#i decided to put this in a read more because i cant trim my replies and you cant trim yours and this is very long

[sterrenlied]

✧*:･ﾟ| THE hum and make of her armour is a positively fascinating thing, a byproduct of his always present curiosity. Siebren does not always rein in his interest, but in regards to such a UNIQUE thing - and in the face of his own caged demeanor, he files it under ‘things to maybe discuss another day’. The mere suggestion of ruining this encounter, to make it go sour, is greatly unappealing.

HIS own armour seems to sing and shift, as if to RESPOND to hers.

BUT despite the cloaking of armour that seems to move with its own mind, he's taken aback by just how ROTTEN the world she hails from is. His own attire cannot be considered the norm in his own homeworld by any stretch of the imagination, so he could never imagine a place where armour or coin would be needed to ensure survival. A multitude of responses swim to the forefront of his mind. Pitying and apologetic words BOTH come across as patronizing; she seems to have handled herself well so far.

HE settles upon a weak smile. ❝Well, you're here and talking to me. I think that you've made it this far counts for quite a bit.❞

A simple statement of fact and not one he wishes to dwell upon. Pulling out threads and stitches from WOUNDED flesh, baring scars to the world. He has his own scars he wishes to keep covered. It would be a disservice above all else for anyone, let alone the Dragoon woman to see those scars face to face.

WILLING a smile to don his lips, Siebren continues, ❝I daresay, even if we were in the business to spill our secrets, a woodland filled with fae in the dead of night sounds like a rather POOR location to do so. If you wish to discover my secrets, a good cup of tea is a way to seduce them out of me.❞ He winks.

OH, the concern strikes him as a surprise, a splayed hand, padded palms resting against his cheek at the thought. ❝I suppose so. I know how to repair it reasonably enough and how it works with my abilities. I consider that a WIN personally.❞ He'd like to perform more research on his attire, but it is quite the task as it is trying to keep other aspects of himself threaded together. The more people find holes in his past, the more INTRIGUED -- confused, even -- he is. ❝Well, thank you kindly all the same.❞

EYES flutter back towards the wreckage. ❝Motherly or no … there's still something you - we could do. Woodlands still need some manner of upkeep, even fae woodlands. Perhaps we could just file a report that we've seen suspicious activity and let them HANDLE it.❞ Listening to Selenie in silence, Siebren is certain that he is immediately better with children, even with his wondrous, POWERFUL abilities at his fingertips. He wheels back towards her. ❝I'm good with kids -- but I prefer to teach and mentor, not to babysit naughty pranksters.❞ He's uncertain if he would even have the heart to be the good cop to the Warrior of Light's bad cop.

GAZE lowers to the armour that cradles his skin as though EXPECTING a little faerie to show up. The Warrior's words do not come across as a surprise in the slightest, compared to what he's heard of faeries back on Earth and in Radiale. Fae do not exist in his home, but the stories and fables remained. Enduring tales that may or may not have borne the sole purpose of scaring children away from strangers or foreboding forest. He can't say that they NEVER worked.

A week smile touches his lips. ❝Well, troublesome or no, it is still quite … an interesting experience to meet something that I've always CONSIDERED a myth. I'm not afraid by any stretch of the imagination, but my curiosity is - well, quite abundant, really. I'm not foolish enough to actually approach one of the fae in the middle of the night -❞ Arms shift inwards to hug against his chest.

❝JUST Siebren — or Doctor, I suppose if you're feeling formal — is fine. No need to remember it all, just as I'm certain there's no NEED to remember all your titles.❞ He assumes that she's not lying about her lax nature, to be able to joke so flippantly.

🎶 | @asernolonger

✧*:･ﾟ| TWILIGHT has fallen, a spread of orange and red deepening into violet and blue. The blanket of darkness that follows is a comforting one, but eyes do not focus upon the deepening shades of sidewalk and grass, not when there’s a sky stretching on into the beyond, filled with TWINKLING stars and the muffled boom boom of fireworks. He’d prefer it completely clear of obstruction, ideally, but the summer festivities pull him into a pleasant lull. With the sweltering heat finally cooling down, he’s more content to BASK in whatever weather is given to him.

THAT is until he sees something strange streaking across the sky.

WHATEVER it happens to be, he’s too preoccupied with curiosity and slight concern. Nothing at all quite like the fireworks on display, nor like the comets he’d eagerly watch streaking across the sky at every POSSIBLE opportunity. Another citizen of the island, perhaps, either directly or indirectly. He’s uncertain about whatever the peculiars could even be as he floats his way through uncharted territory.

IN the overwhelming silence, he hears what could only sound like the snapping of twigs. In the very instant he begins to DOUBT his navigation skills ( he worries, when the stars seem so artificial and different to the ones he knows ) he hears it, LOUD AND CLEAR. Shield switches on, as he moves towards the sound.

❝WELL … do you have something to say about this?❞

[thefanficmonster]

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002  Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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[wri0thesley]

Marked - Part 1 Dio x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #2: Abduction)

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Vampirism. Abduction. Oral sex, biting, blood, marking, fucking around with Jojo vampire canon to my own ends.  5k.

Your father receives a missive at dinner; George Joestar is dead, and Dio Brando is missing, and Jonathan Joestar is set to inherit the estate. You push away your father’s suggestion that you get close to the Joestar boy - everyone knows that you and Dio Brando have a history. Your father, perhaps, does not know quite the extent - but as the memories resurface and your pounding heart does not let you rest, you retire to your bedroom for the evening. You are not to know it’s for the last time in your life. At least, the last time with a beating heart.

News travels fast, even by horseback. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. Bad news travels fast - you hear of marriages of eligible suitors your father wishes you had accepted proposals from and deaths of friends who are struck with terrible consumption and melancholy quicker than you ever hear of invitations to country houses or balls. So it’s no surprise how quickly the knowledge of George Joestar’s death reaches you, being only a few cities over - your father reads the missive over dinner, and gives you the sad news with the air of a man rather too pleased by another’s misfortune. 

“Wasn’t his son briefly courting you?” He asks, and you neatly wipe your mouth with the lace napkin by the table settings. You do not let the flush show on your face, even as memories of Dio Brando come rushing to the forefront of your mind. “The adopted one?”

“Mr Brando?” You ask, delicately. The thought of Dio’s wicked smile and his fingers on your back, touching the lacing of your dress, his body pressed hot and too close to you makes itself far too known for so early in the evening. 

“That’s the one,” your father says. His eyes scan over the paper, his lip twisting to one side. “Looks like his adopted son’s done a runner, anyway. Perhaps you should be a comfort to his biological son in his time of need?” The way your father stresses the word ‘biological’ makes you repress a shiver; it makes you think of how he has been needling at you, reminding you that a proper young lady ought to be out of her father’s home and fulfilling her biological duty. 

You have fulfilled some biological duty, at any rate - with Dio Brando, his hand between your thighs, your own fingers around his hips and your mouth open wide for the placket of his trousers to open. You’re certain that’s not what your father meant by ‘biological duty’ for his unmarried daughter. 

“I’d rather think I should let him mourn in peace,” you say, your voice very quiet, your hand as steady as you can manage as you take a sip of tea from the fine china teacup. “If you don’t mind,” you stand up, slowly, “I have some correspondence that I should be replying to.”

Your father’s eyes follow you as you stand, his face set in disapproval. 

“Of possible suitors, I hope,” he mumbles, low under his breath - and you decide to keep your dignity and leave the room in a flurry of skirts, trying not to let the thought of Dio Brando’s mouth hot on your neck and his body pressed snugly between your thighs overwhelm you altogether. 

The correspondence is a lie, of course - you get letters, but most of the time, you throw them to the side. Your father’s ideas for suitable matches are so boring - they’re nothing compared to the fire in Dio’s eyes, the cut-glass accent slipping into the rough accent of a boy raised on the streets, the filthy words he’d given you that no respectable young lady should know. They pale in comparison, too, to Dio’s broad frame and his golden eyes and the carefully coiffed golden hair. How are you supposed to satisfy yourself with the droning on of a boring aristocrat who’s never done anything dangerous in his life when you’ve tasted danger on Dio’s lips and in trails of fire under his fingertips? 

His fingers. You bite your lip, stealing a guilty look behind you. Your father will take his dinner and then retire to his study, a glass of port in his hands until he falls asleep in a stupor. Your maids are long finished with their daily tasks with only dinner things to take care of, your household rather less bustling since your mother passed away and your brothers and sisters have been married off. If you were to steal back into your bedroom instead of into the pretty little blue and white receiving room with your writing desk, nobody would be around to spy on you and wonder what you were doing. 

And your body is aflame with memories, and your corset is squeezing you tight, and every rub together of your thighs as you hurry up the narrow passageway to your bedroom is torture. The maids have already lit the gas lamp, in case you want to retire to bed early, and you catch sight of yourself in the looking glass opposite your bed - your cheeks are flushed, your eyes bright, your bosom (already put to its best advantage by the tight lacing of your corset) heaving. This is the kind of look that Dio always saw you with, pulling you behind him into disused nurseries and cupboards.

“Look at you,” he’d say, bending his mouth low so that his breath tickled the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t fuck you now, somebody else would certainly get it into his head to. You look like you’re begging for it.”

Teeth dig into your bottom lip as you let yourself lay down upon the bed, soft pillows and covers beneath your back. Your fingers pull at your skirts, rucking up lace-trimmed petticoats to around your hips so your fingers can draw patterns on your thighs as your eyes flutter closed and you let the memories of Dio Brando overwhelm you entirely. 

You rub softly over your mound, sweet shivers whispering down your spine as you remember how the first time Dio had touched you between your thighs, you’d been utterly scandalised. 

“My chastity,” you’d hissed, through your teeth, though you’d already allowed him to kiss you harder than a husband would ever kiss his wife. “You’ll ruin me for marriage?”

Dio had raised one eyebrow cockily, his hand not moving - you had, he’d noticed, not moved his hand away from its place trapped between your thighs. 

“You don’t like the idea of being ruined, darling? Because your body is telling an entirely different story.”

He’d pulled his hand away and it had glistened in the candlelight with your own slick, both at the way Dio had kissed you and the way he’d manhandled you and the dangerous position you’d allowed yourself into. Something about the thrill of danger had set a pounding between your legs like you’d never know. 

You’d been unable to look away as he’d raised the fingers to his lips and tasted you, tipping his head briefly back as if savouring a fine red wine. 

“Mm,” he’d said, looking at you through low eyelids, his pupils blown wide. “You taste like you want to be ruined.”

You gasp as your fingers brush your swollen clit, the organ sensitive to the touch. Dio, too, had taught you how to do this, laughing as he’d found a guest bedroom in one of the expensive country manors and he’d pushed you onto the bed, caging you beneath his massive frame. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he’d said, your cheeks had flamed. “I want to see how you make yourself come apart, and then . . . then I want to show you how I’d do it.”

“I can’t,” you’d tried to say, weakly. “I-it’s not proper--”

Dio Brando had kissed you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, hard cock in his trousers grinding into your leg. 

“Is anything we do together proper?” He’d asked, pulling back, and you’d had to admit that he was right. You and he were hardly models of propriety - and if he wanted to see you touch yourself . . . well. Nothing he’d done so far has been anything close to unpleasant, and you were eager to see what other tricks he’d picked up on the streets. 

One finger slides down to your entrance, toying with the pulsing hole, circling it with the lightest of touches until you can practically feel the throb in time with your heartbeat. Your breath comes in soft little pants. You would do anything to have Dio here right now instead of you, his big fingers stroking and exploring you instead of your own. But all you have is your own imagination, so your eyes flutter closed and your hips cant upwards softly. 

“Dio,” you breathe out, your voice a quiet prayer in the silent room. 

Where has he gone? You had gotten the impression, from your father’s face at dinner, that there was rather more to the story than just Dio Brando running off when his father had died. But then again, your father had always disapproved of your dalliance with Dio, even without knowing the real truth. He’d sniffed. 

“The boy won’t inherit,” Father had said to you. “You’re better off chasing the brother, unless you want to spend the rest of your life a pauper.”

It’s like Dio to be a mystery, but not like him to run from luxury. He had always loved the feel of your expensive silks and fine embroidery beneath his fingers, had a sarcastic comment to make about an ugly and out of fashion hat, had sniffed at cheap reproduction furniture and sighed when a host had skimped out on the wine at a ball. You wonder why he hadn’t stayed - and somehow, the mystery of it all seems almost romantic. 

You swear that the air in the room gets colder. One eye opens to see that the lace curtains are billowing; you suppose a maid must have opened the window a crack to let some air in. Your eyes flutter closed once more. 

One finger slides inside of you, smaller and shorter than Dio’s fingers inside of you had been. It licks at the edges of the fire inside you but doesn’t stoke them the way you want, and though you gently pump it in and out of you (the slick sounds of your fingers inside you heart-rendingly loud in a way that makes you vibrate with excitement), it isn’t enough, Your second fingertip twists, stretching you open wider, and again you whimper out;

“D-Dio, please--”

There’s a whumph of displaced air, and your eyes snap open as your body is suddenly once more caged by a frame far larger than yours. You find yourself staring directly into hungry golden eyes that can belong to only one man. 

“You were calling out for me,” Dio Brando murmurs. “And would I be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t help a lady in distress?”

You think of a hundred ways to respond back to him in kind; flirty little barbs about how he is no gentleman, alone with a lady in her bedroom. But instead, all you can whisper, your fingers still inside of you, your throat dry;

“H-how?”

He smiles, and you swear that his teeth were never so white and sharp. His eyes, too, you think . . . they were gold before, but did they shimmer like liquids in his face? Was his skin quite so pale and smooth and perfect? Was his voice so low and lilting and musical, as he opens his mouth to say;

“It does you no good to ask that now, darling girl,” He leans down, his lips brushing yours, and you melt against him. “Just lay back. Be good for me now.” 

You do. You’re helpless under his charms - your thighs fall apart as he rears onto his knees, as his hand gently removes your fingers (those he pulls up to his mouth, kissing the fingertips, mouthing where they are dripping with your slick and making a noise that’s all pleasure to taste you). You’re maneuvered like a ragdoll - and though he does not unlace your corset or strip you of your dress, he makes you feel utterly exposed under his gaze as he drinks in how helplessly pliant you are for him. 

“You’re just as beautiful as ever,” he hums, lowly, drawing one fingernail up your thigh. Were his nails so sharp, before? Like claws? He sighs as he watches the thin red line form, the bright beads of blood. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt for long.”

You’re not sure you want his fingers inside you with claws like that, but somehow when his fingers do touch you there is nothing sharp at all. There’s just his finger, toying with your clit, as he looks down at you. 

“If you knew how lucky you are,” he murmurs. “That I’m doing this for you--”

He bends his head and you feel his tongue press against your entrance, flat and wide. Your own fingers tangle in the bedsheets, back arching, as Dio laps at you. His mouth and breath and tongue feel unusually cold, but you can’t dwell on that when he’s licking at you like this, teasing your back to arch and your body to tie itself in knots.

The finger working your clit does not cease for a moment, grinding and rubbing and circling, making hot sparks of want and need burst into life in your stomach. He laps at you broadly, from perineum to just below your clit, and you’re helpless under his ministrations as you always have been, all thoughts of how he ended up here banished from your mind with how good his tongue and fingers feel. There’s nothing to muffle the soft whimpers escaping your mouth as your peak begins to build, urged inescapably forth by Dio’s tongue and clever treatment of your clit--

Dio chuckles low against you, his breath cold, and the vibrations have your back arching even higher and suddenly he’s alternating sucking on your clit and flicking it, his hand moving away to hold onto your thigh, and all of the hot tight tension in your body comes to the forefront as your peak hits you, your body a shivering mass of white noise--

Something sharp like the pricking of a needle in your thigh. The high of your orgasm, sharp in its intensity, as you take a deep gulp of air and find it will not go down properly. Darkness, edging your vision. And Dio’s voice, low and quiet, somehow muffled as if his mouth is full of liquid  as he murmurs;

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

-

Your eyes open slowly, though your head is still fuzzy. You feel somehow freer - and when you look down, you see that you have been relieved of your corset and neat dress, and instead you’re wearing a nightgown of flowing white chiffon, your hair unbound from the complicated fashion of the moment. You see, too, that this is most certainly not the pretty blue and white bedspread of your own boudoir. Beneath you is a dark red blanket, the colour of blood. 

Memories of Dio’s fingers and mouth on you come rushing back, and you bite back a gasp as you realise that he’s . . . kidnapped you? Can you call it that, really? Because you always thought kidnapping was done against your will, by nefarious men who wanted your fortune - right now, you’re pleased to be in a luxurious and cavernous bedroom with a man who has haunted your thoughts since you first met him. 

“You’re awake.” The voice is soft and cultured, and you pull yourself up on the bed (the nightgown slips, exposing your shoulder - any other lady might feel scandalous, but Dio has seen enough of your body by now that it barely registers. “Good.” Dio is smirking, seated by the bed in a wingback armchair. 

Now, you see him more clearly, without the heady arousal of your senses that had marred your judgement last time. His skin is indeed paler, his eyes brighter, his lips very red - and at the corner of his mouth, where he is smirking, a sharp white fang glints menacingly. 

You know what he is. The memory of sharp pain in your thigh and how he’d stared at the blood welling in the cut from his nails, the cool breath against your own heated skin. You are well-read, you are clever, you are perhaps a little too fond of things that your father thinks macabre - and you whisper it softly. 

“Vampire.”

Dio’s smile widens. 

“I knew you’d guess, darling,” he says, coming to stand from the chair, leaning towards you and taking your face in his grip, turning you to look into those golden eyes. “That’s why I chose you. If you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing for what?” You ask him, breathlessly. The smile does not leave his face. 

“I do not have a fortune,” he tells you. “I have been cast out by my . . .” His mouth twitches in displeasure, “brother. I have no riches, aside from my own intellect - I have survived on that before. And now, of course, I have . . .” The hand not holding your face gestures down to himself. “This preternatural blessing. I am faster and stronger and better than mortal man. And I am extending you, my darling girl - the only one who’s ever kept up with me, whose lips I cannot stop thinking about, whose eyes and mind sparkle so unlike the other dullards I’ve been forced to put up with you . . . an invitation to join me.”

“You want to make me like you?” You breathe, and though you know it should be horrifying, the prospect is not all that displeasing. 

Oh, you know that he is supposed to be a reanimated corpse. That you’ll lose any chance at a heaven, that you’ll have to feast on the lifeblood of other creatures to maintain an eternal state of not quite being . . . but Dio really is glowing, in a way you’ve never seen a man do before. His grip is tight. His body draws your eye, his face even more beautiful than you remember it - and is it really so bad, to spend an eternity beside him? Beneath him? 

“You can say no,” Dio says, and the hand moves from your chin, fingers stroking over the pulse point in your throat so your breath catches. “For you, I’ll make it painless. But if you say yes . . .” His eyes are bright as he sits on the edge of the bed, close to you - you can see excitement writ plain across his expression. “We’d be fierce, my darling. We’d be unstoppable. With you at my side . . . You would have everything you could ever want. Anyone who has ever hurt you, ripped into pieces. Armies at your command. And . . .” That smirk again, the one that always makes you wonder what filthy things he is planning. “We would have a hundred lifetimes to learn each other’s bodies in every conceivable way.” He reaches forward, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “You have no idea it feels like in a body like this, to touch and be touched . . .”

He does not have to convince you any further. You close the distance, kissing him hungrily. You moan into his mouth as his arms go around you, holding you like a ragdoll, like you weigh nothing at all. 

He could kiss you for hours, you realise, without needing to draw a breath - and so, you pull back from him, and you look at him with blown wide eyes. 

“Yes,” you breathe to him. “A hundred times yes.”

His eyes grow brighter, and he kisses you again - and this time, as he kisses you, he hooks a leg around you until he’s straddling you, your body pliant beneath his. The candles about the bed flicker, the air cool as Dio’s hungry hands pull at the light chiffon, ripping it as if it were paper. You’re bare beneath the fabric - and as you look down, you can see that there are angry red pin pricks on your thigh. 

He bit you, then - in the bedroom, when you blacked out. The idea makes you feel heady and intoxicated. You want him to bite you again, to leave his mark all over you so the entire world knows that you belong to Dio Brando. 

The thought of abandoning your old life does not make you feel in any way aggrieved - but the thought of an unfettered existence, at liberty to do whatever you want (no matter how scandalous or improper) with Dio by your side does make you feel as if your entire body is filled with fizzing, boiling water, threatening to tip over and scald you any moment. 

“I want to mark you,” Dio whispers. “Any marks that you leave this life with, you take with you into the next - and I want your thighs and hips and breasts and every private part of you to scream out that you are mine body and soul.”

Spirals of heat all through your core, making a pulse beat needy between your legs. Dio’s fangs are visible, now, almost imperceptibly lengthening as you feel his cock press into your stomach where he straddles you. 

“I’m yours,” you tell him, winding your arms about his neck. His silken gold hair brushes your skin, making gooseflesh rise on your shoulders. Every bit of your body sings out for his attentions - to be thoroughly and utterly claimed by Dio in any way that he sees fit. “Do whatever you want to me.”

“I’ve imagined you saying that so many times since I ascended,” he murmurs, nosing against your ear, kissing and biting at your earlobe, his lips brushing where your pulse beats an excited rhythm in your throat. “But it has never sounded so sweet.”

His body presses against yours - and though he is not hot, your own body feels like it’s burning up. He urges your thighs to spread so he can settle between them, already peeling off his own layers of clothes to reveal a body which is more marble than skin. He is so pale he almost glows in the light - but a few scars remain from his rugby days, pink and faded. They look like kisses with rouged lips on his torso, and you long to kiss them yourself. But not yet - right now, you are at Dio’s mercy, and he clearly is relishing being in control. 

“Oh, but I’ve missed this,” he breathes, his mouth lowering to your nipple, his tongue coaxing it to harden beneath his lapping. “You’re so warm, darling . . . I cannot wait to have you beside me for the rest of our existences--”

He does not use the word ‘lives’ - you do not mind. 

His tongue is cold, and you shiver from both the sensation of the temperature and the other sensations that he awakes in you. He kisses the nipple, pulling his mouth free with a light pop - kissing the swell of your breast, circling kisses to the underside . . . and you yelp as fangs slide into soft flesh, as Dio groans and laps at the blood that beads over the pinpricks. 

They will be hidden by your dresses. He wants you marked only in the most private places - places only his eyes will see. Everyone else will know you are his by the devotion in your eyes and your own words. 

He continues to kiss along your skin, his fangs every so often sinking into sensitive patches of skin, suckling lightly at you. He kisses your hips, leaving three perfect bite marks in the curve of them. Your other breast, a matching set of pinpricks that will fade into a scar. Your other hip, the dip of your waist--

Each suck and bite and kiss of the wound has another shockwave of lust emanating through your body, making your entire self throb with need. You are empty, between slick thighs - and Dio’s cock seems so far away from entering you. You sigh and clutch at sheets and cant your hips, wondering if you are soaking through the bed - and Dio chuckles, as he bites into soft flesh again and you spill for him like a ripe peach. 

It is fortunate the sheets are red, for you know he is spilling much of your blood. You’re light-headed and pleasantly fuzzy as he finally - finally! - presses kisses to your thighs. 

These bites send shockwaves even more potent through your body, each slide of his fangs into your flesh like they have a direct line to the pounding heat in your core. Your mouth lets out needy moans and whines as Dio methodically sinks fangs inside of you and pulls them out, as he kisses the marks and sucks at the lifeblood that he’s drawn forth from you. 

Three up the right leg. You’re breathless. Three up the left leg. Your vision feels like it’s swimming - there is nothing left in the world but you and Dio, where your bodies are joined, where he is now moving and you feel his cock against your thigh. 

His mouth is stained with blood when he kisses you, but you pay no heed to that as you feel his cock open you up. Your sex - slick and needy, more than ready to finally be filled - welcomes him hilting inside of you to his very base with no resistance. 

“Still so tight,” he murmurs, against you, as your thighs wrap around his muscled torso, urging him deeper and deeper inside you. “Has nobody else touched you, my darling?”

“It’s only ever been you,” you breathe. “It’s only ever you I want.”

It’s true. Other men have flirted, have come to your father, have told you of grand prospects for you as their wife - but all you have ever needed is this. Dio inside you and the promise of a life far more interesting than anything they could give you. Damn your dowry and your biological expectations and everything else - after tonight, you’ll fulfil the biological expectation of you alright. You’ll dig your fangs into yielding throats and feast on other people and fuck Dio with the taste of their blood still singing in your throat. 

Dio’s body and mouth against yours, the sound of him rocking inside of you, the cool flesh pressing against your heated skin. You’re overwhelmed, entirely - partly from the blood loss but more so to have him here, so real and yet so unreal. Could you really have been in your bedroom, alone, hours ago? As he rocks inside you and his cock strokes all of those sweet parts of you your own fingers can never manage, it feels like you’ve never been anywhere but beneath him. Time seems to slow down. 

Each thrust of his cock hits you impossibly deep, his shaft impossibly thick, fitting inside of you impossibly well. His kisses along your face and mouth and neck seem to linger for hours and stop in moments. He fits inside of you perfectly, like a glove - when he rocks out of you, his hips pulling his length so only the head of him is still inside you - you moan out in discontent to not be filled. 

With every thrust as deep inside you as he can go, there’s a coil of pressure like a ribbon being tightened around you - like corset strings, threatening to snap. You can feel it when his pelvis rubs against your nub, grinding against it and sending hazy pleasure signals to your mind. Dio does not miss it either - he pulls out, murmuring platitudes at you, only to spear you again, his rhythm speeding up as you realise that the pressure is about to overwhelm you entirely. 

You pant out his name, weakly. 

“Dio,” you beg, as he kisses across your throat, as he growls low in his chest and his hips seem to fuck into you impossible fast. “Dio, please--”

The beg pushes him over the edge. His cock pulsates inside of you, twitching, cool seed filling you at the same time as he grinds his pelvis just so and the ball of pressure inside you that’s been threatening to snap comes all undone. He’s never come inside of you before - too much of a risk, in the old days. But as he gives you his release, he kisses your neck and he slides his fangs into your throat and he suckles hungrily at you, far more fierce than he did for any of the other marks on your body. Once more, your vision gets hazy, aftershocks of your orgasm still lapping at you even as you sigh and think;

If he kills me now, and I never wake up . . . It will have been worth it. 

-

You do wake up, of course. You awaken tangled in sheets and scraps of what was once your nightgown, the chiffon marked all over with blood. You wake up with your skin deliciously cool and Dio’s body pressed beside yours. You look down at your own body; your skin somehow more vibrant, though there are pin prick scars all over where Dio had bitten you. You absent-mindedly bring a finger to your throat, stroking the final scar, and Dio’s golden eyes blink at you. 

“Admiring my marks on you?” He murmurs, and you laugh - even your voice seems changed. Richer and prettier, the kind of voice that could convince a man to do anything for her. 

“We have an eternity together now, my darling,” Dio murmurs, shifting closer to you on the bed. You let yourself be pulled into him, resting on the hard planes of his chest. “But tonight, your first kill. The true shedding of your mortal coil. Have you any thoughts? It ought to be someone . . . special. It will be such an event for you to look back on, after all. Mine certainly was.”

His mouth curves into a smirk - and you think of George Joestar. You think of what your father wouldn’t tell you. You think of Dio, fleeing from the estate, and the ruined castle with the drafty halls that you lie on a bed within even now. 

You think of your father’s disapproving looks. The way he’d suggested crassly you ought to get close to Jonathan Joestar, how he’d told you not to bother at all with Dio Brando - worthless, if he wouldn’t inherit. 

Oh, you’re supremely glad you bothered with Dio Brando. And wouldn’t it be poetic parallel, for both of you?

“I think,” you say, carefully, “I should like to pay one final visit to my childhood home.”

[budugaapologist]

when you are reading this rant take full offense its 2am here and im mad as hell

fair warning this post is long as fuck and has several arguments pertaining to specific peeves i need to rant about before i go crazy. if you're not interested just keep scrolling it's not hard it's literally the core of social media navigation

you know what? ima say it.

black flag is the best ac game and deserves more recognition than just pirate drinking jokes because:

nearly every named character (sorry burgess and cockram) has development and personalities. cant say that for that many others in other games.

not too much fucking shit to do in it (unlike uhhhhhhhh every fucking other game in the franchise. stop it. i dont need 500 treasure chests in arno's game he already has an excellent revenue with the cafe. i dont need a ton of side quests. i dont need 30+ chests per london burough. i dont need a million question marks on my map. i dont need all of egypt or greece to be littered with shit to do. fuck this.).

unlocking shit is so much easier. edward knows where every treasure chest is and doesnt pay for treasure maps. and literally unlocking shit is so much easier.

base is slept on. its fucking cool. its fucking fun. its fucking useful as shit. its fucking pretty as all hell. fuck you.

good story, fun story, great dlc, relatable story (unless youre some bootlicking cowardly rich cunt) emotional story but not depressing (unity im looking at your ending. origins stop killing children.), satisfying end.

i can do the combat with one hand. you know what that means? i can eat and drink without pausing. i can reply to text messages without pausing. i can pet my dogs and cats while playing.

main character actually has changed by the end of the game a vast amount. motherfucker, edward changed more in his antó mission than ezio did in his trilogy.

if you dont complete all objectives you still have a passing score on the mission. do you know what its like to be raised to only get good grades on stuff and see yourself getting a 60% on a thing thats supposed to be a pass time just because you forgot something.

the naval combat isnt hard you just need practice. also i know the hunter ship sucks in the first mission you encounter but literally drop your sails but hold the wheel. once its in view let go. swim to it. take out the crew. swim back. bada bing bada boom go oneshot the crew. incredible, you're safe now.

legendary ship battles are really fucking cool and my mom doesnt yell at me for killing a giant beast for next to nothing.

the sea shanties and tavern songs slap.

farm animal petting simulator. not forced to kill dogs (ac3, odyssey).

obviously its good if the other games are just gonna copy paste it.

ed's tattoos are sick.

edward is literally the first canon bisexual. he literally says so in game. he literally fucking flirts with blackbeard. he literally was a pirate. why the fuck do you think birate is such an accurate pun.

diving outfit.

thicc.

the female characters dont have titties all over the place. even anne's boobs arent that big, which is good considering she is underage. the same cannot be said for many of the women in ezio's games.

guess who has a solid, interesting, and realistic personality. not kassandra or alexios thats for sure.

he is NOT moved by man pain (ezio, connor, bayek) to carry out his missions. he didn't want to be poor, he wanted to be able to provide for his family. he is just carrying out his dream to sail a ship. when he starts being "good", he is doing it out of guilt and shame on his past self (what, self reflection? someone, teach jacob this term), not because "wahh my girlfriend/mom/child/family died :'(", he wanted to make it up to his lost friends by making them proud and doing what they wished he had done. his regrets are in not being a better friend while mary was alive, not seeking out her killers (guards at fort). thatch's death crushed him, but he didn't thrust his anger on seeking revenge. and the characters that did die? they had personalities and development and were interesting and memorable. i cant tell you shit about cristina.

he is very respecting of women, especially for a white guy from the 1600s. he, as a teenager (under 17 i believe), attempted to save a woman he did not know and had no intentions of wooing (hey um ezio? you literally only were able to save cristina from being raped because you stalked her because you thought she was attractive. like thanks for saving her but uhh am i the only one that finds that creepy?) even though the odds of winning against three older men were stacked against him and he knew they could (and almost did) beat him to death. fuck if caroline wasnt there he would've been killed.

the modern day stuff is an excellent way to separate intense scenes and the little mini hacking games are fun puzzles. oh boohoo desmond isn't there? yes he was, half the things you hack literally give you desmond content.

rebecca's outfit fucking slaps.

from experience, its fun to play even if you dont know shit about the other ac games. pirates are cool and the story is easy to follow, just be prepared to find some of the other endings big letdowns or lots of the other games' missions boring.

is that fanservice that goes both ways but doesnt oversexualize any gender? why yes, it is!

stop reducing black flag to alcoholism jokes like yall constantly fucking do, it has so many other talking points and if you wanna make fun of something maybe choose something that isnt addiction. literally i make fun of edward constantly without pointing out his alcoholism it isnt that hard. if you're gonna make fun of edward for drinking rum when water in the 1700s often wasnt safe and making fun of him when he was depressed (he has multiple other intended self harming behaviors shown in game so no, he wasnt just drinking because its fun), why don't i see the same "wHy is aLL tHe WiNE gONe?" posts for arno? he was an alcoholic too. in fact arno and edward have a lot of the same forms of depression but oh, arno's a more serious character personality wise and isn't a pirate so his grieving isn't as funny.

and like, there are plenty of other things to make fun of with edward that might not make light of alcoholism because no, edward's drinking in the main story was not written to be a joke. here, a list of things i regularly make fun of him for:

this highwaisted man's got feminine hips

there is no reason for him to be that thicc

his bangs are a mess

his hair???? glows???? okay rapunzel.

his tatts that are just lines

actually you know what his tatts in general what do they mean ubisoft what even language are the words on his body in

how this whore opens the bottled messages on the beach. "ah yes, let me put this mysterious item in my mouth. i have no idea where its been. i could very well open it to read a note that says "i pissed on this""

"woman i just met... must respect her.. man i just met... im either going to give you a death threat, tease you, or flirt... sometimes multiple choices will be done......"

i mean he had the full right to be a bastard to walpole on the beach since he did try to be friendly but walpole was being to bitchy and needy. and like them being stranded wasnt edward's fault but walpole was still gonna make him build a ship and there is no reason for edward to trust walpole since after they get to havana he can easily just be like "thats a pirate, hang him." but like. the way he just immediately decides to steal his identity. legend.

why does he just blindly follow older men's orders like that

he trims his beard to a very odd location. i know it isn't a flattering pose but like. look at the underside of his jaw.

"how many references to dog behavior can we put in one character"

phobia of sleeping in a bed

"you saved my life i am eternally grateful."

edward are you seriously arguing with your eight year old daughter about the difference between a boat and a ship

where are your tanlines

how did he not die of skin cancer first

edward probably doesnt have any body hair because ubisoft didnt want his legs to glow in the dark too

look at his marooned outfit. bitch what the fuck is on your shirt. and where are your hair ties.

his dramatic beauty guru smokey eyes

he held that sword by the blade in the single madman quest. wh

anyway, the long run of this is, if you're gonna reblog an edward post from me specifically to make fun of an overused joke, go fuck yourself.

[the-lupine-sojourner]

Happy Christmas my wonderful friend. Thank you so much for being there for me throughout this past year, it has meant more to me than I can say 😄 Also, just because your writing is tons’a fun to read, can I get a little something for line 20...? 😖 Sorry, I have nothing for you in return (at least yet), but you can choose whatever pairing you want. Have another Happy Christmas and another thank you 😸 (ps cant wait for the next takara chapter 😛)

OHMIGOSH GUYS!!!! MY BESTIE GOING AFTER FOR MY HEART RIGHT HERE!!!! I am so happy you like my dorky writing and (TvT) *happy tears* I am so happy to hear that I helped you in some way. I know you’re about to do a big thing, and I wish you a pile of good luck with your endeavor!!

Thank you for always bearing with my outpouring of theories and ideas for Takara’s Hero Academia and I can’t wait to show you the next chapter!!

In the meantime, @elite-guard-hardygal chose #20 from This List of Prompts and it is the prompt ‘You’ll be fine. I promise’. I ended up choosing a fluffy setting and Fantasy!AU KiriKara for your request because I love KiriKara and I have tossed around this idea for a long time, so here we go!

Merry Christmas a thousand times over to you, my lovely bestie! *blows kisses*

Okay, now onto the story!

God Bless and Merry Christmas!

~The Lupine Sojourner

[P.S: The first conversation is heavily inspired by the song ‘That Would Be Enough’ from Hamilton and the italicized words are actual lyrics. Lin-Manuel Miranda owns all rights to Hamilton and I want to hug the man for blessing the world with his masterpiece. Anyway, onto the story!]

“How long have you known?” Eijiro asks softly, hands on my stomach. I smile a little sheepishly.

“A month or so.”

“You should have told me.” He protests, looking alarmed. I chuckle.

“I gave a note to Izuku as soon as I knew.” I counter. The alarm grows.

“You should have told me!” I suddenly feel bad, lifting his chin to kiss him.

“My love, you were right in the middle of a quest.”

“That doesn’t matter!” He protests.

“Yes, it does. I knew you wouldn’t want to leave. Besides, you always return. The note was just to make sure you didn’t do anything too reckless.” Eijiro huffs and looks away, standing.

“Takara, this is serious! These quests are always dangerous! I could have died and you would- -I would have left you alone with our child and have never even known you were expecting!” I stand.

“Eijiro, please. I didn’t tell you because distracting you was not the solution to ensure you come home. I know you always fight to make sure you survive, so, at the time, I didn’t think adding pressure to your shoulders was a good idea.” He sighs, takes a breath, then chuckles and turns back around.

“Takara…you constantly amaze me.” He murmurs, sighing heavily and wrapping his arms around me from behind. I lean back into his chest.

“Eijiro, if I’m being completely honest, this pregnancy scares me.” I confess, tears suddenly in my eyes. “I mean, I love our life and I already love our child, but…I just…” The tears spill over and I can’t help succumbing to the sobs in my throat.

“Takara, look at me, please.” I do, wiping my eyes. “You’ll be fine. I promise.” I let out a sigh and bite my lip.

“I know. I just…it’s a new life I’m making.” I reply, shaking my head in awe, rubbing my stomach, despite there not being a noticeable bump there.

Eijiro puts his hand over mine and I look at his eyes, teary with joy. “I know it’s unexpected, and I know it’s scary, but we can do this. Together.”

I take a breath and lean my forehead against his. “Together.” We sat there for a while, basking in the knowledge of my pregnancy and our love.

Since I had met him passing through town, we had formed a connection stronger than either of us realized until he’d had to leave to help his friend on a quest. In these times, quests weren’t uncommon, but Eijiro seemed to want to help in every single quest, but he always came back to me, safe and relatively uninjured, thanks to his dragon form.

I suppose the old saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ was true.

We were married after his third quest and I remained in the house Eijiro and I had built, directly into a cave so he could add whatever reward he hadn’t been able to say no to to a pile. It wasn’t a lot, as he hardly ever accepted rewards, but what we had was enough. Of course, being half-dragon, he sometimes wished he had a hoard enough to full the cave, but I always laughed and talked him down. He was never a greedy person, and it was one of the many things I loved about him.

=#=#=#=#=

“How about Senshi, if it’s a boy?” Eijiro asks as we lay on our flat roof porch, stargazing. I chuckle. ‘Warrior’ was a good name. We’d been thinking of names over the last two months, and Eijiro only left on necessity while I remained with child.

“I like it! What about Sakura if it’s a girl?” Eijiro laughs.

“Of course!” I then feel the child shift and move around. I gasp and grab Eijiro’s hand. He always wanted to feel the baby move. He got this adoring look in his eyes and was very excited. “Wow! They’re moving more now!” I groan.

“Yeah. I noticed.” I mock-grumble, chuckling a little. “It’s getting more frequent, Eiji.” I note, biting my lip. “We’re getting closer to the due date. I’m getting worried! What if something happens?!” It wasn’t frequent, but occasionally, I couldn’t help but worry. With Eijiro being half-dragon, it was unknown if our child was going to be fully human or if he or she would take after their father, and how our combined genetics would affect our child.

Eijiro was always there to reassure me, however, no matter how many times this happened. He gently grabs my hand.

“We’ve talked about this. Your mother will be right there when you’re delivering and for the first fortnight. Your father will be here, too. It’ll be okay.” I take a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be okay.” It didn’t really ease my worry, but I had to stop dragging the mood down. I sigh contentedly, cuddling up to him.. “I love you, Eijiro.”

“I love you, too, Takara.”

=#=#=#=#=

The next day, I was humming to myself as I made breakfast while Eijiro went to go get more water for the day.

Upon hearing footsteps coming into the house, I grin. “Hey, you’re just in time!” I call, coming toward the entrance room. “Eijiro, the baby- -” I stop short. The man in the doorway was not my husband. It was a blonde man with a fur-trimmed cape and multiple necklaces. He was from the WIldling tribe, in the woods. A alleged ruffian tribe with little concept of laws and order. I back up a bit, swallowing and putting my hand on the handle of the dagger Eijiro made me wear on my belt. “You’re not Eijiro.” I mumble stupidly. The man scoffs.

“Obviously. Who the hell are you?!” I frown.

“I’m Takara, Eijiro’s wife, asshole. Who are you?!” I shoot back. This guy was incredibly rude, barging into my house like he owns it.

“Eijiro’s married?!” I am taken aback.

“You know Eijiro?!”

“I’m the leader of our group! Hell yeah I know him! He’s one of our strongest fighters!” The man counters. My eyes go wide and my hand leaves the dagger. Eijiro had mentioned his leader a few times.

“Wait…you wouldn’t be Katsuki Bakugo the Untamable Dragon King, would you?” I ask, paling a little. This guy was volatile already and I’d just gotten snippy with him. Shit!

“Who else would I be?!” Katsuki snaps, crossing his arms, then suddenly he smirks, scoffing. “You know, it’s about time I metcha. Eijiro won’t shut up about you and yer brat.” I glare at him.

“Watch your mouth about my child, Katsuki.” I growl, protective hand on my stomach and the other back on my dagger handle. He laughs.

“Alright, alright. Look, I have a deer outside for you two lovebirds. I already have more than enough meat, so I figured you two could use it.” I smile.

“Thanks. Well, Eiji’s out getting water, so you can wait for him.” Katsuki grumbles, but sits in a chair moodily, propping his chin on his hand. We wait in silence.

“How’d you two meet, anyway?” I chuckle, sitting across from Bakugo.

“Well, I was going to get a few things for dinner and he bumped into me. He apologized and decided to stay with me while I shopped and we got to talking. He was very sweet and respectful and I found him very likable. I guess you could say the rest was history.” I chuckle, absently rubbing my swollen stomach, then suddenly I feel an increase of heat in my stomach and groan, squeezing my eyes shut against the discomfort.

“Hey, lady! You okay?!” Katsuki calls, and I open my eyes to find him torn between irritated and confused and concerned. I wince and shift into a more comfortable position as the feeling subsides.

“I’m okay. I just…I think the kid already knows how to breathe fire.” I grumble, rubbing my stomach again. I hear a gasp and some heavy something hit the floor. I turn my head and see Eijiro standing there, eyes wide and shocked, the water jug forgotten at his feet.

“Are you serious?!” He squeals happily, running over and kissing me soundly. I chuckle into the kiss and reply eagerly.

“I think so.” I say when we finally break apart. Eijiro scoops me up and gives me a few small twirls before plopping down with me in his lap.

“Oh, that’s so amazing!” I grin, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“No, it’s nauseating. Please stop.” Katsuki groans before I can speak. I roll my eyes.

“Don’t be jealous cus you’re single, Your Highness.” I poke my tongue at him and he’s instantly on his feet.

“What did you say?!” Eijiro moves before I realize and suddenly, Eijiro and Katsuki are glaring at each other.

“Watch yourself around my Mate, Katsuki.” He growls. I stand.

“Eijiro, honey, please. Let him be.” I plead gently, hand on his forearm. “Let’s go get the deer prepared for dinner.” I suggest and Eijiro huffs, but wraps his arm protectively around me as we move to go outside. I roll my eyes.

He was the best man I’d ever met, but sometimes he became a little too possessive and protective. However, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love him and can’t wait to meet our child.

If anyone wants me to do more of this, I’d be happy to! Just send in an idea and I’d be super duper happy to write it up for you!