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itsswritten · 6 months ago

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teeny tiny

Pairing: Fairy reader x Azriel

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Azriel practices dwindling with you. (Just some fluff, mutual pining, pre bond snapping)

Wings Universe - read more from this couple here.

Azriel was watching you intently, a soft smile spread on his lips as his gaze danced across your expression. You were so passionate when you spoke about your work– your duty as a fairy.

A stark difference to how he felt about being an Illyrian.

But knowing you now for only a year, you had softened that perspective he had for his own heritage. Purely by how dedicated you were to yours, and how you lit up whenever you got to speak about it. Naturally, when getting to know the IC you had wanted to learn everything about the Illyrians, everything about the sisters, about Amren. Every finer detail.

That warm nature of yours, got even the most reserved opening themselves up to you. You were always genuinely interested too, mesmerised in the differences and similarities you found among your new friends. You would never scrimp on compliments either, lovely words rolling off your tongue in awe when Cassian had explained some Illyrian lore. You even went as far to admit that you’d always thought the dark winged fae looked very cool and fierce.

Azriel could vividly remember the heat filling your cheeks one evening at Rita’s when you’d admitted that, the faerie wine offering you some liquid courage. The comment had gone straight to Cassian’s head, prancing round Rita’s flexing in front of Nesta with a stealthy look, posing for her. “Look how fierce I look, Nes,” Nesta only rolled her eyes.

Azriel, though, had kept that comment. Tucked it away in the corner of his mind that he saved purely for you. A space filled with compliments from you, mentions of the things you loved, or observations of when he thought you looked especially beautiful– which truly was everyday. That corner of his mind was slowly growing by the day, bit by bit consuming him more and more. But he didn’t mind. For every new area you occupied in his consciousness, it replaced something dark instead. Those nightmares became few and far between after you entered his life, and he felt lighter, brighter.

A mark that could only be left by a radiant individual– you.

Ever since he’d met you, he was absolutely smitten. There was a magnetic charge between you both, that just couldn’t keep him away. He was like a moth to a light, fluttering so dangerously close that if he wasn’t careful he might just burn.

But he couldn’t stop. Despite the risk of it all, the risk of you burning his desires down. The obvious rejection you would undoubtedly give him if his feelings ever became known. So he settled for friendship, in fact savoured in it. He welcomed the friendly banter and familiar touches you so kindly offered him, but sometimes he dared to imagine…selfishly letting himself wonder, if he was to confess, would it really all go up in flames?…or would a warm glow await him instead.

Azriel began to look for the good parts of his own culture, an excuse to be able to share something with you. Little anecdotes of younger years with his brothers, the plants that grew in the harsh terrain of Ramiel, and what creatures may lurk in those mountains. Something Azriel noticed had piqued your interest.

He found you numerous times after that in the library with Nesta and Gwyn, looking through bestiaries and field journals. Your commitment to the land and its creatures never wavering. You had found old scriptures, thousands of years old, of rare creatures that roamed the Illyrian land. Feline-like beasts that apparently once lived among Illyrians as their companions, a familiar of sorts. You had practically barged into Azriel’s room one evening when you had unearthed this new information, kneeled on his bed sharing this new discovery word for word as you read the translated version Gwyn had given you.

“We’ll have to go look for them Az,” You had beamed, “It’ll be like an adventure, and well I could write it off as work too seeing as technically this falls under my jurisdiction.”

Azriel had never cared much for his own culture and myths, actually, had rather hated every aspect of it. But somehow, watching you find the beauty between the cracks changed something in him. Over time the dismal opinion he had of Illyrians and that part of himself, paired with the progression in the camps had made a slight difference.

Today though, today, you were sharing even more of your world.

“So I thought, you know with you already being able to winnow you would grasp this the easiest” you smiled at Az.

You had brought him to the edge of one of the night court meadows you usually worked at. Elain had asked to join you on a day's work for the spring season, once confessing she wished the cauldron had turned her into a fairy just like you. You had told her she was perfect the way she was, exactly who she was supposed to be, and promised her anyone of any kind was welcome in the meadows.

What was supposed to be a fun girls day with Elain had quickly snowballed into a field trip, the rest of the inner circle adamant they had to come too. But if your friends couldn’t master the art of dwindling then they would not be permitted in the meadows. Rhys and Feyre were fine, that unlimited pot of power they both possessed actually meant you’d caught them several months ago, rolling around in a flower enjoying some quality time together. You’re not sure who was more embarrassed, yourself or Feyre when Rhys clumsily fell out of a flower bell stark naked covered in pollen.

Before the others would be allowed to cross the threshold of the meadows you would need to teach them first.

“Dwindling is a lot like winnowing, how you move yourself to a different space. Or even how your shadows move you through space. It’s essentially the same, but it’s the space within you that’s moving…well smaller.”

Your hands had been spread wide in your explanation, bringing them closer together as if your movement were perfectly representing how it worked. Your brows furrowed though, as Azriel looked at you with a soft dazed expression. Almost glassy eyed with a dumb smile on his mouth.

“Are you even listening to me Az?” Your tone felt stern leaving your lips. A little huff following after, that got his shadows moving in a giddy manner. It wasn’t just Azriel that found you utterly adorable, but his shadows too had a hard time hiding how your expressions caused a stir in them.

How they basked in your laughter, grew agitated in your discomfort or selfishly, liked to relish in your charming pouts.

Azriel quickly shook his head, as if shaking himself from the daze you so often ensnared him in, “I’m always listening,” he promised.

You rolled your bottom lip through your teeth gently, pausing for a moment to take in his words. How it had struck a ripple through your body, that often created butterflies in your stomach. Glancing up through your lashes you took your friend in, his large strong frame towering over you, never in an intimidating way. No, his presence, however daunting to others, always filled you with safety and comfort you hadn’t felt around many. And there were those beautiful hazel eyes that often reminded you of the sunrise after you’d worked the night shift. Golden rays breaking through the midnight blanket, spilling hazel threads into petals of blue.

Maybe one day you would tell him how when the sky filled with ribbons of gold and sapphire, that you only thought of him.

Quickly you stopped yourself from falling into your own daze, remembering his passing words.

I’m always listening.

That he was. So attentive, so kind, you’re not sure what you did to deserve the friendship of the Shadowsinger. You continued on, brushing over how genuine his words sounded. Rummaging around in your bag you pulled out a pouch of fairy dust.

“This amplifies your power, makes it easier to shrink. Should also help with the nausea,” you muttered, now choosing to ignore the way his eyes seemed to drink you up.

It was getting increasingly hard to disregard the effect the Shadowsinger had on you. He was so beautiful, so pretty– in that rugged Illyrian way. And he was very thoughtful too, and there was the way he said things to you sometimes that made it hard not to assume it meant more. Every word felt like a whispered kiss or unspoken promise, that you found yourself at times hoping, and daydreaming that perhaps it did mean something deeper.

Sprinkling the dust over Azriel, his nose scrunched a little at the scent. So familiar, he realised it reminded him of you. That lingering scent of fairy dust was always on you, mixed with vanilla and hints of honey, an underlying breeze of peonies. Your scent alone was enough to enchant him, enough to know he would be dreaming of you again tonight. His consciousness would slip him into a blissful haze of what it would be like to envelope himself in the crook of your neck and laze in your aroma.

Gently you took his hands into yours, his ragged hands engulfing your own.

Azriel couldn’t help notice the stark contrast. How perfect and soft you were, delicate and light. He was rough and weathered around the edges, hardened by war and conflict. A gentle squeeze from you pulled him from his thoughts, realising how close you were now, he would only have to lean down slightly to bridge the gap between you. So close he could press his lips to top of your head and–

As if brushing that thought from his mind, his shadows moved towards you. Brushing a strand of hair from your face, while the other tendrils wove through the air in between you both like a dance.

“Are you ready Az? Remember everything I taught you?”

He nodded.

Channelling his power in the technique you had shown him, his eyes fluttered shut. Honing in on the warmth of your hands and the faint sound of the breeze. His siphons simmered a glow as vibrations of power and space moved over the sharp lines and angles of his body, retracting and restricting the space within.

The air sounded different all of a sudden.

Vibrations growing louder, rustles becoming more powerful. Slowly Azriel opened his eyes, looking down at you, standing as you were before. He questioned if he’d even managed to do it, but as he glanced up he saw the tall green vertebrae of the grass tower above. The strands gently swaying in the wind, allowing the morning sun to filter through and cast viridescent shadows across the earth.

He had done it. He had dwindled.

The air was filled with a symphony of sounds, the song of crickets and the gentle rustling of the grass in the wind. Butterflies flitted by, leaving a gentle gust of wind in their wake. They were larger than him now, and he could vividly see the intricate designs and colours that lay on their wings.

“Az? Azriel are you okay? How do you feel?”

He hadn’t even realised you were talking, not until your hand gently pressed against the side of his face. Your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, as you looked up to him in concern.

“I feel fine,” he replied, finally remembering to take a breath as your touch left him.

“No nausea? You looked a little peaky for a moment, I was worried,”

Your remaining hand had slipped from his gentle grip, a simmer in his chest wishing it would remain. But Azriel unfurled his wings, stretching the dark membranes out, distributing his weight onto either feet to check his balance.

“Okay…” You smiled then, “This went better than I thought, you know it’s Cassian I’m most worried about. I just have a feeling he’ll sneeze himself into a giant or something,”

“Wait, is that possible?”

“No, or at least I don’t think so. But somehow I could see it happening with Cass,” You laughed. The angelic waves of your laughter pulled up the corners of his lips as he let out a chuckle.

Oh Azriel could stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you, no one else in sight for miles.The sun basking it’s glow upon you both. Your laughter faded into a comfortable silence before you closed your eyes, head tilting up towards the sun as the rays washed over your face.

Azriel thanked the Mother again for the blessings he had received since knowing you, because this moment right here– to be with you was surely one.

“Y/n…” Azriel couldn’t help breathe your name out, it barely a whisper as words he kept tucked in that corner of his mind seemed to pile into his mouth.

Gently your eyes fluttered open, your expression turning to him with a light hum in question. But before he could even untangle the mess of confessions on his tongue, a shadow loomed above.

With a slight jump, you hastily stepped back, colliding into the tough warm frame of the Shadowsinger, craning your neck up to see what had cast such a darkness.

A shadow– Azriel’s shadow.

The smokey tendril seemed to loom over you both inquisitively. It’s movements speaking of a curiosity to how its master was now so tiny.

“There’s always one,” Azriel grumbled, his hand tenderly moving to the small of your back for a moment as he stepped to your side.

Azriel crossed his arms across his chest, his expression boring on unimpressed as he glanced up at the disobedient wisp.

“You’ve got no excuse,” Azriel chastised, referring to the other shadows that had obediently followed an appropriate size to him after dwindling.

The shadow slumped a little in response, eliciting a small gasp from you at how utterly adorable you found it. As if remembering you were there the shadow turned it’s attention. Azriel’s earlier command to resize itself held no authority but it quickly slinked itself slightly smaller for you. It’s size resembled something of Azriel’s shape as it twirled around you making the layers of your dress flutter up in the wind.

“Oh my…” Your cheeks heated a rosy hue as you attempted to hold your dress down in the gust of air.

“Sorry about that,” Azriel heaved, his patience growing thin as he tried to hide his slight embarrassment at his unruly shadow.

“It’s quite alright Azriel,” you reassured him with a light chuckle, the smile on your lips easing him. The use of his full name, raising goosebumps on his skin.

It wasn’t the only thing your smile eased, the shadow, as if melting under you, softened like honey. Oozing back behind Azriel’s wings in a dazed infatuation.

“Come,” you took Azriel’s hand in yours. Pulling him gently through the blades of green. “You should settle in this size for a while, make sure everything feels okay before we return,”

Azriel watched your fingers interlock with his, the smaller wisps of his shadows winding around your joined hands. Whispering words to one another that he couldn’t hear.

He swallowed hard, once, twice taking in the view before him. Your usual pink dress dipping to the small of your back, taut flawless skin kissed under the sun as you pulled him through the green. No wings on show, though.

He wondered when you would share that part of you…if ever.

Azriel would never ask, but he hoped one day you trusted him enough.

That he would be so lucky. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, sending him a soft smile that seemed to bury itself deep into his chest. He pondered, if for only a moment, that perhaps he was lucky.

a/n: just a little instalment from your favourite couple! <3 What else do you want to see from them?? (Other than flower sex , I promise this is coming👀)

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @marscardigan

Wings tags: @minaethrym

#azriel x reader #acotar #wings universe #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #fairy x azriel #azriel x fairy #fairy reader x azriel

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oceanreveuse · 2 months ago

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𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶.

◟fem!reader, dom!toji, sub!reader, (ooc) toji - he deserves his own warning, probs doesn’t fit canon au but who cares its porn, sweet little baby reader in a short skirt, size difference (insinuated that reader is smaller than toji), reader referred to as 'girl,' petname (baby), degradation (whore), blowjob, dacryphilia, not proofread + based on my beefy men post here ◟anastasia's footnote : happy late 100 followers! it’s been a really difficult few months for me mentally and i’ve struggled to wrangle some writing fairies but i’m ever thankful for your support! mwah, many kisses - anastasia xox

“yeah, that’s it-” his hoarse voice is momentarily cut off as his gaze trail down your figure, watching you hopelessly tiptoe for that last canned food on the kitchen shelf, “need a hand?”

you scowl, your glossy lips pursed as you send a narrowed look over your shoulders and TOJI could almost chuckle. almost. he doesn’t, instead those sharp eyes darken and linger on the exposed fat of your ass that peeks out from under the short skirt you’re dressed in - you 100% knew what you was doing and toji wasn’t stupid.

“i can handle it myself, ‘ji.” you mumble, trying to disguise the pout in your voice as you keep reaching, small whimpers of frustration starting to bubble in your throat. sure seems it, toji scoffs mentally, thick arms crossing over his broad chest as he continues to watch. he has no idea how he ended up with such a persistent little thing, unable to ask for a hand to the point where it frustrates him but as the tent in his grey sweats grows, toji knows that no matter how much you seem to piss him off, you can fix it just as well.

he watches you, observant in the way that tiny skirt sways with your wiggles, the plush of your thighs on perfect display for him. a groan escapes his lips, catching your attention as he shoves a chair out from underneath the table, throwing himself down into it. you’ve been with toji long enough to read his actions, his emotions too. he’s not adherently upset with you, no, you can see that by the prominent bulge that could almost have neon arrows pointed at it.

suddenly, your focus is shifted and god, if he wasn’t so stoic and grumpy, you’d be able to see the way he could grin at the little sparkle in your eyes illuminated by the sun coming through the kitchen window behind him. you don’t need to be told, although he likes to give the order sometimes - you’re already sinking down onto your knees before toji gets a chance to part those mildly cracked lips.

his tongue darts out, wetting his lips and running along his scar and a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, “what? see something you like, baby?”

you was almost drooling, salivating when you pushed your soft cheek up against his bulge. the warmth matches that of your flustered state, pressing sweet kisses along his clothes length and toji almost growls. the feral noise resonates deep in his throat, his big, calloused hands wanting to reach out and grab your hair - he restrains himself. it takes him a lot of effort but he manages it, staring down at the way your long eyelashes flutter around your half-lidded eyes, brushing up against his sweats.

“always…” you mumble softly, your voice sweet like honey when your much smaller hands grab at the hem of his sweats and pull- no, tug the fabric just down his thick thighs, the muscles tensing slightly under your touch. heavy cock standing at attention, bobbing against the dark happy trail on his abdomen, toji finally sits back properly until the chair creaks. he’s always commented about the size of these damn chairs, too small for a man of his stature but perfect for a little doll such as yourself.

it amazes the buff man how easily you’re almost hypnotised by the sight of his cock every damn time it springs free, no matter how many times you’ve seen it or how long you’ve been together. it’s like a moth to a flame, a cat to its favourite toy or even a child receiving a present - you really do love this dick, huh?

toji's thoughts are cut short when your warm tongue licks up the vein of his cock, starting at the base and following its way up, up, up until it circles around the angry red tip. the action draws a hiss from his mouth, dark brows knitting together as those glossy lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further and further down the length. your nose buries into the thick pubes at the base, inhaling the familiar musky scent that has your eyes rolling back; other than the thick cock of your partner shoved to the back of his throat.

finally, a large hand reaches up to grab the hair at the back of your head. his fingers find purchase there, nails scratching at your scalp and he groans, loud and deep in his throat, "that's it, y'got a real filthy mouth y'know that?"

he could almost chuckle at the way your eyes - now hazy - peer up at him from this position, a slight gloss along the waterline that makes him grin. after a few more seconds, you pull your head off with a gasp, saliva stringing from your lips to his fat cock with a sinful giggle breaking the tense silence. toji's narrowed eyes follow the way you swallow, placing sloppy kisses on his heavy balls cupped in your hands.

not that toji would ever admit it, he could never admit it to anyone because god forbid his ego would be bruised but seeing you like this, so cockdrunk and littering him in kisses and kitten licks as if he's a piece of candy, it truly has him all heart eyes for you; just like he falls in love with you a little more every time he feasts on the sight of your drooling lips and his cock shoved into your tight warmth.

crystalline tears pool in the corners of your eyes when toji drags his hips back and forth, testing the waters every time pubes tickle your upper lip. the sight above you is sinful, the sunlight behind toji casting a glow around his shadow like some holy figure, someone for you to worship on your knees - you could do that. you gag with every jagged movement of his hips with the placement of your small hands on his muscular thighs. toji's aware he's pushing limits - hell it's his favourite thing to do - but he's watching, observing your actions and movements. the hands on his thighs, the tears running down your cheeks, no matter what you haven't tapped on his thigh, you haven't pushed yourself away.

"c'mon girl, you can take it better than that, can't you?" he scoffs, fingers digging into your hair just a little tighter at the sight of a spark in your eyes, something igniting deep in you that he knows he can fan the flame, "what? is that pretty little whore mouth too full of my dick for you to speak?"

he wants to chuckle - he might chuckle, actually because the moment those words escape his mouth, his voice husky from the sensations in his lower half, he notices the way your thighs clench together and one of your dainty hands travels down under your skirt.

dinner can wait. suddenly, something is much more appetising to the likes of toji and with your whimpers and choking as the melodic backdrop, he has no intentions of stopping without his fill.

◟the waves call for . . . @kentophilia @kokonoiis @reonaissance

[ the magazine is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

bonus:

#house of solis occasum #( whispers in the waves )#jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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lethalchiralium · 1 year ago

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Mirrorball | John Price x F!Reader

a/n: me?? posting??? in this economy?? unheard of. this is definitely not me writing needy price whaaaat

warnings: mentions of injury, trauma

summary: You’re trying to sleep, but someone wakes you up with a long awaited phone call. OR, John’s outside of your door, begging for forgiveness.

It was a work day tomorrow and someone had the audacity to call you in the middle of the night. Your eyes tried to blink away the murkiness of sleep as you answered the call, not even paying attention to the ‘Unknown Caller’ blinking at the top of the screen.

“Hey.”

Your head fell back into your pillow, your hand holding your phone to your ear.

��Yes, John.”

“Don’t be that way.”

Your hand gripped your phone a little more, now that you were waking up more.

“Well, seeing that it’s…” You pulled the phone from your ear, looking at the time on the screen, “2:45 in the morning on a Tuesday, you’re only calling ‘cause you’re bored.”

There was a scoff on the line. “Why can’t you just accept that maybe I’m worried about you?”

Your eyes were still closed, your eyebrows furrowed and you mumbled, “Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”

There was silence. Just the warmth that flooded through your chest every time you heard his low breathing; a signal, a waypoint, your reminder that no matter how much you want to turn away, there’s no escape from your desperate need for John Price. Your fingernails dug into your pillowcase, tears that have broken glass now soak the silk underneath your head. You could almost smell the rich tobacco that seemed to envelop his clothes and his worn skin - he was the feeling of sunlight reflected on shattered glass. Shining just for you.

You could imagine his hand curling your hair behind your ear, his soft lips pressing kisses into your hairline, your shoulder, your spine. You had memorized the way his hand would gently graze over your side, featherlight movement as he would whisper his promises, his mantras, but ignore your desires.

“M’here.”

Even in your half-asleep state, you felt a rush of confusion.

“You were in Afghanistan last night.”

“I lied.”

“You seem to do that often, John.”

Silence again. Your eyes opened to your dimly light room, the small light plugged into your wall helped you make out everything in your room. The jacket of his that still was tossed over the back of your favorite chair, most of his clothes hung in your closet - deep browns and dreary grays that were pressed against your bright blues, greens, and yellows. His breathtaking fiancé dressed in all of the colors that made you feel happy - but all were a farce, a lie wrapped up in a fairy tale. You weren’t happy. How could you be happy when your whole world decided to break your heart?

“Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up, John. I mean it.”

Silence. You could hear the quiet bustle of Liverpool outside your window, the street lamp’s warm light hidden by your dark curtains. Curtains he used to move at this time of night to open your window, he would burn the end of his cigar and watch the city lights.

Now, he stood outside your front door, without even a knock.

“What I did to you wasn’t right, I knew that then and I know that now. Screaming at you and telling you I never wanted to see you again was the biggest mistake of my life. I love you. And love isn’t supposed to be like that. I-I was… I was scared. I am scared. I’m scared of what you think of me, I was scared of what almost happened to me, I’m terrified to lose you.”

“Stop.”

“Please. I’m here.”

“What do you want, John?”

“I want come home.“

Another pause.

“Please let me in.”

Your stomach lurched.

You hated that you sat up, lethargic body dragged behind your mind as you silently made your way to your front door; cold phone pressed to your ear. He was a warm light, you were like a late night moth - hearing the familiar hum of one John Price.

“I’ll do anything, love. Please.”

You stretched your arms as you stood on your tallest tip toes, it reminded you of spinning on your highest heels, just for him. You could remember his hands, gentle on your hand and waist as he had laughed deeply in that ballroom all those years ago. The way his touch never differed from anything gentle or soft, even as he held your hips in late nights, pulling loud moans and cries from you as he fucked you passionately. The way he whispered your name like gospel as you sobbed into his chest. It was impossible to forget what he’s done for you - and what actions he made that caused you pain.

He was made of a broken spotlight, his light reflected on you. Your mirror pieces had fell long ago, your fingers still bleed from picking up your shards, from pressing them into place so when he came around, you would reflect his slowly dimming light just like a mirror ball.

Your hand pulled open the door, gazing at the man you so painstakingly loved - face dirty, scarf disheveled around his neck, beanie snug on his head. You didn’t care that his rough hands gripped your hips, metaphorically pressing in the glass shards like always. He pulled you to him, your face landed in his scarf as he wrapped you in his freezing embrace. You moved to rest your chin on top of the scratchy wool, your lips right next to his ear.

“Are you hurt?”

He walked both of you into the apartment, skillfully kicking the door closed as he held you tighter. A fist on your lower back, a steel grip on your shoulder as his nose was firmly pressed into your (bonnet/hair). You could feel his chest, how it didn’t dare expand - he was holding his breath. As if he let you slip, that the mirrorball he adored would shatter into a thousand pieces. Your hand pushed into the back of his ribcage, moving in soothing circles.

“Breathe, John.”

You expected a harsh exhale, something loud in your ear, but all you received was a soft sigh through his nose. The freezing clothes that clung to him began to warm, his heartbeat erratic - you could feel it in his back, right behind his heart.

“Are you hurt?” You asked again.

He didn’t answer, silence was his weapon of choice now. He was full of words on the phone, telling you things you wished to hear earlier - oh shit, your phone. The phone you dropped on the floor before opening the door, hopefully it wasn’t broken. You had so many of him on there. So many photos of him hanging off your arm, lips pressed against your soft skin, eyes gazing lovingly at you.

“What do you need?”

You need me. I know you like the back of my hand.

That’s when he let go, pulling away from you to show fresh tears on his flushed face. Your eyes widened with concern, you tried to reach his face but his hands intercepted yours - holding them with a firm grip.

“I don’t need you to forgive me.” His voice was melancholy, a melody of grief and fear that you had never heard before. “I am an awful man. Rubbish. I hurt the one good thing in my life because I thought you hating me would be easier for me to die with.”

Your stomach coiled up into a knot, tight and uncomfortable.

Your fiancé held back a sob as he spoke, “I got hit. I almost died, all I could think about was how much you would hate yourself because I made you hate me. I don’t want that. I want to be by your side forever, I want you to put me in my place, I want you to take everything from me because I am not worthy of anything without you.” His hands squeezed yours. “I want to lay beside you for as long as I live. I want to only know you for the rest of my life. I want to do everything you ask of me.”

“What do you need, John?” Your voice softer than ever before.

He blinked away tears. “I need you to teach me how to truly be a better man. I need you to guide me. I need you to love me. I need you.”

You had told yourself a thousand times that he would never crawl on his knees to you, that his pride would destroy you, that he would never show weakness to you - but here he was. Showing his belly, giving you the chance to deliver the final blow.

You supposed he was waiting for it. Waiting for your teeth to sink in and rip him apart like a chew toy, scream at him until your voice ran hoarse, push him away until he fell onto his ass. But… you couldn’t. You were ready to walk away from him ten minutes ago, but now it’s… terrifying. Walking away from the one thing keeping you whole.

You squeezed his hands. “Marry me, John Price.”

His eyebrows furrowed, he was about to question you. But you spoke again. “Marry me today and show me that all that you said was a promise.”

He didn’t nod for long as he let go of your hands, grabbed your face and kissed you - pushing your head backwards as he pressed his entire body to you. You didn’t care anymore if he cut himself on your glass, you were sure he would fix the edge just to keep you happy.

Keep you spinning like his favorite mirrorball, shining just for him.

#lethalchiralium #keri writes #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price x f!reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x female reader #captain price x f!reader #captain john price x female reader #captain john price x f!reader

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year ago

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In the Woods (Somewhere) - Mothman!Gojo

Ghost stories around the city whisper about a creature in the forest. They describe it as a moth like monster that only brings misfortune and death.

But what will you do as you learn these silly ghost stories are true flesh and bone… and now haunting you?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

wc: 12.9k

warnings & tags: 18+ only MDNI, monster x human relationship, loose interpretation of the mothman legends and stories, death mentions, protectiveness & obsession that can be read as slight yandere like, lot of bug discussion, monster transformation with a touch of body horror, wound licking, blood & tear consumption, magical healing, car accident, allusion to f!oral receiving, kidnapping, character deaths (this ends happy I promise) feral and lovesick Gojo, if there is anything I missed please let me know!

a/n: this is my first submission to @willowser Haunted House Collab and I’m so honored to be part of this! Thank you for putting this together dear Willow! The title is from the lovely Hozier song. Also a big thanks to @skeletoncowboys for letting me scream about this monster & to @stellamancer for always being my dearest comrade in Gojo hell, enjoy and thanks for reading! Stay spooky!

Your grandfather once told you he believed butterflies were fairies and moths were angels.

It made sense to your child logic that butterflies could be fairy creatures. You even imagined fairies had butterfly wings. But, you had argued back in disgust that moths couldn’t be angels.

“Now now,” your grandpa had laughed. “Why can’t moths be angels?”

He gently explained moths were mainly seen in the evening and around light. He believed moths were the forms angels took to keep watch over everyone late in the night when no one believed they were being protected

“And,” he told you with all his sweet patience. “Something like a moth that loves the light can’t be bad.”

Scientifically you now understand moths mainly were nocturnal as a survival instinct for less predators and more opportunities for prey. Some were even active during the daytime. But your grandfather's words stay with you, etched into your heart.

He is why you are here after all.

The campus at night always holds a certain hollowness.

However, the storm that blew in yesterday continues looming with ominous clouds in the sky. It cast an early darkness against the city. The thick haze feels as if something could slink out of the shadows.

When you slip out of the research lab building there, against the light outside, one lone white moth flutters in the air.

Quickly glancing around the campus stretches out before you a vacant lot. In that moment of surveying, delicate wings rapidly flutter fast and wild against your face.

“Ack!” A surprised squawk leaves you at the moth’s sudden charge.

“I told you!” You hiss out waving the bug away. “You could’ve waited for me at home.”

The moth, outraged by your words, rushes against your face harder. Silk wings flap hard while it continues waving around your line of sight in a flurry.

“Calm down, you big baby!” You snap back annoyed and start stomping towards your car.

Now the little insect stops its fluttering attack to gently land on your face. As the bug travels across your cheek, its presence is a gentle tickling sensation. It finally stops and rests against you.

“Happy now?” You mutter low praying no one spots you with a large white moth on your face.

“I’m gonna pick up dinner. So are you getting in the car or meeting me back home?” You speak casual yet still within a low mutter.

With a delicate tickle again, the moth scurries across your cheek then across your nose making your lips twitch in a slight giggle.

Then the creature flutters away, your answer.

The pizzeria you end up at is adorably cozy. You spotted it during the drive to and from campus. Once you read the online reviews and got their blessing you decided to check it out.

Christmas lights hang from the takeout counter where you wait for your order. There’s even a quaint bar-like area. But what catches your attention is the small section of things littering the walls behind the counter.

It reminds you of a scrapbook.

Various newspaper clippings clutter one side. A few blurry photos are folded and pinned to the board. Plenty of hand drawn images scatter among the collage and they range from adorable to terrifying.

All of these things are about one single moth creature.

The board itself is even titled -

The Moth’s Nest.

Moth nests can be disastrous. They infect fast and are hard to exterminate. Plus once they create a nest, infestation is soon to follow.

“Ah, looking at our board.” A smooth voice purrs into the air and you turn towards it in slight embarrassment.

A beautiful blonde woman grins at you from behind the counter now.

“I heard the town had a moth thing but this…” from the drawings, which all included a strange humanoid like creature, this is far from the high moth population count it was known for.

The woman barks an amused laugh and it crinkles her rather lovely eyes.

“You could say that,” she grins. “You new here?”

“Sort of.” You nod. You’ve been here for almost a full semester now and you wonder if the newness will ever melt away.

“Well then, welcome to town!” The woman’s name is Yuki and for being a newcomer she pays for your pizza.

“Even though you got this for takeout, why don’t you stay? Eat here and keep me company.” She winks and you happily slide into the open seat she pulls up for you at the checkout counter.

“So what’s a lovely thing like yourself doing here?” Yuki asks smoothly and you almost choke on your first bite.

After she cackles a warm charismatic laugh, you swallow through your surprise and tell her.

“An en-tah what?” She caws confused like a bird and even her furrowed brows make you snicker.

“An entomologist,” you clarify.

In simple terms, you study bugs.

“Oh!” Yuki’s eyebrows fly fast up into her bangs as her eyes twinkle excitedly. “So you’re all about the creepy crawlers then.”

“Not all of them,” you reply back friendly.

You favored Odonatology and Lepidopterology.

The studies of dragonflies, damselflies, butterflies and in this case-

Moths.

“Well now,” Yuki grins and turns to glance at the board. “Looks like you’re in the right place to find moths.”

It was one of the reasons why you chose this program. The university boasted a plentiful and hands-on ecosystem to explore right within the town’s backyard. You just never expected an urban legend to come attached to the critter population.

Curiously you nudge your face towards the odd journalistic collection and ask about it.

Yuki’s face melts into a wistful look that casts a surprising shadow on her.

“It’s a creature that apparently lives in the woods…” she begins, low and steady.

No one knew how or when it began inhabiting the forest. Some argued it’s a simple folklore meant to scare rowdy kids from venturing into the woods.

“The stories say it’s an actual demon.” Yuki explains.

“There’s a belief that anyone who sees it either dies soon after or calamity befalls the town.”

Yuki’s words conjure up a poisonous fear. She adds how any sight of the cryptid, even in the strongest of nonbelievers, brought a sense of unease.

“But,” Yuki shrugs easily turning back to you. “Some people say that thing is a hero.”

The word hero gets tangled in your ribs

Your new friend explains there are those who have seen the beast and lived to tell a different tale.

Multiple children on different occasions have got lost in the woods. Yet, they always found their way out. Most of them claimed the moth creature helped them.

“There’s even an elderly man who went hiking and still swears up and down that thing saved him from getting attacked by a mountain lion.” Yuki comments.

“That’s a big claim.” You admire the thought of this monstrous creature possibly being a silent guardian. However, it festers something dangerous in your heart that weaves a sticky web.

The pizza on your plate grows cold. The lone drink you were nursing now is a watered down mess. You’ve lost your appetite and decide to head home.

There’s not much for your mind to process. It feels like the same sensation of walking out of a horror film and trying to understand what you saw. You try to rationalize this disorienting simply the same sensation you’d also get hearing ghost stories at sleepovers.

Yuki urges you with a warm charm that you’ll come and visit again, you promise her you will.

Walking out with leftovers in the box, the night greets you with a soupy fog. The lingering storms coat the streets in a mystic cloud.

You wonder if this clouded fog is inside your mind as well.

You’re about to take a step out into the parking lot when a horrifying animalistic shriek pierces the air.

It sounds distorted, a static shrill cry summoned from an ancient abomination.

The screech shoots straight into your bones startling you and making you jump in a pause.

In that moment a car speeding way too fast for a parking lot flies by you. It drives by with a whirling speed rattling the wind.

The noise, the shriek, stopped you from stepping out into the car’s path.

You mind buzzes, maybe too much. The gloomy air seeps into your skin and brings a heaviness over your body. You exhale shakily trying to just settle yourself as you head home.

When you return to the tiny closet of your apartment, there outside against the balcony door your white moth flutters furiously waiting for you.

Sliding the door open you’re about to greet your extra house guest until the text chime on your phone draws your attention away.

As you check your phone charging on the couch, a sudden thud lands against your apartment floors. The flapping of wings flutters into the room.

Before you can even turn around, a shadow falls over you. The presence of something large looms like a ghost, silent and steady yet radiating a chill besides you. Then a firm fuzzy face suddenly dives into the side of your neck burrowing against your skin.

“You need to be more careful.” A voice crystal and aware, yet flickering as if it speaks through the branches of the woods, clicks at you.

You think of the car that blazed by.

“It happens and I’m okay.” You reassure.

The inhuman face hiding in your neck draws back. Then a firm head soon enough gently butts against yours. The action jolts you out of your thoughts and you rapidly turn towards the heaviness leaning against you.

Crawled straight from the shadow of the woods, from the whispers of terrified stories, the creature before you still doesn’t seem real.

You think of Yuki and the moth’s nest board at the pizza shop. All the pictures depict the creature with haunting crimson eyes.

You wish you could have told Yuki the monster’s eyes aren’t red, but instead a piercing sky blue.

And instead of two eyes, the creature holds six beautiful eyes all over his face.

All six eyes of those eyes blink at you with the depth of a haunted lake shimmering within their gaze.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Why do you want to study insects?”

Discovering the cryptid could talk was honestly more surprising than discovering he was real.

Also, he had a name.

“Sa-to-ru.” He had told you, pronouncing its syllables as if your little human brain might not get it. It made you scowl. Yet the name itself sounded like something that fluttered out of the forest breeze.

Currently the moth creature, Satoru, sits happily on your apartment balcony under the dark cover of night. You have articles you need to read, lab reports to finish. But, you stay sitting on the floor beside him.

“My grandfather studied them.” You explain, giving the same answer you always do when this question is asked.

“He loved almost every type of bug there was.”

“Sounds like my type of human.” The moth amusedly chitters. “Love to meet him.”

“Honestly, he would’ve loved to meet you too.” You truthfully admit and almost grin thinking of how excited your grandpa would’ve been to see this creature.

“Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago.” You add simply.

“Oh.” The cryptid replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You politely thank him.

“Is he the one besides the moth?”

You’re surprised Satoru even noticed that.

The frame sits on your eclectic shelf filled with books and trinkets. There’s two pictures in that frame. One is a photo of your grandfather during his days when he moved out here to teach at the university you currently attend. The other photo is you and him both holding up big nets when you were a little weed of a thing looking so happy besides him.

Besides those photos is his favorite sketch.

“It’s a luna moth, right?” He’s right again. Though, you’re not surprise he recognized it.

“Yup, the lunar moth was his favorite.” You fondly agree.

Actias luna.

Your grandpa used it as his example of how beautiful and lovely moths could be.

“He’s a man of good taste.” The moth compliments and for some reason it tugs at your lips. You can almost hear your grandfather's voice warmly boasting in pride.

“I wanna show you something, little human.” The moth quickly changes topic and when you turn to him, you find him grinning.

Rows of dangerous sharpened fangs flash within his mouth. They are a visible warning to not trust this creature, but you do.

“After your class this week, I’ll take you somewhere.” Satoru urges.

“Are you going to eat me?” You ask a bit stunned.

Satoru laughs, a flickering chirping noise that bounces off your apartment balcony.

“Oh little human, if I did eat humans I would’ve done that already.”

You glare at him but sighing you agree to whatever he has in store for you.

On your last class of the week, there outside against the campus street light your white moth flutters excitedly.

You think about how dangerous it is that he sticks around campus, even in this form.

With a rapid flurry he flies around your face. You can’t help but snort at the tickling sensation.

“Yeah I’m here, let’s go.” You tease.

Under the twilight hazee, you follow the moth into the woods.

The setting sun casts a shadow over the stretching forest. The trees silently watch your hesitant trek as you follow the moth further into the thickness.

Eventually you’re in the heart of it. No noise greets you, not even the rustling of birds or the fleeing of other animals. It’s as if in this depth all life had stilled. No movement or sign of life encroaches into this space. You realize this might have been the most ridiculous idea, following this cryptid myth into the unknown.

Suddenly the moth stops in front of a large solid tree.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” You’re a bit confused. The insect flutters around you in a huffy flight then goes to spin around the tree.

Satoru himself now slides out from behind the tree in his humanoid form.

“It’s not just a tree.” His six eyes narrow at you annoyed. Your eyes roll exhausted with him already.

“Do you trust me?”

The question surprises you.

Hesitantly you nod, a quiet yes. Satoru then effortlessly scoops you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

A wild squeak escapes you. His firm arms hold you in his grasp and your mind starts scrambling being this close to him. The fur of his body tickles your arms and the solid warmth of him curls around you.

Satoru’s chittering laugh bounces among the trees.

He then takes flight.

You swallow back a petrified screech threatening to escape and simply let the wind rush around you. A solid thud comes, a landing.

“Open your eyes, little human.” Satoru whispers excited.

You hadn’t realized you had closed them.

The nest before you is a cobwebbed cocoon. You had never seen one this big. The opening of it is carved out wide, a webbed open maw with secrets trying to draw you in.

“Go in, you can see more.” His wistful voice skitters out playful, so light it could get caught in the tree branches.

He’s eager to show you this.

Hesitantly you lean into the nest just to glance inside.

It’s actually rather cozy. Webs and branches twist in a delicate pattern to create a solid enclosing. Leaves scatter the inside floor that is rather large. You can even imagine his large form curled in here cat-like as he sleeps.

“So? What do you think?” He asks with an anticipated edge blooming in his voice. He’s showing you his home.

You remember when he first showed himself to you, even gave you his name.

The logical reasoning within you thought many times about studying this cryptid. There was even a fleeting moment you considered capturing him and returning him back to the lab.

Now you are here discovering his home. You find yourself wanting to unearth as much as you can of this incredibly infuriating but wonderfully interesting creature.

“It’s nice!” You earnestly admire the space. Yet, the truth whispers a harrowing fact.

The bigger the nest, the bigger the infection and danger.

So you instead turn to glance out to the forest around. You’re so high above in the canopy of the trees. Silence seems to settle thicker here among the sky and it mingles with the evening darkness.

The forest, even as tranquil as it appears, holds a sense of loneliness you can’t fully describe.

“Have you been here at this spot for long?”

He chirps a humming yes.

“The high placement keeps me safe and away from prying eyes.” Among the trees and leaves he is simply a shadow.

“Do people try to hunt you?” That grim thought arrives.

“A few try, but no one’s even come close.” A cocky pride brims in Satoru’s tone.

You understand why people would try and search for him. But to hunt him like some prized sport? So you have to ask why.

“Besides some humans believe killing me will solve and save them from all their disasters, a select few who want me for other purposes.” Satoru muses as his antennas twitch.

“What other purposes?” You glance back at the cryptid perched on the solid large branch beside you.

In the dark, all six eyes glimmer with an animalistic reflection, a haunting gleam and reminder of the creature's true nature before you.

All those months ago, these multiple eyes stared at you from the edge of the woods by your apartment and the campus like silent terrors. Now they watch you with intent safety right by your side.

“There’s an old legend…” Satoru answers. “It says my kind could bring someone back from the dead.”

The words spark a curious flame in you.

“Wait, really? Is it true?”

The moth being simply shrugs, an action so human you almost want to laugh.

“Some believe it. That’s enough to hunt my kind.”

So many questions cluster in your mind. You wonder more about his kind, about him. Yet there is no way to scoop all those questions out.

All you can do is gaze out at the scenery before you.

The trees pierce the darkness with their own spiked tendrils. The night sky blankets above you with twinkle stars, glimmering pockets of faint light so clear.

Yet, for some reason this again feels so lonely.

Even with the stretching comforting woods, you can’t shake the sensation of solitude slipping out.

“So why do you still stick around?” You suddenly ask not even understanding why yourself.

“What? Around you or here?” He asks.

“Both.”

A chirp of a sigh comes, heavy with an ancient weary.

“I’ve thought about leaving, migrating somewhere else, somewhere safer.” His voice drops gently, a small click in the wind.

“But…” His voice trails off even more delicate.

“Something just keeps…pulling me back here. Like I’m meant to be here. That I’ve been waiting for something.” You’ve never heard him this wistful and distant.

Then his response also has you curious.

“Do you have any idea what it is?” You cautiously and gently press.

“No idea.” His answer is rapidly too casual that you snort, shaking your head.

“And why am I still hanging around you? Who knows, maybe I just like to bug you.”

The pun isn’t lost especially on you and you groan annoyed even though a smile twitches at your lips.

Among the shade of stars and shadow of the forest, you sit with a creature of the darkness.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The moth had first appeared at your window balcony dancing around the light like an ethereal wisp of a spirit. It happily flew around you and even spun around your entire apartment. You eventually had to shoo it out.

For a while, it was simply you and this strangely persistent moth.

After that, six eyes began appearing at night at the edge of the woods. Strange clicks like howls erupted in the air, haunting lingering sounds that rattled you.

That same week the moth showed up to your apartment flying in a bit of distress. The wings of it flapped slower and you wondered if it was dehydrated or dying.

As you had opened the sliding door to the balcony, that’s when you first witnessed it.

Like butterflies, moths go through a similar life cycle of emerging from a pupa or chrysalis. The new adult insects must crawl out of its old cocoon. The process is the blend of life and destruction.

You discovered the same applied to moth creatures.

The wings fell first then the twisting and emergence of a body from the small frame transformed to life a fully formed creature.

That first time the moth creature metamorphosed on the balcony you screamed so loud your neighbor across the hall came worriedly to check on you.

You had hoped it was all just a bad dream…

Now when you return home early, that monster rests in your bed instead of lurking under it like all the scary stories whisper where monsters lie.

Curled within the sheets, burrowed deep and taking up the entire frame, the creature slumbers. You barely can spot Satoru underneath all the pillows. A few of your shirts peek out from the swirl of blankets and you try not to linger on that.

The messy twisted bed cocoon however does make you think of the grand nest you saw.

A faint snore grumbles out into the room. The muffled animalistic noise should frighten you. Instead it echoes a soothing rumble as you go to make dinner.

In the meditative process of cutting, claws scratching against the tile floor startles you. Your heart skips at the sudden noise and your face whips to the entryway.

In this form, the moth cryptid has to hunch from touching the ceiling.

Satoru’s imposing frame fills up the entire space even with his thick wings folded to his body. The intricate beautiful antennas on top of his head flicker curious. Among the monstrous features, human-like qualities are visible in his arms, his legs, and the core of his body. Yet even in that familiarity, he is covered in sleek fur.

The sigh of this unbelievable being in this tiny kitchen almost has you laughing. Months ago this would have made you scream in terror. Now, his existence has settled into your life a strange blooming metamorphosis.

Then all six of Satoru’s clustered eyes go wide in terror.

His talons rattle rapidly on the floor as he scurries to your side.

“Your hand.” He comments sharply.

Glancing down, blood trickles over your hand and drips softly onto the cutting board. The cut thankfully isn’t deep, simply sliced the top of your finger.

“Guess that means I’m ordering out.” You mutter.

However your new companion immediately snags your hand.

Satoru’s grasp is hard, a terrified clutch as if he’s worried the cut will worsen. Flickering your gaze to him now, all six eyes focus at your hand with a startling petrified seriousness.

“I’m fine.” You reassure. “Let me just grab a band aid.”

The creature’s firm hold is unrelenting, refusing to budge even as you tug to release your hand.

“Hey-” you’re about ready to chide him and urge him to let go-

Until the moth cryptid leans down and with a long thin tongue begins licking at your wound.

Air gets knocked out of your lungs.

You mind can’t process the sight but the wet tickle of his tongue swiping along your skin grounds you. Satoru’s tongue swipes frantically and fast, a panic.

A dangerous heat runs up your arm and claws at your chest. This shouldn’t feel this intimate. Yet, it does.

You can’t even exclaim in surprise because in the small dimly lit kitchen, the moth has you under his spell.

Instead of the panic, there’s now an eased almost lazy and leisurely lap at your skin. The way his tongue slides across you is as if he’s trying to savor you. It slithers with a reverence between your knuckles, across your fingers, and your mind slowly melts.

Then with one last slow deliberate lick, Satoru draws back.

A daze has fallen over your foggy mind filled with smoke until you blink and notice your cut is gone.

Blood faintly lingers around his mouth, coloring the white fur of his face and it should scare you. And it does but the fear comes from how gorgeous he looks, and knowing it’s your blood…

The thin tongue immediately darts out to lick at the bloody traces.

The sight teeters into an overwhelming sensation and you forcibly break your focus to glance back at your healed hand.

“You have healing powers?” You croak out trying to process the sight.

“No.” For a creature that lives in the woods, he understands sarcasm rather well.

You glare at the creature who now tilts his face away. He avoids your eyes as he fiddles with the edge of your shirt.

“Moths can't heal.” You comment.

“I’m not like a typical moth now am I, little human?”

That damn nickname.

Annoying as Satoru is, you still can’t believe the sight of your healed fingers.

“Thank you for healing me.” You mutter still not able to process but are grateful all the same.

The moth creature hums a proud amused thing you quietly ignore.

Moths didn’t have healing properties. Hawk Moths could recreate antioxidants in their body to replenish themselves. You wonder if that’s how Satoru operates with his abilities.

Another part of you, one that sounds warmly like your grandfather’s voice, whispers that the creatures of this world simply hold mysteries we may not ever know.

You suppose the cryptid refusing to leave your side is the solidified truth of that.

Suddenly Satoru’s head softly plops against the top of yours.

With soft gentle rumbles he rubs his face into your hair.

“You know,” you begin softly as your fingers itch to run up against his fur. “You don’t have to keep sticking around here.”

“Hm?” Satoru hums out a bit dreamily.

“You can go back to where you’re from. You don’t need to keep staying with me out of obligation for freeing you or feeling like… you have a debt you want to repay.” You breathe the words out firmer.

The nuzzling against your head stops.

“Oh?” Satoru begins with a curious chirp. “That’s not why I stay.”

His confident reply stills you.

“Like I said maybe I just like bugging you.” He grins coy. “And besides, I stay because eating the fabric of your clothes is pretty nice free food and I like scaring away any humans that might come by.”

“You bring me closer to buying an electric fly swatter!” You screech and swat him away.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” He whines and flutters his wings almost taken back.

You ignore him and his annoying clicks vying for your attention while you order dinner for the night.

“I forget…Humans are so easily annoyed. You most especially.” He says bristly and it’s the last straw.

Healing your arm or not, this creature manages to wiggle under your skin in a way that no one else has. You blame the damn moth for how on edge you feel. Yet the truth lies in the strange unfathomable heat still brewing under your skin.

As you leave you get food you stare at him hard. You sling the balcony door open, a silent demand he leaves. His multiple eyes, shimmering sapphires, search your face.

“I see...” His reply is a brisk breeze.

Turning your back to him, you head to grab your keys. You don’t even see him leave and instead stomp to head out.

You even fully close your bedroom window. It’s the crack of an entrance you’ve recently been leaving open that allows him to flutter in when he’s a smaller moth.

Now as leave you’re thankful for the momentary space from the infuriating infestation.

Against the early night sky the pizzeria glows an electric beacon against the darkness. Clamoring chatter and an upbeat song greet you when you step inside. You’re not surprised it’s packed on a night like this.

Yuki yells a bright excited welcome at you from across the restaurant and it warms you.

Now leaning at the bar your attention can't help but find its way to the bulletin board by the entryway. Even with the annoyance and conflicting desire, seeing the arranged clutter about the local moth creature draws out a strange sinking feeling within you.

“You interested in the bug?”

A deep rumble of a voice drips out smooth and breaks your focus immediately.

Turning to the side, you discover you’re not alone at the bar.

The man is thick, solidly built and strikingly handsome. He seems older than you, with an aged weathered dignified presence about him. With only black hair and a scar across the corner of his lip, he sits looking bored at the counter with a toothpick in his mouth.

“It’s interesting.” You admit truthfully.

“Think the bug is real?” The man questions with the faintest hint of curiosity.

You shrug again. “Anything is possible I guess.”

“Indeed it is.” Now his voice holds an interested purr that sticks to your skin in an uncomfortable way.

Your eyes flicker back to him and you find his attention however is on the board.

“Some say it’s a demon.” He suddenly adds.

“I’ve heard.” You agree calmly.

“Whatever it is…it’s bad luck.” The mystery man says briskly.

You heard that as well.

“Some say it’s not.” For some reason, a small protective spike rises in you and you even think about Yuki calling it a hero.

“Yeah well, everyone can read an omen wrong I guess.” His words cast a dangerous thickness into the air that slithers up your skin.

“Besides, there’s an old legend I heard once.” he continues.

“It says…if a moth flies into your home it means someone is going to die.”

Dread crashes into your body and consumes you quickly. You’ve never heard that saying before and it bubbles an awful bile in your stomach making you feel sick.

“That’s awful.” You can’t help but answer back sharply it even surprises you.

You think of your grandfather, his belief moths were angels, and how that guided you to where you are now.

And you can’t help but think of the moth in question.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans back into his seat to stare at you.

No response for him seems to come to mind. If anything, a strange chill trickles down your spine as if you’re staring down a creature surveying and waiting to strike.

Yuki calls out your name and breaks your focus.

“Wish I could stay and chat but we’re a bit busy tonight!” She winks at you and now you grin, eased at her presence.

You wish her a good night and begin gathering your order to leave.

“Be careful out there.” The stranger mutters. Your eyes flicker to him. His attention is back on the slice of pizza before him.

“Don’t know what might be out there trying to fly into your house this time of night.”

His words create a sticky cobweb of emotions in you. You simply take your food and rush out.

Driving back to the apartment you glance at your hand fully healed and still lingering with the phantom sensation of the moth’s tongue licking at your skin.

You think of how effortlessly this strange creature carved a space in your life.

Now a sense of danger prickles against your skin, like the way the air tightens electric before a storm.

When you arrive home, a silent apartment greets you. The emptiness clouds your space and the walls creep in close and cold.

A piece of you expected him to return, maybe even hoped. But trying to sort through those emotions again bubbles a strange ache in your chest.

Before you go to bed you slightly open your bedroom window and settle under the covers. Closing your eyes, you accept the silence and solitude lingering in your room and heart.

Sleep trickles in faintly. You fade in and out of being awake.

Then your bed shifts.

A heaviness immediately curls against you. The softest brush of moth wings graze your arm. Soft chirps, faint and delicate, float into the room.

Satoru’s face burrows against the top of your head, a silent apology.

This is new.

He’s never done this before. He’s never slept on your bed with you. But your heart races too fast in your chest and your mind still feels so clouded from this night that you can’t even react.

Or, you don’t want to react.

This is new, yes. But a wild desperation inside of you sinks its claws into this new proximity. You simply keep your eyes closed and shift to settle deeper into the bed, deeper into his warmth.

The smell of the brisk forest, clear and earthy, lulls you to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, you’re alone.

A part of you wonders if you dreamed his return.

Yet on your nightstand rests a sweet plucked wildflower that wasn't there before. It greets you a bright good morning.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

Your open apartment balcony door brings in a warm evening breeze. A favorite series of yours plays on the television as you grab another mouthful of popcorn.

“Can I have some?” Satoru whimpers.

“No.” You answer through the mouth of popcorn.

“So mean! Why are you so cruel to me, little human!?” He pouts and you simply ignore him.

Even with the moth creature crouching on the floor his body still looks frightfully full and large. His fur is fluffed out more and he almost looks adorable like this simply sitting beside you.

His presence should create a distorted sense of reality. Yet no sense of panic rises within you. If anything, only more curiosity has started gnawing in you.

What kind of moth species did he originate from? Where was he even originally from? Did he have a family?

“What’s your favorite human activity to do?” It seems you were not the only one curious.

Recently Satoru has begun pestering you with a plethora of questions from what foods did you like the most to these more strange human specific ones.

“Don’t know, I have a lot.” You answer truthfully.

You rationalize all the questions you have and that he even asks are mutual inquisitive curiosity about the other’s species, a chance to learn.

Except, for you, the source of your curiosity masquerades as a yearning you don’t want to hunt out yet.

“Humans are terrified of the oddest things.”

Satoru’s comment breaks your thoughts.

You turn towards the creature who stares at the television with all six eyes.

The series you had put on had been an old favorite of yours, supernatural and fantasy based. The main heroes in this episode were being terrorized by monsters that came alive from a children’s book of old fairy tales.

“Well this series is older so the effects and monster makeup isn’t all that impressive.”

“Not that.” The moth corrects you quickly. “I mean that creature isn’t even scary.”

You want to make a comment about how of course a creature that crawled from the woods and haunts a town would not find this terrifying.

“What are you afraid of?” Again the moth humanoid questions.

You shrug. “A lot of things.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything.” He chirps so matter of factly it surprises you. “Especially because I’m here now.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his cocky boast. Yet your heart flips at the protective claim.

“But…I do think humans may be the scariest creatures of all.” Satoru notes with a wistful distance in his voice.

You wonder if he’s trying to tease you or even be a bit poetically pessimistic.

“I agree.” You nod reaching for popcorn. “Humans can sometimes be scary.”

In all the beauty that comes with being human, you know there is a darkness that comes with the territory. The lovely prickle of rain starting to fall soothes you as the episode jumps to the next.

It’s one of your favorites. The main character gains a secret wish stone that transforms into her love interest because she desires and wishes for him most of all.

You rise to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“What do you wish for most, little human?”

His words stop you frozen. They come out so simple, a curious purr almost.

Your mind tries to reach towards something noble and grand like to wish for world peace or wish for climate change to end. You think of wishing for a better car, better apartment, to get rid of your money problems.

Yet it all cultivates into a simple easy response.

“Love, I guess.” It’s a simplified answer.

“That?” Even Satoru sounds dubious.

“Yeah…love. If you have love, then everything else sort of just falls into place.” With love at the cornerstone, everything can build from there.

A chittering like sigh dances into the room.

“Boring. At least say something interesting like an endless supply of sugar or something like that.”

You can’t help but snort at such a silly answer.

“Is that you’d wish for then?” You now ask the creature.

“Mhm…maybe. Or maybe something extra special your little human mind couldn’t comprehend.” Such a coy response only makes you roll your eyes.

But for some reason, that answer feels heavy like it needs to be unearthed. You don’t push the answer, or him.

As you clean up around the kitchen, you glance back to the living room. There Satoru rapidly consumes all your popcorn as fast as he can.

“You freaking pest!” You screech annoyed and he simply blinks his six blue marble eyes at you as if he did nothing wrong.

“I’m not a pest.” He replies innocently and it annoys you even more.

“You’re literally a moth! What is more pest-like than that?!”

Satoru’s monstrous face flickers. It faintly crumbles until his eyes hollow out a cold downcast.

“Right there? You just sounded just like every other human.” His words, low, raw and sharp, rip through you.

He doesn’t say it but you hear the undercurrent.

I thought you were better than that.

A festering ache swells in your chest as the weight of his words drag you under.

Quietly you start making two bowls of popcorn now. You grab the chocolate syrup. Satoru had a fierce sweet tooth. It took you by surprise when your gas station candy treat went missing and his sticky fur said enough.

So you drizzle plenty of chocolate over the salty snack then you quietly speak.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

A moment of silence fills the space.

“It’s alright little human... Sometimes I forget your little human brain makes so many mistakes like that. I can’t get too mad.” He chirps so bored.

You’re tempted now to throw away the chocolate popcorn.

Thankfully the air seems to lighten as you head back to the living room two popcorn bowls in hand.

There Satoru’s multitude of eyes are entirely glued to the television now. The familiar dialogue comes and you whip your attention to the screen as well.

The big realization between the main heroine and her love interest unfolds as he realizes what her wish manifested as.

The moment is heated, drenched in undeniable chemistry. The magnetic pull even has you entrapped. Then the love interest without hesitation pulls the heroine and kisses her with a fierce released love.

Now it feels so intimate, too raw to watch. You turn away under the guise of grabbing more popcorn.

“Is that how humans show affection?” Satoru’s voice is a curious twinkle of a chirp.

“Yup,” you weakly agree while you check your phone hoping to seem disinterested.

“Seems aggressive.” For some reason his disgusted comment makes you snort.

“Uh, it depends. Kissing is…” there’s much you can say on the manner but you simply shrug.

“It’s nice.” A simple but true answer.

“What’s it feel like?” The question drips with an inquisitive click but for some reason it slithers dangerously under your skin.

“Uh…again, it depends. There’s different types of kisses for different situations and the emotions can change with them.” You explain.

“Sounds complicated.” Satoru muses and you snicker relaxed with the episode ending.

“I thought you knew all about human interactions?” You now ask, curious yourself.

“Not in that way.” That’s fair.

“Or really…I’ve just never been interested in seeing humans interacting in that way.” He adds rather low.

“Until recently.” That addition he gives cuts across you as if it’s covered with sharp glass edges.

“Guess this series does that, even to moth creatures.” You lightly try diffusing whatever shift starts to swirl in the room and drag you into its current.

Satoru stays quiet, curled into himself and his wings. Very faintly his antennas droop, enough that you notice it.

Rain now steadily prattles on peacefully mixing with the episode playing. Yet in the silence your skin crawls with something unspoken you can’t evade.

You close your eyes hoping to avoid any more questions and pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Naturally, a nap overtakes you and you jolt awake when a text message brightly wakes you up.

“So what episode are we on?” You sleepily ask, noticing the cryptid hasn’t left. Evening would be arriving soon, the time Satoru normally slipped back into the woods.

“A weird one.” He mutters and now curiosity flickers in you over which episode it is.

Your eyes widen.

Of course it would be this one.

The heroine’s best friend falls in love with a monster living in a cave. It’s another one of your favorites. Now, the obvious reality sinks its fangs into your throat.

“This is the most ridiculous one by far.” Satoru scoffs. “No human would actually love a monster like this.”

His words deflate something in you. All the nerves and prickling emotions scatter.

“I don’t know.” You offer back lightly. “Maybe there’s something extra human to love a monster.”

All six eyes rapidly blink towards you. Their glassy yet sharp attention focuses so intently and it’s unnerving.

“You don’t mean that.” He snips and it distorts his voice more than normal.

You shrug.

“What do you mean by that?” He annoyingly asks, persistent.

What you mean is sometimes humanity can see through what society deems as monstrous and instead love the core of what a being is.

“I mean, it’s like what the episode says,” you nudge towards the television.

“If love is fanged even between humans, why can’t a monster find that same love?” You quote it vaguely but enough to capture the core.

The same goes for humans you explain.

“Cause like what we said earlier, humans are a bit scary from time to time right? A little bit monstrous ourselves?”

So why not settle with a love fanged and coated in the shadows.

The episode takes a shift when the heroine’s best friend greedily kisses the bat-like creature. An electric desire jolts across your spine as it dries your throat.

“I never knew humans could…desire something like this.” Satoru’s eyes now unabashedly stare at the television with a religious focus almost afraid to look away.

“Some do.” You try sounding casual, but your voice croaks.

A heavy fog clouds your mind. Before he can ask or comment anything else you brightly announce you’re going to take a shower. You scurry to the bathroom without even once glancing at the moth monster.

It’s a pathetic excuse but it’s early evening now. This decision isn’t entirely out of the blue. You just need to cool down and take yourself away from the moment.

However, under the weight of the water, under the heat of the steam, you try washing away the festering arousal seeping into your veins.

The episode flashes in your mind. Except this time you picture yourself in the arms of the towering moth creature.

This danger has been brewing well beneath the surface and now slips past its shackles.

It rips you open raw and wild, unrelenting in a way that a slick heat already pools between your legs. You should not, by all rational means, be attracted much less so attached to this monster. Yet, you are.

You remember how easily he swept you into his arms, how solid and built his frame is. He is stunning. You can’t even deny that.

You even think about how comforting a presence he was in your bed. Those thoughts melt and mutate dangerously.

Now, you imagine how warm and solid he would feel against you, between your legs. What he looks like drunk on pleasure-

Exhaling shakily, you turn the shower as cold as you can.

When you return to the living room after the shower, the sliding door is still wide open. Rain continues to twinkle its beautiful song into the living room, a living room now very vacant.

No moth creature is in sight and the bowl of chocolate drizzled popcorn remains untouched.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

In the research lab you grade quizzes from the class you work assisting with. This time during the week the lab is thankfully empty and it gives you time

to catch up on your articles and work.

A surprise knock however disrupts that peace.

Your advisor walks in with a warm grin. Besides her is the man from the bar.

A confused anxiousness seizes your heart and you try keeping your face composed.

You politely smile as your advisor calls your name.

“This is Toji Fushiguro. He’s an agent from the local conservation group trying to investigate where our dear little moth friend went.” Your advisor explains polite and casual.

Your heart sinks rapidly.

The unknown moth had been in a large observation box the first time you saw it.

It had been a new and recent find. Being a first year in the program, you simply were allowed to watch and observe the new species.

Bigger than a typical silk moth, the unidentified moth had beautiful intricate designs on its wings you’d never seen. The little creature was also incredibly feisty. On multiple occasions it flew into the side of the box as if trying to push its way out.

Now that glass enclosure sits empty.

“Do you think it would be alright if he asks you a few questions?”

You happily agree hoping that cooperating will divert any attention from yourself.

With a grin your advisor leaves the room to give you and Fushiguro space. Now alone with the man from the bar, he sleepy grins a coy amused thing.

“So, we meet again.” That deep voice sulks out with a lure that feels poisonous and sticky.

“We do.” You nod politely.

“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re a bug fan.” He scratches at his jaw and for some reason his casual attitude towards you twists your stomach.

You want to make a witty comeback but nothing comes to mind. Instead you stare down this mysterious man.

“What makes a cutie like you get into bugs huh?” He asks casually.

“My grandfather.” You answer truthful and curt.

“Hm, that’s nice.” Fushiguro nods understandingly.

His eyes begin scanning the lab with that same boredom he wore at the restaurant bar.

“So when did ya let the moth escape?” His relaxed question makes you choke.

“Excuse me?!” You snap. “I didn’t let the moth out.”

Except you had.

The first night you stayed late at the lab you accidentally forgot to close the windows.

In that mishap, the moth escaped. You were thankful another class used the lab after you and disrupted the possibility of anything being pinned to you.

The department of course was a bit disheartened. However, everyone warmly joked about half of the job of being an entomologist is chasing after things way too fast to catch.

That happened months ago.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Toji Fushiguro leans against the table with a brazen ease. “I’m here looking for that thing cause it’s dangerous.”

For some reason, you don’t fully believe him.

“Remember what I told you about moths? They’re bad luck.” His stare is unwavering and cold.

“That’s arguable.” You surprisingly fire back.

Toji Fushiguro shrugs. He slides his hands into his jogger pant’s pockets.

“If that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I need to ask you to please leave. I have work to do.” You answer sharp and composed.

He simply shrugs again and pushes himself off the table he leans against.

Without another word Toji Fushiguro simply heads to the door. Before he leaves the man stops.

“That bad luck I told you about? S’gonna catch up to you soon, pretty. Just want to give you a warning.”

It sounds like a threat instead of a warning.

At his words a venomous bile pools in your mouth and you almost want to snarl at this man. He leaves with just a casual wave of his hand and not another word.

The rest of the time in the lab you can’t focus on anything. You simply float in this strange inertia.

When you leave, no moth flutters outside to greet you.

A new wave of terror wiggles through your stomach.

Your apartment is also deadly silent. Worry prickles all over your body as you slide open the balcony door. You even peer out into the woods hoping to find six gleaming eyes staring out.

Yet only the darkness, eternal and empty, stares back an ancient unforgiving warning.

So try pushing aside this rattling worried energy. You try to make dinner, even put on a favorite movie for background noise.

Your mind however can’t leave the thought of Toji Fushiguro. Mainly, you worry about the absence of your moth. Fear eats away at you as if an actual creature has crawled inside.

And maybe he has.

You miss him. You miss Satoru. You’re worried about him.

He’s become a staple in your life, a strange fixture pestering you. You can’t imagine a day without his presence now.

Then a realization trickles in a slow and sticky truth.

He is a creature of the woods, a myth of the darkness. Maybe he never meant to be yours.

Now here you are. A selfish human simply trying to keep him all to yourself.

A sudden clash of something solid rams into the balcony rail. You can’t help but shriek.

Thee moth creature rapidly shoves his way into your living room. He crawls inside feral like something out of a horror movie.

“Satoru!” You cry out his name and rush towards him.

Satoru’s piercing sky eyes, all six of them, are wide and frantic. His gaze darts around the room. Then he begins sniffing around the space.

“Someone’s been in here.” Satoru’s voice drops, a waterlogged frantic gurgle.

“Wait what?” You ask terrified. “How do you know?

You start glancing around the room now and follow Satoru as he continues rapidly smelling the space. There are no signs of someone breaking in and entering. Nothing even seems out of place or stolen.

“I smell something new. It’s not either one of our scents.” Satoru’s voice drips with a sharp dread and it chokes you.

“What does that mean?” You croak trying not to get caught up in the terror and panic, but their current is so strong.

Suddenly Satoru whips around.

There in the hallway of your apartment he completely consumes the entire space with his imposing frame. The darkness of the hallway and dim lighting casts a grim shadow over him. His wide frantic eyes are animalistic, more than you’ve ever seen.

His shoulders heave with rapid breaths. In a blink Satoru suddenly crams his body against yours.

This giant of a monster curls down to crouch into you. His face begins rubbing against yours. Soft growl like purring rumbles into the air.

You can’t help but whimper his name as fear has you in its maw.

What’s going to happen? What could you do?

You try to voice these questions, these worries, but the words get tangled in your throat.

“Nothing will harm you.” Satoru snaps deadly as the edge of his tone wavers into a frayed growl.

Those strange humming clips and chirps he makes float into the air while he continues comforting you.

Clawed hands curl into your back with a noticeable pressure. There’s a hint of danger in his tight grasp. But then you realize you’re also clutching onto him with an iron hold.

Frustratedly you try blinking away tears managing to stubbornly spill down your cheeks.

Satoru, who still rubs his monstrous face against yours, immediately notices your tears.

A distressing chattering noise comes and you’re readying to reassure him you’re fine.

His tongue instead moves to lick at your tears.

The action stills you immediately. The slick appendage rapidly slithers across your face trying to quickly wipe away your tears.

You think about when he healed your hand, when his tongue wiggled across your skin to lap at your blood. Now here he is again, consuming you, trying to heal and comfort you.

His tongue however slides down across your cheeks tasting the salt of your skin. It immediately sparks to life an intoxicating heat that drowns out the panic.

A part of you wonders about the danger swirling around him and how there might be a possibility that doom is seeping into you.

This might be your doom, to adore a creature composed of myth and nightmare.

You blink and a few lingering tears rapidly run down your cheek straight to the corner of your lip.

Satoru, fast as ever, moves to lick them up. In the process his tongue slithers close to your lips, running across the edge of them.

You inhale sharply and your eyes can’t help but snap open wide. You’re breathing heavily. The way Satoru’s large shoulders begin heaving, so is he.

Suddenly he breathes out your name and it gets tangled in your heart.

“Mine.” Then his voice, animalistic and monstrous, cracks the air with a low possessive growl.

His tongue begins running across your lips without hesitation. The wet wiggling intense sensation has your eyes closing in absolute bliss. You sigh and want to open your mouth to let his tongue slip inside.

“You’re mine.” He snarls out feral and wild. Those strange clicks of his come faster and soon enough his claws draw you closer.

Suddenly Satoru inhales deeply against your skin.

Then he groans a terrible wonderful noise that makes your knees buckle.

“Oh you smell so good.” He slurs. He continues to smell every inch of your skin, trying to map and memorize your scent.

A whimper escapes you and Satoru rumbles out a comforting click.

He begins dragging his down your body with a focused intent.

“Stronger, it’s getting stronger.” He mutters against your clothes.

“Satoru-” you say his name a bit worried.

The moth creature shoves his face unabashedly against your clothed sex. He groans loud, almost debauched and all thoughts float out of you. His antennas rapidly twitch.

“Oh it’s here.” Satoru mumbles in awe, possessed, as if he’s found a deity. “You smell so good here.”

He growls frustrated as he tries burrowing his face closer and closer to your dripping arousal.

You croak out his name waterlogged.

Satoru snaps to look up at you from his knees. All six eyes are glossy and frantic.

“Please? Please, my little human, can I have more?” He begs.

That’s when you notice his mouth is wet drenched with saliva. He’s drooling at just the thought of you, drunk on your smell.

All you can do is nod, caught in the same intoxication desire.

Effortlessly he claws apart your pants at the seam and dives in. You can’t even chide him for that.

Your mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure and lost in its woods. As you cry out while his thin tongue runs up and down every inch of you, you realize Satoru is right.

You are his. And maybe he is yours.

Satoru arrived in your life and never left. He instead stayed in the safety of your light with you under the cover of his wings.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Don’t go to class today.” The moth mumbles.

Satoru has been glued to your side since the discovery of your intruder last week. He barely leaves the apartment and when he does it’s only because you need to leave. Currently he sits on the bedroom floor with wide sleep deprived eyes.

The antennas on top of his head flicker quickly. He’s tried been pushing himself to stand guard even during the day.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just a lecture.” You reassure him.

“Besides, you should take this time to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine.” He mirrors your words back to you.

Your monster’s six eyes hold a daze focused like he’s trying to be aware of everything all at once. Slowly and delicately you let your hand run against his soft face.

The delicate fur, now a tangible dream under your fingertips, is so sulky. The touch jolts the creature into awareness.

Satoru’s eyes all flutter you and instantly his face melts against your hand.

“Don’t go.” He whispers a static like mumble.

“I’ll be okay.” You even lean down to kiss the side of his face.

“Fine, then I’m going.” He snaps a firm unwavering decision and you can’t argue with him.

As you walk to the lecture hall building he flutters so swiftly and dizzying in his normal moth form. He even flies all around your face, another angry urging for you to not go.

You gently hold out your hand. Slowly the moth flutters to land on top of your hand.

He is gorgeous in every form including this one. Shimmering wide eyes, large intricate wings, all composed in this sweet creature furiously crawling over your hand.

“I know you’re still upset, but I’ll be fine.” You softly reassure him for the hundreth time.

He stops and stares at you. Gently you run a finger across his fuzzy little head careful to not touch his antennas.

He flies from your hand and lands immediately on the corner of your lips.

A goodbye kiss.

Your lips twitch amused and deeply fond.

“I’ll see you when class is over.” With that you head to class.

Walking into the classroom, one of your peers excitedly speaks to everyone present in the room.

“Did you guys hear?! Someone just saw the mothman thing on campus a few minutes ago?!”

Terror unfolds in you and your heart collapses among its cage. He must have transformed in the woods, or in flight.

“Really? Are you sure?” A skeptic quickly emerges and you cling to their words.

“No I swear! Everyone’s been talking about it online! So many people saw it fly into the trees by the woods!”

You haven’t been this terrified since the contained moth was missing or since you first saw six reflective eyes staring at you from the dark.

Chatter breaks out immediately with so many discussions. Some of your classmates show their disbelief while others eagerly ask for more information.

You try to keep your composure as you slide into your seat.

“Hey,” someone says your name. Your friend that sits next to you stares at you with a scrunched up face of concern.

“You okay? You look kinda sick.” She frowns.

You wearily smile and use the excuse that you have been under the weather. A cold chill even runs up your spine.

“Then head back home,” she comforts you with understanding eyes. “I’ll send you the notes from today and let you know if you miss anything.”

Grateful you wearily thank her and she nods warm, reassuring, wishing you rest. As you turn to head out you catch the last bit of conversation bubbling along with your classmates.

“Well…if someone saw the moth thing, doesn’t that mean something bad is gonna happen soon?”

“Yeah that’s what the legend says.” Someone grimly agrees.

Scrambling, you shove yourself out of the classroom before you hear anything else.

Now out of the room you shakily exhale trying to calm yourself down.

At this time in the evening the hallways are deathly silent, harrowingly so. Unlike the lab building, so open and light with its many windows and expanded hallways, the lecture hall building’s tight corridors create a haunting clustered stillness.

That stillness seems to be creeping in more and more.

As you walk towards the elevator, sudden footsteps begin stomping behind you.

They are solid and firm, staying a decent pace away from you. The anxiousness from these past few days create an unbearable itch that crawls over your skin.

So you turn around.

And the hallway is dead empty.

No one walks behind you.

Fear tastes icy and rotten as it infects your body. Instantly you whip around to rush to the elevator.

You clash straight into someone.

The collision knocks you out of your thoughts and you quickly blink into focus.

A rush of apologizes stammer out of you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The man you ran into warmly reassures you.

You finally get a good look at him. He’s handsome with a strong jaw and a faint mustache. He looks official in his suit. The smell of cigarettes surround you.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help point me in the direction of the main office.” The man smiles warmly.

This had to be the source of the footsteps you heard. The dread you have slowly simmers at the sight of him.

“Oh course.” You grin weakly at the man, thankful your fear is calming down. “You have to go down to the other end of this hallway-”

A sudden hand comes up from behind you.

It slaps over your mouth with a painful grip. Then something sharp pierces your neck.

The scream from your throat fades along with your focus.

The last thought flashing through your mind before you fade into darkness is that Satoru was right.

You shouldn’t have gone to class.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The jostling of your body wakes you up.

Groggily you blink into focus. You first notice it’s late at night. Next, you’re laid across the back seat of a car and your hands are tied.

In the front seats sit the man you ran into at the school and Toji Fushiguro. You go to scream but a tightly wrapped cloth blocks your mouth.

“You’re awake.” Toji drawls out slowly and surprised.

You screech at him through the material.

“Yeah, I knew you were with the moth this entire time.” He grins at you through the rear window.

You continue to scream as best as you can, sounding feral and panicked as tears fill your eyes.

“Guess living with a monster makes you sound this wild.” Toji Fushiguro’s accomplice mutters without even glancing once at you.

He begins typing away on his phone.

“We got more buyers willing to pay if we bring the moth in alive.” The man comments.

Everything clicks.

They were after Satoru. And you’re the bait.

Maybe Fushiguro’s accomplice is right. Maybe living with a monster has leaked into you because the noise you make doesn’t sound human.

Your scream, still stifled, carries so many emotions. Your pain, terror, anger and frustration, all of it courses through your veins and rips out in waves.

“Hey.” Toji Fushiguro glances back at you from the rear mirror. “Keep it down. I don’t wanna get too aggressive, but I will.”

He casually pulls out a gun and waves it around.

The horrifying casual threat causes your eyes to go wide and now all the fight you had trickles out.

“Watch it!” Suddenly the man in the driver's seat screams out.

Your eyes flicker forward.

Against the darkness, illuminated by the car’s headlights, a looking figure stands in the middle of the road.

Six eyes stare out from the darkness a brilliant terrifying electric blue. Delicate wide moth wings flare out and break against the night.

Through the fabric you scream out his name, except it gets drowned out by the revving of the engine.

Toji speeds up with full intent to hit the creature.

“What are you doing?!” The other man cries out.

You even scream in panic. Your moth however flies up, missing the impact.

He’s gone from sight.

A solid clang lands on the roof.

A sharp stab pierces the top of the car with a snap. The screeching of metal being ripped away follows fast. The eyes of the monster stare into the car with a disastrous terror.

Satoru smiles wild and gleeful at the men, a predator that's captured its prey.

Then…Everything happens in a blink.

The car swerves. The speed makes you feel as if you are flying. The colliding noise of scraping metal and then a solid impact. Everything becomes distorted as if you are in a snow globe spinning and trying to focus on a dizzying fuzzy world.

An unholy monstrous scream rips into the air. It’s all you hear as you fade in and out of consciousness.

You blink and suddenly twigs from the forest floor press against your body. A sharp object pierces your side. Every inch of you screams in pain while also a numbing sensation starts creeping in.

An inhuman roar screeches out and your eyes snap open.

Off to the side along the trees you see the faint edge of Satoru within the darkness. Faintly you hear a wet ripping sound. It’s visceral, like a vulture digging into a macabre carnage.

You watch his clawed hands viscously dig into whatever he stands over. You try gathering your voice trying to say something, anything.

Then six electric eyes snap up to you from the dark forest. He is the terror of the woods, a feral monster interrupted from its hunt.

Your vision however goes blurry and it gets harder staying awake.

A wreck howl of your name breaks into the air.

Tender clawed hands scoop up from the ground. You’re cradled against him gently and tight. The fabric in your mouth gets ripped away and now the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth fast.

You wheeze out Satoru’s name. There’s so much you want to say. But you’re getting so tired.

“Stay awake!” He snarls desperately sensing your exhaustion.

Nothing feels real. Even staring up at your creature, his six eyes seem to become twelve, like clusters of galaxies carved out in the night sky.

But you’re fading. You know and he knows it.

Breathing hurts and now a cool chill runs across your body from the inside.

Your grandfather's words about moths being angels float into your mind.

You recall how terrifying angels are sometimes described. Some of them are composed of wheels of fire, with many wings.

Yours has many eyes.

You’re grateful Satoru is here with you at the end. You’re grateful this angel found you.

Water droplets plop onto your face and you wonder if it’s raining.

Satoru screams your name with absolute anguish. A darkness crawls over your eyes. Soft and peacefully, you fall into its waiting arms.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

A soft steady beeping pulls you out from the darkness.

Wearily you open your eyes. But the bright light of wherever you are immediately has you shutting your eyes tight.

A cold hand touches your arm.

The touch jolts you awake. In a panic your eyes immediately snap open and your body shoots up only to find yourself tangled.

Tubes run from out of your arms. One tube even rests under your nose. The beeping noise you faintly recognize is a heart monitor and realization hits that you’re in a hospital.

Then when you turn to the side, a man you don’t know sits beside you.

You have never seen a man as gorgeous as him. Striking cloud white hair, a chiseled jawline, broad shoulders and then…

The brightest blue eyes, clear as a summer sky, stare at you so frantic and hesitant.

The man says your name, his tone faintly pleading.

For some reason his voice sounds vaguely familiar. But that thought is put on hold when the door to your room opens and a nurse walks in.

“Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” She sighs genuinely warm to see you and even seems a bit surprised.

What happened? You were dying. You were sure of it.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” The nurse asks gently as she checks your vitals.

“I…” your voice wavers as the memory clips at you, terrifying and heartbreaking.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” The nurse says comfortingly. “It’s common for accident victims to have a foggy memory. Plus after the one you were in it’s understandable.”

Weakly you question about what happened, how you got here.

With soft eyes the nurse explains it all.

You were the only survivor of the car crash. A part of you vividly remembers Toji Fushiguro and the man with him. A part of you dark and hollow gleams grateful they are no longer here.

You however didn’t walk away unscathed. You have a few broken ribs, a very bad concussion and light internal bleeding being monitored.

“We even found damage near your heart that could’ve been deadly-”

Yet, you were alive.

“And….” The nurse’s eyes twinkle warm and adoring as they flicker to the man behind you.

“This man found you and brought you in. Came into the hospital with you in his arms like some kind of bloody guardian angel.”

You whip your attention back to him as well. The man’s blue eyes stay so intently focused on you.

They remind you so much of the pairs of six eyes that watched you with the same unwavering gaze.

Then the nurse’s words click.

An angel.

No. This couldn’t be…

The idea so wild and unbelievable barrels into you fast. It knocks you breathless that you can’t help but cough out.

Everyone instantly scrambles to grab you something to drink. It’s your mystery man who hands you a cold water first and you guzzle it down with a frantic speed.

“I’ll let you get some rest. Please hit the call button if you need anything.” The nurse squeezes your shoulder and you thank her with a weak cough.

Now in the quiet safety of the hospital room, your attention snaps to the man still intently staring at you with glossy blue lake eyes.

You take the jump. It might be the most far stretched idea and you can blame the concussion but -

You whisper out Satoru’s name.

The white haired man nods fast and a sob escapes you.

It’s him.

Through tear soaked questions you ask him how.

“Remember that legend I once told you? About us being able to bring someone back from the dead?”

His voice is now clear, so distinctly him even in this form you can’t miss it now.

His words are a chilling breeze.

“I died.” You whisper the cold realization.

And he brought you back.

“But you…what happened?” Your eyes so clouded with tears scan his very beautiful and human face.

The Satoru before you is so familiar yet so different. The deep inhale he gives moves his shoulders. You’ve seen it before when his wings moved with the same exhausted exhale. Instead now a weary weight, a very human one, colors his stunning features.

But a sudden eased smile tugs at his lips and the sight is stunning.

“We’re allowed to bring someone back…it’s just at a little cost.” His voice flutters out light and his words get trapped in your throat.

You can’t fight the tears. They come in waves and your shoulders shake as you cry.

“Wait,” Satoru rapidly panics as he slides closer to you. “What’s wrong?!”

He gave up everything. His form, his livelihood, his essence as a creature of the myth, he gave it all for you.

That solid truth rips so much sadness and guilt through you all you can do is angrily cry, frustrated.

“Why are you crying?” He asks concerned and a bit confused.

“Because,” you hiccup. “Because I did this to you.”

You would carry this guilt for the rest of your life.

“What? Don’t like the way I look? I thought I was pretty handsome in this form, yeah?” He lightly teases to perk you up.

You give him a look of disbelief wondering if you should call the nurse to escort this headache away from you.

“Okay okay,” he says, thankfully understanding your heartache.

Gently Satoru’s hand moves to rest against you on top of the itchy hospital blanket. Fondly he runs his hand over your leg. You watch as his eyes follow the path of his hand like he’s trying to solidify your presence beside him. A sadness shimmers within his blue pools.

“If anyone’s to blame…it’s me. I did this to you.”

Quickly, through a teary blubbering mess you reassure Satoru he did nothing wrong. His hand softly squeezes your knee.

“Do you remember when we were watching that weird show and you asked me what I’d wish for? What I wanted more than anything?”

Suddenly Satoru speaks firmer, eyes still not facing you.

“I wished I could be with you. I wanted to live a full life by your side.” His answer is low, but so beautifully clear it’s like dawn breaking over the forest.

Those endless blue eyes turn to you.

Gingerly Satoru raises his hand. He runs his fingers against your face with a tender touch, a delicate brush like that of a moth’s wing.

“Never feel guilty about what happened. I would make this decision over and over again. I don’t regret it and never will.” He says firm, absolute and devoted.

Tears return again but this time for another reason, one so beautifully overwhelming it consumes you.

Satoru gently draws you into his arms to hold you steady against his sturdy chest.

“Can't get rid of me now, little human.” He teases but the faintest edge of emotion cracks his voice.

A laugh escapes you among the tears.

“You’re a little human now too, bug boy.” You joke as the new nickname comes so easily to you.

“There’s nothing little about me, especially in this form.” He deeply purrs.

You’re about to snap at him for being crude until he shrieks.

“And bug boy?! You never even called me that before! If anyone is the bug freak it’s you!”

You laugh, truly laugh, and a warm buoyancy floats within your entire body. He joins in alongside you. His laugh is such a wild and free noise you want to keep it forever.

“This being a human thing,” he suddenly mutters against the top of your head. “Might take me a little while to get used to it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, fully resting against him. “We’re all still trying to figure it out too.”

Satoru’s hand begins rubbing against your back effortlessly, so human and natural.

“You already seem to be doing a good job.” You mumble feeling sleepy again.

He hums amused. “I know. I’m just that good.”

You want to make a snide remark but then Satoru kisses the top of your head. Your heart jumps at feeling his lips.

“I get to do this all the time now.” He whispers slightly in awe, like he spoke a hidden thought out loud.

You can’t help but grin giddy.

Before, you had begun experimenting very enthusiastically about getting to learn how to kiss him in his old form. But you understand.

This felt right. It always did, even when you never wanted to admit it before.

“No more mothman.” Satoru mutters a quiet realization and you clutch his shirt.

“You’ll always be my pest.” You reassure him.

“Hey.” You can hear the mock frown in his voice and you snicker.

You think about Satoru as your cryptid emerging straight from legends.

If he was seen as a harbinger and warning of danger, it strangely has you thinking about love.

For what is love if not a warning? A ‘be careful, don’t run too fast, please be safe, please let me protect you’ warning morphed into a wish and want to keep someone safe. Horror and love sometimes walk hand in hand together after all.

In the arms of your harbinger, you wearily start falling asleep. Satoru senses it too and places another kiss on your head.

When he gently moves to rest you back on the bed your eyes glance to the window. The dark evening night stretches out deep and wide

Against the glass, you notice a fluttering movement.

Soft green delicate long wings catch the light from the hospital room.

Actias luna.

More tears brim in your eyes.

The beautiful lunar moth dances against the window, against the darkness, as if to greet you a warm hello and wish you well.

#this is probably for like…me and three other people but here it is 🤡#happy spooky season ya cute ghoulies!!!#willowser’s haunted house collab #Gojo 🩵#Gojo x reader

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mothandpidgeon · 7 months ago

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While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader)

pairing: demon!Ezra x f!reader (mom!reader)

rating: E! 18+!

wc: 2.6k

summary: The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences...

tags: dark fic, Dub/non con (making a deal with a demon), breastfeeding, nursing, lactation kink, mommy kink? (but not like that), stretch marks, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, horns, Ezra is a sex demon, moth never uses y/n

an: Here is my submission to #MothandBirdMothersDayChallenge! Actually this fic is the reason why I wanted to do this challenge. Sometimes when I'm in the dark nursery in the middle of the night, I have fun intrusive thoughts like 'What if there was a shadowy figure in the doorway?' To combat how terrifying that thought is, I took it and made it horny. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for betaing this, helping me do this Mother's Day Challenge, and all around being a cool auntie to my fics and baby Moth.

...

He wakes you every night. It doesn’t matter what you try. Your son hasn't let you have more than three consecutive hours of sleep since he was born.

You’re at your wit’s end.

Every time you look in the mirror you see a hollowed out version of yourself with dark bags under your eyes. You make yourself coffee without putting grounds into the filter. You fly into a tearful rage when you spill a bottle of precious milk. You don’t know who you are anymore.

Tonight’s no different. You lift your crying baby from his crib. Rock him, shush him. You sit with him in the glider and try to nurse him back to sleep. It’s all done bleary-eyed, half asleep. Everything is these days.

You’d give anything for this baby to sleep.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you look up to see a figure standing just outside the nursery. It’s shadowy against the dark of the hallway, shades of gray on black. From the height and broad shoulders, it could be a man. He stands abnormally still. Silent, watching. You think it’s just a trick of your sleep deprived mind until he moves just slightly and a patch of silver hair is caught in the moonlight.

You must be dreaming because if there was a man in your baby’s room, you’d be terrified. And you’re not. You feel calm like you’re floating on steady waters.

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice drifts like a lullaby.

He doesn’t respond, just leans in the doorway. All that you can make out is that blonde hair and two eyes that glint at you.

“I’ve come to help you, petal,” he finally says. His voice is warm and melodic.

You feel yourself nodding off for a moment. When you blink yourself awake, he’s by your side.

You can make out his features better now. Dark stubble covers a handsome face. The sharp angles of his nose and jaw are silhouetted in the dim. You smell woodsmoke and frankincense as he comes near. He kneels beside the chair and his brow furrows as he looks up at you.

“You need that child to rest,” he says.

You nod pathetically. You can feel familiar tears well in your eyes. Hopeless, helpless. Desperate.

“I can be of assistance,” he says.

“Don’t hurt him,” you say, holding your son a bit closer to your chest. Your baby might be torturing you in the night but you love him. You won’t let anything happen to him. Even though you’re sure you’re dreaming, you remember old fairy tales, creatures that try to trick and deceive. This man isn’t human, you know that somewhere deep inside you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even touch him. It’s not the babe that’s piqued my interest. It’s his mother,” he explains. His obsidian eyes are on your lips, pink tongue darts out to lick his own.

“Don’t hurt me either,” you say, though there’s no fight in your words.

“That’s not my intention at all. Quite the opposite. You’re so beautiful, petal,” he coos, brushing his knuckles across your jawline.

It must be a dream because you haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. Your body’s been stretched and broken, engorged and swollen. Your hair falls out by the handful. Your breasts reek of sweat and milk, a sickly funk.

“I want you. Carnally,” he says.

The growl in his voice makes warmth pool between your thighs. He looks at you like something divine, an awe over his features. His light touch moves down your neck and over your collarbone sending goosebumps over your skin. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything other than exhausted, touched in a way that isn’t a demand for food or comfort.

“Let me have that and that boy will slumber like an angel,” he promises. He watches your baby suckling himself back to sleep.

It sounds so good. Suddenly the only thing you want more than a a night’s sleep is for this stranger to pleasure you, to be inside of you. You haven’t felt desire in just about as long as you haven’t slept. You’ve barely been able to shower and feed yourself let alone take care of your own needs.

“Put the child in his cot and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll come for you and you’ll see,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“I’m Ezra,” he whispers.

You wake up in your bed the next morning and you’ve slept like the dead.

That strange dream haunts you but you think of it as nothing more than that. When you put your son down to sleep the next night, you don’t expect any miracles. He goes down easily enough, a nice little fluke, and you decide to turn in early yourself.

Its nearly midnight when you wake up but you realize it’s quiet. The baby isn’t crying for you. You glance at the monitor and see that he’s sleeping soundly, sucking away at this pacifier. Just as Ezra promised.

Relief floods your veins. You put your head back against the pillow and your eyes drift close. As you begin to return to sleep, there’s a shift in the bed and you catch that earthy scent again. You gasp when you see Ezra’s black eyes. He’s beside you, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip. His chest is a wide golden plane littered with white scars, dusted with dark hairs.

“Hush, petal,” he says. “I’ve kept my promise. And now I’ve come to ravish you.”

You want to tell him that you’re tired. You finally have the opportunity to go back to sleep and you shouldn’t let anything come between you and that sweet rest. But the same, strong want that you felt the night before is calling you. An ache runs between your legs up to where Ezra’s hand glides over the delicate skin on your pulse. You're powerless to stop your own desire from sabotaging the one thing you’ve wanted.

A languid sigh leaves you as you melt into his touch.

Ezra sucks at your neck. You’ll have a black and blue mark from his teeth but the sensation is so delicious, you can’t bring yourself to care.

He opens your legs and notches his hips between yours. The friction of his hard cock against your panties makes your back arch.

“I want to taste you,” he says.

He rucks up the ratty old t-shirt that you sleep in along with the nursing bra that’s constantly saturated with leaking milk. He takes a long moment to savor the sight of you so exposed, a smile twitching on his lips. A long, low growl leaves him as he slithers down your body, gathering your breasts in his big hands and bringing his face to nuzzle in your skin.

You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent. The stubble of his cheek scratches at your sensitive flesh. One thick finger circles your peaked nipple nice and slow. Your body responds— a bead of milk seeps out and rolls down to the valley between your breasts.

Your breath catches at the mix of sensations. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up your spine. Much to your surprise, Ezra’s eyes widen with interest. He lowers himself and traces the wet trail with the flat of his tongue. You can only imagine what he tastes– the musk of your sweat beneath sweet milk. It seems that he likes it. He closes his lips around your nipple and lavishes it with his tongue, groaning into your flesh.

“Shit,” you gasp.

You feel the tingle of letdown behind your breasts, his ministrations summoning more milk. Soon Ezra is drinking from you, grunting and rutting his hips against you. The other, neglected nipple weeps milk and he pauses to lap it up greedily. You tangle your hand into his hair and that’s when you feel it. There’s a raised bump amidst his curls but it’s hard as bone. It sits just above his forehead and stands only an inch high. As your fingers rake through his hair, you find another. Horns.

The terror you expect never comes. He might be something ungodly and all you feel is a building excitement. Everything about this is wrong but the world feels upside down.

He comes away, his plush bottom lip glistening with pearlescent milk. It’s a sight that should repulse you but in the delirium of sleeplessness and lust, it just makes you hungry.

“You are an exquisite creature,” he purrs.

His flat palm skates down your belly where you’re middle still holds baby weight, a reminder that your body is no longer your own. He peels your panties down your thighs. You feel the fine edges of his teeth against your skin. He penetrates you with two exquisitely thick fingers. No warning but you hardly need it— you’re already slick.

You keen, back arching off of the mattress, and the sensation is doubled when he puts his lips to your clit and sucks with the same enthusiasm he had at your breast. His wide shoulders spread your knees to make room for his body. You drown in pleasure, a heady mixture of fire doused in the thick pool of sleepiness. Floating, sinking, cresting on a wave as he licks and spreads you open, presses in deep and coils you tight. It’s hard to believe your body can have such strong responses when you’re barely function in your waking life. Something primal drives you on and Ezra knows just how to unlock it.

“Such a delicacy. To sup on milk and cunt,” he says, barely taking his lips from you.

The swirls and undulations of his tongue and the sweet pressure inside works you into a frenzy. Your breath shortens and then stops altogether, your thighs tighten and you hold your eyes shut, listening to the whimpers and moans between your legs. It’s too much and not enough.

When you come undone, it’s a rush of ecstasy that you want to live in forever. Rolling and gushing and sighing. You choke and arch, your entire body convulsing. Your spine clenches up like you’ve been struck by lighting and the electricity runs out through your fingertips and toes.

“Such a glorious vision,” he muses as you come down, panting and shivering.

Ezra’s eyes are fixated on you, pupils blown so wide they’re nearly black. He looks like he wants to devour you.

You share his hunger. You want more already. You’ve just had a feast and yet you’re starving again.

You see Ezra’s cock now for the first time. Thick and upright, it’s tip, flushed and red. He takes it in his fist, glazing his shaft in your release. There’s something animalistic about it that floods you with another wave of arousal.

“More,” you manage to say.

“Not too tired?” he teases with a wicked smile.

You shake your head. How can you sleep when your body is on fire with lust?

“I’ll fill each needy hole,” he says.

You whine. He lines himself at your entrance.

“You’re a goddess. And I’m going to defile you.”

You're filled to the hilt. The noise that escapes him is animalistic and his eyes lose focus. You’re already fluttering around him, already so close to another climax. He fucks you, the stretch and rhythm making you dizzy.

“This is the closest I’ll get to heaven, I fear,” he revels. “But what could be more divine than this sweet cunt?”

Each word that falls from his lips seems to stroke at your core. His hips drive into you, hands greedily paw at every soft part of your body.

The only thing that quiets his debauched ramblings is suckling at your breast. Your senses are completely overwhelmed. Tears prick in your eyes as your insides tighten, another orgasm shattering through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

“Let me hear,” he demands. “He won’t wake.”

And so you do, crying out as you clench around his thickness, losing all control of your body.

“That’s it, petal. That’s it,” he says.

He goes on thrusting and pins you down, torturing that exquisite spot deep inside of you over and over again. You’re not sure where one climax ends and another begins but you’re possessed.

“If only I could fill that womb, sire one after the other to keep you round,” he grunts.

Ezra swears. He hisses out words in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like an incantation.

You hardly have time to make sense of it. He’s pulling out of you, grinding his wet length against your thigh and spilling hot ropes onto your mound.

You lay beneath him, boneless and dazed. The exhaustion flushes over your weak body. You sense Ezra at your breast again as your eyes drift closed.

The next thing you know, your baby is crying and it’s morning.

It must be a dream. There’s no other way to explain it— a horned creature slipping in and out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, fucking you senseless when you have no energy left. But you wake up with come drying where he marked you.

That night, he’s back again.

And again after that.

“Ezra, I’m exhausted," you breathe. "Please.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, petal?”

Now your son sleeps soundly through the night while you are awake, debauched for hours without end.

He’s insatiable and somehow you are, too.

He fucks you until you’re raw. Your legs quiver and burn from being parted so wide. Your pussy feels battered and bruised. You beg him to fuck your ass just to give your cunt some rest.

And although your body feels like it can’t take another second of pleasure, though it begs for a moment’s peace, every time he comes to you, you’re flooded with arousal.

When you try to steal an afternoon nap, he’s there, cock already standing in his fist.

Spittle dribbles from the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth. It runs down your chest, your knees already bruised from the hours you’ve spent on them. You try to chase your own relief, grinding your hips against the floor. He pulls you by the ears to sink deeper down your throat.

He grunts and moans and howls as he comes between your lips.

He doesn’t always take.

The next time he makes you come four times.

“Again, again,” he chants into your ear. His words are hot breath as his fingers press inside of you overwhelming that ridge that sends you reeling. Your bodies are pressed together, sticky with perspiration and release and drool and milk.

“I can’t,” you sob, your body sore and stretched to its limit.

You’re so spent, so overstimulated, each orgasm takes more and more effort. But Ezra refuses to quit, punishing you until you reach a fearsome crescendo.

“Oh, my petal, but I know you are more than capable.”

He’s right. You can feel the weak muscles in your core begin to twist. You hold your breath and focus on the brutal sensations Ezra gives you.

“Besides, your ability is immaterial,” he goes on. “These were the terms of our deal. This cunt. Is. Mine.”

Despite the fact that you’re so exhausted you can barely remember your own name, hardly able to stand on your own two feel, the climax that hits you is just as monumental as the very first.

“Have you endured enough tonight, petal?” he asks, sucking the gush of slick off of his fingers.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going.

“Tomorrow, petal,” he promises. “Now get some rest.”

He wakes you. Every night.

...

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! My asks are always open and I don't bite (unless you're into that).

#mothandbirdmothersdaychallenge #ezra prospect #ezra x f!reader #demon!ezra #demon!ezra x f!reader #dark fic

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 3

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two.

Three. 三

Later that evening, in the wee hours, Donaka is still awake in his office. He looks through the security cameras around the property out of boredom, and sees you, outside in the dark garden in nothing but a tank top and boxer shorts, talking to the goddamn dogs. You have some sort of food in your hand, and they are sitting prettily, waiting for you to share it. You almost look like some eldritch sprite out of a fairy tale in the moonlight, taming these fierce beasts with…he zooms in–a bag of potato chips.

Donaka couldn’t sleep, thinking about work, a new fighter he wants for his underground ring, and you. The way you’d defied him earlier boiled his blood, and he is chomping at the bit to punish you for defying him. He’d thought it would have to be something subtle, but seeing you now, like this–he just wants to yell at you.

He marches down to the garden, the section adjoining the servants quarters where you dwell. He pauses for a moment in the shadows, possessively looking over you, taking in your choice of sleepwear for the sultry South China summer. The modest knee-length black dress you wear for your work uniform does you no justice, he thinks, as he takes in the curves of your thighs and the peaked tips of your unbound breasts beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

He makes a fist at his side, gathering his control. If he jumps on you right now, the way he burns to, the dogs will probably maul him.

“You know the dogs have a job to do?”

You jump at the unexpected sound of his voice, immediately hiding the chips behind your back. They’re fried crab flavored Lays–and addictively good. The dogs think so too. One of them tries to take advantage of the lowered foodstuffs, snoofing into your back, pushing you forward a step. They are incredibly strong.

“We’re just…having a snack break,” you say quietly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“A snack break.” He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at all of you. “If you spoil them, they won’t go after intruders. They’ll just beg for chips.”

You’re not a total idiot. You suspect this dressing-down has more to do with you defying him earlier on the road, than interacting with the dogs. You’d been careful not to make a sound, when you came out. You just couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, thinking about…Mr. Mark, if you’re being honest. The way he’d looked at you, from the car…god.

You really are a piece of work. The last thing you need is to catch lustful feelings for your scary hot boss.

You’ve told yourself over and over, but the good advice just isn’t catching. He draws you like a moth to a flame.

Donaka takes a step closer, his gaze raking over you in your paper-thin attire. One look from this man, and your nipples are tightening to aching points--why didn't you put on a bra?

“And why bother jogging, if you are going to fill your body with that trash?”

You frown at that. He would be a your body is your temple sort of bro. You jog (and walk, who are you kidding?) because you like it.

“Just…trying out the local flavors,” you defend, albeit quietly. The snack flavors in the grocery store are wild–you feel so cheated, from what you’re used to back home. Sour Cream and Onion can kiss your ass...

Donaka snorts disdainfully, then looks back to the dogs. “You do know they could kill you with one bite?” he demands, lifting an eyebrow at you.

You don’t know where you get the courage to lift your chin at this man. Maybe he wears a fine suit all the time and works in an office, as far as you know, but there is something dangerous about him you can’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it’s his physical size, or his athletic physique. The black t-shirt he’s wearing is showing off what you’d suspected to be true all along: this man has biceps to make a grown woman cry. But mostly–it’s his eyes. Sharp, burning, intense.

Panty melting.

“They could hurt me…I guess I just have to trust them not to.” Here you are, talking in double speak again to the man who writes your paychecks. He softens at hearing that, just the slightest, almost undetectable bit. His forbidding frown shifts to a smirk. He takes a step closer, close enough to touch, if he reached out his long arm.

You stand your ground.

“Some might think that’s a foolish risk, y/n.” He knows you’re not stupid, but he’s beginning to see that you’re a lot braver than he’d originally thought.

“Ah well. A housekeeper’s got to live a little.”

He blows air out his nostrils at that, glaring down at you. “Go to bed, y/n,” he commands you, and turns on his heel to stalk off.

“Maybe you could use a potato chip,” you huff under your breath.

“What was that?” he snarls, half turning back to you.

“Nothing, Sir. Goodnight.”

He goes, and you can’t stop yourself from making a funny face at his back, your hands curled like claws on top of your head.

Later, Donaka will review the footage of this encounter, mostly to ogle you in your scanty sleep attire once again while he fists his turgid cock. But when he gets to the part at the very end where he sees you so irreverently making the face at his retreating form–he can’t suppress a bark of laughter, and a smile like a baring of teeth. You have no idea who you’re playing with.

It’s going to feel so sweet, when he brings you to heel.

chapter map

#it's my birthday leave me a comment! 😂🎂#LOL yes i am that kinda ho #donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned

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doublekanble · 9 months ago

Text

heart

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 5.5k

or, alastor is a man of many things, and you believed he can never love without hurting his love. tw: a small paragraph of al eating your heart.

1. “–I was right.” you coughed, the more you do, the more your voice choked on itself. Your body seized and shuddered with every beat of your heart as blood spew from the wound, already giving up on getting yourself away when you can barely breathe. He wishes he could’ve made it easier for you, but he got caught up. “you really are selfish…”

As the hand he’s holding onto quickly grew cold, Alastor hoped, for all its worth, that when he fall, however long it’ll takes, you’ll find the strength to finally accept his love for you. For now, he set his left ear over your heart, his hair stained red, Alastor listened closely for what he thought was the last time, as you and your life stops entirely.

(having done this time and time again, for the first time in a long time, he felt a longing for warmth, your warmth, the one seeping from you and dissipating with the cold air in the night.)

2. If there is ever a need to described himself, then Alastor would be the first to say that he is a man of many thing.

The charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor second to none. He’s your friendly neighbor who greets you with a smile and a caring friend. He’s the perfect son and an amiable stranger. Everything you want, he will be. Everything, except all you ever wanted from him is someone to talk to.

You’ve always a strong fascination for writing from years gone by. From the gloomy and miserable words of a poor but astute poet, riddled with nihilism and pain, to a long-gone romanticist who wrote fairy tales and chasing love he couldn’t held in his hand, or a myth, lost to time and rewritten over and over again. All the books you ever care to curated in your home is that of the classic and the dead.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so attached to you and the poetry you sewn into existence with clumsy words.

With his unfortunate lot in life despite his mother’s best effort –god bless that woman, Alastor would, in time, learn how to play charade better than anyone else, barely remembering the last time he bother to show care to anyone else with love and honesty rather than bemusement. He doesn’t need moth-bitten books to guide him through conversation when he can just as easily play the role of a salesman, granting you the option to pick between a piece of stale bread or the last supper. But only a salesman in the end, his words and gestures is with all the saccharine and none of the sugar.

Although he could never hope to weaves paintings with his word, ever only a mockery of one, Alastor welcome his shortcoming in strides, as long as people bought into his act. For the love he lacks in his heart, valuable you, his treasured companion, would make up for it all.

In stark contrast to his hidden callousness, you were a much more genuine person. The books and stories you gathered throughout your short-lived life give you a means to convey the feelings that made up your whole existence. In the occasion where he manage to pick the right topic, you would choose to hastily penned out your thoughts, writings border-on obsessive as you speak of vivid strokes of emotions no single word in any language can ever hope to capture. And yet, your heart, enraptured by the scenery, frantically beat so loudly in your chest as you speak of worlds end and death departed with shared poison; it would also spoke of a love so ordinary and mundane.

You’d never mourned the Danish storyteller that chased love endlessly, simple deeming it a life worth living. He wondered if you ever regretted telling him that.

(you sing praises to the odds and the out of sort while cursing at the commonplace of life, Alastor charmed the ordinary and laugh at the macabre death brings. as long as you’re there by his side, he have no need to love anything else.)

3. Just like everything else about you, your close proximity to Alastor is not the standard, and should always be seen as an exception.

That evening, you both got shooed away after a particularly early dinner, his mother’s only excuses was that you, the esteemed and beloved guest, already help with cooking, so it’s only natural you’ll get to spend the rest of the stay resting up. Even if the most you ever did was being so horrendous at chopping veggies, Alastor ended up taking over your load instead.

He laugh about it, saying that you’re pretending so you don’t have to do the work. His mother slapped him on the back of his head, while he nearly chop off his own fingers, she comforts you about your culinary skill. You smile at him when she turns her back on you both, knowing full well Alastor’s fighting his instinct to throw the first thing in his hand at you.

You two stand awkwardly on the porch and stare at the only available seat before Alastor argues that he did the most work so he should take the rocking chair. You point out how he’s practically whispering in the hope of his mother not noticing, he doesn’t bother to deny it.

After some mindless chatter, Alastor would suddenly joke about how if he were to ever read the same works as you, maybe he’ll be able to conceived a love so vicious and gentle too. You, sitting just by his feet, only gives him a sheepish smile. It wasn’t until before you’re at the front of his door, already bid his mother goodbye and ready to go back, that you would throw a remark at him.

“I think you’re a pretty vicious guy on your own,” you walk the three step down and continued through the front walk nonchalantly, hands in your coat pocket instead of linking with his like usual. “If you were to love someone, you’ll hurt them in the end. Even if you were to read all of my books.”

You stand at his gate. Although you’re waiting to see whether he’s going to go with you, you might as well have been gauging his reaction. Unconsciously, as he catches your gaze, he relaxed his grip and stride towards you like a panther to a sitting duck.

“You’re welcomed to, by the way. Just don’t dog-tag them.” Faint stinging shot through the heart of his hands from where his nails was digging into. His laugh sounds more like choking as he ignores your offer for now.

“Now, I wasn’t aware you have such a dreadful view of me, let alone thinking I can’t – what?” incredulously, Alastor barks “Love?! HAH!I supposed one of us are going to have to break that pathetic news to my mother.”

The moment he reach you, he catches a soft sigh falling from your lips, “It’s not that I think you can’t, Al.” the nickname that he imprinted on your frontal lobe sounded like nails on chalkboard, “It’s that I think you shouldn’t.”

“How delightful…”

You turned and began to walk on your own. If Alastor was anyone else, he would’ve taken this at face value and get offended at your eccentricity.

“And where, pray tell, does these impressions of yours come from?” He snatched your left arm, pulling it from its resting place and do the job himself. You give him a look, he smiles.

“I’ve been watching you.” His expression must’ve been something, enough for you to instantly stop on the sidewalk as you stammered and tries to pull your arm from him. “Not like that you deviant! I was just trying to get a read on you, since everyone kept talking about you being unattached and all.”

“Yes, yes, I know. What now, you want in on the chase? It’s ok dear, I know I’m utterly irresistible!” Refusing to let go of you, he only laugh on as you scowl. It’s well known to everyone that Alastor have been available for the longest time since anyone ever known him. It was also a well-kept mystery, the fact he have never courted a single person throughout his entire life.

“Utterly hogwash, that’s what you are.” Huffing to yourself, you finally would relent your arm to him. Your shared steps echoing across the darkening street, it’s near curfew. “I do have to say, I see what they meant, about you being a good spouse and all that,” He smiles a bit brighter at that, “But I just can’t see you being vulnerable with anyone else. You despises things not going your way, and love just have too much uncertainty!”

“Yes, yes,” he repeats, as if soothing you from a tantrum, “Weak and frail Alastor, the poor soot of New Orleans, unable to tear his ribcages open and show everyone his organs the same way his beloved whimsical friend here does every day ~.” You hiss as he settled his own weight against you with his head on your shoulder, nearly knocking the both onto the ground, “I guess you’ll just have to be with me for the rest of your life then! If you don’t, I’ll simply drown in my own piled up misery! What a life it’ll be!”

“Sure you will. Now get off and take me back home you dramatic coot.”

4. At that time, there was no need for Alastor to inquire your meaning of “vicious”.

In direct contrast to your trusting nature, you’re also perceptive and doubtful to a fault. The first slight of your tongue was a comment on how he can stop smiling around you. Always with that same gaze as you have now, lying underneath him. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he said to you that day. But it was enough for you to stood up and walked from the table with a ten-dollar bill pin under your half-finished lemon tea. The issue was quickly resolved with a phone call to your home, but he quickly learned that you don’t take kindly to – and quite frankly, refused to participate in – saccharine sweet insult.

But at what point did he stop hiding himself and let you read him freely, he thought. If he bit down on his tongue until he bleeds and shut you out like how he did to so many others who couldn’t even take one step near him, then maybe something could’ve turn out differently.

Replaying that moment over and over in his head, for the first time in his life, Alastor think about the concept of love, really think about it. It simply was an aspect of life that he never pay mind to, equating it with romance book and kissing under starry skies, and thus, utterly useless. When he think of love, all he have to go off of is his dear old mother, who sacrifices and suffers so much for him, which, in time, he pay her back with everything he have. His life was only about her and himself and the bodies under the forest floor and it was everything he wanted and more. Until one rainy day, with his eyes on the script he’s writing out for tomorrow’s broadcast, bleary-eyed and hearing the bed calling his name, he thought about you.

When he came to, he already dropped his coffee cup. The brown liquid burns, even through his slipper.

After that, Alastor would start picking out books from your carefully curated shelves, sitting in your armchair and skims through the lines while you spread across the ground like an old cat, he tried to find the feelings that you described to him in the same page you’d read a million times and over. But as he does so, he would soon find that there’s not a single word in any of those old and yellowed pages of yours that is able to captured the quickly spreading rot in his heart. In a frenzied, Alastor would burn through your small library faster than you could ever hope for.

(Alastor knows that time and time, again and again, as long as you’re willing to reach for his hand, he will never let go of yours.

at some point, he’d stop caring about whether you’re willing to at all. why would he, when the meaning of being able to love you became all he care to know at all.)

“You don’t need to love like I do, you know that, right?”

He turns to you, on your stomach, lying in your nest of blankets and pillows with a pencil in hand putting down incomprehensible charcoal shape.

“Bragging now, are we?” he gets up from the armchair and settled down by your side, eyes watching your hand while propping the book he was reading in his lap. You crank your neck and stare at him with a look, “And how are you so sure I want to love like you, dear?”

“You’ve been plowing through my books.”

He sends you a beaming smile, acting innocent while playing with your hair.

“You offered.”

“Aren’t they all the one I told you about?”

Your eyes on the book he’s holding, then the one he just placed back into the shelves. It feels like he’s back in his mother’s kitchen, with his dirty nails behind his back and a poor excuse for the missing bread on the dinner table. Except this time, there’s just you and him in your small living room, and you’re looking awfully smug about it.

Raising his hand in the air, he sigh pitifully, “Ah~, guilty as charged, darling.” and offers nothing else. The silence afterward is enough of a white flag anyway.

Pleased with what you got from him, you turn back to your work, seemingly unaware (or even worse, maybe you don’t care at all) about the gnawing in his chest and the storm raging in his head while his hand weaves through your hair.

The last time you talked to him about love, you more-or-less called him and his love hazardous. While Alastor have no trouble with accepting it from anyone else, with you, it feels as if you’re discarding a part of him to the dogs. Although his knowledge on many topics far exceeds yours, when it came to pure and genuine emotions from the heart, you’d know enough to examine him under all type of love there is, and time after time you’d deemed him impossible to ever love. And despite knowing loving and love is wholly separate, it tears him open to even considers that you’d thought of him as unable to love and be loved and something about it is just so incredibly agonizing to the point of wanting to rip you open so you can see just how unlovable you are too.

But in your living room, sitting right next to you the way no one else is allowed to. He sigh, making sure his words doesn’t come off as unpleasant as he feels.

“If I don’t have to love like you, then how do you supposed I should be doing it?”

“I’m not sure, but hopefully not at all.” You said offhandedly, but you might as well just drove a knife through his stomach, but it’s you, so he let it be, “If you can’t help yourself though, you’ll probably do something really horrible.”

“What do you supposed I’ll do?”

You turn to him, a hint of surprise in your eyes at how close he is now, but you let him be, “Undecided. But you seems like the type to let it eats you alive.”

“I’ll let my love eats me?” Laughing in disbelief, he could almost call you cute with how you nodded to yourself, resolute in your idea about him.

“You’ll let it eats you, yes.”

Alastor chuckled to himself as he tap your sketchbook twice, you hand it to him.

“Well, I’ll need to make sure that I won’t be alone, aren’t I?”

You laugh openly and said that’s true, he’s too selfish to be taken alone. Alastor couldn’t care about how much of that was just more of your usual jest and how much of it is your view of who he is. If you, who love so selflessly and readily, agrees without push back, that someone as selfish as him will doomed whoever it is that he loves so much, then who is he to deny.

At that time, the line of charcoal you put onto the paper come together to show a shadow of a small man dragging a coat by his unseen feet, a mock-up from one of the stories that you loved. Alastor stop wondering if he ever could love something like the poems and stories you’ve read a million times over, instead, he think it’s best if he loves the way you expected him to, the way he can see himself doing.

6. To be loved is to be changed.

You told him this while he stand in your kitchen, trying to shoo you back to the table so he can work without fuzzing over you. And now, while he’s holding you, so cold and so unlike you, Alastor wondered whether you would like it if your bones were to be buried in the same spot as the others.

As much as he’d love to keep it near with him, there’s not a single excuse in the whole round earth that can ever help him convinced his mother of letting him uprooted the garden out back and buried you down there, neither can he bring you with him everywhere. Alastor wants to try taking you to the morgue after he’s done, but how do you explain bringing in a set of skeleton with missing ribs? It’s simple, really.

You don’t.

He lifted you up in his arms and sat back on his sofa, your lulling head settled just below his chin, wanted to savor what’s left of you for just a bit more before rigor mortis sets in and makes you even less of what you are now. The gramophone in the corner of his room spewed utter nonsense as Alastor closes his eyes.

It’s Tuesday tomorrow, but he will have to roll up his sleeves and get to work on cleaning out one of the guest room in his hunting lodge if he doesn’t want the ants to take you first. He’ll have to call in sick, too. Alastor likes to think that when he sees you again, you’ll at least have the will to appreciate the troubles he went through for you and not complaint about being locked up inside. You and the love you have for him, akin to small river, a gentle stream, with orange and yellow leaves floating across, tucked in a forest somewhere. It widdled down the rocks and carved a path for itself. The same one that you oh so heartlessly withheld from Alastor.

You'd appreciate being bury in such a scenery, it’s a shame you won’t be, though your body would’ve made way for the prettiest flowers. But you’ll have to take what he can afford to give. To be loved is to be changed, after all.

(when, not if. having gone on for this long, he’s sure that you’re suspended in between life and death in the hell you refuses to ever believe in. half of him prayed that there’s not a river there so you can drown yourself in it just to forget all about him. the other half prayed you’ll remember nothing at all, even of the literature you love so much.

at some point, where will you stop being yourself? when you forget enough of yourself? Alastor doesn’t need to care about the semantics. he knows he’ll choose you time and again, even if you forget how you love.)

7. You take your time reading through farewell letters.

Unless the cats and dogs on the street can write, then there’s only a few, you kept a significantly smaller number of friends by your side. But it must’ve been hard to even focus with Alastor sitting right next to you.

“Darling, surely we can-“

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already was, Alastor.”

Desperately holding onto your wrist and halted your pace for just a second, he all but plead a hopeless case.

“You’re not thinking straight! Are you really just going to up and leave because someone told you so? After living your whole life here?!”

Your hand, moving like clockwork, already finished with the letters, refusing to stay in his. You pulled back from him and place the rest of the letters in a small wooden box with a deer carved on its lid. “You know it’s not just that.”

In times like these, he wonders if it was himself who have gone mad. As if the whole world is in on one big joke and you are just following along with it. Any moment now, you’ll burst into laughter and tell him that everything is a lie. You’re not moving to Washington to help a friend you know for some years with their business, and you’re not leaving him, not after everything he showed you. But you’re holding onto the letter with his mother’s name written on the front with misty eyes as if you have no other choice. So he held you by the shoulders to the point digging his nails into it and turned you to look at him.

“Then what else is there?! For Christ sakes-“ you look as if this is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do in your life, he felt as if this is the hardest battle he have to fight, “Please, mon Chéri, talk to me...”

Alastor collapse onto you, his whole weight pins you down on your small couch. Head on your chest, he listens as your heart beats just a bit faster. You let him.

“…what do you think we are, Alastor?”

Without hesitation, he reply.

“We are whatever you want us to be. Whatever it takes for you to stay.”

For someone like you, a romantic at heart, just like who he is now, that should’ve been enough for you to at least considers the possibility of forgetting about what’s right and wrong. For sure, it would’ve been enough for you to stay, if you were anyone else.

But you’re you, and he’s only himself. The romantic in you see through his act for the longest time and still fall in love with him, but just like how your love is selfless and kind, it’s also viciously rational. If you were anyone else, you would’ve ignored the rational part of yours.

“I’m sorry, Alastor.” All this time, he was desperately proving himself to you. Doing everything in his power just so you’re willing to forget your rationale and love him just as much as he loves you. “We’ll die loving each other.”

He doesn’t care if he die, Alastor wants to scream out. He’s ready to die to love you, he have been screaming out all this time. But despite all of his effort, you deemed him a love not worth chasing after till death, while he already planned the path to hell with you.

Your fingers, shaky and gentle, brush through his hair. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have to place himself bare and vulnerable like this. But if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have love you at all. And if it’s death holding you back from loving him, then so be it.

8. For a long time now, Alastor knows you more than anyone else.

You were never a dancer, not by choice either. Its pathetic in the cutest way, how you froze up and refused to move, the way you stutters and try to pull from him only ever makes him want to bully you more. But from the way your brows draws together, to the way you’d tripped over yourself chasing after his footstep, all of it, Alastor earned from you.

From the way you stayed up overnight, to how the bottom of your shoes dragged against the pavement as you walk. From the tip of your pencil, to the bottom of your bookshelves. Every books on your shelves and every sketches. Alastor swear with all his life that no one else knows better than him when it came to you.

He knows intimately the curves you’d penned on your signatures; he knows how you’d change your mind at a moment notice about anything, he knows how you take with you small things on the side of the road that you deemed pretty enough and he knows you still have a lot you want to do here that you’ve told your lovely friend. So it’s only normal for Alastor, the person you grown to love so much, to know exactly why you refuses to even considers being by his side, and it’s just his luck that he also knows just how to write a letter with words just like yours.

So when was it that you got a friend you trusted so wholeheartedly, so faithfully, so much so, you’re your dearly cherished Alastor became a second thought in your mind? Weren’t you a romantic? Weren’t romantics idiots who can’t think straight when it come to love? So why was it that you alone refuses to let yourself love him and remained so loyal to someone you only considered a friend, someone who couldn’t even tell your lettering from his? Was it them? Who fed you lies after lies to captured you in their own hands? Was it them who taught you the telling and sign of a madman? Is that why your view of him was so horrible, you' refused to ever fathom life with him?

He knows you would’ve hated him for this, but Alastor adores you, and sometimes you just don’t know what’s best for you, even when it’s staring at you from across the front walk and following you to your home.

So if someone as rational as you can be swayed back to his lodge for just one more visit, then your friend surely can be swayed too, to come and visit you some other time, down here in your beloved New Orleans.

9. If anyone ever ask anyone else, then they will say that Alastor, beloved local radio host of New Orleans, is a man of many things. But if they were to ask you, then he’s one of the person you cherished the most, and your dearest friend.

He’s everything, the charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor that’s second to none. Alastor plays himself as your friendly neighbor who will always greets you with a smile and a clenched fist behind his back, hiding a stain just on the cuff of his sleeve in the early morning, a caring friend that offers you help just in the nick of time. Alastor is his mother’s perfect son, who spent more time comforting her about your whereabouts than to care for his own fracturing mind; an amiable stranger, gripping the newspaper detailing yet another disappearance with a bit too much force. Everything you have ever wanted him to be, he was. And yet, to his utter bewilderment and maddening grief, you refused to let him be anyone other than a friend you talked to about everything.

In the letters you saved from your beloved pen pal-turn-missing person, they would call you mature and wise. Sentimental words and kind, to his eyes, all are but hollowed gestures advising, agreeing, and offering you a place up in Washington until you can forget all about him and move on with your life, leaving Alastor to be nothing more than a nostalgic blot on the tablecloth, nothing more than yearning in early Junes. Until you forget the fact you ever love him at all, all because you decided that you couldn’t afford to let yourself be love by him.

Keeping all of it in mind, Alastor decides your dear friend should be bury far away from the comfort of your room. Three years, seven months and eleven days after your death, Alastor dragged a body into the woods. Not just any old one like usual, but not anything else too special.

It’s odd, even though you’ve been gone for the more than a year by now, it’s almost as if you’ve neve left his side. Maybe it’s the rest of you, lying peacefully in your nest of pillows and blankets, in your room that he diligently maintain. Maybe it’s your shared books he sometimes takes from his shelves and skims through in the dead of night after a hard day. Maybe it’s the locked box, sitting by his work desk welcoming him home after a night out, the same one he held in his hands, void of blood and anything else.

Or maybe it’s the reverberating sounds of heartbeat, so unlike his own. In both his waking days, in his reveries, over the sounds of the jazz band down in his favorite speakeasy and following him into the woods. Ever so silently, oh-so gently, utterly viciously in his left ear.

In any other case, Alastor finds he absolutely adores the idea of your ghost haunting him until his fell into his grave.

(you said that he should never love because he couldn’t be in control. he mourn the fact you never even let him prove you wrong. Alastor would’ve let you dance on his rotting corpse if that’s what it takes for you to let him call you his.)

10.

Somewhere in his heart, Alastor had hoped that you of all people can evade the hand of rots.

It’s a genuine shame that in the end, all of the words in the world will do nothing to stop you from sharing the lot with the others, he thought, staring down from where he straddled you with his hand peeling off layers of skins and fat. Warm fingers brushes against your hollowed cheek, before raising a small hammer and bringing down onto your bare chest. Alastor wants to preserve you for as long as possible, but to do that properly, he might as well take all of your innards out and sewn you up. It’s not that he’s not open to that idea, Alastor love every part of you. It’s just that he’s sure you’ll be extremely upset when you find out. So he’ll have to get comfortable with doing things the hard way, no matter how hard it is to do so.

With steady fingers in spite of the drumming in his ears, Alastor patiently picks out every pieces of bones he could, placing them into a small, wooden box. With a wistful smile, he closes the lid and set it aside. He miss you already.

Pushing your lungs out of the way, he dig his hands in. With blood runs up to his wrist, Alastor tries to be as gentle as he can while pulling your heart out. One hand holding onto it, another carefully cutting away everything that ties it to your body.

Distinctly, every part of you was always warm, and over time, Alastor, who’s hands are as cold as winter itself, find comfort in your touch. It was almost like you were made just for him, and him, you. And now, with your heart, cold and silent in his hand, Alastor realized what a miserable life it will be to go on living without your warmth with him from now on until he’s six feet under. But it’s ok, he’s sure of it, because above all else, what he’s been chasing after this whole time is in his hand.

For a brief moment, Alastor wondered if he were to meet you in another lifetime, one where you aren’t so complicated and so in love with the idea of living a fair life and a right love, would you have let yourself be wrong and love him. But he’s glad that your love, with all its beautiful intricacies that causes him this much pain, with a wound in it, still look as beautiful as he hoped.

Sinking his teeth into it, into you, the taste of iron and metallic flooded his mouth and drown his senses as he closed his eyes shut and nearly buckled under the taste of you. There’s not a single word in the book to describe the visceral sensations running through his blood and spreading through his every veins. Alastor shivers, the back of his head felt numb, his fever grows as he desperately takes his time and savor you. It’s a shame you can’t last forever, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

(as his teeth tears into your veins, he hears a sounds, so familiar, somewhere in the corner of his ears. it wasn’t until he caught his own heart beating that he realized that the rhythm he’s hearing isn’t his at all.

until the day you two can meet again, until then. he pray he will never forget the sounds of your heart, beating so gently.)

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mothask · 2 years ago

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echo lmao

Suggestion by @gaeasun

#echo x reader #clone trooper echo #tcw echo #clone wars echo #clone wars au #moth au #moth ask #arc trooper echo #star wars tcw #tcw fanart #sw tcw fanart #star wars the clone wars #giant tiny #gt art #fairy au #fairy art

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annie-creates · 9 months ago

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What have I done

Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader

Genre: angst

Words: 1200

Note: I'm back with some Ravenna angst, hope you'll enjoy it as much as I liked writing it.

For as long as you could remember you always lived at the castle of the king, your mother being one of his and his wife’s most trusted maids. You were still pretty young when the queen died, leaving the old man and his daughter Snow White in distress. You grew up in the happy kingdom of thrill and joy that started to slowly decay with every year you all mourned your late queen. But then, just as you turned into a lovely grown woman and got your own job at the castle, the king found a new wife, queen Ravenna. They all seemed so happy it felt unreal. Not long after however the old king joined his late wife in the gardens of Eden and all that was left was her majesty and the clueless princess, who ran away within the next year.

You could hardly understand it all and the land was unstable in times of such rapid changes. When you became the queen’s own maid, being young and freshly employed, Snow White was already wanted all over the country. To you, however, it wasn’t much concern. Your job was to make sure the queen’s comfortable in her clothes and shoes, massaging her feet and warming up her bed for the night. In the difficult times of doubt and uncertainty you slowly became her confidant. She could tell you anything, knowing you wouldn’t tell, and even if you did, no one would believe such unimportant being as her maid. From a confidant you became her friend and from a friend you build your way un to being her lover. You would never take any inappropriate step but when she invited you to her, how could you say no the most beautiful graceful being you have ever sat your eyes on?

You were still her servant willing to do anything and everything she ever asked for and giving her all you were, all you had and all you could ever get. You were completely and utterly taken by her glory, confidence and pride. It even made you a little proud yourself that the queen chose you over all the other men and women who fell at her feet every minute of the day. You took her joy and anger, anything she needed to release, all her good days and all the bad ones ended up with you being used in her bed. You could hardly ever stay, having to leave her warm cozy chambers to return to your cold and unwelcoming bed with a hard mattress and rat-gnawed pillow the moment she was satisfied with you.

With how fast and wholeheartedly you fell for the woman there was no stopping, no pleasure and no amount of kisses would be ever enough for you. You yearned for her presence and body as hard as the desert yearns for water. You needed her, longed for her at every second of the day. You could merge in the tightest hug on earth, eat each other in the most desperate of kisses and it still wouldn’t be enough. Yet lately it seemed her hunger exceeded yours, she needed release, assurances and the plain feeling of power. You became her most glorious possession, using you and savoring you at any moment she wanted to. With looking for more power and rule over the kingdom she became insatiable.

As you visited her in her throne room, she frantically walked around unable to sit still, her hair flying behind her with every turn like a veil of gold. To you she was still ethereal, the most beautiful of women on this earth. No matter how many worried wrinkles her forehead sported or the stressed pout on her lips. She was like a fairy with a flame that pulled in every moth around. It was obvious to you she was at her wits end, even if she’d never admit to it, being concerned with things you had no idea about.

“My queen.” You address her carefully. “May I help you?”

“Ugh, no. Leave me alone.” She hardly even spared you a glance.

“Maybe I can help you relieve some stress.” You tried again. “At least with a melissa tea?”

“I said get lost!” Ravenna angrily shouts at you and harshly slaps your face. “Now get out of my sight!”

“I’m sorry…” You whine holding your cheek with tears evident in your eyes.

“Oh don’t play that innocent little girl with me you spawn!” your emotional reaction infuriates her even more. “Your father never loved you and your mother rather died so that she didn’t have to be with you anymore. I don��t want to see you here again, you hear me!?”

You could hardly listen to her words anymore, running out of the room to not give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. She liked hurting you, she liked having the dominant power over anyone. Yet never has she been so cruel and evil to you. At that moment, you believed her. You believed she wanted to get rid of you, to never see you again. So that’s what you did. You packed the few little things you owned and you left, your heart breaking into million little pieces as you left the only home you ever knew and the woman you loved so hard you could die for her. Yet you’d do anything to make her happy and if she desired you gone you’ll leave.

Ravenna on the other hand got her temper under control once again in a few days, establishing somewhat steady rule over her kingdom. All she wanted now was to enjoy a little piece of quiet, preferably with the tea you always made for her with the littlest bit of mint and honey and with your massage and presence. But after she ringed her bell to call you to her, a different girl came in your place, taking care of her with her gaze fixed on the ground.

“Where’s Y/n?” she barked at the girl, her mood immediately worsening.

“I don’t know madam, she left.” The maid answered fearfully.

“What do you mean she left?” no one had the audacity to leave her service on their own.

“She said you expelled her, so she left.” The girl shrugs looking at her queen this time.

“That is ridiculous! Bring me my guard.” She orders the girl who bows to her and leaves.

Not long after comes the commander of her guards, coming up with a plan for your search with her. The army turned every corner of the castle upside down to find you, and they rummage the whole city, but you’re nowhere to be found. Ravenna sends out unit after unit to travel to all the corners of her kingdom to find you, fearing what might happen to you in the wild and dangerous world. She wasn’t sure you were even still in her kingdom or alive, and that worried her infinitely. She didn’t realize how attached she grew to your presence and joyfulness, enjoying your mannerisms and easily pleased outgoing nature.

“What have I done.” She whispers into the darkness of her chambers feeling cold and unwelcoming without you in them.

#fanfiction #fanfic #queen ravenna #queen ravenna x reader #queen ravenna x you #queen ravenna angst #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron x you #charlize theron #snow white and the huntsman #snow white #ravenna #ravenna x reader #ravenna x you

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thebunnednun · 6 months ago

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Ahoy! U write about Shanks? Our sweet red-haired daddy? I just found out Shanks is younger than Katakuri I'm shocked

Dancing Under the Stars Red-Haired Shanks X Bar-Maid! Reader

Dear God, I have never written this man as love interest before, I am so sorry if he's outta character!

I hope you didn't mind the long wait! Stuff happens and then I just have to keep these in the chamber until I can post again. Okay, the red haired daddy of the pirates is gonna be a handful. Let's make him dance~ >:D

This was a request from my Follower Fridays! If you have a character or story in mind, go ahead and ask because my requests are open!

05/26/2024, a poll is open too for a community vote, so place your bet now before it closes!!

On with the show!~

______________________________________________________________

The sun set in a brilliant display of colors, casting a warm glow over the tropical island. The beach was bustling with life, and the sound of laughter mingled with the rhythm of the waves. Shanks and his crew had just docked and were making their way to the island’s most famous spot: [Name]'s Beach Bar.

The bar was a beacon of light and sound, drawing pirates and locals alike. Music filled the air, and the scent of tropical flowers and salty sea breeze created a perfect atmosphere for a night of fun. Shanks, with his trademark straw hat perched on his head, led his crew inside.

"Ahh," Shanks sighed, stopping at the doors before grinning. "This is the place."

Behind the bar, [Name] was mixing drinks with practiced ease, her smile lighting up the room. You were by far, Shanks favorite reason to stop at this island.

[Name] is a stunning vision of beachside beauty, with features that reflect the paradise that surrounds her.

Your skin is always warm to the touch from endless days spent under the tropical sun, giving you a radiant glow that seems to illuminate the room. Your eyes sparkle with mischief and warmth, hinting at the playful spirit that resides within.

Shanks found himself walking a bit faster towards the bar, Beckman on heels. For him, [Name]'s smile is her most captivating feature, brightening her face and drawing others to her like moths to a flame. Her lips are full and plush, often adorned with a glossy sheen that adds to their allure. With every movement, you radiates joy and positivity, infusing the room with her infectious energy.

In summary, [Name] is a vision of beachside beauty, with features that reflect the sun, sea, and sand that surround her. Her radiant smile and captivating presence make her the epitome of tropical allure, a true goddess of the shore.

Or that's what Shanks was going on and on about to the crew until he finally arrived at your station.

Inside, the bar was alive with activity. Patrons were dancing, laughing, and enjoying the warm night. Strings of fairy lights were hung from the palm trees, casting a soft, magical glow over the scene. Behind the bar, [Name] was mixing drinks with practiced ease, her smile lighting up the room. She looked up and spotted Shanks, her eyes twinkling with recognition.

"Well, if it isn't the famous Shanks!" she called out, waving him over.

"Welcome back to my bar!"

Shanks approached, his usual confidence slightly tempered by the lively atmosphere. "Thanks, [Name]. I've missed yo- this place."

"And I've you too," [Name] replied, leaning on the bar with a playful glint in her eye. "It's not every day a legendary pirate visits my humble establishment. Let's get you something to drink."

Shanks ordered a drink, and the two quickly fell into easy conversation. They exchanged stories of their adventures, [Name] recounting tales of her bar's colorful patrons and Shanks sharing snippets of his journeys. Shanks found himself captivated by her lively spirit and infectious laughter.

"So, tell me," [Name] said, resting her chin on her hand as she listened to one of Shanks' tales, "what brings you to this part of the Grand Line?"

Shanks shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Just looking for a good time, some good company. Seems like I came to the right place."

"You certainly did," [Name] replied with a wink. "We know how to have fun around here."

As the night wore on, the music shifted to a faster tempo. Couples began to pair off, moving to the dance floor. Shanks watched them, a flicker of unease crossing his face. He admired how effortlessly [Name] interacted with everyone, her energy drawing people in like a magnet.

"You know," [Name] said, catching his look, "dancing's a big part of the fun here. How about it, Shanks? Care to join me?"

Shanks hesitated, glancing at the dancers. "I'm not much of a dancer," he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically shy. "Especially with... well, you know." He gestured to his missing arm.

[Name] smiled warmly, her flirtatious nature coming through. "Who says you need two arms to dance? Come on, let's try something different. How about a square dance? It's more about having fun than anything else."

Before Shanks could protest, [Name] took his hand and led him to the dance floor. She signaled to the band, who started playing a lively tune. Shanks found himself in a group with [Name] and several other patrons, moving to the beat in a series of coordinated steps.

At first, Shanks stood with an uncharacteristic stiffness, his gaze shifting uncomfortably as he became acutely aware of his missing arm. But [Name]'s infectious laughter and encouragement gradually worked their magic on him. She moved with such effortless grace and joy that it was impossible not to be swept up in the moment.

"See?" [Name] exclaimed, spinning gracefully to the music's rhythm.

"You're doing great!"

A genuine laugh escaped Shanks' lips, his usual air of confidence returning. "This is actually fun! You're not too bad yourself, lass." He flashed her a crooked grin, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

In a bold move, [Name] playfully pinched his side and deftly removed his cloak, revealing the scarlet hue that tinged his cheeks. Leaning in closer, she whispered teasingly in his ear.

"I could say the same thing about you, Daddy.~"

Shanks flushed, a deeper shade of crimson than his hair, as [Name] giggled mischievously and twirled him around once more. Despite his initial reservations, he found himself enjoying the dance more than he had anticipated, grateful for [Name]'s playful spirit and her ability to make him feel at ease in his own skin.

As they danced, more people joined in, the dance floor becoming a sea of smiling faces and twirling bodies. The atmosphere was electric, everyone feeding off the collective energy and joy.

"You're a natural, Shanks," [Name] teased, giving him a playful wink. "I knew you had it in you."

Shanks grinned, a spark of his usual confidence returning. "Maybe I just needed the right partner."

Their laughter mingled with the music, creating a harmonious symphony. The energy on the dance floor was contagious, drawing even more patrons to join in the square dance from the beach.

Shanks and [Name] found themselves at the center of a growing circle of dancers, their movements becoming more synchronized with each beat.

"You know," Shanks said, catching his breath during a brief lull in the music, "I never thought I'd enjoy square dancing of all things."

"It's all about the company," [Name] replied with a smile. "And you're pretty good at keeping up."

The night continued with more laughter and dancing. At one point, the band transitioned into a slower, more romantic tune. [Name] took the opportunity to lead Shanks into a slower dance, her hand resting gently on his shoulder and chest while his arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

"You're full of surprises," Shanks murmured, looking down at [Name]. The soft lights reflected in her eyes, giving them an enchanting glow.

"So are you, Red-Haired Shanks," [Name] replied, her voice soft and playful. "I never would have guessed the great pirate captain would be shy about dancing."

Shanks chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You make it easy."

While the dance continued, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. The connection between them grew stronger, the chemistry undeniable. Shanks felt a sense of ease and happiness that he hadn't experienced in a long time. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the responsibilities and dangers of his life as a pirate and simply enjoy the present.

As the night at the beach bar continued, the energy remained high, with patrons laughing, dancing, and enjoying the lively atmosphere. At one point, the karaoke machine was brought out, and [Name] couldn't resist dragging Shanks up to the stage.

"Come on, Shanks, let's sing something together!" [Name] exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.

Shanks hesitated, not used to being the center of attention in such a way, but he couldn't resist [Name]'s infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, why not?" he chuckled, taking the microphone from her.

Together, they sang a lively sea shanty, their voices blending surprisingly well. Shanks was pleasantly surprised at how much fun he was having, his initial self-consciousness fading away with each verse.

Meanwhile, Shanks' crew sat at a nearby table, watching the scene with amusement. Yasopp nudged Benn Beckman, a smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like the captain's found himself a duet partner."

Benn chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Who would've thought the great Red-Haired Shanks would be singing karaoke?"

Lucky Roo grinned, clapping along to the music. "They make a good pair, don't they? Maybe we should join in!"

Shanks and [Name] finished their song to applause and cheers from the crowd. Shanks couldn't help but smile at [Name], grateful for her infectious spirit and the way she had helped him let loose and have fun.

"That was amazing!" [Name] exclaimed, giving Shanks a playful nudge. "Who knew you had such a great singing voice?"

Shanks chuckled, a hint of color still lingering on his cheeks. "I suppose you bring out the best in me, lass."

As they made their way back to their table, Shanks' crew greeted them with cheers and applause, their earlier teasing replaced with admiration.

"You two were fantastic!" Yasopp called out, raising his glass in salute. "Who knew the captain was a karaoke star?"

Shanks laughed, feeling lighter and more carefree than he had in a long time. He was grateful for [Name]'s presence and the way she had helped him break out of his shell, if only for one memorable night on the beach.

By the end of the night, Shanks felt lighter than he had in years. As the music faded and the crowd began to disperse, he turned to [Name].

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

[Name] smiled, her eyes warm and inviting. "Anytime, Shanks. You're always welcome here."

As the stars twinkled overhead, Shanks and [Name] stood on the beach, the waves lapping at their feet. It was a night neither would soon forget, a reminder that even the most legendary pirates could find joy in the simplest of pleasures.

Shanks looked at [Name], a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I might just take you up on that offer."

[Name] laughed, the sound like music to Shanks' ears. "I'll hold you to it, Strawberry Shortcake. Next time, maybe we'll try a waltz."

"I look forward to it," Shanks replied, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

As they parted ways, Shanks couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected evening. He knew he'd be back to [Name]'s Beach Bar, not just for the music and the dancing, but for the company of the captivating woman who had helped him find his rhythm once again.

______________________________________________________________

Shanks being nervous about dancing was very much inspired by: @fanaticsnail and their story: Dancando Lambada it's freaking great and you all should go check it out!!

As a caribbean latina, I fucking loved that shit and it's so rare to see something of my culture make it to mainstream media.

In the words of Emily Rudd, "Shanks is a daddy!"

Make sure you check out the a03 account by the same name. I also have other daddy's of One piece posted in the masterlist! Give them a read if you please!

Be sure to leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don't be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

Also, don't be shy, send me your requests! I wanna write lots this weekend!

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

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telleroftime · 9 months ago

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I mentioned Bog King x Readers in my previous post so of course I will follow that up with potential dynamics.

Bog King x Moth!Reader

We've seen butterfly and dragonfly wings in the movie so who's to say no to moths. Reader could be a pilgrim and though fitting in as one of the butterflies, they would still be seen as an outcast. The colour of their wings is much more befitting the Dark Forest. Maybe Reader request shelter in Bog's 'castle'. Maybe they ask for directions and Bog personally escorts them around his kingdom.

Bog King x Star Fairy!Reader

It's less of a particular fairy species and more so a Fairy!Reader that's in awe with the night sky. They have their own observatory an are resourceful in their study of the stars. Maybe they stumbled into the Dark Forest by accident and stayed in awe of the sky which looks far more beautiful with the darkness of the land. Maybe they snuck in to witness a comet that falls only once every hundred or so years.

Bog King x Bird Trainer!Reader

Roland has a bird he flew on so someone had to have trained it. Reader could be one of the animal trainers. Maybe Bog could be involved in some political matter and stumbles on the training area. Maybe he somehow gets roped in on bird racing, where Reader has a very good reputation as one of the best racers.

Bog King x Animal Whisperer!Reader

Maybe Reader has a general affinity to animals, like Fluttershy almost. Maybe Reader helps out Bog with some violent animal pestering the inhabitants of the Dark Forest.

Bog King x Assassin!Reader

Reader could be from outside of the two kingdoms. Imagine a wingless fairy that's taken in by a group of thugs, trained to kill like a praying mantis. Maybe they broke away from the assassin colony and took refuge in the Dark Forest where they met Bog. Maybe they were sent to kill the fairy king but were stopped by a sword fighting Marianne and wounded enough to retreat into the one place the fairies refuse to enter.

Hmm, what else is there... Edit - Oh my goodness, merfolk!Reader

#bog king x reader #bog king #strange magic #strange magic x reader #I really am a simple person #I will do anything but write an essay

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holybibly · 1 year ago

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Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood. You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient. I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once… Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side. But I’m forgetting what’s important. I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring. Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses. These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers. “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but… But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.” I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

“But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her. All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story.

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow.

“Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.” Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

“No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground. In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

“What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

“You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

“Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror. Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman. The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again. What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss. For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass. I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

But I was yelling about something else instead. My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina! I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October. Her blood… and the roses. And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity. They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke. But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa. After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath. But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist.

In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers.

Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

No one was supposed to see or know. Even me. Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in. I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone. I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest. Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing. Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly. It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story. The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

It was her exodus. I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses. The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me. But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning. Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one. Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · · I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story. The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · · How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin. The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?" But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

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