#it’s just so startling to here the place you’re from without seeking it out?
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watching this youtuber who i’ve seen a couple of videos of and just something about him felt really familiar and we have similar mannerisms and are i think the same age but i thought that was purely coincidence. yall this man just said where he’s from and, i shit you not, a place about five minutes away from me the very real likelihood that we have met or have people we know in common is weirding me the fuck out
#not like we why is someone from here#it’s just so startling to here the place you’re from without seeking it out?#like most people around here just say kc#but like with izombie the other day saying my whole ass county#and this dude saying [redacfed#i’m just like what the fuck! and like name dropping parks and specific places and i’m like 😬#cause it’s just weird to experience!#(also calling our area a small town lmao like it’s not big by any means#and again like i said i’ve probably met him which is why he’s so familiar but our are is pretty vast)#eris: text
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yandere Isekai trope part 2
You’re in his house, chains rattling as you try to shift out of the uncomfortable position of being tied to his bed.
What just happened?
Still trying to wrap your head around the situation, an uneasy dread settles in your stomach.
I did everything I was supposed to. So why? Why am I still here, still here— with him?
You fight back the tears threatening to spill, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.
“Darling?“
No…
When he caught you, there had been something very wrong with his eyes. They were beautiful and glinting with a newfound emotion — but if you looked long enough, you’d see how lifeless and hollow his soul truly was.
Now, as he enters the room with careful steps, his eyes hold the same look they had when you first met him.
Like he hadn’t done what he did. Like he hadn’t…
He crouches down to your level. As you shuffle back as far as the chains allow, hurt flashes across his face. Without another word, he reached out and gently cradled your head in his hand, sighing. He held it like he was afraid you’d break under his touch. You could feel his fingers trembling as he closed his eyes, trying to comfort himself in touching you.
They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.They will understand one day.
They will love me!
He had to repeat these words in his head like a prayer, wishing that if he repeated them enough, heaven would answer and grant him his wish.
He started crying, his hands now grabbing onto your face with so much force, that it started to hurt. “You will understand one day, that I had to do this! I had to do this for us! She wouldn’t leave you alone! She would have ruined what we had!“
You scoffed. “She didn’t do anything. Why wasn’t it me?! It should’ve been me.“
His eyes grew wide as he started to comprehend the words that were just coming out of your mouth.
“Why not you?! How could I ever, ever hurt you?! You are my angel! You were sent from heaven to be with me! How could I ever do something like that to you, when you were so nice to me?! No one has ever shown me what love feels like until you showed up…“
“That’s not love.“
“Yes, it is!
How can this not be love if you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep?
How can this not be love if every time I speak to you, my heart begins to pound so fast that I can hardly stop myself from pulling you closer?
How can this not be love if I try to seek you in every room I go to?
How can this not be love if your face haunts me, and I would do anything for you!?”
Shit, this guy has officially lost it.
He desperately sobbed.
“Please look at me; I can’t stand it when you don’t look at me.“
As he clutched at your shirt, you endured the process.
The calmer he became, the less threatening he seemed, you thought, as you brought your own hand up to gently stroke his hair.
His breath hitched as he wore the expression of a kicked puppy.
Eventually, he started to calm down and even fell asleep on top of you.
He must’ve been really exhausted after throwing such a tantrum.
You liked him better this way, anyway. Now, being asleep he didn’t look like he could ever hurt a fly, so peaceful in his slumber.
But you know better.
You have to get out of here as soon as possible, but how? Should you try further to console him, in hopes he would start to change? Or are you doomed now because of what he did to Lola? Is there any way I can restart and try again?
These thoughts consumed you as you started to get more and more drowsy, eventually falling asleep.
GAME FAILED.
Beep Beep Beep
You awaken from your sleep. Stretching your limbs, you are startled to see you’re not in your own room.
Where am I?
That’s when a screen appears before you:
“In order to leave this place, you must get along with the yandere of this universe and identify—plus avoid—their darling. Good luck again, and don’t get yourself kidnapped or killed.“
Again? Have I been here before? You certainly don’t remember a thing. What a strange place.
If the screen isn’t lying, I’m surely not dead, right? So I can return home.
A yandere, you scoff.
What is this, some kind of bad otome game?
Well, better do as the screen says.
As you stand in front of a classroom, you start to feel a certain familiarity with this place. You can’t quite wrap your head around it, but it feels like you’ve been here before.
Soon enough, a boy enters the classroom, as you take your seat somewhere in the back. As you stare at him for a few seconds, your heart begins to pound so fast, you fear you might die of shock.
You tumble to the floor, your hand clutching your heart.
“A-Are you alright? Here take my hand.“
Helplessly gasping for air, you take his hand. He places your arm over his shoulder as he carries you to the nurse‘s office.
As he places you down on the bed, you both wait for the nurse. But all of a sudden, the pain starts to fade from your body.
“Oh! The pain has already stopped!“
“Really? I’m relieved. You really stressed me out there.“
He smiled at you. It was a comforting smile that held a lot of warmth.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know what happened back there“, you reassured him.
“Good. I don’t want to lose you ever again, my angel.“
Huh?
Author's Note: Thanks to Anon for the inspiration!
#yandere x reader#male yandere#loser yandere#yandere fanfiction#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere male#yandere x gn reader#yandere x y/n#yandere#yandere x darling#isekai#x reader#reader insert#yandere drabble#obslove#yan boy
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If it's possible, part two of Silent Affection?
Silent Affection P.2 (P.1) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚
Truthless Recluse x GN!Reader
.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊
The room is still, and you wish for nothing more than a distraction to pull away the watchful eye on your figure. Not to mention, the grip that holds tight around your hand, refusing to let you step away from your seat.
Within the timeframe, something has obviously snapped inside of Truthless Recluse's mind; something you played a part in, which you come to regret. Now, a stern glare is received whenever you even entertain the thought of leaving his side.
"It isn't safe out there," he goes to claim each time you question when you may leave, like a robot with a single voiceline. In all truth, you begin to wonder if being in here is any better than taking place outside.
With even your smallest movements, Truthless Recluse follows along. Tick by tick, your sanity sinks further and further. You hoped to find a way out by now, yet Truthless Recluse proves to be a hindrance every time you make an effort.
You find it hard to believe one could really desire a life so dreary, sitting on the edge of a bed for hours on end.
Well, the time that has elapsed by now is a few 10 minutes if one were to seek out accuracy, but you believe your hyperbole cannot be so far from the reality in the future.
"Pure Vanilla Cookie," you huff out, shifting your head to peer at him. "If you love me so much, then you must let me go." That sounds silly, but you have nothing left, so you hold no blame against yourself for your weak efforts.
"If you love me so much, then why try to abandon me?" Truthless Recluse counters. He has always possessed a sharp tongue, a quality that doesn't seem all that enjoyable in situations like this.
You’re unaware of how to answer him, so you do not. Rather, you allow another topic a chance to arise.
"I’m hungry," you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. Part of you spoke the truth, as the trip here gained you an appetite. The other half of you is just desperate to find a way to distract him.
Now you wait to determine if he's cruel enough to deny you food. Though with the current fixation he displays, you feel you can take a guess.
Startled, you watch as Truthless Recluse stands to his feet. This time, he opposes taking you along, it appears.
Without words, Truthless Recluse strides through the room and towards the exit. Just like that, he disappears behind the door.
Well, he looked to be getting you a meal? A question of higher importance, where would one find refreshments here? You send him your luck, which is faint as it is.
In your solitude, you realize there's a shot your dearest husband will be gone for a bit of time. With the overbearing cookie on short leave, this provides you an opportunity to strategize an escape!
Though with the appearance the Spire takes, you have to be sure to tread lightly. One mistake and you can find yourself stumbling on a staircase lacking any railing.
Hopping off of the bed you were glued to, you edge your way over to the single window in the room. Peering out of the shiny glass, you eliminate the window as a route out. The considerable drop down tells you all you need to know of how that trip will conclude.
That leaves one alternative to choose: the very door that Truthless Recluse walked out of. You doubt he'd take a lengthy time to retrieve anything for you. As sweet as that statement is, you spare little time to dwell on it.
You hurry yourself out of the doorway, but you ensure to close the opening with silence, as to not interrupt the stillness of the tower. It would merely disclose your current actions, which is the last thing necessary.
So, out of your cell and free, you run. Where? You're unknowing of the answer yourself, as attempting to fight for your captured friends would be a losing battle on your end. But you do believe it has to be anywhere distances away from that cream colored expanse. In addition to staying out of sight from a specific cookie with cream colored hair.
You underestimated just how disoriented one could get when inside of a tower like this. At this point, lost would not be the word you would title yourself at the moment, as you are far beyond it.
The start of your adventure, you recall spotting a winding staircase that you assumed led to a lower destination. Yet after that, you somehow wandered your way onto a higher floor.
You would prefer staying in the room you were once in, rather than walking up and down multiple flights of stairs leading you in circles. It failed to help that you were running on an empty stomach.
Calling out for Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't seem like the worst idea. He can come to forgive you, can he not? Truthless Recluse has to believe you when you claim you were "simply on a search for him, due to how you missed him so."
Amidst your journey, you finally reach a place to offer relaxation. The furniture in this particular space is not so abnormal. Although a bit large, a chair takes place behind a desk.
With desperation, you head to perch yourself onto the padding. However, it appears another being took ownership over the comfort you long for.
You shriek, almost settling atop a snake, a blue and black pattern adorning its skin. Well, now you have alerted anyone around of your location, as the snake shows to have been disturbed by your fright.
Tumbling backwards, you knock over a floating waffle cone. You curse the disruption that decided to follow you now of all times.
You prepared to land on the hard, cold floor, but then bump into another object. This time, the item is reluctant to fall over.
But then the whiff of sweet vanilla hits you. Huh, wonder what that could be.
You don’t need to be a genius to figure out what—or who you collided with. The singular surprising matter is how hasty he was to get here. You almost feel flattered.
Whirling your head around, you come to meet the cold glare given by Truthless Recluse. Once again, you seem to have angered him. You wonder how many times such will repeat.
"Funny seeing you here..." Not the best choice of words, as his irked stare shows he believes nothing to be humorous.
"What are you doing out of our room," he questions, his lips held tight in a frown.
"Well, I was, um, so lonely. I mean, I couldn't stay away from you for such a long time," you spoke in a lie, as if you also labeled yourself a deceiver.
Oh, but Truthless Recluse has shed his gullibility, ahis facial expression gives no indication that you managed to convince him. All you can wish for is a shred of leniency.
"Why do you attempt to leave me? You said you loved me," Truthless Recluse spoke, voice filled with bitterness. His grief comes off as truthful, his brows knitted together as a hint. It is surprising to witness him so fragile, making your face still in regret.
Truthless Recluse rathers you remain quiet. Regardless of whatever your reasoning may be, you will reside in the wrong from his perspective. Does he have to teach you how to listen?
Rising his hand towards yours, Truthless Recluse holds a gentle yet firm grip on your wrist.
"Come. Your food will get cold." The slight shame you feel when met with his vulnerability, along with the addition of food, inclines you to do as told.
Truthless Recluse somehow knows his way around the Spire, which you’re thankful for. The sight of the room, the setting you stall the most in, looks more comforting the second time around.
Near a flower vase, you spot a Jellybean meal. How nice of him to provide a lunch so luxurious. You are too starved to care where he attained it.
While sitting in a chair is your first choice, Truthless Recluse disagrees, guiding you back to his bed. A likely motive is he wishes to sit to your left, and that's that.
It feels strange to eat alone, Truthless Recluse watching with no plate of his own. Prone to sharing, you offer a portion.
"Do you want any?" He refuses a response. A probable answer as to why is there might be some lingering agitation from your pursue away from him.
If Truthless Recluse only puts up a front, manipulating you from behind the scenes, then he has you fooled. Now you feel the need to apologize.
"I’m sorry," you mumble out, even though you are not entirely sure if you should be the one asking for forgiveness.
Food is always a good apology gift, that much is true, but that is not the case right now.
Pure Vanilla Cookie always had a trouble of keeping up with his daily meals. That part of him has not been altered. Someone has to remind him here and there, so you will take up that role, just as you have before.
Holding up the fork with your free hand, you push the piece of jelly near his mouth.
"Eat, Pure Vanilla Cookie. Are you still upset?" With a mere glance, you can tell he is.
"I'll kiss you again if you do," you offer, voice tinted with curiosity. You hope that one more side of him remained the same, so that your approach seems somewhat tempting.
Truthless Recluse hates that he loves those certain proposals you tend to hand out. He will accept them when they do not relate to your exiting, of course, yet he is still allowed to be frustrated about it. Nonetheless, the warmth you give out is too valuable to give up. There is not a thing in the Spire that can replicate.
With reluctance, Truthless Recluse opens his mouth and bites your given food. He saw no reason to chew, so he swallowed without doing so. His singular bite gone and finished, Truthless Recluse awaits his promised reward.
Well, much to your expectations, kissing can be his weak spot in a few occasions. That sits fine with you, since now there resides nourishment in his stomach.
Raising your head, you connect your lips with his own, giving him a sweet kiss. Short enough to be considered chaste, but just right to live up to the reward he desired.
You cannot say it was an act you were against. The factor of his smooth lips, paired with the flavor that you welcome all too well, deems the moment a win for you both. You pray the endearment can soothe the ire you built in his heart.
Truthless Recluse allowed his face to fall slack, but otherwise, his expression was kept aloof. No matter his fronts, you look behind them, meaning you're conscious of his hidden delight.
On the other hand, you fail to feel as satisfied as he does. With prior information, his laxed character conveys more hours(minutes) of sitting on this jinxed bed.
While you love him, you would prefer anything else than this deafening serenity.
Your wishes were gifted, albeit a few minutes later. A sudden knock is heard against the door. It could be Shadow Milk Cookie on the other side, and you would still be happy. Anything to drag Truthless Recluse's stare elsewhere.
But, a more familiar, and pleasant, voice is audible enough to reach your ears.
With ease, you can tell Gingerbrave owns said voice. He has managed to traverse his way towards a higher level inside of the tower, now in front of the entrance to your dungeon.
Pure Vanilla Cookie seems to be focused on the unexpected guests as well, now making their way inside of his humble room.
The three children are no longer tarot cards, another benefit to the current situation. They own the same mindset as yours, coming in with a strong argument against Pure Vanilla Cookie's in an attempt to escape by his side.
You would hope that with more cookies telling him, Truthless Recluse would see reason. Yet, as strong as Gingerbrave's grounds are, the apathetic cookie gives retorts to each opinion opposite to his own.
As much as you would love to justify your friends, it seems like your words fail to reach Truthless Recluse, even with your distance being the shortest compared to others around.
Is he seriously ignoring you? The most he cares to spare you is a glance, one that shows he believes you to be delusional, more so than the others. Nevertheless, his stupidly mighty hand is kept close to yours, keeping your shoulders in contact.
The bickering between the cookies is cut short, as their captor, Black Sapphire Cookie, has come to reclaim his cards, much to everyone's dismay.
Excluding Truthless Recluse, as you would anticipate. If one were to seek out his outlook? Perhaps it was deserved. After all, who barges into a room without permission? Now the peaceful moment he indulged with you is lost.
All you can do is watch as Black Sapphire shoves the fearful cards into a bag, since Pure Vanilla Cookie held no care to rescue them. He went as far as handing them over without a second thought, making your heartache grow stronger. Where has the man engraved with kindness into his dough ran off to? Granted, yearning for that any longer feels useless.
Your mouth is left ajar, yet no words are able to leave your tongue. Truthless Recluse, while also unspeaking, looks over at your incredulous expression. Though you envisioned a dead stare, you're able to see an emotion behind the one he fronts.
Love, your initial assumption, or obsession? Answering questions related to the cookie before yow now seem challenging. Whether it is either one, knowing such would fold to placate your unease. No matter how hard you aim to seek out remorse held in his heart, there founders to be any.
Black Sapphire Cookie's subsequent words, a passed on request for Truthless Recluse to follow along, do not saddened you as much. This way, you can keep the ability to hold an eye over the younger cookies.
Mismatched eyes looking forward, Truthless Recluse is immediate to lift you up with him. It should go without saying that you would be accompanying him. He goes as far as adjusting his pace to align with yours, proceeding towards the designated location. Talk about clingy...
As of now, the surroundings appear more normal than usual, even though the cookies here are a bit manic.
Two chairs occupied by you and your lover on one side of a table, with another seat opposed to you also taken. A game, which you don't know the rules to, takes place on the surface in front.
Although you dreaded your next meeting with Shadow Milk Cookie, it was known to be arriving. Even with that known, you yield to pause the feeling of jitters belonging to you and your crumbs.
Focusing on the board game, you jolt with each attack the three lively pieces receive.
While your concentration tries to fixate on the miniature battle near, you cannot ignore the pair of eyes fixed at your form. Multiple, at that. Not an exact estimate, since counting each eye in Shadow Milk Cookie's unruly hair is an unwanted activity.
"Soooo, is this your little assistant, Vanilly?" You saw no reason in being the topic of conversation, yet it looks like the scuffle on the tabletop lacks enough entertainment, that being said for both Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk.
It wouldn't be bad to say they fit into the saying, "different sides of the same coin."
Pure Vanilla Cookie is unwilling to reply, shown by his thin lined lips. Even so, there looks to be a wrinkle of annoyance on his face.
The deceitful cookie chuckles nonetheless, uncaring of the one-sided conversation and continuing on with his words.
"Well, aren't they a looker..." Shadow Milk Cookie admitted, skimming over your face. You almost desire a crumbling from his utterance alone. He might be the former holder of one of the five Soul Jams, yet that fails to make much better.
"Would ya mind if I borrow them for a show or two of mine?" Shadow Milk Cookie quizzes with his head cocked.
"No, you may not." Thankfully, you can come to agree with a statement spoken by the impassive cookie.
Albeit your seat was separate from Truthless Recluse's, he tugs you more proximal, signaling a sign of protection. That, you are grateful for.
"Psh, whatevs." Shadow milk rolls his eyes. You believe that should conclude any more talk concerning you.
"Buuuut!" he goes on, refusing to drop the topic.
"Would it be such a big bother to ask if you pair are mooore than frrriends?" Shadow Milk Cookie inquiries on what he's long known.
This is his last resort on vexing Pure Vanilla Cookie, since the beginner deceiver wants to play uninterested to every word said to him. You show to be a flaw, which Shadow Milk appreciates quite much.
Towards another question, your betrothed is silent, though you can sense his disgruntlement from the measly query.
Truthless Recluse might have acknowledged his profound love held exclusively for you, however, he spoke such to himself.
He would prefer to withhold that information in private. In fact, he feels inclined to lock you away in his room, hidden from any prying eyes. That way, he could keep you to himself, forever guarded by him. Truthless Recluse is rather fond of making his daydreams fall into reality.
"Am I right, or am I right?" Shadow Milk Cookie taunts, mockery not so hidden in his attitude.
"Shut up," Truthless Recluse demanded, harsh enough to catch you off guard.
"Oh, c'mon! I’m only—"
Without notice, a happening cuts the talkative beast off. The friend group of three cookies, once demoted into measly game pieces, burst out of the board after successfully defeating each foe sent their way. Mentally, you thank them for dragging the spotlight off of your cookie.
Shadow Milk Cookie congratulations them, his two-faced personality slipping through his praise. Clearly, this will not be the end of his tricks.
The atmosphere grows tense. A conversation between the beast and ancient arises, relating to the Soul Jam, which is also the beginning of every issue among them.
A choice is given to Pure Vanilla: to silence his friends forever, or to hand over the holder of his power. If you were to know the benevolent cookie, you can guess the his decision with ease.
Additionally, if you were aware of his counterpart, you can predict neither of his options granted a good ending. Conscious of both cookies' personalities, the outcome will be nothing more than woe.
Abruptly, you, along with your friends, get shoved off the kooky Spire by an unknown force. Falling amidst the darkened sky, you see the glimmering golden stars passing by.
Pure Vanilla Cookie, deceived by Shadow Milk Cookie, shrieks at the sight of his friends, and his most beloved, nearing a fatal crumbling. Locking eyes with you, Truthless Recluse reveals such an emotion you have never laid eyes upon.
Even with the drastic circumstances, you muster up a smile to gift him, before he goes out of sight.
You focus on the long drop ahead of you, getting a good look of every terror encountered in this bizarre region. From the large snakes, to the disturbing eyes near the clouds. Anywhere else would be a preferable burial.
Standing on the ground, a cookie is seen in your sights. A hooded cookie, to be exact. One you can recall meeting earlier on. Though your vision from afar is not the best, you can see well enough to believe there might be a certain Fortune Teller coming to play hero.
You descend from the air, the figure of Fortune Teller Cookie growing more and more near. Would it be wrong to think he iis going to save the four of you? You doubt that such is out of his power, despite knowing little of his background. It may be the fear in you speaking, attempting to make death seem farther than it was.
Then, you do not feel as if you are plummeting any longer. Instead, it is as if you experience flight, a simple hovering over the ground, like a faerie cookie, until your feet touch the pavement.
As thankful as you are for whatever magic was used, you cannot express it when your dough feels so weary. The events from today hit you like a Bear Jelly Train, your legs unable to support you for much longer. Switching from air to land in a matter of seconds does not sit well with you.
Not to worry, as Fortune Teller Cookie was quick to hold you, retaining you into his arms. You appreciate the stability he offers, though his hold is a tinge tighter than it should be for a mere acquaintance.
For a split second, his small hug reminds you of another's potent affection. Identical, if you were to pay more attention to it, but you choose to worry over Pure Vanilla Cookie.
You fail to see much of the pair of truth and deceit. There is everlasting conflict taking place, and you pray Pure Vanilla Cookie can halt the tension until you find your way above, to be able to fight alongside him.
Although you harbor strong adoration for him, the last thing you wish to see is the sass belonging to the face of Truthless Recluse because Pure Vanilla could not handle the strength of Shadow Milk.
.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊
A/N: if there were to be a part three of this, it wouldnt exactly be Truthless Recluse, but rather awakened Pure Vanilla Cookie. that might be good news to some, but not so much to others ( ・ั﹏・ั)
#truthless recluse#crk x reader#cr kingdom#crk#gn reader#x reader#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#pure vanilla cookie#truthless recluse x reader
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Chasing Ice
✎ᝰ summary. he craves the rink, craves the awards, and craves the love he gets from his fans. but now, the thing he craves the most is your attention.
✎ᝰ cw. somewhat pining, fluff, short ice skating au
✎ᝰ a/n. omg… another series? maybe.
࣪𖤐
what’s most startling in any competitive field are your opponents. without true, in-depth personal knowledge about them or their experience, it’s hard to gauge what you’re up against or what skills to hone to truly outshine them. but rafayel never had to worry about that.
he was top of his league, time and time again. with legs trained and poised to formation since birth, he was made for the ice like fish were made for water. and he thrived.
the medals became excessive but the fame never exhausting. he felt free as a bird on the ice, skating through and past others like nothing to become first.
but of course, that was until you came along.
just as poised and just as trained, your spiraling form was right behind rafayel in this race. and the worst part was, you came out of no where.
no obvious backstory, no outgoing personality, no nothing. one day you just happened to show up at the rink for practice and unintentionally show off your grace. then the next day you were in competition, winning a regionals by a landslide as a first time competitor.
rafayel was enthralled and enraged. how dare you, a no name from a no name come and challenge him indirectly? he couldn’t stand for it.
he began obsessively researching you, reading every new article that came up on you just to gain more insight on your enigmatic nature.
he learned that you were from small town a few hours away. they had one ice rink in the entire place, mostly used for winter fun but overtaken by a club of figure skaters at any other time. you branched out from that club, seeking bigger and better dreams of preforming and gracing on other floors of ice.
everything rafayel learned about you upset him even more, but not out of jealousy. his one sided feud with you turned into something more frustrating. admiration.
your body on the ice was captivating in a way that surpassed the performance of other figure skaters. you were beautiful in every right, humble in every right, belonging in every right on that ice.
your ephemeral interviews showcased just how humble and modest you were, but still determined on the inside. you were much like rafayel when he first began, but you were better than his novice days.
he would spot you at the reserved rink every now and again. his own schedule was busy with meet and greets and shows and other highbrow events.
it only took the third happenstance of seeing you for him to finally go speak to you.
“hey, excuse me?” rafayel called to you with a slight smirk and hand on his hip. “i couldn’t help but notice you were a new skater to frequent this rink. i’m rafayel mo, nice to meet you. although i’m sure you’ve heard my name here and there before.”
you tilt your head to him and blink. “who?”
rafayel’s jaw drops. you didn’t know him. but you were a figure skater too? maybe you were just teasing, but you seemed genuinely confused.
“well i don’t believe you’ve heard of me,” you say as you tell him your name. “i’m new here. nice to meet you. i came from rockbed, some cities away.”
“i know,” rafayel sputters out. he was blushing now, and profusely so.
“huh?”
“oh i mean, i know you’re new, i… i’ve overheard some of the coaches talking about a new skater in the rink. you uh… you match the description pretty well.”
despite his rather composed demeanor, rafayel felt a strange vacuum of emotions within his chest in that moment. seeing your face so up close, hearing your voice so clear, it was like he was in the presence of a celebrity himself. was this what his fans felt like when they met him for the first time?
rafayel felt… daunted. he couldn’t help but align his form with yours and skate with you for more conversation.
his charisma and conversational skills got him far. you were down to earth in a way that soothed rafayel. you had simple dreams, simple ways of life, and a simple yet wonderful charm to go along with it.
he learned more of your past more than stalking you online did for him. you were trained by your uncle since a young age and kept limber since. after he passed you began teaching yourself while hopping from coach to coach. you watched figure skaters from decades ago because their old fashioned style suit you better. you wanted to bring the old to the new.
it explained why you knew of no new modern skaters except the very best of the best. it explained why you were so captivating on the ice. it was an old style with your own flair and twist to it. a body that could move like yours was surely one that was worked to command attention.
the center of the spotlight rafayel would let his light dim just to see you skate on your own. he watched you practice over and over again, and even when it was the same set, he was still enamored. he cheered you on quietly, feeling uncharacteristically shy around you. you brought him down, you grounded him. he felt less like a celebrity with you and more like a… skating… partner. even though you two have never skated before.
oh that was quite the shame wasn’t it.
“do you… think i could help you on the ice a bit more?” rafayel asks softly as you ate your mid-set snack.
you wipe your mouth and hum. “hm? was this run worse than the others, did you notice something? maybe my legs are getting tired.”
“no,” rafayel shakes his head, “you did pretty well, kay? i mean… well we always skate apart, could i skate with you on the ice and help you that way?”
he watches your eyes widen slightly in surprise and consideration. you shrug and give a slight nod. “sure, but i mean… i’ve never skated in pairs before. i had my club but we all either went solo or all together. never just one on one.”
rafayel smiles, “ah, well good for you i’m trained in duo skating too. i’m multifaceted if you couldn’t tell, you can’t get better than me. stand, stand,” he ushers you up, “put the banana down and let’s hit the ice.”
you follow rafayel to the empty ice rink and glide beside him as he takes lead.
“see, the most important thing about duo skaters is about communication, connection, and trust,” rafayel smirks as we slides around the rink. “on the ice you can’t talk with your partner, so body cues are the best way to. you have to know your partner well, you have to understand where their boundaries are and put in emotion well enough that the dance between you two can be felt by all. and most importantly, you’re giving your body away to them for the dance. you have to trust that they’ll carry you when they do and that they’ll follow the beautifully crafted grace you’ve planned.”
you tentatively listen to rafayel as you skate behind him on the rink. “right,” you murmur while glancing down, “but we don’t have any of that, so how are we gonna skate?”
rafayel slowly stops his gliding and blushes once more. you keep eliciting these strange reactions out of him, ones of embarrassment and longing. he looks back at you and gives you an awkward but determined smile.
“we learn… if you want to, that is.”
he reaches his hand out, half expecting you to back out of the idea. but just like that, you take it.
from that day forward rafayel was determined to etch his existence into your skating career. not just his name and skill but his familiarity. he wanted to keep close to you even if at times you felt indifferent or removed or even disinterested. slowly, he began to learn that’s just how you were. and slowly, he began to learn how you felt.
he had his hands on your waist more times than he could count. he squeezed, rubbed, or just simply held you on every practice day. he always had his front to your back or was just hovering over you. even with the cold ice, he could feel your heat and softness just beside him.
your hands were always soft despite the drying cold air. he squeezed your palms too, and on occasion he interlocked your fingers. every correction he asked you to make was with his head bent down to your ears, whispering gentle words and even praises at times.
it was addicting.
even if you left the rink with a polite goodbye and no other intentions of inviting him to your personal life, he knew as soon as you came back to the rink you were his.
he still let you practice alone and his amazement never once left even after months. but as soon as it was his time on the rink, he insisted you join him too and do a duo.
he taught well, really well. you had the hang of it in no time with his guidance.
coaches saw too. they praised the two for looking as ethereal and elegant as they did together on the rink. one complimented the other perfectly. two fishes born in the same water.
rafayel started to gain more and more audacity as the days went. he would stare at you longer, hold you tighter, tease you more. he’d become your confidant and he wasn’t even sure how. but it felt good.
so good in fact that the ultimate audacious question popped into his head time and time whenever he saw you. he bit his lip every time, holding it back and knowing it wasn’t the right time logistically or personally.
but once the new year started and the weather had reached its peak frigidness, it was time for the skating community to flourish once more. competitions galore were being held at every level—community, regional, state, province, olympic, even just one off shows.
and yet none of them interested rafayel but one.
he needed to now, there was no question about it.
he waited for you in the lounge room of the ice rink. this is where skaters got changed or cleaned off their skated off the ice. he knew you’d come in after every set to get your snack so he just anticipated you.
“hey,” rafayel exhaled with pink cheeks and ears once he saw you.
you smile slightly, “hey. so this is where you were, i was wondering if you left early.”
“no, i wouldn’t… um, i was just waiting for you.”
“why? you could’ve just waited by the benches, i would’ve sat down by you.”
rafayel relaxes slightly at your words. his smile turns warm, his eyes tender. “i know,” he whispers, “but i wanted privacy… to give you this.”
his arms that were locked behind his back came around holding a small bouquet of your favourite flowers—a staple of your hometown. the pink in rafayel’s face only darkens.
“ah… um… please, be my skating partner for the pair skating state championships. i would be… really honored.”
he watches you stare at the bouquet and then stare at his face. he was unsure about your micro expressions and what they meant. it felt like every silent second that went by was dragged on.
“where… did you get these?” you ask pointing to the flowers.
rafayel blinks in surprise for a moment and sputters. “i, uh, had them ordered from the local flower shop. they didn’t have them in store so i had a special delivery done from the store in rockbed.”
he watches you lean into the flowers and sniff them with closed eyes. you, like that, made him pray that you accepted his proposal so that when you two won, you would get all the flowers in the world.
he knew how intimate it was to be someone’s skating partner. it required a type of discipline that wasn’t offered in solo skating. you had to know each other’s bodies well, you had to be constantly and consistently in tune with each other both emotionally and physically, you had to give the ultimate trust to the other person to take care of you on the ice.
rafayel felt like he was being tortured just being in the silence of you sniffing your flowers, but he would wait until you had an answer. no matter how long it took, he would be patien—
“okay.”
“w… wh?”
“i’ll be your skating partner.”
rafayel simply stares at you. you take the flowers from his hands and turn away to find your locker. he was dumbfounded.
a bright, disbelieving smile spread on his cheeks. he was shining while he chased after you.
“w-wait! really?! you’d be my partner?! wait, come back!”
࣪𖤐
#lads#love and deepspace#lads x reader#love and deepspace x reader#lads mc#l&ds#lnds#l&ds x reader#l&ds mc#lnds rafayel#rafayel x y/n#rafayel fluff#rafayel x mc#rafayel x you#love and deep space rafayel#lads rafayel#rafayel love and deepspace#rafayel x reader#rafayel mo#lads fluff#lnds mc#lnds x reader#lnds x you#l&ds x you#l&ds fluff#navydoves
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- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!
all roads lead to death valley



cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from
wc: 4.2k (unedited)
what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars
consider commissioning me!
Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.
“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.
Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.
“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.
You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.
“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.
“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”
You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.
His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.
Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.
Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”
He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.
Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.
“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”
You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.
“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”
All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.
“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.
“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.
Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.
You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.
“I’ll be damned…”
You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.
You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.
He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”
Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?
“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.
There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.
“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.
Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.
But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.
“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”
It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.
As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.
You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.
It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.
Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.
“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”
You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.
It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.
It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.
You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.
His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.
Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.
He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.
“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.
He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.
Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.
“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.
“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”
You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.
His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.
You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.
“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”
It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.
“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”
You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.
When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.
“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”
- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai
#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker smut#anakin x reader smut#anakin x you#anakin x reader#anakin smut#anakin skywalker one shot#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker fanfiction#anakin skywalker fic#anakin imagine#anakin star wars#star wars anakin#anakin fanfiction#anakin sw#anakin fic#hayden christensen#hayden christensen x you#hayden christensen x reader#hayden christensen smut#⚰️.deaddove#star wars#star wars smut#star wars x you#star wars x reader#star wars imagine#x reader smut#afab reader
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happy 1k!! may i please have latte art? ☕️🫶🏼
i’m a ravenclaw, fave class is probably charms with mattheo 💕 eeeek i’m so excited!!
thank you for requesting pookie, i love u sm 😚🤍 i loved writing this one, hope you like it 💌
1k celebration navigation latte art
ミ★ FEEL IT… mattheo riddle
You stumbled through the damp underbrush of the Forbidden Forest, mittens clutched in one hand, the other holding your wand to light the narrow path. You weren't expecting to run into anyone out here, especially this far from the castle—unlike you, most students didn’t seek solace in the quiet of the woods after sundown. That’s probably why you were surprised to spot a familiar dark-haired figure standing alone beneath a patch of moonlight, his wand raised as he muttered incantations under his breath.
Mattheo Riddle.
You’d seen him around—a Slytherin with a reputation for being brooding, intense, maybe even a little intimidating. But right now, he didn’t look intimidating. He looked… frustrated, wand aimed forward as though he was attempting something challenging. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, careful not to make a sound. When he attempted the spell again, you caught a glimpse of silvery smoke swirling from the tip of his wand, a Patronus charm trying to form.
It flickered, then faded, leaving him scowling, muttering a curse under his breath.
Without thinking, you cleared your throat. “You’re close, you know. But you’re missing something.”
He startled, eyes flashing as he turned to face you before he sighed in exasperation.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm, though you could sense a flicker of embarrassment beneath it.
“Not much,” you replied, stepping closer despite the warning look he gave you. “I just thought I’d offer a suggestion. Charms is… kind of my thing.”
He scoffed. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, not really. But I do know that if you want to cast a Patronus, you’re going about it all wrong. You’re trying too hard. A Patronus requires more than technique—it’s about feeling. You have to immerse yourself in your happiest memory. Like, really feel it—imagine it in detail, every single sensation.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking half-amused, half-irritated. “What makes you think I have any happy memories?”
“Come on, you must have at least one,” you replied, stepping closer. Without waiting for permission, you reached out, gently adjusting his hand to tilt his wand up. The brush of his hand against yours was warm, steady, but you felt him tense under your touch. His gaze flickered to where your hands touched, and you could practically feel the shift in his breathing. He was trying to keep his cool, but you caught the way his shoulders squared, the faint flush in his cheeks.
He was looking at you now, something unreadable in his gaze, as if he was trying to figure you out. “This doesn’t feel like Charms class,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
“It’s not,” you replied, holding his gaze with a playful smile. “But let’s pretend it is.”
He breathed in, then closed his eyes, his face softening as he focused. You watched as his fingers tightened around the wand, as if gathering his resolve, and then—suddenly—an enormous, shimmering silver lion erupted from the tip, prowling protectively around the two of you before disappearing into the trees.
For a moment, he stared at the place where the lion had been, a little awestruck. Then, slowly, he turned to look at you.
“A lion?” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Interesting for a Slytherin.”
Mattheo chuckled, a warm sound that somehow felt as intense as the rest of him. “I guess there’s more to me than meets the eye.” He hesitated, glancing at your hand still resting on his. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” you replied, stepping back to leave.
“Wait,” he called after you, his voice low, but with a surprising urgency. “What’s your name?”
You looked back over your shoulder, giving him a small smile as you replied, “Y/N.” And then, before he could ask anything else, you turned and disappeared into the shadows of the forest path, leaving Mattheo staring after you, utterly spellbound, his Patronus glowing softly in the moonlight as he watched you disappear.
#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle fluff#fluff#mattheo riddle x reader#slytherin boys#harry potter#slytherin#benjamin wadsworth#latte art#leona-hawthorne’s 1k celebration#— ; 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ��� ྀི
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𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤
Synopsis; After a nightmare brings Kurt's painful memories of the circus flooding back, he seeks comfort in your presence. Through gentle words and unwavering reassurance, you remind him he’s safe, loved, and finally free of his past.
Warnings; None, enjoy kits!
Requested by @hulkingharbor
A soft whimper stirs you from sleep, faint yet unmistakable. Blinking, you sit up, the dim light from the hallway spilling just enough into your room to reveal a figure curled up in the chair by the door. Even in the shadows, the familiar silhouette—his curled tail, his fur-covered arms hugging himself tightly—tells you it’s Kurt.
“Kurt?” you murmur, voice soft so as not to startle him.
He flinches, his head lifting slightly as his golden eyes meet yours, still clouded with remnants of whatever nightmare had him in its grip. His hands shake, gripping his arms as though grounding himself. His voice is barely a whisper. “I… I did not mean to disturb you.”
“You’re not disturbing me,” you say, easing yourself off the bed and crossing the room. Kneeling down in front of him, you reach out, gently resting your hand on his. “Did you have a nightmare?”
He nods, looking away, shame edging his gaze. “It… it was about the circus,” he admits, voice tight with remembered pain. “Sometimes, it still haunts me. The cage, the… the crowds, their faces full of fear and hatred. They treated me like an animal, like a… monster.” His voice cracks, barely able to hold back the shame that lingers from all those years.
You squeeze his hand. “Kurt, you’re not a monster. You never were.”
He closes his eyes, as if the words are something he wants to believe but hasn’t fully accepted. “It was not just their words,” he says, his voice strained. “They—there were nights I would not get food, times I was… punished. I still feel the ache from it sometimes, like phantome in my bones.”
Your heart aches, and without a second thought, you pull him into a gentle embrace, wrapping your arms around him. He tenses, surprised, before finally allowing himself to relax into your touch, his breathing gradually evening out as he settles in your arms.
“They were wrong,” you murmur softly against his shoulder. “Those people were cruel, Kurt. But you’re safe now. You’re with people who care about you, who see you for who you truly are.”
He sighs, his head leaning against you, seeming to absorb every word. “It is… hard to remember that sometimes,” he says softly, his voice vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely heard before. “I know I am here, but… it is easy to feel like I am back there again.”
You run your hand down his back gently, hoping to chase away whatever ghosts linger there. “Then I’ll be here to remind you,” you say firmly. “Whenever you need, I’ll remind you that you’re loved, that you’re worthy of kindness, of respect, of happiness. I won’t let you go back to that place—not in your mind, not ever.”
He looks at you, and this time his gaze holds something like hope. “Danke,” he whispers, voice thick. “I do not know what I have done to deserve someone like you.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Kurt,” you say, giving his hand one last squeeze. “You just have to let yourself be loved. Can you do that?”
After a moment, he nods, leaning into you a little more. For tonight, the shadows from his past fade, and as he drifts back to sleep beside you, his breathing finally at peace, you know he believes—if only a little bit—that he’s safe and loved.
Plz do not copy or translate! -Callme_Bunni
#x men#x men fanfiction#x men 97#x men comics#x men movies#female writers#kurt wagner#writing#kurt#nightcrawler x reader#nightcrawler#nightcrawler xmen#kurt wagner x reader#x men nightcrawler#callme_bunni
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Full circle
sana x afab reader
angst, smut
Sequel to Sorbet
despair, infatuation, sorrow, devotion, all over again

It’s been weeks since you last saw Sana, weeks of no contact, until last night when she suddenly appeared again. The ache in your chest grew, the uncertainty weighing on your mind. You’re not sure if it’s a good idea to see her today, right after the gut-wrenching night you had just endured.
You closed your eyes and sighed, the long day pressing on your shoulders. As you walked towards home, your eyes drifted to a familiar streetlight. It was the same one where Sana used to wait for you after work, her smile bright and a bag from your favorite bakery in her hand. She’d wave, jumping in place and calling your name, and you’d hug and kiss like nobody cared, her laughter echoing in the air.
But now you stood still. There was no one there anymore. You looked up and watched the mosquitoes and moths flying around the light, colliding with it, seeking clarity. The street felt emptier without her, the silence pressing in. A car honked, and you snapped back to reality, the sharp sound jolting you. You took a deep breath and kept moving, your feet feeling heavy as you continued your walk home, the memories lingering like a ghost beside you.
You reached your apartment building and climbed the stairs quietly, lost in thoughts of her. When you finally reached your door and unlocked it, the familiar scent of home surrounded you, but it offered little comfort that night. You tossed your bag aside and moved through your evening routine mechanically, shedding your work clothes and exchanging them for comfort.
You wandered to the living room and glanced out the window. The sky was dark, heavy with clouds, and the air felt electric, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.
Just as the first cracking of thunder startled you, there was a sudden knock at the door. Your heart skipped a beat. You approached the door cautiously, unsure of what to expect. Opening it slowly, you were taken aback to see Sana standing there in the hallway. She looked breathtaking, her hair in beautiful waves and her makeup perfect, but her eyes were clouded, distant, and filled with a sorrow you had never seen before. Despite her physical perfection, she was still unrecognizable, like the first day you both fell apart.
Where did you go?
“Can I come in?” she asked softly, her eyes searching yours with uncertainty yet a flicker of something familiar.
You hesitated briefly, then nodded silently, stepping back to allow her entry. As she walked past you into the room, you closed the door behind her.
She leaned forward to kiss your cheek, and you involuntarily flinched at the unexpected touch. Pulling back, she gave a fleeting, sad smile. Despite the distance and time that had changed her, there was a hint of the old Sana in her eyes, a flicker of warmth and familiarity that once defined her.
“Why are you here, Sana?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of frustration.
“I wanted to ask if you could come over to my place tomorrow,” she said, her tone tentative.
“You could’ve just texted,” you sighed, feeling the weight of the past weeks. “But sure, I’ll be there around 10 PM.”
“No, I want you to come during the day. Maybe around 2?” she said, surprising you with her request. Sana had never invited you over during the day before.
You both moved to the kitchen, the silence between you heavy and charged. You gestured for Sana to sit, and you took the seat opposite her, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The storm outside still held its breath, the air thick.
"So, why now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. "Why do you want me to come over during the day? Thought I was just a nighttime thing."
Sana looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting nervously. "I... I just thought it would be nice to spend more time together," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
You sighed, the frustration bubbling up despite your efforts to stay calm. "Sana, you've been so distant. You've changed so much. I don't even recognize you anymore. I look at you, but it's not your face. It isn't you. I don't know you at all."
Tears welled up in Sana's eyes, and she shook her head, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Don't say that. Please, don't say that."
"But it's true," you pressed on, your own voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "You've pushed me away, shut me out. What happened to us? What happened to you?"
"Don't say that," she repeated, her tears spilling over. "Please."
Her repeated pleas cut through you, each one more desperate than the last. "Sana, I need to understand. I need to know why you've changed."
Where are you hiding?
She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "I don't know. I don't know why," she cried. "I'm trying, but I don't know how to fix this."
You reached across the table, taking her trembling hands in yours. "I miss you, Sana. I miss the person you used to be. But I can't keep doing this if you won't let me in."
"Don't say that," she whispered again, but this time her voice was softer, more broken. "I can't lose you."
As she looked up, her eyes drifted to the necklace around your neck, the promise ring resting against your chest. Her gaze lingered there, and you noticed the flicker of recognition in her eyes. You gently tugged at the ring, your own emotions spilling over.
"I'm so attached to you, Sana," you began, your voice trembling. "I have so much love for you. But this," you pull at the ring, "is stopping me from moving on. The day you closed the door, the day you went hiding, was the day a part of me died too. You took my love away from me."
Her tears fell harder, her sorrow palpable. "I never meant to hurt you," she choked out. "I thought I was protecting you, protecting us."
"But you weren't," you said softly. "You were shutting me out, pushing me away. And it broke me, Sana."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the distant rumble of thunder. You squeezed her hands gently, hoping to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.
"Please don’t leave me," she whispered.
You remained silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. The pain she’s caused is still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to promise anything. Her plea lingered, unanswered.
"Please," she begged again, her voice breaking. "Don’t leave me."
You took a deep breath, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. "Sana," you said gently, your voice so incredibly small. "I need you to leave. I can't keep doing this. I need time for myself to think. I don't know if I can ever give this a chance again."
Her face crumpled at your words, tears spilling down her cheeks. She looked at you, searching for any sign of hope, but found none.
“I understand,” she hiccuped, her voice trembling. She released your hands and stepped back, her movements slow and hesitant. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes clouded with regret and sorrow.
The first raindrops began to patter against the window, the storm finally breaking.
And now you stand at her doorstep, exactly at 2 PM. The old wooden door feels solid beneath your fingertips, and you hesitate, unsure if it's even worth knocking. You're conflicted, grappling with the idea of giving another chance, yet again. Despite the hurt, you can't help but see the lingering goodness and love in Sana.
Finally, you muster the courage and rap your knuckles against the door. The sound echoes through the silent afternoon, mingling with the distant hum of traffic.
After what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open slowly. Sana stands before you, her eyes red-rimmed. She looks fragile, as if the weight of the world rests on her shoulders.
"You came," she murmurs softly, her voice tinged with a mix of emotions—surprise, relief, and perhaps a hint of optimism.
"I came because I believe in love," you confess wearily, your voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty.
Sana's breath catches in her throat, her eyes welling with tears. She steps back slightly, silently inviting you in. You follow her into the apartment, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.
Inside, the atmosphere is calm and serene, a stark contrast to the stormy night you both endured recently.
Sana leads you to the balcony, where a gentle breeze ruffles the curtains. The sky above is a clear, soft blue with just a few wispy clouds drifting lazily. The distant chirping of birds and the laughter of children playing in the street below make everything so peaceful.
She turns to face you, her eyes searching yours with uncertainty yet a flicker of hope. Without a word, she gestures towards a small table where a tea set is laid out. You both sit down silently, the only sound the faint clinking of cups as Sana pours the tea.
As she hands you a cup, her hand trembles slightly. She meets your gaze, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of everything hanging heavy in the air.
"I didn't know if you would come," Sana finally whispers, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves.
You take her hand in yours, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I had to," you reply softly. "I had to see you, to understand."
She nods, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her emotions. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice choked with tears. "For pushing you away, for not letting you in."
You reach out and gently wipe away a tear from her cheek. "I understand why you did it," you say gently. "But I need to know if we can move forward, if we can find our way back to each other."
Sana looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and hope. "I want to try," she says, her voice trembling. "I want us to try."
"I'm not going anywhere, Sana," you say softly, cradling her face gently in your hands. She looks up at you, her tears flowing freely now, but there is a hint of relief in her eyes.
Leaning in closer, you press your lips tenderly against her forehead, then kiss away the tears that stain her cheeks. The gesture is soft and comforting, and you feel Sana melt against you, her breathing slowing as your touch calms her troubled heart.
She wraps her arms around you, holding you close as she slowly stops crying. The weight of the past weeks begins to lift, replaced by a fragile sense of hope and renewal.
You hold her tenderly, feeling the tension slowly ebb away from her body. She pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, still glistening with tears but now also with a hint of something more—something hopeful.
Sana takes a deep breath and looks at you with a newfound determination in her eyes.
“I… I want to try something,” she says quietly, her voice tentative yet filled with a quiet resolve.
I want to try for you.
You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” you ask gently, ready to support her in whatever way she needs.
Sana closes the remaining distance between you, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans in. Your lips meet in a gentle, tender kiss that quickly deepens as you both surrender to the moment. Her hands glide to your neck, fingers threading through your hair, while your arms encircle her waist, pulling her closer.
The kiss intensifies, filled with a passion that leaves you both breathless. Her lips move against yours with a newfound confidence, and you respond in kind, losing yourselves in the sensation. The world around you fades away as the kiss becomes more urgent, tongues dancing in a rhythm of their own.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you panting softly. Sana’s eyes shine with a mix of desire and determination.
“Come with me,” she says softly. She takes your hand, leading you back in, down the hallway to her bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and the room is filled with a comfortable intimacy.
You look around, noticing the way the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on everything. “It’s so different seeing you in the light of day,” you murmur, your voice filled with awe. “We usually only have these moments at night.”
Sana smiles, her eyes softening. “I know. I’m sorry… but it feels special, doesn’t it?” she replies, pulling you close again.
As she resumes kissing you, her hands begin to move with deliberate care. She slowly starts to unbutton your shirt, her fingers gentle and reverent. Each piece of clothing is removed with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. Her eyes never leave yours, filled with adoration.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. “Like the most precious thing on earth.”
Her hands glide over your skin, cherishing every inch of you as if committing you to memory. The kisses deepen, becoming more intense, as she holds you close, making you feel treasured and loved beyond measure.
Sana's gaze is tender as she guides you down onto the soft expanse of the bed. There's a gentleness to her touch, a devotion in her careful movements, as she slides a pillow under your head and another beneath your hips. The fabric of her blouse brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to your own state of undress, but she doesn't seem to mind—her focus is entirely on you.
"Comfortable?" she whispers, her voice a gentle caress that mirrors the touch of her fingers trailing along the bare skin of your thigh.
"More than," you reply, and the corner of her mouth lifts in that familiar half-smile.
Her fingers, light and precise, trace patterns over your skin, igniting trails of heat wherever they roam. She leans over you, her lips barely grazing yours as her hand ventures further, exploring the heat between your thighs.
Two fingers spread you open and you can see the restraint in her eyes, the way she holds back her own desire, biting back a moan. Her movements are deliberate, intent on drawing out every shiver and gasp from your lips, her fingers dipping into your wetness.
"So perfect," she murmurs, almost to herself, at the sight of you, laid bare and the feeling of your soaked sex on her fingers.
She shifts then, positioning herself so that her mouth is inches away from where you ache for her most. Her breath is hot against your skin, her fingers still teasing you as she watches your face intently.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she engulfs you with her mouth and lets her tongue twirl around your clit. Humming as she suckles on it, savouring her favourite thing.
Your taste.
You.
The sounds are so obscene and wet, but she doesn’t care. Her focus is all on the singular point of desire pulsing between your legs. Her mouth is insistent, loving, worshipping with every motion.
She teases your entrance with two fingers, tracing up and down. But just before she can enter you, her face dips lower. Her tongue slips inside you, her kitten licks spreading your wetness across her tongue, her nose gently bumping against your clit repeatedly.
"Look at me," she whines against you, and your eyes flutter open to meet hers. There's a raw need in her gaze, a hunger to witness every moment of your unraveling.
With one hand, she grips your hip and gently nudges, signaling for you to take control. To use her face as you wish, to chase for your own pleasure. A few rolls of your hips against her face and you gasp, already so close to your release. She moans long and deep against your cunt before returning to your clit, sucking eagerly as her fingers slide inside you. She uses them in tandem, a rhythm designed to push you over the edge.
“So sweet, my love… so perfect,” she murmurs, almost breathless as you tighten around her. Her mouth opens in a silent moan at your needy whimper. Leaning her head against your thigh, she admires you, breath caught at your breathtaking sight — so gorgeous with your arched back and flushed cheeks, calling out her name as you grip the sheets. Your fingers then reach down to comb through her hair, anchoring yourself in the moment.
Your world narrows to the push and pull of her fingers, the relentless pressure building low in your belly. With each stroke, she whispers, "I love you," the words igniting sparks within you.
"Close," you manage to choke out, and she understands.
She shifts again, rising to hold your face with one hand, her fingers still working their magic below.
"I love you," she repeats like a mantra, each declaration punctuated with a kiss—a kiss to your brow, your cheeks, your lips. With each utterance, her fingers work you closer to release, her eyes alight with adoration, desperate to capture every nuance of your expression.
A deep stroke, a curl of fingers and a palm hitting your clit, release crashes over you in waves.
I love you, y/n.
As you float back down, Sana stays close, her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing synchronized with your panting breaths.
"You are so much more prettier in the sunlight, my angel." Sana whispers against your lips before locking them with hers in a slow, wet kiss.
You close your eyes, letting the kiss consume you. Sana's hand reaches for the necklace, her fingers brushing against the promise ring. She gently follows the loop of it, fingers grazing the golden band warmed up by your heated skin. Her eyes momentarily clear before clouding over again, like a storm that never truly left.
I love you so much, y/n.
But I don’t know.
You smile, feeling a flicker of hope, too naive to see the familiar pattern repeating itself. Sana's slight change gives you enough reassurance to stay, unaware that you're both bound to repeat the same cycle.
As you drift into sleep, Sana's eyes change, clouding over completely. A single tear falls from her eye because she knows she’s bound to break your heart again, but she also knows you’re not going anywhere. The realization stabs at her, but she can't help the pull of the cycle, just as you can't help your love for her.
In that moment, as your breathing steadies in sleep, the tear rolls down her cheek, and she whispers into the quietness of the room, "I'm sorry." But you don’t hear it, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand.
The cycle is unbreakable, and both of you are too lost in it to ever truly escape.
"I’m so sorry."
I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back, my love.
#twice x reader#twice imagines#kpop imagines#twice scenarios#gg x reader#twice smut#gg imagines#sana x reader#sana smut#kpop smut#kpop scenarios
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Chasing Starlight: Chapter 20
Pairing: Poly!Feysand x female!Reader
Summary: After Nyx’s birth, Feyre is seeking to ease her way back into her duties as High Lady and balance her time at the gallery with being a new mother. To ease her mind, she and Rhys have decided to hire a new nanny, who turns out to be far more than either of them had bargained for.
A/N: I decided to split this chapter into two separate chapters, so you're not waiting nearly as long for an update as you would be otherwise. Happy birthday to me means happy birthday to YOU. I hope you all enjoy it.
I don’t need a healer to tell me how bad the poisoning is. I feel it to the very marrow of my bones, in the way my muscles burn and the endless exhaustion that plagues me like a phantom. It takes days to get out of bed on my own, and over a week before I’m able to walk the River House without assistance. All the while, healers buzz in and out of our rooms so quickly, I don’t have time to learn their names…not that I truly need to. Rhys and Feyre oversee everything, from the various potions and tonics and salves I use to manage the ongoing symptoms to the amount of movement I should be getting every day. I let them, and I still can’t decide if it is truly a betrayal of myself to allow anyone else to have that sort of control over my existence, or if it merely feels like one.
From my seat in the window of this little corner sitting room, I can see Elain puttering around the garden, her golden brown hair tied back from her face. She had mentioned starting the process of preparing the flowerbeds for winter, but I hadn’t truly thought about it until I noticed the frost glistening on the ground and realized how much time has passed. Time I’ve lost. My gaze flicks to Lucien following dutifully behind her, ever the gentleman, but his eyes aren’t on his mate. Instead, his focus is on the bundled up, winged babe she’d deposited in his arms. To his credit, Nyx seems just as entranced as his chubby fists grab at the ends of Lucien’s crimson hair.
‘You’re drifting again.’ Feyre’s soft voice drifts through my wafer-thin shields with ease. She’s little more than a wisp at the edge of my mind, as far as she or Rhys dare to go these days, but I can tell she’s getting a peek at what’s captured my attention. ‘I promise he’s fine.’
“It’s cold,” I murmur, and the Dawn Court healer seated across from my mates makes some startled noise, like she’d forgotten her patient was in the room. I glance over my shoulder to see her begin to rise, only to be stilled by Rhys’s hand raising in silent command. I feel him, too, slipping around the edge of the fragile shield I’d been holding that I finally allow to crumple. There’s no point in maintaining it if it’s not actually functional. Rhysand’s disapproval is thick as he settles a shield of his own around my mind: a barrier of strong, dark adamant I could not hope to penetrate on my own.
‘This feels unnecessary, no one is reading my mind here besides the two of you.’
‘I would have put a shield in place regardless, we’re leaving after this.’ The detached formality of his tone draws my attention back to him, and I narrow my eyes as he meets my gaze. He’s been distant since the morning after I regained consciousness, and I still can’t decide why. Fear? Trauma? Feyre says to give him time, but I’m not sure how much time it’s going to take for us to move past this, or if that’s even truly the answer. I know we will move past it, whatever it is, I just wish I knew how to help.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, anxious at the idea of either of them leaving me so soon, even if it’s only for a meeting. We haven’t been apart since I woke, and I selfishly want all of the time I have to spend with them while I can.
‘We, Dove, you’re going, too. Helion has agreed to meet with us to see if he can break this spell,’ Feyre’s gentle response breaks through the tension beginning to bubble between us. ‘And you wanted to speak to Eris, which we’ve arranged for this afternoon.’
‘And we have to leave to do that?’
‘We prefer to hold meetings in less personal territory. Our official court residence is not in Velaris.’
‘Oh.’ It makes sense, truly, to not wish to host political allies or potential rivals in a previously hidden city. It also explains why they both look dressed for a more formal appointment than meeting with this healer. Speaking of, the healer clears her throat and my mates’ full attention shifts to her, but I turn to look out of the window once more.
After weeks of testing, no one has been able to say anything beyond what we already know: there is some sort of spell surrounding the magical core in my mind that seems to have been constructed as a sort of barrier. Many decades of trapped magical power seems to have finally breached the confines of a spell degraded by time and the death of the original caster. The migraines and the reproductive issues that had seemed unrelated at the time, the draining, sometimes painful backlash I’d feel if I used too much of the little healing magic available to me…all turned out to be symptoms of a much larger issue that I’ve been shrugging off for most of my life.
Because I’d assumed my problems were insignificant. That I simply had been born wrong. Less powerful than my family, a daughter who had grown to be a burden, someone meant to go unnoticed. It had never occurred to me that I might not have access to all of my power. I had overlooked myself for my entire life and now…now, after so many years of searching for purpose and love and finally finding it, I might not survive the year. I have no one to blame but myself.
A shadow lingering at the edge of the window seat’s cushion curls towards me and I slowly turn my palm to the ceiling, allowing it to slither into my hand. My last memories of Azriel are of his boots appearing on the floor of the hall the day I fell ill, but Feyre says this shadow has not left my side. Our friendship is a strange one, but I’ve missed his quiet presence the days I’ve spent wandering this house. The shadow slithers through my fingers, then up the sleeve of my dress to settle in the cool darkness there.
The seed of anger beginning to bloom in my heart stills with it. Blaming myself won’t do anyone any good now.
‘If we’re going to speak with Helion about my condition,’ I muse, prodding at the bond until I’m sure at least one of my mates is paying attention, ‘why are we meeting with this healer?’
‘To see if she had anything useful to say,’ Rhys responds, his voice rumbling with impatience. ‘Apparently she does not.’
‘Rhys.’ Feyre’s admonishment is sharp, but he doesn’t seem remotely chastened by it. I shake my head and glance out the window to see Lucien entertaining Nyx with a little, dancing figure crafted out of flame. The babe’s small, black wings flutter happily against his back and I press my tattooed hand against my heart at the sight. Elain glances up from the flowerbed she’s tending and a delicate pink flush lights her face as she watches them together. Feyre’s middle sister has always had a way with the babe, and it warms something in me to witness the delight on her face at the sight of her mate bonding with her nephew.
Some people possess power, but others seem to be made of it. Elain is one of those people, something about her makes happy endings seem a little more possible. Even for someone like me.
The click of a door closing pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see Feyre at my side stretching out a tattooed hand. I press my hand into hers and allow her to help me stand, wincing at the way my joints and muscles burn as they bear my weight. The pain is more exhausting than the actual illness, and I think it will need to be an early night for me if I hope to feel remotely rested by tomorrow.
“Are you all right?” Feyre asks, wrapping an arm around my waist as we begin our slow walk to the door. “If you need to rest-”
“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh, leaning into her side for support. “Truly. I’ll need a little more rest tonight, but it’s not so bad I can’t handle it.”
“You’ll tell us when you need to rest.” An order, not a question, but I nod anyway to appease the thread of worry hiding beneath her authoritative tone. I suppose she’s entitled to fuss a little. By the time we make it to Rhys, who has been watching us cross the room with an unnerving sort of focus, I hear the sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hall and perk up a little. That can only be Morrigan, home from a short trip to Rask. Rhys shifts my weight from Feyre’s arm to his in time for the door to open and his cousin to bustle through it, her long coat a cloud of blue swirling around her as she first gathers Feyre into her arms in a warm hug.
“Hello, my dears,” she says warmly, kissing both of Feyre’s cheeks before she turns to us, hovering awkwardly while she sizes up how best to greet us both without jostling me unnecessarily. In the end, she settles for a kiss on each cheek and a hand smoothed over my hair as her brown eyes sweep over me. “How are you feeling, Dove? You look much better.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her with a smile as I feel Rhys’s hand flex against my waist. “Tired, but fine…well, mostly fine.”
“Did the healer have good news?” she asks, her wide eyes narrowing a little as she studies Rhys. Over five hundred years of friendship has given her an insight to my mate’s moods that I don’t ever hope to possess, I wonder what she’s seeing that I don’t.
“We’ll be seeking another opinion,” is all the response the male at my side gives her. “Are you coming with us to speak with Helion? Amren has already declined.”
“Oh, no, not tonight. I have…a few things to talk to you about regarding my trip.”
“Speak with Amren first, then you and I will talk when we return in the morning.” I start at the implication that we’ll be away for the night. I hadn’t thought these meetings would take more than an afternoon. I haven’t been beyond the walls of this house since I fell ill, and suddenly this afternoon jaunt is becoming an overnight stay? I look to Rhys, whose eyes remain fixed on Mor, then to Feyre who only gives me a small, supportive smile. “Are you able to stay with Elain and Nyx tonight?”
“Yes, of course. Where is my darling boy?”
“In the rose garden with Elain and Lucien,” Feyre says, gesturing towards the window. “You’ll let us know if he begins crawling with any real enthusiasm, won’t you?”
“You won’t miss it,” Mor promises with a small sigh, slipping her hands into the pocket of her coat. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you, then, since it seems you’re on your way out. Breakfast tomorrow?”
“You know where to find us if you need anything.” Rhys tells her with a brief nod, his violet eyes flicking to the clock on the mantle. “We should be going.”
“I haven’t packed-” I stutter, digging in my heels a little, but Feyre shakes her head.
“We’ve taken care of everything,” Feyre says, slipping her hand into mine. “I promise.”
Of course they have. Of course they have. Knowing this does nothing to smother the flutter of anxiety in my stomach, but I nod in acquiescence and watch Rhys tuck her against his opposite side. I hate the feeling of the world dropping away from me like so much falling water, only to reform into somewhere else moments later. It’s disconcerting on a good day, but today my knees give way beneath me the moment solid ground is beneath my feet and I begin to pant, desperate to calm my roiling stomach before it spills its contents all over the pristine marble floor.
“Breathe,” Rhysand’s voice is a strong, steady lifeline I cling to while my vision blurs and an ache begins to build behind my eyes. I can feel him rubbing slow, soothing circles between my shoulderblades, but it does little to settle my stomach. “You need to breathe.”
The long, artistic fingers that smooth over my forehead and cheeks are delightfully cold, sparkling with frost, and I glance up to see Feyre’s starlight blue eyes focused on me with so much concern I feel I might crumble beneath the weight of it. Over and over, she runs her thumb along my brow bone and beneath my eyes until the ache subsides and it’s easier to breathe again.
“I’m okay,” I mumble, sitting back on my heels as I finally get a good look at where we’re at. It’s a bedroom twice the size of most of the apartments I’ve lived in, constructed of moonstone pillars instead of walls. Gauzy azure curtains lend some illusion of privacy. The cold marble floor is covered with an assortment of complimentary rugs, the likes of which I’ve certainly seen hanging in a shop’s display window in the Rainbow. There’s a sitting area with plush sofas and chairs, each of which is covered with heavy throws in a variety of knits and furs. Beyond it is a large, heated pool that overlooks a scene of beautiful, snow capped mountain peaks. We’re so high up that even the clouds seem to drift around us. When I glance over my shoulder, I catch sight of a large bed covered in thick, comfortable blankets and the hanging lanterns that dot the room, gently glowing with faelight. An equally impressive wardrobe stands beside an arched doorway, beyond which I assume is a toilet and sink. “Oh, wow.”
“Wait until you see the rest of it,” Feyre says, and I turn to see a wide, warm smile on her face that makes my heart stutter at the sight of it. I always want her to smile that way, carefree in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen her. Even Rhys has shed the distance that’s haunted his features for a warm, content smile I haven’t seen in quite some time. I run my clammy hand along his cheek and watch him turn to kiss my palm, his hand catching my own to hold it there. A small, nervous laugh bubbles from my lips, filled with remnants of the anxiety that had previously plagued me. One of them should probably kiss me before it devolves into hysterical giggles borne of weeks of pain and worry.
Luckily, Feyre seems to catch that absent thought and catches my chin between her thumb and forefinger. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, and I sigh against them as I melt into her kiss, returning it with all of the heat I can muster. My free hand curves around her thin shoulder, and I feel Rhysand’s lips against the tender skin of my wrist as he peppers kisses up to the cuff of my sleeve. ‘We’re okay,’ I think as Feyre pulls my lower lip between her teeth, not caring if either of them are still rattling around inside my mind as inadvertent witnesses to my thoughts. ‘We’ll be okay if we can get through this.’
“We are more than okay,” Rhys murmurs as Feyre presses me back against his chest and trails kisses from the corner of my mouth and along my jaw to the pulse fluttering in my throat. I’d selected this dress for its loose fit and the flowy, breathable fabric, but the bodice suddenly feels much too tight, the skirts too much fabric between myself and the two people I want more than air. We’ve shared cuddles and a few chaste kisses here and there, mostly before bed, nothing of this intensity in so long I’ve almost forgotten what it felt like. Almost. “We’re going to get through this.”
I want to tell him not to make promises he can’t keep, but there’s a conviction in his voice that grounds me. There is no hint of doubt, no room for it, only the certainty that he will find the solution to this problem. I want to believe him, more than anything. I want to trust him to find a cure, but he’s no healer. Neither of them are. If the healers can’t find a solution…no, no I won’t think of it now. I won’t ruin this moment with the sort of thoughts best saved for midnight wandering. Instead I lean up to kiss him and thread my fingers through the silky, dark hair at the back of his head.
The warm press of his lips against mine is far too brief, interrupted by the cool slide of a shadow against my skin. I pull away to watch it slide from my arm onto the floor and melt into the darkness at the edge of the room. Rhysand’s long, dark eyelashes flutter for a moment like he’s waking from a dream, before his eyes clear and he seems to come back to himself. Together, we find our way off of the floor, but I feel the moment the mask slides back into place and the best of him is tucked behind a wall I cannot scale. A spark of intuition lights a cold fire in Feyre’s eyes and, though she’s straightening my dress and her own, it feels like she’s a thousand miles away.
Arguing with him, if I had to guess, in a dark corner of his mind.
“We’re staying here tonight?” I ask, though it’s more statement than question. I can’t imagine any of us wanting to find out how I’d react to winnowing twice in one day after such an unpleasant arrival the first time.
“We’ll dress more comfortably for dinner,” Feyre promises with a distracted nod. “It will be just us, maybe Azriel-”
“No,” Rhys says, and I turn to watch him slipping his hand into his pockets as the door opens with a wave of his hand. “He won’t be joining us tonight, I’m afraid. He’ll be looking after our guest.”
“Which one? You have so many.” My tone is drier than I’d intended, but his lips quirk at the bite and Feyre reaches up to tug at my hair. It hadn’t liked that much in the past, but with her? My cheeks heat as vague memories of our night in the Day Court flood my mind and I wave a hand in front of my face, like that will clear them or, moreover, my reaction to them away on the breeze. “Why isn’t it cold here? This place doesn’t have many real walls to speak of.”
“I like to think I’m above keeping my mates in a lofty palace that isn’t heated.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Feyre murmurs, threading my arm through hers as she leads me from the room. “I asked the same question the first time he brought me here.”
“You also threw a shoe at my head the first time I brought you here.”
“Shoes.”
“The second one doesn’t count, it didn’t land.”
“Shall we try it again, Rhys? I think you’ll find my aim has significantly improved.”
“Your aim has always been impeccable, darling.”
“He maintains the enchantments so it is always available for use should we need it,” Feyre says, continuing our conversation as she rolls her eyes at his smug tone. I lean my head against her shoulder for a moment as we walk, wanting nothing more than the brush of her body against my own. I don’t know if it’s the mating bond driving me closer, making me crave them both with a growing sense of desperation, or if it’s the feeling of time closing in around us. Now that I’ve had a taste of it, I want so much more of them and this life we might have.
The palace is beautiful, to be sure. I catch glimpses of several spiraling, moonstone towers with arched windows jutting out of the mountaintop as we move through the halls and up a short flight of stairs to the main floor, and each room I pass is beautifully, comfortably decorated. But it feels empty, more akin to a museum than a place one would raise a family. Had the previous High Lords been in residence here, or is it only opened for formal occasions? Unlike the River House in Velaris, I don’t notice any staff wandering the halls or dusting furniture. It feels like we’re the only people alive up here.
“Why a palace on a remote mountain though?”
“It sits above the other half of our court,” Rhys says, settling a hand on my lower back as he lengthens his strides to walk beside us. “The Hewn City was carved into this mountain a long, long time ago. There are natural springs that feed the river running through the city-”
“Like a dark reflection of Velaris.”
“Yes, actually. The court is more formal and the culture is vastly different from what we’ve built in Velaris. The citizens of the Hewn City largely govern themselves, and I interfere as little as possible.”
“Why?” I ask, tilting my chin up to meet those lovely, star-flecked eyes. Shadows are beginning to swirl in them, a darkness I haven’t truly seen in him before, but I’m starting to wonder how many aspects there are of my mates that I’ve never witnessed. We’ve been rather insulated in their home in Velaris, where Rhys and Feyre are the benevolent, adored High Lord and Lady. I’ve not stopped to think about the rest of their territory and the faeries that inhabit these lands before, but perhaps I should. If we complete this mating bond, I will be…something more than a nanny, won’t I? Something formal, surely I would have duties or a title of my own, wouldn’t I? “Are they not your people, too?”
“They are under my rule and my protection, yes. But no, they’ve never felt like my people. There’s a violence and cruelty to the High Fae living beneath this mountain that chafes against everything I stand for, and I won’t lie and say they’ve ever wanted me for a High Lord. I assure you, they have not, but they aren’t brave enough to attempt a coup.”
“It would be rather pointless, wouldn’t it?” I glance over at Feyre to see her looking at me with a contemplative sort of interest, and I press on. “I mean, the two of you are obscenely powerful, right? You have power from seven High Lords, Feyre, that’s no small feat. And Rhys is the most powerful of them all, everyone knows that. I think it would be well acknowledged that any effort to truly stand against you both would be a death sentence. If they wanted to make a bid for total independence, that wouldn’t be the way to do it.”
“I don’t know that they would want it, anyway. There’s a strict hierarchy within their society that requires the presence of a High Lord to satisfy, without that they would have to find a new way to govern themselves. I think they’re too set in their ways to attempt something new at this point.”
“Perhaps with the older fae, yes, but what about the younger ones? Surely they have children who may want something different.”
“It’s one thing to want something different, Dove, and another entirely to take a chance on it. I think you would know that better than most.”
“I ran out of necessity, not because I wanted to.” I murmur as we step into what seems to be a main hallway with high arches and a ceiling glittering with dark, beautiful mosaic tilework. The tiles range from midnight blue and pale moonstone to chips of abyssal onyx that must have come from the mountain below, arranged in a flowing pattern that echoes the sky at midnight. Right above our heads is a decorative window looking directly into the overcast sky. There’s a cold sort of beauty to it that’s striking, but deeply lonely. I wonder if the Hewn City feels the same way.
“What do you think?” Feyre asks, squeezing my hand to draw my attention back to her. I smile and brush my lips against her clothed shoulder, enjoying the way her own breath catches in her throat. More, more, I want so much more of that. Of her, of them. “You can’t keep having those thoughts if you expect us to get through meetings with Helion and Eris.”
“Really, Helion is the one that matters,” Rhys says lowly, and I glance over my shoulder to see the darkness gathering in his gaze as he looks at us, suddenly every inch the predator taking in his next meal. When I look back to Feyre, she’s no better: a pale, beautiful wolf eyeing a prize doe, and I don’t think I mind being their prey. “Say the word and I’ll send Eris away-”
“No,” I interject, swallowing hard against the need building within me. “No. I need to talk to him, I have questions that won’t wait. It took time to arrange this meeting, didn’t it?” Neither of them bother to confirm an answer I already know. “Who knows when we’ll have the opportunity again. Let’s just get through this and retire early.”
“Very early,” Feyre warns and I nod, eager to please her. Rhysand seems satisfied by her response, if not enthused by it, and trails his hand up my spine to thread through my hair, pulling my face back to his with a sort of possession that feels more like slipping control. He kisses me with a bruising, vicious sort of need. With the way his teeth scrape across my already swollen lips, it feels like a sort of claiming. There will be no doubt in anyone’s mind what we were doing before we walked into that room and I want, no, need more of it. Our blossoming relationship has been such a private thing between the three of us, but I don’t want that anymore.
I want everyone to know who I belong to and, in turn, that they are wholly mine.
The unwelcome sound of boots echoing through the hall pulls Rhysand’s lips from mine, but his hand remains in my hair holding me against his chest as he turns my body to shield me from view, giving me a moment to collect myself. Feyre’s hand ghosts over my ribs before she steps away to greet the new arrival.
“Azriel,” she says warmly, and I release a shuddering breath as I grip the front of Rhys’s black jacket, needing a moment more to truly steady myself. The pads of his fingers rub lightly at my scalp before he disentangles his hand from my hair and wraps the arm protectively around my shoulders. I hear Azriel greeting Feyre with equal warmth, though the low growl in my mate’s chest draws a derisive snort from the both of them while I just shake my head. Territorial fae male nonsense, but I don’t think he can help himself at this point if he’s feeling the pull of the mating bond the way that I am.
“Has Helion arrived?” Rhys asks, clearing his throat as he turns us both to face his brother. Azriel’s face is stormy when gives a brief nod, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “And our guest has been contained?”
“For now. She’s still too unstable to be alone for long, but I wanted to be the one to tell you that Eris isn’t coming.”
“Why?” the High Lord asks too softly as I stiffen against his side. I have questions I need him to answer, I can’t…I can’t die without asking them-
‘Don’t go there,’ Feyre warns, her voice swirling through my mind like cold autumn mist settling over an orchard, blanketing every dark thought threatening to break through the haze of want clouding my mind. ‘We’re not going to let anything more happen to you, my love. You will not suffer any more than necessary. There is a cure for this and we will not stop until we find it.’
I want to believe she’s right, that her conviction alone is enough to save me from this. I just don’t know if it’s true. I hope so.
“Beron required his presence.”
“For what?”
“An execution.” The memory of fire and popping flesh rails against the prison I’d stuffed it in within the depths of my mind. A dark presence swiftly snuffs it out like the night closing in on a guttering candle flame, and the mist descends there as well. I suppose they’ve both decided that memory would bring unnecessary suffering, but the suppression of it doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should.
“How interesting.”
“I don’t have details yet, but I’ve sent someone to get them.”
“I expect we should not keep Helion waiting, then.” Rhys drawls, smoothing a hand over the back of my dress. “Thank you, Azriel.”
It’s then that the spymaster looks at me, and his hazel eyes warm a little at the sight. I think there will always be a sort of coldness to Azriel that feels as natural as the ever-circling shadows at his back, but there’s something about him that feels like home. Seeing him now reminds me how much I’ve missed him.
“You look better,” he notes with a small smile as his gaze trails my form from head to toe with a trained precision. “Not well, but better.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I tease, suppressing a giggle at the way Rhys twitches at my side. The corner of the spymaster’s mouth twitches and he shakes his head, a warning if I’ve ever seen one. Feyre shoots Rhys a look of long-suffering exasperation and I train my eyes on my friend, afraid that if I look at either of my mates I won’t be able to stop laughing. “You’ll have to join us for dinner soon, if only to see your nephew. I swear he grows every time I look at him.”
“Soon,” he replies with a nod. “I promise. I won’t keep you any longer, have a good night.”
“You too.”
“Goodbye, Az,” Feyre says, leaning in for a brief hug. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Fey.” His words to her are gentle, significantly less formal. A brother giving an affectionate goodbye to a beloved sister. I don’t know that we’ll ever have a relationship like theirs, but I’m not sure I’d want that. I had brothers once and I’d loved them deeply, I don’t know if I would want to replicate that bond with anyone else. But knowing the way Feyre grew up, I don’t blame her for seeking the easy, familial affection she’d lacked most of her life. Once they part, Azriel turns to leave and one of the shadows at his heel breaks away to swirl briefly at my feet before it darts towards a door. He’s gone in a flash of darkness and Rhys rolls his shoulders before he tucks my hand into his elbow and gestures towards that door.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Then to bed,” Feyre purrs, her blue eyes darting between us as a feline smile tugs at her lips. I swear for a moment I feel Rhys shiver at my side. When I open my mouth to tease him, she looks at me and I get the briefest glimpse of her head between my thighs and the words die on my tongue as I fight to keep my own breathing steady.
“Yes, darling, then we’re going to bed.”
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escapism thy name is tashur (or viperquin, or what have you)-- fanwork recs
Hey listen. It was a shit week and I am about as optimistic as Tarquin about the year ahead. So, as I head into the weekend, I am protecting my peace by metaphorically pulling the covers over my head and building a blanket fort out of fanworks About Them. If you also hate it here and want to go to secret gardens in your mind, here in no particular order is my annotated list of the Tarquin x Ashur/Tashur/Viperquin fanworks that are getting me out of my head, lately.
Obligatory disclaimers: YMMV, there are so many good works in this fandom and this list is not exhaustive/will be updated periodically, mind the ratings, enjoy responsibly, &c. And, thanks to everyone who's creating things for this pairing and folks who are reading/reblogging stuff about them, too. I'm way out of practice at fandom and mostly lurk, but it's a really lovely little creative community to be a part of even in a low-key way.
Kiss me when you’re done (series– explicit), thismission I haven’t had a single thought in my head any of the approximately 20 times I have read this modern AU series. It feels like your own personal bodyguard has taken you by the hand and is leading you around at a party: your brain is turned off and you are just trusting the process. It’s hot and it’s also such a deeply interesting character exploration of what these people might be like here and now, but without making me actually think many thoughts about the here and now really at all. And, bonus, it really captures the “get the fuck out of here with these feelings I’m not thinking about” Tarquin vibe and the “oh my god he’s so hot I’m immediately obsessed with him” Ashur vibe, which *I* am personally devoted to for this ship. Anyway I’m obsessed with this.
Most Holy, magemance This is my phone lockscreen and wallpaper and the day I made that decision was not only a good day, but also marks the day I noticed my phone battery was draining faster for some reason? Looking at this never fails to make me smile and so I stare at this and make chinhands and kick my little feet for hours out of a day. I’m sure that’s no connection to the phone battery issue. Probably.
Oh No! I’ve Been Hit By Evil Cultist Blood Magic! (explicit), knight0fcups This is immersive, there’s so many little details from Ashur’s POV that it’s just really easy to fall into and live there for a bit. This is sex pollen/fuck-or-die done SO well– I don’t seek out those tropes most of the time but I’m so glad this exists because it is fucking delightful from start to finish, snappy and clever and funny as fuck. There is a line that Tarquin says in this fic that made me laugh so loudly, I startled my dog. I won’t tell you what it is because you deserve to discover it for yourself. It is perfect, 15/10 no notes. Well, some notes. These notes, that I wrote. You get it.
moments we stole from the blight, rookfeathers One of the first pieces of Tashur art that lured me back to tumblr/fandom, this one has a special place in my heart for that alone, but– WALL KISSES. THE HANDS. THE DESPERATION IS PALPABLE but in a GOOD way.
Won’t you stay with me, my darling, (when my walls start burning down),(explicit), decant This is just. It’s just!!! So good! This hurts in such a particularly good way. It’s the “I’ve escaped to a MORE tragic timeline” kind of escapism. The level of despair is just…pervasive and perfect for blighted Minrathous, and Tarquin dealing with blighted Minrathous and the certainty of losing Ashur. AND YET. There’s just enough of something not-quite-hopeful filtering through the whole thing to really round it out. I don’t necessarily want to escape to blighted Minrathous (a lateral fuckin move in these times TBH) but I do love briefly visiting via this story.
Midnight rendezvous, J0ypatron (joy-jpg) Ahhhh I take one look at this and I am immediately blasting “Come to my window” by Melissa Etheridge. Just, immediately. That, and thinking of the balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet, only with a grumpy wet cat of a man yelling “Fuck off,” but like, in a loving way, at his boyfriend, who also happens to be the Imperial Divine.
Courting Traditions of the Oblivious Soporatus, (teen and up), bendingwind Look, I am super biased about this one because I have so many thoughts about courting traditions in Tevinter, and Z wrote this incredibly rich story that somehow made all my Soporati courting tradition dreams come true??? Miracles happen. It’s SO DELIGHTFUL. Screaming, crying, clutching my face with joy. Also: the strawberries??? Pls.
tarquin sees ashur’s face for the first time, fadesense I love everything about this. The name of the dog. The way Tarquin’s hair looks. Tarquin’s face and general disposition. Ashur knowing it was Tarquin. Ashur petting the dog. I am transported to a world where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
Holy matrimony, hesketh This is so fucking fun and also so sweet and those are two things that instantly send me to another planet in the best way. The pace is great and the banter is top tier 110/10 no notes and it also has bonus!Dorian being a delightful, handsome menace, as he is wont to be. Perfection.
Ashur and Tarquin fighting together, archfey-edda Like the artist, I ALSO just wanted to see them kicking ass together in the game, and this is SO COOL. Love love love a little glimpse of Ashur being a badass mage and the thought! Of him fighting back to back with Tarquin! I have ascended. The movement and the light in this is also just stunning, I could stare at it for hours.
Gnosis, asyouwes You wouldn’t think a story that makes me reflect on my own fraught relationship with organized religion would be on an escapism list but here we are– sometimes it’s easier to engage with those feelings at arm’s length, through someone else’s eyes. And, I’m a big fan of stories that capture a very particular mood or feeling and this one really does that well.
i have shed my skin, look at me now, (mature) frigid Nothing gets you out of your own head quite like a good werewolf/vampire AU. Really loving the overlay of cryptid stuff with the Shadow Dragons and everything going on in Tevinter.
Quick tashur doodle, loustica-lucia The LEANING. The FOREHEAD TOUCHING. The way Tarquin’s exhale LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE HEART. I live here now. Forward my mail here. You will not be hearing from me, but you can forward my mail here anyway.
Like sweet dreams, (explicit), greygerbil The absolute best morning-after-we-hooked-up kind of story, where they’re both kinda nervous but then it’s all fine because of course these feelings are reciprocated. Reading this is like one long exhale: my shoulders aren’t pressed up against my ears, that pesky knot of tension in every single one of my muscles has momentarily vanished, everything is fine and lovely.
Constant Like Cicadas in the Summertime, goldenringboy A little bit of wine drunk, a lot of grade A++++ pining, lovely visuals. Did I mention the pining??? The pining.
Two Heads are Better than One (explicit), thismission Clonefucking. That's it, that's the summary. I-- just read it, ok?
Flirt, bendingwind Fake dating because Ashur gazes at Tarquin too much and all the Shadows assume they're together...until they are? Please. I am WEAK.
Servus Servorum Creatoris (explicit), Anon Religious imagery in PWP??? It's more likely than you might think. And just as delicious.
digital paintings of the Viper and Tarquin, goldenringboy THEM BUT CLASSICAL PAINTING STYLE. GO GAZE AT THEM. GO DREAM OF HANGING THESE PORTRAITS ON YOUR WALL IN RIDICULOUSLY ORNATE FRAMES AND PRETENDING YOU LIVE IN A TASHUR ART MUSEUM. (I am a normal person with normal hobbies that I am so normal about.) The texture and the light is just. so good!!!
Bonus (it’s not art of both of them but it’s a delight to me): Modern Tarquin in a t-shirt being ineffably, perfectly Tarquin, rookfeathers.
#tashur#viperquin#tarquin x ashur#ashur x tarquin#fic rec#art rec#thank you hivemind for putting up with an Old Person (tm) in your discord
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Maedhros NSWF Scn
As you woke up, you shivered from the chili breeze that passed over your skin from a nearby open window. In your half-asleep state, you tried to ignore it and laid back on the pillows seeking warmth. After a few moments of failing to get back to sleep, you turned over seeking familiar warmth only to be met with a cold bed.
Sighing you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your husband may not be in bed, but you have a pretty good idea of where to find him. Putting on a light night robe, she walked over to the open window and shut it before lighting a candle. An elf would have no issues seeing in the dark, but as she was human, her eyesight was no match for theirs and she needed light to see the way. She closed the door behind her and made her way across the hall to her husband’s office. When you reached the door of the office you didn’t knock and instead walked in as quietly as you could. Sure enough, he was there, hunched over his desk, working on a pile of papers and looking tired.
“Mae?” You gently called out to him, hoping not to startle him. At the sound of his name, he looked up at you, surprise showing on his face, “y/n? What are you doing here?” You came to stand beside him, placing the candle you were holding carefully on the desk and away from the paperwork. The robe you wore was very thin and despite the thick nightdress you wore you still shivered at the coldness of the room, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm. Medhros quickly noticed this and pulled you into his arms, “You’re freezing.” He muttered disapprovingly and held you tighter, in an attempt to warm you up with his body heat. Although you weren’t short, he was almost eight-foot and covered with muscle, making your frame look small and frail in comparison; it was at times like this that it had its advantages though. “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.” He pulled away slightly to look at you.
“I woke up because the room and the bed were cold and then I noticed you were gone so I came to find you. Will, you not return to bed with me? You need rest from constant work and the bed feels cold without you.” You finished looking hopefully at him. You knew the importance of his work and helped whenever and wherever you could, but you knew there was more to him being awake tonight than paperwork. Ever since Fingon brought him back from the dark lord he was often plagued with nightmares, some nights worse than others. He didn’t reply instantly, just nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. “Yes, let us go. I’m sorry I left you alone.” With that, he leaned over the desk, blowing out the candles, and picked you up into his arms.
Once in your bedroom, Maedhros didn’t put you down and instead leaned down to kiss you, gently and softly until you leaned into him, deepening it. He gently laid you down on the bed and started trailing kisses down your neck, causing warmth to spread through your body. He slowly took of your robe and started pushing away the fabric of your nightgown, allowing his lips better access to your skin. Once you were bare of any cloth covering you, you started undressing Maedhros who was still fully dressed; you were grateful he was wearing nightclothes which made the task much simpler. Once you were both completely bare, his lips returned to yours with rising passion and his hand started to roam over your body, caressing every inch. Once his hand made his way over your breasts, applying just a bit more pressure as they passed over the sensitive area of your nipples, you sighed and leaned your head back against the pillows, from the pleasantness of the sensations. Soon his lips left yours and replaced his hand on your breasts, sucking and gently biting on the already hardened peaks, causing you to moan and bury your hands in his hair, in an attempt to keep him there. You could feel his hand sliding down your leg, coming closer to there area which was heating up from his ministrations. Teasingly, he gently runs his hand over your bundle of nerves, causing you to whimper and moan out in impatience. From there he runs his fingers down your outer walls, opening them and collecting the wetness gathering there. Soon, he pushed a finger inside, massaging it against your inner walls, causing you to cry out in surprise and pleasure. Soon he pushed another finger and made a scissoring motion, causing sparks of pleasure to shoot through your body. Your breath was coming out in short gasps now and you attempted to thrust into his hand, but he withdrew his fingers, causing you to groat at the loss of the touch.
“P-please! Mae!” You stuttered out through your breathlessness, wanting to feel him inside you. He leaned down and captured your lips with his, before pulling away and leaving his forehead resting against yours, his hot breath fanning over your face. He gripped your hips with his one hand, using the stump of the other to support himself on the bed. He lined himself up with your entrance and swiftly pushed in, sliding in with ease due to the wetness present. You both groaned at the feeling of being connected with each other. As he pulled out and pushed back in, you couldn’t help but cry out at the intense pleasure it shot through you. Maedhros kept thrusting his hips against yours, gently and steadily as he feared to hurt you with being so much larger than you. “Mae! Harder! Please!” Trying to show him you wanted-no needed to feel him move faster against your walls, especially as he was hitting the sport inside you that caused you to cry out continuously.
Maedhros looked at you warily, but at your pleading expression, and a flush present on your face, he pulled out and thrust back in with more force, causing the both of you to cry out from the pleasure. As his thrusts got faster and he kept hitting that spot inside you, your voice increased in volume as you drew closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel Maedhros’s thrusts becoming sloppier, symbolising he was close to his release as well. With one final well-aimed thrust, your walls constricted and you cried out as pleasure washed over you, and coupled with Maedhros’ swift thrusts, you found yourself writhing in bliss. With a final thrust, Maedhros came, burying his head in your neck to take in your scent, while the two of you rode out your pleasure, causing aftershocks of pleasure to shoot through you at the remaining sensitivity. Eventually, Maedhros pulled out and drew you into his arms so your head was resting on his chest.”Are you warmer now?” He asked teasingly as he drew the bedsheets over you both. You made a noise in agreement, too spent from the recent activity to talk. He smiled at your asleep form and kissed you once more, before giving in to much-needed sleep.
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idk if i'll finish this but i missed him.
Leander keeps his eyes on you.
His gaze pries into the back of your skill. He exudes a pressure that only you seem to feel. It drapes across your shoulders like a shawl. It’s not habit for you to talk to random patrons or even Bloodhounds. You like to keep to yourself, but you can’t solve the riddle of your accursed existence without the help of others. Ears, eyes, and occasionally mouth open for clues, for hints.
The man across from you, however, is offering none of what you seek.
“I’ve never seen you around, before. Are you new to Eridia?” He gave you a name you’ve already forgotten. His eyes are cornflower blue. Pretty.
You don’t want to tell him anything. So he receives short, clipped answers for his troubles. The noise in the bar swells as the minutes tick by. Your palms sweat. Leander’s behind the bar, but it feels like he’s stood right behind you, like you’re in his shadow.
He doesn’t frighten you, you tell yourself. He has no stake in who you speak to or what relationships you develop. He can look all he likes. You refuse to give him the pleasure of acknowledgement. Looking back would be like losing. Maybe it’s immature of you to think that way. You can let yourself be childish, just this once.
Until the stranger’s amicable questions grow too tiresome for you to handle. Every tentative answer pried from your tight lips feels like another finger curled around your throat. When your temples start to throb, you stand with an abruptness that startles even yourself.
You mumble something about getting a glass of water and make for the bar. The crowds swell over the space you left behind, and for once you are thankful for their presence.
Leander doesn’t feign nonchalance when you approach him by the bar. He looks at you unabashedly, with nothing but the purest concern.
In the distance, the raucous noise of the bar swells and throbs heavy in your temples. The sea of voices and stroked, twanging strings and glasses knocked together forms a relentless cacophony that you had to escape from.
“What do you want?”
“You’ve been staring holes into the back of my head for the past ten minutes,” you grumble. It’s not an accusation, because it’s true.
“I can’t help it. You’re so easy on the eyes,” Leander blandishes blatantly, smoothing over your concerns with the dulcet tones of his voice. “But that guy sitting across from you wouldn’t leave you alone, right?”
“No. He was fine,” you insist. It’s half a lie. “If anything, he was bothering you.”
“I don’t even know the guy. How could he have been bothering me?” Leander asks, a tinge of amusement to his voice. His lips curl into the barest hunt of a smile, amused, like you’re the silly one here. “Are you alright? You look a little clammy.” His hand is on your forehead before you even realize it. Your periphery has become smudges of colors and fuzzy shapes. “Maybe it’d be a good idea for you to head up early.”
Your jaw grinds, because how dare he try and turn this on you. But you know to pick your battles. Leander holds the key to your current lodgings. He feeds you, shelters you and hell–he’s even shown you around parts of the city. To upset him gravely, before you have the requisite funds to purchase your own apartment, would be to cast yourself onto the unforgiving streets.
So you settle. “...Yeah,” The words pry themselves out of your throat, tinged with slight bitterness. You hasten up the stairs, eager to leave the crowds and the stranger and Leander’s prying eyes far behind you.
But Leander follows you. You hear him before he even reaches you. The stairs creak under his additional weight. His long fingers close firm around your wrist, holding you in place, “Wait.”
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princess protection program⋆⁺₊❅ s.todoroki x reader

chapter 1 ⋆⁺₊❅ the leaves unfold, the king lies cold
series masterlist here!
content warnings - includes depictions of violence, mention of death, family loss & k!llings / executions
six months ago…⋆⁺₊❅
the kingdom of virelia was known for its jewels found around the kingdom. it was a prosperous place that many rich and noble people enjoyed. but with prosperity came inequality.
the whispers of a rebellion flooded the streets of the poor. within a few years, a secret resistance group emerged from the shadows, attacking the royal palace during one of their infamously known galas. galas that held tables full of five star meals and champagne while the common folk died of starvation.
the attack came without warning. it started when women were protesting in the morning against unfair pay. what was meant to be a peaceful protest turned violent. the protest was hijacked by resistance fighters, encouraging officers to abandon their posts and join them. by the time night fell, the so call officers and soldiers found themselves against the tyrant king.
the grand halls of the palace echoed with chaos. gun shots, cries for help and an angry mob filled the empty rooms of the palace. the once glittering ball room, full of golden and encrusted diamond chandeliers was now a scene of a massacre.
you clutch onto the pearls around your neck before asking in a trembling voice, “father, what is happening? why is everything burning? there’s so much fire…” you stared in horror at the chaos unfolding around you. a garden that was built for your 7th birthday, was now being burned to ashes before your eyes.
from the reflection of the window, you see your eldest brother approaching you. before you could seek for further reassurance, your eldest brother drags you away from the sight.
“we must go immediately, n/n.” he urged with the hint of fear in his voice. you could see past his facade of bravery, and saw his terror.
he draped a coat over your head shielding you from the rebellion that now reached the palace walls. despite his efforts, you peaked your head out. your heart drops at the sight.
nobles were herded like sheep into separate groups; men, women and children were all separated. you watched in silent horror as the rebels slowly raised their guns to their heads.
the deafening sound sound of gunfire filled the palace, each shot was followed by blood curdling screams of terror. the ones who survived the firing squad were shot once again. you cling onto your brother tighter.
“get on this train, you’ll have someone waiting for you at the end of the ride,” your brother said, his voice firm but trembling. you felt yourself being pushed onto the train along with the other commoners.
you reached your hand out, “please! please, come with me!” you begged as your voice broke.
his hand was hesitant to reach out but he decided against it. he shakes his head and steps back as the train began rolling. through tears, you watched as his figure grew smaller and smaller.
just as the train was to turn the corner, you caught a glimpse of his final moments. two men, holding him by his arms as another brought a gun to his head.
present…⋆⁺₊❅
shoto had just finished a semester at ua. he was exhausted and dreaded coming home for the winter break. but alas, the universe was not on his side once again!
shoto stood in the doorway of his room, throwing the suitcase to the side before being startled. an unfamiliar girl, sitting criss-cross on his bed. you turned her head towards him and gave him condescending look.
“you’re in the wrong room,” he said with no particular emotion behind it.
you tilted your head, “actually, i’m not. this is where they told me to stay.”
shoto frowned, “they?” was this one of natsuo’s girlfriends? perhaps a family friend?
“your family,” she replied, her voice steady but full of frustration. “they insisted i stay here until… until it’s safe for me to go home.”
he sighed, already feeling his patience slipping. “and why aren’t you safe to go home?”
she’s the first to break eye contact as she looked down at her hands. “it’s really none of your concern,” she mumbled. suddenly, her false confidence she previously had was gone.
shoto crossed his arms, “it is when you’re in my room.”
he flinched at the harsh glare she gave him, her condescending tone slowly creeps back. “do you think i want to be here?! do you even know who i am? i wouldn’t be caught dead sharing a room with somebody like you!”
his brows furrowed. “someone like me?”
she scoffed, standing up and brushing past him. “forget about it, you commoners wouldn’t understand.”
she walked out, leaving shoto with a confused and irritated feeling in his chest. whoever the girl was, she clearly had issues. and he was stuck dealing with it.
his thoughts were cut short by a gentle knock on his bedroom door. he lets out a weary sigh before opening the door. in front of him stood his older sister, fuyumi, with an apologetic look.
“shoto, i’m sorry we didn’t necessarily tell you about y/n and about her situation..” she began as she allowed herself in, closing the door behind her.
“y/n?” he questioned as if the name rung a bell. he mutters your name over and over again while he walked over to his bed. where has he heard the name?
“who is she? and why was she in my room?” he interrogated.
he could feel the hesitation radiating off fuyumi as she struggled to say the right words. “she’s… she’s a prin- or was the princess of virelia. her kingdom got overthrown, and father agreed to take her in. she’s been staying with us for about six months..”
shoto stared blankly, unresponsive. fuyumi fidgets with her hands before speaking up again, “father said she’ll stay with us until they find a safe way for her to live on her own.” she had hoped that shoto would’ve given you some sympathy points and let her slide.
“that still doesn’t explain why she’s in my room. why my room?” he asked bluntly, completely ignoring your tragic backstory.
“we’re short on space. apparently were going under renovation..!” she mentioned as an attempt to lighten the mood. “father said it’d be fine since you’re only here for the break. how long is that? a week? two?”
“try three months.” he snorted as he contemplated his life decisions. he runs his hands through his hair and looks over at fuyumi, “there’s no way you expect me to share a room with her. her attitude is terrible, her perfume reeks off my bedsheets and she’s practically renovated my room.”
“shoto, can’t you try and be a little be more understanding? she just lost her entire family, her home and she’s grieving.” she explains, “plus, she’s not used to this world. she doesn’t know any better.”
“grieving or not, she had no right to give me an attitude. or takeover my room!” he retorted.
fuyumi takes a few breaths before responding calmly, “grieving or not, she’s still in pain. don’t be like him, you’re better than this.”
with that, she left shoto alone in his overwhelming thoughts. he sits on the bed that you were once on moments ago, thinking of the kind of life you left behind.
‘i guess we’re both uncomfortable with this..’
tag list (open) - @wonlluvie
#my hero academia shoto#mha shoto#my hero acedamia#mha#shoto#shoto todoroki#shoto todoroki x you#shoto todoroki x reader#shoto x y/n#shoto x you#shoto x reader#mha todoroki#mha touya#mha fuyumi#mha rei#mha natsuo#mha endeavor#mha enji#enji todoroki#endevour#todoroki x reader#touya todoroki#todoroki family#rei todoroki#natsuo todoroki#fuyumi todoroki#dabi todoroki#mha x y/n#mha x you#mha fanfiction
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This is a rewrite/reimagining of my story, Heat. I've grown as a writer and decided to take on the task of "fixing" all of my stories I have posted.
My links are all broken I think, but I'll be reposting and making a separate masterlist post.
Please enjoy!
michael myers x afab reader
NSFW, MINORS DNI
a beast in repose
In winter, Michael gets restless. With all the snow and ice, it isn’t easy to go out on hunts without leaving tracks in his wake and alerting the community of a prowler on the loose. Getting caught and returned to Smith’s Grove isn’t on his list of things to do, so he’s essentially trapped in the house and boiling hot with unsatiated bloodlust, and because he can’t kill, he seeks release through your body – the only way to keep him calm enough to tide him over until the winter thaws and gives way to spring. Needless to say, it’s a long couple of months, and by the end, you’re exhausted, emotionally and physically.
But you’ll do anything for him, even to the point of pain.
It’s been a particularly rough week. You’re sore everywhere, and your body has been pushed almost beyond your absolute limit and you’re exhausted. You were forced to take a leave of absence from work, unable to perform your duties due to how raw and broken you felt. Bruises are scattered over your body in various stages of healing – a macabre rainbow dancing over your skin. Bite marks litter your body as well, purpling over and bleeding. Your cunt is raw, throbbing with pain alongside the aftershocks of your last, painful orgasm.
Michael lays asleep beside you, napping after taking you for the third or fourth time today – you’ve lost track. You struggle to sit up silently, your teeth grit so hard so as not to make a sound and wake him. You need a break, just a little bit of time alone to relax and recuperate, and a bath sounds like the most amazing thing in the world right now. You manage to sit up, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.
You rise on shaking legs, and shuffle your way to the bathroom, shivering at the feeling of Michael’s spend smearing between your mangled thighs with every step. After what feels like an eternity, you finally reach the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind you with a quiet click. You let out an exhausted sigh, and sit down on the toilet to relieve yourself with a small, pained whimper, and clean yourself gingerly after, so as not to further harm the tender flesh of your most vulnerable areas.
Once you’re cleaned up, you stand up and flush the toilet, placing the lid back down before washing your hands and shaking them off as you shuffle over to the bath. You twist the faucets and let the water heat up to your liking, plugging the tub and waiting for it to fill up. You go back over to the sink, and get your lavender scented epsom salts, and dump a generous amount into the rapidly filling tub.
When the tub is full, you turn off the water and sink slowly into the hot water with a relieved groan. The hot water is heaven on your battered flesh, the heat sinking under your skin and easing your muscles. You ease back, stretching your legs out and leaning against the slant of the tub. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you slip into a quick and easy slumber, cocooned in comforting warmth.
You are startled awake by the sound of the door slamming against the wall with so much force that the entire room shakes. You scream, instinctually covering your nakedness with your hands and cowering as you look towards the door with wide eyes. Your gut fills with a combination of dread and overwhelming desire when you notice that it's Michael, and he’s hard and wanting, his cock an angry shade of red bobbing with every beat of his heart. His gaze is heavy, and he’s looking at you like he’d very much like to eat you alive. He ducks down to pass through the doorway and beckons you to him with a come-hither motion. You know exactly what he’s saying.
Come here.
You wordlessly respond, helpless but to obey his every whim. It comes second nature to you – obeying him is as easy and as necessary as breathing. You stand up on shaking legs and carefully step over the edge of the tub, careful not to slip on the slick tile floor.
You shiver, both from the cold air on your wet skin and from being in his presence. He hums approvingly, a low sound from the back of his throat, his good eye scanning over your body as you approach him.
When you’re close enough, you expect him to reach out and grab you roughly by the hips, but instead, he rests his hands on your hips in his version of ‘gentle’, and drops to his knees onto the hard tile without a single flinch. He presses his face against your abdomen, brushing his full lips over his initials carved into your skin. He inhales deeply as he pulls you closer, humming low in his throat again.
Michael’s hands ease up on your hips, sliding down your thighs and back up again as he looks up at you from under his heavy eyelashes. His good eye has a flicker of affection in them as he gazes up at you, only to be gone as quickly as it came, and replaced with a look so predatorial that you freeze, genuine fear filling your chest.
Before you could even make a sound, he has your hips in a vice grip, and he's pulling you down to the ground. The collision of your body on the tile is painful, but Michael catches your head before it could smash onto the floor as he shoves his way between your thighs. He’s hard and heavy against your thigh, and your abused cunt clenches around nothing, eager to be one with him again.
He uses his hold on your head to pull you up, your body as limp as a rag doll, and attacks your mouth with his. It’s too feral to be called a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and demanding – all teeth and tongue as he bites down on your swollen lips and laps up the blood that beads up from inside your mouth, his body shivering when the taste of your blood floods over his tongue.
He lets your lip go, and brushes his lips from the corner of your mouth, down over your jaw, down the column of your neck as you gasp for breath. When he reaches your throbbing pulse point, he bites, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin until you’re screaming. Even with the intense, sharp pain, you are absolutely desperate for him, your body longing for his, the intrinsic link between the two of you so strong that you’re always ready for him.
Michael’s teeth sink through your sensitive flesh, and he growls, unhinging his jaw and drinking down the blood that trickles from the wound as he ruts his cock against your thigh – hot and hard and demanding. By the time he’s done consuming you, you’re a writhing, soaked mess, your body begging for the relief that only he can provide. He gives one last lick to the wound, and pulls away, his eyes following the trickle of blood from where he bit you, and onto the floor, his eye dilated wide enough that it eclipses the blue of his iris.
He puts your limp form back down onto the tile, and his attention shifts to your breasts, swollen and bruised and heaving under the force of your desire for him. He greedily grips at them with his giant hands, rolling the soft mounds under his calloused and scarred palms, squeezing down on your bruised flesh as you cry out in both pain and need. He leans down, and sucks a dusky nipple into his mouth, sucking and gnawing at it until you’re actually crying, tears rolling down your cheeks at the pain with an edge of pleasure.
Michael mercifully releases your nipple with a pop, and hikes your legs up over his thighs, to where you’re completely exposed to him. A pleased rumble leaves his throat as he examines his handiwork on your thighs and your raw cunt, still wet and dripping for him. He reaches down and grips himself by the base of his heavy cock, lining it up with your slick entrance. You whine in pain as he pushes into you again, but the pain is quickly replaced with the sheer relief of your body being reunited with his. He rumbles, deep and pleased, in his chest as your walls flutter around him in welcome.
He doesn’t give you any more time to adjust, he immediately sets a rough pace, chasing the relief that he craves. His cock is rock-hard, his crown slamming into your cervix with every thrust of his hips. It hurts in the most glorious way, and you cry out, reaching your hands up to grip at his skin, your nails digging in around your initials carved into his skin over his heart, and he shudders, gripping your hips roughly with one hand, and using the other to toy with your swollen, abused clit, making you sob – you don’t think that it’s possible for you to orgasm again, even though what he’s doing to you feels amazing. You’re overstimulated, too raw -- it’s nearly too much.
“Michael, I can’t, ‘s too much,” you plead, your voice thick and slurred as you half-heartedly try to push him away. He grips you harder, pulling you down into each thrust so that he’s so deep, you can practically feel him in your throat.
“You will,” he commands, his voice raspy and deep, so full of authority, and so beautiful that it has you shaking. His fingers move over your clit faster, and you can feel your orgasm building. His touch, his cock jackhammering into all of your sweet spots at once, your inability to say no to him, and his rare voice seal your fate – you fall over the edge, and into white-hot oblivion.
Your legs raise up, and your spine arches, and your inner walls spasm, your liquid release splashing out around his cock. Your whole body shakes as a delayed scream is ripped from your throat. Michael snarls, grabbing your hips savagely and fucking you through your orgasm, his teeth clenching together in exertion as he chases his own end. His hips still, and he comes with a low groan, his release blooming warmth within your core.
He rides it out, giving one last thrust to shove his spend as deep inside of you as he can get before pulling out, making you whine and shiver – you hate it when he pulls out. His chest swells with pride as he looks you over – under him, covered in his markings, and his come trickling from your poor, raw opening.
He scoops it from your flesh and presses it back inside of you, making you flinch and whine. You’re simply too far gone to go any further, and Michael takes notice, removing his fingers and stroking them across your thigh soothingly as you drift off.
You’re in and out of consciousness as he drains and refills the tub, adding more bath salts and making sure the water is just how you like it. You moan weakly as he gathers you into his arms, and settles the both of you into the tub, holding you snug against his chest as you doze off, lulled to slumber by his heartbeat, rhythmic breathing, and the warmth of the water.
Michael watches you sleep, tracing invisible patterns onto your skin as he enjoys the quiet in his mind until the water grows cold, and you start to shiver. He jumps to action immediately at your discomfort. He scoops you up and steps out of the tub, holding you effortlessly with one arm while he grabs towels with the other.
He dries you both off and carries you back to bed, laying you down and climbing in next to you. He gathers you to his chest and pulls the duvet over you both. His mouth twitches into an almost-smile when you let out a pleased sigh in your sleep and nuzzle into his chest with a sleepy hum.
Michael’s mind is blissfully quiet, no more demands for blood and violence and death. He focuses instead on the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breathing, and the sound of the winter wind blowing against the house.
The beast inside of him is sated for a little while longer, sustained by the body and blood of its faithful mate. It will be back, but for now, it goes back into hibernation, content.
#my writing#my writing revisited#slashers#michael myers#michael myers x reader#halloween#halloween franchise#halloween movies#slasher fanfiction#horror#horror fandom#slasher fandom#slasher fuckers#michael is literally the love of my life dont even @ me
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Huh… guess what I found hidden at the bottom of my docs, mostly finished and only in need of a few edits.
Seems like you guys get to enjoy a quick one-shot based on the wonderfully sweet Valentine’s RP event held last year over on @yuckydraws blog. (“This” is the opening post describing the event).
I know it’s a year late…. and that it’s no longer Valentine's day…. but hey! It’s still February, so I think it counts. (Hopefully, I’ll get back to writing my own fics soon, life’s just been…. ehh, lately). But I had fun reading through this again, and hope you guys might too.
So now, enjoy a summary of my “internet sona” interacting with their version of Red and immortalizing it via fic.
While you may have been used to the chaos of your skeletal neighbors, it never made it any less surprising to walk in on something unexpected happening in their home. (With so many in one house, you think it would be more concerning to find it peaceful under their roof).
The noise however was unusual, so you may as well follow it to see what they’re up to.
It seemed like the sound had originated from the garage, which was as good of a place to start the search as any, right?
Opening the door and making your way inside, you’re met with the sound of rap music filling the space from a speaker on top of Red’s workbench. Upon closer inspection, you find the aforementioned skeleton. Err, well… his feet at least. He’s on a mechanics dolly, mostly hidden beneath his recent project car, propped up on some vehicle jacks.
A classic baby blue 1955 Chevy Bel Air.
A true beauty of a car, but lately all you’ve heard about it is how much trouble it’s been giving him. (You think he just enjoys having someone listen to his ranting. Something you had always translated as the pride he’d taken in figuring out how to make whatever he’s working on operate smoothly).
As if on cue, you hear a string of cuss words leave him in a frustrated growl - along with a screech of metal not unlike the one you heard earlier.
…He doesn’t seem to have noticed your presence yet.
And as much fun as it can be to tease Red, startling him is an entirely different matter, especially when he’s already ticked off about something. …Guess the car really is giving him trouble based on the screeches of protest and the cusses emanating from beneath the vehicle.
Thankfully, you have the cure-all to frustration stashed away in your bag, a stack of his favorite treats.
Now came the question of how to get his attention without spooking him. (He’d been known to throw around a few bullets when startled… not that you could really blame him based on what little you know of his past).
Thinking for a moment, you backtrack to the door and flick the lights on and off a few times. “Need a distraction Red?”
You heard a growl emanate from beneath the car as he began sliding out, “fuckin’ hell, now the-”, the tirade cut off as he registered your voice, managing a chuckle at both the realization and your question before standing.
He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his tattoos and marred bones, along with some oil-stained sweats and sneakers.
“I was thinkn’ ‘long the lines of a drink, but I guess a distraction will do.” He drawls, walking to his workbench to drop the useless tool he was using and shed his dirty, oil covered gloves…not that they did much for keeping him clean, he’s got all sorts of dark smears on his arms, and a smudge of motor oil on his cheek.
“whatta ya doin’ here?”
You can’t help but snicker at him, your voice lilting in a manner meant to be teasing, “Is it so unbelievable that I would seek out your company just because I wanted to? It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with the fact I’m never bored when in your company.”
He snorts and rolls his eye-lights. “Yeah, yeah. I’m great an’ all, but I’m guessin’ that ain’t the only reason.”
“Nah, I actually came over to celebrate the holiday with you guys. These are for you, by the way,” you say, dropping a bag full of spicy chocolate and salty, savory treats on his workbench. You give a distinct glance down at his hands, “You may want to get that oil off before partaking in any of the treats though. I doubt the motor oil would make any of it taste better.”
At the mention of the holiday, he looked puzzled, but the confusion disappeared at the sight of the pile of goodies. Your second statement made him give himself a once-over.
“Ugh, that car ‘as it out for me, I swear.” He grumbles, wiping down his hands with some wipes on his workbench, not bothering to clean up much more than that. He then opened the bag, picking a treat at random to stuff his face with. “...Thanks.” He mumbles.
While he was far less prickly than when you had met, you knew a large part of his past had trained him to be wary of favors. So while you were prepared for suspicion in regard to your gift, you hadn’t actually expected a thank you.
Before you could ponder the reasons as to why, he spoke again, “...what holiday is it?”
Did? …Did they not know?
To be fair, you had always thought of it as a rather silly holiday, simply taking advantage of the excuse it gave you to consume as much chocolate as you could hold. But how to explain its origins without sending Red into a panic attack over your gifts? Something you had given merely as a token of affection for your friendship.
“Have you guys not heard of Valentine’s Day? It’s erm….. well, traditionally it’s a romantic holiday. A day meant for couples to express their affection for each other, with all the traditional romantic pomp you can think of. Flowers, chocolates, and the like.” You saw Red choke at the mention of romance, and he looked increasingly more panicked staring down at his gift, prompting you to explain the other half of the holiday.
“Others, like myself, see it as more of a day for people to celebrate whatever relationships they have with those they care about, whether it’s familial, platonic, or romantic. I’ve always seen it as a good excuse to enjoy the company of my friends while being able to spoil them with some of their favorite treats.”
You grin at him, trying to convey there was no secret meaning behind the gift, only a genuine wish to give him something he would enjoy without garnering any future favors. “Now come on! Instead of worrying about the car, why don’t we do something else? You can always work on it later with a clear head and after enjoying all your snacks.
After your explanation, he’s quiet for a long moment, regarding you with curious eye-lights. Clearly thinking. Thankfully, he seems to accept your explanation, and after finishing his chocolate, he nods.
“sure, fuck it. lemme change real quick.” The moment he’s done speaking, he disappears in front of you. It’s a trick you’ve seen a few of them use a couple of times before, but it still leaves you in awe.
Their “shortcuts”, as they call them, are just incredible. …Incredibly convenient, that is. Especially for the ones who use it as an excuse to be lazy. How lucky are they essentially getting to teleport and yet only using it to blip between rooms.
But in this case, you’re glad for the ability. It just means you and Red can hang out faster.
It’s only another moment before he reappears in front of you again, wearing a clean outfit. It’s not anything extraordinary, just his usual dark jeans and red turtleneck overlaid by his jacket, but he still looks nice.
Based on the look of surprise you got from him, it seemed that internal thought of yours had unintentionally been spoken. The words already out in the open before you'd even registered you wanted to say them.
You saw a brief flush of color race across Red’s cheeks, but once you blinked, it was gone.
“shaddup.” Is all he says, immediately on edge at your admiration, before a brief flicker of apprehensiveness flickers across his expression, quickly disappearing behind his usual mask of sarcastic indifference along with any hint of embarrassment.
He seemed unsure how to take your compliment without becoming defensive… fighting the automatic instinct of assuming you wanted something, instead of simply making an observation about his appearance.
He jumps in with a new remark, seemingly in a hurry to move past your words, unable to think of another response. “whatdya wanna do?”
You don’t draw attention to it, simply allowing the topic change and smirking. Jumping in to tease, just to show there were no hurt feelings. “I came over to spend time with you. Isn’t it only fair you get to decide what we do?”
He rolls his eyelights, but plays along. “interestin’ logic.”
He takes a moment to think, glancing around the garage, “how ‘bout a joyride?” He asks, gesturing to his motorcycle parked not too far away. “i ‘ave an extra helmet.”
“Wait, really?!” You’ve seen how well Red treats his motorcycle. It's obvious how special it is to him, and he doesn't just offer joyrides to anybody!
You can’t keep the excitement from leaking into your voice, “Yes please! It’d be so much fun to get out on the road and explore.”
Red just snorts at your surprise, although he does look amused at your excitement. “sure, why not? it’ll be thanks for th’ grub.”
Opening up the garage, he tosses you his extra helmet before slipping his own on. He swings his leg over the seat, kicks the kickstand out of the way and turns the ignition. (He seems to have parked it in a way that helps him avoid backing up).
“hop on.”
You’re eager to go speeding down the roads with Red, so you quickly slip on the helmet and scramble up onto the seat behind him. Only having a thought hit you once you’re already sitting behind him. How exactly are you going to hold on to him?
Your voice is a bit muffled because of the helmet, but discernible, “Umm... what's better? Over the shoulder or around the waist?”
Red looks over his shoulder at your pause, though it’s hard to gauge his expression with the visor over his face… and then you’re surprised to hear him chuckle. He reaches up to pop open his visor, letting you hear him better over the rumbling of the engine.
“waist,” He instructs, “an’ put yer feet on th’ footrests.” He points down, indicating where to move your feet. “keep ‘em there, even when we stop. if ya need us to stop for any reason, tap me twice. got it?”
You confirm and adjust your hold before settling into the seat, pressing tightly against his back. “Ready when you are!”
Red flips his visor back down and nods, kicking off the ground and revving the engine - and you’re off! He takes the turns nice and easy as you get acclimated, ushering the bike out of the neighborhood, and eventually, even the suburbs altogether. He’s totally in his element, and you’re pretty sure he’s getting a kick out of sharing this with someone.
Soon enough, you’re on a deserted county road - and the bike roars as Red opens the throttle the whole way, allowing you both to take off like a shot. The speed urges you to press solidly against Red's back, keeping your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and the sound of the engine helps hide the delighted laugh that escapes as you fly down the road.
Excitement and adrenaline only intensifies the exhilaration, and you can't help but laugh again. It feels like nothing in the world could catch up as you both speed down the road with nothing but the wind pushing back. …It might just be your imagination, but it seems as though he speeds up just a little more after hearing your laugh.
For a while, it’s just a fast, exhilarating joyride, but as you get closer to Mount Ebott, he begins slowing down. Eventually pulling over, as though he had just reached a predetermined destination.
He kills the engine before kicking the stand into place and removing his helmet. When you release him, he slips off the bike and motions you to follow. Hands in his parka pockets, he leads you up what seems to be a familiar path to him, and as you reach the crest of the slight hill, a beautiful view of Ebott City is revealed as the sun begins to set behind it.
…Something tells you he comes here a lot.
It had taken you a second to catch your breath and get your heart to stop racing after the thrilling ride, but it all seems to have been for nothing as you take in the view. Breathtaking is the only proper word for it. You’re both far enough from the road that it's blissfully quiet, and the view is just stunning with the sunset over-looking the city.
It would be a good place to come clear your head, or just relax after a long day. And he seems so familiar with it, this must be a special place no one but him knows about. A private spot for him to retreat to when he wants a moment alone… and you can’t help but feel honored he’s introduced you to this secret place, especially knowing he probably hasn’t shared this with anyone else due to his prickly nature.
The moment is too serene to risk breaking the silence, so you just take in the view and eventually lean in, resting your shoulder against Red’s… choosing to let him pull away or break the silence if he wishes.
He gives you a glance at the touch, but doesn’t move; “it’s just to pay ya back for th’ treats,” he murmurs, looking anywhere but at you. If you were to squint, you’d see a tiny twinge of red on his cheekbones.
He seems to be content standing in silence after that, just enjoying the breeze and the pink-hued sunset. ...Something he had gone so long in his life without.
The thought adds a solemnness to the moment, and you try to put your thoughts in order before whispering back in his direction, “There’s nothing to pay back. I did it because I could and because I wanted to. You're a great guy who deserves to have the chance to experience things you enjoy... even if it's just the small stuff in life.”
You offer him a small grin, “But thanks for bringing me out here anyway. It's been fun getting to spend time with you.”
He doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with your words, frowning to himself. …Seems like some things will always be hard to believe. Guess you’ll just have to work hard to convince him.
But he does bump his shoulder against yours, hoping that’s enough to get his point across.
He appreciates you.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
#undertale#undertale fic#oneshot#valentine's rp#my oc#kyra#underfell#red#reader insert#(at least it can be read as one)
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Kinktober Day 2 - Collaring
Another different fandom that has caught my attention is Obey Me! What can I say? I'm a monster fucker through and through and have a soft spot for anime men. ^^; Enjoy!~
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No matter how many times you were summoned to the Demon Lord’s castle, a wave of nervousness would slither down your spine. Were you in trouble? Or was this simply your beloved demon prince seeking your company once again? Either way, you had no idea what to make of the situation you’d found yourself in now.
Neither Diavolo nor Barbatos had asked any overly strange questions to you that week. Maybe you should’ve seen a red flag when the heir to the Devildom’s throne asked if you knew the circumference of your neck. But the man was full of odd questions about seemingly random topics all the time with you. This wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility.
So here you were in the prince’s room, trying your best not to shake like a leaf. “The young master will be in shortly,” Barbatos informs you before quietly shutting the door. You fidget quietly with the little keychain Asmo had gotten you for your DDD. It felt like an eternity, just sitting there waiting in the quiet of your lover’s room.
You jump slightly when the door opens again, regardless of how soft the sound actually was. “Did I startle you?” Diavolo is across the room with a surprised look. It’s true that since you began your residency here, you’d become arguably less startled than you used to be. You’re sure you had the seven brothers you lived with to thank for that amongst other things. “Forgive me, I know this summons was sudden.”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him, despite all evidence to the contrary. Diavolo slips into the room fully, an arm hidden out of your line of sight. You lean a little to try and see, but the prince follows your movements, keeping his surprise hidden.
“In time dearest, in time,” he assures you. You offer him a small pout that he has come to know as teasing before he comes to rest on his knees before you. A small blush rushes to your cheeks at how intimately close Diavolo is to you. Sure the two of you had been intimate before, but…this felt beyond different. “You have drawn me in further and further with each passing moment. Every instance we share together, I will treasure, even once I take my father’s place.”
You watch with awe as the demon prince produces a box from behind his back. Without even noticing, you noticed his shift to his more demonic appearance. It was one you were far more familiar with these days than his day to day appearance. Velvety wings as dark as the night sky fluttered softly against his darker skin. You could see his amber eyes watching your expression closely from behind cherry red locks.
“But I don’t want the memories to make to stay here, within the confines of your exchange program,” Diavolo continued. Perfectly black painted nails tucked under the lid of the box to open it slowly. Inside, resting against beautiful scarlet velvet was, what you could only describe to be, a collar. An obsidian chain that would rest around your neck and come to sit just between where each of your clavicle. At it’s center point was a lock that would serve to hold the two ends of the chain together.
“I need only know that you feel the same.” The heir’s voice, soft yet somewhat eager pulls you out of your trance. Your eyes meet his; the demon before you is borderline buzzing with anticipation. A sad mixture of hopefulness and fear should you turn his offer down. It’s all so overwhelming, you can’t help but let a few tears streak down your cheeks.
Just as his smile starts to fade, you lunge forward, arms wrapping tightly around Diavolo. Not expecting your affection, he topples backwards, nearly dropping the box in the process. “Oh Dia!” You cry against the crook of his neck and shoulder.
As you pull back, you can’t help but notice the confused look on your prince’s face. You can’t help but chuckle; some things still really were a mystery to him. “Of course I’ll accept,” you tell him, wiping tears from your eyes. “This…this has a whole different meaning to humans. And it’s really sudden, but…I’d be a fool not to.”
That eager puppy-like smile is back in an instant as the demon prince now embraces you oh so tightly. You feel a few pops along your spine and can’t help but laugh. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fine someone as precious to me as you are,” you hear him mumble against your chest. “And to think, you’d feel the same…”
Strong yet careful hands take the chain out of it’s box, fingers tender as if he fears it will simply break under his touch. You try to stop crying as Diavolo unclasps the lock at the front, gently laying the cool metal against your skin before the lock is clicked shut. “I’m having Barbatos find someone who can make me a matching chain so I can keep the key safe with me always,” the demon informs you. “I am yours, as you are mine.”
You take his much larger hand in yours and place it against your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to his palm. The action always managed to bring a rather noticeable blush to the demon prince’s cheeks. “You know…” you start, briefly considering not telling him this. “In human terms, you basically just proposed to me. You know that, right?”
Diavolo flashes a cheeky fanged grin, despite the blush remaining. “Well, you did say ‘yes’, didn’t you?” And now it’s your turn to blush, chuckling softly in response.
“Til death do us part.”
#bat writes#obey me diavolo#diavolo x reader#obey me x reader#obey me fluff#om!diavolo#diavolo fluff
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