#god counting those years just made my soul leave my body...

[calicohyde]

The light in the room is pink. Ferris's cat eyes see it mostly as a sort of rosy gray, but he recognizes the giant salt lamp stretching all across the mantle and remembers the hue from his past as a human, with color-sensitive rods and cones and all. The women sitting in their typical circle in the center of the room appear to Ferris in tinted shades of gray as well. There are thirteen of them. A… volatile number.

It's the usual number. The nine crones of the Shaw coven are hosting four crones from the Bellefontaine coven, their neighbor to the West. It's always arranged for a meeting like this that the total attendees will come to thirteen. The witches think it's a lucky number. Ferris doesn't believe in luck, personally, not to mention that if he did he wouldn't foolishly assume "lucky" could only mean the good kind. 

Where the Bellefontaine coven is concerned that's all irrelevant anyway. They only have the four crones to send. They pride themselves on being exclusive, not that it does them any favors magic wise, for Ferris's money. He figures they're mostly just rich and they only like other flush types. But he also figures that's their business. It's not like he has to live with them.

As is also usual, in the West corner of the room there is a crystal bowl of rainwater set out by the Shaw witches to honor the Bellefontaine, and in the South corner a sputtering red pillar candle brought along by the Bellefontaines from their own coven house to honor their gracious hosts. The rest of the circle is cast only with the women's bodies in their rearranged and mismatching chairs, informal.

The atmosphere that's meant to achieve would probably be a little easier to reach if anyone at the meeting was actually friendly.

Ferris is mostly ignoring them all. They're arguing over which coven the Creve Coeur lake belongs to (as if a lake could belong to anyone), and it mostly just strikes him as whiny posturing. It's a whole ass body of water; there's no reason they can't share it, aside from their own fragile egos. Humans are such babies.

"As a Southern coven you hardly need access to that volume of natural water to do your spellwork," one of the Bellefontaine crones is insisting. Her name is Camille Fay, and her tone is less than diplomatic. She's the youngest crone of her coven at fifty-eight, but she still acts like she's the wisest damn person on the whole of the earth. Ferris hates every fiber of her being, from her silvering blonde hair down to her sensible flats. Usually he doesn't get to express that feeling much. Happily for him, his job tonight is to have an opinion. For once he'll be able to let his mistress know all about it.

"On the contrary," a Shaw crone, Nubia, responds. Her voice is quiet and calm but as unyielding as steel. That's how her whole personality is, as far as Ferris has ever been able to tell. He knows her a little better than he might if only Nine, her snooty familiar, wasn't always getting on his furry ass. "The element doesn't come as easily to us as our own. We can gain more from the resource than you."

"Sisters, please," interrupts Breanne, another Shaw crone. Her voice is croaky with both accent and age. She's the eldest crone in attendance. Ferris doesn't even know how old she is, but from the way her aura fills rooms he'd guess probably old enough that none of his little magic tricks work on her anymore. He's not daft enough to try asking her. "The simplest course is to share the lake. It's already split by the borders of our covens, we might as well just keep it that way."

"Please forgive us, Crone Clearly. You must understand why we wouldn't want to share magical space with…" Camille pauses, pursing her lips in the most contrived thoughtful moue Ferris has ever seen. He's glad he can't see the shade of her lipstick, or he'd probably be put off the color for the rest of his lives. Finally Camille finishes her sentence, her tone making it obvious that she'd rather use a much less politically correct word. "Clairvoyants."

"No," Breanne replies, harder now than Nubia has ever been. She's right to be. Ferris comes from a time long before Camille's, and he even knows that all the dogshit everyone says about clairvoyants is just that - dogshit. He knows it now, and he damn well knew it back then too. "I'm afraid we can't understand that at all." She leaves it at that and Ferris sniffs. If he were in charge here, he would have cast a little something special to bring the point home.

Instead of backing up her superior, Nubia coolly tells Camille, "We don't have any clairvoyants in our coven," as if Breanne had never spoken.

There's a long silence. The air in the room chills and the salt lamp flickers briefly in an effort to stay on in the sudden onset of negativity. Breanne's aura darkens noticeably, though she - too mercifully, in Ferris's opinion - refrains from reproaching Nubia in front of their guests. Ferris shivers at the feeling of her anger, but he has his own rage to contend with too. The Shaw coven does have clairvoyants in it - two of them, and it would have another if Nubia and her likeminds hadn't practically hanged the third themselves!

"The Shaw coven proposes that we maintain the current borders, and share the lake," Breanne says officiously, holding her anger behind her teeth with long-practiced skill (a skill Ferris himself has never learned and doesn't have any plans to, though he supposes it's respectable enough in her case). "Let's convene a moment to discuss the motion privately."

The mood lifts, barely, as all thirteen witches rise. Tradition and decorum dictate that they all present some level of camaraderie to each other as neighbors regardless of their disagreements. Of course, craftism isn't what Ferris would call a disagreement, but he's only been around for a century so what could he possibly know about anything.

Ferris ignores the shitty atmosphere and the bad taste in his mouth at great cost to his patience, not that he ever has much of that to start with. It's amazing the shit he has to put up with in this being-a-familiar biz. Sometimes it can get hard for him to remember what fucking year it is, when living people still manage to think so backwards.

Whatever. It's like he said; at least he doesn't have to live with them. With her. If he had been reborn Camille's familiar he thinks he might have gone into the regular cat life instead, power and extra lives be damned. As it is, he has a mistress who fits his sensibilities much better, thank the Gods. If only she'd quit giving him such tedious jobs.

Ferris waits impatiently by the heavy double doors as the Bellefontaine crones kiss cheeks and exchange brief, disingenuous pleasantries with the Shaw crones. He knows his pale orange fur makes a stark contrast against the backdrop of shiny dark wood, but unfortunately that flare will be lost on the Bellefontaine witches. Ferris carries some of his mistress's power with him when he does her work. He can't be seen unless he makes a particular point of it. 

The four Bellefontaine witches file over and exit the pink-glowing room in a line, with Camille leading the way. Ferris follows them out, careful to keep his tail out of the way of the closing door.

Ferris watches in silence - and boredom - as the witches discuss Breanne's movement to share the lake. One crone thinks it fair, one is indifferent. The eldest Bellefontaine crone - Justine or Josefine or something, Ferris doesn't remember or care - hears them both out without showing any reaction. Camille watches her with a sour look, her gaze pointed.

"Speak, Crone Fay," the elder says eventually. "You obviously have a strong opinion." Camille draws herself up to her full height, taller than her fellows by virtue of her relative youth, and steps forward. It's easy to tell she hasn't been listening to her coven sisters, only waiting for their turn to speak to be over.

"I am extremely hesitant to share my magical space and resources with them," she sneers. Ferris's hackles rise, but he manages to stop himself short of acting. "They'll taint the purity of the natural water! It's only a fact, Crone Sommer, you know the history. They spread their magic sickness everywhere they go. If they go to the lake, we won't be able to. Not safely. How is that fair, when it's ours to begin with?"

Ferris pants through his mouth, trying to avoid the tar-like scent of Camille's self righteousness. If there's any grace among the Bellefontaine coven, Sommer will shut down Camille's dogshit. The eldest are meant to be the wisest, after all. Surely she must know the "history" Camille referred to is a long legacy of widespread slander, at a generous description.

Sommer sighs. "We have to function within these new times, Crone Fay," she murmurs. "Our sisters in the Shaw coven won't welcome us to the resources inside their borders if we refuse to grant them access to ours."

Ferris's teeth itch. So much for growing with age. Not to mention that as Breanne pointed out, only half of the Creve Coeur lake is inside the Bellefontaine borders as they stand.

"Fine," Camille snaps. She folds her arms. Ferris is shocked she doesn't stomp her foot too. Gods almighty. "A compromise then. We can share the lake with the Shaw coven, as long as the sixers don't muddy it. It shouldn't be a problem since they said they aren't part of the coven anyway. And if we catch them causing trouble, we should be permitted to step in."

The fur along Ferris's spine stands on end, his skin underneath it crawling with revulsion. His teeth hurt now, with the urge to retaliate. That might just be a word nowadays, might have been just a word for as long as Camille Fay has known it, but when Ferris was living his first life people said that when they were locking clairvoyants up in old houses and leaving them there to wither away into hauntings. It hasn't even been a decade since the taboo passed against abandoning clairvoyants to the 'treatment' inflicted on them by non-witches - and that's the word people use when they break it.

"There's no need for crass language," says the witch who had first supported Breanne's movement. It's not really a reprimand; her tone is light, and 'crass'? That hardly even begins to cover it.

"Language aside," Sommer says, and she's smiling. Ferris holds in a hiss, letting the guttural thing squirm in the back of his throat and make him gag rather than alert these repulsive women to his presence. "Your compromise sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

Ferris doesn't bother to follow again when the Bellefontaine witches return to the pink-lit meeting room. He knows well enough already that the Shaw crones will agree to their so-called compromise, treading all over the already trodden clairvoyants supposedly under their cloak. Nubia isn't the only one on the Tier with craftist ideals, and even Breanne can't overrule a majority choice. Maybe if they'd heard what Camille had said things would be different, but they hadn't and it's not within Ferris's abilities to tell them about it.

The meeting is over in a matter of minutes and Camille is the one to lead the Bellefontaine crones out the dark double doors again, the extinguished red pillar candle cradled in her hands.

"You don't think any of us will see one of the clairvoyants in our park, do you?" one of her peers asks her.

"Don't worry, sister," Camille says, sounding almost eager. "I know exactly what to do to those motherless things if we do see one."

The lights all go out with a crack. Ferris slinks away in the sudden darkness. He didn't mean to do that, but it serves them all right. He hopes every one of them bumps into something sharp.

Hours pass and Ferris still seethes. He knows Fred and Eddie - the clairvoyants in question - are both grown-ups who can take care of themselves, but to him they're still just kittens. And regardless, the Alfaro siblings are only the clairvoyants in question this time. Who knows what Camille Fay has planned for them or who else she might set her malevolent sights on.

The pads of his paws leave smears in old incense dust as Ferris paces back and forth across his mistress's window sill altar. She doesn't do much magic during the day, her temperament much more suited to the sleeker energy of the moonlight, so she isn't here to see him ruminate. She's probably just gone to bed, a few rooms away. The ash Ferris kicks up swirls around in sparkling motes in the early dawn light leaking through the glass pane. He can't bring himself to appreciate the beauty of it when all he can think about is the hideous rot living barely thirty miles away.

Camille Fay, and the rest of her elitist coven, are not the only craftists in St. Louis. Not by far. Even the Shaw coven, arguably the second most progressive St. Louisan coven is filled to the brim with them, though none quite so blatant. But Ferris can't do anything about all of them. He feels so Gods-damned helpless against the insidiousness of it sometimes he could just explode. The fucking hypocrites will go on and on about the clairvoyant "sickness" when they're the ones spreading their awful spiritual rot. Ferris can feel it in his fur sometimes, trying to sink into him and erode his power. It's no wonder craftists feel weaker around clairvoyants. The irony is that they only have themselves to blame.

There's no telling them that though. Ferris has no voice, except to other cats, and people like that would hardly find him worth listening to even if he could speak. He swipes a paw at the array of crystals lined up along the wide sill in frustration, knocking some amethyst and lepidolite onto the carpeted floor with two muted thunks.

He can't stay here, pacing and fuming, going stagnant and bitter. Ferris's mistress has him watching this and keeping an eye on that, and he acts on nothing. He doesn't generally have a proactive kind of personality (less go-with-the-flow and more stay-right-here), but for once in all three of his lives Ferris simply can't stand to sit still. If Camille decides to act on her implicit threat, running home to tattle on her just isn't going to cut it. Not this time.

Ferris leaps down from the window altar, unintentionally taking a piece of labradorite with him. He pauses, considering waking his mistress up to let her know, but discards the thought. He doubts she'd support him taking any kind of direct action, nevermind the kind he's starting to warm up to right now. He's not in the mood to be stopped.

Soft paws avoid the creaky parts of the stairs with expert ease as Ferris makes his way toward the front door. Witches always want to have mysterious comings and goings, so it's used less than the back door is. Even if he's not the only one awake Ferris is less likely to be intercepted if he goes out this way. 

There's a narrow window that is always left open in the entryway, because as a general rule familiars like Ferris do not take too kindly to using cat flaps. He leaps lightly up onto the pillar table, onto the sill, and out into the rapidly rewarming air of the city.

Ferris doesn't set off straight away. He sits in the middle of the sidewalk, looking off into the West. His tail sweeps back and forth behind him, brushing aside the soft green leaves that fell from the maple in the yard overnight. Camille Fay and the rest of her coven will have arrived back at their coven house several hours ago. They're probably all asleep. And what with their all too obvious opinions about clairvoyants, there's very little chance any of them know he's coming. Even if someone tried to warn them, and even if they believed that person, there's no chance in hell they would expect Ferris to actually arrive this morning.

The Shaw coven house, where last night's meeting took place, is in South St. Louis (hence the burning candle, fire, to honor them). The Bellefontaines are in the West; rich bitch water witches. Their coven house is all the way out in Ballwin. That's over thirty miles, and a very long distance to go on four paws.

At least it would be, for anything on four paws other than Ferris.

In his first life Ferris was a tectonist, an earth mover. He couldn't take all of his abilities with him into reincarnation, but familiars retain just a touch of what made them powerful as a human, twisted around to be useful as a soul companion to a living witch. Ferris doesn't know how it all works exactly, and he doesn't care, he's just glad he doesn't have to walk everywhere like- Well, like an animal. 

Ferris's old powers have translated into a sort of… distance warping. For every step over land that Ferris takes, he can travel many more. It's not really that much less work, but at least it's quicker.

So Ferris sits, and he stares off into the West towards the Bellefontaine coven house thirty miles away, sweeping his tail back and forth, and he gathers his power. His mistress will probably feel him using it, but it's like he said: she has him running around all over the place spying on people, so with any luck she'll just assume he's finally taken some initiative. It's like taking a deep breath, pulling his magic around him. He feels it mainly as a strength in his heart and a warmth in his paws. When he feels fortified enough, Ferris stands and takes a step.

The smell of warm bread fills Ferris's nose as he passes by Vitale's Bakery in The Hill, getting ready to open. Another step and the fountain in the Clifton Heights park babbles in his ears. He moves on past the university, through the sculpture park, the conservation area, and circles around a little to avoid that last Starbucks which no doubt will be teaming with people now that the sun has fully risen. Fuck if he knows what day of the week it is, but he's not willing to risk getting trampled in a before-work coffee rush.

Ferris takes smaller steps through the Bellefontaines' neighborhood, until finally he's walking without magical enhancement, squinting in the bright sunlight at every ostentatious manor house he passes. He'll know the one the coven lives in without any trouble, even though he's never been here before. Even folks without any witchy gifts can tell a coven house when they see one; they're so lousy with magic there's no way not to notice something. It just happens that Ferris figures everyone else on this street probably deserves a good hard stare from an unfamiliar and suspiciously focused cat first thing in the morning.

When he finally reaches the looming monstrosity that is the Bellefontaine coven house, Ferris has worked himself back up into a frothing tizzy. The coven house looms up above the street, a mansion among manors. The siding is too-pristine white, the shutters a too-deep blue, all the windows delicately frosted. It's framed on either side by trees that are fuller and lusher than any plant in their neighbors' yards. The front walk is long and lined on both sides with lamb's ear, and on the open brick porch are huge pots of aromatic mint. The tarry smear of hateful magic can't be contained by its walls; Ferris can feel it dirtying him from here. He sneers, showing his long bicuspids underneath a curled lip.

Camille's threat echoes in Ferris's mind. She knows 'what to do' with clairvoyants, huh? Well Ferris knows what to do with craftists, how 'bout that.

Ferris trots up the walk, still just as unconcerned with being seen as he was listening in on the Bellefontaine crones' conversation last night. He peers up at the house again from between the mint bushes on the porch, checking one window and then the other to see which one is open. When he spots it, Ferris lifts himself up onto the lip of the left mint pot and then springs onto the sill. Another familiar is sitting there on the inside, a Siamese. She maiows questioningly at him, but she doesn't smell or feel like Camille so he ignores her.

The indoor sill is actually a platform, covered by a plush velvet purple cushion with bright white trim and tassels. It's just as ostentatious as the exterior of the house. There must be some kind of spell on it to keep it from getting covered in fur. Wasteful. Ferris doesn't doubt the rest of the decor here will match. He resolves to pay as little attention as possible.

Camille's room is as easy to find as the coven house was; the way Ferris can feel her magic leaking out around the slightly ajar door is like standing next to an open sewer when the city is at its hottest and most humid. Ferris paws down his revulsion and enters.

The exact bedroom he'd expect from a well-off water witch is what greets Ferris on the other side of the door. The floor is covered wall to wall with deeply plush, pale carpet. The bed, a queen, is by the double windows, which are dressed on either side with sheer white curtains and have prisms hanging all across. There are several high bookshelves filled with crumbling old tomes, each topped by a thriving water plant with their roots all on display in their clear crystal vases. Camille is at the dresser, dark heavy wood and a huge vanity mirror, digging through the top drawer.

Ferris sits just inside and watches her. Impulse and rage carried him all the way here, and the latter hasn't died down one bit from arriving. Camille is dangerous, evil, a fast acting poison to the city that Ferris loves. But Ferris is only barely more than a cat. He can't threaten her, and if he did it would be taken as from his mistress, and a bribe is just the same. Both options are beyond Ferris's abilities, and unreliable besides. Ferris wants his city to be safe - he needs it to be. He's spent over a century here and he knows every last corner of it, as constantly changing as it is. He knows its spirit.

Camille Fay is nothing special. Not unusual, no anomaly. She has always been here, and she is everywhere. But all the same, she does not belong.

Ferris makes his way to the top of one of Camille's bookshelves in three bounds, curling his body around behind the water plant on top. It's a tight fit, he's quite fat, but he ignores the squeeze in favor of watching Camille from his new vantage point. She hums to herself as she opens the miniature boudoir thing atop the dresser to select the day's jewels. He hates her. She has to go. She chooses diamonds set in gold: earrings that stretch her lobes with their weight, a necklace just shy of gaudy, and a ring nearly as big as the prisms in the window. She turns her head back and forth to catch and reflect the light, giving herself a smug look in the mirror.

Ferris holds back a snort. Oh, but isn't Camille Fay simply the finest specimen on earth? Surely only the most gold- and furs-laden mourners will be allowed at her funeral. Ferris can't wait to not show.

Of course, that would be in poor taste even if he were properly dressed. Since he's going to murder her and all.

Yes, he's finally decided on it fully. He's prepared to follow through. It's not like he's never killed or caused death before, in this life and in the lives previous. Truly it's a favor anyway. To the Bellefontaine coven. Three crones is certainly a better number than four, and Camille is very rude besides. It's not that Camille deserves to die necessarily, though the argument could easily be made, but more that everyone else deserves to live without her. Ferris can only imagine what would happen were Camille Fay to become the Bellefontaines' senior crone and then for a clairvoyant to be born in West County. Best to remove her before anyone has to find out.

Camille stands up from her vanity and moves away into the walk in closet on the other side of the room. Ferris stays sunk down behind the water plant on top of the bookshelf and contemplates what's available to him. Without thumbs it's very difficult for him to wield any weapons. He shifts restlessly, looking around the room for something opportune, and the crystal vase of the water plant scrapes heavily on the shelf top when he accidentally nudges it. He pauses in his perusal of the room, turning his attention to the plant instead. He nudges it purposefully now and it scrapes along, closer to the edge of the shelf.

Perfect.

Camille comes back out of the closet, pausing at the doorway to slip her feet into the gold flats she's chosen for the day. Ferris watches her now with the eyes of a hunter. He can feel his energy building up in his hind legs as if to pounce, though he knows in this case he'll be doing no such thing. Camille ambles closer, slipping a woven jacket over her shoulders. Ferris rotates his shoulders. Closer. Come closer.

Idly, Camille browses her shelves as she applies her lipstick (another subtle color that Ferris can't quite see). She smiles the same smug smile at some of the titles that she did at her diamonds. Does she even read them? Probably not unless someone impressionable is watching. Ferris hopes the books will go to the coven and all the young witches will get to read them, once he's done his deed. Camille comes ever closer.

Finally Camille is just beneath him, and Ferris stands abruptly, throwing his weight against the backside of the water plant. It makes a horrendous scrape against the wood as it moves, and Camille looks up to see it tip towards her head.

It's then that Ferris lets her see him. Just so that she knows, in her final moments, that she is the one to have been dealt with.

Her eyes focus on him, wide, as she gasps, and then the water plant in its heavy crystal vase hits her with a muted crunch. Camille and her plant topple to the floor. Water from the vase sinks into the plush carpet. Moments later, it's joined by blood from Camille's head. Ferris watches it spread for a moment, vibrant enough against its pale surroundings for him to see its redness. He disappears himself back into magically assured unobrustiveness when he hears footsteps rushing near.

There are exclamations of the names of various Gods as the young witches who crowd inside see Camille's body on the floor. As the eldest of the group sends the youngest off to collect the crones Ferris slips, perfectly unnoticed, back out the door, down the stairs, and to the open entryway window.

"You're welcome," he rumbles to the Siamese familiar, now standing and looking up towards the commotion. She turns her blue eyes to watch him curiously as he leaps back down into the mint pot on the porch, and leaves her coven house behind.

The Starbucks is still a little busy, but the morning rush has passed. Ferris sits at the edge of the parking lot and breathes in the smell of coffee, feeling nostalgic. Cat food isn't as bad as one might assume, but it still can't compare to a good roast or a stiff drink. Eventually, Ferris has sniffed his fill and continues home

He travels back through the conservation area and the sculpture park, past the Clifton fountain and the bakery in the same dozen or so steps, until he reaches his own neighborhood and slows. The city is awake now, more than just birds contributing to the noise around him. The cats from the night's Watch are turning in; some greet him with quiet feline chatter. Cars pass. Dogs are being walked.

Ferris leaps up onto the open windowsill when he reaches his home. It's cool, quiet, and dusk-dark inside. He trots up the stairs, through the room with the sill altar, and into the bedroom. His mistress still sleeps. He springs up onto the bed with her, landing on light feet and picking his way over the covers to curl up at her side.

"Hello, pretty boy," she murmurs sleepily. She brushes a hand down his back, her touch heavy and clumsy with drowsiness. "What have you been up to?"

Ferris opens himself to her, lets her feel what he's feeling. Pride, satisfaction, relief. She hums happily, smiles, and goes back to sleep.

Ferris closes his eyes and sleeps too, purring.

© Calico Print 2017. Do not copy, repost, or redistribute. @girlfriendsofthegalaxy @haectemporasunt @jezifster @blackhannetandco @fearofahumanplanet @godsleftarmpit @littlehastyhoneydew @rainbowabomination @antihell @isherwoodj @marrowwife @ashen-crest @wildswrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @garthcelyn @muddshadow @cohldhands @unrealistic-android @glam-pir @outpost51 Sign up to be tagged when I post about this project.

[haechanniessgirl]

pretty when you cry part 2 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ y.jw

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

long awaited part 2!!!

summary: you were always sensitive growing up, crying and weeping in your mother's arms over things in a way that few understood, until you met a boy, whose only true goal was to protect you, but failed in doing so as he got overwhelmed by his high school teenage years and left you behind

pairing ✧˚ · . yang jungwon x reader ( some enha members are mentioned )

genre ! established friendship, fluff and angst, arguments, friends to lovers! word count:

AUTHORS NOTE:: sorry for the delay but here is part 2!! i hope you enjoyed! im gonna start taking requests, so please send me anything <3

italic text: flashbacks ( in case of confusion )

fuck , your heart felt like bursting through your chest. sliding down the bathroom stall door, you clutched tightly your bag that has now slid down next to your shaking form. you couldnt breathe, your eyes blurred with tears that continuously slid down your already stained cheeks, your other hand gripping the roots of your hair as you struggled to keep quiet.

the air felt suffocating, the bathroom stall sending you into a claustrophobic frenzy, the lingering bathroom smell making it even harder to breathe. your phone started ringing, but in that moment, you couldnt focus on anything else, other than the fact that you have officially lost your best friend, the only person that felt like home to you, your anchor through hardships in life, your person.

but no matter how hard you tried to ignore the constant buzzing from your phone, the screen illuminating every so often, it almost irritated you. for a moment, you looked boringly at the toilet in front of you, huffing at how pathetic you felt, but the endless stream of messages you were receiving once again lulled you out of your head space, and you hastily wiped your tears and turned over to your phone laid out on the floor. he had texted you, even called you.

you couldnt help but let out a forced laugh, so this is what it takes for him to finally contact you. your feelings were hurt, you felt like your soul had espaced your body, hell even your heart clenched at the mere thought of jungwon, but you had to look at his messages that were left notified on your phone, carefully not opening them in case you werent ready to answer him just yet.

wonie: im so sorry wonie: please, im so sorry wonie: i promise please, ill keep my promise, im not leaving you, ill never do that, im so sorry y/n, please answer wonie: where are you? i need to see you, please let me explain myself wonie: god even if you dont want to see me, please let me make it up to you, im sorry for hurting you, im sorry for ruining us, im so so sorry for fucking up so bad that i lost you 7 missed calls from wonie

you didn't want to continue, you felt incoming tears and stopped reading. he didn't want you anymore, he didnt want to be your person anymore, he didn't want to protect you anymore, and he made that so clear. but why now? why after a month? where you painstakingly waited for him, gave him the benefit of the doubt, continued to love him, despite pushing you away the way he did?

admittedly, you wanted to answer him, but you weren't ready, whatsoever, you needed time, to think this through, and it was your turn to walk away from him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

jungwon sat in the cafeteria, legs bouncing, breathing ragged as he prayed and hoped to catch a glimpse of you, even a for a mere second. to desperately beg for your forgiveness, kneel down in front of you, to once again worship the ground you walked on, to love you the way that you deserved to be loved.

he couldnt think straight, his mind constantly replaying the image of you, of how the second those repulsive words left his mouth, you crumbled in front of him, how that being the first time he's ever seen so much despair and hopelessness paint your beautiful face.

he always thought you were beautiful, he admired you from afar so much that thats all he could ever think about, you. the way your eyes sparkle, the way you smile despite the tears running down your reddened cheeks. he loves you, with all his being, and he only now realized how irreplaceable you are. you mean the entire world time, and he's so in love with you, with your whole nature. it has always been you.

jungwon was lost in thought, until a feather-light tap on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. he turned quickly, hope flaring that it might be you. but it wasn’t. of course it wasn't you. It was jake, looking at him with concern. "hey, you okay?" jake asked gently.

jungwon blinked, finally taking in his surroundings, the table was quiet. his friends were all silently looking at him with worry etched on their faces, almost like they pitied him for looking so miserable. he hadn’t even realized he had been crying until jake pointed it out, by passing him a tissue. "do you need some fresh air?" jake suggested, his voice soft, a small smile on his face. "let’s take a walk."

he nodded numbly, allowing jake and sunghoon to guide him out of the cafeteria. they walked in silence, jungwon in the middle as he looked at the ground, until they reached the quiet of the school courtyard. the clear air helped clear jungwon's mind a little, only for a moment, but the guilt still weighed heavily on him.

sunghoon broke the silence first. "you wanna tell us whats going on between you and y/n? i mean we're worried, we've never seen you like this, and this is the first time we've seen you interact with y/n."

jungwon took a deep breath, feeling the tears well up again. he almost laughed, you, the love of his life, his person, was kept hidden from his friends, the one he cherished the most. it was almost funny to him, how your friendship lasted a decade, yet none of his friends have ever heard about you. he was a screw up.

"y/n and i have been best friends since we were kids." he began, sliding down the brick wall as he kept his gaze on the ground, "she’s... she’s always been there for me, and vice versa, and growing up, we had always promised to be there for each other. but ever since high school started, i’ve been neglecting our friendship, her. i got so caught up with football and everything else that i put her second. and now... now i messed up."

jake and sunghoon couldn't help but exchange confused glances, their concern deepening. "what do you mean" jake asked, mirroring the boy, as he slid down the wall and accompanied jungwon now slumped over his knees.

jungwon wiped at his slowly eyes, trying to steady himself, "she confronted me today, you both saw..." he continued, "and told me how much she missed me, how she felt like she was losing me. and instead of being there for her, reassuring her, i lashed out. i said things... terrible things. i promised to never make her cry, but i did, i made her cry, and she left."

he looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "i love her. i’ve always loved her. but i fucked up, i fucked up so badly" he heaved, his chest so heavy with guilt that he couldn't shake the feeling off, despite finally opening up to his friends, the weight what was supposed to be lifted off his shoulders remained, almost weighing him down and he felt like he could be buried alive at any moment.

the air was tense now, as silence lingered, and for a minute, jungwon thought that he had messed up so badly, this even his friends couldnt help him.

but sunghoon was the first to speak up, momentarily, easing the boy, as he knelt down next to jungwon, a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep himself steady and not fall over, "you messed up, i wont lie to you jungwon, you royally messed up, but recognizing that is the first step. of course you'll need to make things right. if she means that much to you, fight for it" he sighed, " and you know her best, whether she feels like talking to you now or not, give her a day, pull her aside and set things straight. let her know how you feel, how much you love her" he continued, " you have nothing to lose at this point, won, go big or go home" jake chimed in, sending the boy a warm smile. " you can do it yeah?"

jungwon nodded, determination settled down on him, but he had this lingering fear that you wouldn’t forgive him, and it crushed him. he knew that laying it all down on you would give you insight into how he felt, and maybe then you would understand, maybe then you would come back to him. he was willing to wait for however long it would take, as long as he could be back in your world as your person, and you his. he never realized how painful losing you was, until it happened, until you walked out of that classroom, crying because of him.

he was ashamed of himself, looking down at the series of text messages he had left you, expecting you to have opened them, at least read them, but nothing. he was left on delivered and slowly his determination started to crack. but there was so much to fight for, to salvage, and he found himself revolting to even look at.

and for the remainder of the day, he looked lifeless, his body moved faster than his mind could think, going through the day for the sake of perfect attendance. however, he never paid attention in class that day, and sat in the back of the classroom, writing and rewriting his words, trying to find the right way to express his remorse and his love.

almost like how you prepared to confront him earlier that morning.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you went home after the confrontation, much to your dismay despite hating the fact that you'd have to miss school. but you didnt know if you could handle seeing jungwon, fearing that maybe he'd turn away from you, anger lingering him. you wished you never confronted him, and maybe then things would be okay, maybe you should've been more patient with him. but you told yourself it wasn't entirely your fault, you still had self worth, but for the sake of your heart, you wanted desperately to salvage whatever you had left of your friendship.

upon arriving home, it was about 10:30 am, grinning slightly i have time to go back to bed and tell mom and dad i felt ill and couldn't go to school. and thats exactly what you did, carefully unlocking the door, you made your way inside, and quietly took off your shoes before tip toeing to your room and shutting the door behind you. only then you could breathe, only then you feel serene in the comfort of your room. but that only lasted a second before your mind replayed memories of you and jungwon, in this very room. you felt tears form, but you held it in for the first time that month.

quietly stepping out of your worn clothes, and slid on your pajamas from the night before. you crawled into bed, and closed your eyes. but you couldn't fall asleep despite feeling exhausted from all the crying you did earlier that morning. however you stayed put, refusing to go on your phone, worried that maybe another message from jungwon would appear and all hell would break loose. so you kept your eyes shut, until sleep took over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was impossible for jungwon to fall asleep, the clock read 2am, and he simply couldnt shut his eyes, tossing and turning, and ever so often opening his chat with you to see if you had read his messages. you have, and you did for the most part. but he didn't know. it was eating him alive, every thought of you sent him spiraling down a rabbit hole, telling himself that this was it tomorrow, or more like today, where he could either win you back or lose it all.

he couldn't wait until morning. every minute felt like an eternity, and the thought of spending another moment without fixing things was unbearable. he knew he had to tell you how he felt, and he had to do it now.

with a sudden burst of energy, jungwon threw on a hoodie and a pair of shoes close by, and slipped out of his house, beelining toward your place. he knew the road by heart, he had taken the same route so many times, and the thought of you being so close by, made him run faster. while the streets were quiet, the world shrouded in the stillness of the early morning, the only sound were of birds, and jungwon's heavy breathing . his heart pounded in his chest from exhaustion and anxiety as he approached your house.

reaching your window, he noticed your night lamp was on, you were awake, he thought. and without a delay, he picked up a few small rocks and began to throw them gently against the glass, hoping to catch your attention without waking your parents. each clink of the rocks echoed in the silence, his breath held as he waited for a sign that you had heard.

inside your dim lit room, you were also wide awake, unable to sleep. the confrontation with jungwon replayed in your mind, the hurt and confusion making it impossible to find solace despite being in the comfort of your room. until you heard the soft tapping at your window, you were initially startled, choosing to ignore it, stupid wind you thought, but the soft clinks never stopped, and frustration took over your body and you jolted out of bed to check. and then you saw him, standing there with a desperate look on his face, close to tears.

your heart skipped a beat, were you imagining things? are you still lucid or was this the result of a fever dream? you reasoned with yourself that maybe you were hallucinating, and that you were just tired. but it looked all to real, the cold night air hitting your face, as your hair blew in the wind. you hesitated for a moment, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. but seeing jungwon like this, so vulnerable and earnest, you couldn’t ignore him.

“jungwon, what are you doing here?” you whispered, but loud enough for him to hear, trying to keep your voice low to avoid waking your parents.

“please, y/n,” he said, his voice trembling. “i need to talk to you. i couldn’t wait. not when i havent explained myself, not when ive ruined us, please, let me in.”

his eyes were filled with such raw emotion that you couldn’t turn him away. you frankly yearned for his presence, and despite you telling yourself that you weren't ready, you nodded and quickly ran downstairs, unlocking the back door, letting him in. the exchange was quick "go upstairs quietly first, ill lock the door and get you a glass of water" you hummed, while he nodded and headed upstairs.

you took a minute to breathe, not noticing the fact that you held your breath the second you opened to door, and slowly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and filling it up. your mind was blank, not a single thought.

while jungwon made it safely to your room without causing any disturbance to your parents' slumber, he noticed small changes to your room, like how your bed was now pushed into the corner, or how you reorganized your shelves. but what remained untouched was the images of you and jungwon, pinned to a cork board. he stepped closer, and looked over the images, memories flooding in, and he felt himself shaking, tears forming once again. funny how he's the one crying despite causing this severance in your friendship.

his thoughts were pulled away from him when you entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind you and setting the glass of water on your nearby vanity.

turning around to meet your gaze, he stepped closer, his hands trembling. he couldn’t hold back any longer. tears streamed freely down his face as he reached for you, pulling you into a tight hug. “i’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry for everything. ive been horrible to you, i never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m so sorry.”

you felt his grip tighten as if he feared you would vanish if he let go. the weight of his apology, the sincerity in his tears, broke down the walls you had built around your heart. you couldnt help but hug him back , your own tears flowing freely.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “i needed you, jungwon. you were all i had" as you gripped his sweater.

“i know,” he replied, his voice filled with regret. “i know I messed up, but i love you. i’ve always loved you, i love you so much, and I was caught up in my own life to see what I was doing. please, forgive me. i’ll do anything to make it right.”

you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, seeing the depth of his remorse and love. “i love you too, jungwon,” you said softly. “i always have. but you hurt me, so so bad.”

“i know,” he said for the nth time that evening, nodding through his tears. “and i’ll wait as long as it takes. i’ll prove to you that you mean the world to me, and i’ll never take you for granted again.”

"i've forgiven you the second i saw you at my window won" " you've always looked so pretty when you cry "

in that moment, you both were overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings. jungwon leaned in, his lips trembling as they brushed against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss. it was a kiss filled with the pain of the past, the promise of the present, and the hope for the future. you responded, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. the kiss deepened, becoming a silent vow of love and forgiveness. when you finally pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily, tears mingling with smiles.

"stay with me," you whispered, your voice barely audible. " i don't want to lose you again."

"never," Jungwon replied, his voice resolute. "i'll never leave you again."

wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down with him onto your bed. you lay down togethe holding each other tightly, as sleep started to take over. the warmth of his body against yours brought a sense of peace you hadn't felt in a long time, slowly lulling you to sleep.

as he looked over you, your head rested on his chest, he gently stroked your hair, his touch so soothing. "i'm so sorry," he whispered again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"i know," you murmured. "we'll get through this, together."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[forbidden-sin-bin]

Sex and Filthy Smut headcanons

(Eminem x F!Reader Hc’s and drabbles)

Rated: E for explicit… no wait, this needs an X rating for possibly being the filthiest thing I’m gonna write in my life. God save my soul (probably not but hey at least I asked)

Warnings: I mean… look at the title. Need I say more??? Smut. Sex. Lovemaking, Intercourse. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. The whole 10 yards is here. It’s porn, not gonna lie at all.

Tags/Keywords: Smut, Heavy Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fluff, fluff and smut, Pre-established relationship, Sexual Content, Kink, Overstimulation, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Giving/Receiving, Healthy Relationships, Feel Good, Everything sinful under the sun is found here, Author is going to hell, anyone who reads this is coming with me

A/N: Yes yes, ain’t no fuckbuddies or friends with benefits headcanons here, sue me. There is NO angst or sadness here. None, zero, zilch. Those kinds of relationships almost NEVER end well 98% of the time. This is all about you and him ONLY. Give it up for romance y’all.

Not gonna lie, there might've been more I wanted to add to this hellfire list of headcanons but once you've seen how much stuff there is below I hope you'll forgive me for finally putting this out here.

I hope by reading this, will provide you with comfort and satisfaction.

VERY special thanks to @smutty-books for beta reading and feedback along with helping me with this monster of a list! Please check them out and show them some love! (Seriously thank you Smutty for the additional ideas and content. you made this Hc's list a million times better and twice as much content included.)

(WARNING: Past this point is VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)

General HC's:

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy ohhhhhh boy.

You want sum fuk? You got sum fuk and way more.

As long as you’re his s/o, congrats on your sex life being absolutely demolished and rebuilt by this man. You’ll probably never find a better person in the bedroom for the rest of your life. It literally doesn’t matter if he’s your boyfriend or your husband, sex is a staple activity in your relationship that you both enjoy.

Fast and rough? Slow and steady? Maybe a little bit of both? You bet he’ll be saying fuck yeah to all of those.

His sex drive has always been relatively quite high, even after all these years. Being 50 and counting ain’t gonna stop him anytime soon.

Can, and will, want to fuck you on any and every surface of the house.

Living room couch? Perfect spot for bouncing in his lap or to blow him hard.

Dining room table? He’ll have you either bent over and railing you from behind or sitting on top while he devours your dripping wet pussy.

Taking a shower? You’ll be saving water if you do it together… yeah. Definitely not because of at least a half dozen things you can do in there with soothing hot water pouring down your bodies.

In the studio?…

Okay maybe not the studio he’s gotta work without getting distracted and lord save you two if anyone finds a sliver of evidence that you two fucked in there-

Not a PDA guy much, which also extends to any sexual antics outside. He won’t be taking any risks getting the two of you caught lacking

As long as you two are in the house, it’s free game

His views and methods of sex vary depending on which era we’re talking about

If he were in his 1999’s/2000’s era, then yeah, absolute horndog. He’s constantly so busy and on the move, sex would be a quick trip and onto the next. It would’ve scratched the itch, but arguably wouldn’t have sated his appetite for long. If he ever had a chance to have a good, drawn out sex session, it’ll leave him looking like he had a serious hangover but he’ll be waking up so relaxed.

Him being quick to fuck around and quick to leave was his style pre-Relapse. It’s a common thing you see around music artists in general and he was no exception. That doesn’t mean he was closed off to finding an actual solid relationship, it just becomes that much harder to find someone genuine. Most of the time though, he was busy putting out albums and producing music with a 9 to 5 regimen.

Post-Relapse/Recovery Em had insane stamina due to the excessive amount of exercise he put in. Call me insane, but I have a feeling this may be the time where he had the least amount of sex drive-

NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT

He was starting out his sobriety around this time, I’m no expert but I would have to think that he hasn’t fucked or hooked up with anyone since then cause sex may have been a risk or his body was recovering, therefore most likely putting sex as a low priority. That isn’t to say he wasn’t busting a nut oh no, he probably became best friends with his hands again.

The time between Rap God/Monster Era was slowly building back up his drive, transitioning him to the Revival/Present Day era where he’s back on his blue-balling bullshit. Mans been practically putting out mating calls in his music and in interviews I mean COME ON HAVE YOU SEEN IT

He’s wise enough to not be caught slipping with hoes cause he won’t be caught with those hoes. At all. He’s not a hoe fucker no more. You heard him.

Finding an actual healthy relationship with one person? Someone give it to him, now.

(Anyone who remembers that one shot in that Rainy Days behind the scenes video where he points the camera to his crotch and says “EVERYTHING is for sale.” If that isn’t a man in heat I dunno what is; And that’s just one example out of many lemme tell you)

THE POINT IS, HE CAN GO FOR ONE ROUND, OR MANY, MANY MORE.

He’s determined to make you feel good more than him, but he’ll absolutely be having fun with how you’re gonna come. He’ll love exploring your body, finding out every little spot that gives you shivers down your spine.

Oh yeah, did I mention that he's got a big dick? He's got a big dick.

Don't try to deny it when you can't help but glance at his crotch all the time. It might be bias, or it might be fact that you can see the bulge in his pants.

Dom/Sub Roles:

He’s a dom, no question about that. Most of the time he’s a soft dom, not overwhelmingly asserting himself over you but firm enough to have you listen to him. Of course, he’ll be praising you a ton if you’re doing good and listening. But if you’re acting a little bratty, a little petty… yeah, he’ll make you behave, let’s just leave it at that.

Enjoys having you bent over his knee while he fingers your pussy, making sure you’re all nice and ready for him to enjoy.

If you squirm too much, expect a light spanking and a firm reminder to behave.

Again, not over the top with his dominance, cause at the end of the day, he wants to take care of you, to make you feel comfortable and show you how much he loves you. So praising isn’t just a dom thing, it’s genuinely how he expresses his affection to you.

If you insist on it, he can go even harder as a dom, upping his antics and getting off on seeing you beg for relief. Punishments will be even meaner and if you slip up even just a little, looks like you’re gonna have to start all over. No amount of pleading, teary whines from you will get him to change the cold, hard look in his eyes as he’s watching you.

Absolutely insistent on a safe word, no matter the situation.

Marshall’s immediately shifting to a protective, nurturing caretaker the moment your safe word leaves your lips and making sure your needs are met, completely understanding and shushing any apologies that threaten to leave your mouth for ruining the moment. You come first and foremost.

Amazing with aftercare. Will make sure that you’re okay and well taken care of after a session, praising you lovingly as he holds you close. If it was particularly intense, he’ll be checking in on you for the next day or so whilst feeling quite proud of himself that he can reduce you to a begging, dripping mess yesterday night. But he's by far more proud of you for trusting him and letting him experience you in such a vulnerable position.

All it takes is for him to say: "Such a good girl" and you're all his. (Can't blame you honestly-)

He'll be using your petnames even outside of your passionate sessions, even if it's just coming home to greet you after a day of work or passing by each other in the house to do something, a quick: "Hey peaches" or "How's my babygirl?" never fails to want to leave you smiling shyly, even after a bad day.

While being a sub is not what he would usually do at all, it’s not impossible. Once he’s far into a relationship with you and fully comfortable, he might actually give in to your insistence.

He has a need to feel like he’s in control, like he’s leading; Being on the opposite end is a big deal for him, so if he ever subs it’s a huge fucking compliment and privilege that shows how much he trusts and loves you to bare himself to you.

He’ll definitely be grumbly about it tho, and probably trying to act all teasing at your attempt to dominate him. But once you get past that first phase and he lets himself relax and give into your control… he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels so fucking secure with you.

When he fully gives in, he’s preening and leaning into your touch. He’ll be such a good boy under your lavish praise and having all of your attention on him.

It feels almost foreign, not being the one in charge and making all the decisions for once. But once he gets used to it, he'll be doing whatever he can to receive your approval.

Seeing him at your mercy, letting you take the reins, makes it your priority to see him come undone by your command, holy shit, it's fucking beautiful.

If he's up for being a little more bratty (not unlike he's been on his petty shit for decades as his core personality trait let's be real here) and expecting to be punished and/or your dominance be harsher, the thought of pushing you to your limits with how much you're willing to keep up with him makes him really, really excited on the inside.

It’s both of your secrets, so don’t fuck it up, a'ight?

Teasing/Body Parts:

Speaking of secrets… he’s incredibly private, but at the same time, don’t be surprised if he ends up writing lyrics that may or may not allude or be inspired by your sex lives. You swear this man will be the death of you, smug bastard.

If you’re ever turned on by listening to his music or his voice, it’ll be such a massive ego boost for him, holy shit. No need to feel embarrassed, cause he’s fucking flattered.

Even tho his residence is far from any neighbors (and definitely soundproof), he’s got a playlist for your ears to get aroused to.

Imagine Marshall whispering in your ear or talking in that low voice of his and well damn now you’re horny is an understatement of the goddamn century.

And it’s not just you! Marshall gets off hearing you moan like crazy, another sign that lets him know he’s doing a damn good job. Hearing you whimpering gets him going, but making you scream? Jackpot.

Unsurprisingly to a lot of y’all, but he loves tits. He loves ass for sure, but feeling your breasts is just- Yes.

Love fondling them, licking, biting, sucking, you name it.

Now do the same for him-

OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S PECS

MAN’S GOT HUGE FUCKING HONKERS. HOLY SHIT.

(No wonder he’s such a titty guy-)

But seriously, play with his chest and he’ll be moaning and writhing under you. Music to your ears.

Rest assured your ass will not be forgotten or neglected. No fucking way he’ll ever leave any part of you un-worshipped. Even when you’re just passing each other around the house he’ll playfully slap or squeeze your ass with a smirk. Cheeky fucker.

May or may not prompt him to just throw you down and pin you against whatever furniture is closest and have his way with you right then and there.

Or it could be the other way around! You can't help but give his sexy behind a mischievous swat or grab, or his pecs. He'll probably pretend to be miffed but you'll be catching him returning the smirk you have on your face. Oh, by all means, have your way with him right then and there as well. Equal rights, equal sexy times.

Grabbing your backside and pulling you closer to him, pressed against his chest and his growing bulge in his pants oh sweet Jesus-

Will for sure spank you while you’re riding him or he’s railing you from behind, the sounds of skin slapping against skin while he sees your ass jiggle with every thrust is just so fucking hot

He wants to reach deep down, as far as his cock can reach, nothing in the house is safe from him pounding your pussy and giving you a creampie.

Speaking of that, He LOVES to come into you or on you. It gives him a feeling of claiming what's his. Anytime he sees his cum dripping outta you or running down your skin, Marshall’s ready to go again.

Or he could use a sex toy, making sure his cum stays inside and your pussy ready for him in a few.

Kinks

We’ve already covered the dom/sub parts, but there is SO much potential for other kinks that you and him can get into so let’s get right into it

Breeding Kink:

I mean how can we not start this off without mentioning that

Can, and will ram you harder and faster than a piston AND make sure you both cum multiple times

If you’re walking the next morning, that means he failed the assignment so now he’s boutta rectify that

Dirty talk is cranked to a hundred as he’s growling in your ear on how much of a slut you are for his seed, how he’ll fill you up and make sure your womb is carrying his baby, how gorgeous you would look with your belly swollen with your little creation, etc.

Even if he’s sure that he doesn’t want anymore kids (given his age or experience, which is understandable), imagine the baby fever he gets when he sees or imagines you with kids

He’s perfectly happy with just you and him, but the possibility of you, him, and maybe a little one you made together from your love? His pupils are dilating like a cat getting ready to pounce

Even if the possibilities are extremely unlikely, the mere thought of it and he’s giving you the 🥺 eyes. (Every time you see him make those eyes at you, it’s probably cause he’s feelin the breeding urge)

If you're not able to, that doesn't change a thing; he wants to make you feel like you're his no matter what, and you are! He loves you for you.

Obsessed with coming inside you after railing you into the mattress, filling you to the brim with his seed

Loves giving you a creampie and then watching it leak out of your pussy, might take the initiative to stuff his spilling cum back into you

Or he could just fuck you at multiple different times during the day like the stud he is

Hell he may as well just not pull out and you’ll both be falling asleep still connected

You'll be waking up with his member engorged and slowly thrusting in you while he nuzzles into you, taking in your scent, kissing your lips so softly until you both cum. After that he takes you to the shower and you both wash each other

Loves marking your skin with his mouth, letting anyone know that your his and his only

Your cunt and everything else is thoroughly satisfied every time the breeding kink comes on don’t you worry about that honey

Size Kink:

Hey don't judge his 5'7 ass. Marshall's got other big things minus his height; Big hands, big ears, HUGE CO-

If you're smaller than him: He praises you for taking him in so well, whispers words of encouragement with every inch he pushes into you until you can feel his tip brushing against your cervix. Doesn't want to overdo it in fear of hurting you, but with your insistence he'll be going all out in due time

If you're taller than him: He LOVES it. No cap you being taller or bigger than him is so fucking sexy. Makes him more eager to make you come and more confidence in exploring different ways to do so

Takes a hand in yours and guides you both to press against your stomach, feeling for his cock thrusting into you

Praises you constantly as he feels your walls stretch around him so perfectly

Once you feel like you can take all of him, all of his restraint is gone as he pounds your sopping wet cunt relentlessly

Body worshipping is a must regardless of size

Feral/Primal Kink:

You know how possessive he can be, and that still translates to the bedroom. Even when he knows you're his, he can't help but feel turned on by his possessiveness for you.

And when you're all his, he can go fucking. Crazy.

It's also the dom feeling in him as well, but he has a need to claim you: Not out of insecurity, but out of his desire to make sure you know how much he loves you.

Likes biting your ear as an affectionate gesture. Sometimes he enjoys lightly tugging as a playful gesture to get you riled up.

Marshall thinks the growling thing is dumb as hell but if you're into that he'll try to give you some throaty growls in your ear, but expect him to start cracking up at his attempts until he's used to it

He thinks he can't do it yet he doesn't realize the low rumble in his throat whenever he gets a jealous streak

Voice/Audio Kink:

Well, well, WELL. Someone's ego is about to be stroked harder than his cock for once

He’ll absolutely be moaning and grunting more often when you guys have sex

Jokingly asks if you want to put some music on before you start fucking though he probably cringes listening to his own music during sex

Definitely ruins the mood for him when he hears someone that collabed with him on one of his songs or if any of his lyrics mention things that he doesn't want to think about when horny

Whenever he asks what you're listening to and hears one of his songs, he can't help but inwardly smile or smirk with pride. "Good choice." He nods, keeping his face unreadable.

If he catches you listening to FACK he just starts dying with laughter and dying on the inside simultaneously

No but seriously, he's super fucking flattered knowing how much his music or just his voice turns you on

Whispers in your ear during sex, either praising, teasing, or telling you what to do

He'll be observing which tone provokes the biggest reaction out of you so he can remember it for future reference

(People working with him in the studio are gonna be wondering why he's so close to the mic while recording recently)

Might record something just for your ears to listen to when you guys are apart ;)

Sex Positions

Missionary:

Ah, the OG.

Ranging from being the most vanilla to literally breaking the bed and making the house shake. Most people’s go-to position and Marshall is no different.

He’s got full access to your face, neck, and breasts while he pounds you into the mattress, absolutely loves it and it’s no surprise.

Is eye contact a kink? He’ll be wanting to look you in the eyes no matter the pace you’re going. Additionally may often include forehead touching and/or nose nuzzling. Incredibly hot and intimate.

If he’s feeling extra curious or dominant, he might even push your legs back and over his shoulders to reach even deeper into you. (In other words, putting you in a mating press.) You ain’t walking for a few days after this. Catch his freaky ass all smug n shit.

Slow and intimate in this position is SO fulfilling. It’s like baring your souls to one another.

Going fast and rough is just straight up a joyride and a half. It feels carnal in the best way possible.

Overall you can’t fuck this up really. It’s missionary for crying out loud.

Doggystyle:

*clears throat* Ahem. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

If you haven’t seen my fic Heat yet, it’s basically me writing smut for the first time in this position but taken to the next level. Should hint at a lot on what imma bout to say tbh

YES. HELL YES. PLEASE LET HIM RAM INTO YOU FROM BEHIND. HE’LL BE POUNDING INTO YOU SO FUCKING HARD

If you go face down on the bed, ass up? Holy shit

Expect bruises on your hips the next morning… also a very horny man ready to go again or to absolutely worship the fuck outta you for taking it so fucking amazingly

He'll be running a bath for you, being extra doting and attentive, the whole nine yards while also feeing that masculine satisfaction™ at the fact that he's able to get you to that state of bliss.

By far the most feral position. If he’s got a breeding kink I wish you luck on how many times you’re gonna come and he’s gonna come

If you’re also into taking it in the ass I respect you 👀 kinky motherfucker would love to explore some new ways to fuck

Pronebone is also basically the same as mentioned above, but it’s got that intimate feel, you get me? He’s closer to you whilst also able to attack your neck and shoulders, maybe even have a hot make out session with you while he continues to pound your pussy or ass raw.

As long as you love taking it from behind he’ll be on his knees for you. And on top of you.

Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl, You On Top:

Ride him. That’s all I gotta say.

He wants you to ride him. Fuck him silly. He’ll lose it.

It’s a perfect demonstration of him still being the dom. You may be on top, but he’s the one in control.

Might tease you by making you work hard for a reaction outta him. He’ll be pretending to be unimpressed or smug while you bounce in his lap but in reality he’s trying so hard not to break

Either that, or he won’t be holding back on how good you make him feel. Mouth open, quietly moaning, grabbing your ass or your hips.

If he can't take it anymore, he pulls you down to him and holds you tight while he starts bucking his hips, pounding up into you like a piston

Even once you both come he starts back up again before you've even calmed down

Oral (Giving and Receiving)/69:

I mean… are we really gonna question it? Yeah you better give this guy some head he is a slut for it

Give him a blowjob and he’ll be the happiest man alive

You watching his expressions as you’re sucking him off

Might take some practice to take all of him into your mouth cause this man is BIG

Even when he’s got loose sweatpants on you can still see his bulge AND IT’S NOT WHEN HE’S HARD AND HORNY. MARSHALL’S PACKING.

I wish you luck in trying to deepthroat this man

When it comes to oral, he definitely prefers receiving rather than giving

But don’t you DARE underestimate this man’s tongue cause holy fucking hell he’s feasting on your pussy

PLEASE let him suck on your clit while he’s eating you out. That man’s mouth is amazing in many ways for a reason

Imagine having to go out after and if anyone asks him if he wants anything to eat he just replies: “Nah I’m good. I had something earlier.” And then GIVING YOU THE SIDE EYE LOOK-

BEARD. BURN.

Let this man bury his face in between your thighs and imagine the friction of his beard brushing against your skin. If that doesn’t make you cum then him lapping you up will guaranteed

69 turns into a competition to see who can get the other to cum first, or a comforting session of tasting each other

Standing:

Y'all know he can do it pinning you against a wall. Thanks 8 Mile

As hot as it is, take care as not to have your head or back bang against it

Great for quickies but probably not for a long time; You gotta give his back a break lmao

Hugging your waist from behind tho :eyes:

Add a mirror on both opposite ends of the wall and you can watch him thrust into you

He's holding you real tight and close, making sure to hold you up so your legs won't buckle

Spooning:

Feelin real cozy

It can be lazy morning sex; Intimate and gentle as he places kisses behind your ear and buries his face into your neck while he does long, deep strokes in and out of your walls

Or it can be rough: Holding your thigh up while his hips violently thrust into you, only stilling when he comes after you

Another way is his cock slipping between your thighs and humping you eagerly, or his cock rutting against your ass

Push your hips back in time with his thrusts for deeper penetration or the sound of your skin slapping against each other

His hands clutching your hips or grabbing your breasts as he moans in your ear, feeling his cock twitching with his release

- - -

ALRIGHT TIME TO STOP HERE I’VE BEEN KEEPING THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS Anyways hope y’all enjoyed this and then some <3 I might come back to this and and more so who knows? If you enjoyed let me know your feedback and if you have any suggestions!

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Ohmygosh

Little sister Donna and big sis Alcina is a family dynamic I didn't know I needed before reading your stories.

Could I maybe ask for a story about Donna asking Alcina for advice on how to woo reader? I can just imagine nervous wreck Donna calling her sister when she realises she got a crush.

And thank you for your stories :)

Yesss!!!!! Don't thank me, I'm the one who has to thank you for reading them!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

A little help from my sister

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Some angst, fluff, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,892

Summary: I can't tell her... I need someone to help me...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!! I love you all!!! :))

Mother Miranda's words echoed in the four walls of the church. Always the same prayers, always the same phrases.

I sat next to my siblings, I don't even remember if I ever occupied another seat, if I was ever in the place of the villagers. New faces, different faces, children who grew up, old people who never returned... A bitter cycle of life and death, a cycle that I was condemned to endure, forever.

Donna Beneviento, Lord, doll maker, that was me. I wondered if I was ever something else, something more than a dark shadow next to some monsters, or, on the contrary, if I was just one more of them.

My appearance confirmed my fears. My face stopped being that of a woman, a human being. It had been too long, I had already gotten used to the veil that covered it, and also, to the loneliness.

Yes, I had Angie, my dolls, but, it was not enough to make me not realize that I lived in a house too big for me. Like everything else, it soon stopped mattering to me.

Torturing, killing, reading, working, sleeping, what a routine. Too many years had passed for me to regret the sentence that Mother Miranda cast upon me that night, the night I stopped being a person, to become a monster.

My only eye wandered around the church, to those faithful faces, devoted to the Black Gods. I liked to play at seeing who would return, and who would not. I suppose that is what a monster does, study its victims.

But, for some time now, one of those faces had caught my attention: a village girl, hidden in a bunch of stupid people a young, beautiful girl, one who always came back, one who decided to behave and not try to escape from that place.

Every week I looked at her, every week I got lost in her dress, in her gaze… It was like an addiction, an addiction that always made me thankful for existing, for having lived long enough to see her grow, to be lucky enough to see her beauty. I knew they were stupid fantasies but… Well, at least I had a reason to leave my safe place, to leave my house.

“Donna, dear,” a soft voice distracted me from my feat, from the weekly vision of her body, her face, one that was increasingly sad, increasingly beautiful.

My sister Alcina was always there to remind me that girl was unreachable. She was an angel, I was a monster.

“What are you looking at?” the lady of the castle asked, positioning her eyes in the same direction as mine. I shook my head, said nothing, did nothing, as always. “Am I missing something interesting?”

“No,” I whispered hoarsely, in a voice I didn’t usually use. I couldn’t make Angie speak for me, it would draw too much attention and, although it didn’t seem like it, Miranda kept talking.

“Mm,” Alcina murmured, squinting, searching hard for the reason for my distraction. Luckily, she didn’t get to do it.

“We wait for the light of dawn…” they all said at the same time, all except us, of course. “In life, and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda.”

“May the Black Gods have mercy on your soul,” the priestess said, stretching out her arms. I know she enjoyed it, I know she enjoyed making the villagers just be a stupid flock of sheep.

“Let the lycans devour our flesh,” the villagers repeated, finally getting up from the pews.

At least that torture was over.

“What do we do now, Donna?” Angie asked, leaving the church in my arms, containing that euphoria that always accompanied her.

“Let’s go home,” I whispered discreetly, my gaze fixed on those villagers, searching for something, searching for her gaze.

“Home? How boring,” the doll protested, crossing her arms. I shook my head, with an amused smile.

“I have a lot of things to do,” I whispered again, walking away from the crowd, disappearing like a shadow, like the shadow they said I was, the shadow of a monster.

“How are you going to do it, silly Donna? We don’t have any fabrics, remember?” the doll said, pointing at me with her finger.

I sighed, realizing that she was right, that my time in the village was going to be prolonged. I hate the village, I hate the villagers. I hate people.

“Okay…” I murmured, looking around for the Duke's carriage. “I'll talk to the Duke and then we'll go.”

“Yes, yes, Duke, Duke!” Angie said, excited, as always.

At least it would only be a moment, at least all the villagers seemed to have better things to do than wander around the village…

“It has to be a joke,” an unknown voice reached my ears as I approached the carriage. It was a sweet voice, but somewhat nervous.

“I never joke, (Y/N), and even less so when we talk about money…” the merchant said.

I stood on the ground. It was her, it was that beautiful girl from the church, she was there, alone.

“What are you doing?” Angie asked, seeing that I was unable to move. I had never had her so close, I was never able to see her beauty so close to me. “Come on, Donna, move…”

“Oh, certo…” I sighed, walking again.

The girl seemed nervous, that calm look she always entertained me with seemed disturbed. I approached slowly, trying to make my presence go unnoticed.

“1000 lei for a medicine?” the young woman asked, showing the merchant what looked like a bottle of pills.

I pretended not to hear, I hid in the shadows of the carriage, looking, touching the fabrics I needed. Surely the Duke had already noticed my presence, but, as always, he ignored it. It was the best for him, and he knew it.

“Medicines are scarce resources, (Y/N). They are not easy to get,” the man said, shaking his head, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, with a shy gesture of greeting. I returned it, touching those fabrics, trying to concentrate on my task, and not on those bright eyes.

“I don't have that money,” the girl said, (Y/N), apparently, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

“Oh, but didn't you have a vegetable store?” the Duke asked, counting coins mockingly.

“Of course I have, but we can't do anything if my father’s sick,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “Please, he is, he is very... The, the fever is consuming him.”

“It's a pity, (Y/N)…” the merchant sighed.

“Please, Duke, he, he's dying…” she said, clasping her hands together, her eyes shining from the moisture of the tears that were beginning to form in them. It was a sight that stopped my heart, but which I pretended not to pay attention to.

“I'm sorry, dear, but I don't do favors… It's 1000 lei,” the fat man sighed, shaking his head.

“Do you have no feelings?” she asked, clenching her fists on either side of her hips.

“In this job, (Y/N), you better don’t have them…” the Duke sighed, disinterestedly.

“Ugh…” she growled, kicking the snow. “Damn it.”

“Do you want anything else?” the merchant asked. “I have more customers to attend to.”

“Fuck you!” the girl yelled angrily, making me shift in place, stop caressing the soft fabrics.

“There's no need to be rude, don't you think?” the Duke said, amused, as the girl walked away from him, heading towards me and hitting my shoulder as she passed by.

“Hey, stupid villager! Watch your step!” Angie shouted, pointing at her in a contemptuous manner.

(Y/N) didn't turn around, she continued on her way among sobs and curses.

That incredible beauty was suffering, crying, very far from her usual tender smile, her eyes were red from rage. I didn't know why, but I couldn't stand it.

“Well...” the Duke laughed, amused by her suffering. I growled with rage, approaching him in an unpleasant way. “Lady Beneviento, I beg your pardon for this incident… Are you here for fabrics for your dolls?”

I nodded, following the young woman with my eyes. She seemed so desperate…

“We'll take them all, Duke!” Angie shrieked, with an exaggerated gesture of her arms. He laughed with satisfaction while I, in the most abrupt way possible, threw him a bag of coins.

“Good… Good,” he laughed, satisfied. “I'll come by this afternoon to take them to you… Do you need anything else?”

“Anything else, Donna? Anything else?” Angie said, moving in my arms, starting to get nervous.

I gently shook my head, but my gaze fell on that bottle of pills, on that medicine, on the reason those beautiful eyes were crying. Slowly, I leaned down to pick it up and look at it. It looked like a medicine to lower the fever, she wasn't lying.

“Are you feeling sick, my lady?” the Duke asked, studying my gestures. I shook my head slowly, looking at the place where she had disappeared.

“We're taking this too,” Angie said, with my voice, speaking for me as I showed that vermin the bottle of pills. The Duke frowned, but nodded disinterestedly.

“Of course…” he whispered without paying attention, counting that huge amount of coins that I had thrown at him. Of course, I should have imagined that a Lord would never pay 1,000 lei for something as basic as a medicine.

Moving away from the carriage, I looked for (Y/N) with my eyes, looking for her footprints in the snow and slowly following them.

“What are you doing, Donna?” Angie asked, taking the bottle of pills and examining it comically. “What’s this?”

“There you are…” I whispered when I saw (Y/N) walking slowly towards a cabin, stopping to rub her eyes. The sadness she conveyed shrank my heart. No, she couldn't cry, she shouldn't cry. Her beauty couldn't be destroyed by tears, by helplessness.

Little by little, I approached, reaching out my hand to rest on her shoulder, calling her attention. She turned around and the sadness turned into fear, immediately moving away.

“Lady Beneviento,” she whispered confused, shaking her head, searching behind her for a way to escape. There wasn't one, she was trapped. “I... I don't...”

I didn't say anything. I simply stayed next to her, with a calm pose, unintentionally intimidating her, scaring her.

“Silly villager,” Angie said among mocking laughs. I shook her discreetly to shut her up. No, I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her to be afraid of me.

“Gods, I…” she sighed scared, kneeling on the ground, pressing her hands together, lowering her head. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry I hit you, I didn't mean to.”

I sighed, hurt by that attitude, by the reality I was unable to see when I looked at her in the church, by knowing that those eyes would never look at me any other way, that they would only see… A monster.

“Please, my, my father is sick, I have, I have to take care of him, please, don't hurt me,” the young woman begged, lowering her head even more. That situation began to overwhelm me. I didn't know why I did what I did. Maybe I should never have done it.

“Taci,” I whispered with my voice, speaking for myself, controlling Angie's movements. She was impatiently waiting for her turn to scare the girl.

“I beg you, have mercy, have…” she murmured trembling with fear, trembling in fear for me.

Not wanting to see that look, to notice those tremors in her body, I just threw her the bottle of pills, one that she picked up confused, blinking repeatedly.

“What…?” she sighed shaking her head.

I had seen enough, I had received the fear of those beautiful eyes, of that beautiful face. I didn't want to stay there, I couldn't do it, I couldn't remember that I will never stop being a Lord, that she would never… Never notice me.

I turned around with a sigh, walking away from her, ignoring her.

“Wait! Wait a minute! Why?” she said nervously, while her voice became more and more camouflaged. “Wait! Wait, please!”

I didn't hear her, I kept walking. I had seen enough, I had to go home.

The days were a terrible, but comfortable routine. After that encounter I couldn't think of anything else. I acted automatically, helping that beautiful young woman, the one who didn't know I already knew, the one who didn't know had been the only image in my mind for a long time.

While I was making my dolls, I thought about her, her scared face, her bright eyes, her pleas... The porcelain I was working with stopped being soft, it stopped relaxing me, I was nervous, and I didn't know why.

“Donna, Donna,” Angie said, distracting me from my tasks, from my thoughts. “What are you doing, silly Donna?”

“Look,” I said with a smile, showing her my new creation, one with those new fabrics I bought from that horrible man, that man who made (Y/N) cry. “Do you like it?”

“Ohh...” the doll sighed, taking the object carefully, nodding effusively. “It's cool.”

“Cool?” I asked, amused, shaking my head and picking up the doll from her hands, arranging its new hair. “I guess so.”

“It looks like the idiot from the other day,” Angie commented, making my hands shake. Same hair, same eye color, same dress. I frowned, sighing, leaving that new doll carefully on the table.

“Maybe it does,” I commented, feigning disinterest.

“She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Donna?” Angie hummed, climbing onto my lap and nudging me. I shook my head, unable to stop my cheeks from blushing.

“Yes, she is,” I whispered, in a sad, bitter tone, acknowledging for the first time that maybe, just maybe, I was starting to have feelings for her. It was crazy, it was impossible but… Well, I was crazy.

“You like her,” she mocked in a shrill tone.

“What if I like her?” I asked ironically, with a serious look, taking out my frustration on my only friend. “It doesn't matter.”

“She might like you…” Angie whispered amused. It could be a joke, an attempt by the doll to cheer me up, but I didn't see it that way. Angry, I hit the table with my closed fist, breathing with difficulty.

“Don't… Say… Nonsense,” I hissed, glaring at the doll, who immediately got off my body. “It's impossible.”

Admitting reality was important, stopping dreaming, stopping thinking about her could be a good solution. She would never notice me, she would only be afraid of me. She would only run away because of my appearance, she would never get close. For her I would always be a monster, there was no solution, there was no other way.

If I didn't forget her, I would be in trouble. My obsession would grow to madness, until... Until maybe my disturbed mind decided to hurt her for hating me. I didn't want to get to that point. I fought with all my might to forget those bright eyes.

I couldn't do it.

The following week came without me realizing it. I was so lost in her gaze that time passed like a sigh. Everything reminded me of her, my hands could only paint her face on my dolls. I could only give them the color of her eyes. I was losing my mind. I was losing it for her. Every night I counted the hours left to see her again, to watch her from afar again.

It would be the closest I could be to her, and I knew it, I always knew it.

There she was, in the third row. Her eyes no longer betrayed sadness, that tender smile had returned to her face. But something else happened, something that caught me off guard. Her head turned, her eyes rested on mine, she was looking at me.

Her smile crossed me. It grew bigger when it made contact with my dark figure.

I, shy, embarrassed, looked away, I couldn't keep it, I couldn't stand that light, that smile, those eyes that stared into mine, that seemed to even pierce my black veil.

“Anything interesting over there?” a velvety voice pulled me out of that timid exchange of glances. Alcina, as always, seemed more attentive to my movements than to Miranda's speech. Well, I couldn't blame her for that.

“No,” I answered, as usual.

“No? Well, I think there was a little bird that kept an eye on you, dear...” Lady Dimitrescu whispered, laughing softly, looking at the same place, where your gaze lowered, surely intimidated by my sister's dangerous eyes.

“It's the fool that Donna likes,” Angie said, climbing the lady up to her ear. I got very nervous, but I didn't want to draw attention. Miranda's grey eyes had already fixed on our movements.

“Really?” Alcina said, laughing softly, arching her eyebrows. “How interesting...”

“Angie, basta,” I reprimanded the puppet, taking her down from my sister.

“Is everything okay?” Miranda asked, with an annoyed tone.

I nodded nervously, controlling the doll's protests. Miranda sighed, spreading her wings to end the speech, mobilizing the villagers, making (Y/N)'s gaze get lost among the people.

Not wanting to find her, wanting to wait for everyone to leave, I stayed seated. Unfortunately, Alcina stayed with me.

“You should come to the castle for tea, Donna, I think we have a lot of things to talk about,” the lady in white said, finally standing up, when it seemed that all the people had left.

I shook my head, doing the same, ignoring her proposal.

“There is nothing to talk about,” the doll whispered, speaking for me. I was too nervous to do so, nothing strange.

“Oh… I think… There is…” Alcina sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder, pointing to a figure that remained standing near the pile of offerings to the Gods, (Y/N). “I think someone is waiting for you.”

I froze, watching as those beautiful eyes looked back at mine, as her shy gaze rested on me, only on me.

“I have things to do,” I whispered indifferently, trying to turn my body to face the door, something that I couldn’t do. Alcina's huge hands settled on my shoulders, pushing me closer to her, too close.

“See you, dear,” my sister whispered, amused, bending down to cross the door, to leave me alone with her.

When the vampire walked away, (Y/N)’s body turned towards me, her hands playing clumsily with each other, her lips were pressed together, and her head remained looking at the floor. I stood still, wanting to get out of there, but at the same time wanting to stay, to enjoy her beauty a little longer, just a little longer.

“My, my lady,” (Y/N) said, with a clumsy whisper, with her nerves making her body tremble. “I, I would like to talk to you.”

“To us? What do you want, silly, silly?” Angie said, with an annoyed tone, scaring her.

“Well, I…” she stammered, playing nervously with her gaze. She didn't know who to look at, who to talk to, me or Angie. I couldn't blame her.

“Talk to her, silly, silly, she doesn't bite, but I do...” Angie said amused, chattering her teeth, making her back off. I, tired of the puppet's irreverent attitude, lowered her to the floor.

“Angie, leave us alone,” I ordered her in an almost imperceptible whisper. The doll looked at me and then at her shrugging her shoulders and moving away.

“My, my lady, I... I wanted...” the girl said, coming a little closer to me, not daring to look at me. I could still feel her fear, the subtle trembling of her body. “I wanted to thank you.”

Her voice was beautiful. It penetrated my ears like soothing music. I nodded slowly, clasping my hands in front of my body, feigning a stoic pose, the pose that was expected of me.

“My, my father is much better thanks to the medicine and… It, it wouldn't have been possible if… If you didn't…” she stammered, running one hand through her hair, searching with the other for something in her pocket. “I'm not going to ask your reasons but… Still, I still thank you, really.”

“It doesn't matter,” the words came out of my lips, I didn't have to make any effort, I had to seem stronger than her, braver even if I wasn't, even if her beauty intimidated me much more than the Black Gods.

“Yes, Well… I…” she said, with a nervous smile, unable to meet my gaze. “The, the Lords don't usually help poor villagers like us… It's… It's a gratifying surprise and…”

I relaxed my shoulders. No matter what she said, she still feared me. I could see it in her eyes.

“I'm sure you've heard terrible things about me,” I said without thinking, letting out a feeling of frustration for not being able to hear her speak clearly, for hearing her beautiful voice without fear on it, in her words.

“Well... I have,” she admitted, looking away again. “I, I guess they're wrong.”

The smile returned to her face, her gaze lit up again, as did mine. She couldn't see me, she couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. She couldn't see my errant eye not knowing where to look.

“I just felt sorry for you, that's all,” I said with a calm voice, but angry at the same time. I never knew how to act, how to deal with people, how to behave in front of her beautiful presence, in front of those bright eyes.

“Pity is something you can’t see usually in a place like this,” she murmured, shaking her head, saddening her expression and taking something out of her pocket. “I... I wanted, I wanted to give you this.”

(Y/N) extended her hand towards me, a hand in which there was a kind of bracelet made with small bones and decorated with black feathers. I picked it up, touching her soft skin, one I didn't know.

“I wish, I wish I had something else to give you, but, well, I, I made it myself,” she said nervously while I looked at that curious bracelet. I was so focused on her gift that I didn't even notice how close we were.

“Ohhh, a gift...” Angie murmured, appearing out of nowhere, startling the girl, who relaxed instantly nodding with a sincere smile.

“It's, it's for you... My, my father says it brings good luck and... Well, it's, it's what I wish for you, Lady Beneviento,” she said elegantly, lowering her head again while I played with that bracelet in my hands.

“Just a bracelet? Hey, silly, silly, we saved your father's life,” Angie joked, pointing at her with her finger.

“Angie...” I sighed annoyed, dedicating a fiery look to the doll, who was hidden behind my dress.

“No, She, she's right, my lady,” the girl said, putting a hand on my arm, drawing my attention with the heat of her skin through the fabric of my dress.

(Y/N), realizing her boldness, immediately withdrew it with an apologetic look.

“It's, it's nonsense, and, and it doesn't show the gratitude I feel,” the young woman, shaking her head.

“I don't need your gratitude,” I murmured in a somber, clumsy voice.

“I, I know but... Well, if you want me to do something for you... I, I’ll do anything you want,” (Y/N) offered, with open eyes, staring at me, waiting for an answer that wasn't a dark murmur.

“Ohh,” Angie sighed, coming out of her hiding place. I squeezed the bracelet tightly, nervous. “Anything?”

The girl nodded under the doll's soft laughter. I really wanted to deactivate her.

“Then you have to have tea with us, silly,” Angie said, walking cockily.

“Tea?”

“Angie, basta,” I protested, trying to reach the doll, who laughed amusedly as she ran away from my hands.

“It would be an honor to have tea with you, my lady,” (Y/N) said, making me stop, looking at her slowly, surprised by that answer.

“You…” I whispered distrustfully. “Do you want to come… Come to my house… To… Have tea?”

She nodded with a sincere smile, sighing.

“Yes, my lady, it is the least I can do, my lady,” she answered laughing amused, surely due to my sudden nervous attitude, far from my position as a Lord.

“Is this afternoon okay with you, silly?” Angie asked, standing in front of me.

“Of, of course,” she said, shaking the wooden hand that Angie extended to her.

“Cazzo, Angie, can't you keep quiet?” I said furiously, entering my house again, returning to the safety of my home, to its comforting darkness.

“Donna is swearing…” the doll sang while I got rid of the black veil, thus revealing my flushed face.

“Shut up, you're driving me crazy,” I protested, moving my leg against the floor.

“You should be grateful, silly,” Angie mocked, pointing at me with her finger. “I got you a date with your sweetheart.”

“A date? Don't talk nonsense...”

No, of course it wasn't a date, it was a duty, a deal that (Y/N) and my doll made. Having tea didn't mean anything. There was nothing that told me there was any chance that... Nevermind.

“Sit down,” I ordered the girl when, punctually, she appeared at the estate with a slow, shaky walk. No matter how much she denied it, she was still afraid of me.

The girl obeyed, looking around curiously. I couldn't blame her, but my sick mind saw that attitude as a threat.

“What are you looking at?” I asked, annoyed by her beautiful, indiscreet eyes. She shook her head with a shy smile, a slight blush on her cheek.

“Oh, nothing, I was just... curious,” she replied, settling down on the couch, suffering from my dark presence in front of her. “You have a very... beautiful house, my lady.”

“Sugar?” I offered, ignoring that complacent comment. She nodded, sighing in relief at not having to continue with those false words about the darkness surrounding me.

“Yes, please,” she said, bringing her cup closer to me, letting her skin brush against mine again. It was a too good feeling for me, one I hadn't felt in a long time.

Time passed slowly, in silence. Neither of us was willing to talk. I could feel her discomfort, I could feel it from afar. I could sense the trembling of her hands.

“You're nervous,” I said, moving my veil aside so I could drink some tea, a gesture at which she looked away as a sign of respect. Of course, she didn't want to see me. She couldn't see that I was... A monster.

“I'd be lying if I said I’m not, my lady,” the girl said in a soft voice, playing with her hands on the fabric of the sofa.

“You're afraid of me,” I said again, in a darker tone.

I had to know, I had to hear her voice telling me how much she feared me, I wanted her own words to end this obsession I felt for her.

“I don't know anyone who isn't afraid of a Lord, my lady,” she said in a soft voice, looking away as she sighed.

“But you came to have tea with me,” I said, looking for a way to stop being me, to stop scaring her. There was no way to do it, I was a monster, and she knew it.

“Well, I promised to do it,” (Y/N) said, leaving the cup on the table.

“You could have not come,” I said, crossing my arms, waiting for the moment for her to run away, to flee from me, to make sure she could never feel anything for me.

“I never break my word, my lady,” she whispered, raising her gaze to me, catching me in her eyes again.

“I see,” I sighed, removing that beautiful glow from my face. “(Y/N), right?”

She nodded shyly.

“I'm surprised you remember my name, my lady,” she said amused, more relaxed, smiling again.

“Why are you surprised?” I asked curiously. “It's a beautiful name.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she said shyly, blushing at my clumsy compliment. “Well, I normally doubt that the Lords would care about the lives of some poor villagers.”

I laughed, shaking my head. I wished I wasn't a Lord, I wished she would stop shaking every time she spoke to me.

“But, but, well... I didn't expect one of them to save my father's life either, so...” she murmured, frowning, being very careful with her words.

“Stop it. I've already told you that it's not important,” I protested, nervous, trembling, almost panicking. She had been near me for too long, letting me contemplate her beauty for too long.

“For me, it is,” she said, with a serious tone, with a serene look, stopping shaking. “Seeing some light among so much darkness is... comforting.”

“Light?” I asked with an ironic tone, with an accent that was too marked, revealing my nerves. “Don't talk nonsense. There is no light in this place.”

“I can see light in you,” she murmured, leaving me speechless, giving silence a new opportunity to fall upon us.

It was a different afternoon, too silent, too strange. Silence reigned, only interrupted by your soft words, by your smiles that tried hard to get me to return them. They succeeded, I smiled, too many times, more than I thought I would do in my entire life.

She would never know. She would never be able to see my smile, my tender, studious gaze, my eye that tried hard to retain in my head all the details of her skin. She was perfect. She was sweet, kind, with a big heart. My obsession worsened, now I saw her in dreams, on my dolls. Without living without her, she was with me, always in my mind, in my thoughts.

But those feelings that I refused to have were finally released when she decided, on her own, to come to my house from time to time, to have tea with me without me asking her. It was a miracle, a stroke of luck, something that shouldn't happen. She couldn't want to see me, she shouldn't want to. She was an angel and I was a monster.

As time went by, laughter and kind words replaced the tension, the nerves her presence caused me, the fear that mine caused her. Her comments about her life became more and more frequent. A relaxed pose began to form on her body. She was no longer afraid, she no longer feared me.

(Y/N) said that I was light, that I was different from the rest. I would have liked to believe her words.

“I had a great time, my… Lady,” she said timidly as we walked to the door. Two months of visits and she still called me that… I hated it.

“Donna,” I said, wanting to get that nickname off her lips, not wanting her to keep calling me that. I really hated it.

“Donna,” she repeated, with a shy smile, nodding. “I hope you like the vegetables, Donna,” she said, pointing at the box of vegetables she started to bring me, some that, according to her, were possible thanks to me.

“I'm sure they're delicious,” I commented with a different tone, calmer, pleased by her presence, sad because she was leaving. I didn't want her to leave, that was my biggest torture.

“Do you want to stay a little longer, silly?” Angie asked, peeking out of my dress. I should thank my doll. Angie did everything possible to make her stay with me a little longer, even if it was just a few minutes. “We can play cards.”

“Oh, I'm, I'm sorry but... It's, it's late, I have to go,” (Y/N) said, bending down to be at the doll's level. “We'll play tomorrow.”

I sighed, watching her walk away again, how she disappeared into the fog, how she abandoned me. The promise she would return the next day was no longer enough for me. Her ephemeral presence, her shy smile, her gaze, soon became an addiction that I could no longer bear.

I could do something, I needed to do something, but I couldn't. Every night, like that one, I looked at myself in the mirror, contemplating my deformed face. What would be the point of spending more time with her? Sooner or later she would discover what I am like, my horrible appearance, the face of... Of a monster.

I knew I was deluding myself, I had to stop dreaming of her, of her saying those words I so needed to hear. It wasn't possible, it would never be possible.

“Cazzo!” I screamed furiously, hitting my reflection, breaking the cruel mirror into a thousand pieces, furious, losing control again, the control of not being able to... Love her.

“Porca miseria! Ti odio!” I shouted, taking out my frustration on the vanity table, letting the crystals fall to the floor, sparkling, camouflaging themselves with my tears.

I hated myself, I couldn't stand myself. I couldn't stand seeing my ruined face, one you could never fall in love with.

“Donna, Donna!”

Angie, as always, came to my aid.

“Sono... Sono un mostro...” I sobbed, burying my face in my hands, crying inconsolably.

Angie's footsteps broke the glass, climbing my body, hugging me as always when I lost control. I wouldn't have done it without her. I would have probably given up.

“Come on, Donna, don't cry... You're not a monster,” the doll said, patting my back.

“(Y/N) will never feel the same way about me, not with this look...” I sobbed, confessing my own feelings, my love for her, an inevitable, intense love.

“Enough of complaining, silly Donna,” Angie said, sick of my increasingly frequent attacks, attacks that I had when (Y/N) left, always when she left. “Are you stupid?”

“What?” I asked furiously, raising my head. “Angie, I'm not in the mood for nonsense.”

“You're the nonsense, Donna,” she scolded me. “You've been crazy about that girl for months and you haven't done anything, anything!”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked nervously, surprised by the puppet's very different attitude.

“Well, I don't know, something, for example. You can't complain about something you haven't even tried, even I, who am just a doll, know that,” she said, with a cocky pose.

“But, but, Angie…” I stammered, confused, knowing that she was right, that I was a coward. I always was.

“No buts, silly Donna, you have to tell (Y/N) that you love her,” she said, leaving me glued to the chair, stepping on the glass that I broke, seeing my horrible reflection in it.

“No, I can't,” I said, looking away from the glass.

“Fine, then don't complain,” Angie joked, making an unpleasant gesture with her hand.

“What the hell do you want me to do?” I asked, angry, clenching my fists tightly. “Do you expect her to fall in love with me just like that?”

“Tell her, silly Donna, use your charms,” the doll indicated, leaving me pensive, laughing nervously.

“I don't have any of that,” I sighed, passing a hand over my forehead.

“Mm... Maybe you need a little help...” Angie murmured. “Come, Donna, I have an idea, come, come.”

“What, what do you want?” I asked, following the doll's jumps, jumps that took me to the basement phone.

“Alcina, call her,” the doll said, extending the phone towards me. I shook my head.

“Alcina? No, no way,” I said, crossing my arms.

“She knows how to deal with women, not like you. If you stop being so proud and ask her for advice, maybe you'll stop smashing mirrors at night,” the doll said, dialing a number, leaving me alone with the phone.

“Hey, wait,” I said nervously, when the signal started to ring.

“Hello, hello, this is Dimitrescu Castle...” a mocking voice said, to which I rolled my eye. “If you want to order wine, dial one; if you want to be one of our maids, dial two; if you want us to rip out your guts and feed the crows with them for disturbing us at this time of night, please wait...”

“Daniela...” I sighed, recognizing my niece's voice. She was always that sinister. “It's, it's me...”

“Who are you? Apart from a new meal for mother...” the vampire asked. I gritted my teeth and sighed, thinking about whether to hang up or let her talk. Maybe asking my sister for advice wasn't such a bad idea.

“D-Donna,” I stammered without being able to help it. My body was shaking, and so was my voice.

“Oh, Aunt Donna! How nice to hear your voice!” the young Dimitrescu shrieked, making me have to move the phone away from my ear. “How are you?”

“F-Fine,” I stammered again, clearing my throat. “Is, is your mother there?”

“Of course… MOTHER!” she shrieked again.

I sighed, waiting impatiently, not knowing what I was going to say to her, what exactly I wanted.

“Daniela, don't be scandalous…” I heard on the other end of the phone. My nerves were getting worse. “It's Aunt Donna, mother.”

“Oh, Donna, what a late… Surprise…” my sister joked, with a seductive tone, as always. I didn't want to think about what she was doing.

“A, Alcina…” I murmured, scratching the back of my neck, looking for Angie with my eye. She wasn't there, that cowardly doll had left me alone. “I have, I have to talk to you.”

“Mm, at this time of the night? What’s wrong, dear? Have you had a crisis?” the lady in white asked. I nodded.

“Too many,”  I answered briefly.

“I see… Do you want me to send you a maid?” she asked kindly, relaxing the seduction of her usual voice.

“No, no,” I shook my head abruptly, nervously holding the telephone cord. “I want, I want to talk to you… It's… It's something personal.”

“Mm, wow, you've caught my attention,” she said amused, laughing softly. “Tell me, dear.”

“I… I don't really know where to start,” I said, controlling my breathing, which prevented me from speaking clearly.

“It's that girl, right? The girl from the church…” she said, using that ability for people that I was incapable of having.

“Y-Yes,” I said. There was no need to lie.

“You haven't hurt her, have you?” Alcina murmured in a serious tone.

“No, of course I haven’t,” I said, annoyed by that accusation. “I… I… I'm… I'm… in love with her, Alcina,” I confessed, closing my eye, letting out my feelings from my heart, some that I couldn't, that I didn't know how to express.

“How sweet of you, Donna,” my sister joked, laughing, as if she was making fun of me. “What's the problem? According to what I've heard, she spends almost every day at your house.”

“Y-Yes, but… but… I, I don't know if she…” I murmured, fighting my words, which refused to sound as they should. “I, I don't know how…”

“Mm, you don't know if she feels the same,” Alcina finished for me. I nodded again, with my eye wet with tears.

“No, I… I want to, I want to tell her but, I can't,” I sighed, passing a hand over my forehead.

“You're blind, Donna. Let's see, why would a villager like her go to your house every day?” she asked with irony. “That girl is crazy about you, I tell you, I know those looks.”

“I don't think so,” I murmured with a sad voice. “No one, no one could feel anything for me…”

“Oh, Donna, not again,” the lady in white sighed. “Your only problem is that you are such a coward.”

“I told you…” an unexpected Angie whispered in my ear, startling me.

“Angie, I'm talking,” I protested with my hand on the device. “Yes, I am a coward… But, but if she felt something for me, she would have done something about it.”

“You are so naive, my dear…” Alcina mocked, dragging out her words. “Wake up, you are a Lord, she is a villager, do you know what that means?”

“No,” I said in a stern tone, tired of everyone laughing at me.

“It means that she would never believe that someone as powerful as you could notice someone like her, do you understand?”

“No…” I sighed tired, wanting to hang up and break down in tears again.

“Donna, for Gods' sake, react,” Alcina said, with an impatient tone, making me jump. “If you don't do anything, she won't either. Stop being that... stupid.”

“I didn't call you to insult me,” ​​I said with a dark voice, hitting the table with my fingers. “I, I called you to help me. I, l, love her very much and I don't, I don't know what to do.”

“Mm, I guess being direct isn't your thing, huh?” Alcina whispered, with a different voice, but without losing that mocking touch. “Then you'll have to do something... Make her fall in love with you.”

“That's easy for someone like you but... I, I don't... Cazzo, Alcina, it's the first time I feel that way for someone... I'm completely lost,” I said almost desperately.

“I understand,” she said, with a cold tone. “Well, then start with something simple, why don't you invite her to dinner?”

“Dinner?” I asked confused.

“Mm,” the lady murmured. “They say you cook wonderfully, it could be a good point. You know, a delicious meal, some candles, maybe romantic music… If she doesn't notice with that… She's even more stupid than you.”

“It's not funny,” I growled at that mocking tone, but thinking about that idea, one that didn't seem so bad.

“It's not a joke, dear… Listen to your older sister, mm? Invite that village girl to dinner with you, and the rest… Well, I'm sure it will come by itself.”

I thought about that advice, that proposal, a lot. Alcina had hundreds of women at her disposal, but I wasn't Alcina, I was… A monster.

But nothing she said seemed to want to hurt me. I knew she cared about me, she really did. Try or lose (Y/N) forever, what a dilemma.

But luck seemed to be on my side. It was a simple, nervous request, but one that (Y/N) accepted without thinking.

In less time than I would have liked, she was with me, dining by candlelight, enjoying my food, my company, almost as much as I did hers.

“Do you, do you like it?” I asked fearfully, starting a conversation that had not existed until that moment. (Y/N) looked at me and nodded with a smile, taking a sip of her glass of wine.

“It's delicious, Donna,” she said in a soft voice, her features adored by the candlelight, her cheeks flushed by the wine, or by embarrassment.

I laughed shyly, playing with my food, not knowing what to do, or say, as always, that was never going to change.

“I, I used your vegetables,” I said awkwardly, catching her attention again. “They are of excellent quality.”

“Mm, thanks,” she said amused, winking at me. “You know what? You never cease to surprise me,” the girl commented, sighing.

“Why do you say so?” I asked curiously, looking cautiously at the phone off the table.

I didn't particularly like Alcina listening to everything, but at least she was kind enough to offer to lend me a hand, to help me if things weren't going well.

“Well... You save my father's life, you're kind... You cook... Wonderfully... Who are you?” she asked amused, playing with her fork.

“I, I guess I’m Donna,” I said nervously.

“Ahem, ahem,” a distorted clearing of throat sounded in the living room, making me blush. It was Alcina, there was no doubt.

“What was that?” (Y/N) asked, looking at the source of the sound.

“Oh, it was nothing, it was probably Angie,” I said nervously, diverting her attention.

“She can't help it, huh?” the girl joked, with a tender smile. I laughed nervously, shaking my head.

“It's true,” I commented, drinking some wine, accustomed to her looking away when I moved my veil.

Stars shinin' bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"

Birds singin' in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

The music interrupted our conversation, a slow, romantic music that I hadn't put on. My doll got off the record player, making me groan nervously.

“Angie, fermate la musica!” I yelled at the doll, who ran away.

“No, no, wait… I like this song,” (Y/N) said, stopping my attempt to go to the player with a soft hand on my wrist. “You don't?”

“I… Um, yes, I do…” I sighed having her so close to me, hearing the soft humming that accompanied the song.

“Do you want to dance, Donna?” she asked, getting even closer, taking my hands by surprise, causing an inevitable tremble in mine. Automatically, without wanting to, I shook my head.

“N-No… I… I don't know how to dance,” I said shyly, letting myself be carried away by the swing of her hand in mine.

“Dance, damn it!” a furious squeal came from the phone, increasing my blush.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, with a confused smile, returning her gaze to mine after a few seconds. “Calm down, I'll show you, come…”

“Okay, okay,” I said nervously, letting (Y/N) drag me to the middle of the room, moving my hand to her perfect waist while she placed hers on my shoulder, starting to move slowly, very slowly.

A slow, clumsy, but intense, comforting dance. Her hand on my waist, our fingers intertwined, was the closest I would ever be to paradise.

“Dream a Little dream of me…” she murmured, when the song ended, with her body still pressed against mine, lowering her hand to gently grab my waist, opening her eyes, looking at me strangely. “You haven't been bad at all, Donna…”

“… I… Thank you…” I stammered, letting myself be carried away by my instincts, also grabbing her waist while her expression changed, raising her hands to my covered face. I acted reflexively by putting my hands on her wrists.

“Stop, (Y/N),” I whispered, trembling, trembling with fear. She couldn't see me, or I would lose her.

“I would like you to take off your veil, Donna, so I can kiss you,” (Y/N) whispered, with a sincere look, leaving me glued to the floor, with my hands shaking on her wrists.

“Kiss me?” I asked distrustfully, letting her hands remove the black fabric from my face under her watchful gaze. “You, you don't…”

“Oh… You're beautiful,” she said, caressing my cheek, my trembling body. I should have gotten angry, I should have screamed, I didn't. “Let me kiss you, please…”

“Please…” I said, approaching her, closing my eye, brushing her lips with mine, melting into the pleasure of my first kiss, of our first kiss.

“I wasn't wrong about you,” she said amused, moving away from that kiss, from that first kiss that left me almost sobbing. “I wasn't wrong to fall in love with you.”

“Ugh, finally!” Alcina shouted as we kissed again, with more enthusiasm, laughing at those voices. I wonder if (Y/N) suspected who was on the other end of the phone.

[yzzart]

— Blessed oath.

© do not repost or translate !

characters: Aemond Targaryen x (F)Targaryen!reader.

summary: after so many years apart, isolated, Aemond decides to come to you.

warnings: incest, explicit language, explicit words

word count: 3.694!

english's not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!

The prince, who was recognized for his fearsome posture and his intimidating eye patch and having the blood of blood coursing through his veins, was aware of the danger and possible bloody war that he could face along his way, but, he was aware that could create a war to woo his dear sweet niece.

There were so many unhappy years, which Aemond described as living proof of hell, apart and with the absence of the warmth of bodies together crying out for love. — Even though the reason was completely involving Aemond, it stabbed his sister's decision.

He remembers the vague words he uttered to his sister to leave his daughter beside him and her father, your dear grandfather; Viserys, but, obviously, she denied the defiant request. — And with so much reason, Aemond used this one to complete all his anger and hatred for Rhaenyra.

The good gods, those who all begged for blessing and those who accompanied the Targeryens, knew that Aemond would kill anyone including his own sister to have his sweet niece at his side. — Not to mention his biggest enemy, his uncle; Daemon. That the one-eyed prince was informally bought by some of the outskirts of the red fortress and some mediocre kingdoms.

Your father, the rebel prince, would have Aemond's head if he only knew he'd come near you. — And you know better than anyone that he could do it. — And living with a situation as disturbed and suffocating as this was living proof of hell. — But, nothing was more suffocating than not feeling the heat of your lover's body next to yours.

The two of you were like two dragons living in conflict with the burning and pure feeling of passion, causing your souls to unite into one. — Two dragons, one souls. That was the motto.

And for all those years, damned years, Aemond's desire for you grew every single day. And he learned to connect with that feeling so hungry. — During his privileged training as a prince, he showed more vigor and agility. — A brute form was being ignited in that one-eyed youth's chest.

No one dared question where that anger or anonymous feeling of the king's youngest son came from, they just admired with surprised eyes and a few whispers. — It didn't matter to Aemond. In fact, it never even bothered him.

The only thing he really cared about, and for a few moments, was when your name was uttered from the mouths of servants and a few informants who kept their jobs while whispering. — It was like a wake-up call for Aemond. Like a dog's ears when an unhappy noise sounded all around.

But, during those sweltering years, the young prince recognized and devised a sneaky and dangerous way to see his beloved niece. — A way that, even he himself was aware of and knowledge he could miss more than his other eye.

Aemond had no visual knowledge of Dragonstone, he never even had an opportunity to witness the dragons' location. However, he had a literary knowledge of the place. — Using the old library, which was abandoned by most of his family, Aemond began to read all the books that contained information about the isolated island.

Each page, each writing made with embers and black pigment ink, the one-eyed man read and admired the facts that his ancestors and distant relatives brought him. — Aemond didn't care to miss a word that time.

The idea of invading, discreetly and boldly, the region that was dominated by his sister and, perhaps with little chance of success, Aemond planned to consider the action. Being the rider of the biggest dragon that this miserable world had ever seen was a great and superior advantage, but at the same time it could be a disadvantage. — The gods agreed with the thought.

The focus of that bold prince's mind was only for you. There was nothing else in the moment, in the second and world, that could remove your image from Aemond's closed mind. — Even if that certain invasion went wrong, he would be satisfied to know that he would die when he was ready to see you again.

Well, he would die for you and you for him.

That night, which by some mixed and intrusive ears from the vicinity of the red keep; they said the moon was brighter than usual and the wind was fighting with itself. — It seemed like a kind of warning that was ignored by most.

The cover made of pure leather, unlike the dark color palette Aemond usually uses, was a brownish color; like the rebellious earth that was trampled by the black boots of the one-eyed youth. — Aemond's steps were wild, he was desperate to meet his dragon and, like a good mother's son, he prayed to the gods that everything that had been planned would work out.

Unlike the other dragons, aka those of his brothers, who were sheltered and protected in the dragon pit, Vhagar was accommodated at the back of the fortress. Not just the fact that her size bothered half that space, but Aemond cared and cared for his dragon enough to want to keep her close enough. — And no one would dare to scold or tell him to move it.

The huge, intimidating dragon rested, its scaly, age-wrinkled wings spread out close together on the ground. — Taking up most of it. — Aemond, her young rider, didn't need to warn her that he was coming or even call Vhagar's attention; for with just his typical scent, the dragon sensed his presence.

Lifting his head, which carries with it a smoke of sand, Vhagar follows the short and fast walk that her rider takes to her.

"īlon emagon nykeā dīnagon naejot jikagon, hāedar." (We have a place to go, girl.) — He uttered with a whisper, even though there was no one, not a soul, near that region.

The old dragon didn't restrain himself from making any expressions or even a questioning noise at her rider's strange action, just assented by moving enough for Aemond to get onto her rough, scaly back. — During the movement of Vhagar's heavy body, some fine and coarse grains of white sand were scattered on the Targaryen's cloak.

With his hands trapped around the thick and strong ropes of the dragon's cell, Aemond had everything to fly to the isolated region where his beloved niece was sheltered. — The feeling of butterflies in his stomach agonized the boy again but this time it was because he had in mind that he would hear your voice and see you.

Aemond could finally find his peace again. After so many years, years with the taste of hell, the anguish and bitter pain of missing each other would end.

"Sōvegon, Vhagar." (Fly, Vhagar.) — An order with a heightened tone of certainty and confidence was declared to the dragon. Aemond took a deep breath, inhaling the salty smell of the sea and reassured himself that he would soon be inhaling the natural scent of your body.

Vhagar roared, that frightening noise could have woken up anyone who was close to the region where the dragon was accommodated before, as a way of agreeing with the one-eyed request. — She would never disagree with her rider's request.

The night was colder than usual for you. The waves were crashing so rough and hard against each other, it looked like they were in some kind of fight; wanting to distance but it was impossible. — Like your family at times, you thought

"Family". Funny how those rebellious waves reminded him of the rebellious rifts that had run between your family and your grandfather's family, or as he was mediocrely known, King Viserys. — And there was a certain person among those waves who always captivated your attention and ever since your passion.

Your uncle. Your goddamn uncle and your goddamn love.

Even with so many intrigues, differences and bitterness among your families; you and Aemond never let each other be shaken or even extinguished the flaming flame of dragon passion that existed in you two. — You were living proof of a dragon's true flame.

Perhaps, thinking about a person you hadn't seen for so long was a foolish and painful action. It was painful indeed, but when Aemond dominated your thoughts, your mind, it made your body so warm and reassuring. — That damned man was your anchor, your passion.

Your skin tingled, calling your attention and making you distance yourself from the thoughts that, little by little, were dominated by the image of Aemond. — But, that shiver was not caused by the freezing and strong breeze of the winds coming from the sea; there was only one culprit and you knew who it was.

Closing the window and heading for your beautifully crafted and sewn blankets sounded like a good idea and highly recommended. — The thought of getting a possible disease due to coldness was not so pleasant and would scare your mother. - But, an image, somewhat peculiar and dark, caught the attention of your eyes far back and among the clouds.

Flying among the dark sky, which belonged to the night, along with some accumulated and loose clouds; it could only be a destined dragon, aimless and didn't know which region it was heading towards. — Or, some intruder, perhaps?

A thousand questions and concerns ran through your head, and they all scared you somehow.

The dragon's image was slowly approaching and soon, you recognized that creature, destined for the Targaryens and sharing the same blood and life force. — The greenish and heavy scales, together with the wrinkled wings and of a surreal size that this unfortunate world could admire and judge, flew to a point of Dragonstone.

Vhagar wasn't just a creature that carried on her back the title and recognition of being the greatest dragon in the world at that time; she was aware of the entire cycle of conquest of your ancestors and distant relatives. — She was one of the prides of the dragon's house.

However, it wasn't just that dragon that acclaimed, called your attention; wisps of the purest color of white were appearing in accordance with the movement of the wind and the swiftness of Vhagar's flight. — It was him.

"Aemond…" — You whispered incredulously and not wanting to believe what was possibly happening. A part of you feared, did not accept that your uncle, hated and received with so much bitterness by your parents and brothers, was risking himself for you.

He was risking himself to see you. All the pain, lack of body heat and suffering, which were accumulated during all the years of isolation that your family agreed to do, made him reach that point.

May the good gods be on your side, you mentally wished.

Leaning against the huge window, the icy feel of the rocks that complimented that opening overwhelmed her bare feet. — You didn't even think about putting something on, an incompetent but desperate action. — When finally crossing the ends of your long white nightgown they got wet but that didn't make you lose your focus.

Your chambers were one of the few that had a space, like a small worthless balcony, but that gave a small path to some mountains that were around the castle. It was a bit risky, and you never dared use it for anything useful or escape anything, but everything had its first time and that was it.

The path was going to be long, and you knew you needed to be quick and agile; then, you saw a stone block, big enough for you to use as a support and climb to the small wall that opened to the gigantic field with mountains of different sizes. — It felt like the good gods were on your side and doing everything for you to finally meet your lover.

Your long-awaited lover.

The pure, fresh and rough feel of the greenish grass, but with the darkness of the night leaving it with a stronger, darker look and pigment, it invaded the soles of her feet. It was kind of agonizing, you never had the opportunity to let loose in the middle of the grass, so it was kind of a new thing at the time. — It tasted like freedom but that must have been influenced by Aemond's appearance.

Returning to your focus, trying not to get distracted, you were nervous, anxious and a little afraid of what was to come; for the first time, you were feeling mixed feelings. — Your eyes traveled through the dark skies trying to spot the dragon and its rider, and praying that they had already landed on the ground and not drawing attention or any alert around the castle.

And there it was in its complex size along with the details of green and black tones, Vhagar could take over the entire tip of the isolated island and she would take comfort in the region. — The young rider, who was wearing a garment made entirely of the purest leather and very well sewn, wanted to get out of the saddle as quickly as possible.

You ran, holding a small part of your dress, which was probably dirty from the grass. Your heart was racing, it felt like at any moment it would leap out of your mouth and your teeth were dragging, uncontrollably biting your soft lips. — A metallic aftertaste was already starting to invade your palate.

Vhagar let out a snarl, which sounded like just a thick, rough timber from her throat, she had it in her mind where she was. — The gods reminded her of some situations that she, along with her previous riders, got involved and were part of several pages of the conquests and battles of the Targaryens.

The wind was getting stronger and your heart was beating faster than normal and abnormal; in the eyes of other people it was a worrying thing, it could cause a brief death, but you didn't care about that. — You didn't care at all.

He was there. After so many years, so many lonely and bitter moons; a perverse and cruel isolation for your heart. You were forced to agree and be taken to that isolated island, which included a castle, and go through these times alone and without the comfort, warmth and love of your dear uncle. — Who with obvious reasons was hated with every thread of blood by your parents.

Aemond was back for you.

With only a small distance from the dragon, enough for it to notice your presence, you couldn't move; not even to interrupt the drastic movements that the dress proposed because of the wind. — Your body did not mentally recognize your orders to move. — But, your eyes roamed over the huge old dragon that stood before you. Vhagar looked more tired but she had no desire or desire to end her battle, her life. Her tired and intimidating eyes admired you.

"kiip kesīr se ubeī ñuha udrāzma, vhagar." (Keep here and obey my command, Vhagar.) — That voice echoed in your ears, causing the sound of crashing waves to be muted around him. Aemond's voice was so different, of course because of his growth and, mainly, maturity. — Everything about Aemond had changed except the love he felt for you.

The dragon obeyed the order and to signal she understood, Vhagar let out a low growl; if you could consider that as low.

You watched, but the gods agree you were admiring, every move Aemond made to remove himself from his dragon's leather saddle. It didn't take that long after all; he was used to it by now, but for you it took forever. — You were desperate, hungry and yearning for that man's touch. The touch you've waited so long for.

The pure leather boots touched the ground, the sound of grass being trampled reached your ears. With small steps, the one-eyed prince, covered with his cape but it was possible to identify the black dress, also made of leather, through a small breach. — Aemond was in front of you.

His eye patch caught your attention but not in a bad or perverse way but charmingly. — That piece that protected the absence of his eye was mesmerizing.

"issa jorrāelagon." (My dear.) — Those were the first words that were uttered from the eldest's slender and sharp lips; the very words you've been waiting all this hellish time to hear again. — Every time, every morning and night, Aemond made a point of calling you that.

A raw and, at the same time, delicate mixture of feelings was dominating your control, dominating you. Your vision was starting to get blurry, on account of the tears that threatened to fall down your brave face. — The gods weren't deceiving you, he really was there.

After tasting for so many years the taste of isolation, the true taste of hell after being separated from your lover; finally, you have achieved peace. — Your divine peace that you expected so much. — You lost count how many times you cried mercilessly begging for the young man's touch, attention and affection.

"Aemond." — Somehow you couldn't form a simple sentence, or put mediocre words together; it was impossible for you. The only thing on your mind was Aemond and nothing else.

However, your body responded with strength and short and anxious steps were forwarded towards the one-eyed prince. Your feet once again felt the living, damp grass and the feeling of cold dominated that region of your body once again that night. — Watching your approach carefully, Aemond lowered the hood of his cloak. It was no longer useful to use that piece of clothing, it was already considered useless by the prince.

When you got close to Aemond, with only a miserable little distance making you feel the elder's quick and restless breathing, you didn't lose a second to admire him. — His serious face, there were small and weak scars and some cuts in the region and you were sure you would question him about; then, you directed your hand towards the left side of his face.

A caress, an affection so simple in the eyes of certain people but for Aemond it was as if an angel could be touching him and making everything around him disappear. — And you were his angel. — Aemond rested his gloved hand on top of your and stroked it as a way of reciprocating.

"I missed you so much." — The first formed and conscious words you managed to direct to your uncle. Your eyes, which had previously been roaming over the prince's cold face, were now admiring his only existing eye and Aemond was focused on any sound that came out of your mouth, he was aware of any movement you made. — "I missed you so much, Aemond."

In a quick moment, in the blink of an eye, Aemond brought his lips together with yours. — The softness and a typical sweet taste invaded a part of the one-eyed man's palate and the only culprit of that was you, and he felt he was in a place created by the good gods; it felt like the taste of paradise. — Aemond's thin, sharp lips were battling your but in the end they managed to come together like a dance step.

The kiss was pure desire and passion. — The desire that was guarded with seven keys and covered with dragon flames. — Aemond's tongue was determined to fight for space, fearing dominance, but your tongue was also with the same plans.

It was like a dance. — A dance of dragons. — Two dragons hungry for desire, to feel each other and are finally getting what they craved and needed most in that miserable life.

The taste of Aemond's lips was a passionate, mesmerizing acid to taste. You could spend hours and hours enjoying your lover's kiss and never, under any circumstances, get sick or tired. — You were obsessed, and wanting to demand more and more; such a needy thought.

Aemond's hand, which had previously been supporting hers, went to the back of your neck; intensifying the kiss even more. You couldn't stop the shiver and he modestly felt it along with the tremor in your body. A smile, a little thin and malicious, crossed Aemond's mouth during the kiss. — He knew right away how needy you were.

Suddenly you forgot about everything around you. — Your parents, your brothers possibly falling asleep, maybe there were guards roaming the region, everything; nothing else interested you but Aemond's warmth, touch and presence.

When you felt the beginning of shortness of breath, your lips distanced from Aemond's, and it left a feeling of emptiness in you at that moment. — A feeling of abandonment. — Looking down at the young man's thin mouth, you realize how red and irresistible it was but, in fact, you needed to control yourself.

"I missed you too, my sweet niece." — Aemond whispered, still feeling the feel of your lips against his. He was drunk on you and wanted to go deeper into that sea with you. — "And i came back for you and i don't intend to let them separate you from me again." — He wasn't lying or trying to play with you; so you wouldn't feel worry or fear of him slipping out of your sight again. Aemond would never commit such a painful act to you.

They managed to separate you from Aemond, they committed one of the worst acts even the gods could witness. — When trying to separate or burn a dragon's flame, they would have the conscience that they would have return and revenge.

But, the good gods already had a hellish vision of what could happen; they were dragons fighting among themselves. — The same blood, the same will to win and conquer, and the same fire and no one could interfere with it, only themselves.

"I will officially make you mine in front of them and by their hands, my love." — The one-eyed man pressed your forehead against his. — "bisa iksos daor sepār nykeā kivio, yn nykeā bêesîd uati." (This is not just a promise, but a blessed oath.)

[cairoisashapeshifter]

Mortal

♡ Word count; 858

♡ Warnings; Mentions of blood, death, violence, angst, cursing.

♡ Genre; Reverse Comfort & Established Relationship

♡ Notes; Wrote this while listening to a song, not sure how I feel about it, but decided to put something out there even if it was a small drabble.

♡ Summery; Heimdall needing comfort from mortal!reader after he is confronted by their mortality.

Silence fell in the great hall, no soul dared to breath wrong in the direction of the God whose fist dripped strings of blood. And, as he moved the crowd made sure to part for him and for you. "Heimdall!" He kept moving, his steps unfaltering. "I did not want this" Heimdall stopped at your words before turning suddenly anger as hot as coal seething through his eyes and words "I don't care what you wanted, I don't care what you think this isn't about you, I promised no harm to befall you, and he laid his hands on you. He broke my word, the word of a god under my roof. Count yourself fucking lucky his alive." Behind you, healers surrounded the unrecognisable man hoping to salvage his life, Heimdall had beat him to a shape other then human, they didn't know if they could do much. You did not care. Your eyes still focused in the direction where his figure disappeared, brows furrowed and horror shining through your features.

Love made Kings fools, peasants abundant, and Gods sometimes monsters.

The room was quiet expect for the slight splashing of water, he was inside the washroom cleaning off the blood from his hands, unlike his brothers, he hated being dirty, hated the feeling of blood on him. "Hemie... I-" you try to reach out, to comfort him but he flinched out of your touch as if it were hot iron "Don't touch me" he breathed out, you retreated your hand "Heimdall it's ok-" "leave". You frown. "I never left you before when you needed me, I won't start now" He cringes at your soft voice and places both hands on the basin of water "My only job was to keep you safe, as a god, as your husband it was my only job and I failed" somehow during his low toned words he found himself with his arms wrapped around you and yours wrapped around him, he sounded broken like a glass shattered into a million pieces

"It's not your job Hemie-"

"Yes it is, I am the God of Forsight, the watcher and protector of Asgard, and a mere fucking low life managed to hurt the one thing I care about more then my fucking title" anger returned to his voice, yet he didn't raise it at you.

"You weren't there"

"You're right I wasn't there" You pull away to look at him. His face had become unreadable, he looked completely neutral, an empty canvas ready to be painted on.

"I wasn't there" his lips shakily quirked up "would I not be there when someone decides to kill you? Would I not be there if you fall or if an accident happens? Would I come home one day and find you dead? Is that it?"

The once warm Himinbjörg felt cold. No longer did the hearth banish away the shivers or the tears, instead, it seemed the orange glow called for it. Light fell on the man you fell for, illuminating the side of his face making his glowing eyes shine even brighter. After not hearing an answer, his already stiff body turned rigid within your embrace, he seemed to find it unbearable as he quickly pulled away while still keeping himself close to you.

"You're a mortal"

Those three words were enough. A gentle hand placed upon his cheek, you pull him close resting his head on your shoulder. You move a hand to the back of his head threading your fingers through his hair, the other you pulled over his back and hugged him with it tightly. Heimdall was afraid, he was afraid to loose you.

"I thought.... thought that your mortal life span didn't matter, that I had a hundred years with you. But it's not enough, its no where near enough, I can't bare the idea of anything less than an eternity but I learned to cope, I learned to enjoy the time we had but now? Knowing it's not just you growing old but that it could be a simple fall or a bad meal away for you to leave me? That it could...that it could be one fuckers bad day for you to die? and I wouldn't even be there"

"One day I will die sure-" He moved you before you could finish, now, you laid on the bed with his face stuffed in your chest and his arms holding you so tight it ached slightly. "Stop it. Just... just stop don't talk I don't want... I don't need..." His voice trailed off when he felt your fingers scratch his scalp easing his tense body and forcing his voice to catch in his throat, "I know, it's okay, I'll be okay, you'll be okay Heimdall" he felt a chuckle leave his lips, a breathy pained laugh tempered with his voice giving out "A mere mortal comforting a god, how funny" you only responed by kissing his forehead. You never saw him this way, vulnerable, open like a new born baby bird that fell from his nest, "Well let's hope the mortal is doing a good job with it"

"You are"

[mxthtea]

I Am Not Your Enemy

grim x masc reader (reader does not have a specified gender, but is stated to not identify as a woman) warnings: (reader) breakdowns, online grooming (done to the reader), reader refers to themself as a slut and a whore once each, heavily self-indulgent and based on my own experiences, hand holding and hugging, use of grim's real name, mentioned self-harm, grammar + spelling mistakes, please tell me if i forgot any word count: 3107

request rules

You feel… itchy. Very itchy.

Not an itch that made any sense. A spontaneous itch that covers your entire body. But your skin isn't dry either. It makes you want to tear into it and rip out your tendons. To scratch until you're red and bleeding onto your flooring and chair.

Maybe it has to do with the anxiety pooling into your chest. the heavy weight that lays there, making your heart pound to try and escape. The quickened breaths of your suffocating lungs.

The bright screen of your laptop glares you down. The old messages you had sent to Casper glaring even harder.

The words making out more… suggestive messages. In-depth words about how you'd touch him, how you'd feel him. What your skin contact would be like. To think that it was just about holding his hand. To think that you sent those, even though it has been a while since you sent them.

Messages that you swear you've seen before. Years prior and on a social app you shouldn't've been on. After all, your parents wanted to protect you from online predators. But, they still got to you. It's not like you were exactly protecting yourself.

Suggestive messages filled with what they'd to you. How they'd touch your skin and they'd feel. How they'd undress, how they-

"Sunshine?" a voice cuts off your thoughts.

Your head snaps to the doorway to your apartment. There stands your boyfriend, Casper, donning his usual attire. Not that you can make it out well, your face is blurry from tears, after all.

When did you start crying?

Your body tells you to run. To run from Casper and to get out of there. Telling you that he's just like them. You're just a body, you aren't a person to him. No doubt he talks about you behind your back. He views you as some slut, some whore. Somebody that he'll use then discard. Who knows who else he's done that to.

He'll fuck you- or you'll fuck him- then he'll leave you right after. He'll get what he wanted then leave. Maybe he'll take your soul while he's at it! After all, he's a grim reaper! It's insane to think he doesn't want it!

It doesn't matter if this goes against everything you know about Casper. You're right, you have to be. You've been through this already.

Something cold presses against your hot cheeks and you slap away whatever's touching you. Your world blurs for a moment, a thud then a sharp pain that shoots up from your bottom.

Casper's above you. His face is too blurry from your tears to make out. Gods he's above you, he's gonna make you-

"Sunshine, look at me," Casper calls out to you. when you look at him, he's on his knees in front of you. his hands held in the air as if telling you he won't touch you again.

Your shaking hands reach up to wipe the tears that drip from your eyes. You can barely make anything out into detailed shapes. Your boyfriend is just a blur of some colors. His red eyes still stand out among the grey and whites.

"Get away from me," you choke out, "don't touch me."

The red blurs of his eyes get bigger. You assume he had widened them, but you still make it out fully. There's a distant sound of Casper's shoes shuffling against your wooden flooring. Your eyes begin to clear up from the tears. They fall down your cheeks, but you simply wipe them. You don't want to look even more vulnerable.

You look up to Casper, staring into his red eyes. He seems worried.

A part of you thinks it's fake.

A part of you knows that this is fake.

His look of worry is just one to hide his own feelings. He's pretending he's being worried so he can get you to lower your guard. Then he'll use your body. With sweet words, he'll whisper that fills you with too much guilt to say no. You'll want to die after, then he'll leave you.

Only to come back again and repeat the damned cycle.

You want to run, but you feel cornered. He's kneeling in front of you, keeping you from running away. He's gonna hold you down. He'll-

"Sunshine," Casper's voice makes it sound like he's pleading with you, "please tell me what's wrong."

His eyes meet yours. Casper takes a step back to give you space.

Will he jump on you when you try to run?

"Don't touch me," you demand.

Casper raises his gloved hands once again, he takes another step back from you, "I won't touch you. What's wrong?"

You look at him with inquisitive eyes. Why's he acting like this? He wants to touch you, does he not? Maybe he's just pretending to care about how you feel.

You see Casper's concerned expression twist into one of surprise. He looks down at you, eyes widened by a fraction, dark eyebrows raised up.

He opens his mouth to speak, "Sunshine, why do you look like that? Did I say something wrong?"

Your gaze hardens. Why is he playing dumb? He knows what he wants. He knows that he wants you. Why?

He must be trying to put you in a false sense of security. Then it's easier for him to undress you. For him to mutter in your ear how much you want him.

"You want to touch me don't you?" you look at him, incredulously, "so do it."

"You don't want me to."

"Why do you care?"

You see that Casper visibly flinches back. His expression changes several times in a matter of seconds. From shock, to anger, to a form of despair, to worry.

"I'm not going to touch you."

"But don't you?"

"Do you want me to?"

A shiver wracks through your body. You feel your blood rush and your heart beats rapidly in your chest. You feel as if it's going to burst out any second. The question rings in your ears. He's trying to tempt you, isn't he?

"Do you want me to?"

When you say no, he'll have an ugly face. One that'll haunt you. One that asks- demands permission. Permission given that completely strips you of consenting to it. Then he'll smile. He'll say you're a good girl despite you not being one. He'll hush your protests with his lips.

It doesn't matter if you say no. You might as well just be saying yes. You just need to be convinced.

The words are a lump in your throat. Those three letters, singular syllable, refuse to come out. Just say yes goddammit it saves you the fucking trouble!

"No," your voice shakes as you speak. You feel pathetic.

"Alright," Casper nods to you, "I won't."

"Why not?"

It seems like a stupid question. But, you have to ask. Why doesn't he want to?

"You don't want me to, right? I won't touch you until you say so."

There's silence in the room. You know Casper wants to speak. He opens his mouth just to close it a few times.

"I'll be back," is all he says before leaving from your apartment window. When did he even open it?

Your legs shake as you stand. Luckily, due to your small apartment, your bed is only a stumble away. As you let yourself fall onto your mattress, your mind begins to wander… to Casper.

He didn't want to touch you. Not because he didn't desire you, it's because you didn't want him to. Something that other people would scoff at and say is the bare minimum. But, it's something you aren't used to. Well, you had barely said no to anyone's demands. Always eager to please.

Despite the pain and trauma it had caused. Those same memories and emotions still haunt you years later.

You don't know when you fell asleep. All you remember is thinking of Casper and what you had experienced. Then, you woke up. With the blue sky changing to an orange.

Casper still isn't back either. It's just you, your plant, and your pet.

You take hold of your pet, gently. Holding them in your lap and gently stroking them. It's nice, creating a small bubble of pleasant feelings in your chest. It's easy.

A few minutes seem to pass. You're still in a bit of a daze from earlier events. You must've been asleep for at least an hour.

There's a distant noise that you can't really hear. Your pet looks up, you follow their gaze. A figure crawls into your room from your window. The familiar dark jacket and white hair stand out to you.

"Casper…?" you drawl. His eyes meet yours. His expression is one of concern. Why?

"I said I'd be back, didn't I?" he gives a smile to you, "I bought some food."

He places an emphasis on saying he bought it. It makes you think that he might've stolen the food. Those hesitant thoughts are cut short as Casper places the bag down in front of you.

It's some fast food place. WcBonalds, as you recall. You had eaten there a while ago, during another one of these episodes.

Casper sits at your desk chair. He stares at your hands, waiting for you to move. You notice how poor his posture is. His slumped back against the leather back of it. You wonder if a reaper like him faces back pain like a human like you.

Removing the food he had brought, you just stare at it for a moment.

"Are you… eating it with your eyes?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't…" feel hungry is what you want to say. Though you doubt Casper will take that as an answer.

Despite not eating the entire day and having a breakdown, you didn't want to eat. The thought of it makes you feel queasy. Having the flavors invade your tongue. The texture lingering in your mouth. Choking on the food as it slides down your throat.

Thinking about eating makes you tired, not hungry.

Casper's eyes still linger on you. His eyebrows pinch together in a face of worry. At least, it could be worry. You feel like he's probably frustrated, too.

This isn't the first time he has to encourage you to eat.

"Can you at least drink a little, Sunshine?" Casper relents. He carries a sad look on his face.

You look at the drink Casper brought. A simple, standard cup of iced water from WcBonalds. Perhaps he didn't want you to choke on their famously aggressive soft drinks. It won't hurt to drink. Water is nice to drink, you're thirsty as well. It's easier to do than eat something as well.

You give a nod to Casper. His lips quirk up into a relieved smile as you take a sip of it.

"Slowly," Casper's voice is gentle as he speaks. You follow his words and take small, slow sips.

"I thought a grim reaper wouldn't know how to take care of someone," you move your lips from the straw and put it down. The food still stares up at you, waiting for you to eat it.

You sigh. Taking a fry and eating it. The expected salty taste invades your senses. It makes you feel sick, but you also realize how hungry you are.

"I'm good at taking care of you," Casper corrects you, "every other human I either fight or take their soul."

You give a nod to him, continuing to eat.

Now that Casper is with you and you aren't breaking down in front of him, you can ask him a question. The question that had been bothering you since he had left.

Why?

"Casper," you start. He looks to you, red eyes meeting yours, "why didn't you touch me?"

His expression is one of bewilderment, as if your words cut into him. He opens his mouth just to close it. You think Casper looks more like a fish than a grim reaper right now.

"You told me you didn't want me to," Casper sounds offended as he speaks.

"And you listened, why?" you eat a fry after the words fall from your lips. The salty taste lingers on your tongue.

"Why wouldn't I listen to you?"

"Because-"

Oh.

You can't come up with any response. Any reason that he'd go against your words die before they could even leave your mouth.

Casper lets out a sigh. He approaches you, sitting on your bed. His eyes still meeting yours.

"Can I hold your hand?"

The words sit in the air. You look down and stare at your hands.

Unlike a bit ago, you don't ache at the mere thought of being touched. In fact, maybe you want to be. For no other reason than you just crave a bit of contact.

So, you nod. Casper clicks his tongue. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response.

"I want your verbal consent, Sunshine. Not just a nod."

Another gap of silence. It's easier to just nod or shake your head than have to say it out loud.

"Yes," your voice shakes a bit with hesitancy. It's not that you don't want Casper to touch you- it's just hard to say you do.

"Sunshine," Casper's gloved hand brushes over your fingertips. When you don't pull your hand back or give any other sign of not wanting to be touched, Casper takes your hand in his.

His hand is cold, even through the gloves he wears. You know this. You've known this. Ever since Casper had gifted you a bouquet of roses all those weeks ago. You've continued to know it ever since that first week of "meeting" each other.

"Sunshine," Casper repeats, "look at me."

Your eyes meet up to his. Casper looks at you desperately. There's a bit of hurt in his expression. The cocky bastard of a grim reaper you know is replaced with someone filled with worry. You don't think you've ever seen him like this.

His hold on your hand is light, gentle. As if you'd break at the slightest bit of physical pressure. You don't know if that's true or not in your current mental state.

"Sunshine. I am not your enemy," his hold on your hand tightens the slightest bit, "I have never been your enemy. I will not do anything you don't want me to."

"But-"

"No," Casper's voice is firm, unbreakable. He's blunt in his statements, just as he has been before, "there is no but, if, and, or whatever else you mortals say. I am not working against you. Unless you are doing something truly stupid- which you probably will- I don't want to hurt you."

The statement flows through the open air. You can't seem to grasp onto it. The words Casper speaks are foreign to you. Reassurances that he won't use you like you have been before. You're… hesitant to accept such things being said to you.

It's not supposed to be like this.

Casper is supposed to use you, he's supposed to go against what you say, he's supposed to make you uncomfortable. But, he isn't.

In fact, he's doing the opposite.

He's helping you, he's doing what you want. He's touching you when you say he can.

Something warm drips down your cheek. You reach up and try to wipe away your tears. Emotions overflow and reveal themselves in the small space of your apartment. With only two other living beings to witness it and some food you've half forgotten about.

"Sunshine," your nickname falls from Casper's tongue. He says it so much these days. As if he's just stating the weather.

You look back up to Casper. His other hand hovers just before your face. The sheer frigid temperature he has goes against your heated body.

"May I?"

This time, you know he means that he's asking for your consent. Casper won't do anything without you saying so. If you say no, he backs off.

"Yes…" the words are sniffled out.

Casper's gloved hand wipes away your tears. The one still holding your hand squeezes it reassuringly.

Casper is different.

You can trust him.

"I love you, Sunshine," the words are whispered to you. Sweet, loving words falling from the lips of your boyfriend.

It makes you want to break down.

A weight feels as if it's been lifted off of your shoulders. Casper's reassurances and actions go against what you had expected from him just hours ago.

More tears fall from your eyes. The air is filled with your stifled sobs and sniffles. The overwhelming emotions crash down onto you in rapid succession.

You don't have to go through hell once again. There isn't a need to feel fear from him.

Casper reaches closer to you in an effort of comfort. He asks if he can hold you, comfort you. Another time where he doesn't force his presence upon you. It only makes you want to cry more.

"Y- yes… please," you sob out.

As the final syllable leaves your lips, Casper embraces you. The entirety of him is cold, a direct contrast to your still-hot temperature. Your tears fall onto his shoulder as Casper leads your head to be as close as possible. Despite it, his presence isn't overwhelming. It's comforting.

Your hands find purchase against his jacket, tugging at the fabric in an attempt to ground yourself. You hear Casper whisper words to you. In your fuddled mind it's impossible to hear what he's really saying. The syllables being all mixed together in some gibberish.

"Focus on my voice, Sunshine," is all you can clearly make out from Casper's words.

So, you try to.

It sounds like he's underwater when you try to focus on him at first. Despite that, it helps to hear him speak. Casper's voice brings you down from your overwhelming emotions. The fabric of his jacket and the coldness of his shoulder helps as well.

As the last few sniffles and sobs leave from you, you gently pull yourself back. Casper does nothing to keep you against him. His arms are loose around you as he looks into your eyes, you gaze back into his.

"I love you, Sunshine," he whispers, "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I know," a small smile finds it's way to your face, "I love you too, Casper."

You reach forward and hug him again, fitting yourself into Casper's embrace. You hear an exhale of amusement escape from your grim reaper, but no words do.

For now, you're content with just soaking in his presence.

[calmcal]

roommate adjacent -steve harrington

PART ONE - UNEXPECTED VISITORS

summary: A comprehensive list of why Robin Buckley is the best roommate in all of history; written by Y/N (and Robin Buckley....) one: she has the best movie recommendations for any mood, in all genres, for anytime of the year. two: she has a killer sense of fashion, total grunge/rock and roller/thrift store buying chic. three: she's not afraid to call anyone out on their dingus behaviours (and it happens a lot... hey!) and finally: her best friend steve...yeah. pairing: modern steve harrington x fem!reader word count: 2.9k note: hi, yes, welcome! this has been sitting in my drafts for far to long, it's been on my mind far longer than i'd care to admit. so i finally sat down and planned it all out, so enjoy this purely self indulgent steve fic I have literally fallen in love with! this first part is a little short, with very little steve, but i promise it get's better, so bare with me!

There's a universal hatred that's shared between those who can't drive, stormy weather. It's a common enemy they all share, the threatening grey clouds that loom over everyone, cackling at the thought of downpouring on some poor unexpecting souls. Drenching their clothes, soaking them to the bone, sticking them with the dreaded shivers and in worse case scenarios, gifting them with the god awful flu.

Yes it's a formidable foe.

One you were currently battling.

And loosing rather pitifully.

You held an umbrella tight in your hands, air whipping around you like a whirlwind, threatening to blow you down with a single gust. Well that might have been over exaggerating, but it was well within range to rip the umbrella from your iron grip. Splattering raindrops fell heavily on the small plastic tarp that made up the umbrella, sloshing down the pointed top and landing around your feet in little puddles. Stray drops slipping onto her cheeks, coating your skin with a sheen of cold water.

A shiver passed over your spine, winter was finally settling into your cozy little college town, and the weather was coming in full force. You wouldn't have been surprised if it started snowing tomorrow, but that was another battle, right now, you were more concerned with making it back to your dorm room in once piece.

And hopefully, mostly dry.

But it seemed the sky gods heard your hopeful pleas, and in your attempt in keeping dry, another strong gust blew your umbrella straight up, bending the little metal rods holding the plastic top covering your head, blowing back and exposing your entire body to the onslaught of rain.

"Crap!" You cried out, trying to reign in your clearly out of control umbrella.

But the wind had other ideas, blowing and bellowing around you, like it was laughing at your attempt. You tried to pry the arms of the umbrella back the right way, the way it was supposed to look, but the frail little arms screeched out in protest, wanting to follow the current of the wind, rather than your hand.

You grumbled a few nasty curse words at the umbrella, fulling knowing it wasn't going to cooperate.

You looked in the direction of your building, it wasn't far, another two minutes or so, you contemplated the thought of just making a run for it, leaving your umbrella behind, or standing there like a dingus, trying to fix something that was clearly broken for good.

The rain was splattering down heavier now, flattening your hair to your head, making it a little difficult to see, making your clothes stick to your shivering skin, goosebumps raising on every inch of exposed skin.

You bit your lip, thinking for a moment.

"Stupid piece of plastic" You spat at the umbrella, throwing it at your feet, like the offending pieces of metal and plastic had scorned you. "Can't even do the one job you were made for"

No one would blame you for leaving the umbrella on the walkway, clearly noticing the broken arms and upside down cone. No one was going to condemn you for littering, it's an act of kindness really, more than the umbrella deserved.

You hiked your back further up your shoulder, crossing your arms over your chest, tilting your head down a little. It did little to keep you dry, but you were a lost cause the moment your umbrella died, you'd given up on keeping dry. You made quick and precise steps towards your building, ignoring the chill that is slowly settling into your skin.

As if tormenting you, a clap of thunder boomed from somewhere behind you, and the rain followed tenfold, pelting you with icy drops of water.

"Shit!" You muttered, using your hands to cover your head from their harsh impact.

Now you were making a run for it.

Forget keeping equal steps to keep from slipping in the puddles that lined the sidewalk, you didn't care anymore, you needed to get out of the storm before the clouds decided they wanted to drown you in the middle of your college campus.

With a huffing laugh you reached the building, pulling the thick wooden doors open with a strength you didn't know you possessed. Warm air whipping around your water slicked skin, goosebumps returning. You took a deep breath, inhaling the warm air, filling your lungs.

You trudged up the stairs to the third floor, the elevator seemingly always out of order, you seriously cursed this day. Puddles formed around your feet with every step you took, squelching under your boots, making you cringe, thinking about the poor person who had to use the stairs after you, stepping into a wet surprise.

It was only water, they'd be fine, right?

You didn't care anymore, all you cared about was getting back to your dorm and getting out of these stupidly drenched clothes.

You breathed out a sigh of pure delight at the sight of your door, decorated with a whiteboard, your roommates squiggly writing covering the white backdrop.

Be back soon, meeting up with a friend, love Robin ❤️

You felt glad that Robin wasn't in the room, the last thing you needed was your roommate laughing at your misfortune. She'd do it out of love, obviously, but unnecessary love.

Having Robin Buckley as a roommate was a blessing. You'd been so scared that you'd have to share a small room with someone you didn't like, someone who didn't know personal boundaries, who didn't know how to keep a clean room or possibly even worse, someone who was obnoxiously boring.

But on the first day, you got stuck with Robin. A girl who was socially awkward and charmingly outgoing at the same time. She'd talked your ear off the first minute you met her, before falling silent when she realised you hadn't even introduced yourself to her. You loved her the moment you met, couldn't have asked for a better roommate.

She shared her love of movies with you, having the most expansive collection of movies on a hard drive, everything from the biggest blockbuster of all time, to weird indie movies in different languages. She had an expressive way of dressing, one day she'd wearing clashing colours of yellow pink, collared shirts with blocky stripes, khaki pants that you were sure didn't belong to her (they were like two sizes too big), to wearing black on black, chunky bracelets, layers of necklaces decorating her neck, black pleated skirts paired with ripped tights. On any given day, it was always a surprise; what Robin was going to wear.

You loved her confidence.

But with her confidence grew with you, the more she felt comfortable on calling you out on your 'dingus behaviours', a favourite of Robin's creative pass times. She didn't do it often, and she was well within her right when she did it.

Coming into your shared room, dripping wet, a dingus move indeed.

You were really glad she wasn't home right now.

You, with much difficulty, unlocked the door. You slung your bag off your shoulder, letting it plop down on the floor beside the door, ignoring the plopping sound that followed, following your slightly less damp boots, with a heavy thud. Trying to peel your coat from your soaking wet body, a different story, the fabric ignoring your pleas to cooperate. Clinging to you like a second skin, heavy with water.

With a huff, a lot of tugging and pulling, and a few jumps here and there, your coat finally fell from your body, landing on the floor with your bag.

"I hate the rain" You muttered to yourself, hanging the coat on the coat rack.

You trudged further into the room, bypassing the couch and the little kitchenet, heading straight for the small bathroom. You switched of the flickering light, waiting for a second, before the tiled room was lit up with dim yellow light.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror.

Gah!

Well, you've certainly looked better.

Your hair was plastered to your forehead, stray strands sticking to your damp cheeks. Your white sweater was clinging to you, like a fluffy second skin, weighing you down by half a pound. You were dreading trying to take that off, and you didn't even want to think about your drenched jeans.

Wet denim, what a nightmare.

You smoothed the strands of hair from your face, twisting your hair into a low ponytail, wringing the water from your hair into the sink.

"Hey, I'm back!" Robin's voice reached your ears, sounding like she'd swung the door wide open, probably expecting you to have been sitting on the couch. "Whoa, what's with the water park in the doorway?"

"Sorry" You called out in return, scrunching your sweater up, wringing the water out of that too, not that it did much.

You sighed, deciding it was better if you just took it off. You lifted the hem of the sweater from your body, cringing again as the fabric clung to your damp skin.

"Planning a fun extra curricular without me?" Robin's teasing remark followed.

"Funny" You muttered, pulling the fabric halfway up your torso, tugging harshly, pulling left and right to loosen the sweater, huffing, a little out of breath. "I'm calling it, this has literally been the worst day of my life"

"Feeling over dramatic are we?" Robin chuckled, her voice sounding a little closer now.

"I feel I deserve the right to be over dramatic" Your voice was muffled by your sweater, having got it over your chest, now the neck was stuck.

You gave a little tug, wincing a little as it gave a little struggle, but a tug and a wiggle allowed it to give way, leaving you clad in your wet jeans, semi dry white cotton bra, and a sweater that continued to drip on the tile floor held in your hands.

"My umbrella decided to die on me, right at the moment the rain kicked up a notch, not to mention the wind, totally uncool" You continued after taking the sweater off, throwing it in the washing basket, a problem for future Y/N.

You took a towel from the hanger, swiping it across your skin, trying your best to dry yourself off, before turning your attention to your hair, wrapping the scratching fabric around the dripping strands, the towel sitting tall atop your head.

"I keep telling you, you need to get your licence" Robin's singsong tone teased.

"Yeah, cause I'm gonna take advice from my roommate, who also doesn't have a licence" You retorted playfully, switching the bathroom light off.

"Yeah, and if you get yours, you can take me places instead" Robin matter of factly replied, sounding smug in her idea. "It's a win, win"

"For you maybe" You muttered, feeling gross still wearing your wet jeans. "I've decided that wet denim was invented by satan, just to torture me"

Robin snorted.

You rounded the corner, not looking in Robin's direction, so used to walking around your roommate in a half state of dress. Robin had become accustomed to the act very quickly, living in such close quarters with someone, got you comfortable rather quickly, alarmingly so.

"Seriously, it's itchy, and it just sticks to you in all the wrong places" You whined, looking through the clean piles of clothes you left on the back of the couch, looking for a pair of your pajama pants.

"So, don't wear jeans when it rains"

"Hilarious, become a comedian would ya?"

"It's my backup plan, you know, if this whole college thing doesn't work out"

"You've got potential"

"Clearly"

"Your overconfident too, it works"

"Maybe you should put some more clothes on, I think you're freaking Steve out" Robin sounded like she was holding back a cackle.

You paused, lifting your eyes from the pile of clothes in your hands, to see Robin standing in the kitchenet, but she wasn't alone.

Steve, Robin's best friend, a man you've met only a handful of times, was standing beside Robin. Trying his best to look anywhere but your half dressed figure, cheeks turning a bright shade of red, arms crossed over his chest as he tried his best to act nonchalant, shifting his weight from his left leg, to his right.

You took a moment to admire him, what with him avoiding all eye contact. Taking in the way his hair seemingly flopped just the right way, brown strands looking perfectly styled, but in a way that one might mistake it for an effortless look. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, a shirt that stretched right across his broad shoulders, looking a little tight around his chest, biceps peeking out of the sleeve, giving you a free show of his tensed muscles. His shirt was tucked into a pair of blue jeans, black belt separating the two tones of blue, a white and grey windbreaker was tied around his waist.

The outfit shouldn't have looked at good, but Steve seemed to make it work... he made it look cute.

All taunt and lean figure just leaning against the stove.

"Sorry Steve" You replied, feeling your cheeks warm.

"It's cool, it's your room, so whatever... Not whatever, I mean, you can undress all you want, NO, wait--" Steve stumbled over his words, still trying to not look at you, but he slipped up a few times, eyes trailing over her half dresses torso, cheeks turning even redder each time.

"Dingus" Robin muttered.

"I'm just... I'm gonna go and get changed, in my room" You replied, feeling embarrassed.

"Good, this is common space, respect it" Robin joked.

"Shut up" You retorted, taking your clothes in your arms, flinging your hand back, flipping your roommate off, which brought out the cackle Robin was stuffing back.

You huffed.

So much for that impression.

Steve probably though you were crazy.

All the talk of wet jeans and your stupid umbrella story, you wouldn't blame Steve for thinking you're out of your mind, who still had a little twinge of pink on his cheeks and couldn't quite make eye contact with you.

You tried your best to shake the thoughts from your mind, heading to your room, to change, and quite possibly bury yourself under your covers, never to be seen again.

"What was that?"

It wasn't the sound of Robin's shill voice that made Steve jump, it was the harsh slap that followed the question. Her palm slapping right across his arm, a harsh smacking sound rang though his ears.

"Ow!" Steve exclaimed, cupping his assaulted arm. "W-what was that for?!"

"For ogling my roommate like she's walking porn" Robin remarked with a knowing look, raising a brow.

"That wasn't what happened and you know it" Steve's eyes narrowed, looking at Robin with an annoyance she acquainted with his motherly persona.

"It's what it looked like from here"

Steve huffed, knowing no matter what he said, Robin was going to argue back tenfold with him, it was one of the few things she was good at.

"I didn't even look at her, I was being a gentleman" Steve narrowed his eyes, letting Robin know, this wasn't up for debate anymore.

"After you stared at her boobs for like, a whole minute" Robin muttered, pushing Steve with her shoulder, walking away from the taller man, practically throwing herself on the couch.

"That didn't happen!" Steve shouted, pointing a finger at Robin.

"Sure it didn't Stevie" Robin hummed, looking to smug for her own good.

Robin was only making this a big deal because Steve had mentioned, on a few occasions, that he thought her roommate was cute. He'd often ask Robin how you were, how college was treating the both of you, but paying keen attention whenever she mentioned you. Allowing his eyes to linger on you, the very few times he saw you in person, never having the courage to say more than a few words to you (something Robin torments him with on the daily, his lack of skills with women). He'd even made the grave mistake of asking Robin if you were single once, she couldn't stop gushing over his little crush on you, she never let him forget it.

But it wasn't a crush.

It wasn't!

Steve didn't know you well enough to put a name to whatever it was he was feeling, it certainly wasn't a crush. But he'd be lying if he didn't think you were insanely attractive, and seeing you in a pair of jeans that looked like a second skin stuck to your thighs, making your butt look all the more fuller and perky. Not to mention the bra, if Steve thought about it too long, he was sure he was going to pitch a tent. If he closed his eyes, he could picture your smooth skin, all supple and glistening with droplets of water. The cotton bra wasn't fancy, but it made your breasts look perky and ready for his awaiting hands--

No, stop it!

Steve shook his head, a little harder than he intended, to try and shake the thoughts of you from his mind.

The last thing he needed was for you to come back into the room and see Steve standing in your little kitchenet with a boner.

Yeah, that wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"She lives!" Robin's voice brought him back for good.

"Reluctantly so" Your soft voice returned the humour, throwing yourself onto the other end of the couch, still a little flustered, courtesy of Steve.

You turned your head, making eye contact with Steve. You gave a subtle smile, tilting your head.

"It's fine Steve, really" You shook your head, as if reading his inner thoughts. "It's not a big deal, forgotten already"

[annachum]

Ballad of Sigyn ( a norse Myth poem )

People told of the tale of the Old Gods of the North

Thor with his hammer

Sif with her grain

My husband Loki with his tricks

And I was most known for me standing by my husband in the Twilight of the Gods

But what if I told you my story

As I treated ye listeners to honeydew tea and raspberry cake in Valhalla

My story is not of common nature, nor of the faint hearted

I've seen just as much moons as much as any other gods

Some have called me ' soft '

How mistaken they are

Once I was a member of the Seidr order of Asgard,

Taught in the ways of pagan priesthood

Whisper in the ears of royals, handling library paperwork, call upon the spirits of nature

That was amongst my duties

My guardians would like to marry any of Odin's sons

Yet Thor, Baldr and Bragi are already Wed

So that leaves Tyr, Hodr and Hermodr ( I can't count how many children Odin had )

Yet I was not interested in any of those bachelor brothers

For a volva is selective with her mate

Then came Loki, a jotunn from another world, so tall, so handsome

His stride stood out from his other Aesir counterparts,

His smile charming and alluring

And when he first kissed my hand after our first dance,

I fell, and I fell hard

We began courting,

Rendezvous in the Palace gardens,

Him and I showing each other magical tricks

How wonderful it is to find someone

Who feels a similar sense of ' otherness ' in Asgard as me

He made me feel more confident of my Elven ears

I made him feel more at home in Asgard, even as a Jotunn

After much negotiation, he and I are wed by Frigg,

And I became a new Princess of Asgard

Years went by,

My sons came, and got along with Loki's other children from his 1st wife

I understood his past with Angrboda

And focused on mainly be a good wife to him

We understand each others' storms in ways several others can't

He would often go to battle with the sons of Odin,

And I would often stay behind, handling diplomatic and sorcery duties

And when he returns, he would rush to me and our children

Embracing us all and showing the world how much he loves us

And I would tend to his wounds as we tell more stories of each other

Our magic is unlike that in Asgard,

And I suppose that what's makes us frightening to some over there

Then, tragedy struck

Baldr was slain,

And my husband is to blame

Yet my husband was influenced by the Norns,

It was not like him to recklessly kill one of Odin's sons,

And I knew it

Yet nobody else seem to listen

And I watched as my husband was banished before me,

My sons killed before my eyes

And I raged, I raged, I raged

All the Nine Realms are cursed with wars against each other

My step daughter Hel, all grown up to be a fine young woman,

Now leading Loki's army against Odin,

After my banishment, I steadfastedly stood beside him,

And helped shield the poison with my bowl

While I cursed all those who killed my sons,

And entrusting Hel to have the final stroke of justice against my sons' deaths

Because hell hath no Fury a volva enraged

And some have to learn the hard way

Fenrir later swallowed Odin whole,

Vidar has slain Fenrir

And I gifted Hel Loki's magical archery set

As Hel delivered a final below at Vidar

And my soul feels at peace, at finally, my sons' murderers are slain

But what of the survivors? How Will they recover?

Only time will tell

At my husband's death, he smiled up at me with his devilishly handsome smile,

And said, ' Love, you've done enough. I will see you in Valhalla.....and hopefully, in another life. '

He smiled a satisfied smile and closed his eyes

Ans for once I could not scream, or say a word

I could only weep

Exhaustion crept through my body,

And days later, my eyes closed

I opened my eyes, and here I was in Valhalla.

The murders of my sons are not there

In first came my sons, who embraced me

And I embraced them in turn

And Vali and Narvi led me to their father

And there he sat, with mead in his hand, and Fenrir and Jormungandr with him. ( Hel took over rulership of Nornheim after Ragnarok )

And beamed at me in welcoming, my Prince of Mischief

[vennilavee]

ii. a pearl's journey

blood & pearls masterlist

word count: 1k

summary: stories of how you washed ashore.

warnings: blood (sukuna drinks it)

Ryomen Sukuna is a name that has even made its way down into the depths of the sea. His name is spoken with fear and reverence through the vibrations of the water, and you never understood why.

You are forbidden from entering his domain, or any other,  by your father and your mother. Your father tries to protect you from the uncontrollable perils above ground, on earth. Your mother tries to protect you from the caged loneliness that is the sea by teaching you how to be a princess.

Much to your mother’s chagrin, you are no princess and there is no creature in the sea who should tame you.

You have met many, many men before, and Ryomen Sukuna is nothing but a man, after all.

The fairies are aghast at your nonchalance. How dare you have the audacity to not bow at Ryomen Sukuna’s feet? Don’t you know that he is a god? A demon disguised as a deity, with the markings etched into his body to prove it?

You scoff- demons and gods don’t live amongst mortals.

They reply- but you do.

You were meant to see the sky, to breathe air. Your parents disagree, but you know in your watery soul that this is where you are meant to be. The tendrils of the sea cannot keep you tethered to the bottom any longer.

A memory of you as a child, traveling to a lost group of fishermen and escorting them to the shore. You were only a mere child when fresh sunshine warmed your cheeks for the first time. They were kind to you, telling you stories of the treasures that their town contained. Of their wives and children, of books, of grass and air.

Your father forbade you from leaving the sea after that.

You recall a shipwreck hundreds of knots away from home that you had run away to in a fit of fury. When you were just shy of touching the precipice of womanhood and your father had called you a wild girl, with no place to tame her. 

You saw your first human skeletons on that ship and shed a salty tear for the loss of life. It wouldn’t be your last.

No matter how much of the sea you explore, it is endless. Endless and bottomless in a way that strikes uneasy fear in your heart. Your mother recognized your delicate heart immediately. It’s why she convinced your father to send you to the land with some of the other girls, rather than keep you under the sea.

Your bare feet have walked half as many miles as you’ve swam, but you don’t care. The air is crisp here, and eventually you separated off from the rest of the girls who became women with you. It has been many years, even decades, that you’ve lived in the sea. But time seems to move more slowly here.

Especially in this enchanted lake. Peering into the great unknown of the sea from here doesn’t feel so daunting. Perhaps it is because things feel soft here, as if time is honey sliding through your fingers like silk.

You didn’t expect to stay here this long. For a demon, his domain was far more tranquil than you expected. Would you expect to find fresh peaches and oranges in a demon’s lair? He is nothing but the stuff of nightmares and dreams anyway, but his dark cherry eyes are curiously trained on you.

“The mermaid is still here, isn’t she?” 

“She is not a mermaid, my king,” Uraume sighs, for what must be the third time already.

“She is of the water, I can smell it on her. Even from here, where she sits in my lake. As if she rules the place,” Sukuna scoffs, gazing out of his window and glaring at where he can only assume you are, “I should have ripped her heart out ten times over by now.”

“Yes, you have mentioned that several times now-”

“How would her equally foolish father feel receiving her head on a stake,” he ponders, “No matter.”

“We will be late for the ritual. The girl of the water can wait,” Uraume says, hurrying him along the corridor as the other temple guides scurry about. Sukuna needs only to look once for those in his field of vision to move swiftly. If he needs to look twice, they’re dead.

They’ve seen it before their very eyes. Tongues ripped mercilessly, throats gutted and blood spilt. The legend says that he was once a human but it is unbelievable. Ryomen Sukuna is shrouded in darkness. Any light within him has been snuffed out by bloodlust and power.

He does not desire much, but he prefers it that way. Sukuna would much rather see his followers, his devotees, on their knees. Praying to him, a god they have self-appointed. They should be so lucky to have him to confess to. To decide whether their wishes become reality. Mediocrity bores him. Sukuna wishes for something more extraordinary than the simplicity of humanity.

It’s almost too easy. The taste of fear infuses with the metallic smell of blood and sits on his tongue. Waiting to be devoured, waiting for his teeth to rip into flesh. Waiting to be controlled.

Suddenly,  he smells the salty sea. Sukuna can sense you watching from afar, perhaps hidden behind the tall trees and the bushes that surround the temple grounds. Your heart quickens as his gaze lingers over you. Are you fascinated? Or are you afraid of how the world opens itself up for his taking? Are you afraid of how easily devoured the earth is- how the earth is made of only blood, bones and flesh?

He meets your eyes as the fire burns brightly and as blood surges into his mouth. Trails of crimson paint his lips before slipping into the crevices of his chest and disappearing under her robe. The forest is painted ruby red and Sukuna’s lightning eyes glow under the light of the moon as he looks directly at you through the trees, speaking to you with a simple glare.

Your fate seems to be sealed as his lips curl in your direction. Your blood must taste like the midnight sky and the sea.

tags:

@kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @mystikalini @helenas-revenge

[a-whispering-echo]

I lost my brother - In Ikea

This is a short fanfic, a little taste of what goes down on my AO3

CW - delusions, talk of murder, implications of fratricide, implications of ghosts

Word count : 703

" I swear to god, if Killer breaks another goddamn table, I will defenestrate him."

"Fancy word...What does it mean?"

"You don't wanna know," Cross muttered, as he strode forward, Horror trotting on his heels behind him.

Aisle after aisle they walked down the twisting maze of Ikea, looking for a piece of furniture that their roommate wouldn't destroy until they reached the second with those bedroom displays that someone was always lying on.

Turning the corner their eyes caught on another figure, a skeleton, like them, bright red eye lights darting around the room in desperation as he paced down the same display. He looked like he was looking for something. Deep lines of worry etched across his face; he seemed lost and overwhelmed, the hood of his jacket pulled up and covered in a thin layer of grime.

Glancing at each other for a moment, Cross and Horror decided to approach the man,

"Excuse me, sir," Cross said tentatively. "Are you looking for something specific?"

Dust turned to face them, his expression filled with stupor. "Yes," he replied. "I'm looking for my brother. He's always had a habit of wandering off, but I can't seem to find him anywhere."

Horror and Cross exchanged glances once again, something just seemed wrong "What does your brother look like?" Cross asked cautiously.

He started to describe another skeleton, tall, with a long face and pronounced cheekbones, always wearing a scarf and a smile.

Soul skipping a beat, Horror realised who he was talking about, but hoping that he was wrong he asked, "Named Papyrus?"

Papyrus.

That was a name they had heard before - On the back of an old newspaper article.

The man had been found stabbed to death, clutching a piece of paper, with the words 'I'm sorry' scribbled in chicken scratch, his body left to dust on the corner of a shop in the rough part of the neighbourhood. No one had ever found his killer. This was around three years ago.

Deciding to play along, Horror continued, "We haven't seen him, but we could...help you look for him?" His voice heavy with concern.

They followed Dust through the maze of furniture, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet store; for hours, they roamed through the maze of rooms, searching for any trace of the deceased brother, but, obviously, to no avail. Dust clung to every word they spoke, his sockets full of distress, until finally, he sighed, sitting down on one of the display stools.

"I just...I don't understand...He was here only a few hours ago. Where did he go?" He muttered, skull resting in his hands, body dragged down in a slump by sorrow. They didn't know what to do; there wasn't anything they could do, but they were reluctant to leave him here in such a state of heavy delusion.

What had happened to Dust that made him believe his long-dead brother was still alive?

Ready to console Dust with empty words, Cross reached forward but was interrupted by a quiet whisper, the words echoing around the cramped faux room, "Over here."

Dust perked up almost instantly, briskly walking over to a new room, the others jogging to keep up.

The whispers grew louder and louder the closer they got to wherever Dust was taking them, the quiet whispers mutating into desperate cries and pleas for help, until they reached an old wardrobe, where the sounds stopped instantly.

Opening the doors, Horror and Cross found papers littering the bottom, clearly torn out from a journal, of which was sitting below it all.

The book was filled with almost illegible words, scratched over every bit of the paper that its author could reach. What they could read was terrifying.

IM SORRY, IM SORRY, IM SORRY, I DIDN'T MEAN TO, PLEASE COME BACK

It was written in the same handwriting as the note clutched in Papyrus' hand.

Turning fearfully, they looked at Dust, who was just standing there, looking at them, his face completely expressionless, before the ends picked up in a small smile, and he turned his head to the side.

Thank you." He whispered, before walking away from the warren labyrinth of the Ikea store aisles.

[wordshurtbutsetyoufree]

The last touch I had that is burned into my mind, is the gentle fingertips that tucked that stray hair behind my ear. My reaction was volatile, I slammed that wall down and counted myself as not worthy of that touch. I told you that this was not what we were there for. Simple birthday sex. Please don’t test my limits I pleaded, behind that aggression, I knew I was barely holding back from falling into a puddle of aching loyalty to you. Contrary to my actions. My heart felt it would never leave your grasp. There we sat, at the end of our chapter.

The tenderness of your touch was so gentle it hurt. 

I spoke into the next person and asked that you do what was in your best interest…which wasn’t me. We both knew that, as the strings of our love pulled and twist between our weighted and complex emotions that night. Your birthday. The day God gave you to the world. Gave you to your mom, your dad, your Grandpa George, your sister. The day God made you a conscious being that I could recognize and see. A being I loved more than I had ever thought to love myself. You stepped out of that work truck, in that blue uniform. With that perfect neatly written last name embroidered on the chest of your uniform, a white rounded rectangle, with intricate navy stitching. The sun was beaming under the cover of those gas station pumps and hit your gorgeous green eyes. Your salt and pepper hair. And I knew, I knew I wanted to marry you. I knew you were going to change me. 

Do you remember that night I fought with my step mom? I lied and said I was going to an AA meeting. The Little Yellow House that provided me with the warmth and safety of a common union upon a large pile of destructive alcoholism, was also the solace of my parents. The next best thing, was your open and loving arms. I ran to you, frazzled, hopeless, overwhelmed and shattered by the reality of a world without alcohol. Oh, how difficult it was to give over the actions of others. To let go of the responsibility I took from others' reactions. I was aching and victimized by the sharp whip of human emotion from a woman who swore that she just wanted to be my mother. God, how it ached to feel rejected and disrespected by a woman who was supposed to nurture and love me in every form. Again. 

The despair, you could see it all over my face as the tears of a little broken girl taking over my adult body shook me and disabled me from feeling anything. Anything.. But your arms. 

You calmed me, you reminded me that I was loved beyond all the fear and torture of my trauma versus the reality of a healthy dose of tough love. We sat under the quiet dark night, in the midst of nothing but the presence of trees and stars. We sat on the hood of my 2000 something red Toyota Camry. You continued to rub your hands up and down my arms to warm me. You then stood up, to walk away. You walked into the open garage and grabbed a jacket. As you walked back and I felt the chill of the evening, I could not blame you for seeking the warmth of your jacket. You walked over to me, and did the simplest gesture, you placed that jacket around me. It surprised the hell out of me. Your heart, your sweet actions left me breathless from that moment on. The care and consideration. The look in your eye when you looked at me. They were filled with a wonder and eagerness to know me at the depth I was willing to let you. 

You ached to break down my walls, you just wanted to be close to my heart. To be intertwined with my soul, to the length I was able to bare it before you. You strived for that, from the day we met, and handed me my absolute favorite thing in the world. A redbull.

You were in the midst of a long work day, it was my day off, but you stopped just to see me and just to hand me a 20 oz. In exchange for a piece of my heart. It was never about the things you gave to me, as that list grew over the years. Not a single thing mattered, compared to the look in your eye, the care you extended with it. Your eyes were the breath of my soul. I felt like I was home. 

You were the safest place in the world. I craved you in every single form.

I, as a known sexually compulsive person, asked you to hold off on sex. As I did not want to sway you with my adventurous, well practiced, sexual nature. I wanted us to be true to one another in honesty, before we shared our bodies for the right reasons. I asked for six months, as a test. And you never let us go back on that promise. I would beg for your touch and the visualization of the ecstasy we would get to experience. Us, becoming one in the very same being, I longed for it every day. 

That Christmas, I filled a stocking with sexy panties, a little vibrator, some lube, etc. The six month mark finally arrived.

You were unphased because your focus was on the joy of the gift you gave me. I couldn’t tell you what it was, because I just needed you to enter me. To make me gasp at the entrance of your body into mine.

I remember the moment you did, not from our gasping and moaning (which there was), but of your head hitting my chest. As I was scarred on the inside, your body was from years of struggling with cystic acne. You fell apart and broke out in tears with your face in my chest and I wrapped myself around you as I comforted you through that fear, embarrassment and heaviness of the judgment the world had placed on such an incredible person. I planted kisses all over the top of your head as I reiterated how worthy you were. How worthy we both were beyond the pain of the situations life hands us. In that moment, I had never felt more intertwined and close emotionally, spiritually, than I could ever experience through sexual expression. 

And there I was. Completely taken off guard by the feeling of your heart pushing into mine.

[freudianslumber]

Today, Tomorrow and Forever

Summary:  Angel Elvis went through Hell when being falsely accused of betraying God.  Eventually found true love with LAPD narcotics officer B.B. King.

Epilogue 

Pairing: B.B. King x Elvis Presley (m/m)

Word count:  2.1k

Warning:  18+, smut, profanity

I will love you longer than forever Promise me that you will leave me never Here and now dear All my love I vow dear Promise me that you will leave me never I will love you longer than forever Now that we are one Clouds won't hide the sun Blue skies of Hawaii smile On this, our wedding day I do love you with all my heart

Elvis’ ocean blue eyes sparkled with love as he serenaded his groom with “The Hawaiian Wedding Song”.  He and B.B. had finally tied the knot on the beautiful island of Maui over a year after the horrible car crash and ICU scare.  So much had happened in the interim.  B.B.’s rehab had lasted for months, but eventually he recovered fully and returned to full duty earlier than most of his colleagues had expected.  It felt like a just retribution to the rejuvenated detective when he got to participate in the well-planned raid and triumphant drug bust operation at the Reapers’ East LA headquarter.  Some of Mad Mac’s lieutenants were fatally shot during the shootout between the police SWAT team and the gang.  A substantial number of gang members were arrested, including Mad Mac himself, who had since been incarcerated for weapons and drug trafficking offences.  This effectively suppressed the criminal activities of the Reapers in the county.  B.B. and Clay both received special medals for their outstanding investigative work connected to this case.  In the meantime, Elvis trained tirelessly and was awarded his second-degree black belt.  More importantly, he was finally officially hired by the YMCA as a martial arts instructor after B.B. somehow succeeded in getting him a social security card.  Slowly but surely, the couple cleared the many hurdles in their path, earning their well-deserved and long-awaited wedding honeymoon getaway in the Aloha state. 

B.B. laid his eyes on the radiant angel standing across from him, his heart was full of joy and gratitude as he prepared to reap the fruit of their love as a newlywed for the first time.  Their ceremony was intimate and discreet, with the only guests being Tina, Clay and Fats.  The wedding proceedings were brief but just as if not more emotional than those of any other couple.  Elvis felt so grateful that B.B. spoiled him with everything he wanted for the wedding, from the white chapel to the tasty wedding cake to the scenic locale.  He was hopelessly smitten with his Gunnie, all dapper in perfectly tailored black tuxedo on their big day.  Their hotel room was modest but cozy, with a balcony facing the ocean beyond a sliding door.  Presently, the fading sunset was casting an orange glow over the beach dotted by palm trees.  B.B. walked over and closed the curtains, being more entranced by the view within the room.  He then stepped closer to his other half, placed a soft kiss on his succulent lips, and proceeded to take the purple orchid lei from around his neck.  An adorable lopsided smile bloomed across Elvis’ face, he unbuttoned and peeled off B.B.’s tuxedo jacket, removing the perfectly complementary orange and white lei as well.  Soon Elvis’ immaculate white tuxedo joined the groom’s black one on the backs of a pair of chairs.  More pieces of clothing came off as the newlyweds lovingly undressed each other, until they bared their bodies and souls once more. 

“Oh Gunnie, I can’t believe we finally made it!  Everything I’ve got is yours.”  Elvis gushed as he fully embraced his man, taking in his pleasant scent, nipping lightly on his neck and jaw.  B.B. ran a hand through that head of perfectly coiffed hair, then cupped his angel’s face and guided it up until their lips were locked as they tasted each other hungrily. 

As the couple pulled away for air after the protracted kiss, B.B. whispered to Elvis: “Honey, let’s go take a shower together.” The pair of half-lidded bedroom eyes blinked a few times: “Great idea, why didn’t I think of that?”  B.B. chuckled and gave in to the temptation to pinch the cheeks on that cute, dumbfounded face.  He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then continued to make out with his baby until the water became warm enough.  The sensation of warm water from the shower head hitting his fatigued muscles was so relaxing that Elvis let out a satisfied sigh.  B.B. gently massaged the back of his neck and upper back, not forgetting to stroke the delicate feathers on his wing stumps making the angel moan audibly.  The newlyweds then lathered each other’s hair with shampoo and each other’s bodies with shower gel.  While supposedly scrubbing their backs, neither of them could resist feeling the other up and down sensually.  All the passionate caresses and rubbing naturally led to excitement in the nether regions.  Elvis took his husband’s half-mast cock in his hand, pumped it a few times before kneeling down and licking all along it.  The organ quickly swelled to its full size as B.B. was transfixed by the sight of cerulean eyes gazing up into his own while plump lips enveloped around him.  In fact, B.B. didn’t think he could ever get used to the spell Elvis seemed to cast on him during intimacy.  He could feel those elegant hands holding on tightly to his hips and pulling his torso closer and closer, until that chiseled nose was practically touching his pubis.  B.B. buried his hands in Elvis’ wet hair, throwing his own head back as waves of pleasure traversed his body.  As his arousal grew, groans started to escape B.B.’s mouth involuntarily.  They kept getting louder until turning into a shout as he bucked up forcibly and ejected his full load deep down the throat of his ready and willing spouse.  Elvis licked B.B.’s cock lovingly while warm water rained down on his face, washing away the stray tears at the corners of his eyes.  Still panting from his orgasm, B.B. pulled Elvis up to his feet and pressed their lips together for another round of tender kisses.

Before the shower water had a chance to turn lukewarm, the inseparable pair shut it off and opened the sliding door.  They quickly toweled each other dry, and Elvis was about to tie a piece of linen around his waist and walk over to bed when a nudge from behind sent him forward towards the sinks: “Honey, look in the mirror.  Want me to take you from behind here?”  Elvis looked in front of him as he was told and saw a sizable mirror just above the side-by-side double sinks.  Through the slowly vanishing steam, he could see the reflection of B.B.’s possessive arms caging him in against the vanity top and sultry lips grazing over his ear lobe.  Elvis blushed: “Sure Gunnie, you can take me however you want.”  B.B. felt his member getting harder again hearing such obedient response from his angel.  “Stay.” He commanded as he walked to the other room to retrieve a tube of lubricant.  Once returned, B.B. coated his fingers with copious amount of clear gel and patiently stretched Elvis out.  The angel accommodated his husband by bending partially forward and supported his upper body by pushing against the countertop.  It didn’t take much for B.B.’s cock to perk up fully again, and with a grunt he entered the raven-haired beauty from behind.  He enjoyed the view of flushing skin across that angelic face and how it spread down to the chest from arousal.  B.B. then lifted one of Elvis’ long and perfectly proportioned legs over the vanity top, allowing more access to his thrusting.  The different angle intensified the stimulation and pleasure that much more for Elvis, he made a breathy whimper and reached back for a kiss while B.B. caressed his neck down to his chest with one hand.  Their tongues entangled while their torsos remained joined, grinding against each other in perfect harmony.  Once their lips parted, B.B. picked up the pace and intensity of his lovemaking.  Concurrently, Elvis' breaths grew more and more uneven from the overwhelming sensation of fiery bliss.  From the mirror’s reflection, B.B. admired the alluring view of his angel lost in lust and pleasure, with his back arching and eyes closed, long lashes casting a shadow against his cheeks.  B.B. made Elvis gasp when he slid one hand down the soft and smooth skin over his baby’s lower abdomen and took a firm hold of his erection.  As the large and warm hand stroked the member vigorously, making use of precum and residual lube on the fingers, Elvis sobbed out: “Please Gunnie!  I can’t hold it no more!”  B.B. used one arm to clench Elvis against his chest, while the other hand kept pumping faster: “Baby, don’t hold back, just come for me!”  Hardly a minute later, the young man shuddered and pearly white essence sprayed across his chest and belly. 

B.B. thrusted for a bit longer as Elvis came down from his climax.  When the young man started to slump against the unyielding grip that was holding him up from behind, B.B. pulled out his member and turned Elvis around, allowing him to rest on the vanity top for a brief minute.  Elvis leaned back against the mirror, catching his breath as his other half quickly wiped away the spent from his trunk with a damp towel.  B.B. pulled Elvis into an embrace, letting the young man circle both arms around his neck and legs around his back.  His hands squeezed those plump and peachy buttocks, slipping under them to find purchase: “Hang on tight honey, I’m carrying you over to bed.”  As B.B. started to straighten up, Elvis tightened his hold instinctively and wrapped around his husband like a python around a tree, gently reminding him: “Careful Gunnie, don’t hurt your back!”.

“Believe me honey, I ain’t that old yet!” B.B. joked as he swooped up his baby and walked over to bed.  Elvis let out a shriek as he was thrown onto the sheets and bounced amongst some pillows.  B.B. wasted no time to pounce on his delicious meal, pulling him to the edge of the bed.  He stood over Elvis, holding his feet up in the air, spreading his legs wide apart, then inserted his cock and picked up where he left off.  Looking up at his man, robust muscles covered with a thin layer of shiny sweat, descending upon him like some ancient hedonistic deity, Elvis had to hold back happy tears as he took everything he was given.  All the while B.B. was living out his dreams, kissing his angel on the calves and inner thighs between intense pounding sessions.  Finally he was overtaken by a tide of ecstasy as he stuttered to a stop with a loud grunt, burying deep inside his sweet lover.  Elvis pulled his man down into a tight hug as he relished in the sensation of seeds spilling within.

The newlyweds stayed in the same position for a while, catching their breaths, cherishing their deep physical and spiritual connection together.  Then they parted briefly to scoot up the bed and cuddle more comfortably.  “That was incredible!” Elvis marveled, “later tonight you can wake me up and we can go again!” B.B. burst out laughing: “Hey babe, no rush.  We’ve got plenty of time!”  To hide his blush the angel responded by peppering B.B.’s chest with kisses.  Silently B.B. stroked the young man’s soft hair, then all of a sudden he asked: “Elvis honey, why did you give up eternal life for me?” Caught unprepared, the angel stammered for an answer: “I, I… Gunnie I didn’t mean to keep it from you…”  B.B. cupped the strikingly handsome face and looked Elvis in the eyes: “So it’s true then.  I suspected it but wasn’t sure, I found some gray hairs on you recently.”  Elvis admitted after a pause: “Gunnie, I had to.  I couldn’t lose you.  I’d always take a lifetime of lovin’ over an eternity of loneliness for sure!”  “What about the demons?” B.B. grabbed Elvis on his shoulders and shook them a little, “Have you thought about those fuckers still scheming to catch you and harm you?  You suffered a lot during your past life, I don’t want you to go through that again and go to an early grave!”  Unfazed, the corners of Elvis’ mouth started to pull up into that good-natured lopsided smile again: “Don’t worry darlin’.  My goal is to be with you from today until forever, God granted that to me and that’s all I need.  During my past life I felt responsible for too many people, parents, relatives, friends, fans.  I never found the one true love.  In this life I found you, my mission is complete.  I’ll devote this life and beyond to you alone.”  Tears started to track down B.B.’s face as he hugged his sweetheart again: “You silly bean, I don’t know what to do with you!  But I’ll promise you this, I’ll live this life and the next for you just as you will for me…”  A flurry of kisses drowned out his vows as the lovebirds locked their lips again and again.

[connorsui]

my luv …do you have any idea how long I had you on mY RADDAARRRRRRRR!?!?!?!? …I swear to God I was planning on putting in my gold thoughts next to your marbled writing but then …I decided to read chapter 3 …and my god does every scene get better as I continue on …like you got me wanting and begging for more ✨️🩷 and at this point I might as well pay up and give my account number

Cuz why would I need it when this exists!? 💀💀

But nahhhh let me be for real for a second cuz I was thinking alot of things this morning …like with a shot of coffee and a sad sunset outside of my kitchen..this fic had me by the throat and my soul ✨️💅🏻 cuz there's soo many things that I wonder if we ever get an answer to …like why don't we remember anything?? …stuck in a body that's been made well over 100 years ago but our minds are older than the body itself?? …🧍🏻‍♀️

Thoo even yet ..we don't remember who we once were and even if we tried ..it hurts …like it's not only physically painful but it makes me wonder if we would to ever gain those past memories back at any point?? …

NAHHHH IMMA COUNT THAT AS A SIDE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE BECAUSE I ONLY SEE DEPRESSION AND FORCED ANTIDEPRESSANTS WITH THAT ROUTE 💀💀😭😭

Cuz let me tell you when I say that the tension between us and astarion throughout this entire episode?? Had me wanting to cut the air in half …this manz was wanting more out of us than us wondering what the hell he wanted 💀💀 …like you cannot tell me he didn't leave those anatomy books right there next to us just to all of a sudden knooowwwwww how the body is supposed to be intimate!? 🤡

THIS MAN WAS WANTING AND BEGGING AND EVEN YET WITH GETTING A FEW DROPLETS OF BLOOD!?!? ….I swear to God I won't be surprised when chapter 4 has us getting laid 💀💀

Aeterna Amantes

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 3 - 1.7K WC

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3 (you are here!)

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of sex, blood drinking, Astarion being smitten but in denial, Karlach being lovely

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

Astarion watched you sleep for ages, your chest rose and fell with the soft golden glow of your heart rising and falling with it. You were an anomaly to him. Quite the opposite - innocent, sweet. He felt so conflicted thinking of you. He wanted you in the purest way; to nurture you and care for you. But his primal brian told him to manipulate you, use you as an advantage for himself. Every time he looked at you he couldn’t decide. You had been nothing but kind to him, it was all you knew. 

“You think a lot.” you whispered up to him.

He hadn’t noticed you wake, “Oh? What makes you say that?” he smirked down at you. Your head still rested on his chest, making his undead heart swell. 

“Your face is scrunched up.” you said, poking his forehead.

Astarion chuckled, sitting up slightly. You followed his actions. He pointed to the corner, “There are plenty of books for you to read through today, Gale even threw some in there for you.”

You ogled the stack of books, there were easily ten there. “Where will you go?” you asked as you picked the first book up, letting your fingers trail over the dusty cover. 

“Moonrise Towers, if we’re fortunate.” he said as he started to put his armor on. 

You gazed at him, never having seen another person’s body before. It was different from yours.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

You tilted your head at his remark. You did like what you saw, you just didn’t quite understand why. 

He saw the curiosity swimming in your eyes, squinting his own before the realization hit him. “Have you never seen another body before?” he asked.

You shook your head, your cheeks heating up slightly. Your general lack of knowledge around everything embarrassed you, especially things everyone else seemed to know so blatantly. You walked closer to him, gazing over the vast expanse of his strong pale chest. You raised your hand, going to touch him before stopping yourself. You remembered how he reacted the first time you touched him without asking, “May I?” you asked in a hushed whisper. 

His eyes watched you cautiously but he gave you a small nod. You felt over his chest, tracing his sharp collarbones, feeling his ribs and the muscles that lay overtop of them. You felt him shiver when your fingers hit the ridges of his scars that barely wrapped around the side of his waist. You felt his stomach and noticed the silent breath he took in when your fingers trailed over tuft of white hair leading from his belly button into his pants. 

You looked at him, “Bad?” you asked, your hand still lingering on the hem of his pants. 

“No…” he whispered, his eyes hazy while watching your every move. He never wanted you to stop touching him, even if these were just innocent little touches. All that mattered was that they came from you.

“Are you different from me?” you asked, looking between his body and yours.

“In some ways.” he mumbled, trying to relish in your gentle ambiance. 

He watched as you put his hand to your chest and yours to his. “Same. We are the same here.” you said. He felt the warmth radiating from your glowing heart.

“Astarion, come one we gotta - oh… sorry…” said Karlach as she barged into his tent breaking the tension between the two of you. Astarion pulled away quickly, slipping on the rest of his armor while you stood still, unsure if you had done something to be embarrassed of. 

Astarion followed Karlach’s lead out of his tent, “Stay safe in here and read. I’ll be back later, you can tell me everything new you’ve learned.” he smiled at you quickly before disappearing into the Underdark. 

You sighed before picking up one of the many books and started reading. 

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

“Soooooo…..” Karlach said with a teasing tone as she and Astarion walked behind the others.

“So what?” he grumbled, not even sparing her a glance.

“Come on, you know what.” she said, sounding giddy.

“Haven’t the faintest.” he said monotonically. 

“Oh I think you do… fangs likes the drow.” she chidded. 

He rolled his eyes at her, not bothering with a retort. 

“And you don’t even deny it!” she cackled.

“Please, I’m a glorified babysitter. That’s all.” he waved her off dismissively.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like this morning.” she grinned at him. 

“Neither of us have heartbeats, that's all they discovered this morning,” he said.

“I bet. And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Gale or Wyll were to take an interest in them?” she asked.

A faint trace of jealousy crossed over his face as he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. 

Karlach chuckled at the very obvious fondness Astarion had for you. He was stubborn and knew he wouldn’t admit it but she saw it as early as the basement. You were drawn to each other. Fate was funny like that, always unexpected but always falling in line. 

Astarion walked ahead, aching to get away from Karlach’s prying questions and accusations. Primarily because they were true and he hated having anyone other than himself be right. Especially about this. 

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

You fell asleep after the fifth book. It gave you much to think on, primarily because it was an anatomy book. Humans and elves are different but not very much. So now you knew what rested beneath Astarion’s pants. You also knew how reproduction worked. The whole explanation of the process seemed rather odd to you. Very… clinical. You couldn’t help but feel like the process of creating life was supposed to be more… emotional. It all overwhelmed you after reading the previous books on The Hells, Baldur’s Gate history, The Many Gods, and The Practice of Arcane Magic. The more you read the more your brain felt like it was devouring intellect and by the gods was it an insatiable beast. 

Astarion entered the tent to find you asleep, surrounded by different books. He laughed at the sight. You reminded him a lot of himself. He changed, cleaning himself only slightly as today had thankfully not been a very battle heavy one. He brought a plate of dinner to the tent for you, some sort of beef stew from what he could tell. 

You rose at the noise of him returning, “Hello.” you smiled at him.

“Hello beastie. Learn lots today?” he asked motioning to the scattered books before handing you the stew. He settled next to you, imbibing in his typical bottle of wine. 

You happily took the bowl from him, forgetting to eat throughout the day. Something you’ll have to make a mental note of - eat, regularly. “Yes! All of it was interesting… some of it was perplexing. I don’t quite understand the feelings one book described.” 

“What feelings?” he asked.

“What does sex feel like?” you asked, trying to understand the book that wouldn’t seem to leave your mind.

Astarion choked on his wine, he coughed a few times trying to regulate himself, “Where did you read about sex?” he asked.

You handed him the book. Of course it was one of Gale’s, he thought with a roll of his eyes. 

“Didn’t the book explain what it felt like?” he asked, trying to avoid the topic.

“It did but…” you sighed before you continued, “I don’t think it was right. I feel like the combining of two people in body would feel… emotional. Not just physical.” 

Astarion’s eyes widened at your explanation, perceptive little thing you were. “It… can be.” he confessed.

“What does it feel like then?” you asked while you continued to eat. 

“With the right person it can be… euphoric.” he said, trying to find the right word. He wasn’t exactly the one to answer questions on how good, healthy sex was supposed to feel. All the sex he could remember was harsh, loathsome. 

You smiled softly, “That sounds lovely.” you said, understanding the science of it all but also the beauty of the emotional aspect. “How do you know if they’re the right person?”

“You just do.” he said as he laid down.

You hummed at his answer. “When do you eat?” you asked.

“Truth be told, I haven’t eaten in a few days. The Underdark is lacking in options.” he sighed. Even the thought of blood was enough to send him reeling. 

“Do you want to eat? I don’t mind.” you smiled at him as you finished the last of your stew before leaning your neck towards him. 

He sat up, “Are you sure?” he said cautiously. 

You nodded eagerly at him, wanting to help. You laid back on the bedroll, beckoning him closer. Astarion kneeled next to you before leaning down. You could feel his cold breaths on your neck, giving you a slight shiver. 

“This might hurt…” he said before kissing your neck and sinking his fangs in. You winced a bit but it wasn’t awful. He had never tasted something so rich. Decadent and sweet. Your crimson poured into his mouth, it rolled over his tongue in waves and he cherished each little molecule of it. His hand held your waist while the other cradled your head. He straddled you to get a better angle at your neck. Your whole body felt warm, particularly between your legs. When Astarion ripped himself away from you he lapped up the rest of the blood that dropped from the puncture holes he left behind. The feeling of his tongue on you was strange but you craved it the longer it went on. He kissed over your neck a few times as an apology for the pain he caused you. It wasn’t pain you felt however, it was something else. Something carnal. You let out an involuntary but needy whine as he kissed over your neck. You both pulled away looking at each other. 

“Sleep?” you asked quietly. You felt embarrassed. Was that the feeling he was describing earlier? Did you want him in the way the book described?

“Yes, of course.” Astarion said with a breathy laugh. He settled next to you, holding you close like the night before. 

Little did you know, as you drifted off to sleep, the fantasies he was playing in his mind of the two of you were positively sinful.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! This has taken me literally all night to write but I am so sleep deprived I'm not shocked. I got called in for another overnight despite having worked 3 in a row with very little sleep - I hate being on call. But I do like this! Your guys' comments/reblogs/likes keep me super motivated so I hope I hear from you all soon! XOXOXOXOXOXO

[knowlessman]

boruto next hero macadamia idfk (bnha) s2e13-15

if bakugo doesn't have a body count by the end of this series I will be amazed

I wonder if shinso shows up again. cool guy.

"it's only morning but I'm already tired" damn, I don't think that's supposed to hit until after high school -- iida why are you running in the rain

"I had some elementary schoolers suddenly tell me 'don't worry about it'" ah, sero 'XD poor guy -- asui why are you like this 'XD

wait so they do just leave school early to become superheroes in second or third year? : / that's… uh, a bit something -- todoroki got how many offers? there are that many individual super agencies? -- wait people WANT to try to manage bakugo's unmanageable ass? 'XD they did see the Hannibal Lecter setup, right?

"they're probably all because of my dad" I mean. you did freeze the entire stadium. people notice that. people in outer space noticed that, I think.

think I know why I've never heard of Mina's superhero name

huh. woulda thought Invisible Girl'd been taken. I guess it's only been a few generations

"Shoto." …okay -- wonder if there're fics where shoto eventually escapes out from under his dad's name and the whole hero thing entirely and he just becomes a blue-collar worker. get the feeling he'd like that

(ingenium's name) …huh.

(deku) yeah, had a feeling -- "and in that moment, katsuki bakugo died, and I, the villain God Explosion Murder, was born"

tokoyami: "he who follows two hares catches neither" so true bestie. (discreetly adds that to a quotes file bc I actually do like it)

also tho tenya didn't go with Emergency Exit : [ darn, I liked that name

Stain, or by his old name, Jeff the Killer -- hm. so iida might be on a revenge path. : /

new OP mid-season? not clickbait? huh

"judge me by my age, do you? mm?"

okay, let's find out what Six-Time National Jeaning Champion's deal is -- wait is Best Jeanist actually Bayonetta in disguise -- personality makeover, huh. well, I expect we'll see how that goes

METAPOD BROS YES

who's Ninja Misty? (some other kid interning at the same place as Quiet)

wait did Todoroki just go with Endeavor's agency? : / I don't think they outright said it

(deku trying to wall-jump) I foresee property damage. and/or "it's 5 AM, quit humping my wall!"

"no it's not. are you okay?" 'XD something tells me he's not gonna wanna hear about your previous microwave-based epiphanies either

fantasy AU end theme? yooo! also dang but these alt costumes for todoroki and bakugo are on point -- screw soul eater's alt fashion endings, I want more AU endings, this rocks

new OP isn't bad I guess? idk

the subtle naruto-esque flutey flute when he went under the couch 'XD

"Full Cowling"? and it looks like the manga and different subs translate it differently. Think I kinda like cowling's connotation (that it apparently has) of a covering for a jet engine or whatnot, but wever

'XD if this doesn't push bakugo to villainy I dunno what will

oh yeah, Mojo Jarjar (idk I can't get over the brain thing but can't pick another character to combine Mojo with). how's he getting on, then -- starting to feel like those lips are visual shorthand for something but idk what, and also dunno if I wanna know what : / anyway so yeah, I guess Facepalm/his boss can just produce Nomu's maybe -- so, he's kind of a chimera? or something

okay so facepalm and jeff the killer made up I guess

iida you only even have super speed in your legs, and no weapon. how're you gonna kill a guy?

dolphin man's okay (the guy iida's interning with, whatever he's called).

…not sure whether to blame the translation but none of these villain's motives are making any sense -- why IS this dub so quiet -- "jeff the killer has been lowering the crime rate, whether because heroes are getting more conscientious or out of fear" ??? the sub didn't spell out the "or out of fear" part and put "conscious" rather than "conscientious" but this still doesn't explain much. are heroes just reporting fewer crimes? is Stain also targeting criminals even though he's only been clearly stated to attack heroes? are they saying most heroes are corrupt and are committing most of the crimes (something like that did happen in, idk, Denmark or somewhere else Over There)? -- "heroes are working harder because of the murders, the hero killer is also a hero breeder" oh, so he's actually just raising the global wanted level. so a bored GTA player is apparently a good guy. …well, at least I know what the premises and conclusion are now. and can switch back to the version I can hear at normal volume -- hell, where the dub says "heroes are working harder because of the murders," the sub says "heroes are working hard to bring down the cost of food." …is this a fan translation I've been reading here? : |

ohey so there are more of the - …that one with wings isn't Kacchan's old classmate is it. couldn't be, right? -- pretty sure that big one is literally a Resident Evil Licker wearing pants

well that one's eyes are in sideways, so I guess the mid-size one dodges copyright

"a scarf as red as blood… weapons all over your body… you must be Ryu Hayabusa! have you seen Stain anywhere?" wait he's not the red scarf guy? "Strider"… huh. -- "I don't even know who you are. and I'm going to forget you again before your body stops cooling"

beh. cliffhanger or no, it's quarter to 4.

[rcksmith]

Last night of the world — Five Hargreeves

You can find the 3 request here: anonymous 1, anonymous 2, anonymous 3.

Resume: Luther's wedding was an ironic joke for Five Hargreeves, especially with the apocalypse knocking at the door. But, that night, when Five looked at you and his breath escaped his lungs, he understood his brother. Beause he would marry you too on the last night of the world if he could.

Fluff prompts:

5. ”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.”

11. “Wow- you look…amazing.” 

15. “Because i love you god damnit!”

16. “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass..” “I heard that!” “You were supposed to!”

20. “How am i supposed to spoil you when you wont accept my gifts?”

40. “Come cuddle.”

Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem!Reader.

Warnings: just swearing, little angst, mention of death, VERY FLUFF.

Word count:3k.

A/N: Spoiler from season 3.

Because I have a lot of requests in my box, I compile 3 orders that are similar and put together, but I took care to added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. 

We not tolerate any pedophilia here!! I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter, MHA and others fandoms.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are OPEN. Love you ❤️

———

He can remember to this day. The taste of heaven on the top of his tongue, his heart suddenly racing into an uncontrollable rhythm, the sensation of an icy shiver coursing through his body and igniting a hot flame deep in his chest. It was like seeing the muse of a Renaissance painting: exciting, destabilizing. And all your splendor made the soul of Five Hargreeves want to kneel for you in eternal devotion.

You were breathtaking. And even after years, he can still remember that moment.

Five is not a man who is easily impressed, nor is he snatched by any woman. He is firm, rational and practical. But meeting you… in all your glory as a God-decorated angel, made him want to admit the existence of the divine and drown himself in your religion.

It only took a few months for Hargreeves to realize that the earth's rotation only made sense when you were by his side, directing smiles towards him that made he feel like he was in the heart of the sun, that awakened the will to…be good. At least the best possible, for you. To have the illusion that he could deserve you.

Maybe if Five Hargreeves tried to be a better man when he was by your side, he could fool the gods, life or fate, that he deserved you. And so no one would take you away from him. Maybe.

The relationship of you two was something inevitable, unstoppable, Five held you like it was a miracle and didn't dare let go anymore. You were one of those once-in-a-lifetime things, and he wasn't going to risk losing you. But, lucky for Five, you loved him just as much as Phyllis loved Demophon.

There was an unspoken promise surrounding the love of the two of you, the unshakable conviction that you would remain side by side, until the end of the world.

"You are so lost in thought." Your voice snapped Five out of his reverie, bringing him back to reality.

A reality many years later. Where the end of the world knocked at the door, once again. Where his dysfunctional family was trapped in that strange and confusing reality. A reality where, in the midst of impending death, Luther was getting married.

When did time go by so fast?

It was at that moment that the blue eyes with ocean hues were in your direction, and just like so many years ago, Five lost his breath, his reason and his understanding of the world. The red silk clung to every curve of your body like an embrace of perfection, your skin was glistening under the lights of the hotel's ballroom, leaving you looking like a fantasy too good to have come true.

Holy fuck.

“Wow-’’  His voice got stuck on the way from brain to mouth, too perplexed how someone like you could be real. “You look…amazing.” 

The sincerity in his voice, charged with a tremor and veneration, made the hairs on your arms stand on end and your heart race like horses in a race. How, after so many years, could he still look at you as if you were the most beautiful deity among the Greek gods? There was a pure love deep in his eyes that always made your soul tremble.

"You look wonderful too." You flashed a big smile, running your hand down his arm. “I love you in a suit.”

Five made a mocking sound, like a half laugh, as he looked away for a second before turning his attention to you.

"You always say that."

"Because it's true"

Your body came close to his without hesitation, being greeted by Five's warm arm around your waist. His touch became firmer as he pulled you a little closer, as if, unconsciously, he firming up territory.

“What were you thinking?” He looked at you in an inquisitive way “When I arrived. What were you thinking?”

"In you." His answer came as firm as his grip, and your heart leapt in chest. “More specifically the first time I saw you.”

There was something about the way Five Hargreeves looked at you. Something mysterious, passionate, hot as the fire of sin and sweet as the gates of paradise. Something that made you feel like you were living a true love story. Emotions curled at the top of your throat, and you knew you would cry if you uttered a single syllable. So you just laid your head on his shoulder, snuggling into the person who was the reason you were still breathing.

“What are the plans for tonight?” Your voice came out when you were sure you wouldn't cry, looking back into his eyes.

“My only plan for tonight is to get fucked up beyond all recognition” Then his mouth got closer to your ear and became wicked when said "And fuck you so fucking hard that I'm going to break the bed"

Hot shivers licked up your spine to the back of your neck, heat in your belly rose to your eyes, and you smiled broadly, full of sinful expectation.

Five's promises were never in vain.

”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” he said.

Your cheeks flushed and you smiled even wider, the blood pulsing hard in your veins, following the same rhythm as your passionate heart.

Hargreeves bit his teeth as he tightened his grip on your waist. “You teasing little thing.”

You laughed loud, letting him lead you to one of the tables and you said softly  “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass...” 

“I heard that!” 

“You were supposed to!”

----

No one knew - or cared - what time it was, the height of dawn was always perfect for rampant alcohol and dubious behavior. Nights were made for choices that weren't made during the day.

At that moment, forever was in that ballroom, with drunk people and loud music. The colored lights pulsed like a car engine, contributing alcohol to cloud and inhibit the rationality of everyone in the room.

The world was ending and each one there found a different poetic meaning for the situation.

Luther found his in his wife, Klaus clung to his father's plans and lived that night not as the last, but as the beginning of something, just like Ben. Viktor found his in the peace that existed in the idea of - finally - putting an end to that drama of apocalypses, which followed him from timeline to timeline.

For Five Hargreeves, his poetic meaning was you.

His eyes were heavy and his mind light, but he would have to be completely blind for not recognize that, whenever he looked in your direction, you were the most breathtaking girl of the universe.

Would he stop venerate you as a goddess? No.

He stood there for a few seconds, next to someone he didn't care who it was, his eyes completely mesmerized on you. Like you was the most dangerous siren at sea, and he was just a sailor totally at your mercy.

Your body, trapped in that fucking maddening red silk gown, was covered in a fine mist of sweat that lit your skin like pirate treasure. Your hair was unruly and coming out of hairstyle, but the strands that fell under the lap of your breasts took his breath away. It should be considered a cardinal sin the way your body was moving, and Five would have dropped to his knees for you if he could spend eternity there, watching you dance.

“I don't think I've ever seen you look like that.” It sounded like Klaus' voice, but Five didn't want to take his eyes off you to check it out.

“I don't have any expression on my face.” He said the first thing that came to his mind, even though he didn't believe his own words.

How could anyone keep a complacent expression when you looked like that? So miraculous that Five questioned his sanity. There was something about you that kept him wrapped around your finger, so fervently in love, whipped with just one look you gave him. Your image was like a renaissance miracle, a glimpse novelists had of paradise.

God sure was a woman…because there was no explanation for you being so divinely beautiful.

“she’s just…wow”

Klaus must have said something, but Five didn't deign to pay attention, his concentration too focused on the way your body moved, the sway of your hips that moved his ocean. Your every move was a tsunami on his sea, every twirl was a rotation on his Earth, you were shaking Five's entire existence and didn't even notice.

You may have fallen in love with him first, but he fell in love hardest.

That's when your eyes met his, in a fatal connection that made Five's soul tingle. Your smile was the second shot at his sanity, and at that moment, at a stupid wedding, Hargreeves wondered why the hell he never made an event like this be a moment of the two of you?

Why did he never ask you to marry him?

And in that second, watching you dance with Viktor, he found no reason not to.

Fuck it.

With each step Five took toward you, charged with purpose, the more the sense of certainty inside him grew, like a thunderous sound.

“I'm going to have to steal the most beautiful woman of the night.'' Five told his brother, who tried to hide his laughter at his drunken, uninhibited state.

A delicious flush crept up your cheeks, coloring your skin to a shy tinge that made Five want to run his tongue at the maddening color.

“All yours” Viktor was still trying not to laugh as he handed you to his night-black-haired brother.

“Come cuddle.” Five's drunk voice teased you as he pulled you as close to him as he could.

“You know that the most beautiful woman of the night is a bride, don't you?” it was your first speech as you settled youself with his warm, masculine, possessive hand on the small of your back.

“Not for me.” His voice brushed your jaw, lowering to your neck as if Five were inhaling the scent of your soul. “Never for me.”

Five was drunk, you knew that, he smelled like expensive whisky and masculine cologne, but there was something about his sincerity abounding in his drunkenness that made your heart pound. Hargreeves could be very good at hiding his feelings on a day-to-day basis, but that fell apart when alcohol drowned out his demons.

Was that what he thought whenever he looked at you? That you were the most beautiful woman, in every single night? Did he look at you with that oblique glow and in his mind he secretly venerate you?

You've never wanted a positive response so much in your life, because that's exactly how you feel about him. Your heart has long had the name 'Five Hargreeves' tattooed in red-hot iron, and the wish you've asked the shooting stars is that yours would also be tattooed on Five's heart too.

it wasn't too much to ask...

“I love the way you smell.” You buried your nose in his neck, letting the male body rock you completely, just not touching you with both hands because he held a bottle of whisky in his left.

Five let out a sound that could be described as disbelieving laughter. "i've been drinking for hours."

“But I can still smell your real scent.” You joked, reaching up to the back of his head whit your hands.

Hargreeves rummaged his shoulders, in a way to draw your attention to his face, pulling your eyes from your favorite hiding place. When you did, there were so many emotions pouring out of the blue Egyptian eyes that made your soul shivered.

“What do I smell like?” A question so innocent, pure, almost childish, but one that was able to quicken your pulse as quickly as a wildfire.

There was no hesitation in your voice as you replied: “Home.”

A hot feeling licked Five from head to toe, shaking his structures and revoking all the foundations of his life. It should be a crime for you to say such things. It should be a crime for you to be so beautiful that it physically hurt. It should be a crime to be that passionate for you. So, whit his chest sinking with overwhelming emotions and feelings, Hargreeves made the only coherent decision: he kissed you.

Kissed you because his ribcage would explode if he didn't. Kissed you because every cell in his body screamed that no longer belonged to him, but to you.

Mine, mine, mine. That's what Five thought as drowned the sins on your heavenly lips.

“I want to marry you.” His voice was still swallowed by your lips, because he refused to pull away.

"But..." one more kiss ''we already...'' one more kiss ''we're married.''

"No." the firmness in his voice shook your heart  “I want a stupid wedding like this stupid event. I want to hear the idiotic speeches of my father and my siblings, and say that I want this hell to end when in fact I'm reveling in the fact that everyone is gathered just to see my wife. Because i love you god damnit! '' his statement left no space for a answer, because Five swallowed your breath with another incendiary kiss “I want to see you in white, and recite silly vows when in fact my love for you is much more than these ready-made words. I want to give you my last name, keep you by my side as the only Mrs. Hargreeves… I want… why the fuck have I never asked you to marry me before?!”

Five couldn't tell if you were crying or smiling, but he was relieved by the tight way you were holding him. Of course it wasn't the best of statements, he was never good with sentimental shit, but something in the way you looked at him shocked said he said something very right.

“I should propose to you in a better way.” His speech was cut off by a hiccup from the alcohol. “fucking hell…'' his gaze wandered slowly across the room and stopped at the stage, where Ben and Klaus were singing some horrible bullshit ''I already know…'' his drunk mind went back to you again ''I'll sing for you.''

Your laughter overcame the tears, and the automatic question left your mouth. “Why,babe?’’

"Because I want to make a decent proposal, give you something more worth telling people about later."

You were going to say a thousand things, but Five cut you off by the look in your eyes "How am I supposed to spoil you when you wont accept my gifts?”

Five Hargreeves didn't give you a chance to argue, didn't give you a second to recover from a breathtaking statement, and you felt like crying in anger at yourself when he was already away from you, on his way to the stage. You wanted to say that you loved him from the first second, that you worshiped him more than the Greeks worship Zeus. You didn't need a proposal, a big wedding, a official celebration, you always knew you were his wife. And you wanted him to know that too, wanted him to understand that, nothing he wasn't ready to do, you would push him to do. His reserved and sour nature wasn't a problem and you were always completely happy with what you had. Because that meant having Five on your side.

You've never considered yourself a big fan of such public displays of affection, you've always found proposal in open spaces and with people around cheesy, but...but the way Five smiled at you on that stage, microphone in hand and bottle of alcohol in another, it made you question all your tastes in life. That scene was worth it

The truth was, Five would hang the moon in the sky for you, and you'd do anything to keep that love and happiness in his eyes whenever he looked your way.