coat hanger in your wardrobe, left in a heap on the floor amongst whatever else had been carelessly tossed into your closet. You pulled it over your head, the soft fabric clinging to your skin in places where it was still slightly damp, your hair forming wet patches around the neckline of the shirt that stuck to your skin uncomfortably. The hem brushed over the tops of your thighs, just barely covering your underwear which you'd stepped into with a lazy ease.

You caught a glimpse of him in the corner of your eye as you adjusted the waistband of your panties, the elastic digging into your skin, and you turned your head to meet his gaze. The corners of his lips quirked up into a small, almost guilty smile as you caught him staring at you.

You glanced around your cluttered, messy room for his boxers, and you spotted the black fabric in a rumpled puddle beside your bed, wrinkled and inside out, and you nodded towards them vaguely.

He bent down to grab them, a soft grunt escaping his lips at the angle, and he flipped them the right way before stepping into them and tugging them up his legs, the dark grey waistband settling at his hips.

He scanned his eyes around your small room for the rest of his clothes, but he made no move to grab them. His shirt was crumpled across your floor like a ghost that had passed out, the buttons completely undone, and his dark linen trousers were kicked half way under your bed, the legs sticking out like a body at a crime scene. He didn't bother with either of them.

You moved past him through the doorway, making your way to the kitchen, and you heard the soft, faint drag of his footsteps behind you, following you, unhurried, almost hesitant, in a way. There was something tender about the way he always trailed after you, like he couldn't bare the thought of being apart from you, like it physically pained him, and to him, it did.

Your kitchen wasn't much. It was narrow, a bit dim, and the walls were painted an off-white colour that had yellowed over the years, but it was yours, and despite it being dingy, he loved anything that was yours. Even a tiny, cramped, strangely arranged kitchen.

You went straight to the kettle, which was tucked between a tall, leaning tower of unopened letters, some dating back years, and a chipped ceramic mug rack that had definitely seen better days, and you flicked it on with a soft click. Behind you, he made his way to the table, dragging the worn wooden chair back with an awful scrape against the floor before settling into it with a quiet grunt. He didn’t bother adjusting his boxers, just spread his thighs a little, comfortable, his elbows resting on the table.

The stack of newspapers was impossible to miss. Piled high towards the edge of the table, some spilled off onto the floor from the sheer amount all stacked on top of each other, haphazard and threatening to completely topple over at any given moment. The edges were curled, the paper looked old, and most were untouched, the ink still crisp. Your old neighbour insisted on dropping them round to your doorstep every morning, thinking she was doing you a favour. You never read them, but you never said no to her either.

He thumbed through the top few, flipping half-heartedly between the thin pages, and you heard the dry crinkle of the newsprint as he skimmed, his brows drawing faintly together now and then, confused as to why and how they built up.

“Do you ever actually read these?” he asked, turning his head to glance at you, his brow furrowed.

You turned to look at him, your lips slightly pursed, and you shook your head. “My neighbour brings them around most mornings. I guess it's sweet, but I don't know how to tell her I don't want them.”

He gave a faint smile before turning away again, then he flipped to the middle of one of the papers and let it fall open onto the crossword page. His fingers lightly tapped against the wood of your table, and you didn't have to look to identify the sound. It was something you'd grown used to after seeing him so many times, one of his many ways of finding something to occupy his mind when it got too loud.

He squinted down at the clues for a moment, rubbing his thumb across the corner of the page, before he asked, not looking up, “Have you got a pen, love?”

“Um…” you hummed, turning from the counter and tugging open one of the drawers beneath the countertop with a rattle from the jumbled contents inside. “Yeah, I think so.”

You started rummaging through the drawer which was filled with all sorts. Pens, blunt pencils, dead batteries, hair bands, a stray pair of earrings that hadn't seen daylight in a year. After a moment of searching, you found one that you thought might still work, hopefully, a cheap black biro with the rubber grip peeling off.

You handed it to him, and he took it without a word, your fingers brushing briefly, and he glanced down at it, then up at you, a smile playing on his lips. “This one of those pens that pretends it's got ink until you commit to writing something?”

“Probably.”

He smirked faintly and he turned back around before he leaned forward, testing it in the corner of the page, earning him a shaky, faded line. He tried again, which gave him a better one. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the crossword, his brows furrowed in concentration, one hand loosely curled near his mouth as he read the clues aloud under his breath, unable to read them in his mind without losing them in the tsunami inside of his brain.

You returned to the kettle as it clicked off with a puff of steam, and you poured out two mugs of tea, watching as the tea leaves bled into the boiled water, staining it. You crossed the room towards your mechanically humming fridge as the tea bags marinated, and you pulled the half-empty bottle of milk out of your fridge, the thin plastic cool against your palm as you brought it back to the counter.

You fished out the tea bags before lazily discarded them in your sink, and you poured a splash of milk into each mug, and stirred two sugars into his.

You gently set his mug in front of him with a dull clink against the table, being careful not to disturb the half-folded newspaper or the dodgy pen resting between his fingers.

“Ta,” he murmured quietly, distracted, focusing intently on the crossword in front of him.

You sat down across from him at the small table, your own mug nestled between your palms, the warmth bleeding through the ceramic against your fingers. The steam curled up toward your face and smelled faintly of the slightly-too-old tea bags you always forgot to replace.

He leaned forward a little now, his posture curved into a bend that was bound to make his spine ache later. His face was hardened in concentration while one of his feet bounced rhythmically beneath the table, helping to keep him focused. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at his nape and clinging to his skin. The pen tapped once against the paper, then twice, his tongue poking out slightly, before he scribbled something into the boxes with a quiet satisfaction.

“You doing good on it?” you asked, your voice low but light, not wanting to interrupt his focus. You liked watching him think, liked watching his tiny mannerisms that you'd come to adore that you weren't even sure he was aware of doing.

He looked up at you for a moment with a small smile before he said, looking back down at the paper, “Don't think I'm doing too bad. Some are a bit tricky, though, but I think I'm doing alright.”

He held up the folded newspaper with one hand, proudly showing you his progress, the grid half-filled with careful but slightly wonky capital letters. Some clues were scratched out then rewritten after he'd made a mistake and crossed it out before realising, and the lines in the corner where he'd tested the pen were smudged from where he’d been resting his other hand.

You scanned over the words, pretending to be more interested than you actually were, and you gave a small nod. “Looks good.”

He scoffed under his breath before returning to his puzzle, his eyes scanning over the next clue while you sipped your tea, the liquid still too hot and making you wince as it swilled over your tongue.

A few minutes passed like that, peaceful, comforting, familiar, the soft sound of the pen against the paper filling the quiet, occasionally accompanied by a quiet grunt of irritation followed by a few aggressive swipes of the ball point against the paper as the ink ceased every now and then.

Then suddenly, just as you were taking another sip of your tea, he sat up slightly, his expression changing, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile.

“Look,” he said, turning the paper towards you and tapping his finger on the grid. “It's you, baby.”

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes following his finger until your eyes landed on it. Written in a row of wobbly letters, P-E-T-A-L was etched into the grid, and your lips curved into a soft smile, your heart fluttering delicately, and when you looked up at him, he was already watching you, a warm, proud grin on his face.

Your heart tugged in your chest at how sweet it was, how strangely touched you were, and you watched as he flipped the paper over again, his eyes going back to scanning the clues over and over again, like if he stared at them long enough, the answers might reveal themselves to him.

He stayed like that for a while, hunched over, his posture mimicking a question mark, and he curled one hand loosely around the rim of his mug, the heat warming his fingertips, and his lips parted, the tip of his tongue ever so slightly poking out to run along them.

Every now and then, he'd pause, bringing the mug up to his lips for a small mouthful, swilling it around his mouth for a second before swallowing it and placing the mug back down onto the table. A few droplets sometimes spilled from his lips as he took a sip, the drops dribbling down the side of the mug before meeting the table, creating a small circle where his mug sat.

You didn't say anything, you didn't really need to. You just watched him with a quiet fondness, the light from the kitchen window slanting across the table in dusty lines, catching the edge of his hair and the side of his face.

You let your own tea go tepid between your hands. You preferred it that way. You continued to watch him in silence, the crossword hogging all of his attention, but at least it gave him a place to put his mind that wasn't loud, broken, or hard. Well, at least not too hard.

He exhaled slowly before scribbling in a word and smiling to himself, and then, without looking up, as if one of the clues had reminded him, he asked, “Is it still alright if I stay the night again, petal?”

You blinked, his voice startling you slightly. “Yeah, of course,” you said gently. “You can stay as long as you want.”

He looked up at you with a small, grateful smile, and there was something in that face, quiet, aching, something he always tried to bury, tried to disguise.

Then, without another word, he turned his head back to the crossword, the kettle ticking softly as it cooled down. You sipped the last cold dregs of your tea, and in that moment, nothing else in the world outside seemed to matter quite so much as the comforting quiet between the two of you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

the next part is not going to be for a long while, my guess would probably be august/september, so im really sorry guys. i know theres quite a few people who really like him. theres loads of different ideas that i have that i really want to and am really looking forward to writing, so i hope you guys will enjoy those pieces too. kisses all round x

[ollypopwrites]

They pulled Rook out of the fade only hours ago, and the first thing Emmrich hears as he leaves his room with an urgent letter meant for the Mourn Watch is weeping or at the very least talking (depending on your own headcanon) from the infirmary.

He’s heard Rook talking to Varric before, he’s felt the ache of empathy — his first instinct to reach out his hand and introduce his parents. I understand, it’s sprinkled through every turn through the Gardens.

Victory to the living. Shrines and deep affection for those who had walked amongst them who no longer do — understanding that the pomp and circumstance around death is also for those left behind and not just the dead themselves.

The Mourn Watch isn’t just a catchy name or a legacy, it’s a promise. Initiate Watchers are first and foremost introduced to the importance of grief. The entire reason they exist is to acknowledge the importance of a life lived. For every wail from a loved one was countless moments of joy, laughter, pain, love, and countless other emotions. Proof that a person mattered.

He’s heard weeping/final goodbyes so often, it never stops pulling at his heart strings, but over time it has become a comfort. But it hurts more to hear Rook.

Rook who has comforted every companion with a loss. Bellara and Cyrian. Davrin and his fellow Wardens. Harding and the Titans. Neve and Dock Town/the Viper or Alia’s victims. Lucanis and Caterina or Treviso and the blighted Crows. Taash and Shathaan. Emmrich and his lichdom or Manfred.

Rook has held their hand, been their strength and their guidance so they can all come out on the other side and become Heroes of the Veilguard.

Meanwhile, Rook’s been stuck in a state of denial for almost a year. Toyed with, offered empty hope that Varric was just hurt, just needed time to recover but was still their comfort and mentor. He was holding their hand while Rook became the Leader of the Veilguard. He was there whenever Rook had doubts or felt overwhelmed.

But none of it was real. And acceptance of the loss of Varric was forced on Rook at the same time Rook watched one of their companions die, thinking at least Lucanis had also joined them, and then got stuck in a prison meant to play on one of the hardest things to grapple with: regret.

For 3 weeks one of Emmrich’s dearest friends/his partner has been missing, only to come out of the Fade with fresh grief no one on the team knew they hadn’t yet had to face. And that’s what Emmrich is supposed to be good at.

That’s Mourn Watch basics. That’s everything he sees so often and affects him so deeply with his corpse whispering. It’s what he faced when he lost his parents. It is part of the reason he is as empathetic and gentle as he is.

But Solas put Rook through a long unwitting torture that was so convincing, so delicately played, that in turn Rook convinced the entire team nothing was amiss.

So, while I believe that, yes, Emmrich is fascinated by Solas. Emmrich has empathy for solas. Emmrich does have academic curiosities and interest in speaking with him.

I don’t believe, as a man who loves what the Mourn Watch does and who very dearly loves Rook (platonically or romantically), he’d have nothing to say about the cruelty of what Solas did to them.

[serpentface]

THE KHAIT BRIDEGROOM (South Wardi variant)

(A romantic folktale in which a girl marries her khait, kinda)

There once was a poor maize farmer, living in a mud hut at the edge of a village on the Brilla river. His beloved wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with only a daughter to raise on his own. The two led very difficult lives, and he mourned that he could not grant his daughter the ease and safety that she deserved. She had to work the fields just as hard as he did from the moment she was able to walk.

The most valuable asset to the farmer’s name was a beautiful young bull khait, who he had found roaming wild in the scrub. The khait was big and strong, with fur that shone gold like sunlight and was spattered with white spots like stars. He was never gelded, for he was a gentle and docile animal that bore none of the wild ferocity of many an intact bull. He took the yoke without complaint, and bore a rider with unwavering patience. Many had tried to buy the great beast from the farmer, but he refused all offers. Having such a fine working animal of his very own was a gift beyond the farmer's wildest dreams, and the khait was worth far more to him than anything he was offered.

The farmer had no fear that his khait would ever harm his daughter, and so she spent many days working him in the fields on her own. She always treated the animal with a kind, gentle hand, and he trusted her deeply and worked himself hard for her sake. The girl and beast became dearly bonded during the years of her childhood.

But the farmer’s daughter had just recently come into womanhood, and he was now tasked with finding her a good husband, and perhaps a better life in the process. He approached every man of good standing that he could find, but each laughed in his face. His daughter was too ugly, they said, and the farmer certainly couldn’t offer a good enough dowry to make up for it.

And it was true that his daughter wasn’t all that pleasant to the eye. Her hair was loose and matted, her skin was sun-worn and rough, she was often dirty from her labors, and the only cloak she owned was tattered and worn over her naked body. But beneath all that she was kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. A man could not truly ask for a better wife, and so the farmer persisted.

The only potential suitor he had yet to approach was the son of his village’s chieftain, who was newly a man and as of yet unwed. The farmer knew he had little to offer the man, but hoped that the son of a wise elder would see his daughter’s virtue.

And so brought his young daughter to meet the chieftain’s son. He supplicated himself before the youth, laying one hand on the man’s foot and one across his own breast.

“My lord, I would offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son held back a laugh. He certainly could ask for a better wife, and quite easily! He found the very proposition to be insulting. But he had a rather lowly and vicious nature, and thus he pretended to contemplate the offer.

He looked the girl over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“As tempting as this sounds, I must refuse. Her hair is too matted and ugly, I cannot have an unkempt woman for my wife. Perhaps if she manages to fix it, we can discuss engagement." The chieftain's son said.

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl had nothing left but to attend to her chores. It was the beginning of the planting season, and she had far too much work to do to wallow in her sadness. She held back tears as she placed the yoke on the khait’s neck, and began to cry to herself as she hitched him to the plow.

“What’s wrong?” Asked the khait.

“The chieftain’s son won’t marry me. He says my hair is too matted and ugly. He thinks I am unkempt.” The girl wept.

The khait felt great pity for her. It was true that her hair was quite disagreeable, but through no fault of her own. She had no mother to teach her to braid it finely, and her daily labor was too dirty and strenuous to keep it neat. It hurt his heart to see her so sad. And so he asked his friends, little egret and magpie, for help.

Magpie flew off to a distant town, and there he stole a ball of sweet-smelling soap and a jar of sesame oil. And meanwhile, little egret sat upon the girl’s shoulder as she guided the plow, picking lice out of her hair and teasing apart the tangles with her nimble beak. 

The next morning, the girl rode down to the river upon the khait’s back. The great beast stood guard and shielded her body while she washed her body and cloak with the fine soap and oil. She scraped the dirt from her skin and oiled and rinsed her hair until it was clean. Little egret taught her to braid her hair finely, and together they wove it into two neat strands, scarcely a hair loose.

She thanked the khait for his help, and he nodded his great head, relaxing as little egret and magpie took flies from his ears in payment.

The girl returned home and excitedly showed her father the good news. Her once filthy hair now shone bright and clean like chains of bronze, fragrant with oil and falling in two tight braids down to her breast. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again.

The farmer supplicated himself again, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“I suppose her hair is quite beautiful now, but on second look-… Her cloak is tattered and worn, and she carries herself like a barbarian, wearing nothing underneath. I cannot have such a lowly woman as a wife. Perhaps if she manages to clothe herself properly, we can discuss engagement.”

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl returned to her tasks, humiliated and miserable. She flung the seed as if she disdained it, stomping through the freshly tilled fields in her anger.

“What’s wrong?” said the khait, gently nosing her shoulder.

“The chieftain’s son still won’t marry me. He says my cloak is too tattered and worn, and that I am naked like a barbarian. He thinks I am lowly.” the girl said.

The khait was upset for her sake. She had only one cloak to her name and walked near-naked underneath, this was true, but she took precious care of what little she had, and carried herself with modesty and dignity. It hurt his heart to see her honor insulted.

“Go down to the river and gather a bushel of the sweetest, greenest grass you can find, and take your father’s sharpest knife. Return to me, and I will take you to someone who can help.” the khait said.

And so the girl and went about gathering grass, taking only the most succulent of stalks and wrapping it all in an old blanket. She returned to the khait, knife and grass in tow. He took her upon his back, and together they rode into the brush.

They traveled for half the day, all the way to the Red Hills. There they came across a big horse with wool the color of snow, surrounded by his brightly spotted yakintsi wives.

The khait saluted him with a loud bellow. He stood nearly thrice as tall as the horse, but bowed his head in deference all the same.

“Lord of the hill, I humbly ask you to give this girl some of your wool. She brings fine riverside grass as a gift in trade.” the khait said.

This horse, though of tame stock, was himself wild and proud. The thought of being sheared was a bit humiliating, and he considered leaving his visitors in the dust then and there. But the forage of his hills were poor and sparse, and the bundle of grass the girl had brought was quite enticing. And his wool had grown a bit too thick and fine for the hot weather, and he could certainly stand to lose some.

“Fine,” he said, “She may shear my wool for as long as it takes for me to finish eating, and not a moment longer.”

And so the horse chomped away at the grass while the girl made quick work of shearing him. By the time the horse finished and ran off, the girl had gotten herself a hulking pile of fine, white wool. She carefully bundled it into her blanket, and the girl and khait rode back home.

She spent many days spinning the wool, and meanwhile the khait brought her kolis flower and foxgloves to make dye and precious feathers and cowries for adornment. She then spent many more days in weaving, until she had a fine cloak and veil of yellow, a grass-green headband with white stripes, and a pure white dress to wear underneath.

She happily showed her father her new clothes. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again. This time, the girl rode astride the khait so that her dress would not be dirtied by walking. She was a resplendent sight atop the beautiful animal, her brown braids gleaming against the rich yellow of her cloak and lovely white gull feathers and shells ornamenting her headband.

The farmer supplicated himself a third time, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. Her cloak and veil are fine and well-made, and she wears a dress of pure white. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head. 

“Her hair may be very beautiful, and her clothes may be fine, but on third look-… Don’t her hips seem a little narrow to you? A little too lean? She will never be able to bear healthy children.”

And, seeing a possibility, he added:

“But perhaps that could change with a good offering. Give me your khait as part of her dowry, and I will offer him up to bless your unfortunate daughter. Then we can discuss engagement.”

The farmer was pained at this. He could hardly bear to lose such a precious and hardworking animal. But the thought of seeing his beloved daughter sad and alone pained him far more. He reluctantly agreed.

“This khait is a fine and noble animal, gentle and docile, and agreeable to hard work. He is young and has never once been bred. One could scarcely make a finer offering than him.” The farmer said sadly.

And with that, the khait was handed off to the chieftain’s son. But he had no intent on making an offering of the animal in sacrifice, just as he had no intent on marrying the girl. The khait was a very fine beast indeed, and the chieftain’s son wanted him for his own herd.

But his satisfaction at his play soon turned to frustration. He had hoped to use this fine bull as a stud, but the khait refused to cover any mare. He thought that certainly he could pull a plow or carry a rider, but the khait shook off the yoke and bucked and kicked at the sight of saddle. The man couldn’t even bridle the khait, who would lower his horns and paw the earth at the mere sight of him. The chieftain’s son finally decided to geld him in hopes that the beast would become less spirited, but he couldn’t even make the approach. The khait charged him on sight, and ropes meant to hold him seemed to slip off his neck like water.

“That wretched plowman lied to me, this animal is bad-tempered and wild. He probably has a better khait hidden somewhere, that greedy dog. This one is useless.” The chieftain’s son said to himself. He decided there was no remaining use for the khait but to butcher him for a feast.

It took ten men to capture the khait, and ten more to hold him down. The chieftain’s son, who by now felt quite vindictive towards the great beast, decided he wanted the honors of the slaying himself. He held the furious khait by the horns and sliced a deep gash across his neck.

But to the astonishment of everyone watching, no lifeblood poured from the wound. Instead, the khait’s form seemed to shift right before their eyes, its great bulk shrinking beneath its flesh. Its golden hide fell open, and out from underneath climbed a human man. He was tall and handsome, with freckled skin that shone like bronze, and a thick beard and long curled hair the color of gold. He covered himself in his own shed hide, and spoke to the chieftain’s son with great disdain.

“You are a pathetic dogfaced excuse of a man, a liar and a thief. You live crawling so low that you can’t see a good thing standing right in front of you. If you won’t marry her, I will.”

And with that, he left the man and his entourage behind in astonishment.

The khait-man did not head back home straight away, but instead slipped into the brush where little egret and magpie were waiting for him. He had bidden his time under chieftain’s son’s care so that they could help him collect a great bridal gift.

He clothed himself in a fine cloak and skirt, and said farewell to the birds, who mourned their loss of lazy spent eating flies off his back. Hefting his gift onto his strong, broad shoulder, the khait-man made his way back to the little mud hut.

The farmer answered the call at his door with his daughter hiding behind him, frightened of this strange man. But as she looked at him she quickly recognized the gentleness in his eyes, the familiar sunlit shine of his hair, and her heart was glad.

The khait-man knelt and bowed deeply, and said to the farmer:

“I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient, and more beautiful than the sun. I could not ask for a better wife.”

And the khait-man laid out his gift- rare and resplendent feathers, precious shells, fine wool, and his own lovely golden hide. This would more than cover the girl’s dower and the farmer’s loss of his khait, and leave him a hefty sum of wealth behind as well.

The farmer agreed to the proposal with great enthusiasm, and the girl and the khait-man were thus betrothed.

And so they were wed, and had many children. The girls were beautiful and the boys were handsome, but all were a little strange- their hair was shone gold like sunlight, and their skin was spattered in freckles like stars.

NOTES:

Animal stories feature heavily into Wardi folktales. There are two distinct (though not wholly separate) traditions of animal stories- the older tales focus more heavily on talking animals as archetypal figures- a trickster hare, a greedy hyena, a cowardly jackal, a brave lion, etc- interacting in the wild with little to no human presence, or with Human being just one animal figure. These are at least in part the remains of original animistic religious traditions among early Wardi groups, wherein animal spirits would be used as figures in tutelary and/or explanatory fables (and for entertainment).

The modern era tradition tends to focus more on talking animals interacting with humans within the framework of human society. In some cases the animal’s ability for speech is unquestioned, in other cases the animal is explicitly magical in nature. These variants still tend to retain old style animal fable elements and their learned archetypal relationships. IE: a khait having a little egret and magpie as friends is an old archetype- (the little egret is a bird that follows large ungulates to feed on flies and stirred up insects, and a type of magpie in the region is known to eat flies and ticks off of large ungulates, and to be more tolerated than oxpeckers), these birds would often be cast as friends or servants of large, noble ungulates. The theme of the khait having access to a sort of separate animal society also resembles the theming of the older animal stories.

This particular fable has many variants across the Wardi sphere. The girl is usually a peasant’s daughter, but is sometimes a noblewoman mistreated by her family. The animal is usually a khait, but sometimes a bull, very occasionally another animal (a horse in some North Wardi traditions, one highly derived Highlands variant has a dragon as a spouse).

The khait bridegroom story is just one part of a much broader folktale archetype, whose core points are:

A virtuous young woman is unable to find a husband, is beautiful but made ugly and dirty by her lifestyle (usually either poverty or abuse)

An animal helping figure assists her (sometimes its an actual animal, sometimes its the spirit of a dead relative in animal form, sometimes its a shapeshifter, a wild spirit, a minor deity, or a cursed human)

There is a conflict between a good suitor and bad suitor- in some cases the good suitor is the animal, in other cases he is a third party.

This archetype extends far beyond the Wardi cultural sphere, and directly connected variants can be found among all the Viper and Mouth seaway adjacent peoples (Burri, Kos, Titen, Finn, Royal Dain and some other Dain groups, Ubiyan, Uboe, Wogan, Wardi, Cholemdinae, Hill Tribes, Yuroma), sometimes in addition to or merged with separate animal bride(groom) folktales. This spread is through a combination of common ancestry of some groups, and regular historical interaction of others. Very similar folktales occur elsewhere in the world, but likely developed independently.

In this variant of the story, the khait's ability to talk and transform into a human is not explicitly explained, as it's not a core concern of the narrative. In some other variants, the khait is specifically a nobleman or prince or otherwise upstanding man who has been cursed into animal form (and is cured at some point in the story), or he is a benevolent shapeshifter (belief in people with the ability to magically change into animals via wearing skins is very common, largely considered silly commoner superstition by the urban elite but still very popular in folktales). The latter is heavily implied here, especially by the khait removing his skin to transform and giving it up in marriage.

A perhaps unexpected subset of this folktale's popularity is its imagery being a common motif erotic art objects, particularly the matter of inevitable consummation of the khait-man and girl's marriage. These are usually not considered outright pornographic (as is true for most Wardi erotic art), and often are mildly humorous in nature, fully embracing the strangeness of a girl marrying what was, up until recently. an animal. The suitor is usually depicted with a head of a khait, even when in human form. Animal headed figures in Wardi art are almost never meant to be taken literally, and instead are used to describe inner nature (in this case, him being a literal animal, but in other cases it's nature in a more abstract sense- ie: some visual representations of Odonii or the Odomache depict them with the heads of a lion) or as a visual shorthand for shapeshifting.

The less explicit cup in a matching pair depicting the khait-man and girl's wedding night (though is only tied to the story by its concept, and is otherwise quite tonally disparate).

He's shown presenting her with a courtship gift of an ornamental domestic duck, which will read as comical- it may suggest that he's nervously trying to secure her affections despite being already married, or that he doesn't know how courtship works (because he was an animal up until, like, yesterday) and thinks he needs to give gifts to get sex. The oversized phallus will also be read as humorous. The tapered shape is not intending to represent an ungulate penis, and is instead a visual pun on the phrase 'a bull led by his horns'.

While this cup is intended to function as a decorative and mildly humorous art piece (rather than outright arousing to the audience), the depiction of the young woman is straightforwardly sexualized, with the high focus on her thighs and buttocks (which is a cultural focal point for feminine sexual beauty) and her wavy un-braided hair (common in erotic scenes, as it gives the audience a voyeuristic sensation that they are VERY specifically looking in on a highly private scene (due to women normally keeping hair braided outside of the home)).

This cup is a very fine art piece made by a devoted craftsman. This degree of stylistic realism is rare in Wardi art and a largely contemporary phenomena, due to the increasing demand for accurate visual representations of public figures in statuary, frescoes, and coinage partly leading to the rise of a highly skilled, wealthy craftsman class. The relative surplus of these elite artists has led to some instead making a living on such things as antelope-man erotica objects for nobles to leave out in their domiciles as conversation pieces.

[thefaithfulnightwriter]

𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐀 ~ Chapter One

Summary - 𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the High Lord of Night Court Rhysand and Y/n meet during cruel dark times. During Amarantha's ruling over Prythian. Finding each other during such a time the two secretly fall deeply in love with one another. Both having a rare bond tethering them together... a mating bond. A bond that they both cherished and held close to their hearts. Though they loved each other dearly there was something that was missing. A missing piece they could feel deep within. It caused the two to grow a longing feeling within. It didn't deter their love for one another. But they just knew there was a blank space in their bond. After so long the two mates finally find the missing piece... another mate.

Pairing - Rhysand x Female!Reader x Feyre Archeron

Universe - pre acotar - acowar [it may go into an au after acowar not sure yet though]

Warnings - Gore, Death, Blood, Characters may be a bit OOC, Mature Themes, Semi Smut or Smut NOT Sure Yet, Violence, Language, Abuse, Mention of Past Abuse, Mention of SA and SH (but nothing descriptive), War, Things Will Be Changed Sort Of, Fluff, Angst, Some Sensitive Subjects, Mating Bonds, Poly. Relationship MxFxM, More Will Be Added If Needed.

Disclaimer - I do not own the series ACOTAR - ACOWAR. I do own certain characters, and I own my mc. I do own somethings that are made up. And i own my writing and whatnot you get where im going and what i am saying lol.

Shaking her head she found herself able to wake up. A groan escaped her lips at the pain in her head and the pain that traveled all over her body. But then a whimper escaped her soon after. Opening her eyes slightly she was met with the ground beneath her moving slowly. Her vision was still blurry. She then felt two strong grips on her arms holding her up. Along with cuffs  around her wrists and a collar around her neck all connected to chains. She then realized that she was being dragged somewhere. Feeling the ground scraping against her legs.

Opening and closing her eyes rapidly she tried to clear her vision. Once cleared another whimper escaped her as she tried to get away from the two holding her. But it was no use because she was too weak. But a cry escaped her when she felt someone suddenly yank at the metal collar around her neck. Causing her to gasp and cough. It seemed there was someone behind her. 

“You better stop. You know Amarantha won’t want a possible new pet to be banged up too much by us. We already did enough when catching her. She’d want to do the rest herself.”  

She heard one of the males dragging her say. After he spoke they were all soon laughing at his words. She was now confused and terrified. But hearing the name Amarantha she realized where she might be now… Under the Mountain. A place she dreaded and wanted nothing to do with. 

She remembered being in the Spring Court with her family. All of them were getting ready to leave the Court together. Seeing that the Spring Court was being watched more closely than the others by the new cruel ruler of Prythian… Amarantha. Her ruling having been for ten years now. They wanted to get away from the constant searching and persistent eyes. They wanted to stay safe and keep hidden.

They had to stay hidden… well more so herself then anyone. Her family wanted to keep her hidden and out of the public's eye. Being she was something or someone very rare. Someone very rare that hasn’t been seen in many centuries. Something rare but also powerful. And it seemed the people knew as well now. As they dragged her through the dark halls and to a room. 

Now closing her eyes, she began to think about it. She could remember what had happened. She was playing with her younger brother Evrin in the forest behind their cottage when her mother and father came running. They had heard that people were coming to take her to Amarantha herself. They wanted to run. But it was too late. Their cottage was raided not long after. Which led her and her father to fight. While her mother and brother ran to hide. As they fought they almost killed her father but she was able to hide him away from them before they could. But as she did at that moment she was captured. 

She just hoped that her family were together and safe. Her mother, father, and younger brother. She knew they most likely would be at their meeting point. A meeting point on the edge of Spring Court leading into Summer Court. But it broke her heart just thinking of it. That she wouldn’t be meeting them. Because she was in the hands of Amarantha now. 

It caused tears to fall down her cheeks knowing that she was in her hands. She knew how cruel she could be having heard of her through the whispers in the winds. She could hear the cries and prayers to the Mother at times. Then hearing of her from the people in the Spring Court, hearing the rumors and stories. She was scared. No, she was terrified.       

She had soon jumped hearing the loud opening of the large doors leading into a vast room. There were many people in the room. As she looked around with tears in her eyes. She saw many with smirks and grins with their gazes on her. But as she looked to the throne in the room there she sat… Amarantha. 

Seeing her causes her to shake in fear. She was quick to look at the ground. Not wanting to meet her eyes. But a yelp escaped her when she was thrown roughly onto the floor at her feet. Her chains clicked on the ground. Which caused many to laugh at her pain. On shaking hands she forced herself to sit up. 

But she didn’t care about their laughter. At that moment she was too scared. She didn’t look up; she kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. Too scared to look up. It was then she heard everyone quiet and then movement. The clicking of heels moved closer to her. It was then she saw black heels come into her view. 

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

She heard a female speak. She knew that it was Amarantha. She just knew it was her. It caused a whimper to escape her lips as she kept her eyes on the floor. But soon she felt fingers tangle their way into her long hair and then a yelp escaped her. As her head was forced back. 

“So, tell me little fairy what is your name?” Amarantha questioned her with a grin. As she ran her fingers from her hair down to her cheek. Then up to her longer than average fae ear that was pointed. A gasp left her lips hearing Amarantha call her ‘little fairy’. This meant she probably knew what and who she was and that scared her even more.

But she kept her mouth shut not wanting to give her name. Which Amarantha didn’t like. She was then grabbing her sensitive ear and pulling harshly. Causing her to cry out. But she didn’t speak her name. Leading Amarantha to raise her hand and slap her harshly against her cheek. So hard she fell to the floor with a sob. It led many to laugh.

“Oh shut up! Now I am only going to ask this once more. And if you don’t answer me I’m going to cut off one of those cute ears you have. So, what is your name?” Amarantha threatened before asking again. Reaching a hand out she was quickly given a sharp dagger. Sitting up again she didn’t know if she should tell her name. She was contemplating if she should. But she seemed to have taken too long because Amarantha was kneeling again. She then had a harsh grip on her ear and began to drag the sharp pointed dagger harshly on her ear. 

“Y/n! I - It’s Y/n,” She cried out in pain, her ear now bleeding. She knew it would leave a scar. Amarantha was then letting her ear go and grinned, satisfied with the answer. She still had her eyes on Y/n. Who still had yet to meet her eyes. She didn’t seem to care because her eyes were focused on Y/n. She then muttered, ‘hmmm I wonder’ to herself. 

She was then grabbing her cream colored dress and was soon cutting the back of it. A cry was heard from Y/n as she tried to get away. She didn’t want her to see. She had to keep them hidden. But before she could crawl away she was grabbed by the chain on her collar around her neck and pulled closer to Amarantha. Who continued to cut and rip at the back of her dress. As she did, markings were soon revealed and seen. Black lines and curves were marked on her back and the back of her arms. They seemed to be the markings of wings.

“There they are. I guess they were right. A little spy told me that you are a rare powerful creature. A very rare elemental fairy,” Amarantha laughed. But many gasps were heard from the crowd who were looking at her. Seeing the markings on her back. She didn’t know what to do besides trying to hold the front of her dress up. 

Trying to keep herself covered. And holding her bleeding ear. As many more tears fell down her soft cheeks. She was supposed to keep what she was a secret. She was supposed to be a secret… but not anymore. Everyone now knew and many more would know. But a whimper escaped her lips at what Amarantha said next.

“But now you're my new pet,” Amarantha taunted with a grin. She chuckled as she grabbed the front of the collar around Y/n’s neck pulling her closer. She tried to pull away again not wanting to be anywhere near her. But it was no use. She wished she could be anywhere else. But she knew she wasn’t going to get what she wished for. 

“Get her cleaned up and take her to my guest chambers. Oh and don’t try anything with that magic you have little fairy. Those cuffs and that collar will stop it and it will backfire. You will only be able to use them if I see fit and if I give you permission,” Amarantha demanded as she stood up pushing her away. But still with a grin upon her lips. Soon a guard was walking forward and grabbing her arm and dragged her away once again. As someone a female followed after them. A sob escaped Y/n as he dragged her away. 

But there were a pair of violet eyes on her never leaving her. Having felt a pull towards her like no other. Which they knew and understood what it was instantly. They were trying to hide their pain, awe, and shock behind a mask. Trying to hold themselves together and hold back from running to her. Wanting to have her in their arms and to take her far away from this place. But they knew they couldn’t. It took everything in them to keep their emotions in check and hidden to keep their mask in place. Because they just realize they may have found their mate. 

Rhysand the High Lord of Night Court just realized he just may have found his mate. And he couldn’t do anything to take her away from this horrible place and that broke his heart.   

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It had been a few days now and she was stuck in a room, a sobbing mess. After a night with Amarantha doing anything she wanted with her. But just thinking about what had happened caused her to let out another sob. As she curled into herself, hugging herself tightly. She wished that she could be anywhere else and that she didn’t have to go through such things. But it had already happened and there was nothing she could do. And she knew it would happen again and it pained her.

She soon saw flashes of moments of what happened. Feeling Amarantha’s hands on her and more. Seeing the marks she had left on her skin. She was then sitting up quickly. She then started pulling harshly at the cuffs that were still on her and the collar. 

She remembers trying to use her magic while Amarantha touched her. But all it did was inflict pain on herself and made Amarantha laugh at her attempts. Before she threatened to search for her family and end them if she didn’t stop. Which led her to stop fighting and to let her do as she pleased and did as she was told. Not wanting anything to happen to her family. She would make sure nothing happened to them.

Another cry escaped her lips as she made an attempt to use her magic. But all it did was inflict pain on herself. Right now it took to burning her skin. Crying at the pain and memories. She didn’t know what to do besides keep pulling at the cuffs. As she kept using her magic not caring if it hurt her. Not caring if it left marks on her skin. She didn’t care. She just wanted them off and to be somewhere else. She wanted to be with her family. She didn’t want any of this. And at that moment she was so lost that she didn’t realize that someone had entered the room. Opening the door quietly sneaking into the room. But seeing her they were quick to move to her. 

She jumped when strong large hands came into view and grabbed hers. Careful of the cuffs on her wrists digging into her now damaged skin. Making sure not to touch them. But quickly stopping her from pulling at the cuffs on her wrists and from using her magic. A cry escaped her once again as she tried to pull away. But they kept a gentle but firm grip on her. As she looked at the one who stopped her she gasped just as they did. 

Her eyes clashed with violet ones. 

Both looked perplexed at each other. Because as soon as their eyes met unexpectedly a golden bond formed slightly stronger between the two. That was now noticeable to the two. A rare bond that they could feel in their chest… a mating bond. But looking at him taking him in, she knew who he was instantly. 

He was Rhysand the High Lord of Night Court. He was truly handsome. The stories and rumors didn’t do him justice. But as she looked at him he looked at her with awe. Yes, he knew she was probably his mate a few days ago. But now he knew it for sure… she was his mate. And he couldn’t help but look at her in awe. He couldn’t believe he really found her.  

Y/n though was stuck in thought. Having remembered hearing the rumors about him. And she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t even know what to say. She was frozen with her gaze on him. He was her mate. She didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t know if she wanted to wrap her arms around him or pull away. But she soon shook her shocked state away when he let her go gently. Not wanting to overwhelm her anymore than what she already was. He didn’t want to do that to her.  

“Sorry. You were… hurting yourself. I - you shouldn’t do that,” Rhysand said after clearing his throat. After stumbling over his words slightly. His eyes still on her taking her in. She was gorgeous. But taking in her state and the scent lingering in the room he knew what had happened. He knew what Amarantha had done to her, his mate. 

It led him to clench his jaw in anger. It was such a strong emotion that washed over him. Which caused her to flinch feeling such a thing through their new bond that they shared together. But she shook it off seeing Rhysand send her a small smile that said ‘sorry’. She after a moment couldn’t help but look at him and say it. Still in a state of shock that he was her mate. She couldn’t help but voice it.

“You’re m - my mate,” she whispered, afraid to say it louder. More so stating a fact then asking. Not taking her eyes off of him. She couldn’t believe she had just found her mate. Nor could she believe that he was the High Lord of Night Court. And now as she looked at him he didn’t seem like the one from the rumors she had heard from people. He seemed kind, vulnerable even as he looked at her. But she soon remembered what the winds had whispered to her about him. She watched as a small smile washed over Rhysand hearing her say such a thing. 

“Yes I am. But can you come with me, my flower? If you want,” Rhysand cooed. Reaching out a hand for her to take. Waiting for her to reach and take his hand in hers. Giving her the choice to come with him. Looking from him to his hand she was hesitant. But after a few seconds she shakingly grabbed it. She didn’t know where he was taking her. But part of her wanted to follow him, her mate. She thought he wouldn’t hurt her right. So she did follow after him. As she kept a close watch on the bond they shared. Taking notice of slight emotions flowing to her from him. Shakingly she began to crawl her way out of the bed. 

As she got off the bed she almost fell but Rhysand was quick to catch her by her waist. Keeping the blanket in place that covered her bare body. Sending her a smile before removing his hands from her waist but kept a hold of her hand. He then began leading her to a door that led to a bathroom.

When they entered the room, Rhysand moved her to stand near the sink. As she stood she watched him move so gracefully and with purpose. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. She watched as he filled the large tub with warm water then added oils and what not. And after he was done she then watched as he held out a hand for her. Looking at his hand she took it again. He then moved her to the tub and took a step back. 

“I will be out in the room if you need me. So we can talk when you are done. Take as long as you need. I will wait,” Rhysand informed her, about to leave the room wanting to give her privacy. But before he could turn and leave she stopped him. Keeping a firm grip on his hand. Leading him to look at her with a slight tilt of his head with curiosity. It was then he saw she now had a fearful look upon her face as she looked up at him. 

“You’ll actually stay right? You promise,” she asked softly but with a shaky voice. As she kept her gaze on him, her eyes never leaving his. She didn’t want him to leave her. Not after she just found out that he was her mate. She didn’t know exactly how she felt about it. But she just didn’t want to lose him so soon. A part of her wanted him close and near. She just wanted her mate. Seeing her look at him in such a way caused him to send her a small meaningful smile. 

“I promise I won’t leave you. There are things we need to discuss. Plus I just found you… I’m not leaving your side unless I need or have to,” Rhysand soothed. Bringing her hand closer to him he pulled her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss upon it. Careful of the cuff still around her wrist that no longer had chains connected to them as they did when she first came. As he did such a gesture he sent reassurance to her through the bond. Which led her to sigh in relief. 

Nodding, she watched as he released her hand gently and left the room. Giving her privacy as he closed the door gently behind him. Sighing again she turned to the warm steaming bath. Taking in the scent and bath caused a small smile to wash over her. Thinking he did such a thing for her. She shook it away and allowed the blanket to drop and stepped into the bath.        

As she sat and started to clean herself. She began to think about her mate… Rhysand. Many thoughts came to her mind. Remembering what she had heard from the winds about him. Then hearing the rumors that fae said about him. A sigh escaped her lips not knowing what to think of him. But then a thought came to her mind causing her to freeze.

Would he even truly accept her as his mate or reject her? Thinking it caused a soft gasp to escape her lips. Before worry filled her. Would she survive such a thing… rejection? Would she survive him not wanting her as his mate? Taking a deep breath she soon released a tired breath. Before hugging her legs to her chest and leaning her head on her knees. Closing her eyes she took deep breaths trying to keep her tears at bay. Then another thought came to her mind.

How were they even going to go about this bond in such a place if they were to accept each other as mates? If they did they would most likely have to keep it hidden. And soon many more things came to her mind. Hitting her like a crashing wave in the ocean almost drowning her in the depths of dark waters. 

Many bad and horrifying thoughts washed over her mind. But she was quick to try and shake her head. She tried to calm herself but found it hard. That is until she felt reassurance flow to her. Starting from her chest and flowing throughout her body. She knew it must have been Rhysand through the bond she has yet to really fully grasp. She couldn’t help the small smile that now washed over her. It caused her to sigh again before she started to wash herself once again. 

In that moment she stopped her motions as she remembered one of the things her mother always says to her. 

“Take one step at a time. Take it minute by minute, day by day. We have long lives ahead of us. There’s nothing wrong with taking your time with certain things. So there’s no need to worry so much all at once.”

She remembered her mother saying to her once. And repeating such a thing on more than one occasion. It caused her to smile thinking of her mother. It felt like forever since she last saw her mother. She just hopes that her family is safe after everything. She then shook the thought away trying not to overthink about them. Not wanting to sink into such worry and thoughts.

After she was done washing she soon made her way out of the bath. Grabbing the towel that was already out. Drying herself off, she looked at the mirror to find herself staring back at her. Her eyes didn’t have their usual bright glow. Her skin was paler without having a certain glow. Her body was littered with marks and scratches. Then there were the collar and cuffs on her that were very noticeable. She could see the red marks that were under them.

But she was quick to turn and move her long hair over her shoulder to look at her back and arms. The black lines and curves and marks were still there and intact… her wings. They were still there. But there were a few marks causing her to sigh. Her back was and always would be sensitive along with her long pointed ears. Which led her to reach to her ear that now had a long scar on it. She didn’t like it but she would have to live with it. She would have to live with everything causing her to sigh in defeat. 

Shaking her head of such thoughts. She soon tightened her grip on her towel around her frame. Looking at the sink she found a dress neatly folded with undergarments. She wondered when they appeared but didn’t think much of it. Knowing Rhysand must have used his magic to make them appear for her. It made a light blush appear over her cheeks thinking of it, about him. 

But she didn’t linger on the thought long. Not wanting to go down that path. Not yet anyway. Not without talking to him first. To see where they stand. Reaching out she was quick to put on the clothing and then made her way to the door. But she stopped in front of it for a moment.

Listening, she could hear the flipping of pages and the sound of a soft heartbeat that seemed to quicken sometimes. She knew who it was… Rhysand, her mate. She could feel how close he was through the bond they shared. With the mating bond they share she didn’t know what was going to happen between them. All she could do was hope that all would go well. Soon she was gathering up the little courage she had. She then took a deep breath and opened the door. So she could face what was to come with her now having a mate. 

Lacuna Taglist -

ladespedidas 

daughterofthemoons-stuff

[avaawritess]

Random ahh story

Osamu Miya

fluff, time-skip

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You never guessed after high school you'd get with Osamu Miya, the calm collected guy, who only laughed or talked with his friends. You expected to get with a outgoing loud dude, like Atsumu.

You never thought all that eye contact or accidental touches meant anything, even when he would whisper to his friends around you. You thought nothing of it.

Yet here you are across from him while he was behind the counter giving you that sweet smile you loved so dearly. How his eyes creased, how they sparkled when he made you laugh. You fell so deeply in love with him and his jokes nobody found funny, but you still laughed at his dorkiness.

No one would suspect that the mysterious Miya brother was actually the dorkiest, sweetest guy ever. He made you smile in times you felt like crying, he held you in times you felt like falling. He was there for you through everything, and stayed because truthfully, he couldn't bear the thought of another man doing any of that for you.

So maybe that's why he sealed the deal after three years of dating.

You suspected nothing when he wanted to do everything for you. Your nails, hair, even make sure you're wearing a pretty outfit. He understood how you planned things out. This wasn't something he could really ask you to plan, so he tried his best making sure you wouldn't be mad at him when the videographer and photographer got photos and videos of the proposal.

You both were walking on the beach during Christmas break. Families took off and he sent his employees on break to be with family.

You two laughed and he just stared at you with a look of love, he knew he wanted to marry you. Your beautiful eyes, your smart mind, your quick-witted responses, your laughter that seemed to enchant him every time he heard it, he was so in love.

That was when the sun rise was just right when he stopped you knowing how much you loved the ocean, it was perfect timing when dolphins were diving in the distance. "Look y/n dolphins!", he said as you turned, he got on one knee with a smile.

But when you looked back, he forgot to function and slipped up, "me marry you" he said before he lost grip of the ring," shit I thought I had this under control", you smile at his sweetness. He put the ring in the box holding it up again, taking a deep breath, "will you marry me?" he asked palms growing sweaty.

You smile before slowly nodding, "I would love to" you said as he placed the ring on your finger while standing up. Once he was finished you jumped on him.

Forgetting his clumsiness when nervous you both fell down into the sand, smiles etched onto both of your faces.

He tucked a loose hair behind your ear, "your perfect, I love you so much" he said with love in his eyes, "I love you too" you say before you grab the side of his cheek both of you coming close, you kiss awaiting the future sealed with a hopeful kiss.

You were meant for him, and he was meant for you.

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Thank you for reading I was just listening to the song Ordinary by Alex Warren, and another song I forgot. Have a good night.

[the-mandawhor1an]

Have a taste - Mand'alor!Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

reader can look however you want her to, there are no physical features mentioned, the images are for vibes only

Synopsis: Din is mesmerized by the changes your body has gone through after giving birth to your first child. He's taking special interest in your boobs this fateful evening.

Words: 1.7k

THIS IS ACTUAL, EXPLICIT SMUT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

A/N: I blame unhinged discord convos for this. My first proper smutty smut. This was interesting to say the least. Yeah, the images are medicore photoshop, they display the vibes perfectly, though. Thank you @evolnoomym for beta-ing and encouraging me that this filth is not utter shit.

Tags: explicit language; unprotected PiV; lactation/breastfeeding kink; itty bitty breeding kink; established relationship; reader is afab and has given birth; reader has boobs; reader is a force user;

divider and support banner made by @saradika-graphics; title banner made by yours truly

Having children sounded so hard in theory. Exhausting, long days and short nights with constant disturbances. Long recovery, emotions, pain. In reality, you were fortunate to say, it turned out so much better. 

The physical part was easy. You were a Jedi after all, so your body could bounce back pretty fast – thank the force for healing powers. Although, it was only made possible because of the devotion of your husband to support you where he could. Now that his son was here, he was glued to the newborn whenever you needed to rest, ensuring ‘mama’ was healthy. 

To be fair, Mand’alor Djarin enjoyed boasting about his son and how proud he was of you enduring all of the discomfort during your pregnancy, all of your pains and cravings, and even the birth. You were the strongest warrior he’s ever known. He had told you more than once. 

He loved you deeply and dearly, as he loved the child you had given him. A little mix of him and you. While babies were mostly soft and squishy and their facial features were barely visible, your son had his father’s eyes. And his nose looked suspiciously like your own, just smaller and still a little chubby. Every time you saw Din with your son, how in love he was with this small human, you wanted to do it all over again. 

And you would. 

With the child fed and sound asleep, you and your husband finally had some much needed time for yourselves. Time to focus on the little joys of marital life you had craved for so long.

You sat on his lap, his cock deeply embedded in you, as you rolled your hips against his. He was propped up against some pillows so he was halfway upright, both of your hands on his chest while his held onto your hips. Perhaps it was too soon to return to having sex, but your body was technically healed, no matter how recently you might have given birth. It couldn’t be soon enough, you had been yearning for him ever since your belly had become too big to find any comfortable position to make love in.

As good as it felt to finally get what you wanted, Din’s demeanor was off-putting, to say the least. Usually he was very vocal, blessing you with moans and little praises, which were completely missing this time around. As soon as you had sat down on him and lifted your shirt, it was like he was somewhere else entirely. You had hoped he would fall back into his ways, but no matter how hard you squeezed him, nothing besides a single grunt had escaped his lips. 

Frustrated, you sighed, halted your movements and looked down to his face. »Do I not feel good?« you asked and rested a hand on his cheek. Like he was shaken out of his trance, his dark eyes found you and he furrowed his brows. »I’m sorry, cyar’ika. I’m…« He didn’t finish his sentence, unsure what to tell you.

Something was wrong and it stung a bit that he didn’t tell you. »Do you want me to stop?« you asked. His hands detached from your hip to caress over your skin, his thumbs tracing over your upper belly. »No.« You huffed and tilted your head to the side. »I’m getting mixed signals, cyare. What are you thinking about?« 

His hands wandered upwards until they rested just under your boobs. He lifted them gently, well aware that you were probably sensitive. They had grown significantly now that you were breastfeeding, but the weight that temporarily lifted off of you made you sigh and lean into his touch. 

You felt his cock twitch inside of you when he touched your supple flesh. »Do you like them?« you asked when you finally connected the dots. You felt him scan every last bit of your chest and continued »I’m sorry, I’m a little lopsided. Ad’ika only really latches onto the left one.« »Do they hurt?« His eyes were glued to your breasts while you talked. You didn’t mind as you finally had his attention. »The nipple is a bit sore. And the right one … well. I feel like it’ll burst soon. I’m a little afraid I will get an obstruction if he doesn’t accept that one soon.« 

Din carefully squeezed your breasts, but flinched when you whined. He just wanted to feel them, their weight and how tight they were, it was never his intention to hurt you. Still, that little squeeze made him groan. »Does an obstruction hurt?« he asked. You nodded. »It hurts and I could get an infection from that. Not necessarily life threatening but I’d like to avoid it at all cost.« His eyes were still staring at your breast and you chuckled. »Do you want a taste, my love?« His eyes shot up to yours again, shimmering, reminding you of a puppy. »You’re joking, right?« You shook your head. »I know a hungry baby when I see one, believe me. Besides… if that’s what’ll keep me from being in pain, go ahead.« 

»But… I’m not…« Din stammered, flustered by your offer. Maybe you were a little more relaxed about that than he was. You were terribly horny and if that’s what got him off, why not? It’s not like you would tell anyone. 

You placed your right hand onto his, effectively guiding him to massage your boob until you felt a drop of milk collecting on your nipple. You picked it up with your index finger and guided it to his mouth. »Open up,« you purred and watched in delight as he parted his lips. Your finger slipped past and touched his tongue. You felt another twitch in his cock as you pulled back. A second drop of milk fell from you and dripped onto his stomach. 

»How is it?« 

You were curious. It’s not like your son could tell you what it tasted like. And to be fair, tasting yourself is nothing that had come to your mind until now. »You’re sweet,« he groaned. Undeniably, that turned him on, to have you dripping for him from more than one spot now. He straightened his back to kiss along your collarbone, slowly working his lips down your breast. »Sweeter than your cunt. Intoxicating.« The stubble on his face was a little rough for your skin, but you liked the subtle burn it left. His tongue dragged over your nipple before another drop could fall, and you both softly moaned. 

»Please, fuck me cyar’ika,« he pleaded as he latched onto your breast, sucking until you felt some of the pressure release. 

As if you were distracted by the situation and needed to be pulled back to reality, his hands grabbed your hips again and guided you to move while he growled against your flesh. Now you twitched around him, earning another groan and a »move,« before he practically buried half of his face in your breast. 

Holding onto his shoulder and the back of his head, you lifted your hips and moved as best as you could without making him have to detach from you. Something about him hanging onto you for dear life, holding onto your hips so hard it would leave bruises and growling whenever he feared you’d unlatch him made your heart flutter and your orgasm approach so much faster. 

You weren’t the only one affected by this situation, as his deep moans vibrated into your chest and you felt him writhe underneath you. His hands practically slammed you down onto his cock, the tip kissing your cervix just how you needed. You wouldn’t last long like this, and he wouldn’t either. As much as you might regret the roughness you were subjecting your body to in this current moment, something primal took over. You were too sensitive and feeling every breath he took, every little noise he made, on your skin sent shivers down your whole body. You felt the tense buildup in your core, your breath quickening as more and more noises stumbled from your puffy lips. 

»Cyar’ika I won’t last long,« you managed to press forward in between moans, only hearing grunts from him in response. »I love you so much. So much,« you whined, overtaken by the sensations and tears forming in your eyes. You’ve never felt so overstimulated before. »Please give me another baby, Din. Please,« you begged your husband in desperation, not able to stop the babbling as you feared you would lose your mind. 

That was it. His nails dug into your skin as he pulled you down, reaching as deep as he could, pushing his hip up from the mattress to nudge himself right into your cervix as he pumped his seed inside of you. The noises he made were feral, somewhere in between a growl, a whine, and a muffled moan, increasing in volume with every twitch he made inside of you. 

You didn’t come, but you were fine with that for the time being. Your thoughts raced around the little confession you had made just now. You knew it was too soon to try for another baby and this was the first time you had ever spoken that wish out loud. Judging by his reaction he was on board, but you needed to talk about that in earnest. 

With a pop he unlatched from your breast and looked up at you. It seemed like tears were sparkling in the corners of his eyes as well. »You want another baby?« he whispered. His voice was so soft and fragile, it almost made you cry. »When the time is right,« you replied and cupped his cheeks in your hands, resting your forehead against his. »I doubt I can get pregnant again so quickly.« 

He straightened his back to kiss you. You tasted the remainder of yourself on his tongue, and he was right – you were sweet. When your lips parted, he sounded a little more like himself again, warm and raspy. »You didn’t cum, my love.« 

»It’s okay,« you reassured him and pressed another kiss onto his lips. »But I want you to,« he groaned and pressed more kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your skin in between kisses. »I want to fuck another baby into you right now,« he whispered against your skin. »I’d like to see you try.« »Oh I will try, I promise.« 

little translation for the Mando'a phrases:

Cyar'ika - Darling

Cyare - Beloved

Ad'ika - endearing term for a child

[repulsiveliquidation]

a blurb about seeing alexia looking hot as hell in that beige suit and having to leave the event for a minute to fuck her brains out

beige.

Alexia Putellas x Reader

my hands are so fucking numb from being in the same position holding my phone lol. Again, not formatted, my head is BURNING gang.

The meeting with the FIFA president was taking too fucking long. You were standing behind Alexia as she said hello, she was here to discuss all her ideas and plans for women’s football. She was firm and confident, the gorgeous beige suit she had on was an extension of that oozing confidence she always carried with her.

you had your hand on her shoulder as she held it a little, deeply focused on the conversation she was having. She looked incredibly enticing, even going as far as not wearing anything under the jacket in a country where women mostly covered up.

Your hand trailed down her back, taking a seat beside her. She reached for your hand instead, still deeply engaged in her conversation. You rubbed her inner thigh, feeling her tense a little. Her voice remained steady, hand gripping yours as if to tell you to stop.

You obviously didn’t, other hand slowly reaching over to rub her lower back softly. You slipped it under her jacket, feeling her smooth skin.

She sighed shakily, now putting in more effort to keep herself engaged in conversation with the FIFA president who had inserted himself into their conversation.

Into the first hour, you had teased her even more, fingers dipping into her pants at the back a little to scratch softly at her skin. She was sensitive there, biting her lip hard to keep her composure.

She had had enough when your hand slipped close to her core and pressed in, rubbing tight slow circles over her clothed clit. Alexia suddenly shot up, grabbed your hand and started making up an excuse to leave for a bit, claiming she felt a little sick from the plane ride and needed your help. They waved her off, she wasn’t needed until much later anyway.

She dragged you into the closest broom closet, locking it and pressing you up against the door. She was out of breath already, eyes filled with lust and tears.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Because you look enticing in that suit, amor.”

She whines, thighs pressing together.

“Fuck me, I can’t take it anymore.”

you nod, turning her around and pressing her back into the door. Her hands try to get her pants off, but you do it, her hands shaking with anticipation.

She’s wet, underwear sticking to her folds. She bites her lip and whimpers when the cold air hits, your mouth watering at the sight of La Reina, putty in your hands.

Your lips latch onto her clit, hurriedly sucking with tight lips. She gasps and cries out your name, but quickly has a look of shock realizing that she’s in public and can’t be as loud as she is used to being in the bedroom.

Your fingers fondle over her hole, two slipping in easily. She grips your hair hard, hips rocking into your fingers fast to get herself off.

You suckle on her clit harder, tongue dancing over it hard and fast. Your fingers dig deeper, pressing hard against her sweet spot. She lets out another cry for you, this time not caring who heard.

“Bebita!” She screamed, coming hard on your face and fingers. She was dripping, evidence of her high cascading down your arm. You pulled away once she begged you to stop, licking teasingly at you hand to clean up. She pulls her pants up quickly as you stand, grinning softly at her. She grabs your face and kisses you dearly, pulling away with a gentle smile.

“I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you too, Mi Reina.”

[foxcantswim]

hii, I was searching on your account to see if you were accepting requests but I didn't find anything, so if you really aren't accepting feel free to ignore my request.

I was thinking about your latest Vanessa work and the question arose about how Vanessa would act if Vanny's personality controlled her and she flirted with Reader

It's a little strange but I love jealous Vanessa

FNAF Movie / / Vanessa x F!Reader x Vanny [Like She Does]

(gif by me)

Vanessa's alternate personality, Vanny, likes to flirt with you. Vanessa doesn't like it. Contents: Jealous!Vanessa, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship Warnings: Split Personality, Vanny leaving marks on Reader, Vanessa being sad :( WC: 1,417

Part 2 (Smut 18+)

"Hey there, Y/N~" a glitched voice fills your ears from behind you.

You leaned further into your chair, "What do you want, Vanny? Can't you see I'm busy working?"

Every other day Vanny would pay you a visit whilst you worked the night shift. You couldn't quite decide if you preferred her or Vanessa... But you did love both of them equally, they were pretty much the same person after all. However, Vanessa would disagree. She wanted you all to herself and she hated the Vanny side of her. You knew she couldn't control her other personality and you never judged her for it, you simply embraced it and learned to get used to it.

"Don't be mean, Y/N," Vanny draped her arms around your shoulders from behind, laughing into your ear, "I'm just here to keep your pretty self company."

You couldn't help but sigh in her embrace, "Mhm... Can't wait for you to annoy me."

Vanny removed her arms from you and turned your chair around to face her.

You rolled your eyes at her attire, "Do you have to wear that awful thing?" you nodded at the rabbit suit she was wearing.

"You don't like it?" Vanny cocked her head.

"Not really, no."

She quickly removed the rabbit mask from her head and threw it to the ground, her blonde hair was a mess and there was almost a crazy manic look in her eyes.

"Better?" she said with a smirk.

You couldn't help but smile upon seeing her face, "Better."

Vanny strutted over to you and wasted no time in straddling your waist, "You know what the only good thing about not wearing the mask is?"

"W-What?" you gulped harshly as Vanny's fabric covered hands planted themselves on your shoulders.

Her smirk grew before she leaned in closer to kiss you deeply, you closed your eyes in response as you felt her smile into the kiss.

She pulled away, laughing as you let out a whine, "I can do that," Vanny said, pride in her voice.

You took a shaky breath before shaking your head, "You know Vanessa hates it when you do things like that."

The smile quickly dropped on the blonde's face, "Well I don't care what Vanessa thinks. It isn't fair that she gets to have you more than I do." The pout on her face was beyond adorable. Anybody else would be terrified of having this crazed killer rabbit in their lap, but not you... You loved this woman so dearly.

"Maybe she'll be okay with you and I at some point, okay?" you said, hopefully, "I love you both, you know? I would never have one of you without the other."

You hated 'betraying' Vanessa like this... But Vanny was her. You prayed that she would accept Vanny easing her way into the relationship.

"Vanessa is even more stubborn than me," Vanny rolled her eyes, clearly not hopeful.

You brushed a messy strand of hair out of her face, "Come on now... You know Vanessa listens to me. It's hard for her to say no to this face."

Vanny smiled slightly before burying her face into your neck, "That makes two of us."

You happily held her in your arms, a blush creeping up onto your cheeks, "I know Vanessa is going to be so annoyed when she finds out you've been flirting again."

"Mm I'm simply just claiming what's mine," Vanny kissed your neck, her teeth scraping your skin.

Instinctively, you tilted your head to the side. You knew that Vanessa was going to see the marks, but you were powerless to stop the blonde on top of you.

"Van..." you muttered, your arms tightening around her.

"Poor little Y/N. Vanessa is going to be so angry. She wishes she could do what I do to you," her teeth bit into your skin. Vanny was always the more intense one out of the two.

Vanny soothed the multiple marks on your neck with her tongue, smirking as she did.

A laugh escaped the blonde as she pulled away from your neck, she groaned soon after, "Stupid stupid Vanessa... She's trying to regain control."

A hand came up to smooth over your neck, "Vanessa is going to kill me."

"That's my job," Vanny leaned in close, that crazed look in her eye much more visible.

You really couldn't tell if she was joking or not...

She ran a finger down the side of your face and down your jaw, "She can't keep me away from you forever," her lips met yours again, finally.

That was when you felt her twitch in your arms, a sharp gasp escaping her.

The blonde quickly pulled away from you, shock on her face as she looked won at the position she was in. Her legs still firmly straddling your waist.

"Nessy?" you whispered, searching her face for answers.

"Oh shit, Y/N! I-I'm sorry, did Vanny-?"

You held her close, stopping her from moving, "Vanny didn't hurt me if that's what you're wondering."

Vanessa couldn't stop herself from looking down at her attire. A grimace crossed her face as she realised she was wearing the disgusting rabbit suit (that was definitely covered in old blood stains and sweat...).

"I hate this thing so much," Vanessa whispered, slightly upset with herself for letting Vanny take control.

Truth was, you actually hated the suit too. But it was a part of who Vanny was, and you weren't about to start hating her because of it.

"It's not so bad," you tried to reassure her, your hands rubbing her sides in comfort.

Vanessa scanned over you, still not trusting herself or Vanny. Her eyes locked onto your neck eventually.

A frown appeared on her face, "I'm guessing she did that," her voice was low.

"Come on, Ness, it's nothing-"

"You know I hate it when she flirts with you. And now she does this?"

You moved a hand up to cup her cheek, "Vanessa. Please... I love her like I love you. You're the same person. I know you don't see it that way, but please try to understand."

Vanessa shook her head, a pout on her face. She could feel the jealousy raging within her a lot more than usual.

You leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek, "I'm still all yours, Nessy. Always. I love you, Vanessa. I'm here to accept who you really are, and that includes Vanny. Is that okay?"

A part of Vanessa had been shocked that you were okay with her crazy side. Vanny. She had always been so afraid to show anyone that side of her. Seeing you being so open to understand her made her heart melt, it was always so hard to disagree with you.

She nodded, "I-I can't promise that I will be able to accept this any time soon. But if you think that's what is best..." her eyes drifted away from you.

"No, Vanessa," you cupped both her cheeks with your hands, making her look at you, "I want all of you in on this. If you aren't ready yet, then I will let Vanny down easily. Your feelings matter to me, okay? I was yours first. Not hers."

Vanessa couldn't stop the tears from flooding into her eyes.

"I'm afraid she'll hurt you. I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

You smiled, "I know, Nessy. We'll be okay."

"You'll tell me if she does anything to hurt you, right?"

"Of course I will. I won't keep anything from you."

Vanessa nodded, feeling slightly relieved. Her heart still ached at the thought of you giving more attention to Vanny than to herself, but she knew she would have to accept it one day. Right now, she was more than happy to just sit in your arms and take it slow.

She placed a soft kiss on your lips in thanks.

"Now... I think it's about time you took that rabbit suit off and let me get back to work."

You were glad nothing bad had happened during your shift. It was hard to concentrate when there was a beautiful blonde with two personalities bugging you all night after all.

Taglist: @marvelwomen-simp ;

[mehwmidklpe]

THE WAY

Ethan Nakamura was the bravest person you know.

He fought for righteousness, respect, balance.

Ethan stands up for himself; a boy who had to rot away in the Hermes cabin for years before leaving and finding out his mother is a minor goddess.

Ethan stands up for his mother; Nemesis, goddess of revenge and retribution, a minor goddess who deserves recognition and who stands for balance.

Ethan stands up for you; a girl who's so brave but has been unclaimed for her entire life, who gave up hoping and accepted that she'll never get claimed, but most of all the girl he loves.

Now you and Ethan weren't dating, but you both know there was something there.

You could tell by the way you ran away from camp together, the way he tries to keep you safe at any cost, the way you sacrifce yourself for him when needed, the way you both give evrything to save each other's lifes.

Right now, you were waiting for Ethan to get back.

Where he went?

No idea.

What he was doing?

Again, no idea.

The only thing you did know is that you wanted him to come back. Safe at that.

But when you heard footsteps behind you, you turned around to see him approaching. Only something was off.

He was wearing an eyepatch, it covered his gorgeous dark left eye.

"Ethan." You met him halway, but the expression on his face made your chest ache. "What's.." Your voice trailed of as your eyes flickered all ove rhis face, taking in his expression.

That's when you knew.

"Y/n.." He breathed out, the emotion in his voice touching you. "I.. I gave her my eye.." You knew who he meant.

Nemesis. His mother he loved so dearly.

"She said I'd be the one who would bring balance to the gods. The minor gods and unclaimed would finally be recognized. I'd make a difference in the world. I'd make a difference for you."

The way he spoke was just so loving, so soft. All he wanted was balance. A fair world. A world you two could just peacefully live in together.

You sighed deeply. "Oh Ethan.." Your soft hand went up to his cheek, slightly caressing it.

Before he could process it, your hand moved up to his eyepatch, ready to move it up. "Don't." He stopped you.

"It looks terrible, Y/n." The boy warned you.

But in your eyes, Ethan was perfect. He could never look terrible.

It was clear he was half-god cause he always looks absolutely divine.

Ignoring his protest, you pushed his eyepatch up, just enough for you to see his empty eye socket.

Where once rested his beautiful dark eye, now was an empty dark place. But none of that mattered to you. It truly didn't.

Honestly, Ethan thought you'd find it disgusting, any normal person would. But you weren't just some normal girl. No, you were a girl who's madly in love.

So no, you didn't find it gross or ugly, you didn't run. You stayed. You stayed like you always did.

You slowly placed the eyepatch back over his eyesocket.

Then you cradled his cheek in your hand, looking at him with the most gorgeous, loving eyes he's ever seen in his entire life.

"You're beautiful.."

Ethan just stared at you.

You'd just called him beautiful. Even after seeing what happened to him you still called him beautiful.

And by the way you spoke he just knew you were being honest.

Gods how he loved you.

So with that, for the first time, but definitely not the last time, your lips met.

Ethan allowed himself to melt into your touch and to close his one eye as your lips moved so gently against his.

He had never felt this good in his life. This safe, this comfortable, this loved.

The way your hand caressed his cheek so carefully as if you were scared he'd break if you put to much pressure, as if he hadn't fought tons of monsters already.

And the love came from both sides, cause you felt it in the way he kissed you, in the way he held you as if he was scared to let you go, which he never wanted to do.

He held you like he wanted to protect you, even if you didn't need protection he was gonna give it to you.

You and Ethan stayed in each other's embrace for a long time, just sharing loving kisses or holding each other. You wishpered praises to him to assure him that he was still as perfect as when he had both eyes.

And Ethan let himself believe you, he let himself be loved by you.

And he made sure to love you the same way you loved him.

I think I actually really like this one