#its strong. its soft and warm and when my beloveds are close i can hold carry protect keep them in my arms

[arguscallous]

I dream like pulling teeth, I dream of pulling teeth

One by one out my skull, bare the pain and make myself beautiful, make a bloody smile quiet and dainty and meek and everything a lady should be

I dream of helplessness, nightmare and a hope; what if I couldn't fight? What if this fear of my body was ripped out? Would you love me if I was properly weak, if you had no reason to cower?

What if I cut away these rough edges, took sandpaper to the cracks. What if I turned broken bottles into sea glass.

[philistiniphagottini]

Hi I love your work !! Would it be OK to request Rengoku x Chubby reader fluff ? I've been searching and the stories with this are so little I can count them on one hand ! 😭

Oh my god hi, thank you so much for indulging me. I'm so happy I could literally cry you are so sweet. And it's such a shame that there isn't more. I think Rengoku would be super sweet with a chubby reader! And I had to write this immediately because I have zero restraint and I need to write more x chubby reader for the girlies and myself. Thank you, hope you enjoy xx

cw. fluff, gender neutral reader, chubby reader

You could always tell when your beloved Kyojuro was home. The atmosphere in the room would immediately brighten with the force of a thousand, blazing suns when Rengoku invited himself into your home, the door almost flying off its hinges at his boisterous entrance. You heard him call your name from the entrance of your humble abode, his booming voice echoed down the hallways as the sound of his feet scuffing against the floorboards soon trailing after. A smile graced your lips as you went to greet him and the instant he spotted you, standing in the middle of the living room he rushed to meet you. 

You didn’t have much time to react as in the blink of an eye he was in front of you, a bright, beaming smile splitting his face and arms held wide before he caught you in his grasp. You squealed in delight as you were swept off your feet, Rengoku’s strong arms wrapped securely around your plump waist as he crushed your soft body into the hard, wall of muscle of his broad chest. He laughed merrily as you tangled your hands in his wild, flaming mane of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tried to hold onto something as you were spun around in a broad, sweeping circle. Your feet dangled uselessly in the air, your toes desperately reaching for the ground. Rengoku only squeezed you tighter in response, forcing the air out of your lungs as you sputtered like a boiling kettle.

“I missed you too, Ren” you rasped, trying to gulp down air. 

Rengoku hummed, his bright eyes soft as he stared up at you. He rested his chin on the pillowy soft comfort of your chest as he stared up at you, smile never once faltering as the relief of seeing you safe and happy filled his veins with simmering relief. He took a deep breath, your sweet scent curling in the pit of his lungs as his eyes fluttered close for a few, brief seconds to savour the smell of you lingering in the back of his throat. Your bones ached as he continued to hold you in a crushing bear hug, the warmth your soft body provided seeping into his clothes. 

As much as you loved being held by him, there was a nagging thought itching at the back of your head. It wouldn't leave you alone, even when you shook your head lightly to try and dislodge it. Weren’t you too heavy? Were his arms getting sore from holding you aloft for so long? What if he accidentally dropped you and you crushed him under your weight? Weren’t you just a tad too plump for him to be handling you like this? You pressed your lips together into a tight, thin line, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to quell the rapid beat of your heart. You felt awful, thinking of such nasty things when you should be happy that he was home, safe and uninjured. You gently tapped Rengoku on the shoulder, causing his eyes to flutter open once more. 

“Ren, I think you should put me down” you said, voice barely above a breathy whisper.

Rengoku cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

You timidly licked your lips, long lashes fluttering over your warm cheeks as your pulse droned loudly in your ears.

“Aren’t I…Am I too heavy?”

Rengoku’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. Laughter bubbled up his throat and you were deprived of precious oxygen once more as his grip around your soft waist became iron tight. 

“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “You’re as light as a feather!”

To further prove his point he spun you both around once more, your head swirling in a tizzy as the world around you shifted in a hazy blur of colours. You gripped his shoulders for stability, wisps of his hair curling around the tips of your fingers as you knotted the digits in his clothes. You could feel his large, calloused hands grabbing at your soft stomach and plush hips, the material of your clothes bunching up in his firm grip as he grabbed at the soft pudge that lay hidden from his admiring gaze. He stopped spinning once you were out of breath, your eyes struggling to focus once more as your head still felt like it was twirling around the room. 

“Okay, I get it Ren, you’re strong” you conceded. 

A warm chuckle breezed past his lips, his infectious laugh causing the corners of your lips to twitch into a soft smile. 

“And you are perfectly healthy! There is nothing wrong with you!”

His words soothed the ache in your heart, your stomach erupting with hundreds of butterflies as your face flushed with heat. You leaned forward, placing a kiss between his eyebrows as a soft hum bubbled up your throat. 

“Thank you Ren. I…needed to hear that.”

Rengoku smiled warmly in response and squeezed your plump stomach. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

You were really happy to have him home.

[ink-and-dagger]

Sour Dreams (and Sweet Papas)

Four short, fluffy drabbles for how I believe each Papa Emeritus would react to their partner waking suddenly from a nightmare.

Soft and Fluffy || Established Relationships || 350ish words for each Papa || Primo || Secondo || Terzo || Copia || GN!Reader || SFW

Your mind crashes through the hazed barriers of sleep and you awaken with a jolt, your ragged inhale catching inside sharply inflated lungs. 

The taloned fingers of your nightmare retract and fade, leaving you blinking at the ceiling in a chilled sweat, with your heart pounding a mile a minute.

The mattress shifts beside you, and a sleep-crusted hum rumbles through the dark.

“Just a bad dream,” you breathe, answering your partner’s unspoken question, “Go back to sleep, honey.”

Several beats of pointed silence pass in which you can feel the weight of Primo’s quiet scrutiny.

“I’m fine,” you insist shakily, unsure why you’re even bothering to lie when you know full well that this man of yours is freakishly attuned to your energy.

The bed creaks under his shifting weight, and his shadow looms over you as he reaches across to your nightstand and retrieves a little round vial nestled between your pile of half-read books and your lamp. He uncorks it with a flick of his thumb.

A small huff of resigned laughter breezes from your nose at the familiar smell of lavender oil; pressed from the very plants grown in Primo’s beloved garden.

Your lashes flutter at the gentle touch of his fingertips — carefully applying a light smudge of oil to each temple, before swiping the remainder across your sternum. The delicate floral scent combined with the tender touch of your partner proves to be the perfect balm for your frayed nerves, and your tension ebbs; muscles melting into the mattress beneath you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, as Primo reaches across you once more to deposit the oil back on the nightstand.

But his shadowed figure doesn’t disappear from above you, instead his knuckles drop to your brow to brush a curving sweep down the side of your face; a touch as soothing as his lowered voice.

“I will watch over you until you drift off again, cuore mio.”

Your mind crashes through the hazed barriers of sleep and you awaken with a jolt, your ragged inhale catching inside sharply inflated lungs.

The taloned fingers of your nightmare retract and fade, leaving you blinking at the ceiling in a chilled sweat, with your heart pounding a mile a minute.

The reverberation of Secondo’s power-tool worthy snoring stalls and halts at your side, as he too awakens with a confused utterance of your name.

“Sorry,” you breathe into the darkness, “Bad dream. I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

Your last word pitches up to a surprised squeak as a strong arm scoops around your waist and drags you across the mattress; slotting your back neatly against his front. He adjusts the duvet next – tucking it high and snug beneath your chin, before winding his arms tightly around you beneath the covers. He even goes so far as to hook one his legs over yours, gathering you against himself as close as possible. Your partner, and a warm, human cocoon all in one.

“There. You see?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Now nothing bad can get to you, because it will have to get through me first.”

A tiny smile touches your lips, and you nestle further back into his embrace, “You’ll protect me? Promise?”

“Sempre, il mio amore. With my life.”

You dip your chin to brush a kiss to the knuckles resting over your heart, whilst the man behind you settles into silence once more. His powerful snores resume within a matter of seconds. 

But despite the loving roll of your eyes, its familiarity comforts you. And, as promised, he holds you tight within his protective embrace until the moon slinks away over the horizon.

Your mind crashes through the hazed barriers of sleep and you awaken with a jolt, your ragged inhale catching inside sharply inflated lungs.

The taloned fingers of your nightmare retract and fade, leaving you blinking at the ceiling in a chilled sweat, with your heart pounding a mile a minute.

“Dolcezza?”

You drop your cheek to the pillow and find a pair of bright, mismatched eyes gazing right back at you through the darkness.

“Bad dream,” you breathe. Your brows knit to a frown as you add, “Were you already awake?”

“Bad dreams?” Terzo tuts, voice a deep-toned tease. He slinks close beneath the covers, half shrouding you with the warm press of his body, “No no no. Bad dreams are not allowed. Only good dreams when you are in Papa’s bed, sì?”

Your head tips back of its own accord as he dips beneath your jaw to drag a line of lingering kisses up your throat; full, sensual lips and roving hands doing absolutely nothing to help your already racing pulse.

“It’s not something I have much control over unfortunately,” you chuckle, capturing his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to look you in the eye, “But I think you understand that, don’t you?”

The cheeky curl on Terzo’s lips falters.

“Avoiding a question is an answer in itself, sweetheart,” you chide softly.

He empties his lungs through his nose, and flops down beside you; his raven hair a tousled, midnight halo upon the pillow. Satanas he looks so damn tired.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, turning on your side to face him.

“Yes, cara,” he responds quietly, raising a hand to softly brush a few stray hairs away from your face, “Are you okay?”

You nod, even though your heart aches to note the shadows which haunt his eyes – both in the hollows below, and within their dual-toned depths. You shuffle closer, until your knees bump and your noses touch.

You twine your fingers with his, “So let’s be okay together.”

Your mind crashes through the hazed barriers of sleep and you awaken with a jolt, your ragged inhale catching inside sharply inflated lungs.

The taloned fingers of your nightmare retract and fade, leaving you blinking at the ceiling in a chilled sweat, with your heart pounding a mile a minute.

“Mnhuhchecosa? Is everything alright?” Copia’s startled, sleep-slurred question punctures the darkness at your side.

“Yes,” you exhale, unable to help your small, huffed chuckle. Truly, you’ve never known anyone quite so endearing as your partner, “Did I scare you? I’m sorry. Bad dream is all.”

“Oh Tesoro,” he breathes, with a level of sorrow so disproportionate for such a trivial thing as a nightmare – like he can’t bear your pain in even the smallest amounts, “Come here to me.”

He lifts the covers, and you shift eagerly over into his waiting embrace. Pillowing your head upon his chest and hitching a leg over his in order to press as close against his side as humanly possible. Yet he somehow manages to gather you even closer still, closing even the smallest of gaps left between you.

His fingers drop to brush through your hair, and he coos soothing, nonsensical noises beneath his breath. You melt, releasing a contented sigh into the crook of his neck and tracing an idle fingertip over the triple-6 tattoo upon his pectoral.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asks gently.

You shake your head and nestle deeper against him, “Just a stupid dream,” you grumble.

“Stupid,” he agrees bitterly.

The moments pass in warm, comfortable silence. That is, until your partner begins to hum; soft as a summer breeze. He sings so quietly that some notes are no more than mere whispers of air, leaving gaps in the familiar melody that you fill inside your mind. Life Eternal.

You smile against his skin, and wind your arm just a little tighter around his middle. It isn’t long until you’re drifting – coaxed towards a warm, liminal place of rest by the tones of Copia’s lullaby, and by the steady, metronome beat of his heart beneath your ear.

[cilil]

Hi again! I did not see bath/shower sex marked off of the Spicy Bingo

May I request that with Mairon and Fem reader???

OR OR OR hear me out Orome and fem reader

🫣😁😁😁

Please and thank you!

Author's Note: Thanks so much for your request! I decided to go for Oromë because I really felt like writing for him and noticed I haven't really done so (at least not in terms of smut).

Also sorry it took a while, I was sick for a few weeks. Hope it's worth the wait!

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Bath/shower sex + Oromë x reader ৎ୭

"There you are, my little deer," Oromë says softly and reaches for your chin to gently tilt your head and guide you into a kiss. "Do you miss the company of a fellow hunter?"

ৎ୭ Synopsis: After another successful hunting trip, Oromë joins his favourite Maia in the shower.

ৎ୭ Featuring: Fem!reader, Maia!reader, 2nd person POV, smut

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~950 words)

The hunt was successful. 

You smile to yourself as warm water flows down your fána, easing the tension of your muscles. Nothing makes you feel more alive than joining your lord on his hunting trips, running through forests of Valinor and chasing prey to your heart's content; and nothing makes you happier than Oromë's warm, proud smile when you and the other hunters show him what you caught and the way he praises you. 

"Good girl."

A pleasant shiver goes down your spine upon recalling his words and the way he said them to you with his deep, mighty voice while his large hand playfully ruffled your hair. Oromë doesn't shy away from showing you affection, and you appreciate it, even find yourself craving it. 

As if your lord sensed your desire, you suddenly feel his presence when you reach for the soap and strong arms wrap around you from behind soon after, pulling you flush against his taller, stronger fána. Your breath hitches as you notice that he, too, is naked. 

"There you are, my little deer," Oromë says softly and reaches for your chin to gently tilt your head and guide you into a kiss. "Do you miss the company of a fellow hunter?" 

His free hand slowly trails down your side and you lean into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his calloused palm exploring you. Yet before you can close your eyes and lose yourself in the pleasant sensation of being so close to your beloved Vala, you suddenly find yourself pushed up against the shower wall. 

It's in situations like these that you truly realise how much taller and stronger Oromë is, his muscular form nearly hiding your fána from view as he leans in for another kiss, and you look up at him in awe. Your hands reach for his broad shoulders to hold on to, and you feel a rush of wetness between your legs when he continues to toy with you. Lips claim yours, hands caress your skin and cup your breasts before one makes its way further and further down until a finger dips between your dripping folds. 

"My little deer is excited," Oromë says, a low purr rumbling in his chest, and pushes inside. 

You arch your back and rock your hips against his hand. "Yes, my lord... please-!" 

"Please what?"

His green eyes twinkle with amusement, and you know what he wants to hear. 

"Please fuck me. I need–" 

A soft moan falls from your lips when his thumb teasingly brushes against your clit. 

Oromë chuckles. "How could I say no to such a request after you did so well for me today? And especially when my darling fawn is asking so nicely?" 

He withdraws his hand and lifts you up with ease. Your legs wrap around his hips reflexively, and you let out a low whine when you feel his cock slowly entering you, your walls parting to welcome him inside. The Vala of the Hunt isn't known for his gentleness, yet he's always careful not to hurt you and patiently waits for your fána to get used to his size before he starts moving. 

You feel him seizing a fistful of your hair, carefully pulling on it to expose your neck, and peppering it with small kisses and bites. Oromë's thrusts are slow and deep as he focuses on his task, and you feel another rush of excitement when you think about your lord marking you in more ways than one, for everyone to see to whom you belong. Moans and whines keep spilling from your lips, despite your best efforts to keep your noises down, reminding yourself that the rest of hunters are close by as well. 

"Oh no, little one. Do not deprive me of your beautiful noises," Oromë whispers in your ear and gently bites your auricle. 

You nod, and your lips part to accommodate his request–yet before you can so much as gasp in surprise, he lets go of your hair and starts fucking you hard and fast, his patience wearing thin. Reflexively, your hands wrap around his neck for support. Even if Oromë hadn't told you to let him hear your voice, you wouldn't have been able to remain quiet. It simply feels too good to be claimed and taken with the fierce passion of a hunter, to be supported and held in place by his larger, stronger fána, to rest your face on his shoulder and inhaling his wild scent. 

Eyes half-lidded, you watch droplets of water running down his muscular chest, but your reverie is interrupted when you feel Oromë's hand between your legs once more, now more determined than ever to coax a sweet climax out of your trembling body. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes closing as you helplessly rut against him until you finally find your release and clench around him hard, as if to draw him into an embrace of bliss. 

It doesn't take long for Oromë to follow suit, and he lets out a low growl when he thrusts inside you one last time and fills you with his essence. The thought of being marked by him so thoroughly, of carrying his scent for days, if not weeks, to come makes you feel dizzy with pride and contentment. 

"It seems you will have to wash yourself again, little deer," he says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But worry not. I will take care of you." 

You nod, relieved to still have his arms around you; whether your legs could carry you after this, you aren't sure. Yet only one thought remains on your mind as you bathe in the heady afterglow of your climax–your beloved Vala is pleased with you.

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spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

[busy-bii]

A bad dream.

Trouble had always followed Deva. It was the only constant in his fast, rigorous and uncertain life. He’d faced it many times, head to head, fearless and strong as he battled it.

So trouble came again, and again.

Just as bull-headed and arrogant as Deva himself. So he wasn’t surprised when trouble showed up, again. It’s red eyes staring him down, but this time Deva sensed an unfamiliar fear around him. Why?

He wasn’t alone this time. There’s a warm hand that squeezes his gently. Brown eyes behind clear, square framed glasses peer up at him.

Das.

Confusion turns to awe, turns to love, turns to fear. Fear.

Deva reaches to grab his beloved but it’s too late. Trouble had taken his Das before Deva could protect him.

Das was falling now and all Deva could do was watch helplessly as he sank to his knees, his will falling at the same pace Das was.

——

Deva wakes with a start. His heart thuds at the bottom of his throat, the thin sheet of sweat on his forehead gleams reflecting the moonlight that lit their room. His heavy pants fade into the soft howling of the wind. His eyes wander to the left side of the bed, slowly, relief washing over him as they find Das snoring softly with his arms wrapped around a pillow. Deva huffs out the breath he was holding. He cannot take his eyes off Das, even as he sit up on the bed and takes off Das’s glasses, even as he reaches over to grab the other man’s bookmark and reaches over to the bedside table again to put the doctor’s book and glasses away. His Das was right there, right next to him.

His strength, his love, his patience were right next to him.

His peace was safe, lying next to him.

He watched on for a little longer, but the panic in his chest kept rising, ignoring the vows to protect that echoed in his heart.

Deva has to rip his eyes away, a heavy feeling sits atop his chest and his breaths become stuttered.

He needed air. Somehow he managed to make his way to the window, leaning against the open frame as his heavy limbs just slumped at his side. He shivers under the cool wind, taking deep breaths till they were stable again. The tears that well in his eyes fell freely for the first time in years, rolling down his cheeks and onto the windowsill as he leaned over it with another shaky breath.

“Deva?” Das’s sleepy voice called out from behind him, the older man quickly wipes away the tears as the doctor shuffles behind him. Deva can sense the worry that glazes Das’s expression as he catches a glimpse of Deva.

“Devu, are you okay? Em aindhi?” (What happened?) Two warm arms wraps themselves around Deva, one at his waist and another round his neck, pulling him as close to the other body as possible. Deva leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Deva composes himself and Das waits patiently till Deva is ready.

“Das?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you” Deva mumbled. “Neku emaina aithe nenu thatkolenu.” (If anything happens to you, I won’t be able to bear it.)

“Naaku em aithadi Deva?” (What’ll happen to me Deva?) Das asks, prompting him to explain.

“Das, the things I did before you saved me will follow me everywhere, for the rest of my li-” Deva pauses to take a breath, his pattern losing its consistency for the second time that night. Das pulls back a little, worry graces his face again and he pulls up a chair, gently nudging his lover down till Deva was sat.

“Deva, emi avaledhu, nenu ikkade unanu.” (Deva, nothing’s happened, I’m right here.) Das sat on a stool next to Deva’s chair, watching and soothing Deva with soft words and rubbing his knuckles. Deva manages to even out his breathing again but he doesn’t realise the tears that begin to roll down his face till Das moves to wipe at them.

“Deva, you’ve left that life behind. Naaku emi avadhu, ipudu manam safe.” (Nothing will happen to me, now we are safe.)

“But-” Deva starts but can’t find the words to explain the millions of ‘what ifs’ running through this head.

“Devu, I love you. I know that you’re scared, I am too sometimes. Ippudu varaku emi avvaledhu. Kaani emana aithe mana degara move avadanki plan undhi. We’ll run far far away from here and start afresh.” (Nothing’s happened till now. But if anything does happen we have a plan.) Das calmly reminded him, Deva nodded, remembering the heavy conversation they had. He hummed, completely hating the fact that he had put the angel of a person standing in front of him in potential danger.

“Dasu, bangaram ikkada raa.” (Das, bangaram [gold in telugu] come here.) Deva pulled Das onto his lap, wrapping his arms around the young doctor and nesting his head into his neck. “Oka peedakala ochindi.” (I had a bad dream.) Deva reveals hesitantly. Das strokes his hair.

“Hmm, kalla lo emi aindhi?” (Hmm, what happened in the dream?) Das asks.

“Naa valla nuvu,” (Because of me, you,) Deva trails off, physically unable to finish the sentence but Das understood enough to see where it was going. Kissing the top of Deva’s hair as he rubbed circles into his shoulder and Deval pulled him closer, holding him as tightly as possibly.

“Naaku emi avadhu. That life is behind us and you’ve taught me enough for me to protect myself. And don’t worry we have police connections too, I’m sure Pooja would help us.” (Nothing will happen to me) Das tries to joke, immediately smiling as Deva chuckles into his neck. “Deva? Let’s go back to sleep?” Das asks, knowing the both of them had busy days the day before and were going to be even busier the next. Deva nods and Das is about to slide off his lap before Deva stops him.

“Aagu!” (Stop!) And without warning Deva picks Das up bridal style, placing him gently down on the before climbing in next to him. Deva buries his head into Das’s chest and snuggles closer as the doctor wraps his arms around him, assuring him of his presence.

A.N:

@rasnak2 and @tulodiscord thank you so much for supporting me and bearing with my constant complaining and proofreading everything i write ever for me! You guys are the best!

[bovine-providence]

Make Me Yours, Part 7

[CWs: timeskip, pregnancy]

——— sat on the bed, leaning on the pillows to relieve the back pain of third trimester pregnancy as her laptop sat beside her, awaiting the call. Morel was away on an expedition, and had finally found a spot with a steady internet connection, so the two had agreed to FaceTime. The omega hugged the alpha’s pillow, purring into it as his familiar scent wafted up. It was fading due to his absence, but no matter. He was going to return home soon.

At the first ring to announce Morel was calling, she answered.

“That didn’t take long,” Morel’s teasing voice came through. ——— giggled.

“Hey Mor,” she greeted, smiling at the screen as she saw her silver-haired mate. Morel noticed her holding his pillow immediately.

“You miss me that much, huh?” He chuckled.

“Yeah… I want you home soon,” she admitted. The thought of the distance between her and her mate invoked melancholy, and Morel watched her soothe herself as she closed her eyes and rubbed her face against his pillow. He could imagine her sweet scent mixing with his within the soft fabric, and the thought warmed his heart immensely.

“It’s only three more days, alright?” He assured, watching as she hazily opened her eyes at him and nodded.

“Alright.”

Seeing her still looking a bit down, Morel smiled gently.

“Hey, since we’re able to FaceTime, mind showing me the baby?”

Morel’s smile widened as ——— perked up at his words.

“Yeah! Hold on, lemme me adjust the camera…”

Her face was replaced with darkness and soft shuffling, and the darkness soon lifted to reveal that the camera was tilted down towards her swollen belly.

“Look at that,” Morel murmured admiringly as ——— steadied the camera to its new focus. A moment later, ——— lifted her sweater up, allowing Morel to see the bare skin. “I wish I was there. Has she been kicking much?”

“Oh yeah,” ——— giggled. “When I wake up, she kicks me, I move, she kicks… I like it, it’s like it’s her way of talking to me.”

——— watched Morel smile fondly on the screen as he watched her caress her hands over her belly.

“I can’t wait to get home,” he admitted. “I want to feel her kick again.”

“Soon you’ll be able to,” ——— reminded him.

“I know, princess, I just… mmm.”

Morel watched as ——— adjusted the camera once more, allowing him to see the top of her bump along with her face.

“I can’t wait for you to be home again,” she pouted. “I want my alpha back. Some of the nesting urges are getting really strong now.”

“Then make a nest, and the first thing we do when I’m back, we’ll cuddle in it,” Morel suggested, grinning when he heard ———’s excited trill. “Though I can’t promise it’ll strictly be cuddling for too long…”

“Morel!” The woman chided lightly, “at least let me have my sweet fantasy of us cuddling.”

“It can still be sweet,” he teased, “but a little more than just cuddling is all.”

“Well… I guess I’ve also missed more than ‘just cuddling,’” ——— giggled. As her eyes wandered to the time at the corner of the screen, she tilted her head. “Wait, Morel, what time is it for you? Isn’t it late?”

“Not too late for me to call you,” he shrugged.

“Morel! You need sleep!” She urged. Seeing she wouldn’t let him off easy, he raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll end the call and get some sleep,” he gave in. “With that said, I love you. I can’t wait to see you in a couple days, alright?”

“I love you too, Mor,” ——— chuckled.

The two said their good nights, and ended the call shortly after.

As she sat back in the bed, absentmindedly hugging the pillow that still bore his scent, she marveled at how things had changed. No longer secretly pining for the handsome Sea Hunter, she was now his beloved mate and bearing his child, living comfortably in his cottage to call home. ——— thanked whatever god was listening that a rogue heat allowed her these blessings, before retiring to sleep, eager for Morel’s return.

[falling-pages]

A hug and chicken noodle soup: Takashi x Reader

Feel better @ohshcscenerios <3

-

Maybe love was as simple as a hug and chicken noodle soup.

-

Takashi Morinozuka x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None

-

Takashi was not used to being disobeyed.

The national martial arts champion, head of his own security firm, and father of three was used to holding power in his massive hands, for the room to fall silent at his command. He made the decisions, though with valid input from others, but he was the top dog, the one on whose authority they relied. Respect emanated from his veins, care and courage were his pedestal. When he gave an order, it was for the greater good of his company, or the safety of those he loved.

So when he returned home to find you washing the dishes, he was absolutely livid.

Not at your disobedience, per se. He was used to your sass, your jokes, your spitfire ways. Fourteen years of marriage would do that to a person, especially one as easygoing as him. But at your abject defiance, going against his advice for your own good--did you not trust him?

“What are you doing?”

You dropped the cup you were washing, the water splashing against your apron and the wall in retaliation. Soap bubbles clung to your arms, and with your deer-in-headlights stare, one would have thought he had just caught you stealing the Hope Diamond rather than just a simple chore.

“Takashi, I…” you sputter, wiping strands of hair away from your face. They had escaped from the bundle atop your head and creased your neck and forehead, though sticking with sweat or water he couldn’t be sure. If it were sweat, so help him, he was going to tie you down to the bed himself.

He left the shadows of the threshold and walked noiselessly towards you, groceries weighing heavily in his hands. You dare not move, pinned to the spot by his steely gaze. Your husband was a quiet man, not often prone to outbursts of emotions despite a wildly passionate heart. But like a predator towards prey, he came closer, until you saw the disappointment lining his brow.

Disappointment was always worse than anger.

But when he approached you, so close you could feel the energy radiating off his skin, so close but not touching, all that was left in his eyes was concern, a worried quirk on his lips that left knots in your stomach. Kindness framed him as he set down the groceries, took a towel, and wiped down your arms, leaving them soft and dry.

“I thought I told you to get some rest, love,” he whispered.

You swallowed, wincing at the ache in your throat. “I tried, I really did, but this was the only time I could get some chores done,” you whined. “The kids are with your parents this weekend, and it’s finally quiet and I can do stuff without worrying about watching them--”

“My parents took the children because you’re sick,” he responded, voice measured and even. His tone was stark, hands lingering on your wrist. Not tight enough to bruise, but enough to remind you of his strength. “You need to rest. I told you I would do the dishes once I got back.”

“But I--”

“Darling.”

His eyes flickered with hurt, and though he was never a man prone to begging, he would do anything to stop you hurting. Every weak inhale you took he felt in his own lungs, trapped and weak and congested. With the raging fever you were sporting this morning, it was a wonder you were even standing right now.

With a sigh, you let the dish fall into the puddle and stepped off your footstool--everything in this house was freakishly tall to accommodate his height--as he untied your apron, hanging it on the peg behind you. While his hands wandered around your waist, enjoying how you felt in his embrace, he bent to press a kiss behind your ear.

“I hate it when you’re hurting,” he murmured.

His warm voice broke through the gauze wrapping around your brain, and you sighed, relaxing against his chest. So warm, the only stable thing in your swimming vision.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” you said.

“Yes there is.” He scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, and smashed his mouth against your neck, kissing and nuzzling your sweaty skin. “Go to bed, and I’ll make you some soup.”

Despite your squeals, broken and congested before they left your mouth, hiccupped and weak, you didn’t push him away, finally letting him baby you into bed. He walked seamlessly to your bedroom and pulled back the covers with you still clinging to his neck. As he lowered you down, you could have cried at how soft the sheets felt, cool silk against your sore muscles, warmth immediately drawing you into sleep. He layered the blankets on top of you before walking to the other side of the bed, climbing in and drawing the sheets around him before spooning you back against his chest.

His arms were rapture in and of themselves, an escape from your burning head and weak lungs, so tight and strong that you knew he would keep you safe from any sickness trying to harm you. His gentle breaths against your ear calmed your heart, tickling that part of your brain that sparked with love. Even as his lips traveled across your cheek you could barely find the energy to scold him.

“Taka,” you whined, as seriously as your hoarse voice would let you. “Stop...you’ll get sick…”

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, smooth and comforting like chocolate or rain. Another kiss to your temple, slicking down to the underside of your jaw. “My body has been through worse.”

Though that much was true, it still irritated you. How could he reprimand you for disobeying him and then not even listen when you do the same?

“‘S not the same,” you mumble. “Being shot is a different kind of pain, I’d imagine.”

Takashi chuckled against your neck. Your mind traced over the diagram of his body, the scars stretching across his chest and neck, dyeing his hands and striping through his legs. His line of work was dangerous, full of deceit and corruption, but you knew he’d never have it any other way. “You’re right, my love. A bullet hurts like hell.” He wrapped you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, but you welcomed the loving suffocation. “But I’d take them all over again if it meant you and our little ones were safe.”

Grisly and gruesome though his words were, they comforted you, lulled you into the security that he worked so hard to provide. Though you prayed it would never come to it, you knew he would lay down his life in a second to ensure yours or your children’s happiness. He even showed his love in less extreme ways--for example, forcing you to rest, holding you as you slept, even at the risk of his own health.

Over and over again you were amazed at the selfless love of the man you married.

Before you could even stop it, the tears were falling from your eyes, stinging the hot skin of your cheeks. Your heart felt full to bursting, and its hammering through your chest didn’t help at all. The world felt full of sunlight yet you clinched your eyes shut to keep in the tears, but they didn’t fool him.

Takashi felt you shake and quickly turned you over onto your back, laying you beneath him as he hovered above, one hand wiping your tears as the other held fast to your waist. “Look at me,” he whispered, the urgency in his voice making your eyes pop open. He stroked your cheek, running his finger along your nose, cooing and shushing until your gaze met his. And as soon as you saw that beautiful smile split his tan face, you knew everything would be okay.

“There she is,” he whispered, tenderly stroking beneath your eye. “Does it hurt that badly?”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s not the fever. It’s the feeling of being loved so terribly.”

Never a man of words, he furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I love you so, so much.” A dry sob creases out your throat. “I’m so glad I married you, and I’m so glad you’re the father of my kids, and I’m so glad I not only know, but get to love such a wonderful man for the rest of my life.”

He chuckled at your delirious confession, words he had all heard before but sounded more tender in the context of your sickness. Such tenderness in your voice soothed the aches and quells of his body, the wounds he had sustained inside and out during his life, until all that was left was you with a rag and antiseptic and a bandage. He adored you so deeply that though he wanted to hear you say more, it was imperative that you rest.

“I’m so blessed to have you by my side. I love you,” he whispered, giving you a gentle kiss. He frowned at how hot your lips were and resigned himself for the afternoon. “Go to sleep, beloved. When you wake, I’ll make you soup.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, the crying finally tuckering you out. Pliantly, you rolled back over onto your side, and he laid back behind you, guiding your head to rest against his bicep and laying his other arm over your waist. As you drifted back off to sleep, you could only think of one thing.

Love really could be as simple as a hug and chicken noodle soup.

-

Kofi

[babbushka]

A Throne By Any Other Name

Kylo Ren x F!Reader (Medieval AU)

A/N: This oneshot was inspired in part by to some requests sent in by dear anonymous users, and in part by the revelation of Adam's apparent cunnilingus skills lol. I hope you enjoy this smutty oneshot!

3.1k, NSFW (oral sex [f-receiving/face sitting], fingering, PIV, jerking off, outdoors sex, sex in the rain)

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It is too early in the day for the sun to have set, and yet the skies are dark. Clouds, heavy, blank, pendulous, fill the summer afternoon, a torrential downpour out in the distance. You and Kylo are lying on the plush green grasses of the fields which sit just outside your castle, enraptured with one another. He stares into your eyes, one palm on your cheek, soaking up the sight of you in your embroidered kirtle, your hair braided long down your back clasped with golden bands encrusted with pearls and sapphires.

For hours you both have been there, wrapped in one another’s embrace, watching as the lightning strikes across the clouds, claps of thunder following soon after. The time between the flashes and booms grows smaller and smaller, and each time it shatters the sky, you cannot help but gasp. Instinctively, Kylo tightens his hold on your body, and you warm with affection for your husband, your King.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?” You have been reduced to a whisper from the sheer awe of mother nature, lifting a hand and squinting with one eye like you’re about to fire an arrow, aiming it straight for the deluge that hits the edge of the fields as you breathe, “It must be so far away and yet, I feel as though I can reach out and touch it with mine very fingers.”

Kylo takes your hand and pulls it to his lips, kisses across your fingertips and down your palm, pushing back your sleeve enough to expose your wrist, where he grazes his crooked teeth along the delicate skin.

“Are you afraid?” Kylo whispers, never one to assume more volume than you, never one to assert himself over you.

Once, a long time ago, Kylo had soothed you from the way the sounds of thunder disrupted your sleep. You smile, grateful that he would be so willing to use whatever influence he has over this land as its King, to do the same again.

“No, I have learned to love the thunder, now that I know it bends it’s whims to you.” You tell him as such, and Kylo blushes shyly in a way so discordant with the ferocity of his power.

“The rain is moving towards us, what shall we do my beloved?” Kylo turns to the storm, his pupils growing to soak up what little light is left. It grows darker and darker out in the fields, save for the lightning that flashes, a deep purple black surrounding the castle. He kisses your shoulder, “I will not see you soaked to the bone if you do not wish it.”

“Hmm, and what if I do?” Tilting your head to the side, you allow him greater access. The wind chills you and you shiver, Kylo only holding you closer as he licks a hot stripe up your throat, nibbling at your ear.

“In that case...” He breathes against the spot just underneath your jaw, his hand working under your many layers to brush his fingers through the thick thatch of hair between your legs, breath hot as he sucks on your pulse, “I shall see to it personally, that my Queen be soaked in another manner altogether.”

“If that is what my King wants,” You reach for his hand and press it against your flesh further, sliding out of his embrace in a guise to better lie down, “That is what he shall get.”

Kylo removes the clasps of his fine furs, hiding them inside the large basket of cheeses and wine you have brought with you so that they do not get so soaked. You pull your kirtle up and over your head, leaving you in just the plain white cotton chemise that flows in the wind of the oncoming storm. Kylo is about to grab at you once again, when you are suddenly off, slipping just through his fingers, all of a sudden out of reach as you cheekily tease, “But first, he must catch me.”

This is one of your favorite ways to work him up, your husband. He must win your affection, must prove himself worthy of it. And oh how he does love to prove himself to you -- the maximum capacity of his prowess on display for you as the world lights in moments, a game of chase where your pleasure is the prize.

The rain has found you both, in this game, and Kylo wishes he could see you better to see the way your chemise has molded to your body, the fabric gone translucent with the rain. He knows, he just knows that all of your curves are on display; the roundness of your tits, the swell of your ass, the softness of your stomach and thighs as you run, your hair clinging to your face as the wind whips the braids around.

“Get back here!” Kylo demands, hungry for you, his heart pounding inside his chest, luring you in close with false modesty, “You are too fast for me.”

“Then remove some of thine armor my darling, and perhaps you will be lighter on your feet.” Never one to give in to his traps, you only dart past him, grass sticking to your ankles, rain slick’d much like the rest of you.

Smirking, Kylo does as he’s told, stripping down just far enough so that he is clad only in his leggings; his tunic and all the belts and buckles of armor and cloaks gone in a soggy pile on the ground far from where he manages to wrap his arms around you once more, bring you laughing to the ground.

“I’ve got you now,” Kylo declares triumphantly as he blinks away the rain water that beats down on his back, as he wrestles you onto yours with a grin, “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

His hands roam across your body, and you encourage him to do so with the parting of your legs, your wet chemise clinging and sticking to your body, your chest heaving with a mix of adrenaline and exertion. Your cunt drips, and you grow impatient with the waiting, the game over.

“You speak as if you have won, yet where I lay, it appears as though I am the one with a prize.” Your hand smooths up Kylo’s leggings, palming the hard line of his cock and giving it a firm squeeze through the fabric, your voice deep and sultry when you inquire, “How do you want me?”

“Take off your clothes, lest I drown in the fabric.” He replies immediately, and you know by his phrasing that he means to delve his tongue between your legs, a pleasure so sensational that you have never once denied his wish for it.

“Mm, what a way to go that would be.” You laugh at the thought, struggling to get the drenched garment over your head.

“Not before we have heirs to succeed me.” Kylo too grows impatient, and with the brute strength he possesses, he tears the chemise straight down the center, helps push it off of your shoulders instead.

Feeling the rain on your bare body is nothing short of divine, you have decided, as Kylo lies down beside you. For a moment, the two of you simply open your mouths and taste the crisp clean summer rain on your tongues, but you are near desperate, Kylo can smell it, for a good fucking, and who is he to deny you anything?

Rolling your body on top of his, Kylo crushes your mouths together, those very same tongues hot and throbbing against one another. Kylo has one hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you steady, and the other busy with freeing his aching cock from its confines.

“Kylo, the lightning.” You murmur against his lips as thunder crashes overhead, your hands bracing the earth on either side of his head, your legs straddling his thighs. You push your hips back so that you may catch the feeling of his cock against your pussy, but Kylo has other ideas.

“Fear not, it will not harm you.” He urges you, a heated desperation of his own in his voice when he instructs, “Now please, take your seat upon your throne.”

His mouth is hot against your cunt, when you settle your knees in the very spot your hands just were, the bend of your legs digging into the waterlogged earth below as rain pounds pounds pounds on top of you. He is eager, so eager, to part your folds with his lips, so eager to begin sloppily kissing your pussy with his tongue, that the force of it already has a tight coil of heat winding in your stomach.

“Oh, oh stars, that feels good.” You sigh, your hands smoothing up and down your thighs as your legs widen for him ever further, allowing him deeper access.

Kylo’s grip on you returns, but it does so one handed. His left hand digs deep into your hip, grasping and grabbing at the supple flesh there, while his right hand works strong solid strokes of his cock up and down, his hips bucking up into his fist as yours grind down onto his face.

“Mmmm..!” He groans into your cunt, and you revel in it, in the way the vibrations of his baritone resonate through your very bones, your nipples so stiff in the cool air of the thunderstorm, your clit pulsing against his tongue, his lips. Mindlessly, Kylo jerks himself off, savoring the pleasure as he drinks yours down.

“Kylo! Oh my liege, oh fuck!” Your moans are swallowed by the sound of the rain, so you are free to gasp and shout as loudly as you’d like. No one is outside in weather like this, and even if the castle were to look out their windows, the rain is so dense that it shrouds you in a cloak of misty darkness. Soaked completely, you ride Kylo’s face, your naked body undulating onto his mouth. “More, more I demand more!”

The way his tongue plunges up into your pussy has you nearly falling forward from surprise, the thick slurping sounds that he sucks out of your cunt has your knees weak, thighs shaking. His nose is perfectly positioned over your clit, and the pace that he nudges against it drives you to the brink of ecstasy, has you breathing fast and heavy, blinking away water and pushing soaked hair from your face, your body tensing up, that heat in your stomach spreading through the nerves and veins of your body like a wildfire.

“Hands, Kylo, I beg of thee, hands.” You are nearly frantic as his mouth sucks at your folds, bites at your inner thighs. You will be sore there tomorrow, but in this moment, if you do not get to come, you’d wage war. He is obliging, and so he releases his hold on your hip, taking three of his fingers and shoving them inelegantly up into your pussy, seeking your gspot, and grinning when you grind down onto his palm with a satisfied, “Yes!!”

He latches his lips around your clit and sucks and licks at it as his fingers thrust in place of his tongue, crooking against that spot against your walls, filling you with such a pleasure that you have to clutch at your tits and pinch your nipples, just to have something to ground you as your eyes snap open.

“Oh yes!” You cry, his speed increasing, spelling his name on your clit, your nipples so hard, body so wet, dripping all over, “Oh Heavens above -- fuck!”

“Come on my tongue, precious, my precious girl.” Kylo pulls away only long enough to watch as your body convulses above him, your shoulders shaking, body pitching forward. He steadies you and reverses your positions, lays you down on the wet earth as you come and come and come, frantic in his own right to line his cock up, waiting to push in until he has your express permission, “May I..?”

“Kylo I fear if you do not fuck me right this instance I will burst like the thunder that blooms across the sky.” Your eyes are glassed over, he can see in the dim light, and it’s all that he needs before he is nudging the head of his cock up to your pulsing folds, pushing inside.

At once, your body accommodates him, opening and blossoming for him like an oyster in the moonlight. He thrusts into your demanding cunt in one fell swoop, the rain on his back cooling his overheating body as he pounds your pussy with reckless abandon.

“Fuck, oh -- fuck!” He moans through grit teeth, the sheer pleasure of your body filling his head with a thick fog that he could shout about, your tits bouncing from the force of the way he fucks you hard, fast, grunting out, “This cunt’s so tight, you miraculous beauty, so tight and hot, and all for me.”

“I -- I -- oh yes, Kylo please, more?” Your voice is high, wanton and desperate, breaking on the verge of a scream as he lifts your hips and holds them up with his hands, plowing into you, deeper deeper deeper, the taste of your come on his lips, in his nose. It is obscene, the sound, the way you are wet inside and out, slippery with come and rain.

“Let the kingdom hear, let them all hear.” He wants you to scream, he wants to push you over that edge, the very same edge he himself is so close to meeting. You’ve come once, but he wants another, and another, and another still, until you are a babbling incoherent mess of nothing but please and his name.

“Kylo!” You give him what he asks, voice ringing through the rain, cutting above the thunder as he bends his body to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it the same way he sucked on your clit, making your body writhe underneath him this time instead of above, “Oh my liege! Oh -- Kylo!”

Thunder crashes, and lightning streaks, and the rain pours, and Kylo fucks your pussy with as much strength as he can manage. Deep even thrusts that fill you so completely that it pushes you up the grass, body bouncing, shaking, screaming for him. You have to shut your eyes against the pleasure, your orgasm from when he ate your cunt out never having a chance to end, simply rolling into the next one, your back pushing clean off the ground from the strength of it.

He is not too far behind, focusing all his energy into pleasing you. One of his fingers rubs at your clit and he smiles into the crook of your shoulder when your legs kick out from under you, scrabbling for purchase as your fingers tangle in his inky locks. His own orgasm hits him with little warning, and he pins you to the now muddy ground with a harsh grunt, his hips slamming against yours once, twice, three more times, before he collapses on top of your body.

You both feel it, the way his come fills you up, hot and pulsing inside your cunt. Grinning, there is a satisfaction that comes with this -- your dear king needs no mistresses to keep him pleased, no rotation of women to warm his bed. You are all he desires, the evidence is flowing between your bodies. Kylo rolls you over so that you can rest your cheek on his chest, for he is too tall to do so without pulling his cock out of your pussy.

Chests heaving, you each gulp down humid air, before the tingles of your pleasure prick up your spine, and you’re laughing into the line between Kylo’s pecs. He smiles softly at you, pushing your hair away from your face where the rain keeps sliding it down, cranes his neck to kiss you.

“You are so beautiful in the rain.” Kylo murmurs, his eyes half-lidded.

The rain has begun to lighten up, no longer the intense downpour. Perhaps that was a metaphor, or perhaps in his own release of ecstasy, so too did the clouds complete theirs. In either case, the rain has softened to a gentle drizzle, and the thunder and lightning have subsided.

“You can hardly see me.” You smile playfully, for now that the clouds have begun to part, there is naught but the light of the silver moon to light the field.

“I can see enough to know that you are a beauty beyond our mortal comprehension.” Kylo kisses you again and again, his lips chaste.

“Careful Kylo, you may be blaspheming.” You whisper, but your husband only scoffs, rolls his eyes.

“So what if I am? Am I not king? Do I not have divine right to this throne? Who is to say that then I do not have right to a divine wife?” He helps you to stand, and you are wobbly on your feet, pleasure still thrumming through your body.

“That’s the orgasm speaking. Here, allow me to give you another -- ”

“In a moment,” Kylo pets down your wet hair, stretching his limbs and cracking his joints. He’s getting old, he thinks, hoping, wondering, if this time he’ll give you those heirs you both desire. “Just give me a moment to recover.”

“Perhaps we should move to our bedchambers. I am positively covered in mud, and the rain has begun to grow cold.” Laughing, you take stock of one another, the joyful sensation of pleasure mixed with fond adoration of one another causing a fit of chuckles at the way both of your bodies are filthy from your romp in the grass.

“Now that you mention it,” Kylo nods, his slippery hands groping your chest, “I desire a hot bath, with frothy bubbles, and with you sat atop my lap so that I can get those glorious breasts of yours right in my face.”

“And then perhaps once we are clean again, you may have a...renewed appetite?” You bump your hip against his as you collect the soggy pile of clothing from the ground, the torn chemise and your once beautiful kirtle.

“My lap, my face, I’ll take you however I can get you.” Kylo agrees, knowing the moment that he says it, you’ll be running off towards the castle.

In the light of the silvery moon on this summer’s evening, Kylo watches you run and thinks that it really is the quickest way to work him up. Good thing, he thinks as he chases after your naked body through the rains once again, he has the rest of the night, to give his Queen exactly what she wants.

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Taggin' some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip

[youryanderedaddy]

Imagine a yandere ghost who is cursed is trapped in the doll, so one day a family came to live in his house, but what the ghost did not expect is to fall in love with the couple's eldest daughter. Maybe this yandere ghost (doll) use the younger brother to get closer to his beloved...

I didn't really include the doll, but the overall idea is here ;)

Tw: nsfw, non - con, underage sex? (The reader is meant to be around 18, her brother is 16 - 17, but the ghost is 100+ so idk), (technically) incest, ghosts, possession, possessive/obsessive behavior, slight parental neglect ig

You knew it was a mistake moving into the old house up the hill. You tried arguing with your parents so many times about the mansion being hidden in the woods, so far away from any civilization, bringing up the fact it hadn't been bought for the last 8 years despite the insanely low price or the news about the previous owners dying in their sleep just like that, from "natural causes" even though they were an young energetic couple. But of course your worries had been discarded so easily since your younger siblings were ecstatic, constantly talking about finally living in a castle, which was obviously pushing it too far, but kids will be kids.

Your family was big, consisting of your mother, father, two younger sisters and a brother currently in his late teens. Your siblings managed to take all the nice bright rooms on the second floor so you were forced to sleep in the attic. At first it didn't seem so bad, yes, the place was dark and dusty, the space was limited, but it was a quiet spot and there were many interesting things left there to explore and discover.

The first week you discovered a huge box full of old books, medals, notebooks and different souvenirs from all over the world. The second week you found a few paintings covered by a thin disheveled cloak, most of them depicting a pretty young boy with golden locks and sad green eyes, dresses in an expensive silky clothing resembling what was nowadays considered an elegant suit. You didn't pay it much mind yet the miserable longing gaze of the kid haunted your dreams in the following days.

During the third week you noticed that things were going missing one by one. First it was your favorite lipstick, then your new dress, and suddenly your favorite items were gone just like that. On top of all, almost as if fate was tickling your paranoia, you could hear certain sounds at night that were too distorted be natural and too human to belong to an animal. There were sobs, loud and tormented, sometimes you could make up a few words in a language no one spoke anymore. You slept less and less each night, you could swear you felt someone's lingering touch on your shoulders, them gently stroking your hair and even pressing their cold unmoving lips on yours. This was usually the point when you opened your eyes and screamed in fear only to realize you were alone in the room. There was nobody there.

Still you decided to speak with your parents about the creepy events taking place in the attic. Much to your dismay they brushed your concerns off once again, laughing softly and calling you a scaredy - cat, going as far as to joke around about your "oh so creative" imagination getting the best of you just like it did in your childhood. But this time you insisted on holding your ground, almost begging them to take action and help you. At the end your mother decided to let you sleep in your brother's room for a while until you calm down, and as embarrassing it was to share a room with a hormonal teen, it was better than constantly being on the edge and losing sleep. Or so you thought.

The first night you slept in Steve's room nothing out of the ordinary happened and for the first time in weeks you actually managed to rest. The second night was blissfully peaceful as well and you quickly fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

The third night started well, just like the previous two. Your brother was tired from studying all day and went to bed early, giving you the freedom to relax a little bit before following his example. You could read a book or try to revise for your exam tomorrow, maybe even call your bestfriend and finally let her know all about your new classmates and just how boring life in the village was. But in that moment all these suggestion sounded annoying, nothing was interesting enough to hold your interest for more than a minute. Thinking about what to do next, you suddenly became aware that your body was tense and tired, but your mind was restless. After all you hadn't had time for self - care between the paranoia episodes and the fear, maybe it was finally time to do something nice and therapeutic for yourself.

You snatched a quick look at Steve and he was sleeping soundly, snoring from time to time, his usually angry face now calm and childlike. Making sure there was no one in the room awake, you finally slipped a hand down your pajama bottom until you felt the soft fabric of your panties. You closed your eyes and run a finger up and down your clothed sex, following the line of your slit. Your pussy throbbed at the sudden contact, the lack of pleasure in the last few weeks making it sensitive to the touch. You pushed your underwear lower so it hanged around your legs, and shoved one finger into your warm hole, enjoy the way your walls clenched around the digit. You flicked your clit gently, feeling it swell from the arousal, rubbing slow circles and pressing on your sweet spot every once in a while.

Your free hand went to your breasts, bare under the comfy oversized shirt, and awoke the cherry nipples with subtle pinches causing them to harden. You couldn't help but moan quietly as you decreased the pace of which you teased your hole and added a second finger in your pussy, fucking yourself on it. You were so focused on chasing your pleasure you didn't even notice the hand on your thigh pulling your own away from your excited throbbing core and replacing it with a big hard cock. Only once its head reached your tight entrance and pressed on it did your mind register the atrocious size difference. Your words stilled in your throat, the sudden panic rising in your chest, making your vision blurry and your cheeks rosy pink. You finally opened your eyes, your heart racing at the image of your younger brother towering above you with his member so close to entering your heat.

"Steve, what are you doing?" You whispered as you tried to squirm away from the boy, but he was quicker in pinning your wrists above your head in a deadlock. When did the male become so strong? Just yesterday he would ask you to open up his water bottle and help him with his math homework and now he was doing this...

"My name is Henry, my love." The voice was different from your brother's, lower and huskier, gentler in a way. You narrowed your eyes and observed the teenager's face, gasping as you noticed that his eyes had changed from black to green, yet all his other features had stayed stayed the same. You wanted to ask so many questions - who is Henry, why were your sibling's eyes and voice different from before - but you were quickly shut by one stern gaze. "I used to live here 80 years ago." The stranger started off with an unexpectedly soft tone as his grip on your wrists loosened. "I'm a ghost. I possessed your brother." He confessed calmly while you watched his pink lips part slightly with each breath as if you were in a trance before you found the strength to break your silence.

"Why are doing this to me? Why did you take my brother's body?" You questioned him manically, feeling like a confused little lamb sent to the slaughter, trembling and stuttering in front of a knife. Henry simply chuckled at your adorable dumbfounded expression and lowered his torso until his face was mere inches away from yours and you could feel his ice - cold breath on your warm red cheek. "Because I love you, darling." The ghost replied with a confident smirk that looked so weird and unnatural on the younger boy's face you almost gagged. Before you had the chance to say anything, he continued. "I've been wanting you for a while now, little girl. And with this body I can finally have you all to myself." You opened your mouth in a protest but your screams were easily muffled by a harsh kiss and a wet tongue down your throat. Next thing you knew the man had pushed your brother's manhood into your wet sloppy cunt in one sharp thurst and in your despair you had yelled for help once again, the ghost taking your whimpers greedily and shushing them away. Struggling was pointless.

In the next hour you were reduced to a sweaty whimpering mess of pain and arousal, fear and pleasure. The ghost was fucking you in a fast brutal pace while his free hand was playing with your clit, bringing you so damn close but never enough to send you over the edge. You were crying and your whole body was aching, your tits red from the rough manhandlind, your lips bruised and swollen from the rough kisses and bites. There were purple hickeys adorning your neck, belly and thighs and you went quiet in embarrassment every time you wondered how you would be able to hide them the next day.

"Please, whoever you are, let me come, I'm begging you." You pleaded desperately as you arched your back to meet the next couple of deep thrusts. Your cheeks were wet with tears and you could even taste the bitter salty flavor in your mouth mixed with your own drool and saliva. Upon hearing your meek pleas the man mercifully started hitting your cervix with each shove until his moves became sharp and quick, targeting your g-spot. You were so close you could feel your abdomen clench and tighten from the tingling sensitations. "Please..." You uttered weakly again, making doe eyes at your brother.

"Say you love me. Tie your soul to mine forever and I'll give you exactly what you want, beloved." Henry basically growled in your ear as he groped your breasts, squizing lightly the soft flesh. Your mind was so hazy and clouded you weren't sure how to respond so you just repeated the words easiest to grasp. "Love... you... forever, ngggh..." You muttered under your breath before moaning wantonly when the forceful thrusts finally sent you over the edge and your pussy clamped down in a big, satisfying orgasm. Your bliss was short - lived because soon the ghost was pounding into you again and again, keeping you too tired to move, struggle or even speak properly besides whimpering every once in a while. The rest of the night was a blur but eventually you fell asleep from the exhausting and the pleasure.

You woke up sore, your eyes red and puffy, your muscles tense and unnatentive. You rushed to look at your brother, but the teenager was sleeping just as peacefully as he did eight hours ago. One side of you was more than glad to know everything that had happened was simply a bad, terrible dream, while the other one still felt extremely uncomfortable and uneasy. You couldn't bear staying in the room any longer so you got dressed and went into the hall. Everyone else was still asleep and you felt as restless as if you hadn't caught a blink at all. You finally gave in to your paranoia and climbed the stars leading to the third floor.

You knelt on the ground where you had found the beautiful paintings. Those green eyes from your dream seemed way too familiar for it to be a coincidence. When you finally got a hold of your favorite piece, the one with the sad young boy, you had to cover your mouth to suppress the shock. There wasn't an aristocrat with golden locks on the picture anymore.

Now the one trapped in the painting was none other than you own brother, Steve. Instead of misery and pain in mysterious blue eyes, there was only terror in his tormented black ones. You screamed for the last time before you dropped the picture on the ground and ran away from the attic, the tears streaming down your face, but unfortunately, there was no escape from the restless dead souls.

[world-of-aus]

For the gif and drabble, I was thinking maybe a Royal au? Where Bucky and the reader have an arranged marriage and they get to know each other after they've been married? Can Natasha also be the reader's best friend? Prince!Bucky is one of my favourites. Just something really fluffy

Lexi, thank you for participating in WorldOfAUs loves you 3000!

I had a lot of fun writing out your drabble and I hope you enjoy this royal! AU as much as i enjoyed writing it for you!

ENJOYED THIS WORK? ALL OTHER WORK CAN BE FOUND IN MY BIO ON MY MASTERLIST!

Bare feet touched cold wooden floors, a shiver rolling through your sheer nightgown covered body as you slowly moved the warm duvet from over your legs. Your feet stilled; breath caught in your throat as the man next to you stirred fingers barely brushing your backside as he turned to you, you glanced over your shoulder eyes wide as you took in his still sleeping form.

He was beautiful.

He was beautiful from the depth of his oceanic eyes, to the gentle expressions of his voice. He was beautiful from his generous opinions, to the touch of his hand upon your own as you walked the castles corridors in the dead of night. You loved the way his voice quickened with excitement when a new idea presented itself before the council, or when he was enjoying one of yours so much so that he lost himself for a moment and forgot the mask he was meant to wear in front of others.

What he is, what he was, is what is beautiful about him, and that beauty came from deep within.

You can’t help but to lean over, tender fingers tucking away the chestnut brown hair that threatens to conceal his face before your moving back, your legs pushing you up and off the warmth of the bed.

You go quietly, hands finding his finest silk robe to throw over you form, chills rolling through your body as you go on quiet feet to the awaiting French doors.

Your head is angled toward his still sleeping form as your fingers wrap around the ice-cold knobs, twisting ever so slowly as you watch with baited breath. Your eyes slip shut, teeth finding your lip as the knob clicks, hands pulling the doors open just as slow.

Your escape out onto the balcony comes much quicker, not wanting to alert your sleeping husband of your absence in the warmth of your shared bed.

Cool wind knocks into you as you move forward, hands bracing against the balcony, eyes already set out on the distance waiting. You don’t have to wait long as the sunrise brings you copper hues, golden light dribbling over the land like honey poured over your morning oatmeal. The leaves shimmered like a mirror flecked mosaic and the morning dew sparkled on the bejeweled grass. In a moment, your cast in crimson, rosy glow, your fingers moving through the air that grows brighter with each passing moment until it becomes a new bold day. Even with the beginnings of winter upon you, you feel the promise of a gentle spring.

“You know I'm beginning to think there’s not a day that passes us that I won’t find you here soaking in those first rays of light,” comes his sleep laced voice.

Your eyes meet the sparkling hues of blue, a small smile kissing your lips as you look back out to the land "it's beautiful, isn’t it?”

You can picture him pressed up against the doors, strong arms crossed over an even broader chest, “it is beautiful,” he murmurs, your eyes lock with his, “but the sunrise doesn’t quite compare to you.”

Warmth crawls up your neck settling into the apples of your cheeks, eyes averting his to set your sights back to the growing sunrise. A deep chuckle rises from his chest, and you sense him drawing close, his arms circling your form seconds later confirming your thoughts, “it's been a year since we wed, how do I still manage to make my queen get so flustered?”

The fluster settles, simmers as you let yourself lean into him, your hands covering his own as your head finds its place against his shoulder.

“You know I'm beginning to think there's not a day that passes us that you won’t find a reason to have me boost you’re already inflated ego my love,” you tease.

His chest rumbles beneath your back, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your head, “Is it a crime for a man as lucky as I to want to hear what his beloved really thinks of him?”

A smile pulls at your lips as you look up to the man behind you, his eyes already on yours waiting, “no, it isn’t,” you answer, “but to be fair when father announced that he would be giving my hand away to the son of the infamous late George Barnes, I - well I had my concerns, but you already knew that.”

Bucky grins against the side of you head, “to be fair,” he teases, “I’m sure everyone knew of the concerns you held petal, you weren’t exactly the welcoming committee when your father first brought us together.”

Embarrassment filled with regret floods you, soft laughter bubbling up your chest as you recall the first words you had ever spoken in front of your husband.

“I would rather marry the stable boy father!”

Your father turns to you red-faced and glaring, “Daughter that is no way to speak in front of our guests much less to your future king apologize at once!”

Your eyes met the stormy ocean grays, “I apologize for my preference of wedding our stable boy than the likes of a man like you, but you’re no king.”

Your father clambers to his feet voice booming as he looks down on you, “now that is quite enough,” he growls, “that is no way to speak to your future husband, you will apologize at once and the right way if you wish to continue to see outside of that damned room of yours!”

Your eyes turn to slits, hands pushing you from the pleated chair that was placed next your fathers throne, “it’s not like you let me outside of my corridors to begin with father,” you hiss, “and I’m sorry to disappoint but go ahead and lock me away hell I’ll throw the key for you, because I refuse to marry a man who carries the blood of innocents on his hands.”

“Has your view on me changed petal?”

You find yourself turning in his hold then, hands falling to his shoulders as you look up the man you’ve given your heart to.

“My only regret was letting the whispered words of others build a hate in my heart for a man who never existed,” you answer. Your hands brushes against his cheek then, fingers tucking those soft locks, “for a man who had lived in the shadow of his father.”

He turns his head lips pressing to the inside of your palm, “and to think it only took a year,” he murmurs against your skin, grin pressed there as his eyes meet yours.

A grin of your own mirrors his, “it was less than a year.”

His grin grows hand finding your waist as he pulls you closer, “what was that darling I don’t think I heard you right,” he teases.

“Insufferable,” you huff through a laugh, fingers curling around the base of his neck, “but if you must know,” you exasperate, “it took less than the year to let myself fall.”

Bucky whistles lowly, “it took you less than a year to fall for the likes of a man like me, who would of thought, surely not your stable boy.”

That draws laughter from both of you, your fingers curling the hair that lays on the nape of his neck, “there was never a stable boy, but there was Tasha, though I don’t think she could quite compare.”

His head finds yours, “you’ve gone sweet on me petal.”

Your fingers curl further bringing your husband closer your lips barely touching his, “to be fair we’ve both gone sweet haven’t we love?”

“You’re not wrong there darling say, why don’t let you let me show you just how sweet I am for you?”

Your lips mold to his, the world around you melting away except for the two of you standing in the the blush of scarlet sky, and the warmth of tangerine.

Though your marriage was was not written in the eyes of one another the first day the two of you met. The two of you still existed as if the universe had brought together your two souls that were seemingly already betrothed from the very first day.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

a little unconventional (part one)

[foster au]

this is set in America because i don't know how Romania works

---------------------------------------

rapture rising

“Alcina, my beloved sister, are you sure all of this is necessary?”

Alcina shot a glare over her shoulder at her toddling younger brother, who she was making carry in several boxes full of various items into one of the many rooms in her mansion. This one wasn’t one of the bedrooms, but rather a temporary storage room for all the things she had recently bought. She was going to have everything set up for the children to choose from when they eventually arrived. Just thinking about them getting to pick out their bedsheets and paint for their new rooms made a smile come to her lips, excitement rushing through her like dozens of butterflies flying for the first time.

…And then her idiot brother bumped into the doorframe and caused an avalanche of boxes to come down on top of him.

“Be careful!” Alcina barked, whirling around to him. She bent down to start picking the boxes up. “You’re lucky there was nothing fragile in here.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Heisenberg grunted, rubbing his head.

“And to answer your questions, dearest brother, yes, this is all very necessary,” Alcina said. “I need this to be perfect for them. This may be the first time those little girls get a real home.”

“Inflating your ego, aren’t you?”

Alcina stepped on his foot.

“I have the paints.” Moreau, Alcina’s other brother, shuffled inside, holding several cans of paint on his arms. If they were hurting him, he didn’t say anything. He seemed pleased with himself for being so useful.

“Thank you, Sal,” Alcina said. She took the cans from him and placed them against the wall. “Yellow, green, red, blue, pink, purple… Do you think that’s enough? What if they want, like, a mauve room?”

“Mauve?” Heisenberg echoed as he was crow hopping on one foot, still recovering from being stomped on.

“It’s a shade of purple,” Moreau supplied.

“I know what mauve is, asshole,” Heisenberg hissed. “I was just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, what if they want a lighter-colored room?” Alcina said. “This purple is dark. Should I go buy more?”

“You could mix white into the paint?” Moreau suggested.

Alcina thought it over, then nodded. “Yes, I could do that. Good idea.”

“Who wants a mauve bedroom, anyway?” Heisenberg muttered.

“Alcina!” A fourth voice echoed throughout the house, and Alcina’s sister entered the room. Donna looked uncharacteristically bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was clutching something in her hands. “Alcina, I have finished them!”

“When did you get here?” Heisenberg looked at her.

“Just now,” Donna said. “It doesn’t matter. Look!”

A beautiful doll was presented to Alcina. It was hand-stitched and dressed with great care. All the little details, down to the freckles and shiny eyes, were incredibly-made, and Alcina couldn’t help but pick it up tentatively, as though she were afraid of accidentally destroying it.

“Oh, Donna,” she said. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

Donna beamed. “I have also made stuffed animals and toy clothes for them. An entire wardrobe, in fact. Many selections.”

“Damn,” Heisenberg looked impressed. “Toys dress better than I do.”

“We know,” the other three said in sync, eyeing his ratty trenchcoat and old cowboy hat that he insisted on wearing everywhere.

“You weren’t supposed to agree!” Heisenberg barked like one of his dogs.

“Shouldn’t have said anything,” Alcina shrugged daintily. She looked back at Donna and smiled. “Thank you, Donna. I really appreciate your support. I appreciate all of your support. Even yours, Karl.”

“Sure, sure…” Heisenberg said, though Alcina didn’t miss the glint of fondness in his eyes.

“This is so exciting,” Donna said. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Alcina. Do you remember when we were all adopted by Mother?”

Heisenberg snorted. “I remember being kidnapped as a child and held for ransom, and then being one of the abduction victims to be actually found alive, only to discover that my parents had been killed while trying to get me back, to which I was then thrown into a home with you three.”

Donna winced. “Not…quite what I had in mind.”

“And you say ‘you three’ like we weren’t your best friends growing up,” Moreau pointed out idly, not looking at Heisenberg as he was helping unload some of the boxes. That one in particular held a wide selection of different bed sheets, ranging from leopard print to floral to plain blue.

Heisenberg raised his nose and huffed. “Well. Still.”

Alcina shook her head with a warm smile.

She vividly remembered life with her adoptive mother, Miranda, and her three other siblings. She was reborn from ash and flame after her old family estate burned down to the ground, smoldering the life she used to have and taking her parents with it. Yes, she could still smell the smoke, taste the embers on her tongue, even now, thirty-five years later. She was so small back then, only nine years old when the fire started, and she watched her home crumble to pieces right before her teary eyes. She thought it was over, that she had nothing, that she was going to be alone forever without her mother and father, but then a woman in a black cowl whisked her up into tender arms and took her under her wing as though she were the chicken to a nurturing mother bird.

She was the first of Miranda’s ragtag rascal children with harsh upbringings. For two years, it was just the both of them, reading books and watching movies in a beautiful countryside manor that quickly became her new home. Though the wounds had still been raw, the burns were very fresh, Miranda filled the void in her heart that her parents’ death left behind, extinguishing that eternal fire of survivor guilt and mourning.

And then the others came along.

At the time, Alcina had been rather indignant at the idea of having siblings. She was an only child with her birth family and she preferred to stay an only child with her new one, too, but she never voiced this opinion to Miranda. She grinned and bore it, even if it meant losing the attention of her mother.

Though, they didn’t end up being that bad…

The first of the “intruders” as she used to call them was Salvatore Moreau, a boy her age, though three months younger, and with a story similar to her own. He had been in a car crash after his drunken father got into a pretty nasty collision. The engine caught fire and it wasn’t long until the rest of the car followed. Moreau was trapped in the inferno, but managed to get out, running towards a nearby lake to extinguish the flames that were trying to make him its newest pyre. Unfortunately, the event left him badly burned, the scar still lingering all these years later, and nobody wanted to take in such a “disfigured child.” Miranda, however, stepped up to the challenge and fostered the boy, eventually adopting him fully later on.

Alcina was, admittedly, rather uneased by her new brother’s appearance at first, but she quickly got accustomed to him, even protective. There were several moments in school where she verbally (and sometimes even physically) pummeled any kids who dared to make fun of him, drilling into the bullies that he was not to be messed with while she was around. Some of her best retributions were when she threatened to leak unwarranted dick pics to the entire school, as it wasn’t uncommon for horny teenage boys to try to get into her pants, and that always shut them up quickly, especially when she loudly proclaimed details on their pathetic excuse for a penis, like the size and shape.

She and Moreau grew close rather quickly, much quicker than Miranda had been expecting. They both enjoyed more mellow things, like reading books and going on walks through the forest. Moreau was the sole reason she passed any English assignments done on Shakespearean literature, as he actually knew how to discern the confusing text, while she had to reread the same page over and over again to simply get a loose grasp on the grammar. He enjoyed cheesy romcoms, birdwatching, and swimming, the last of which he had a strong affinity for because of how the lake beside the car wreck very well could have been the only reason he survived. Now, he owned that very lake and made it into a popular fishing and boating destination for locals and tourists alike.

The second to arrive was Donna Beneviento, when Alcina and Moreau were both twelve. She was a full five years younger than the two of them and didn’t talk very often, at least for a good chunk of the first year she was there. She was put into the foster program after her parents commit suicide, leaving her with nothing but anxiety, trauma-induced selective muteness, and a doll named Angie.

It took time, but Donna eventually started opening up. First to Miranda, and then to Alcina and Moreau. Alcina strongly remembered a time when her little sister came to her room during a thunderstorm, lips quivering, tears glistening in her eyes, Angie clutched in a vice from her thin arms. She didn’t say anything, just stared from the doorway, whimpering and shivering.

“Alright,” Alcina had sighed. She flipped open her comforter, welcoming Donna. “Come on.”

Donna had brightened and skittered into the bed, snuggling right up against Alcina’s side. Alcina didn’t mind and resumed the book she had been reading before--Animal Farm, she believed. Donna pointed at the pages and then looked up at her curiously.

“Oh, this?” Alcina had said. “It’s called Animal Farm. It’s about these talking farm animals overthrowing their farmer to gain freedom, only to then be ruled by a communist pig.”

Donna blinked. “What’s a communist?”

“Well, you see…”

Her late-night explanation was certainly aided by the fact that they were in the middle of the Cold War at the time.

Overtime, Donna slowly grew out of her shell. Though she was still soft-spoken and reserved, she was also very kind-hearted and incredibly creative, which she showed through paintings, arts and crafts, and doll making. She would make dolls out of anything she could find--wood, thread, clay--so it made sense when she eventually became a toymaker once she grew up.

Finally, there was Karl Heisenberg when Alcina and Moreau were thirteen and Donna was eight. Right from the start, he was a loud, spitfire ten-year-old that broke the serene silence that used to hang over Miranda’s estate. He caused a great amount of mischief and mayhem, though Alcina would later discover it was to hide the fact that he was deeply traumatized by what exactly had happened to make him a foster child.

Even now, so many years later, Alcina still didn’t know the full story. Miranda said it wasn’t her tale to share and Heisenberg simply didn’t like talking about it very much. But from what she did know, Heisenberg used to belong to an incredibly wealthy business owner that ruled over their company with an iron fist. Due to the harshness his parents inflicted on their employees, it caused the workers to revolt against the abuse. A certain group took this way too far and kidnapped Heisenberg, holding him for ransom so they could get better treatment and pay at their work. Something ended up happening during the time between Heisenberg being held hostage and his parents paying up, and it left his mother and father in a way that he could never bring himself to explain. She only got snippets of the brutality of their deaths through brief moments when he would come to after vicious nightmares, one of which she actually stepped in to stop when she heard him struggling one night.

“Their heads, Alci,” Heisenberg had gasped, clawing manically for a desperate grasp on her arms, his body jerking and spasming in terror as his nightmare was still releasing his small, twelve-year-old body. “Their heads-- their brains were--” And then he stopped and keeled into her chest, sobbing in a way Alcina had never seen him do before in the two years he was living with her before that moment. Despite her occasional vex towards the boy, he was still her little brother and she was still his big sister, so she had wrapped her arms around him and held him close while he trembled and cried.

She never did find out what Heisenberg meant by “their heads,” but she had a hunch. Still, she never asked.

Nowadays, Heisenberg ran his own factory, where he treated his employees the way his parents should have treated theirs, learning from their mistakes. He also fostered all different kinds of dog breeds until they found their forever homes and rescued the more ‘vicious’ ones, like pit bulls and rottweilers, all of which he treated like royalty.

A freakishly tall girl, a burned boy, a selective mute, and a dog lover… They certainly weren’t the epitome of the stereotypical nuclear family, but they were family through and through, if not by blood, then by bloodshed.

“Do you guys remember the time Karl tried to clean the dishwasher with Kool-Aid?” Donna reminisced with a giggle.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Heisenberg said.

“Absolutely not,” Donna grinned at him.

“I still don’t know how you came to the conclusion that that would work,” Alcina shook her head.

Heisenberg threw his arms up into the air. “John said it did!”

“John also tried to steal a school urinal.”

“Also, you’re supposed to take all of the dishes out before you try to clean it with Kool-Aid,” Moreau spoke up. “You left all of the pots and plates and silverware in it.”

“And he didn’t even put it in the right spot!” Alcina joined, cackling. “You’re supposed to put the powder in the detergent dispenser. Karl, you just poured it out all over the dishes!”

“It wasn’t even the right powder,” Donna put in. “You’re supposed to strictly use unsweetened lemonade only. You used tropical punch!”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all burst into laughter, while Heisenberg crossed his arms and glared at them.

“John never specified any of that!” he blustered.

“Never trust John, dear,” Alcina tittered.

“Well, it happened!” Heisenberg said. “It’s over! What other boxes do you need to move!”

More laughter.

“I’m serious! I’ll get the boxes! Also WHAT IS THAT.”

They all turned to see a patchy tortoiseshell cat lazily strolling into the room with them. It looked like it had been run over, dismembered, run over again, and then put back together by a blind surgeon, but it held itself like it was the most pristine lion to ever walk the earth. It glanced over at the four siblings, meowed at them, then continued on its stroll to one of the empty boxes, which it jumped into and made itself comfortable inside.

“It’s a cat,” Donna said as if it should have been obvious, earning a snort from Moreau and then a glare from Heisenberg.

“It’s not funny,” Moreau said quickly after Heisenberg glared at him, too, but it was obvious Heisenberg’s leer was all in good fun.

“No, no. Tom from Tom and Jerry is a cat,” Heisenberg said. “THAT is an overgrown street rat.”

“Well, one could assume the same about you, but you don’t see us pointing it out,” Donna said breezily.

Another bout of laughter, this time with Heisenberg included.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” Heisenberg said.

“Must you insist on reacting the same way every single time you see Tea Cake?” Alcina finally spoke up through the playful bickering. She crouched down next to the cat and stroked its back, which caused it to purr in content.

“It’s my trademark,” Heisenberg said with a shrug. “That old woman is still alive?”

“And kicking,” Alcina smiled fondly at her pet.

Tea Cake had been with her for a long fourteen years, witnessing more than a few existential crises and drunken concerts put on to chase off her lurking PTSD. That cat came during the worst part of her life, and Alcina owed everything to that little beast. She learned how to laugh and smile and genuinely feel again, not hide behind the facade that she was a strong, powerful woman who could take on everything and come out without a scratch.

And, yes, Alcina had known- still knew, that she had Miranda and her siblings, but sometimes they were not enough, not back then, not when she was filled with so much shame and self-hatred and disgust. Animals were different in a way people couldn’t be. Animals didn’t lie, they didn’t judge or think about how messed up you were in their heads. They didn’t share your secrets or give you false hope. They just--be there. They listened and lent their presence and, sometimes, that was all that was needed, and some people didn’t seem to understand that.

Tea Cake’s fur had dried more of Alcina’s tears than anyone else ever had because she never let them fall in front of others. Tea Cake didn’t get upset when Alcina touched her; she didn’t understand the concept of emotional trauma and sexual harassment and body image issues. She just cared, even if she didn’t quite get it.

Alcina would probably be dead if it weren’t for her.

Yes, she remembered that fateful night… The wind in her shaggy hair she hadn’t washed in days, the moonglow on her ashen skin, the tears burning in her eyes--all of it was so clear, even now. She remembered how horribly, hopelessly depressed she had been and how she drove out to a field with a note on the dashboard and a gun in the passenger seat.

At the time, nothing had helped her. Her antidepressants weren’t working, going out only made her feel unsafe, and her family’s presence no longer brought her comfort and happiness, rather guilt and shame. The only thing that ever helped was when she drowned herself in the alcohol she made for a living, drinking away her despair and trauma until her body tingled and the phantom hands went away. She was surprised her liver never exploded inside of her during those awful few months.

She had sat in her car for a while, leaning her head on the steering wheel and wallowing in silence and darkness. Then, she got out, made sure the note was visible, and grabbed the gun.

She considered calling or texting her mother and siblings, but that would make it hurt worse. It was better to leave them with their last memories of her than to have this sudden news of a goodbye that they wouldn’t be able to stop.

She placed the pistol’s barrel in her mouth and rested her finger on the trigger. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes like some movies or books say it did, and she was quite thankful for it. She didn’t want to relive the agony she had been put through that led her up to that point. She just shut her eyes as tight as possible in preparation for the bullet to pass through her brain…

Then, there was a rustling from the grass nearby.

Alcina hesitated. The metallic taste of the gun left her tongue and she looked in the direction of the noise.

“Hello?” she had called out in her best possible not-about-to-kill-herself voice.

A tiny meow answered her.

“Your roadkill wants you,” Heisenberg’s voice cut through the daze that had momentarily descended upon Alcina’s mind.

Blinking, Alcina realized that Tea Cake was gnawing on her finger and meowing. She smiled.

“It’s probably dinner time,” Alcina said. She stood up straight. “Come on, children. I have news to share.”

Curious, her three younger siblings followed her out of the room and to her kitchen, Tea Cake padding after them eagerly. Her house was a beautiful creation of the finest wood and the most luxurious stonework. Top-of-the-line appliances filled the space and every little detail, down to the hanging droplets on the chandelier and the grooves in the staircase railing, were customized to her preference. 6 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, 17,182 square feet, 14.99 acres filled by lush vineyards, and $5,500,000 later, and you had the Dimitrescu Estate.

And it was a barren prison.

It had always been there, ever since she moved in: that lingering loneliness that seemed to shroud every hallway. She had so much space, but nobody to fill it. Nobody except herself, Tea Cake, and her maids, of course. Lying awake one night, thinking about this issue as she often did, a solution had finally come to her.

After pouring some wet food into Tea Cake’s food bowl, Alcina grabbed a bottle of sweet butter wine out of her wine fridge and poured a glass for herself and each of her siblings, all of which were staring at her curiously. After taking a long sip, she finally began: “As you all know, I have plans to foster a child. And I greatly appreciate all of the support you three have provided me up until now.”

“Is this an award ceremony or something?” Heisenberg joked light-heartedly. “Can I have the award for most boxes carried? I think I deserve that one.”

“You mean most boxes dropped?” Donna giggled, earning her a playful poke in the side.

“No, it is not an award ceremony,” Alcina glared at Heisenberg without any fire in her gaze. She opened up a drawer in the stainless kitchen island they were gathered around. “Though, this may very well be an award…” She pulled out a blue folder packed full of papers and set it on the marble countertop, grinning brightly. “I just wanted to let you all know first that my training is done. I’ve completed all the classes.” Her heart swelled in her heart as she spoke her next words: “I’m a foster mom now.”

All at once, her younger siblings lit up brighter than the sun’s supernova, throwing their arms up into the air and letting out a celebratory shout. Donna and Moreau even raced around the island to hug Alcina, which she returned with a laugh.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, Alcina!” Donna said, squeezing her with surprising strength. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too,” Moreau agreed.

“Sal, are you crying?”

“No!” Moreau yelped, then sniffled. “I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

“You mean tears?” Heisenberg teased. He then looked at Alcina. “That’s amazing, Alcina. I’m really happy for you. You deserve this.”

“Aww,” Alcina crooned. “Is my little brother going soft?”

Heisenberg instantly steeled himself. “Me? No way! I was just saying what you would want to hear.”

Still being embraced on either side by her other brother and sister, Alcina chuckled. “I see.”

“Do you know your placement yet?” Donna asked, looking up at Alcina as though she were a child again.

“Placements,” Alcina corrected. She couldn’t help but grin again as she spoke of her future children. “Two. I’m getting two little girls.”

“Aww!” Donna and Moreau both cooed.

Heisenberg was nodding. “Girls. Yes. I can do girls.” He looked up at Alcina. “I’m getting them a puppy.”

“Oh, you don’t have--”

“I’m getting them a puppy,” Heisenberg said again, and it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Alcina chuckled. “Alright. A puppy it is.”

Donna and Moreau began to join in on plans for being the greatest aunt and uncle, with Moreau saying that they needed to come to his lake for a swim and Donna listing off all the toys she would make for them. Alcina listened to them with a fond smile, happy to have such a supportive family. This was exactly what her daughters were going to need.

Daughters.

Just thinking about that word made her heart flutter in her chest. Her grin turned giddy. She was going to be a mother soon.

As she sipped from her wine glass, she thought about her placements. She had gotten the call four days ago and was scheduled to meet the little ones in the next two weeks. She could still hear her caseworker’s words in her ears during the conversation as she recalled it to her siblings.

“The first is named Daniela,” Duke had said. He was a studious, patient man with a warm smile and hands like chipmunk paws, keen on helping Alcina ever since she started her training to become a foster parent six months ago. “She’s a little girl and eleven years old. Her parents have, unfortunately, recently died due to a car crash. Her living relatives are unfit to take care of her, so she’s been placed into the foster system. Right now, she’s staying with her aunt and uncle, but she cannot be kept there much longer because of, ah…jealousy issues with their actual child.

The second is named Cassandra. Another girl, this one twelve years old. She’s been in the foster program ever since she was a baby when she was given up, as she was born from a teenager who couldn’t take care of her. She’s had…quite a few foster homes, all of which had given her up to someone else due to…issues. I understand if you don’t want to take this child. She’s been known to cause problems in her houses and pick fights. There is-- woo, that’s a lot of complaints… There are some notes on her left by her former families and-- Goddamn. They’re writing of her like she’s a monster or something…”

“Of course, I couldn’t turn down either of them,” Alcina concluded her retelling. “Especially the second one. Cassandra. The poor thing sounds like she needs a good home.”

“You’re so sweet, Alci,” Donna said, smiling at her.

“Think you can handle it?” Heisenberg asked. “I’m not doubting your abilities, but from what you said about the kid… Well, she just sounds difficult.”

“You were difficult,” Alcina said, grinning at him. “And everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

Her youngest brother’s concern didn’t diminish. “Yes, but… I don’t want anything to happen to you or my niece.”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all cooed. Heisenberg huffed.

“Oh, shut it! I have a heart!”

“You do,” Alcina’s smile lightened slightly. “But don’t worry: everything will be okay. I can do this. I need to do this. Those two little girls need a mother.”

Heisenberg considered her for a moment, then nodded. He smiled at her. “You’ve got a good heart, Alcina,” he said. “If you ever need any help, I’m here.”

“Me too!” Donna joined in.

“Me three!” Moreau piped up.

Alcina laughed. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot to me. Now…” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink before we have to cut back because there will be children around!”

Her siblings laughed and mimicked her gesture.

Alcina couldn’t wait.

[cilil]

Author's Note: Requested by my good friend Thuri🖤

⋆ ｡･ ☾ Drabble ⋆ ｡･ ✩

After a long Day of Work

The peaceful scene is interrupted when the fires suddenly flare up and a low rumble echoes through the cavernous halls of Utumno, waking Mairon from his slumber.

Pairing: Melkor/Mairon | Angbang

Prompt: Coming home after a long day "I missed you" kisses (no. 17 of this lovely post)

Synopsis: Melkor returns to Utumno. Mairon welcomes him home.

Featuring: Fluff, dork lords in love

Short oneshot (~600 words)

The fires in the forge are crackling softly, illuminating the room with a warm golden glow while everything else remains still. Tools are scattered all over the workplace, disrupting the usual impeccable tidiness, and a wild array of papers covers a nearby table, showing sketches of upcoming projects and new inventions. 

Mairon is asleep. His head rests on top of his latest notes, and his breath is slow and quiet. A few fiery locks successfully manage to escape from his braid as he shifts around and settle over his face and shoulders like rivulets of flame. His fána finally succumbed to exhaustion after many hours of work which he neglected to count–an unfortunate side effect of his tendency to get so immersed in his projects that he forgets everything around him; and of Melkor currently not being there to distract him. 

The peaceful scene is interrupted when the fires suddenly flare up and a low rumble echoes through the cavernous halls of Utumno, waking Mairon from his slumber. He blinks in confusion and lifts his head, tucking a few locks behind his ear with mild irritation, until he realizes– 

He is back.

Golden eyes light up in joy, and he immediately forgets about his messy braid and the slight ache in his back and shoulders as he jumps to his feet and hurries outside. 

It feels as if the entire fortress greets its master with many small gestures of welcome that Mairon has become accustomed to. The fires burn hotter, the frosty winds outside become more fierce, the Vala's music echoes through the very foundations of the earth and the soft pitter patter of many paws and feet can be heard in the hallways when more and more Maiar and other creatures notice that their lord has returned. 

Mairon knows Melkor well enough to know where he has to look for him–neither at the gates, nor in his throne room, but in their shared chambers instead. And indeed he finds him there, waiting for him with a grin of joyful anticipation. A strong arm pulls him close when he runs to greet his beloved, tiptoeing to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. 

Melkor chuckles lightly as he feels the heat of his favorite Maia's lips against his, kissing him with fiery, almost frantic excitement and yearning. Mairon presses his entire body against him with shameless need, and small sparks fall from his hair, his entire fána nearly burning with passion. 

They are both breathless when he finally breaks the kiss to look up at the Vala, pouting a little. 

"I missed you," he says, cheeks flushing red upon realizing how needy he must seem right now. 

Yet Melkor appears to be delighted by his greeting, holding him like he's his greatest treasure. 

"I missed you too, little flame," he replies and starts toying with a stray lock of his hair. 

"I take it you were busy in your forge, hmm?" 

"Well..." 

Mairon is a little embarrassed to admit that he fell asleep, but Melkor doesn't bother asking about it, already one step ahead.  

"And when was the last time you went to bed?" 

The Maia's expression becomes sheepish, telling him everything he needs to know. Shaking his head, he picks him up with playful ease and throws him over his shoulder. 

"Your projects will have to wait for the moment. You are going to bed with me right now," Melkor declares, then a smirk appears on his lips. 

"Which is also a wonderful opportunity for you to tell me more about how much you missed me..." 

masterlist | tag list form

[waiting-for-motivation]

black leather jacket

summary: To celebrate his loves birthday Wolffe takes a day off. They go for a walk and share a lot of kisses. At night they meet up with the 104th and have a heavy make-out-session in the bathroom of 97s.

request: Hiii i was interested in submitting a Commander Wolffe x f!reader request. I was wondering if it could be fluff/soft smut (maybe something to do with reader's bday since mine is in a few days heh?) thanks queen i love your work! ~ anon

pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

warnings: fluff, soft clones, drinking, smut, unprotected sex, mirror sex

words: 1511

a/n: your birthday is probably over by now but I still hope you like it so sorry it took me so long to write this

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

The loud knocking at her door wakes (Y/n). At first, she tries to ignore it but then decides to leave her bed and tell the person to leave her alone. Her naked feet sip over the cold floor, and she has a blanket draped over her shoulders to keep her warm.

The moment she rips open the door, all tiredness leaves her body. In front of her stands Commander Wolffe with a small smile on his lips and a bunch of flowers in his right hand. Instead of his gray and white armor, Wolffe is now wearing a tight shirt, a leather jacket, pants as well as boots - all in black.

“Cyar‘ika“, the Commander whispers in his significant rough voice. He takes a step forward and holds out the flowers. His eyes wander from the bouquet to his love. In a matter of seconds her expression changes from confused to happy. The grip around her blanket loosens, and she jumps into Wolffes strong arms. He manages to save the flowers from getting crushed. His free hand is wandering to (Y/n)s lower back, whereas she moves her arms under his jacket.

“I want to wish you a happy birthday...and tell you that we have the whole day to do whatever you desire“, Wolffe explains his sudden and unannounced appearance. The only answer he gets is a kiss placed against his neck. His girlfriend has her face nestled there and takes in his intoxicating scent.

“Come inside“, (Y/n) tells her boyfriend as she looks up from his neck to catch her curious neighbor watching them. So she takes Wolffes hand and drags him inside, closing the door with the back of her foot.

Inside her small apartment they have privacy. So (Y/n) pulls the Commander towards her body and presses her lips against his. The kiss is messy at first because Wolffe is taken by surprise but soon turns into an affectionate as well as lovely make-out-session.

“Cyar‘ika“, Wolffe breaths against his loves lips and has to place a hand on her cheek to stop her from deepening the kiss any further. Her eyes shine full of love. There is a very happy smile on her lips. This is the best birthday she ever had.

“The flowers“, the Commander of the 104th whispers into their staring and raises the flowers between the two of them. He can hear his beloved girl giggle. Their fingers touch as she takes the bouquet from him and a weird tingling fills his whole body.

“You want a caf?“, (Y/n) asks as she walks inside her open kitchen, taking out a vase and filling it with water. The flowers look even more beautiful inside the vase now. But Wolffe has only eyes for his girlfriend, humming in agreement.

“So what would you like to do?“, Wolffe asks as (Y/n) places a cup of caf in front of him and sits down next to him on her couch. She is sitting sideways so her knees meet his thighs, and she can easily take one of his hands. Absently she starts playing with his rough fingers.

“We have all day. That is, except for tonight. The wolfpack, actually Sinker and Boost, have a surprise for you at 79s“, Wolffe explains with an annoyed eye roll and takes a sip of his hot caf. At once, he feels more awake. “We can do whatever you want!“

“Then lets go for a walk“, (Y/n) decides with a sweet smile which Wolffe returns. Turns out the short walk is filled with eating ice cream and sharing short kisses in alleyways. Luckily the sun is shining and so the couple spends the rest of their time in one of the few parks on Coruscant.

“How are you even here? I thought...well you have no days off“, the clones girlfriend says after some time sitting in between Wolffes legs while he leans against a tree. The Commander laughs in return.

“So Sinker is wearing my armor and is in command. And this new pup, his name is Ati I believe, pretends to be Sinker“, Wolffe explains with a proud expression.

“That is your plan? You remember your General is a Jedi right? He will sense your absence“, (Y/n) returns as she looks over her shoulder and presses a kiss to Wolffes forehead. He frowns and sighs. Then both of them laugh heartily.

Time for their departure to 79s comes. They walk hand in hand and while Wolffe looks out for possible dangers, his girlfriend has only eyes for his forearms. The Commander has cuffed his leather jacket to his elbow. For no reason at all, maybe even for too many reasons, (Y/n) feels giddy all of a sudden at this sight.

Finally arriving at 79s almost the whole 104th awaits them and greets (Y/n) with heartwarming hugs. Sinker and Boost only appear when all the pups, the newest clones of the battalion, step aside. The two have a cake in their hands. Wolffe rolls his eyes because he is pretty sure (Y/n) will only get one single piece because his brothers will devour the cake when she turns her back on it. At least every clone has a sweet tooth, so the chocolate cake wont last long.

The night is spent with eating the cake, drinking liquor and dancing. Although a lot of the clones of the wolfpack try their luck to have a dance with (Y/n), Wolffe is always at her side and scares them away.

“Have I mentioned that you look rather handsome in this leather jacket“, (Y/n) tells her boyfriend from in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Wolffe locks the door behind himself and walks towards his love with a huge grin. He only stops when he is standing right behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and pressing his firm chest against her back. (Y/n) swallows hardly.

“I want you right now“, the Commander whispers into (Y/n)s left ear and starts nibbling at her earlobe. A giggle leaves his beloved girls lips. Then she turns her head so that their lips meet in a passionate kiss. At the same time Wolffe lets his hands explore his cyar‘ikas whole body. They caress the soft skin of her waist. And while one hand wanders to (Y/n)s boobs, the other finds its place between her legs, still covered by her trousers.

“Wolffe“, (Y/n) moans as his fingers brush her clit and massage her breasts. His skin is rough against hers but feels just right. Slowly his left hand slips under her waistband and panties. Wolffe is surprised to find his love already wet. The sight of him in the black leather jacket must have done things to her. It’s easy for him to slip one and then a second finger inside her while his thumb caresses her clit. (Y/n)s moans fill the bathroom.

“We have not much time“, the Commander tells his girlfriend and takes his hands from (Y/n). Quickly he opens his fly and takes out his cock. Then he almost rips (Y/n)s trousers as well as panties down. With one arm wrapped around her waist he steadies his beloved and presses his chest against her once again. (Y/n) can feel his arousal against her ass and presses a sweet kiss to Wolffes chin.

His face is buried in (Y/n)s hair the moment Wolffe aligns his cock with her pussy. Both groan as he seats himself inside her with every inch. Even though they have sex every chance they get it’s always a tight fit for (Y/n) so she needs to take a deep breath.

Then Wolffe starts moving slowly at first, but it soon turns rough. The reflection of himself and his love turns him on. While the hand steadying (Y/n) takes ahold of a boob, the free one starts drawing circles on her clit. She looks so perfect in the mirror, all messy hair and a moaning mess.

Every single time his cock meets a certain spot inside her, (Y/n) makes this sweet sound that keeps Wolffe going on. The sound of skin meeting skin and the smell of sex fills the bathroom. The sides of the mirror even fog up.

“Best birthday ever“, (Y/n) says breathless and can feel herself getting close to coming. Wolffes cock fills her so perfectly and hits her just right. The Commander seems to be close too because his thrusts get erratic.

And then both of them find their release at the same time.

“I love you so much, cyar‘ika“, Wolffe confesses as they both come back to reality. Of course, he helps is love put back on her clothes and fix her hair, before he even tugs himself in.

“I love you too“, (Y/n) returns as she turns around and presses a sweet kiss on Wolffes nose. He laughs but stops her as she turns to the door. Quickly he takes off his leather jacket and places it over (Y/n)s shoulders. Her eyes widen as they wander all over his exposed muscular arms.

“So you don‘t get cold, cyar‘ika!“

taglist: @lightning-wolffe @gwenebear @skippyhopperwisdom @jojos-trooper @rex-meshla

[blackirisposts]

Walking Upon the Cliffs

Fueled with pain, longing, and wine (always a good combination) I rise from depths of fabric and trauma and present to you all a small token of feels and thought. *************

Pairing: Loki x Reader (No references to gender for Reader)

Word Count: 1233

Read on AO3 HERE

Warnings and Notes: Trigger warning for some unalive feels and illusions to doing so. This is a bit dark and sad but it ends with the soft fluff that I know a lot of you except and enjoy from me.  

Needless to say, things have been *hard* in many more ways than I can count, but, who’da thunk it. My main man Loki, pulls through in the end to bring you this sad and sweet little flick-let thingy-ma-bob.

Please be kind to yourself and others and, of course, enjoy.

p.s.- hjarta, means heart unless I’ve fucked that up royally, in which case, I apologize.

*************

You wander aimlessly through the night, like many a night before.  Tonight, you go by foot, leaving your trusty steed at home, not wishing to wake him in the chill of the autumn moon.

Your feet continue, your mind gloriously numb for once. The chill of the changing seasons hangs in the air, taking the edge of your senses away. It bites at your nose and cheeks, unconsciously you wrap his scarf around you tighter, burrowing into its warmth.  Your foot falls stagger as you imagine his smell on the cloth. It’s been gone for longer than you care to admit, but if you breathe deeply enough, maybe, just maybe….

Time passes. Or maybe it doesn’t but you find your way regardless. There’s worn path in thick, clumping grass now. Your feet follow each other while leaving you in a dream like trance.

You’re up to the cliff face. The one where you saw him last.

“I miss you.” You exhale into the wind that stunts your pace as it picks up the edge of your cloak. “I miss you, and there’s no way for you to know.”

You move forward, the toes of your boots teasing the edge, the line of safety blurred with your tears.  The urge to jump, dive, fall into the icy depth below is the most real thing you’ve felt in what feels like an age. Your feet feel weighted of iron and lead, the muscles of your legs unmoving and unwilling. The idea falls for you, from you, with the breeze, stinging your eyes as you shake your head.

“There’s too much room.” You state with a frown. “It’s not the silence. The lack of your voice, your laugh, your steps. The scent of your clothes after a long day’s journey. No. There’s too much room at home, without you. That hurts most of all.’

“It’s started getting cooler. The sunlight is less and less each day. And that makes me miss you more. I want to curl up with you, by the hearth, or in our bed. Touch you face with my fingertips, smiling and knowing you’re back and here to stay. I want to kiss you and not have to pull away for you to leave again, but only when our lungs burn and demand oxygen. I want to reach out in the dead of night and feel the steady heat from your side of the bed. Be lulled to sleep by its comfort. I want to feel the curl of your arm around my waist, the brush of your lips against my skin; both of us half asleep and at complete ease.”

Tears cascade down your cheeks, silenced by the upturned wind.

“I miss you, love. I miss you so much.”

A sob rips from your chest, catching in your throat. Frigid fingers curl into loose fists, too cold to close properly, gloves left at home in your haste-less grief.

“I miss you.” You try to shout. After a deep breath, it comes out as a strained whisper.

Return to me. You wish to say in a yell, a shout, anything loud enough so that the rest of the world will join you in your tears, your sorrow, to be felt by all for but a moment.

The reality of your broken voice on the air only floats mourning syllables of longing indistinguishably onto the rocks of the shore below.

Your eyes blur, stinging with the renewed salt of your tears.

Time has passed again, you note, as your eyes blink you slowly back to the present. The stars have moved in their ghostly haunt of the night sky. The first of the sun’s rays begin to threaten the calm you’ve finally found in this abandoned piece of the world; colors begin to stir and stretch about you.  

A hand eases onto your shoulder, squeezing gently as you mentally shun the contact.

“I’m not going. I can’t. Not without, not without—” Your voice gives out, your strength finally leaving you. Your legs buckle and arms wrap around you, holding you to a solid form.

They shush you, as you sob: tears and half cries carried off on the wind.

“I can’t.” you finally form words. It becomes your chant, an odd comfort. “I can’t. I can’t.”

The breeze picks up again, becoming strong in its own right. On it you smell the turn of the tide, the salt, the seaweed, the sea life along the beach…. And, and something more. A distant memory. It rushes back to you. Warmth. Cinnamon. Birch… with an edge that’s dark, burnt, you’d know it anywhere.

With eyes closed tight, your hands drift to the ones that hold you, squeezing tentatively, afraid that in your fatigue they will slip away and be just a dream like so many that have haunted you for so many uncountable nights.

“Please, be real.” You whisper. “Please, please be here. Be real.”

‘Darling.’ You hear, or possibly imagine. You’ve imagined it so many times. His warmth, his voice, the comfort and love that drip from it for only you.

With a shudder that doesn’t come from you, you hear it again.

“Darling.” A pause, a heartbeat, a life time. “Please, open your eyes. Let me see you.”

You turn, eyes fluttering open, fingers clawing, clinging to the leather and cloth in front of you.  “You.”

“I’m here, my hjarta, I’m here.”

“You’re, you’re—”

“Very, very real, love.”  His smile goes to his eyes, the corners crinkling as his thumbs wipe away tear trails from your cheeks. “Very, very much missing you.”

“Where, will, how, would you—you’ll stay?”

“For you, with you. Forever, dove.”

His wraps his arms and cloak around you, grounding you and warming you a fraction. He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring words of sweetness, of kindness, of how he’s missed you, longed for you.

“Not a day has gone by where my heart has not broken for not being at your side.” He whispers into your hair line.

He holds you until the sun is shining, its golden rays peak and dance behind clouds to gleam off the sea. The world feels more vivid in his embrace. His cold fingers gently hook under your chin, drawing your face to his.

“Kiss me, kiss me and let today mark the beginning of our time uninterrupted. For not a day shall go by where you do not walk by my side. Not a day, where I cannot ease your pains, make you smile that delightful grin I adore above all else. I’ve been a fool to be away for so long. I love you, ardently so.  Please, still be mine.”

Tears renew themselves in your eyes and threaten to fall at his words as your head nods. “A fool indeed, Loki, beloved son of Laufey, forever my fool. I love you.”

“I love you” it comes a laugh and a cry. His lips ghost along yours, his voice a strained whisper, “I love you, don’t ever stop telling me that, I love you my dear.”

Dawn’s light envelops your entwined forms on the cliffs edge as his scared lips touch yours, softly at first, the brush feeling as it did the first time. Moving more fervently, you press into each other, the ache of time apart palatable as tongues touch, and sighs of stolen breaths paint the morning breeze.

************* 

p.s. ten points for **insert house of your choosing here** if you also said “I’d know him anywhere.” Cuz I cannot not have that float in my head at those words.

[dear-yandere]

& just drown with me.

yandere! beidou x reader. general headcanons. tw: kidnapping, implied dubcon. disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship.

art belongs to jay ash (pixiv).

“come out, come out to the sea, my love and just drown with me...”

beidou is...

reverent, delusional, honest, lenient (RDHL) + doting, protective, clingy

— reverent is she the moment she sets eyes on you, her heart skips a beat. she doesn’t mince words or skirt along bushes; she’s enamored the moment she sees you, and she ensures that you’re well aware of her attraction. you’re quick to pick up that she is terribly handsy—and perhaps a little touch-starved—especially when it comes to you. her hands are on you at all times, sometimes friendly, sometimes on the cusp of something more.

she wants to hold you close and never let go, she knows that much. you’re just so frail, so easy to break if the slightest wind were to brush your sides a little too harshly. in contrast, she’s strong beyond compare, able to best sea beasts and part mountains with only her sword; and yet, gentleness is not lost on her. she takes extra care in handling you, beyond scared that you’ll break apart between her fingers if she’s the slightest bit too rough.

and letting go quickly becomes difficult.

she likes feeling your skin against hers. your hand entangled with hers, your fingers delicate and unused to combat; she is forever fascinated by the soft swell of your palm, the way your hand looks as if it can hardly hold itself against the world. your skin is devoid of callouses and tears unlike her own which carries the sword as big as her stature. your hair’s disheveled and knotty, and your clothes carelessly strewn across the floor. she likes you best this way; completely without covers, so that she may take you in to your fullest, so that she may hold all of you within her grasp and never let go. her fingers are always wrapped around your waist, lips pressing kisses onto your head.

you are a treasure beyond compare. 

— her thinking, you soon come to learn, lies upon the border of delusion, and yet her eyes hold an assurity when they look at you. you’re never allowed off her ship unsupervised. the decision was quick and painless, her voice doubtless and her intentions clear as the sea. she wants to flaunt you by her side, as she enjoys the way your body will grow warm with embarrassment when she walks into town with a pretty little thing by her side. pirates are known for their nonchalant approach to life, so for the great captain of the crux to show up in public with anything—or anyone—by her side apart from her trusty claymore is a curious sight. captain beidou isn’t known for her ability to settle in one place or with one person; the sea’s always been her true calling, after all. but to see her fingers gently settle on your shoulder as she pulls you close, the smirk on her reddened lips will quickly twist into a full-blown grin as the crowd she’s drawn erupts into cheers.

you know better than to make a scene in front of these people—people who look up to captain beidou, people who wouldn’t take you seriously if you explained the way she keeps you captive on her ship. you’re nothing more than a victim, you’ll say to them, and they’ll only laugh you off with a wave of their hand, certain this whole charade is some roundabout way for beidou to entertain herself. the sea must drive a man delirious, after all. no one can fault her.

and for that reason, no one can believe your pleads.

beidou is a free spirit enamored by the call of adventure, and yet her actions are anything but.

— dishonesty is something beidou hasn’t the time nor patience for. her words hold no lie when directed at anyone, but especially when directed at you. she couldn’t dream of lying to you—and she has, unfortunately. the moment she woke up from that terrible dream was the moment she shook you awake to apologize profusely, even if the language was colored with her own vulgar vernacular. yes... she apologized for a futile little lie she told in a dream.

dishonesty simply isn’t on the table.

she goes to great lengths to explain her day to you, taking the utmost care to not leave the slightest detail out. the main reason being her guilty conscience, really. there’s not much to do cooped up on a musty ship cabin—even if her quarters are decked out to the nines just for your liking. you weren’t keen on the idea at first, feeling more like a child being told stories before bedtime, rather than a fellow sailor and her beloved first mate. but her eyes will light up all the same, and she’ll tell you of her day and the new things she’s seen as if you were right there with her. you quickly learn to nod along and acknowledge her every so often, as the only alternative is to mope around in her cabin or on the deck—the few times she’ll let you accompany her out there. there’s only so many thoughts to think by yourself, and at some point, you grow to look forward to these fantastical stories every night.

— she doesn’t know fear—freedoms are yours for the choosing if you’re brave enough to set your sights on them. lenient and all too unfussed by the chance you’ll make it any further than the twenty feet from her person at all times, she’s well aware you won’t make it rather far. you wouldn’t call it much in the way of “freedom” really—and you start to envy the citizens of the ever-free mondstadt a few regions over. all freedoms are your for the taking; that is, all freedoms except a dismissal from her side. it’s where any good luck charm belongs, she’ll laugh and plant a wet kiss atop your lips. her good luck charm... she doesn’t need luck—not with strength rivaling a god’s—and yet she refuses to go anywhere without you close behind. 

it’s no surprise that her crew had once joked that you follow her around like a lost seadog—unaware that you do so per her directions—only for the poor lads to regret ever having said anything. their captain’s eyes are dark when she pipes up behind them.

“haven’t you got better jobs to do than mess with my lass?” she jeers, that usual smirk not quite reaching her eyes. from your position behind the crew—the men now all lined up in terror before the captain of the crux—even you start to break into sweat. it’s clear from her tone that she’s irritated, and the fact she’s clutching onto her claymore as if its the anchor on her anger scares even you. 

they were poking fun at you only moments ago, and now you can’t help but feel sorry for them.

“i’ll let you off the hook ‘cause you’re my dear brothers.“ despite her clemency, her expression tightens and not one man dares to let his tense muscles relax. “but i’ll only say this once, lads.” she explains, stepping down from the raised deck to saunter over to your side. all eyes turn to you two, a pair they’ve grown used to seeing day in and day out. beidou slings her arm around your shoulders, the curves of her body pressing into yours perfectly. “this here is my first mate; a jab at them is no better than a jab at me. the next time i hear a jab at them, i’ll do far worse than have you swimming with the fishes.”

— she loves drinking with you by her side, even if you can’t hold liquor down to save your life. her cheeks are quick to flush shades of pinks and reds, and you can never stop yourself from staring in awe, even when she slings an arm around your waist and pulls you close. her lips catch yours as if they belong there, a puzzle piece filled by its other half. her kisses are a hazy fire, fiercely warm and dangerously untamed; they always taste like strong beer, the beverage steeped in various spices that sit nicely on her lips.

you only wish she wouldn’t do so in public. her boisterous laughter and charisma draws the attention of the tavern-goers, most of whom know better than to interrupt beidou when she’s chugging down jugs of alcohol. her crew doesn’t mind the sight, nor do they mind your presence at the table—though, it’s not like they have much of a choice in protesting; although they don’t fully recognize you as a bonafide crew member of the alcor, it’s clear that captain beidou has something of a sweet spot for you.

still, they feel like they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t when she captures your lips with hers, her fingers drunkenly playing with the thin strap keeping your outfit intact. 

— captain beidou carries her heart on her sleeves and her riches in each hand. riches and spoils are fully within your grasp at all times, sometimes to the point of annoyance when she insists on adorning you with a piece of jewelry she picked up at port. ‘it reminded me of you, s’all,’ she’ll laugh sheepishly, already unclasping the necklace to set it around your neck. ‘wear it and think of me, yea?’

it’s an order more than a romantic sentiment; you have no choice but to think of her at all times.

it’s only when you learn of her past that you come to understand her near-obsession with providing you with the best of the best. from the moment she opened her eyes as a newborn, her life had been mired by misfortune, as if the gods themselves were curious how long she’d survive a life of ordeals. as confident as she is now, you would’ve never guess that beneath the surface, she is forever humbled by her past. having grown up in a family with little money and even less to eat, she was to pick up on the way of thieves, learning the schedules and habits of merchants at the local market so that she could swoop in to steal fruits and veggies from their unattended stands.

“don’t worry about it too much, lass; me telling you such stories is merely for your amusement,” she’ll laugh as she explains this to you, sparing you the grisly details of starvation and malaise. she doesn’t tell you how her skin would cling to her ribs for years on end, hanging from her skeleton as if life had given up on it. she’s been on hard times for most of her life, and yet the only side you ever see is the one blessed by fortune and power.

“life and i have never gotten along, so i had to climb my way up in this world.” her tone is cheerful; you see right through it. “my life’s been tough, i’ll admit that much, but i have no intention of making you live through that too.” 

— as much as she tries to run from it, she cannot outsail truth. as much as she’d prefer to keep you on her ship—where she can keep an eye on you, where you’re always free to join her in her quest for adventure and thrill—she’s aware that all things must come to an end; even the sea has an edge and an end.

this is just one of them.

 “hey... if you really don’t want to be here, i won’t stop you. it’s your choice, and whatever you decide is set in stone. i can’t change that no matter how hard i try, but... could you do me a favor?... just, could you at least give me a chance? 

i don’t like overstepping my boundaries where i’m not needed, but this is all i’ll ask of you. think long and hard about your decision. what you decide is up to you—and if you’re set on the idea, i’ll let you leave, no repercussions. sound like a deal?”

bonus.

— she isn’t herself at night. gone is the boisterous laughter that could raise the hair on a man’s arms. gone is the domineering aura she carries like a shield, its front aimed at a world that tries to hold her down. she craves adventure, but the moment night falls and she pulls you into the cot with her, she’s out like a light. the only time you manage to catch yourself every day is when she’s by your side rather than the other way around, her person quiet and gently breathing the sea-stained air.

the ship creaks, and you can hear it clear as night now that the crew is snuggled into their cabins and warm cots, and now that their even-louder captain has fallen asleep. you can finally hear your own thoughts. you have much to think about, having been spirited away to “adventure” against your will... and yet you only think of her.

you turn on your side and settle your weary eyes on your lover. her features are no longer sharp, no longer laden with the responsibility of power and might. nestled between a lavish blanket and the warmth of your body, she is no longer a paragon of otherwordly strength; she’s just human. this is just another side of the captain, just another beidou intended only for your eyes.

and it’s in these quiet moments that you realize you’re in love.

dear-yandere, all rights reserved.

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.4

The first thing to come to her conscious mind as soon as she woke up were always the faint distant sounds of her home. Faint, as not only was Cassandra's bedroom on one of the higher floors, but any staff members knew better than to make noise while their mistresses were sleeping. Distant barking made its way past a window left ajar, accompanied by scribbling noises.

Nicole turned around, legs tangled in the blanket that was shared until not long ago, to look for a colder spot warranted by the warm May weather. The realization that she was alone in bed made its way through the haze still remaining from sleep. That, in itself, was not unusual as Cassandra almost always woke up first and busied herself with something while waiting for her to wake up.

"Cassandra?" She called out quietly, voice still groggy with sleep and eyes not even bothering to open.

"Just a moment," came her response from the other side of the room, likely the desk, as the scratchy sound of pencil on paper stopped.

The chair was pushed away and a handful of steps took Cassandra to the door, where a maid was waiting outside as per routine. After a couple hushed instructions, the door clicked shut again and she finally approached the bed, looking down at her wife with fondness. She bent down to leave a kiss on top of messy auburn hair.

"Good morning."

Her answer came in the form of a returned kiss and impatient tug of her hand, that she gladly indulged by sitting down on top of the soft cushions that she had priorly abandoned. Nicole wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side, happy to feel the cool skin underneath a thin grey robe. Cassandra decided that her wife seemed awake enough to receive news, despite the obvious refusal to even crack an eye open.

"Bela wants to go into town later and asked if we'd like to come."

There they were, emerald eyes finally open and staring up at her in surprise.

"Did you say yes?"

Cassandra scoffed. "And finally get the chance to go out and stretch my legs after being locked up in the castle for all winter? Absolutely not."

That got her an eye roll. "In that case I'll keep on sleeping through the whole evening," Nicole said, pretending to go back to the dream she had just left unfinished, something the mild tiredness that had settled in her body seemed more than happy about.

"Oh no you don't."

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shifted her into Cassandra's lap, thin lips intoxicatingly close to her ear. "I even prepared the perfect outfits for the two of us, I simply cannot believe you'd pass up this opportunity for some extra sleep."

Nicole laughed at the feign offense, voice finally clear and free from the morning raspiness. She stretched her arms upwards with a few satisfying pops and then let her hands rest on Cassandra's shoulders.

"My, that's so thoughtful of you," she said, leaving a soft kiss on her lips. "Good morning."

The moment was kindly interrupted by a curt knock on the heavy door. Nicole groaned and moved back on the bed, pulling a nightgown that certainly did not belong to her loosely over her shoulders. When she was covered enough to not put on a show, Cassandra chuckled and addressed the still closed door.

"Come in."

A young woman entered the room, one of the latest additions to the kitchen staff as per Cynthia's request, with a tray expertly balanced in one hand, while the other held the leash of one of the thankfully well behaved hounds.

"Eris!" Nicole greeted the black dog, who snapped its big brown eyes in her direction and started wagging its tail. Thankfully for the girl holding the leash, the dog was expertly trained and did not lunge away to its owners. Instead it followed along, not tugging on the leash until both were just by the bed.

"Breakfast, my ladies."

A small assortment of drinks, together with a plate were placed from the silver tray to the small table on Cassandra's side. One wine glass was filled with fresh crimson blood, a cup of hot tea was sitting right beside it, steam rising up from the liquid inside and, in the smaller cup, dark coffee. On the plate, a freshly baked croissant and a small assortment of berries were waiting invitingly.

"And Eris, as you requested."

The girl held up the leash, but Cassandra simply waved a dismissive hand. "Just let her go. And leave the leash on my desk."

She did as was instructed, unhooking the leash with a soft metal click and placing it, coiled up neatly, on the carefully polished wood of the desk. Then, with a slight bow, she left the two alone once again.

Nicole didn't acknowledge that, too busy patting the spot by her side for the black hound to jump up. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but was a second too late as the dog was already in her wife's lap getting head and neck scratches. She sighed. At least all the hounds were kept squeaky clean outside hunting sessions.

"Stop spoiling our hunting dogs."

"Oh darling don't worry, I have no power over Carolina's training," she emphasized by snapping a finger and pointing it to the far side or the bed, direction that the dog followed dutifully, curling up on top of a folded blanket. "Good girl," she cooed at the furry beast, which elicited a tail wag.

Cassandra shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips. She passed the small coffee cup to her wife, who took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was lukewarm, as it always was, the routine of all the family ingrained into each and every staff member to the dot. They knew how Nicole liked her coffee, what tea to pair with any kind of breakfast and, probably most important for their sake, exactly how much blood, down to the milliliter, Cassandra liked to drink in the morning. Well, early evening, but who kept track.

The bitter liquid was downed in mere seconds, the taste accompanied by a sour grimace. Nicole did not like coffee in the slightest, having lost any possible appetite for the bitter taste after drinking one too many, or a thousand too many, cups during her days in med school. Unfortunately, it still did its job of waking her up, so a compromise with a sweet cup of fruity tea right afterwards had to be made.

She passed the empty cup back to Cassandra, who replaced it with the tea.

"I have to say, seeing your face scrunched up in disgust every morning is most entertaining."

"Happy to see my attempt at waking up is enjoyable for you," she replied with a pointed look thrown over the porcelain edge of the mug.

The look however was replaced by a content sigh upon sipping on the tea, the prior bitter taste slowly replaced by a blissful blend of fruit and lavender. While their cook Cynthia was downright an expert at preparing all kinds of meat, human included, her biggest talent was creating the best blends of tea, never too overpowering but always with a balanced taste. At least according to Nicole, and she would hold that opinion to the day she died.

While waiting for the liquid to get to a more drinkable temperature, her attention went back to the dog now sprawled on its side. "Why did you ask for Eris?"

Cassandra took another long sip of her drink, far more elegant than one would expect from a woman who had no issue regularly walking around covered in blood. "I just thought we could bring her along, I know she's your favorite," she finished with a smirk.

"That's not true," Nicole quickly replied, as if she were a mother accused of having a favorite child, which only made Cassandra's grin grow wider. She cleared her throat in an attempt to save some face. "I love all our dogs equally, Eris is just… particularly well behaved, yes."

Her wife simply chuckled, not having bought any of her excuses for playing favorites. Not that Cassandra wasn't guilty of that either. Her first response to picking a favorite would be not unlike Nicole's, but she had a particular fondness for Freya, one of their Finnish hounds, who always seemed so eager to sniff out prey on the hunts. She would be lying to say that she didn't entertain the idea of asking her mother to infect some of their best dogs from time to time, their short lives feeling like blinks of an eye compared to her own immortality.

She placed the now empty glass back on the table, not quite as graceful as her mother always did after a meal. They had plenty of time, so getting up was not yet in either of their schedules.

"Are we going somewhere in particular, or just out for a stretch," Nicole asked in between sips.

"Bela has to pick something up and Dani, surprising to precisely no one, wants to visit the bookshop," Cassandra started with a slight eye roll, leaning on her side on top of the cushions and starting to toy with the hem of Nicole's sleeve. "Since we're doing none of that boring stuff, I thought you'd like to choose."

Nicole tapped a finger of the white rim of her mug, nail making a soft clink. She sighed. "Just a walk around town, I'm really dying to get out too."

"You do realize you're not confined to the castle during winter like I am right," Cassandra laughed.

"And leave my beloved wife all alone while I go out and about," her reply was overly dramatic, complete with a hand gingerly placed over her heart almost as if such an idea was close to blasphemous. It only gained her a small snort.

"Should I remind you that I've spent decades in this castle? I promise I can bear it."

Okay, grandma.

With the tea finally gone, Nicole placed the tall mug on the nightstand closest to her, effectively freeing her hands. Free to trace tender fingers up Cassandra's arm, her neck and around the intricate lace of her choker to toy with the fine chains decorating it.

"You sure about that?" Her voice was sickly sweet, all too aware of her unbeatable talent of making someone as sadistic as her wife melt with little more than a hushed tone and gentle hands.

Cassandra did not respond right away. She was nothing if not a prideful person and admitting to the fact that yes, she would miss her, even for a handful of hours, was not particularly high on her list of things to be said out loud. It was almost an unbearably clingy kind, their relationship. Or at least that's what someone who did not know better would say. Truth be told, they were both the kind of people that looked almost desperately, although a desperation worn with odd grace, for comfort in other people. People they would then fight tooth and nail, or more accurately fang and claw, to keep close. It was obvious in the way Cassandra took on the role as protector of the family, nevermind the fact that Alcina would cut any possible threats to pieces before any of them had time to lift a finger. Obvious, also in the way she was so protective over Nicole herself, the beautifully engraved dagger always strapped to the redhead’s side either under a lab coat or at the belt of a dress rendered little more than a fancy accessory.

Cassandra chuckled, wrapping long fingers around her hand and taking it away from her necklace. "Why don't we get dressed before Bela comes to nag at us mm?" Then black lips were gingerly pressed to the skin, leaving a small kiss on top of bony knuckles.

With a shrug and a less than gracious stretch accompanied by a yawn, Nicole got out from under the covers, the red velvety fabric of the robe flowing after her like an impromptu cape.

"Are you wearing my robe," Cassandra's voice came from behind her, together with hands placed on her waist.

Duh.

Not that Cassandra ever truly complained. Finding the oversized clothing her wife often wore quite endearing.

"It does look quite charming on me you have to admit."

"You're practically swimming in it."

Nicole rolled her eyes which only prompted a small laugh.

They fixed themselves enough to be semi presentable for the small distance that separated the bedroom and the dressing room. Nicole was about to suggest wearing something more casual, but the fact that going out for the first time after the long winter months was almost reason for a small celebration for all three of the Dimitrescu sisters made her shut down that train of thought. No harm in being fancy on occasion after all.

The outfits Cassandra had picked out were nothing short of perfect for the occasion. Matching black dresses, Nicole's a tad lighter with a lacy collar and frilly hems complete with a white vest-like corset, while Cassandra's was made out of a thicker fabric and went down almost to the floor, surely due to her tendency to get cold easily.

Not being the kind that lingered in the dressing room too long, that was more Daniela's style, it took little for them to get dressed. The occasional helping hand for small things that one could maybe twist and turn to do themselves, but why bother when you have a perfectly willing to help spouse, was something they both enjoyed and took a couple extra precious moments to let a hand linger or fingers to trace expertly done sems. After some makeup was applied and the leash was hooked back to Eris' collar, they finally made their way downstairs.

They were close to fashionably late it seemed, as Bela, Daniela and Anita were already waiting in the main hall, the eldest throwing a miffed expression their way upon seeing them descend the grand staircase.

Nicole noticed the absence of one of their usual party members. "Isn't Laura coming with us?"

"She had to go to Donna's this morning. Spring preparations and all," Bela's reply came dangerously close to being accompanied by an uncharacteristic pout.

Oh. Someone's in a sour mood.

They made their way down the stone paved road that connected the castle to the town in relative silence, interrupted only once by Bela telling them when they would meet up to head back home. Other than that, they just enjoyed the short walk. And for good reason, the road was surrounded by beautiful rose bushes on both sides, with pine trees expanding beyond them and the sounds of birds and nocturnal animals beginning to wake up blending together in a quiet murmur so typical to the forest.

Once in the town square under the familiar angel statue, Bela wordlessly left them in favor of making her way down a small street. Daniela and Anita seemed more courteous and said their goodbyes and see-you-laters as they turned around, chattering about something only they understood.

Left alone, with their dog whose leash was attached to the same belt Cassandra's sickle was, they started walking down the quiet streets. It was almost sundown, so even the small crowd of people usually going about their business was almost non-existent, knowing better than to be out at night without good reason.

Something that Nicole was yet to grow bored of, even after a few years spent at the castle, was the small architectural oddities around town. It looked quite regular, albeit old, at first glance but a closer look would reveal the rich symbolism resulting from the centuries of being quite literally broken off from the rest of the world and almost frozen in time.

The go to flowers planted in front of buildings were crimson roses, the familiar patterns of swirling vines and leaves engraved into walls and lamp posts. A bakery they passed by had three sickles hanging behind the glass, complementing the harvest theme the entire shop had, together with dried wheat in vases and warm inviting colors on the walls. The one fishery that everyone in town knew had a mermaid gracefully swimming in a panel just above its entrance and horseshoes were nailed to most doors leading to houses or small apartment buildings. Even a toy store had a suspiciously Angie-like doll, although without the cracks and signs of time its original counterpart sported, looking out at any passersby.

One thing that could never go unnoticed however, were the crows. Statues of the birds, big or small, could be seen anywhere, from street corners to rooftops and atop building entrances. Some had their wings spread out, ready to take flight were they not trapped by stone bodies, others had their bills open wide in a silent croak and some were simply looking on. Real crows were also incredibly common, replacing the pigeons any other city had in favor of the black birds, ironically roosting on the statues of themselves quite often and kindly providing the city background noise with their caws. Nicole inquired about their presence once, and Cassandra had explained how the locals see crows as good luck, being a symbol to Mother Miranda. Many people fed them and even had buildings upon which small towers were erected with the purpose of giving the birds space to make nests.

Nicole had a strong suspicion that some of the birds were a little more than they let on, especially after seeing their so-called goddess break into a flock on multiple occasions. Sometimes, you would look at one of the crows perched on a power line connecting two buildings, and icy grey would stare back, the depth in those eyes far too human to belong to any bird.

Her slight glare towards one crow that seemed to look at them from a windowsill was interrupted by the memory of a small list she had tucked in her pocket before leaving.

"Oh, I need to pass by the pharmacy to pick up a few things we ran out of."

Cassandra simply shrugged. "Sure," and she looked around for a moment to find the street that would take them there fastest. Not like they had any plans other than enjoying the pseudo freedom that being out of the castle gave them.

The pharmacy was oh so conveniently located on the other side of town, adjacent to the hospital near the reservoir. Ever since Miranda had found ways to lessen the negative effects of his mutation, Moreau was the designated town doctor, but due to the still somewhat volatile transformations he was still mostly confined to the place and it's murky waters, a fact that he despised greatly. It was an obvious choice, then, to erect the hospital there. It was a small building not unlike the rest of the town's architecture when it came to size, no more than three floors high and with a small staff that Moreau himself had to teach the ins and outs of medical practice. If memory serves right, even Miranda and her assistants had taught some people particularly well versed in the sciences how to operate the equipment and patients alike. Medical training seemed to be hard to come by around here and Nicole had a gnawing suspicion that it was the reason she was still alive.

The building coming into view behind the trees and the paved road that cut through the small stretch of woods separating the town and reservoir looked oddly new in comparison to the rest, as it had been erected only a couple decades prior. Attached to it, a smaller house with matching tiles on the roof and a sign that read Farmacie above the entrance's double doors.

Dogs were normally not allowed inside, but who was going to stop them of all people from marching right in, black hound happily walking by their side. They were the only ones inside, save for a short woman sitting behind the counter, panic flashing in her eyes when her gaze fell on Cassandra's tall frame, hand in hand with Nicole who was at the moment too occupied with pulling out the list of meds she had written. She gave it a once over and, sure that she had everything down, passed the paper to the pharmacist, who knew better than to ask if she had any prescriptions.

"You could've sent someone to fetch these for you," Cassandra said, eyes following the woman as she disappeared behind tall shelves full of small boxes and pill bottles.

"I know, I just didn't want to wait. I don't like running out of supplies," Nicole shrugged.

Plus, Nicole was way less likely to be questioned on why she's buying twenty different kinds of meds than a random maid. Partly because the pharmacist recognized her and partly because any sane person here knew better than not obliging when Cassandra was looming behind her. A small smirk graced her lips at the thought and a sly look was given to her wife, who was too busy playing with the dog's floppy ears to notice. Eris raised her head at the unforgivable offense, playfully trying to nip at the gloved hands that were tickling her, getting a giggle out of the brunette.

All three were distracted by the soft clink of a bell hanging above the door, indicating that someone had entered the pharmacy. It was an older man, looking to be in his sixties, heavily leaning on a crutch held in his right hand.

Cassandra's features morphed into a scowl and Nicole could practically hear the man-thing going through her mind. The man was probably on the verge of doing a complete one eighty and exit the pharmacy, when a voice called out from behind the counter.

"Ah Andrei, I have something for that infection of yours, hold on a moment," the pharmacist called out, before handing Nicole a sizable paper bag full of what she had requested.

She felt an unwelcomed whiff of decay as Cassandra took the bag from her hands, and sniffled in an attempt to ward off the stinging sensation in her nose. She fumbled with the credit card, mentally cursing the payment for not transferring quicker when the smell was starting to make her eyes water the slightest bit.

"Is everything alright my lady?"

The man's voice, full of genuine worry came from behind them, having moved closer upon the pharmacist's urging, and the putrid stench of death and decomposition flooded Nicole's senses together with the slick sensation of blood running down her face. She had to force down a gag as she shoved the card back into a pocket and all but ran out the door, worried wife in toe.

"Nicole what-" Cassandra swallowed any words she had at the sight of the blood flowing down and staining the until moments before immaculate white of her wife's corset.

Nicole made her way to a corner of the building that nobody seemed to go to, and leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and trying to ward off the lightheadedness.

For someone who spent years working on dead bodies in various stages of decomposition, one would think that the smell of death did not bother her. And it didn't. But this was different, the stench seeming to make its way into her skin and clinging to her senses, coating her throat as if trying to choke her out in the most disgusting way possible. Not to mention that there was no actual dead body around.

She coughed out the blood that didn't make its way out of her nostrils and instead decided to go the throat route. Her hands were a crimson mess and so were her face and dress, a pang of guilt shooting through her for having ruined the outfit picked by Cassandra. At least the bleeding seemed to stop and so did the horrid stench.

Cassandra didn't seem to care, nor even notice, the ruined fabric. Instead she pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket and started to gently wipe the blood away from pale skin.

"What's wrong?" She asked and Nicole could only shake her head.

"I don't know. I don't know why this keeps happening," she almost ran her hands down her face in frustration but had enough clarity of mind to remember how dirty they were. "I thought it would go away, and for a while it did. I don't understand what the hell is wrong with me," she added, voice rising the slightest bit.

Cassandra grimaced, trying to get her face clean. "We can talk to Mother when we get back."

A defeated sigh made its way past bloody lips. Nicole had her doubts that Alcina would know any more than them on the situation, which was nothing. They knew nothing.

She grabbed Cassandra's hand to steady herself back on her feet, mind drifting to what she didn't want to think was her only solution.

If there was anyone who could get to the end of this, it was Mother Miranda.