#i hate the feeling of cold things touching my skin generally

[glacierruler]

That feeling of boredom in between boiling one large pot of water multiple times to take a hot bath because your water heater is broken is not fun. Because it boils quick enough that while I can draw, if I'm doing something precise that I need to keep the app open for, I can't or else I mess with the time I actually spent drawing. But there's really nothing else I can do.

[sp4ceboo]

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed you was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

[catalinaromanoff]

overheated

natasha romanoff x pyrokinetic reader

summary: reader accidentally burns natasha, which causes her to rethink their relationship and their life in general.

(there may be female pronouns scattered in here, but i am not 100% sure.)

warnings: insecurity, mentions of very very slight burn (just redness)

i rest my head on the cold kitchen countertop for a few moments, attempting to get just an ounce of relief from the heat surrounding me.

if you asked me in casual conversation i would say i don’t mind summer. it’s okay; i dont hate it. however, if you asked me on a personal level, i would say i absolutely despise summer. i hate the thought of wearing bikinis, all the bug bites i receive, but i hate the heat most of all. pyrokinetics and heat simply do not mix. ironic, isn’t it?

and so, i press my face harder into the kitchen countertop in the compound for just a bit of relief.

i was currently sitting at the kitchen island. the coolness of the marble surface did provide me with a bit of contrast to my heated skin, but it just wasn’t enough. on top of that it was agonizing listening to my teammates having the time of their lives outside in the compound’s backyard.

some were in the crystal clear water of the immensely big in-ground pool tony had installed while others played a casual game of volleyball.

how i envy them.

however, the people whom i envied the most were the couples outside able to cuddle and kiss each other. my heart breaks a little for my girlfriend when i see laura sitting on clint’s lap on one of the poolside tables knowing we could never do the same.

technically we could, but unfortunately this wasn’t the season to do so. during the winter season me and natasha could cuddle at any time and i would serve as her personal heater. the heat that would emanate from my body would be a nice contrast to the painful coldness of a new york winter.

however, when it’s already around 100 degrees and i am a pyrokinetic that sometimes freaks out and cannot control herself, that leads to accidents.

like this one.

i had banished myself to the kitchen countertop because me and natasha had tried to see if maybe my body temperature wouldn’t flare up like it always did. spoiler alert; it did. natasha had been sitting on my lap with her head in my neck. she began kissing my neck and that’s where i think things began to go downhill.

much of my pyrokinesis revolves around what i’m feeling at the current moment. once i felt natasha’s featherlight kisses on my neck i began to feel things. mostly shy. and so, i slowly began to heat up. eventually things escalated too quickly when natasha bit me. immediately my body became the temperature of the sun and natasha jumped up and away from me.

“ouch!”

i observed as she lightly rubbed her thighs trying to get at least a but of relief. just like i am now. anyway, i could do nothing but watch her knowing i caused this but couldn’t fix it.

“im-im so sorry baby. i’ll go inside. im sorry.”

i quickly get up from my place on the poolside chair, not without noticing the chair had begin to melt a little because of me. it made me feel that much worse.

natasha tried to stop me, but obviously she couldn’t do that much when i couldn’t be touched.

“y/n it’s okay, baby. i’m fine. please don’t go.”

i ignore the concerned expression in my beautiful girlfriend’s face and instead rush to the sliding door separating the big backyard from the avenger’s compound. i thank whoever left the door open in my head as i rush through and close the door behind me.

that brings me to where i am now. a tiny portion of white plastic on my hand from closing the sliding door and a big portion of embarrassment.

i continue to observe the other avengers outside and let out a deep breath.

do i really belong here?

i mean, most of the avengers out there avoid touching me. no handshakes, no hugs, no anything. i understand their fear and apprehension but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. a great deal of them were scared of me and that honestly made my heart break; i didn’t ask to be made this way, so why do i have to suffer the consequences?

the only people who really bothered in trying to get to know me and know when it’s okay to touch me are natasha, wanda, and bucky. they try to understand how my pyrokinesis works and how to prevent meltdowns (haha get it?) like this.

they’ll never truly understand though.

i see wanda talking to natasha and looking back inside at me. i realize almost immediately that she heard my thoughts. dang you, my sexy witch best friend. i see my girlfriend approach the door i had melted not more than 20 minutes ago and slide it open. she makes sure to close it behind her before she sits next to me at the kitchen island.

she looks stunning.

natasha was wearing a simple black bikini, but yet it complimented her so well. it complimented her beautifully sculpted body, her stunning scars scattered around her body, and it just looked right against her sun-kissed skin.

i wish i looked like her.

“hey, how are you feeling?”

i shrug my shoulders.

natasha’s lips form into a straight line on her face as she looks down at her hands. i take this moment to admire her gorgeous face. her cute freckles scattered across nearly every part of her face. that’s one of the things i didn’t mind about summer. nat’s freckles showed up and showed out during the summer.

i decide to speak up. “im sorry.”

nat’s head snaps up at the words of my timid apology.

“honey you have nothing to apologize for. i know that was an accident and i shouldn’t have pushed you that far.”

“no, about everything.”

natasha furrows her brows and her confusion slowly grows. she timidly inches her fingers toward my thigh. she checks my temperature to make sure she can touch me. im lukewarm. she puts her hand on my right thigh with her left hand. that gives me the courage i need to say the next words.

“im sorry for being such a bad girlfriend. i see how you look at other couples and their pda and stuff. you should just break up with me. i mean we can’t even have.. um.. sex without me freaking out and burning you. i just don’t think im lovable and im definitely holding you back from having your dream relationship. maybe you should try dating banner. i hate his guts but you’ll probably be happier with him than you’ll ever be with me.”

an uncomfortable silence fills the room. i bring my arms up on the countertop and stuff my face into them.

we both breathe in the silence for a while. i know natasha doesn’t know what say; i mean what can she say? that everything will be alright? that we’ll be able to do normal couple things one day? she would be lying to my face.

“y/n, look at me.”

i sink deeper into my seat. i feel hot tears begin to pour out of my eyes. i can no longer feel natasha’s touch on my thigh.

i let out a sob. im pathetic.

“baby, please look at me.”

i shake my head.

“fine. y/n, i love you so much. your pyrokinesis will never change that because i didn’t fall in love with your body temperature, but with your personality. you didn’t deserve what those cruel people did to you but unfortunately you cannot change your story. and sure maybe i get a twinge of sadness watching other couples, but i love our connection more than any pda or hugs or touches. i love the way you assure i feel loved without having to touch me all the time. you are more than your pyrokinesis. i will keep saying that until you get it. because it’s true; nothing will ever change that. you are worth the moon and stars to me.”

i feel tears begin to flow down my cheeks. i sit up and look at natasha. i gaze into her eyes for a few seconds but immediately look away. playing with my hands, i utter something under my breath in hopes she won’t hear me.

natasha inches her face closer to mind and kisses my tears away. she pulls back smiling and stares at me knowingly when she feels me heat up a bit.

“what was that honey? i can’t hear you.”

this time i make tiny flames from my fingertips and decide to speak up a little more.

“i said, i love you too.”

natasha smiles at me knowing i do appreciate what she has said, but i’m just too shy.

“natasha, i love you so much you don’t even know. and if i could control myself i would tell you more, but i think if i do i’ll start crying and melt this chair.”

at that natasha giggles and grabs my chin to kiss all over my face.

“heyy! you’re gonna get me riled up!”

i swat her face away. she begins to laugh and i stare at her, confused.

“babe, your face is literally as red as my hair!”

“okay, that’s not fair. you’re such a bad girlfriend.”

i roll my eyes and jump off of my chair, heading towards the sliding door to go back outside.

“you sure you wanna go back outside? if you want to we can stay inside and cool you down. i can ask tony to order us some ice-cream. fuck, we can even get you an ice bath.”

i look back at natasha and shake my head while giggling.

“that’s fine, i want you to enjoy yourself. cmon.”

i wait for my girlfriend to join me and we make our way back outside.

everything turned out fine, for today. there were still a few accidents. unfortunately that’s the reality behind being an enhanced human. we will always make mistakes and have accidents, but that’s what reminds us we are still human.

i am still human, and still lovable.

a/n: this is my first work so be kind lol!! but let me know if you guys have any requests or want me to continue this series (?). honestly this isn’t proofread, the ending was lowkey rushed, and it’s nearly 3am so if it’s dookie that’s why lol. but yea, thank you for reading if you made it this far!

word count: 1.6k

[helenazbmrskai]

Mating Act (m)

Title [Mating Act]

Pairing [Alien! Yoongi x Human Slave! Reader]

Genre [Alien AU, Sci-fi, Smut, Angst, Fluff]

Summary [You make two choices that change your life entirely. First, you make a choice when you decide to save a family and get kidnapped instead of them, the second you make is when you force imprinting on an alien that takes one wife in his life which you decide will be only you.]

Words [5,2k]

Warnings [General warnings: slavery, bad treatment, dystopia setting, human trafficking, Sexual content: playful neck grabbing, teasing, sexual tension, first-time sex, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of human and wife a lot, alien anatomy (black ink, coldness and a very hard, big and cold dick also magic saliva), fingering, oral (f and m), unprotected sex, belly bulge, size kink, positions (cock riding, doggy, missionary), y/n cries that is how good she feels, overstimulation, buckets of cum, creampie(s), begging, blow job, possessive alien yoongi]

Rating [+18]

A/N: I’m very excited to share this with you guys since I think this would be a great successor to my previous work that many of you liked called “Mating Season” It’s kind of the same but entirely different. This story is in the same universe but it takes place before mating season!

Masterlist //

Your scrunched eyes open slowly, first, you only see a blinding light your ears focus on the cracking sound of neon. It’s cold and you’re not wearing enough clothes for the cool temperature. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and then you can fixate on your surroundings, it’s outdoors and midday as you see the sun going up high in the purplish blue sky.

It seemed that by the time you were unconscious, you arrived at the slave trading planet. The light grey iron bars are cold to the touch and it’s extremely noisy out there. Different species roam the cells it might be hundreds if not thousands of cells lined up for sale, and you’re one of them: a rare find, a human.

Your introduction is displayed for the buyers in numerous languages. There are a few that you speak so you can read it with ease: female human, breedable, young. You hate how the aliens size you up some even get threateningly close until you back up. They openly talk about you thinking that you can’t understand a single thing. Humans are stupid and weak. You’re a race that is almost at extinction. Only a few of you are left and your life expectancy is around eighty years old, it’s short compared to others but all too long for you humans. You managed to survive this long which is a miracle on its own. How pathetic of you to get caught in international body trafficking because you decided to save someone. At least you hope that the family you tried to protect is safe somewhere else you don’t have anything left to protect so you accept your faith.

Deep in your thoughts, you thought you lost all faith in survival. You don’t have anything to go back to but you’re still unable to give up.

You still don’t want to die.

Your defiant gaze meets with a young male. Shorter than his friends he has bland black hair with the same eyes that almost look human. You know that he’s not one of your own though he speaks a different language with his friends and has weird marking on his skin that looks exotic in your eyes.

“Do you like her?” A man next to him stops to read your description. They almost look sorry for you as they see you behind the cell.

“No.” Black hair says without giving it a second. His eyes bore into yours and when he decides to stop looking at you you make a second split decision. You’re going to choose him. Your hands grip the bars as you get as close to him as you can. It’s been a long time since you used that language but you have to try.

“Take me.” They can clearly understand your words, you speak their language. You point at the black-haired man.

“Oh, it seems to like you Yoongi.” A friendly voice slaps him on the shoulders. They talk animatedly among each other finding you intriguing. Books say that the human race is stupid and weak but you look none of those things. His friends encourage Yoongi to get closer to you and for once you don’t step back as he approaches after a little push in your direction. His hands grab onto the bars before he can regain his posture and you use that opportunity to put your hands on his. His hand is cold to the touch the cold blue veins on his hands are in contrast to his pale white skin.

“Yoongi.” You call out the word you heard them say that you think might be his name.

“We’re running out of time. Let’s take her and leave.” A man speaks up his eyes fixated on the holo panel that shows the time and some kind of message. He has some weird-looking glass in his eyes, you think he might be the captain of the ship. You’ve seen that type of accessory somewhere before.

“I didn’t say I will buy it.” Yoongi pulls his hand away like you dirtied him. You rack your brain on how to make him take you with him. Black hair and black eyes, cool skin and vine-like black ink make you think of a race. You loved to read books this is how you taught yourself a few of those languages and you remember reading about his species once. This decision might take you closer to your end but it will be better than rotting in this place so you grab his clothes and smash your lips on his through the tiny gap between the bars.

A race that takes one wife in his lifetime. You’re going to bet on that.

Your tongue forcefully enters his mouth using his surprise against him to successfully imprint your taste on him. After his mind catches up he pushes you away so hard that you land on your butt. His eyes almost look feral as he watches you, he’s very angry but closes his eyes to push the feeling down.

“Get up.” You haul yourself up from the floor getting close to him despite his hard gaze on you. You don’t flinch when he grabs your hair and pulls you close so that your faces are inches away from each other.

“You want to come, then come.” It’s not a calm and collected sentence that he whispers so close to you. It sounds like a threat but you smile and nod. Even if he hates you he has an obligation to you. With that kiss you sealed your fate with his, you’re his. His one and only human wife for all eternity.

Your back collides with the wall behind you as soon as you see your kidnapper his torture that you had to endure is replaying in the forefront of your mind as he fiddles with the cell keys your hostility is not lost on the young men that wait for your release. Yoongi paid for you in digital cash don’t have more time to waste.

He intends to take you with him so he asks for the ownership process to be sped up.

The kidnapper yanks you out of the cell not caring about how you almost land on your face through the force he uses. Yoongi catches you easily lifting you in his arms. You forced him into accepting you but he still does his job of protecting you. His glare is not meant for you this time as he looks displeased by your idle treatment right in front of him. His big hands are curled around you in pretence protection. You must be crazy because you actually relax in his secure hold.

“Hi.” One of his friends gets your attention as he waves. He looks at you with curious eyes he seems like he has a lot of questions for you.

“Hello.” You reply in a hoarse voice. You don’t remember the last time you ate or drank something.

“What’s your name? I’m Hoseok.” He points at you and then at himself. It’s nice of him to talk slowly so you have time to interpret his words. No one else speaks to you as you go. Probably on their way to their ship since one of them implied some important business. Yoongi doesn’t look at you but his hands are firm around you.

“Y/N.”

“Your name is weird.” Hoseok slaps his friend but you don’t take it in the wrong way. Of course, for them, a human name will sound weird.

“You’re being rude Taehyung.” Hoseok scolds the other guy before he turns back to you swaying in Yoongi’s arms. “I think your name is pretty and you speak our language pretty well. How did you learn it? On Earth?”

You shake your head. If you think about your home planet your heart starts aching. “No. I taught myself reading books.”

Now his other friend looks interested in the conversation. The one who has that weird-looking glass.

“Fascinating, to find a smart human like you. I want to run some tests.” Hearing that crazy scientist talk again brings back bad memories as your face becomes uncomfortable and your relaxed figure goes rigid inside Yoongi’s arms. He could feel you tense up in fear and he reacted by holding you more firmly to his chest.

“You’re scaring her. Stop it.” This is the first thing he says after he bought you. Namjoon looks sheepish and apologises and even Hoseok reassures you that he’s just not good with words and you won’t be a lab rat at all.

You accept their apology. You think they mean well and are quite friendly to your utter surprise. They seem like good guys. You feel like it’s a good time to reveal some of your thoughts.

“Just because you read my description doesn’t mean you know anything about me. I wouldn’t reveal anything that would put me at a disadvantage. This is how I could survive until now.” The words taste sour in your mind and you think about all the things you had to do and endure just to be here. Was it worth it? This life. You have thought about it more times than you would have liked to admit.

“It must have been hard for you.” Hoseok shows you empathy and you give him a smile back in silent thanks.

“Why did you choose Yoongi?” A younger male looks at you with curious eyes. They don’t show it but this is the question they all were curious about all along. Even Yoongi perks up when he thinks you’re not looking.

“My instinct told me to trust him.” As for why, you don’t know either. You saw countless men and women walk in front of your cage but you only wanted him to buy you. The moment his eyes unknowingly lingered on you you decided to go with him. He must have felt something too. You saw him before he saw you. He never looked at anyone else but you. If you ask him he will probably deny it but you’re sure of it.

You probably looked desperate. Now that you replay your impulsive behaviour in your mind colour blooms on your cheeks in embarrassment. You learned how to kiss from a book it didn’t occur to you before but what if you were a bad kisser? You started spiralling until your surroundings faded and you locked yourself inside your head. You didn’t register when you arrived on board or when he carried you to his room.

You shiver when he puts you down on his bed. The temperature of his room is colder than you’re used to.

You panic when he tugs your clothes without a word. You grab his cold hands and look into his eyes with widened ones. He looks back at you with predatory. You once read that humans had a ceremony to be pronounced wife and husband. You never experienced it as a human but it sounded romantic.

Thinking back on what you read.

Yoongi is an alien. His species only takes one wife and their ritual is different from yours. The road to becoming his wife is simple enough.

“Look at you being surprised. As if you didn’t know what you did when you kissed me first.” You didn’t know, you just acted impulsively without thinking. You wanted to say that to him but only a gasp left your lips as he pushed you down on his large bed. He won’t listen to any of your pathetic excuses now.

“You forced my hands. Even if you don’t want it anymore you have no other choice but to be mine.” You gulp down the saliva that accumulated in your mouth, his fierce eyes pin you to the spot lying helplessly under him. His hand is so cold as he wraps it around your neck gently he can feel your heartbeat accelerate under his palm. He studies your features taking in every inch of you from head to toe. Committing everything about you to memory. Yoongi curls a few locks of your long hair around his fingers inhaling your scent his nose rubs against your pulse point. Your hands hold onto his waist digging your fingers onto his side but he doesn’t care about it as he kisses the skin on your neck.

You’re dirty and dishevelled in appearance your captor was not kind to his prisoners and you look like a shell of yourself after everything that you’ve been through. Your average beauty doesn’t matter to Yoongi. He’s going to take you regardless of how beautiful you look in other's eyes or not. The kiss already sealed your fate as his bride. Imprinting your taste on him means that he can’t escape you. While Yoongi wants to take you right then and there he realises that you need to be in a better shape to undertake the ritual. He did get a reaction rise out of you. So amusingly innocent.

“Take a shower, you reak.” You awkwardly look to the side unable to meet with his confident smirk. He likes to watch your face turn red. He pulls away from you and you take in a long-needed breath of fresh air. The coldness seeping back into your body makes you sober up and you scurry to his joined bathroom. Yoongi laughs as he sees you hide behind the door he makes sure you can operate the shower before he goes out to get some food for you. You don’t have any clothes to wear but you’re at least clean.

You find a clean cloth to wrap around your body in makeshift clothes it’s better than nothing as you need something to shield you from the cold.

Yoongi comes back before you can organize your thoughts. You could barely calm your heart as your mind kept replaying his soft lips on your neck and his body weight on you not to talk about those alluring black eyes. You could still see your reflection in them as you lock gazes. You look away when he puts the tray down in front of you full of food that you don’t know the name of. It’s not too bad once you take a bite but it’s bland the more you consume. It meets the purpose of filling you up as you no longer feel that gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

You jolt up when you feel his hand pull your wet hair to the other side making his way to your neck. He takes a long whiff of air finally smelling your natural scent that was previously masked by the dirt and sweat. He takes the opportunity to cover you in his scent rubbing his nose up and down your throat.

You can’t concentrate on eating anymore.

“Eat. You will need it.” As if he could read your mind he halts all movements simply deciding on laying his head on your shoulder. You pick up more food and try to ignore how his possessive touch engulfs your body in a backhug. You remember how angry he became once you forcibly kissed him he even pushed you hard enough to lose your footing. The way he accepted you is too sudden.

“Are you going to …” Unable to say the words you stop in the middle.

“Am I going to fuck you? Yes, I will.” You gulp.

“Don’t you hate me for kissing you?” You close your eyes when Yoongi wraps his fingers around your neck again this time with more force but gentle enough that you’re not choking on air he just pulls you against his chest holding you by the neck as his nose rubs against your left cheek.

“I am angry. You selfishly decided this on your own. I bet you don’t realise half of the mess you got yourself into. I don’t hate you though. There’s something about you that caught my eye.”

It’s only a small peck on your cheek but your hands tighten around the tray. You take in a much-needed breath when you realise he doesn’t hate you. It makes you feel better knowing that it’s not entirely your imagination. He did look at you.

“I admit I don’t know much.” You sheepishly reply confirming his words. You read some things about his species but there’s no proof that everything is accurate.

“It doesn’t matter as you will be mine anyway.” His hand pulls you close his fingers splayed over your stomach. You only have a thin cloth over your naked body while Yoongi is fully clothed.

“Put down the tray.” You follow his order bending down slightly to put the tray down onto the floor. You let out a surprised yelp when his hands find your ass under the thin material, your backside is on full display for his hungry eyes. Your fingers have a deadly grip on the edge of the bed as he kneads the soft flesh.

“Your smell comes strongly from here.” His thumb parts your folds some wetness is gathered there that sticks to his finger when he pulls back. “I read a few books about you too, enough to know that this means you like the idea of me fucking you.”

Yoongi hates how he can’t see you acting coy biting your lip so he forcibly pulls you back against his chest and pulls your face to the side. You land on his lap your legs dangling on either side of his thighs. He runs his finger up and down your wetness watching your expression turn hazy and your mouth open to let out a silent moan.

“You like this don’t you? Having your human pussy touched by me.” Yoongi finds your clit quickly finding out how your moans increase in volume when he rubs circles over it. You’re gushing over his fingers.

The black ink on his arms moves to stain your body with blackness until it circles over your thigh in two pretty hoops. Your body is getting overheated as his touches devour your body. Fingers dance around your folds, your hips. The black hoops around your ankles and thighs are a reminder of what you started. You’re going to become Yoongi’s and no one can stop that from happening.

Feeling overwhelmed you reach up to kiss him and he does with a growl. He doesn’t push you away like when you stole his first kiss. No. He pulls you closer turning you around until you’re chest to chest.

Your hand rests against his shoulders your fingernails digging into his skin as you feel one of his fingers enter you without warning. Yoongi swallows your sounds with his mouth pushing his finger in and out of your pussy until your essence is running down his wrist. He adds another one and another one stretching your walls as he devours your mouth your hips moving along without you noticing. Getting into the rhythm of riding his fingers. You need to pull back to get some air in between the kisses. His hungry expression manages to steal your last remaining string of sanity. The cloth around you barely covers you anymore and Yoongi goes to remove it and leave you entirely naked before him.

His attention goes to your perky nipples both hands grabbing a handful and pepper kisses around the mound.

So far he doesn’t look strange. Not that you have any experience of what you should see in a situation like this. You conclude that your newly formed tattoos are one of the few things that are specific to his race.

His tongue is cold it makes you shiver when he sucks on one of your nipples. He’s so cold but his coolness is welcomed by your feverish body.

“Lay down.” You do as he tells you. Eagerly and shamelessly open your legs and welcome him between them. This is really happening you realise when he takes off his clothes. His pale skin is pretty and cool against you. Even his cock lined with cold blue veins is pretty and cold when he rubs it between your folds. It’s big and hard like a rock against you. Yoongi can see how you tense up after seeing his size.

“It won’t hurt if you do as I tell you.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb kissing you surprisingly sweetly.

“O-okay.” You nod. You wanted this. You can’t back down now. This is your only chance to live a life without hardships. You’re going to take everything that he gives you.

“This will make it feel better.” Yoongi licks his finger and when it comes into contact with your clit you feel an overwhelming pleasure bloom inside you. His saliva is heightening your pleasure having some kind of chemical in it that helps you feel kind of high. It blocks the pain when his veiny head pushes through the tight rim of your muscle. You and Yoongi watch how his long cock disappears in you inch by inch. It doesn’t hurt at all as he keeps his thumb on your clit, only making you feel full.

“Too much.” You put your hand on your stomach and feel him sitting inside. He makes way no matter how much your body tries to constrict around the intrusion. He reaches your deepest part shaping you into his size.

“There. All in.” Yoongi chuckles when he sees you struggle. You want to stay still and move at the same time. It feels good and strange but too good. You want him to move but on the other hand, you need time to get accustomed to this fullness. Yoongi can see the outline of his cock bulge out of your tummy and he experimentally pushes against your skin. Your pussy pulse around him and get tighter as he massages your lower belly. “How does it feel my little human? Do you feel good?”

You nod kissing him back with passion as your tongues rub together. He continues his descent down your body kissing your neck and breasts. Filling your body with pretty black ink. You pulse and throb around him as he remains unmoving inside you. Not enough you roll your hips trying to show him you want him to move.

“Answer me. Does my cock make you feel good?” At first, he only pulls out a little before he thrusts back testing the waters before he pulls out more as he uses a steady pace to rock into you.

“Yes. Yes. So good please don’t stop. Fuck me harder.” Yoongi wonders how his wife learned how to say such dirty words in his language but he’s thankful for it as his cock appreciates the compliments. Just like you asked he fucks you harder hitting that spot inside you with more deep thrusts.

“Yoongi. Yoongi.” The way you moan his name spurs him on, grabbing your ankles he sinks the remaining inch inside you.

“Ah. Y/N.” He responds with your own name. Grabbing your hips he pumps his cock in and out of you at a fast pace until you can remember his shape. This is the first time he says your name and your walls constrict around him hearing him moaning it. He’s growing addicted to the feel of you. He can hear and smell and see you. The way your pussy swallows him in your tight and wet heat ruined every expectation he had before.

You feel way better than he imagined.

Your tits bounce with each thrust and your moans never cease to slip from your dry throat as he buries his shaft to the hilt.

“Yoongi, I feel weird.” You grab his hand need something to hold onto as you feel this weird tightness in your belly. Yoongi could sense you were almost there tripping over the edge of bliss you became tighter around him. You’re growing sensitive.

“I know. Hold onto me, my sweet wife.” You hold his hand as he twists it behind your back the position is uncomfortable but the minute his cock slips back inside your heat you forget about it as it reaches new places inside you. Your back is arched one hand is firmly holding you and the other is placed on your hips.

This position allows him to hit even deeper the tip of his cock curves around a spot that has you see stars. You’re panting with your face nearly suffocating against the bed. Unable to move or hold yourself up you’re entirely kept in place by the help of Yoongi. The tightness in your chest explodes as you cream around Yoongi’s cock. He doesn’t stop there he fucks you through overstimulation keeping up with his ruthless pace you tear through the bedsheets. His long fat cock claims your pussy as his with a heavy load of cum. The tattoos on your body all settle down as he finishes with a few sloppy thrusts into your buttered hole.

Once he pulls out you can feel his thick cum pour out and his fingers trace your tattoos painting your body with his whiteness until everything about you is covered in him. He doesn’t stop there, he pries your shaking legs open and latches onto your sensitive bud. Yoongi pushes his cum back with two of his fingers as his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s too much and you try to push his face away but he doesn’t budge. He holds both of your hands in his tight grip on your stomach as he continues to feast on your pussy.

“Yoongi. Oh, uh.” You squirm but you can’t escape his hold. “Please. Stop, i-it’s too much.” Tears start to roll down your cheeks the next orgasm you experience hurts so bad but you can’t deny how it feels incredible at the same time. More intense than the previous one you had you let go with a cry of his name and cum around his fingers.

“No. More.” Yoongi looks up after registering your hiccup and goes up to soothe you. His tongue licks your tears away showering your neck and face with kisses until your crying subsides.

Yoongi looks you over and while he finds you utterly appealing covered in his cum he has a concerned look in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He pulls you close to his chest but after your senses come back one by one you start to feel his sticky cum all over you. Some still gush out of your hole as he hugs you to his body.

“No.” You shake your head reassuring him with a kiss. You don’t want to admit you cried because he felt so good.

This is the first time you experienced something like this. You’re in no way an expert but you know that his dick is not like any human males you’ve encountered in your books. They shouldn’t be so cold and big and the small ridges that kept rubbing your insides felt weird but incredibly good at the same time.

Even when he’s not aroused he’s so big. You want to touch it. “Can I?” Asking for permission you reach for his cock that rests against your leg but you don’t touch it until you get the green light for it.

“Sure.” Yoongi chuckles at your curiosity. It hasn’t been a hot minute that his dick was inside you but you want to touch it.

“It’s cold.” You muse, it’s slick with both of your cum so you could drag it up and down easily. Yoongi’s gasp catches in his throat it’s still sensitive but he lets you pump it until it’s hard again. You grow curious about how it tastes so you lick around the head as your hand moves up and down in slow motion. It doesn’t really taste like anything to you. Easy to swallow. You take your place in between his legs to get comfortable. Yoongi shivers when he feels your hot mouth around his most sensitive cockhead. You dip your tongue into the slit earning a loud groan from Yoongi his hand rests on top of your head only moving to get the hair out of his view of you sucking his cock.

“Do you like it?” You wonder if it feels good for him. This is the first time you’re doing this.

“Y-Yes, keep going.” You take more of him into your mouth encouraged by his hooded eyes that watch you. “Your mouth is very warm. It feels incredible.” You hum around a mouthful of cock he’s too big for you to get even half of him into your mouth. You stroke the skin that you can’t lick and you focus on his head instead of trying to choke on his cock. Even though you don’t think he wouldn’t like to see you choke on his length trying to fit everything. He reassures you that he likes everything you do to him. He doesn’t try to push your head down and you appreciate his thoughtfulness with an enthusiastic bob of your head up and down his length. He fills your mouth so much that it’s hard for you to swallow around it.

He's throbbing between your lips as you kiss the tip. He shows you how much he’s enjoying it with his lewd moans and sweet touches on your face and the back of your head. Contemplating what you should do with yourself you decide to give in to the desire once more. You want to have him again that it outweighs your concern to be able to take him after such a short time but it doesn’t deter you as you climb on his lap.

“Help me?” You ask shyly rubbing on his fully hard cock.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a smirk he can see how needy you are and he won’t deny his pretty wife anything. He kisses your lips sucking on your tongue as he guides your hips to hover over his cockhead.

He touches and kisses every mark and tattoo that appears on your skin.

You sink slowly at your own pace feeling full but you overcome the stretch of your body remembering his shape makes it easier for you to bury it fully into you. He’s big and hard as a rock inside you.

You need him to help you move but he’s more than eager to lift you and have you bounce on his cock. He’s wound up from your previous actions he had no idea he would be this turned on by seeing your small hands and mouth wrapped around his dick. You smell delicious he can’t help but kiss every inch he can reach as he guides you through the motions. You bounce on his cock your expression entirely clouded by pleasure as he hits the best spots inside your spongy walls. Yoongi kneads your ass pulling them apart to watch his cock disappear inside your small pussy. Your body might be coated in his cum but his cock is entirely coated in your arousal and cum until he shoots a fresh load inside your spent hole.

The others don’t see you the next couple of days only catch the back of Yoongi as he carries fresh food for you.

[yonseibananamilk]

“𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒆."

synopsis 𓂃𓈒𓍼ོ living with fyodor was the same as living without him. however, the night of his return reminds you, embarrassingly so, just how close the two of you are. literally. (~4k wc)

a/n 𓇢𓆸 i think i may or may not be starting to hate my writing BUT i really stretched beyond what im used to in certain parts of this and i am quite proud of myself for that ^^

content 𓍼ོ𓂃𓈒 canon compliant, suggestive themes(especially around the end), fyodor is very cold temperature-wise, soft!fyodor(hes soft in his own way), references to my work song fic ! + connected directly to it will come back as it is a part 2 ^^

ᡣ𐭩 special special જ⁀➴ this fic is in collaboration with @musamora ‘s new talk!fic ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و please try to check hers out too if you can — shes a brilliant writer and a lovely person overall <3

Books upon books knitted themselves compact inside the towering shelves that pressed into the walls of what you assumed was Fyodor’s home. He had never called it his home, in fact, you explicitly remember when he did bring you here —

“Welcome to this humble abode. Feel free to touch and grab whatever you desire. Everything here belongs to you, дорогая.”

— Ever since that blind date (gone wrong(but then right in the end)), the Russian had let you stay for as long as you liked. One night led to two, which led into you bringing over a few things for just a few more nights.

Which led to you staying with Fyodor for nearly a month now.

You shook your head at the thought. If anything, he was the visitor. The man was hardly ever home, therefore you weren’t even living together. And you were, like anyone else with experience in a leaky apartment, eager to accept a place as generous as this.

The house held two stories; the first floor with the living room, foyer, and utilities, and the second floor with the bathroom and bedroom. Not to mention there was even an accessible attic-study.

In the beginning, he had stayed the night with you on the couch while you remained upstairs. But it had been weeks since then. Your Russian companion, much to your dismayed crocodile tears, was now predominantly busy with his ‘mission’. You couldn’t argue with that.

Though, on one of the times when Fyodor did stay longer than just a few hours…

“Please? I don’t mind, I swear! Besides, we’re both adults, not some teenagers that’ll go off at the first brush of skin. You don’t have to sleep on the couch..!”

You didn’t want to admit that you had actually stained the sofa downstairs on the first day of being here — even if Fyodor knew about it already, with all his observance — and it also felt… wrong to have him sleep on the couch. Cold. In the dark. And very, very, very lonely.

With a desperate and dramatic gesture of your arms, you tried to make the bed as dreamy as possible to his cherry wine eyes. “See? So comfy!”

To prove your point even further, you jumped on yourself with a muffled noise in the comforter.

“How amusing.”

Your point was most certainly not taken.

Therefore, you began to deflate into the sheets. Even more muffled now, and perhaps even softer than before, you mumbled out — “Is ‘modesty’ really the only reason why you won’t share anything with me?”

Everything in the room stilled. As if gauging the weight behind your words. Then, faintly, a gust of a sigh fell into the golden air of your nearby nightlamp. The candle flame was tickled into a dance thanks to the Russian, twisting and spinning hypnotically.

So hypnotically that you failed to catch the shift in the bed beside your head.

Not until a chilled hand fell atop your head. Bony fingers of ice itself urged your face up and away from the fire. Your attention was rewarded with a smooth, humming smile.

“There is more, дорогая.” He admitted. “But those reasons have nothing to do with you. After all, you are the sole reason why I would like to sleep here.”

Briefly, so much so where you barely even caught it this time — a thumb brushed over your lips. Cherry wine eyes batted down at you, reflecting the flame behind your burning face. Like the sun was the center of his very being.

“Then why don’t you?”

As his thumb curled into the corner of your lips, the rest of his hand glided over your skin. Two fingers read the curves of your jawline. Its adjacent pair followed down to the side of your neck.

He could grab your entire head with ease.

Fluttering ties in your stomach unraveled and twisted again in an endless heap of knots. Why wasn’t he saying anything? What was he thinking of? Why is he getting closer?

A chilled breath brought respite to your burning cheeks. But only for a moment.

Why is he moving away?

“Be wary of the fatigue that will eat you, if you do not sleep soon, дорогая.”

Pale feet revisited the cold, yet still warmer than him, floors. Wood welcomed him with a tired creak, following the man’s every step until he reached the doorway. By then, you had turned off your back to finally face him yourself.

“But I’m not tired.” Horribly, a yawn tore through your last syllable. The heaviness of your eyelids was never apparent until now.

Another amused hum brought you back to the Russian before you, hand on the knob as he smirked down at you. Slowly, the sharp edges of his little grin faded into something softer, fuzzier.

A smile, he had gifted you.

“If you are not tired…” Your heart skipped a beat, anticipating every little thing for his next suggestion. As if crying out — “What? Yes? What is it?”

“Then remember this: there is danger in giving into one’s desires, дорогая.” Icy red eyes rove over your laden figure with an unreadable spark. He always looked at you so curiously.

“I would be wise to not fall victim to such dangers. As would you.”

The closing door halted itself instantly when you let out the smallest of huffs.

“My offer still stands…” With a dragging breath of protest, you fell underneath the blankets.

Black swirls encapsulated your mind as you managed to spin his words effortlessly; “Remember this: there is reward for passing through danger.”

…

Unknowingly shooting through the Russian’s morale — you fell asleep with the same singular weight of your own on the bed. However, the door was still ajar in the morning upon your awakening.

But that moment was weeks ago. The memory of it proven by the clear frown on your lips — twitching up and down every now and then based on whatever the book you read said.

You wouldn’t spend your time thinking about someone who wouldn’t even give you so much as a clear answer to ‘How was your day?’

A creak of wood whipped your head around in urgence. Only for nothing to be there.

Nothing but a pang of disappoint. All at the absence of a certain Russian.

Well. Maybe you would spend a bit of your time.

With a ruffled sigh you fell back against the chair, pages still in hand as the grandfather clock behind you whisked the day away. These moments of solitude had become a daily part of your life — ever since popping out of Fyodor’s floorboards like a daisy in the snow.

But they might as well have been your floorboards too.

The creak of wood glided past your ears. Followed by the light shuffle of a coat being draped over the rack nearby. Then the ghosts of footsteps slowly but surely making their way toward the living room.

“Hm?”

Much to his amusement, there you sat. Old book in hand atop the gentle rise and fall of your chest. In a peaceful slumber too.

“How adorable.” The R rolled after his deep chuckle, growing slightly in volume as he drew closer to your laden frame. “Falling asleep to folktales, are we? Hm, дорогая?”

Frostbite ghosted over your cheek. A chill fell over your fingertips — the lingering absence of your now-taken book. Burgundy eyes flitted over the title with a deep hum.

Surprisingly enough, you had managed to find one of the few English books that hid in his shelves. The vast majority were Russian(as he wasn’t the best with learning new languages).

“Orpheus and Eurydice?” His tongue read. “Now what on Earth compelled you to read such a tale..?”

Firewood slid off one another as it ate away at itself in incessant hunger. A desire for something warmer than what it already had. A rod poked it stable in no time.

“Perhaps my дорогая is more romantic than she lets on. It makes me wonder…”

The shadows around him chuckled in tandem before, again, rippling as the fireplace was muted once more.

‘What a foolish thought.’ His brain reprimanded.

Yet his heart leapt not once, but twice — as you began to slowly stir awake. With orange light painted across the dips of your babbling lips in a silent dance with dark.

“Uah… who’s there..?”

Raven locks fell to the side as he tilted towards you slowly. Akin to an animal watching something unusual. Unexplainable. Unimaginable. A thick silence filled the air as Fyodor lagged to translate your words — no thanks to the strange foreign tingling south of his head — all by the sight of you.

‘How vulnerable.’ He mused. ‘How adorable.’

Despite knowing full well what was coming out his lips — despite knowing just what it could risk for him —

“Федя is here.”

He had willingly revived something. Something that had lied dormant for dozens of hundreds of years. All for you. You and your daftly half-conscious state. He hadn’t been called such a simple name since childhood.

And since his family was alive.

Despite his already-dissipating regret, icy tips glided reverently over the crown of your head. The locks of it threaded like yarn. Each part sifted through like flour. The back of it all was cupped tightly — encouraging your limp head to face him.

“Fe… diya…?”

Oh how adorable you were. So sleepy you couldn’t even pronounce a simple nickname. A diminutive. An endearment.

Nor could you realize how special you were right now. Though, that was the norm at this point.

“Yes. Can you indulge Fedya for a moment, дорогая?” The Russian cooed with a smile both condescendingly familiar, and unrecognizably tender.

Your whined nod was enough to coax him closer. Arms atop the sides of the chair. Frosted breath wafting just shy of your pulse.

“Can you tell Fedya what you were thinking of? Hm?”

Lithe fingers haunted the cover of your little folktale with echoed taps. His cherry wine gaze hooked onto the half-lidded glaze in your eyes.

“Tell him what you were thinking of when reading such a story?”

As slurred syllables pooled from your tongue, Fyodor locked himself onto every quiver, bite, and sound. Each was greedily soaked into the prodigy’s mind — held in higher regard than any mazed tactic.

Although just as half-lidded as yours, his eyes were far more awake than they had been during his accursed mission earlier.

After all, if Fyodor knew such a sweet sight waited for him here — he would’ve destroyed everything in his path to get back as soon as possible.

Frosted breath ghosted over the angle of your jaw, waiting patiently for something more.

“I… I thought that Eurydice was very lucky to have been loved so dearly... Regardless of what happened at the end.”

Black brows rose at you. “Lucky?”

“Yes. I’m a bit envious — being loved so dearly is…” A shake of the head pauses your sleepy train of thought. With a deep breath, your head reclined further into the plush of your seat before correcting yourself.

“Being loved is a very lucky thing indeed.”

Well weren’t you the lucky one?

The gentle squeaks of the couch were thankfully muffled by your weight, settling further and further into its cotton fabric. Your warmth soaked into it well. Though, much of that warmth was the fire’s — which only seemed to be growing.

Just along the edges of your peripheral, a certain smiling Russian was also present — leaned over your shoulder closely. Close enough for the scent of black tea to flood your nostrils yet again.

“Could you imagine it?”

A chill ran over the hairs on the nape of your neck. Fyodor’s breath was cold. His lips too.

“Imagine being loved…?” Your voice was far softer than expected. “I… suppose it would be nice. Very nice, in fact. I’d like to be cared about…”

Shifting your eyes, the golden text of the book was now being circled by Fyodor’s idle fingers. Lithe enough to perfectly recreate the intricate cursive. And cold enough to make you shudder at the mere sight.

Nonetheless — the image of such hands snug around you was as warm as the shared fireplace.

“Wouldn’t everyone?” He cooed. Slender fingertips rhythmically tapped atop the book cover.

“Being loved…” Cherry wine eyes reflected the orange fire beside you. “Or wanted…”

You swallowed a lump in your throat that certainly wasn’t there before.

“Is a very human desire.”

Another swallow. Glued to the fiddling hands in your lap, your heart leaped with you upon asking;

“Do you desire it as well?”

Briefly did his eyes widen.

It was borderline impossible to catch Fyodor off-guard. But, as luck would have it, you succeeded at it like any other mundane task. You always did.

It’d be terrifying if not so attractive.

“I suppose…” Once unoccupied fingers found their way atop your shoulder. Chills ran through your arm. As well as an unwelcome spark through your entire body. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

A flicker of your shared fireplace caught your eye. Avoiding the piercing gaze of Fyodor Dostoevsky as he, much to your confusion, stared into your very essence. It was as if he was analyzing every curve and groove before completely committing it to memory.

That sly, condescending chuckle reeled you home to him. All semblance of earlier surprise had drained from his eyes. “What a curious question, дорогая. Were you picturing it in your mind?”

Blackberry strands fell against the white fabric of his shirt, flowing in tandem with the inching of his face.

“Thinking… pondering… wondering…”

Orange light danced within the seeds of his eyes.

“Imagining what it’d be like to be loved by me?”

You didn’t know whether to fuse with the couch or disappear completely.

Whatever happened to the fire danced over your already-burning cheeks — radiating against the chill of Fyodor’s face as he bordered closer and closer.

“Can you imagine it?”

Close enough to count each eyelash.

Close enough to taste the scent of black tea and iron on your tongue.

Close enough to feel the subtle heat of his cheeks.

“Imagine being loved by me?”

Your lower lip began to tremble. Sweat sprinkled from your shaky palms. That same spark shocked you from head to toe yet again.

Everything felt heavy. Heavy and warm.

And your nose itched. Itched and twitched. You couldn’t help but sniff — which only amplified the hot water in your eyes — already glittering in your lashes. The unsaid border between the two of you dwindled like a candle in the wind.

All you knew was that you were sweaty, shaky, and far too warm to be considered normal.

A snort caught itself in his throat. While perfectly timed with just how stiff you were getting, your little sniffle was not out of embarrassment. Simply an incoming sneeze that he would gladly bless you for in: 3, 2—

“Achoo!”

…

He did not want to finish that countdown.

“Woah…! I got my boogers on your face! Hah!”

“That you did.” The Russian begrudgingly muttered, closed eyes subtly twitching under the weight of your giggles and dabbing sleeve. “Bless you.”

Despite all your unceremonious, uncouth, undisciplined whatnots — the sheepish smile you flashed to him was hardly ignored. “Thank you… Did it get in your eye?”

“Fortunately not.”

“Aww. Better luck next time then.”

The caught snort from before clawed its way out of Fyodor and into a throaty, hearty, genuine laugh.

No cocky chuckles. No sadistic grins. No sly hums.

Just a normal laugh. With golden fire reflecting off the sides of his face like framing sunrays. And a usually imperceptible ombre of deep magenta in his otherwise black hair — thanks to the generous amount of light the fireplace provided a few feet away.

Sure, it was akin to the cawing of crows at the crack of dawn — Fyodor most certainly hadn’t laughed like that in what seemed like centuries. But it was touching nonetheless.

Very much so.

“It’s rude to stare, дорогая.”

It was even harder to look away when he was smiling so warmly.

“I bet Orpheus wouldn’t think Eurydice was rude — even when her boogers got in his eye.”

An unfamiliar emptiness frosted over your shoulder when the Russian leaned away. “Perhaps, дорогая. Perhaps.”

You couldn’t recall a time when he was ever so warm.

“There are no more wool blankets.” The Russian patted through the wooden cabinets with a small hum. “Дорогая, you wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you?”

Looking over his shoulder, a cherry wine gaze poured over your freshly showered & dressed body. You learned to always stay snug for the cold that managed to occasionally sneak its nightly way past the fireplace — crackling happily a hallway down.

You hummed back, offering the man a smile warm enough to rival it. “I do.”

“And whatever happened to them?” Knowing lips cooed. The answer fell sweeter when it was from your tongue than his mind.

“I put them in the attic because they scratched at my face,” Rubbing at your arms, a wave of apology washed over you. Maybe Fyodor preferred blankets that way? Scratchy and itchy. He was a strange man after all.

Even more strange now that he was finally content with sharing a bed. You don’t think you’d ever seen a man smile for so long. However eerie though, at the end of the night, it was… endearing.

Tonight, he had changed out of the usual wear for war(or whatever he did outside of the house) — a fluffy white robe wrapped snug around Fyodor. Tied together by the loose cotton belt.

“And so you have been sleeping in a single blanket? Instead of the multiple wool ones I had given you?” The urge to hang your head was woefully strong. You opted to shuffle your feet instead.

“Yes, Fyodor. I… I can give you the blanket for the night if that’s what you want?”

Briefly, his roving eyes met yours. With a small lilt of his voice, which was another strange way of expressing amusement for him, the Russian cooed; “And leave a woman to fend for herself against the cold?”

Another spark of warmth crackled under your skin. The sensation swam through your bones in a melting frenzy that burned your face once it reached it.

“T-then we can share…?”

Cherry eyes crinkled in delight.

“Wonderful idea, дорогая.”

As your knees slowly crawled up to meet your chest, the sway of his hair encapsulated you in a garden of imagination — with cherry wine eyes to drink and straight locks that rivaled shades of the ripest blackberries. Such sweet attributes for such a cold man.

Literally. He was colder than the air itself when sitting on your bed. The man could’ve drunken up all the warmth in the room, and still ask for more.

“You’re freezing!” You whined out, curling into a shuddering ball. “Maybe you should take that blanket, you might as well take the ones in the attic too.”

A frown quipped its brows at you. Yet, despite all his shown annoyance, there lacked a general sense of danger that once lived within.

Every glare was now punctuated with a cooing riddle of warning but quickly followed by a soft smile — imperceivable to all he knew. Excusing you.

“And I assume that means you are warmer? Hm?”

“Well, duh. I’ve been soaking in the fireplace all day waiting for you.”

“Oh?”

Under the gentle fire of your candlelit bedside, a meek coral bloomed across the slim cheeks of his face. His ears were red too — how long had he been that way?

“So, you were waiting for me?”

“Yes.” An exasperated breath left you feeling flustered and confused.

“Diligently?”

“And I was very lonely the whole time.”

A sense of deja vu sprung over you like a freshly pouring fountain.

Candlelight brewed against his face. Cherry wine eyes raked over your every inch. Pale skin, now painted with pink, smoothly approached closer and closer and closer —

Until the two of you are face to face once again. Illuminated only by generous candlelight and warmed by a singular blanket, except for Fyodor leeching off your heat.

“Дорогая, if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you thought we were married. With you waiting so, what was the word...?"

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Ah yes. Diligently for my arrival.”

Freezing fingertips grazed along the bridge of your jaw. Dancing over the skin like whistling air, then halting at the chin. Two fingers held it gently, softly, reverently even.

“Though, my words are not necessarily a complaint.”

Candlelight pooled over the side of his face, glistening in the corners of Fyodor’s eyes like water lanterns at nighttime. You could only hope he was staring at you because you looked just as beautiful.

Gulping, a strained noise tumbled from your lips —

“Oh? Whining now?” A chilling thumb ran over the shine of your bottom lip. He was closing in.

“I did not whine.” Your voice cracked. “I just—”

Words left you. Tumbling freely from your throat in an entanglement of broken syllables and whines.

And with each mishap, his grin only grew. Evident by the crinkled underside of his trailing gaze.

At long last, a semblance of defense clicked into mind — spilling out with almost-paralyzing heat inside. And yes. Your voice cracked a second time.

“You caught me off-guard!”

“I did?” He crooned. The weight of your blanket was peeled off — making way for Fyodor to finally join you. Which you would’ve been over the moon about — if your thoughts weren’t so scrambled. You only hoped his were, too.

Every restrained laugh. Every languid movement. Everything he did — you prayed that he felt even a semblance of the bashfulness you did. Maybe then, it wouldn’t feel so embarrassing.

“Oh, дорогая.” Frostbitten lips sighed. “You truly are adorable.”

Time melted into an infinity of simply you and Fyodor. With your brain dry of anything else to say, and his hopefully the same. With one last strained noise, you turned away to bury yourself into the cotton of your now-shared bed.

A candlelit silence bloomed over.

As the sheets’ soft heaviness cradled back over you, Fyodor included now, the man slid himself behind your burning face — peacefully watching the uncharacteristic heat fizz out of your little head.

Blackberry locks stretched over the expanse of the pillow like grape vines across a fence.

Amid all your muffled sounds, the cotton had begun to seep a sense of sleep into your skin, added on by Fyodor’s granted silence. With a sniffle, you reluctantly let go of his blundering words — slowly but surely relaxing into the candlelight bed. But not without an evident pout.

A haze of warmth enwrapped you. Cozy.

The edges of consciousness were held by none other than a familiar pair of cold hands. Which slithered their way around your waist — pulled you snugly against their owner’s body — allowing him to soak in the feast of your body heat.

Oddly enough, as the Russian slid himself closer, not an inch of his frigid temperature leaked into yours. Quite the opposite.

Your slumbering body thawed away at his cold one.

Save for one place that did not need any more warming. Like his cheeks, for example. Or elsewhere.

taglist ᯓᡣ𐭩 @aureatchi @soleelia + people that also wanted to be added but please know time is my greatest enemy

translations! (these are rough translations, and if there are any inaccuracies please let me know)

дорогая - ‘darling’ i just cant envision fedya saying ‘baby’. darling is the only accurate one.

thank you so much to @musamora for betareading again !!! she is quite literally the sweetest writer i know and this fic couldnt be possible without her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

also thanks to @/saradika-graphics for all the wonderful dividers! the images for the banner were either found on pinterest or edited by yours truly <3 thank you for reading !

© yonseibananamilk 2024 - please refrain from copying, plagiarizing and/or reposting my works on other platforms. reblogs, notes, and comments are very appreciated!

[agirlwithglam]

TEENAGE SUMMER (12-16yo)

so summer has finally arrived and school has ended. and ofc, we want that hot girl summer with the perfect body, mindset, habits, holidays, and a great time in general but what if we have sorta strict parents who are just.. parents. so here are some tips to have your dream summer and glow up but also make it family/ teenage friendly!

GLOW UP:

external glow up tips:

numero uno: WORKOUT. yes, ofc this is on here, what did u think? work.out. decide why u wanna workout first: healthy body? dream body? abs? being stronger? for happiness? for fun? then, you can find a workout on youtube / pinterest for the one you want. (also what i love doing is the workouts on pinterest where its related to a tv show- or just search up [movie/ show name] workout)

smell nice! perfume, scented shampoos/ body scrubs, etc.

SUNSCREEN. trust me, u DO want to put it on.

skincare! moisturiser, lip gloss/ lip balm, exfoliation, etc.

put cold spoons under your eyes in the morning to reduce puffiness.

u dont like something? fix it! i didn't like my teeth for a while, so i got braces. you can't fix it? stop worrying about it and just give it to god cus u got better things to do

MANIFESTING:

affirmations!! affirmations in the mirror, listening to them, repeating them, thinking them, they helped me SO much!

Believe you’re hot. As simple as that.

Visualisation. Imagine people giving you compliments and staring at you all day long

internal glow up tips:

confidence. duhhhh! heres a guide to self love& confidence

abundance mindset. everything works out in YOUR favour.

detachment. stop taking shite so seriously. honestly, if someones hating on you then pity them or laugh then move on. like ur too busy to spend even a second of your day to make someone feel bad about themselves or argue about something pointless.

keep learning! educate yourself, expand your knowledge and your mind.

HAPPINESS. the real glow up starts when you're genuinely happy with who you are and where you are. be a light, carefree, bubbly girl but also remember to set standards and boundaries. when you're just genuinely happy, life truly does start to get better.

hotness is a mindset.

other tips:

channel your little kid energy

take a bunch of photos! (at the end you'll basically have a pretty summer mood board)

don't be on your phone all the time. try to ✨socialise✨ your time on earth is limited don't waste it on crusty, unhot stuff. ur parents will thank you for this as well

romanticise it. (laugh. smile. wear nice clothes, talk to people, get lost in a daydream. appreciate the beauty in stuff. even if its just a sofa.)

be positive. quit complaining. be happy and focus on what you have. spread love and happiness! you're privileged and you are a privilege. act like ittt!

stay present minded. live here, now.

listen to groovy, aesthetic-themes music. to get u into the moooddd!

become a better person. a better daughter/ son, sibling, friend, person in general.

GET OUTSIDEEEE!!!! TOUCH SOME GRASS. its sunny, its summer, why tf r u staying indoors????

sleep girl. sleep. just because you don't have to wake up early tomorrow, does not mean you can stay up till 2am watching netflix. sleep makes your skin glow, makes you look prettier, makes you happier and 10000 more benefits. so sleep.

channel your creativity! (paint, draw, sketch, write, poetry, music, etc.)

play. you're still young!! have fun and do silly and embarrassing things while you still can!!!!!!!

create a summer mood board!

channel a certain era- barbie summer, blair waldorf summer, hot girl summer, etc.

bucket list ideas:

go to a park

redecorate your room

spa day (w friends)

girl slumber parties! (face masks, girlie things, movies)

volunteer somewhere

beach day!

write letters and kiss them (like those pretty pinterest summer!)

go biking (i love doing it in the mornings)

bake! (cakeeee)

get back into some old hobbies (childhood nostalgia)

gardening. care for a plant (then talk to it when you feel sad ur won't be insane i promise)

look at the sunrise / sunset

read dude. just read and romanticise it with a pretty comfy space

make a goal. then work on it so hard that you get it!

learn something new (for me i rly wanna learn crochetting)

scrap booking

do a workout with friends

video diary!! (film everythinggg)

make jewellery (u can sell them after if u want. also there are tons of jewellery making kits on amazon or toys r'us!)

donate / sell stuff (like books and toys)

flower press (with printer tho)

dance with your friends

wear jewellery!! summer necklaces, bracelets, etc!

go for walks (w friends)

get your nails done. (you don't have to go out to get them done. you can do it yourself. i dont have nail polish but my friend does so we love putting it on together)

make some new friends! (join clubs, visit new places, talk to people, join classes,)

go to the beach

"what makes life so beautiful is the fact that it ends"

[istoleyoursk1n]

How do you think the companions would be with a tiefling gn Reader who's insecure about their horns and tail / just in general being a tiefling? Idm which companions!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a tiefling Tav who's insecure about being a tiefling?

(Little note, I personally love tieflings, I think they're so pretty)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Oh, poor thing, you’re gorgeous! Whoever told you weren’t? My, you’re simply the prettiest little tiefling I’ve ever had the pleasure to see, and trust me, darling, I have seen many.”

Baffled that this would be something you’d be ashamed about. I mean, he’d tell you to your face if you were hideous but he hasn't now has he?

He doesn't quite understand what's there to be insecure about, you look just fine in his eyes but if you need his honest opinion then he’ll give it to you.

He thinks tieflings are fascinating in their own right.

With long curled horns, rigid skin, and a gaze as intense as the fiery pits of hell, you’re not exactly the worst thing he's seen.

He’s not a poet but he’d show you how much he adores every inch of your body to prove just how stunning you are in his eyes.

Damn anyone who says otherwise, he’d reject the heavens in favor of a more hellish embrace that comes in your shape.

He really likes touching your horns/grabbing onto them, he’d never explain why but the texture of them under his cold fingertips is something he pleasantly enjoys.

: ̗̀➛WYLL

“Love, you are above the heavens itself. No angel could compare to the warmth I have found in your every touch. You’re someone I am proud to call my lover, horns and all.”

He gets it, I mean he was turned into some sort of devilish fiend by his wretched patron.

He understands how it could make anyone feel insecure. The horns feel heavy, your skin isn't as smooth as most, and there are cases in which people easily judge you for what you are.

Though, are those reasons to make him love you any less? Absolutely not.

You looked at his transformed self and still chose to love him, so of course he’d do the same for you. In fact, he loves you even more now.

He’d call you beautiful in every way he knows how, concealing each thought of you in words that all come to praise everything that you are and more.

Besides, there's something rather poetic about two devils dancing in the moonlight.

Would compliment every part of your body you feel the most insecure about on a daily basis so that perhaps someday you’d love yourself the same way he loves you.

He’d fall in love with you and those fiery eyes again and again if he could. You hold his heart.

: ̗̀➛GALE

“No magic can compare to the spell you’ve cast upon me. Akin to a moth drawn to a flame, I will gladly fall into your fiery embrace.”

Upset that you view yourself in such a way.

He understands that a bad light is often shed amongst tieflings but he didn't think it would affect you to this degree.

He’s completely in love with every bit of you, he can't bear seeing you hate yourself like this.

If anything, this gives him more of a reason to praise you more, going above and beyond to make you feel like the god/goddess he sees in his eyes.

He’d speak in loving whispers about each and every part of your body so that not an inch of you goes unloved.

He loves staring into your eyes, they dilate and pulse in a way that bewitches him to a point where he’d rather meet your gaze than look up at the stars.

You could describe yourself in the most downright horrendous way possible and he’d still look at you with the most smitten expression you've seen a man hold.

He’ll help you get over your insecurities little by little, doing everything he can to make you see yourself as the specialty you are.

: ̗̀➛KARLACH

“What?! Why would you be? You’re only the greatest thing that's ever happened to me! The hottest thing to come into my life! You’re amazing.”

I mean she gets it, there's a dark stigma around tieflings that she faced herself. For a long while, she was seen as this brutish devil who’d kill children!

But tieflings can be cool, she thinks tieflings can and are badass! There's nothing else like them.

Would constantly reassure you that there's nothing you should be ashamed about, you’re amazing as hell and she loves you for it.

Fuck anyone who tries to slander you for who you are, she’d gladly set them ablaze.

The constant heat she feels on a daily basis is nothing compared to the burning feeling you give her. It makes her go weak at the knees.

Very direct about how much she loves the way you look, it's impossible for anything she says to be a lie.

She’d scream it out loud for the hell of it, making sure all of Faerûn knew how gorgeous you were with all your devilish little features.

She thinks the tail and horns are hot, nothing you say can make her ever think otherwise.

She’ll love you until every part of her body burns into ash in the hopes that by then, you will have learned to love yourself.

: ̗̀➛SHADOWHEART

“Hm. Well, I suppose we all have our own insecurities… if it makes you feel any better, I think… no. I know you’re beautiful. You’re beyond every loving word I could ever use to describe you.”

Surprised by this but she doesn't take it against you. Instead, she’ll find her own little ways of helping you out of your insecurities.

The stigma around tieflings is bad but it is something she herself can relate to with once being a follower of the goddess Shar and the misconceptions that come with it.

Gentle reassurances of your appearance and her love for you would constantly come unprompted.

She’d notice you sadly staring at your horns in a reflection and she wouldn't hesitate to walk up to you and remind you about how pretty they are.

If she sees you scratching and your rigid skin, she’d come up to you and gently take your hand into hers, proudly confessing how much she adores your skin.

She wouldn't bombard you with compliment after compliment but she'd certainly be there if the self-hate gets too much.

She would carefully drag you out of that darkness just as you did for her.

She’d gently drag her fingertips across your horns and every rigid part of your skin, entangling her hand into your tail if not for a simple display of affection.

There's not a single part of you she hasn't come to adore and she’ll make sure that in time, you’ll come to adore those parts of you too.

: ̗̀➛LAE’ZEL

“Insecure? How could someone like you be ‘insecure’? Your mind has no place for such degrading thoughts. You’re better than that.”

She doesn't quite grasp the concept of being ‘insecure’ about something other than it being a sign of weakness hence her confusion at first.

She sees you as a brilliant warrior, someone she deeply admires, how do you find yourself hating anything about yourself?

She sees no reason for your self-loathing and may across as rudely direct such as telling you to simply move past it.

But soon enough she’ll realize how much these ‘insecurities’ of yours may be affecting you and go out of her way to try a different approach.

She’ll start off by saying how being a tiefling doesn't make you any weaker or lower than anybody else, in fact, you are more than worthy of praise and respect.

She believes every part of you is attractive, you’d never have to worry about her ever falling out of love for you.

Besides, aren't tiefling’s fire resistant? That's another thing you should be proud of, some do not have the privilege of being able to withstand strong flames.

It's mostly listing every advantage your body holds against others before ever so subtly squiggling in an actual sweet compliment that she sort of hopes you don't pick up on.

She couldn't have asked for a better partner, you are far better than anything she could have wished for and she wouldn't have you in any other way.

: ̗̀➛HALSIN

“Nature has built you in the shape of beauty, my heart, every part of you was intended to be loved. Even the prettiest of roses are put to shame in you’re presence.”

He looks more hurt than you by the newly found information.

He believed nature had made all its creatures perfect to every single degree, that includes you.

He could hardly bear hearing you degrade yourself in such a way, not when you’re the most precious thing he's ever laid his eyes upon.

He’d have to sit you down, and allow both of you to discuss your insecurities and where they could have possibly stemmed from.

After which he goes on an entire monologue about how deeply infatuated he is with you and everything that you are, horns and tail included.

If anything, he thinks your horns and tail are adorable. You’re the very peak of beauty in a world filled of glorious things.

He’ll compliment and praise every part of yourself you've come to hate until you’re a speechless, blushing mess.

Try convincing him otherwise and you might as well faint from the amount of sweet little whispers he’d be sending your way.

There is no way he's letting you get away from this without feeling like the most loved thing on this planet.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[deadguywalkin]

seb x fem farmer/you hcs

all lot of these can be gender neutral! i probably won’t be making more of these.. i am a bi seb truther, but my blog is gonna continue to be very sebxsamxalex centric since i just wrote these up for sab hehe

fixes your hair/bangs when he sees something wrong without saying anything. just randomly pushes them to the side for you or touches it up a little, cuz he knows how annoying it can be esp when you can’t see them yourself

loves having his chest slept on. a hand up your shirt with his slightly cold hand moving up and down on your back (he has cold hands FIGHT ME.IF YOU DISAGREE!!!!!

also likes having his lap sat on. he likes having slight pressure/weight on him a lot

isn’t very affectionate just right away/generally but randomly ruffles your hair or holds one of your cheeks while pecking the other

random naps in the middle of the day together. it’s a whole routine and this will happen every single day

watching sci-fi/horror/fantasy movies all cuddled up on the couch and just constantly commenting on and making fun of everything that happens. giggling at the way an actor said something weirdly and just turning them into little inside jokes

keeps a hairtie on his wrist at all times

sitting with you while he eats somethign and you’re not eating anything, he just feeds you little bites without even offering it first

‘darling’ ‘my dear’ ‘my love’ , ‘my bat’ if we’re feeling extra emo

face, neck, waist grabber. needs to be as close as he can to you so he just pulls your waist closer while you’re kissing, fingers borderline digging into your skin

does small gestures, no questions asked, doesn’tsay anything. he doesn’t expect anything in return but he just enjoys being there for you

acts tough and introverted but he’s actually very needy and soft. just because he isn’t vocally affectionate doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be smothered with kisses and loved very gently.

notices all the little things. if you do your hair or makeup a little differently, if you’re wearing a new perfume, anything. he knows you by heart and will notice any little change

random hugs and pushing his head over your shoulder, placing little pecks to your neck

bold and flirty, making suggestive jokes but CRUMBLES the second you flirt back

a lot of hand holding, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. pressing soft kisses to your knuckles before looking at you with half lidded eyes and a little smile that puts his dimples on display

random motorcycle rides whenever you get tired of being in town. riding off to god knows where, but finding a random empty field out of town to sit in and talk in the middle of the night

creeps up behind you and spooks you every once in a while. it is so annoying but a little endearing and it also kind of puts you on edge when he hasn’t done it in a while

not the best at communicating, but he’ll let you walk him through it because he knows you know how to do it better than he does (?) idk how to word it

naturally has very flirty narrow eyes. anything he says sounds flirty with the way he looks at you

HATES showing people his baby photos. he’ll let you keep one in your phonecase though, you’re the only exception for anything to him

very eepy. leans on you a lot,

if you guys are double emo, heart shaped blood vials of each other’s blood that you just carry everywhere or wear as a necklace

[lilspacewolfie]

Papas Caring For Hospitalized Reader

Spawned from pure self-indulgence. I've been through more hospital visits these last four weeks than I have my entire life. I want someone to bundle me up and make my hand better. I hate hospitals and operations *sobs*. Enjoy nonetheless!

Content: 2k words, Papas x gn!reader, SFW, bullet-pointed format, mentions of hospitals, needles (only mentioned), mention of general anaesthetic, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, lots of sweetness, you're getting pampered, no beta we die like nihil!)

This man will do everything in his power to make sure you’re looked after and relaxed. 

Tea for days! He will try different flavours until he finds the one you like.

Dives headfirst into deep research as to which herbs help your injury heal, as well as calm your nerves. He knows his plants well, but he wants to know more. You deserve the best of the best.

Insists on going with you for infirmary visits even when you tell him you’re fine (you’re not really, but you just don't want him to worry.)

He will anyway. 

Chronic worrier, especially given his age. 

He takes his health VERY seriously, yours too! The Ministry has the best medical care around. 

If you need a wound cleaned, stitches taken out, or other medicines, it's the place to get it. 

Primo will be with you as much as he’s able to, even if that means he’s sitting for a long time while you’re being treated. 

When you’re free and discharged—bandaged, bruised and probably feeling sore, he’ll take you back to his room for some TLC. 

Will have a bath or shower with you, (in his jungle of a washroom), depending on what you prefer and smother you with all your favourite scents.  

He’s a deeply caring individual and shows it openly. 

Will speak gently to you, whisper sweetly and ensure you’re not overstimulated more than you have been. 

“Shh, I know. I know amore. It’ll be over soon, just breathe for me.”

He knows how much you hate hospital/doctor visits. 

You can squeeze his hand if you want. 

If you need space for a bit after everything, he’ll gladly give it. 

If not, prepare to receive a lot of kisses, especially on your forehead (a lot of them, like… SO many.)

He will help you bathe if you’re unable to, running a foaming washcloth over your skin carefully. 

Let him wash your hair! It’s one of the things he adores doing for you!

Once you’re washed, warm and feeling more relaxed it’s time for more tea in bed with a snack if you want one!

He insists. Even if you don't feel like eating, try to drink something for him <3

“It will help you feel good and relax, Il mio fiore.” (My flower)

Fluids are important (wink-wonk).

Reminds you to take your meds like clockwork (always with tea and water)

You’re his petalo (petal) and he loves you dearly. 

Will wrap you up in the mountain of blankets and faux furs he has on his lush bed. He’s old, he feels the cold more than others. At least he has you to keep him warm.

Secondo hates when you’re hurt/hurting in any capacity. 

Even if it's something minor, he’ll worry about it to the point where he loses sleep over it. 

He’s a big, brooding mother hen. 

The Emeritus curse of being a chronic worrier doesn’t stop at Primo.

This man wants you to be okay and it kills him when you’re not. 

Will also go with you to the infirmary and stay with you. 

The staff always find him a little intimidating, but they know he’s just worried sick. He’s kind to everyone, but honestly, he won't speak much unless spoken to. 

“Are you alright, mio tesoro?” Is what he mainly asks, his voice so low it's close to a rumble. 

Tries his best to make you feel relaxed. 

Will make really, god-awful dad jokes that are so bad you do laugh. 

He will quietly hold your hand the entire time, rubbing his bare fingers over our knuckles. 

You rarely see him remove his gloves in public, but he HAS to be touching you. He insists. 

He’s had enough knocks and breaks in his life to know how fragile the human body can be, but also how incredible it is at self-repair. 

That doesn’t mean he views you as a fragile thing that needs to be wrapped in wool, but he loves you so deeply he would if you let him. 

He admires your strength and resolve as you put up with being poked and prodded (by needles or with doctors.) 

Once you’re released from care, good luck getting him to be anywhere less than within touching distance. 

You’re getting a kiss. Lots of them. Mostly chaste and gentle. 

You can tell it's because he worries about hurting you. 

He relaxes a bit more when you kiss him HARD and bite at his bottom lip. 

Will also help you bathe and shower. Again, touching distance. Just let him be near you for his own sanity. 

Though he wouldn’t be upset if you need some space. He’s very understanding if you’re overstimulated. 

Will linger outside the door in case you need anything. 

Let him dry you off and dress you in comfortable clothes. He can see you that way. 

He can see you’re still with him and that you’re safe. 

He’ll touch you slowly, running his large hands over your skin. 

Will spoon you once you’re in bed or let you curl into him. 

He’ll bury his nose in your hair, breathe you in and say a wordless prayer to Lucifer that you recover quickly. 

“Ti amo.” You hear him whisper as he presses a kiss to your forehead and strokes your hair.

Only falls asleep once he’s sure you have, holding you close the entire night. 

Terzo. Oh, Terzo. 

Emeritus curse of being a chronic worrier? Check. Turn it up to eleven. 

Unlike Secondo, Terzo is open with his worries. 

He’s a fair mix of his brothers, both gentle and occasionally stoic given the shape you’re in. 

If it's something minor, he’ll try to play it off with a bit of humour like he tends to do. He’ll make bad jokes (oh ho, you thought Secondo’s were bad just wait for this.) 

If it’s something you need an operation for, this man will be silently out of his mind. *insert any internally screaming gif here*

He takes pride in his appearance, but you’ll start to notice cracks—dishevelled hair, a button not done up or a smudge of his paint. 

It would worry you more if he didn’t have Omega or one of his brothers to make sure he’s drinking and eating regularly.

Tries to hide his stress. Fails. Rinse and repeat. 

He doesn’t want you to worry about him, you’re the one in pain, about to be put under and Lucifer… What's he going to do if something happens?

He loves you. Adores you. You’re his life.

He knows how much you hate being stuck in hospitals and it pains him to see you stressed. The last thing he wants to do is add to that, so he’ll play it cool. 

When you go in he’s pacing the halls.

Rest assured, the healthcare of the Ministry has you in safe hands. 

It puts Terzo at ease, but don't expect him to leave your side when everything is over. He will sit at your bedside, kiss your knuckles and stroke your hair. 

Let him touch you. Just let him. 

He’s been through so much heartache in his life. 

Will kiss each of your fingers and whisper sweet words to you. 

“You’ll be okay, vita mia. Cuore mio. I’m here. I’m with you.” (My life. My heart.)

Maybe he’ll hum some songs too. 

You’re his everything. 

Once you’re ready and well enough to leave, you’re getting pampered to hell and back. This man worships the ground you walk on. 

Whatever you want it's not too much. A bath? A shower? Just to get into bed and fall asleep? Terzo’s right there with you.

Dinner in his massive, plush bed with your favourite movie.

When you’re ready to sleep he’ll plaster himself to you. He would crawl inside your skin if he could. 

Fitful sleeper. Wakes up a few times just to make sure you’re ok. 

Eventually sleeps soundly once you kiss his worries away. 

Stroke his hair. He’s a sucker for that!

*Copia is not Nihil’s son in my verses/AUs unless explicitly stated.*

He’s learned bad habits from the Papas it seems. 

Worrier. Yes, it's chronic. Seriously, are we sure this isn’t like the flu?

Paces a lot. 

Good luck getting him to sit still. 

If he's not pacing, he’s as close to you as physics will allow. 

Lots of touching. Will rest his head by your hip if he’s tired from all that pacing. 

Perfect opportunity to run your fingers through his hair.  

He’ll hold your hands and kiss your knuckles. 

All that stress tires him out. 

“Mi dispiace, amore. Non sto aiutando,” he’ll whisper brokenly. (I'm sorry, amore. I'm not helping.)

You two probably end up curled up on the bed of the infirmary together if you have been waiting a while. A nap won't hurt. 

You kiss slowly as you get comfortable, limbs tangled.

The angle is a bit awkward. 

The sleep helps but he’s still going to be stressed when he wakes up. 

Will get you anything you need. A drink or food, perhaps one of the really nice yogurts they do at the visitor's cantine. 

Will ask the nurses and doctors SO many questions. He likes to be informed. Gets stressed if anything is unclear. 

Maybe he should be in this infirmary bed and not you. 

Prepare to be coddled once you’re discharged. 

You’re both taking a long, hot bath or shower. 

He wants to wash you down so he can see you and make sure you’re ok. Lots of tender kisses to your skin. 

Ends up with you in his arms under the hot water just swaying together. 

You’re wearing his clothes. No, not just because he likes how they look on you but because they’re baggy and won't irritate your skin *cough*. Sure Copia. 

He’ll order your favourite food and you can watch a movie in his room together. 

Will mother hen you, constantly ask if you need anything, and make sure your water glass is full. 

He probably will cry. It’s just been so much. 

You can cry together if you want. You both understand. 

Also like clockwork when it comes to medication (if you’re taking any.) 

Curls up in bed with you. You both sleep like the dead after such a long, stressful day. 

Breakfast in bed when you wake up.

*Copia is not Nihil’s son in my verses/AUs unless explicitly stated.*

Copia might not be of the Emeritus blood, but unholy shit does the curse of being a chronic worrier catch like wildfire. 

He’s Papa now he’s gotta be strong. 

Will put on a brave face. But underneath he’s still the cardinal he was years back. 

He’ll worry and fret and pace. There's no changing some things. 

While he’s outwardly less anxious, this poor man has so much weighing on his shoulders after he took over to front the band. 

Inwardly it's chaos. 

His hair is never quite as smoothed back as it normally is and his paint is a touch worn. 

There are some things you can't change about a man. Not really. 

Prepare to be coddled, again. The mother hen has never left the coop. 

He’s going to pamper you when he gets you back to his room. Of course, you’re staying with him, he’s not letting you go. 

So. Many. Kisses. 

This man loves kissing you. He adores you so. 

A bath in his spacious tub is just what the doctor ordered. You lay against him and relax in the dim with only the light of candles. 

Finally lets himself cry. 

You shush him, kiss him and remind him that you love him and that you’re ok. 

He loves you so much he can't even express it. The thought of losing you kills him. 

He tries to push your hands away when you take a cloth to his paint. You’re the one who's been hurt and poked at all day, he’s supposed to be caring for you!

Eventually relents because you both know you need this. 

More kisses and mutual washing. You love seeing how his skin pinkens across his cheek, arms and back. It brings out the pretty freckles all over his body. 

When you both get into bed, tangled up again, Copia will whisper how much he loves you until he’s too tired to talk anymore. 

You both sleep like the dead.

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen - Cruel Games

Summary - Trapped in a dangerous web of deception, she once admired Daeron, but now faces the brutal truth—she was never more than a pawn in his heartless play. As betrayal cuts deep, she must confront the cold emptiness left behind and the shattered pieces of her heart.

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Violence (slap)

Word count - 2035 

Based on this request

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I always admired Daeron.

It was foolish, I know. Admirations and affection were dangerous things to have in our world, especially for someone like him. 

Daeron Targaryen was everything I should despise—he was the enemy of my family, the embodiment of the bitter rivalries between our houses. 

My brothers spoke of him with disdain, warning me of his cunning and loyalty to his wretched mother. 

Yet, I could never bring myself to see him that way. Not completely.

From the first time I saw him, my thoughts betrayed me. His calm demeanour, his quiet strength—it captivated me in a way that made me forget the whispers of war and treachery that surrounded our families. 

I told myself it was only curiosity. I told myself that there was nothing dangerous in wanting to know him. It was just a game, after all. At least, that's how it started.

I thought it would remain a game, one I could control. One that, in the end, I would win.

But now, standing alone in the dim light of the hall, I wonder if the game had ever been mine to play.

It had all unravelled so quickly.

Daeron's touch, once warm and teasing, now felt distant—like the cool breeze on Dragonstone before a storm. 

He had once smiled at me, that half-smile that held secrets as if the world was nothing more than an elaborate puzzle, and he alone knew how it fit together. 

But now? That same smile didn't reach his eyes. It hadn't for some time. I think I had always known.

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar sting of cracked skin. The pain was sharp, grounding me, but the ache in my chest was far worse. It felt as though my heart was trying to claw its way out, but all that remained was emptiness. Cold.

I glanced at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy I once admired so much. But Daeron was just passing by me now, not even sparing me a second glance. It was as if I didn't exist.

I swallowed, my throat dry, a knot tightening in my stomach. What had I expected? That this was real? That he truly saw me the way I had wanted him to?

"You used me," I whispered, more to myself than him.

Daeron paused, his hand hovering on the edge of the door, his back to me. He didn't answer. His silence told me everything. He didn't need to say it. This had always been a game to him. 

A dangerous, cruel game.

"I thought..." I trailed off, hating the weakness in my voice. I bit down on my lip harder, tasting blood now. I wasn't weak. I wasn't some fool to be toyed with.

Still, I couldn't stop myself. "I thought you cared."

Daeron turned to face me, his gaze sharp, cutting through me like a blade. There was no kindness there. No warmth. His violet eyes were cold, unreadable, like the deep waters of Blackwater Bay. 

I wondered how I had ever thought them beautiful.

"Care?" He scoffed, his voice low, mocking. "You're more naive than I thought."

The words struck me like a blow. I took a step back, the chill of the stone floor seeping through the thin soles of my slippers. 

I had been a fool. A fool to ever think I meant anything more to him than a passing amusement.

"Did you enjoy it?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Playing with me? Making me believe—"

"You made yourself believe," Daeron interrupted coldly, stepping toward me. "I never promised you anything."

I blinked, tears welling in my eyes. "You didn't have to. I saw it in your eyes, the way you looked at me—"

He laughed then, a short, harsh sound that cut through the air like a knife. "You imagined things that weren't there. I never looked at you any differently than I would a pawn on a chessboard."

Pawn. That's all I was to him. Just another piece in this game of power and lies.

"Why, then?" I asked, my voice growing stronger now, fueled by anger. "Why even bother with me at all if I was nothing to you?"

He smirked, the sight of it making my stomach turn. "Because I could."

"Because you could?" My voice wavered, but I held my ground. "Was that it? Was hurting me just... amusing to you?"

Daeron's gaze flickered, just for a moment, as if something softer, something almost regretful, stirred behind his cold exterior. 

But then it was gone, replaced by the same cruel indifference. "You were never going to win, little dragon. You were never even in the game."

I wanted to lash out, to scream at him, but the words were stuck in my throat. 

Instead, I reached for him, desperate for something—anything to hold on to. Something to prove that this wasn't all a lie. My fingers brushed his sleeve, but he pulled away, disgust in his eyes.

"Don't," he said, his voice hard.

But I couldn't stop myself. In a desperate act, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. It was fleeting, barely a kiss. His lips were warm, but they held none of the comfort I had once imagined. 

It was hollow, just like everything else between us.

For a moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of something almost—regret? No. The cruel edge returned, sharper than before. 

His jaw clenched, and I saw it before it happened—the flare of anger in his eyes. 

His hand came down, hard across my face. The slap echoed in the narrow hall, the sting of it burning my cheek, bringing tears to my eyes. 

My head snapped to the side, and I staggered, clutching the wall for support.

I bit down on my lip again, harder this time, the pain a welcome distraction from the humiliation. 

My lips were already raw, cracked from all the times I had bitten them, trying to hold back everything I felt. The warmth they had once known, the warmth I had once felt in his presence, was gone. 

My lips, like my heart, were cold.

"You..." My voice faltered. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't look at him, not anymore.

Why had I been so foolish? Why had I ever believed that beneath Daeron's cold exterior, there could have been something real—something tender, something that I could hold onto? 

I had been raised to be stronger, wiser than this. My mother always said the realm was not for the faint-hearted, but even she never prepared me for the cruelty of someone I admired. 

Perhaps because she never imagined her daughter would be drawn to someone like Daeron.

I heard his footsteps as he walked away, his departure as final as the blow he had dealt me. 

The man I had once admired, the one I had thought I could... change... was gone. Perhaps he had never been there, to begin with.

For what felt like an eternity, I stood there, alone, the sting of his slap still burning on my cheek, but more painful was the emptiness settling in my chest. 

The cold that crept into my bones, the realization that this was never more than a cruel jest to him.

Did he laugh about me with his brothers? Did he tell them about how easy it was to fool me? 

The daughter of Rhaenyra, no less—gullible and lovestruck. 

The shame washed over me, the thought of their smirks, their mocking gazes. I could hear Aemond's voice in my head, taunting me the way he taunted Lucerys years ago.

I stared at the wall, my mind racing. I wanted to cry, to scream, but all I could do was stand there, frozen in place. Was this truly what I had become? 

A girl so desperate for his approval, his affection, that I'd let him strike me and walk away as if it meant nothing? 

I could almost hear my mother's voice in my head, warning me about the dangers of men, about how they could never be trusted.

But I had wanted to believe I could be the exception. That I could make him see me—not as Rhaenyra's daughter, or Lucerys' sister, but as myself. 

The foolishness of it now washed over me in waves, and each wave felt like it was pulling me deeper under.

I brought my fingers to my cheek, feeling the tender bruise already forming under my skin. 

His touch had once been so gentle, so careful. And now... it felt like all the warmth between us had been drained away, leaving only the cold, bitter reality behind.

It hurt more than the slap ever could.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears away, but they refused to listen. They pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and unwanted. I would not cry. Not here. Not for him.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the wall. The cool stone beneath my palm was grounding, a reminder that I was still standing. 

Still alive. I had survived worse than this. I was stronger than this.

The sound of footsteps approaching jolted me from my thoughts. Lucerys. Jacaerys. 

I knew their steps by heart, the way Lucerys' stride was always lighter, almost bouncy with his youth, and how Jace's was more measured, more grounded. 

They were my protectors, always there when I needed them, even when I didn't ask for it.

But how could they protect me from this?

Lucerys was the first to round the corner, his dark curls bouncing slightly as he came into view. His face, usually so full of life and energy, was tense. 

Behind him came Jacaerys, his older, more serious face softening as soon as he saw me.

"Are you alright?" Jace asked, stepping closer, concern lining his face.

Lucerys glanced at me, then at the direction Daeron had gone. His eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the sword at his side. "What did he do to you?"

For a moment, I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say. Should I tell them the truth? Should I let them see how foolish I had been? 

No. I couldn't bear the thought of their pity, their judgment.

I straightened, forcing a smile onto my face, though the pain still throbbed on my cheek. It was small, but it was enough to mask the turmoil within me.

 I couldn't let them see. I had already been humiliated enough.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but I forced more strength into it. "It's nothing."

Lucerys didn't seem convinced. His eyes flickered to my face, then to my hand, which was still trembling slightly. Jace stepped closer, reaching out, but I stepped back, shaking my head.

"I said I'm fine."

The lie hung in the air between us, but they didn't press. Maybe they knew, or maybe they believed me. It didn't matter. What mattered was that I kept the facade intact.

Jacaerys smiled gently, though it didn't reach his eyes. "If you say so."

Lucerys shot one more glance down the hall as if he were debating going after Daeron, but I knew he wouldn't. He respected my wishes, even when he didn't understand them. 

It was part of why I loved him so fiercely as my brother.

Together, they guided me away from that cursed place, their presence warm and protective. 

They had always been my anchors, my safety. And for a moment, I could pretend that nothing had changed. 

That I was still the same girl who laughed and played with her brothers, untouched by the cruelty of men like Daeron Targaryen.

But deep down, I knew I had changed.

I had wanted to believe that I could bend the game to my will. That I could play it like a master. 

But the truth was, Daeron had won before I ever set foot on the board. I had been naive, and it had cost me more than just my pride. It had cost me a part of myself.

As we walked, I kept my head high, my face turned toward the fading light of the setting sun, so they couldn't see the tears that threatened to spill. 

I would not let them see my weakness. Not again.

When Lucerys laughed at some jest Jacaerys made, I joined in, forcing the sound past the lump in my throat. It came out bright, beautiful, like it always had.

But inside, I was cold. So very, very cold.

A/n - I hope this does the request justice, it was a tad bit rushed so i'm not super proud of it but at least it's done <3

Daeron tag list - @alyssa-dayne

[shina913]

Nothing | KNJ

Pairing: KNJ x Fem!Reader

Rating: 🔞 M; NSFW

Genre: Established relationship; slice of life; smut; pwp with some fluff

Warnings: Cussing; fingering; oral (F-receiving); hot and sweaty unprotected sex in a committed, monogamous relationship; dirty talk; ass-slapping (his and hers); semi-rough sex; subtle switch behavior; creampie

Word count: 2.1K+ words

Summary:  If there was anything that made you feel un-sexy, it was heat and humidity.

A/N: Nothing like horny word vomit to break my writing drought--thanks, Namjoon for hopping on Weverse live today leading me and @roaminginthenights to collectively lose our shit and spiral into some deep, clownery abyss 🤪

"I told you we should have bought that air conditioner when it was on sale!" You grumble in bed. Your portable tower fan was fighting for its life, failing to cool you both down.

You've both been tossing and turning in bed for over an hour. You’re in the midst of a heatwave this week, and although it usually cools down in the evenings, there was no reprieve tonight. To make matters worse, it was also humid.

"That air conditioner was still $300 even with the discount," Namjoon points out. "Besides, it's a rare hot day where we live. We just need to tough it out for two more days and then it will be cooler again. It would just take up unnecessary space! Plus, who knows how much that thing would add to our gas bill?”

Damn him and his logic. It was great most of the time, but for this particular hot evening, you hated it.

“They make one of those energy-saver models. We shouldn’t have to suffer like this,” you pout.

“Baby, we need to lower our carbon footprint. This excessive heat is an effect of climate change,” he opines, rolling over to wrap his arm around your waist. The warmth radiating from his skin makes you recoil.

"Ugh, you’re too hot." You swat his hand away, unable to tolerate his current body temperature. Snuggling up to him was great in the winter but during the summer? Not so much.

Feeling rejected, he gets up to head toward the bathroom. “That’s it! I’m taking a cold shower.” 

“Again?” He’d already taken three today. “What happened to lowering our carbon footprint?”

“It’s just a quick one. Besides, do you have better ideas to cool off?”

You didn’t.

While Namjoon takes a shower, you suddenly notice your shirt and sleep shorts becoming stickier by the second. In a moment of desperation, you get up to open the windows wider, hoping to increase air circulation in the room. Afterward, you return to bed, strip down to your panties, and flop onto your stomach.

Namjoon shuffles out of the bathroom a few minutes later. Then, you feel the mattress dip and his hand landing on your ass cheek with a smack. 

“Woah–what–”

Your head whips around to find a look of hunger in his eyes. “Were you trying to surprise me?”

“Chill,” you reply with a laugh. “It was just too hot. I had to get rid of some layers.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums skeptically. “You should sleep naked more often.” He continues to squeeze your flesh, his voice husky.

You snort. “Doubtful. You know how much I love my pajamas! Besides, sleeping naked is your thing.”

"I know, but this is an unexpected treat," he purrs. He starts kissing the small of your back and then moves up your spine. The feel of his lips on your skin instinctively turns you on, but if there was anything that made you feel un-sexy, it was heat and humidity.

Namjoon didn’t care. The way he touched and kissed your body, he only had one thing in his mind and he was determined to make it happen.

You sigh, turning to face him. “You know I don’t like having sex in this weather.”

He stares at you with deep, dark eyes, already blown out from arousal. “But you don’t even need to do anything. Just lay there and I’ll do all the work,” he offers. “Please?”

In this heat, excessive movement would only make you more hot and sweaty than you already were.

As for his generous offer to pleasure you without the expectation of reciprocation, how could you refuse? The idea of being a pillow princess for the night was enticing. You nod and acquiesce. “Fine. Continue.”

Grinning, he dips down to kiss you. You kiss him back, sliding your tongue along his, savoring him. He moves to place a trail of kisses down your neck and onto your chest, pausing to flick each hard nipple with his tongue.

You’re nearly lost in the moment when you feel him strip your panties off, his mouth watering to taste you. You put your hands over to block him, attempting to cover up.

“No, I’m all gross down there,” you protest.

Now it was his turn to swat your hands away. “I don’t care. I want you like this.”

He lowers his head before you can say another word. With one broad lick, your back arches off the mattress with a gasp. Weather aside, your body can’t help it. He knew how to make you feel good.

The moans and sounds of satisfaction he hums against your flesh make you writhe against his mouth uncontrollably. He flits his tongue over in slow, rhythmic motions. Once your breaths grow ragged, he rubs the pad of his thumb over your clit in rapid circles, making you cum with a harsh cry.

He kisses your inner thigh before rising to capture your lips. You could taste traces of your arousal on him, but he didn't stop there. His fingers delve right back into your cleft, stroking over your clit and skimming the opening. As you groan with your lips pressed to his, you greedily grind your hips in response.

“Want more?” He mumbles against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

Smirking, he fingers you leisurely, building your need. You shudder as he cups you in his hand, his middle and forefinger sliding lazily into you. His palm rubs against your clit, his fingertips stroking over sensitive tissues above.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he rasps.

Whatever he was doing felt inadequate to you now. You needed to feel all of him. “Joon, please,” you beg.

“Please, what?” He teases.

“I want you now.” You reach between you and palm him through his boxers.

“Do you? I thought you hated fucking in the heat.”

You let out a low growl. "I know what I said! I just...please." You curl your fingers around him, giving him a nice squeeze, hoping he'll submit. He bites down on his lower lip, stifling a moan.

In retaliation, he applies gentle pressure to the roof of your core, causing it to swell and inching you closer to the edge.

“Tell me what you want.”

It took you a moment to come back to your senses before uttering, “I want to ride you.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. Yes, you didn’t want to be all sweaty but you were turned on to the point of no return. 

“You sure? I don’t mind doing all the work.” He continues to tease that same bundle of flesh in you that he’s so intimately familiar with. You clench your insides in response, not wanting to cum just yet.

You slip your hand past his waistband, thumbing the precum beading on the tip. You needed him inside you, but you wanted to be in control.

“Mm, no. I want to be on top.” You tilt your head up and tug at his lip with your teeth.

He laughs low and huskily. “Whatever my lady wants...”

The moment he pulls away to sit up against the headboard, you spring up and pull his boxers off. You reach for his cock, gripping him firmly, pumping him from root to tip. He tilts his head, eyes rolling back in a groan.

You knew his body well, too; knew what he needed and desired. While you straddle him, he catches your hips and looks up at you.

“Ride me hard, yeah?”

The air in the room was thick and you’d be dripping in sweat by the time you were done with him. Still, your core clenches reflexively at the challenge.

He releases you, spreading his arms wide to grip the sides of the headboard. His biceps bulged with the pose. Seeing his bare chest glistening with sweat, his abdomen tightening in anticipation–it turned you on wildly.

You reach over to the side of his head for balance and wrap your free hand around his cock. A muscle in his neck twitches as you rub the tip against your folds, back and forth, coating him with your slick.

You let the first inch push in, letting it stretch you before slowly bearing down, drawing out a moan as you feel him so deep in you.

“Fuck,” he bit out, shuddering once you take him to the hilt.

You lift again, slowly, making you both feel every nuance of that mind-numbing friction. Then, you slam back down, the fullness, the connection, was too delicious to contain. He shifts restlessly, his hips moving in a tight circle, wanting to feel more of you.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, stroking his cock with your aching cunt. Sliding up and down his length.

“That’s the spot, baby. Make me cum,” he bit out, his knuckles white from his grip on the headboard. You wondered if he was just holding on or physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

Your hands snake up to your chest, cupping your tits and tugging on your nipples to egg him on.

“Gimme,” he demands softly, his mouth hanging open, beckoning you to lean closer. You oblige and watch as his cheeks hollow in suction. His teeth graze your nipple, making your insides clench more tightly around him.

You drop your hips again, putting the weight of your body behind it, surging through with a groan. You loved the feel of him.  His breath puffs out of his lungs with every plunge. You were hot, he was sweltering. Together, you were both radiating heat like a furnace. Up…down…up…down. Your thighs, ass, stomach, and core tightening, burning with every lift, squeezing him from root to tip.

You fucked him with everything you had. His breaths hissing out through clenched teeth once your ass claps against his thighs.

Unable to hold back any longer, he releases his grip on the bed. He grabs you by the waist and restrains your movements, holding himself deep.

He squints his eyes at you. “My turn.”

“Yes,” you gasped, wound up tight with anticipation.

His cock pushes into you. You whimper, your entire body thrumming with excitement. He held your hands down, his thighs between yours, keeping you spread wide so he could sink deep. Over and over. His thrusts were unfaltering, determined.

His jaw clenches, brows furrowing as he inches closer to his climax.

“Harder, Namjoon,” you choke out.

You hold onto him for dear life while he pounds relentlessly into you. You hear his breath catch on every muffled groan while he fucks into you.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You sob helplessly with every slam of his hips.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cum—ahh…” He presses his forehead against yours before finishing his sentence. A long, deep growl rumbles from him as his hips jerk, gasping your name.

His spurting triggers the hypersensitive nerves in you. Next thing you know, your body shivers from another intense orgasm. You let out a long, drawn-out sigh, feeling relief flow out of you.

You collapse in his arms, your flushed cheeks resting on his shoulder. You were both panting and covered in sweat. 

He lifts you gingerly off him, setting you onto the mattress. You lift your head lazily and turn to him. You reach out blindly, suddenly feeling how damp the sheets were beneath you.

“Shit, did we sweat that much?” You sit up to inspect the damage.

“Yes. And you also squirted all over me,” he laughs.

Your hand flies up to your mouth in surprise. “Oh my god, I did? For real?”

He nods, still laughing. “Yeah. I felt it gush out of you.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was fucking hot,” he replies enthusiastically. He reaches for his boxers and moves toward you to clean you up.

You wave him off. “Nah, it’s useless. I’m going to hop in the shower.”

You roll out of bed and walk to to the bathroom in shaky legs. When you stop to grab a towel from the linen closet, you notice him following behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought the shower was an invitation,” he smiles michievously.

“Don’t,” you warn, giving him a stern look. Eventually, a laugh slips out.

“I can keep my hands to myself.” He says innocently. “Besides, we’re in a drought. We need to conserve water.”

You roll your eyes at this practicality and shake your head. “You and your water and energy conservation.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me not buying that air conditioner, we wouldn’t have had mind-blowing sex tonight…and you wouldn’t have squirted like that,” he chuckles.

Touché.

But instead of giving him the satisfaction, you glower playfully at him and smack him on his bare ass, making him howl in laughter.

Nothing Masterlist | Main Fic Masterlist

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

[diagonal-queen]

sorry for coming again but i’m the one that asked you abt the dazai ranpo and chuuya make s/o one! if writing abt a male s/o is difficult you can do gn reader who wears tang tops if that’s alright!!

hi again! no need to apologise- i love having folks in my inbox! i got a little worried when i saw the male reader lol. i'm so sorry my love but unfortunately i don't write male readers simply because i do not know what it is like to be a boy/masc-aligned. i would hate to write something that makes male readers uncomfortable or dysphoric.

Reader who sleeps with a tank top

♡ pairings: Dazai Osamu, Ranpo Edogawa, Chuuya Nakahara x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do these boys react to reader who sleeps in a tank top?

♡ cw: Fluff with a bit of suggestive (damnit Dazai), ~intimate touching~

note: Never had one of these types of requests before so I was excited to start writing this one! Apologies for errors, hope you enjoy x

Dazai:

Dazai is highkey a pervert. He's the kinda guy to sneakily grope his partners in public and is generally pretty handsy. This doesn't stop in the bedroom! In fact it ramps up by a billion

He was veeeery excited to learn that you shed most of your clothes when you sleep.

He claims that he can't sleep unless he's cuddling you, which itself is kinda sweet, but in Dazai's head cuddling just means fondling lmao

If you have boobs he's ABSOLUTELY copping a feel. If you don't have boobs he's still copping a feel. It really doesn't matter what gender you are or how large your chest is he is obsessed and always holding it tbh

Even if it's super cold he'll insist that there is just no need for you to wear any more because he'll keep you warm! Subtle 👍

Nah he's not gonna stop you if you do decide to put on a long-sleeve shirt or something, but his hands are still gonna find their way under the shirt. Man just needs his physical contact and that's okay!

He WILL use this opportunity to kiss your neck/shoulders and give you hickeys. I mean it's RIGHT there

He probably uses this method to try and instigate sex with you (whether or not it works is entirely up to you. If it were me though-)

Ranpo:

Ranpo likes clinging to your arms, skin-to-skin contact, and just generally clambering on top of you and holding you like a koala. Safe to say, he's very happy about your choice of jammies

When he first slept in the same bed as you and you wore a tank top he probably didn't even notice. The most important thing in his brain was 'must cling to Y/N', which he did!

But it felt nice having another person to cuddle with :) especially because it wouldn't get too hot when you did cuddle, as opposed to if you were wearing like flannel pyjamas or something

Ranpo honestly doesn't really care too much about what you wear when you sleep (he is going to hug you either way) but he's not complaining.

Ranpo probably doesn't wear many clothes to sleep either (autistic things <3) so he doesn't really see it as a sexual thing as much as Dazai does. In his head nobody really wears thick pyjamas to sleep so to him it's totally normal

He likes to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck and inhale your scent, because he finds it comforting.

Also probably nibbles/bites your neck lol

Would he start wearing a tank top as well? ...maybe

Chuuya:

Chuuya isn't a pervert like Dazai (at least not as blatantly, anyway). But he's not at all gonna object to you wearing a tank top because it highlights your chest and torso and that is his favourite place to put his hands when y'all sleep

He's one of those guys who puts his hands under your top and like rubs your stomach/hips (in a comforting way ofc)

The first time he slept with you he was probably a little red faced at the amount of exposed skin, but he eventually got used to it and now he loves it

Chuuya is certainly a cuddler but if it were summer and you were dressed in a tank top he might not touch you as much because he'd understand that you might get a bit too warm.

Chuuya is so polite- he always asks if you're alright with him holding you, and doesn't really let his hands wander too much

Chuuya is not a man who has received very much physical affection, like ever. Like Ranpo he probably really cherishes the fact that you're comfortable and willing to let him be close to you

Traces little patterns on your shoulders :')

Always compliments you on how soft your skin is and how nice it feels to caress. If you have freckles on your arms/shoulders he thinks they're adorable too <3

btw i'm cool with writing suggestive stuff like this- just not like EXPLICIT smut. not only do i feel awkward writing it but i'm also just so bad at it lmao. ya girl loves a bit of sensual cuddling/making out every now and then

[valentine-cafe]

how would rasui feel about a lover who is constantly clining to him because they're so, so cold all of the time? any time he's home or you're around him, you're just attached at the hip, always cuddling just trying to steal all his warmth... of course you reward him with lovings and kisses in return to him dealing with having you around all the time.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 9948e rasui

. ˚◞꒰ 🍰 ꒱fire elemental x reader, mercenary leader x reader ⊹ ۪ ࣪

oh rasui is all over a lover like this. as someone who is beyond touch-starved - he loves having you hanging off of him 24/7. especially because of how busy at work he can get.

“you using me for my warmth?” he would tease. if only to chuckle and kiss away your soft “noooos” and “don’t say thaatttt.”

he especially loves when you nestle yourself into his lap and cling onto him so tightly. slipping your hands beneath his shirt so that you can feel his skin. he always rests his chin against your head or buries his face into your shoulder.

recently, he found out that you also love it when he lays down onto you. so that you can feel his heat. initially he was a bit hesitant on that because of his body weight but you kept assuring him that you were fine.

“are you sure? last thing I wish to do is break you back.”

“break it, it’s fine.”

“what?”

“break. it.”

in general he also loves how affectionate you get whenever you cling onto him. your seas of kisses and cuddles. he always makes sure to give all of it back as much as he possibly can. he knows that you hate whenever he has to leave in the mornings or during emergency missions.

so he’ll always leave you with a few extra kisses and cuddles. always makes sure to kiss your head when he comes back and you immediately wrap yourself around him again.

[notsodailykurudoro]

Day 50

He clenched his jaw in uncertainty, glancing at the other then at the screens in front of him a couple of times before nodding, perhaps a little more clumsily than he would have liked and instantly thanking the impossibility of such a gesture to reach the ninja's dysfunctional eyes.

“Yeah, go on, suit yourself, hope you washed your hands.” He agreed, vocally this time, feigning nonchalance and pairing it with useless gestures that would go unnoticed.

Dororo looked pleased, that empty gaze brimming with patience sharing an indivisible smile.

“I can assure you that I take good care of my personal hygiene.” He spoke, beneath the mask, emphasizing the statement with both hands in the air.

Kururu held back the need to cackle, the verbal tic dying in his throat as he swallowed. He turned around in his spot, giving the taller frog free space to do his thing, intrigue and anxiety building up in his stomach, perfectly masked and with plenty of advantage.

“If you get to feel uncomfortable, I shall stop with just one word from you.” The ninja warned, getting closer to the technician with smooth, fluid movements.

“Ahhh… Safe word?”

“Uh… If you so desire then, yes.”

“Curry.”

“Very well-”

The Sergeant Major used every fiber of self control he had over his body at that moment to not jump when he felt a hand position itself on one side of his face, considerably colder than the rest of his body and yet abnormally smooth, a phantom touch gradually pressing against the skin. He wanted to swallow again but repressed it too, outlining further the permanent grimace on his face and fixing his attention on the concentrated expression of his partner, his own eyelids closed, brow barely furrowed.

He inhaled, it wasn't hard for him to be quiet, that's how he usually went through life. That's how he managed to scare unsuspecting morons who didn't detect his unnerving presence, and that was just yet another thing that united them both.

Still, the temptation to say something was almost unbearable, almost, he was bad at this kind of thing, he wasn't even entirely sure in which tone of the sociocultural spectrum of his universe or remotely anywhere around it could fall whatever was happening at that moment.

Dororo kept going anyhow, groping, cold phantasmagorical touch tracing the general shape of his face, (It wasn't like it was that hard.) running his fingers along the surface of his skin, at some point adding the opposite hand to the equation.

He could almost see the calculations running through the shinobi's brain, how he processed the new information, how he reacted to it, and he hated to admit that it made him uneasy too. So far Dororo had only heard his voice and a few descriptions of him, he had never let him lay a hand on him and it was more than justified. Nothing personal, he was just very reluctant to foreign contact. Reluctant to show himself to anyone in general, figuratively speaking. Letting himself be mapped by a blind ninja fell into the category of showing a certain level of vulnerability and that made him somewhat nervous.

Dororo ran his thumbs over a certain spot on his cheeks and massaged it a little, the slight movement of his brow rising indicating that he had noticed something. Kururu thought he knew what.

“I don't like them, people usually associate them with something cute.”

“Oh...?” The ninja was slow at getting towards a proper reaction. “Oh! Honestly, I find them unusual in the best of ways.”

Kururu clicked his tongue.

He moved on from that spot, even though he took his time there was a distant premeasured urgency in what he did, just starting to break out in a cold sweat. The technician noticed it and tilted his grin, feeling slight sympathy at their mutual nerves, somewhat amused by the strange intimacy of the situation.

He traced his lips relatively quickly, as if he had already came to terms with the fact that the mocking bite of his words was due to a habit of arching his mouth and only half-confirmed suspicions when he finished. Kururu considered the remote possibility of saying Curry.

He moved up to his eyes, slowly, giving him time to close his eyelids so as not hurt him accidentaly, Kururu moved forward and raised his glasses, letting them rest on the top of his head, held in place by the red cap he wore, he needed a break anyway.

“...You shouldn't have such an unfavorable sleep schedule.” He commented after a moment of inspection, thumbs placed on the heavy bags under his partner’s overly tired orbs.

“You’d be surprised what three days of being awake can do to a motherfucker.” The Sergeant mocked, chuckling to himself with one eye half open.

“We’ll discuss about it later.” His frown deepened, stern, though not annoyed.

“If you can get to remember, ku-ku-ku-”

Dororo shook his head, amused, continuing with his work.

He felt his superior’s face with his entire hand, several times, doing the same with the surroundings of his head, noticing the headphones, which explained a few more things.

He went down, groping, stroking, massaging, mentally drawing his partner's superior build and being rather pleased with what he kept discovering, such feeling spreading towards the happiness with the progress he was making with the yellow devil.

He knew Kururu, he knew what the people said about him, and he had experienced it first hand too; a brilliant misunderstood mind that enjoyed himself committing misdeeds, no matter how far fetched they tended to go, but as the interactions became more and more frequent between them, such only by fate, he not only discovered that there was more beneath the senseless chaos, but they both found out about the similarities between them and at the same time the abysmal difference in their personalities. They had his jabs here and there, a bit of psychological warfare, some gaslight, some failed attempts at moral instigation, some succeeded attempts at moral instigation, but they managed to get along either way.

He recalled for a moment the law of magnetism, more specifically the Sergeant's voice explaining said rule, and he couldn't help but smile.

He accidentally pinched the skin of the yellow frog’s stomach, instantly the unexpected reaction on the part of the shorter one being not only to squirm but to let out a short laugh against his will. He could have sworn he heard a messy try at pronouncing “curry” before his brief outburst.

“Ah, my apologies!” He quickly pulled both hands away, raising them defensively.

Kururu had shrunk into himself, cursing internally. He knew the reason why tickling happened, he was only giving himself away and could only hope that said nonsense would go unnoticed by the shinobi like almost everything else he did outside his non-existent vision.

He swallowed.

“... It’s okay.” He didn’t want to hear him apologize a thousand times.

He relaxed gradually, normalizing his breathing.

“Continue.”

Dororo nodded shortly, returning his phalanges to the scientist’s body. Soft, once again that phantom touch that was becoming more noticeable as it moved along his arms. Kururu wondered for a moment if it was necessary to be memorizing the shape of his extremities, and in general anything other than his face, but decided not to give comments on it.

It kept sending shivers down his spine with every patch of skin that wasn’t used to the contact, which was practically all of him, and he hated it, blaming it entirely to the physical reactions he had absolutely no control over and making more excuses the more scenarios he came up with.

Another deep breath helped him normalize his heartbeat, trying with all his might to not show even a pinch of reaction to the crushing reality of his touch-starved self, a fact he lived trying to push under absolute denial and his in fact very true hatred and discomfort for the physical.

Dororo, to his luck, seemed to remain oblivious to all of this, perhaps unable to understand said affliction, too clumsy to read the room as usual or perhaps too noble to decide not to comment on it.

“You’re… very tense.”

“I’mnot.”

“I can… stop, if that’s what you want.”

“I’mfine.”

Concern settled on the shinobi's features, his eyes opening completely, showing those expressionless pearls that still found a way to shine through his blooming emotions, giving himself away like an open book. Or at least a book only readable by someone with an exceptional ability to analyze other people.

“... Curry?”

“... Yes.”

“Very well…”

He politely withdrew, taking some distance.

Kururu let out the air he didn't know he had been holding. The glasses fell into place.

He practically deflated in his seat, taking advantage once again of not being visible to other’s eyes.

That had been intense and he had no idea why.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No…”

“I can leave if-”

“No.”

He remained silent, they both did.

Although their long pauses were characterized by not being uncomfortable as both had a certain taste for the lack of sound, now the same stillness seemed suffocating, more so for the yellow sociopath.

“... Did ya get what'cha wanted?” He lazily spoke.

“Oh, yes, indeed, and I thank you deeply for the opportunity.”

“Good.”

And there it was again.

The Sergeant Major bit his lower lip, hard, longing to make himself bleed and take advantage for the umpteenth consecutive time that he couldn't see him. But it would be annoying to clean up afterwards and he was pretty sure that Dororo could smell blood.

He'd gone and done it several times, reminded him of a hound even. Maybe it was pretty obvious if he thought about it for a bit.

Sometimes he can't help but wonder what things are like for him. Like sure he has trouble seeing because he has like eighteen thousand degrees of myopia, but he knows it's not the same thing.

“... Do you smell colors?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Forget it. I was thinking about what I would do if I plucked my eyes out, kuukukukuku-”

“Oh god…” he paused briefly to grimace before processing. “… Were you pondering what it feels like to lack vision?”

“… Sorta."

“I could teach you if you like.”

“You ain't going to pluck my eyes out, shinobi.”

“Good grief, no! I would never commit such an atrocity!”

“Kuuukukukukuku-”

“I mean it!”

“I’m fuckin’ with you, don’t let it keep you awake… What'chu got in mind?”

“Ah…” The ninja pouted, indivisible as ever, before standing up. “Do you happen to have a way to make the place completely dark?”

Kururu already knew where this was going. He thought about it for a few beats.

“Aye.”

He turned back on his chair, then skillfully pressed a series of buttons to write the necessary command, a small confirmation screen materializing on the board that soon disappeared when he pressed the “accept @u@” box next to the “I messed up @m@” one.

A distinctive sound took out all the lights in the place, which, being reinforced and thousands of meters underground, managed to remain completely dark.

“Haven’t done this since that time some idiot snuck in. I think he’s still lost on level G8, kukuku-”

Dororo refused to inquire about that.

“Perfect, now, can you see my hand?”

The Sergeant tried to turn to where he thought the ninja was, obviously failing in the attempt, though not by far.

“No.”

“Can you get up and follow my voice?”

“‘K”

And he tried.

Surrounded by nothing but darkness, he reached out for his partner, muscle memory keeping him from colliding with the scattered scrap metal and other irregularities on the ground.

“Keep talkin’.”

“I’m over here.”

Was it only him, or did he seemed farther away now?

“When one of your senses has abandoned you, the most important thing is-”

“Sharpen the others, blah blah blah, I know, I’ve heard that crap a lot.”

“...”

An unfamiliar hand gave him a small push and disappeared before he could turn around and return the gesture.

Funny.

He was tempted to activate some function on his hearing aids or even his glasses, but they were doing this peculiar activity for a reason, so instead he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

Dororo was fast, skilled, too much so for someone who can’t see, however his footsteps and movements sometimes followed a certain pattern, as well as making a sound, very barely perceptible, but it was there, it was like hearing a leaf stick to your face, if that made any sense.

But now he couldn't see, and he didn't know very well where it started either, so the best he could do was guess.

Or listen to what he told him for the first time in his life.

"I think you're cheating."

"Often what you throw can come back to hit you in the face, sir."

"Are you still upset about that time I left you in my mind and forgot about it?"

"N-No-...!"

Kururu smiled, his head turning gravitationally towards Dororo's almost exact direction.

"I should be the upset one, I'm almost sure you saw things you shouldn't have seen..."

“I disagree, that experience allowed me to know that you are a Keronian and not an Oni born from the agony and misfortune of others!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Doro…”

The ninja felt a chill run down his spine, and before he could respond to Kururu’s provocations two unknown hands grabbed him by the shoulders from behind and pulled towards that direction.

“I am.” Kururu mumbled, gruffier than usual, before giving him a small push and letting go.

If he didn’t know who was there and what they were playing, Dororo would probably have died of a heart attack right on the spot. He put a hand on his chest.

“...Well played.”

The technician's peculiar nasal laugh echoed around the place, as if being cast through speakers, even though he was standing in the same place. He considered the possibility that perhaps he was an Oni born from the agony and misfortune of others.

Freaky.

“So? What did I won?” The yellow frog asked, mockingly.

There was no answer.

“…I won?”

“You did.”

Two familiar hands positioned themselves on either side of his face, immediate panic setting in on the technician’s currently invisible features.

“Hah!?” He practically spat, alarms ringing and bursting inside his head.

He felt an alien breath inches away from him, all of his senses began to sharpen and he feared the allegory as much as the assumption. He froze under the trained assassin’s cold touch, and for some reason the possibility of saying “curry” didn’t even crossed his mind.

He found himself leaning in before he could command his body to do so, and before he could literally process anything they both connected.

shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Kururu's mind was buzzing, pure interference mixed with confused and incomplete sensations, all amidst an endless darkness that would remain that way until he staggered to the switch, if he could manage to find it.

They parted, one as stiff as a board left for weeks in an industrial freezer and the other melting from embarrassment, his palms sweaty and his face uncovered.

“cool.” they said in unison, both grateful that eye contact was a near-permanent impossibility.

And a new kind of silence settled in.

It was neither comforting nor unpleasant, much less one they actively fought to combat but neither one they would endure for long.

Kururu cleared his throat, Dororo coughed.

“I’m going to assume that was the… touch lesson, or… some….”

“The what?”

“You know, senses, contact.”

“Ah, yes… AH, yes! Precisely!”

“Well… I think I want to retake the test, didn’t get to study very well, kuukukuku-”

“I shall gladly impart this lesson again.”

Dororo gave a small bow, which was surprisingly caught by Kururu.

And so they kissed in the dark for the next two hours.

This doesnt count as kissing cuz it's not a drawing fuck you..........

[that-one-creepy-hoe]

do you have like general or relationship head canons for ej? :)

I love talking about one of my 348 husbands!1!1

Eyeless Jack General + Relationship Hcs

Warnings:Basically fluff, EJ just being autistic, I think I used no pronouns I think Pairings: EyelessJack x GN!Reader

General HeadCannons

 He is a very big quiet man

To me, he’s probably 6’’9 at his full height

But he does hunch over a lot because he is aware of how much his height makes some people scared of him

While he typically doesn’t care about if regular people, or if the proxies are scared of him, he does do it mostly so the more timid people don’t get frightened 

He’s basically a mute until he absolutely has to speak

His voice is very rough and deep from years of not being used much

I headcanon him to be autistic with slight OCD issues 

Because of this, he sticks to his routine and wears lots of baggy clothes because he cannot stand most skin-to-skin contact

Actively recoils when people are too close or touch him

Tends to obsessively reorganize his things constantly

While he may seem shy he is not a pushover of any kind

He only knows how to be a weird kind of nice that most people don’t take as nice/ Really cold and distant

He’s kind of like a cat where he just watches people he likes without care

He has lots of scars on his jaw and the corners of his mouth from his teeth(I hc that he clawed through his cheeks when he first turned bc he couldn’t handle the way his teeth felt in his mouth)

He’s always unusually hot or ice cold and really can’t tell too well

If you want to ever get close to him you would most likely need to be close to Hoodie, or Sally

He’s a nice guy just very out of touch with the world around him

Romantic HeadCannons 

If you somehow romanced this man I applaud you because he absolutely hates being around people unless he thinks they’re cute (in a small kid/ pet kind of way) or if they can have an actual intelligent conversation with him(AKA hoodie)

But somehow you have wormed your way into his dead heart and at first he will most definitely hate you for it

He doesn’t like the feeling of being attached at first (Since he’s far too used to people betraying him) but soon he craves for you

Expect him to attempt to have charisma (he has none)

Think crow that gives its favorite human weird gifts 

If you try talking to him that might help just try not to be too loud

Be ready to do enough talking for the both of you

Once he warms up he will speak some here and there

He’ll give you things he thinks you might like such as; books, clothes, trinkets

If you give him things he will absolutely adore you and never get rid of it

You will most definitely have to be the one to initiate a relationship even then he may think your joking

If you reassure him then he’ll get soft for you and let you do things that he would normally hate (EX: touching him, being louder, borrowing his things)

He’s really insecure about himself so be ready to reassure him a bunch

Total romantic lover, poetry, letters, candle-lit dinners, all of it

[poppurini]

holding his hand

incl. malleus & f!reader┊reader wears a dress

note. not proofread i word vomit

malleus was deprived of physical touch ever since birth. aside from his grandmother and the country’s trusted general, people and animals alike have avoided him like plague if possible. servants back at the castle bowed their heads and retreated quickly whenever they spotted him, birds have fled and the animals have left their precious dinner behind when malleus stepped into their vicinity.

the man understands since childhood that it was due to his position and the power he possessed, but he would never harm them. he was certain he would never abuse his power and harm innocent creatures, he was not a monster. well, he was a little upset with the way he’s being treated but it never really occupied much of his mind, really. he had stopped gazing out windows, standing on his tippy toes when he was a mere toddler to watch the town children running around and play-fighting with each other. it had stopped bothering him, he had grown accustomed to it. only until this very moment where he’s sat beside you, that is.

to others, it may have been a little embarrassing. the future king of briar valley had fallen quick and deep for this child of man he had coincidentally met during one of his strolls in the forest. it was cliché, really. but how could he not be intrigued by someone who did not flee at the sight of him? instead you held an endearing curiosity in your eyes, clearly alarmed by the stranger but still, you did not flee.

his feet brought him back to the very same spot the next day, hoping to encounter you again and, well, maybe make a friend? he never had a friend. he should take the initiative. malleus preferred you come out from hiding first, though. surely you’re aware of him noticing your presence? he had chuckled a little, this human was poor at being discreet.

and before malleus knew it, his heart yearned for you. not a second goes by where his mind was not occupied by the intriguing girl he had met that fateful day. the young fae finished his lessons quickly and stepped out, he’d hate to be late and make you wait.

malleus hope he wasn’t being too obvious about it but oh, what is this feeling, anyway? he does not know, but he likes it. he likes the way you make him feel, it was such a pleasant feeling he find himself smiling at the mere thought of you.

there is one thing troubling him, however. he wishes to hold you oh so desperately. the distance between you two had closed gradually the more you see each other but he still could not find the courage in him to just initiate touch. yes, the mighty fae was shy. how embarrassing, truly.

he had a hunch you reciprocated his feelings, malleus had seen the bashful look on your face when he draped his coat over your lap. it was windy that day, you looked a little cold to the man and your pretty dress did not cover all of you, he find the way you stuttered thanks adorable.

it was a gesture that occurred to him naturally, he hadn’t thought much about it. but holding hands? oh, how scandalous.

he had given much thought about how he should execute it. i mean, he could really just ask outright. may i hold your hand? that wasn’t hard, but it would be extremely sudden and maybe a little awkward, he admit. or he could sneak his way in? you are sitting very close to each other, after all. if anything the slight graze of your skin against his was driving him to the edge. if only there was something that—

“I pricked my finger today, did you know that some flowers have thorns on them? So scary!” a small laugh escaped you while recalling the little accident you had today, too distracted by its beauty. there was definitely still much to learn for you.

you showed him the small injury, the blood had stopped but it still stings, you told him. malleus’ gaze softened as he gently held your hand. “You should’ve been more careful, child of man.” concern laced his voice as he casted magic, healing your little injury. “Does it still hurt?”

the look you had made him smile. it was but a simple spell, the most basic one, and yet it got you so astonished. there were many surprises to you that he could not wait to unravel them all.

it wasn’t long until malleus stiffened, his heart racing in its cage, threatening to burst. he was holding your hand in his, and you did not pull away. even after the little treatment was done.

he cleared his throat and prepared to pull away, an apology already at the tip of his tongue but you held on. you took his hand in yours and even sat closer to the man with a quiet giggle, almost leaning against him.

“Thanks, Malmal.”

you continued on about the adventures you had today while mindlessly playing with his slender fingers, and it didn’t take malleus long to intertwine them with yours as he hummed in response to your stories.