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dropsnectar · 2 months ago

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Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad.

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands.

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face.

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures.

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition.

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well.

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine.

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study.

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard.

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then.

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink.

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you.

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high.

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms.

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up.

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment.

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper.

You’d been played.

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp.

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in.

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good.

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind. The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive, and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below.

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid.

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight.

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma.

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you.

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in.

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil. It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed.

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality.

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds.

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts.

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent.

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way.

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought.

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason.

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled.

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!

#monster x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #monster #vines #tentacles #monster x gn reader #teratophillia #terat0philliac #tentacle smut #vine smut #monster smut #ovipositor

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peachesofteal · 4 months ago

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Dead Disco - Epilogue

Dead Disco masterlist Ghost/Soap/female reader The end.

You’re having trouble breathing.

It doesn’t help that you’re hiding in the back, peeking around the corner every so often, trying to interpret everyone’s faces.

It’s terrifying. You’re terrified.

“Hello?” Lea calls from the other side of the hallway, hands turned upwards like she’s confused. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh!” You hiss, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m hiding.”

“Okay… why are we hiding?”

“I can’t go out there.” The denial is steadfast, and she shakes her head.

“You have to. You’re the artist.”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t go. They’re all… looking at me. Judging me.”

“They’re appreciating you, love. They’re appreciating your work.” You shiver. It’s not just your work out there. It’s a collection of your pieces, moments and feelings worked out on canvas, agony and elation painted together into something called art.

“I can’t go out there.” You double down, and she rubs your shoulder sympathetically.

“You have to.”

It’s not so bad. You finally appear from the back, and the gallery host introduces you as the artist. Everyone claps.

As you make your rounds, you start to notice small stickers on the plaques, signifying the sale of a piece, and it warms you, happiness spreading from fingers to toes, fills you with pride.

People stop to talk to you, shake your hand, ask you about certain pieces. You find answering their questions is not as painful as you imagined, and their compliments make you feel lighter. You circle the room, finally coming to a stop in front of the biggest piece in the entire gallery.

At first glance, you think it’s hard to discern what’s really going on, but the longer you stare at it, the more the puzzle comes together. Or at least, you think so. You’ve been staring at it for four years.

It’s an expressionist piece, as all your paintings are, but this one is a touch abstract, stroked together in a way that seems almost unintentional.

It’s a painting of conflicting colors, some dark and moody, others bright. A push, and a pull. Three bodies lay on a bed, diaphragms torn open and bleeding. They're all reaching into each other's chests, blood coating their arms, curled up so tightly together it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins in some strokes.

There’s no emotion scrawled into their features, nothing to interpret. You did it intentionally, hoping to direct the focus to the piece as a whole. That’s the only way it works. The only way it makes sense.

“I like this one. It's intriguing. Feels sad, almost.” Someone says behind you, and you turn to see a tall man staring at it with a thoughtful gaze. Studying. “Will you tell me about it?”

Emotion clogs your throat. Your fingers trace over the plaque bearing its name.

Darling.

“It’s a love story.”

The bar stool is one of the spinning ones.

You keep turning around in it, in circles, laughing as Lea rolls her eyes. “Babe, you’re going to fall.” You tsk.

“You’re literally no fun.”

“We’re here celebrating you. I don’t want to be doing that in a hospital when you break a bone falling off that stool.” She tips her head towards the bartender. “Can we get another round please?”

“Sure thing.” You like this place. It’s got great natural light in the day, big, tall windows and sage green walls, gold accents littered throughout. It feels homey, and sweet.

“I think that went really well. How do you feel about it?”

How do you feel.

“I think so too. Once I got over the nerves I… I thought it was good.”

“You sold a lot of paintings.”

“I know.” You laugh. That’s the surprise of the night, if you’re being honest. The number of pieces you sold, to other galleries, to a museum.

A wild dream turned reality.

“You’re going to be a big-time fancy painter now, watch.”

“I’m sure that’s either a long way off, or not going to happen. Either way, I’m really happy. I’m really proud of myself.” The two of you sip your new drinks, and you twist again on the stool.

“Someone tried to buy Darling.” Lea says gently, eyes soft.

“I know.”

“You’re sure you didn’t want to sell it?” You shake your head. It might be your best, biggest piece, but it will never know a home other than yours. You started painting it four years ago, the first night you left her behind, and she’ll never belong to anyone, except you. She’s safe with you, protected by you, loved by you, like she always should have been.

Like she was, so reverently, by them.

You didn’t even want to display it tonight, if you’re being honest. But Lea convinced you, and you found it in yourself to be brave.

She lets you sit in your silence for a while, which you appreciate. She’s a true friend, one that doesn’t pressure you to do things or say things for the sake of them.

Usually.

“Well,” she clinks her glass against yours with a mischievous smile and then says much too loudly, loud enough faces and bodies turn towards yours in the bar, “here’s to my favorite painter and her first gallery showing.” Some people clap. Some people cheer. You glare at her. “What? Opposed to free drinks?” You spin on the stool again, smiling, and then catch a flash of someone walking towards a door, muscled shoulders-

And a mohawk.

Your heart trips over itself.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell Lea, who gives you a confused look, but you’re already moving through the room, unsteady on your heels.

You burst through the door into the cool air, autumn nipping at your exposed skin, and look up and down the street. Your pulse ricochets in your ears.

They’re a block away. The night is dark, and the streetlights are yellow, but you’d know them anywhere.

“Hey!” You yell. “Wait!” They turn, and you teeter towards them as fast as you can manage, startling to a stop a few feet before them.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. Standing here, staring at them, taking them in, soaking in it. They look good. Happy. Healthy. Johnny’s skin is glowing, Simon somehow seems bulkier than he did four years ago, but the weight suits him.

“Hi.” You breathe.

“Hi.” Johnny’s eyes sparkle, Simon’s lips turning up in a barely-there smile.

Words fail you. For the first time in a while, you don’t know what to say. Hundreds of thousands of things try to get free, but none of them make it, though your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“We saw yer name on the sign outside the gallery down the street earlier. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. It was… really neat.” Lame.

“It’s a big accomplishment. You must be very proud.” Johnny’s gaze never leave yours, and you nod.

“I am.” The three of you stand there, staring at one another.

“Well, we should get going.” Simon breaks first.

“Right. Of course. Uh, it was… it was good to see you.”

“Ye too.” You let them get half a block away, not even.

You know what you want to say. Delayed, held on your tongue too long in a wash of uncertainty, but it arises clear as day.

“Wait!” They turn, you take a deep breath. “Would you… would you maybe want to have dinner, or something, sometime? Catch up?”

“We’d love to.” It feels different now, but the good pieces, albeit changed, shifted, are still there.

“Great, it’s a… plan. To have dinner. Or something.” Johnny smiles, and Simon nods.

“It’s a plan. You’ll text us?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“See ye soon, then.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish

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jesuistrestriste · 1 month ago

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sage i DESPERATELY need Artemis Donaldson angst.

Like you only call him that when your mad or upset with him. Just the thought makes him wanna sob profusely. along with even the hint of a raised voice? oh yeah he’s on the floor crying

art wasn’t sure how the fight even started.

it was a cold morning and you two had decided to stay in for the day and sit down and chat.

and, more specifically, it had turned into a chat about his tennis career and how the trajectory of it had been affecting your guys’ relationship.

it wasn’t meant to be a serious conversation, and it even started out light and with laughter..!

but then you made a comment about how it seemed like his recent losing streak was making him more closed-off, and art… well.. he got defensive.

he didn’t mean to, but he’s been more sensitive about his losses lately. he scoffed and bit back at you, “… i mean… i don’t know… i don’t exactly feel like you’ve been super supportive.”

and you can’t help but stare at him from the other side of the kitchen table, your face now scrunched up subtly into an expression that can only be perceived as bewilderment and confusion. and maybe a bit of resentment.

“uh.. what? you don’t think i’ve been supportive?”

art looks down at his hands resting over the tabletop, his brows raising slightly as his lips part while he finds his words. god, his walls are building back up in record time. he loves you more than life itself, but right now he feels like he’s being backed into a corner.

he feels like he’s being chastised by the one person he craves reassurance from.

“not really. i— okay, like, i know you’re helping me find new trainers and getting me on that creatine bullshit, but.. i need you to tell me i’ll get better, and not just tell me how ‘sad’ it is that i lost…” he scoffs.

you shake your head and huff, your brow furrowed as you feel your heartbeat pick up in pace. he’s never been like this before with you.

“i…” you rub your temple, “im not going to coddle you. that’s not me, it never was. i love you, but im also trying to be a little tough on you here—”

your words reach his ears, but he’s already in his head. his cheeks are flushing red with growing frustration and need, and he shakes his head. he cuts you off.

“nope, no no, no—“ he frowns, looking to your eyes, “i, god, i just need you to be a little sympathetic..! it’s like, i beat myself up enough already WITHOUT you getting on my back—!”

“Art,” you try to calm him down and bring him back, feeling attacked by his words and expectations, but he’s spiraling fast.

“—and it’s so frustrating to get off the courts and have that sinking feeling in my gut because i KNOW that you’re gonna get this disappointed look on your face like you think i’m a lost cause..!”

the tips of his ears are pink and he’s not even looking at you anymore. you scoff, shaking your head as you study his fidgeting frame while his hands raise to gesture to his invisible complaints.

“—i just need you to be a little compassionate with me from time to time, is that fucking wrong?”

“Art—“ you say, your tone firmer and louder, but he’s still rambling on.

“like, fuck! i can’t take it sometimes..! i really can’t, you just— i’m—“ he leans over the table, his elbows propping up his palms so that he can push his forehead into them, “i’m so tired, and i feel like nothing is ever gonna be enough to satisfy you—!”

“ARTEMIS..!”

your stern shout of his full name snaps him so fast out of his stupor that he nearly gets dizzy. it rings through his ears and clings to his throat, sliding down and burning in his chest. you never use his name like that. not unless he’s really, truly messed up..

he lifts his head in an instant, and the look on your face is what does it. the pain, the hurt, the confusion, the guilt, the anger. it’s written all over your features and it’s overwriting all of his perfect memories of your happy, beautiful image. he did this. he made you feel like you weren’t doing enough.. and all because he’s struggling with his own emotions so badly that he can’t bottle them up anymore.

he swallows the lump in his throat, desperately trying not to fall apart, but it’s far too late for that now.

he feels the sting in his eyes and the heat creeping up his neck, and then a choked-off sob escapes his lips before he can stop the tears from spilling. they roll down his cheeks and then he’s leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands.

and now your own breathing has stopped. you stand up from your chair and walk over to his side, knowing that he needs you more now than ever. even if he just criticized your character for a good long while. he needs you.

you place a hand on his upper back as it shakes, and his shoulders hitch as he starts to sob harshly. sniffling and hiccuping as he leans in and pulls his touch from his face to wrap his arms around your waist. he pushes his nose into your stomach; aching cries being muffled by your shirt.

“i’m, i’m sorry, im so sorry, im sorry, im sorry” he whimpers, his digits fisting the fabric of your top like he’s scared you’ll pull away soon.

your other hand moves up to his short blonde hair, stroking it as you frown and look down to him clinging to you. “shhh…” you whisper

he just shakes his head against your frame and sobs harder, “i didn’t— i didn’t mean it, i—im sorry, i didn’t really—i didn’t mean any of that, im just so—“

“tell me…” you say gently, tenderly, but it only makes him feel worse. he thinks he doesn’t deserve your kindness after all he just said.

“i’m so… s-sad..” he sobs softly and painfully, like he’s been holding it in for years. like he’s a young kid back at the mark rebellato tennis academy and he just lost an important match for the first time. the disappointment on patrick’s face. the guilt making him cower slightly while the other doubles team shrieks with victory. all of it. everything he’s ever done to make you or someone else feel let down. it’s all coming out now. and he can’t stop it.

his words cause your heart to shatter, and you slowly stroke the back of his head before you lean down to kiss the top of it, “oh, baby,” you whisper, concern and sympathy lacing your syllables. art sniffles.

“i’m sorry.”

you shake your head and whisper down to him, “i get it.. i.. i’m so sorry that i didn’t know you were dealing with all of this…”

“… well, i didn’t say anything.”

“i should have pressed harder when i realized you seemed more quiet around the apartment.”

“it’s not your fault.”

“it’s not yours either, art..”

he squeezes his eyes shut tight, two more fat tears slipping down. he nods, even if he doesn’t believe that he agrees.

two more kisses grace the top of his head, and then he’s pulling back and lifting his face to look up to yours. his eyes are lidded and red, his nose tinted the same hue, and he sniffles once more. cheeks streaked with salty regret. his hands slide up your lower back, his chin on your abdomen, “… thank you…

… i love you.”

#angst #🌸 - ask prompts #�� - mutuals #venus i will always always always write for ur artemis donaldson headcanon #<3 #it’s so precious to me #i feel like this wasn’t super cohesive but #he’s so sad and and :(( it’s fun to write him being consoled #also i wrote so much more that i thought i did…..#art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader

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sonotpattismith · 1 month ago

Text

pretty little things (kento nanami x reader)

word count: 10.3k inspired by: as the world caves in by matt maltese warnings: slight angst, fluff, me missing Haibara Yu like a mf summary: when nanami faces near death at the hands of his cruel reality, he's reminded of the graveness of simplicity at the hands of a friendly bookstore owner, who is struggling to find meaning in her own mundaneness. a/n: okay format switch up? LMK if you guys prefer this post format better! Also if it wasn't apparent in the tooth-rotting fluff- I LOVE NANAMI KENTO. That's all. I hope you all enjoy 🫶🏻🥹

Learning how not to ask questions was an art.

Having worked in a bookstore that shelved such a wide array of genres for a few years— there were many questions that constantly littered your mind as character after character came and went from your quaint little shop. They all varied in age, gender, ethnicity, and their choice in literature offered that much more variety. You watched countless titles being laid against your checkout counter. Macbeth, Twilight, Baking for Dummies, A Happy Life in an Open Relationship, The CBT Workbook for Perfectionism, Why Can’t I Let You Go— all the covers that your neatly manicured nails skimmed over each hour told a story.

Sometimes, as you peered up at the customer attached to the novel, you painted a picture of their story in your ever wondering mind. This evening, it was an elderly woman, her silvery hair pushed back with soft pink clips and a sage green frock clinging delicately to her slumped shoulders. Window to Widow, the bolded letter across the cover told her story for you. No matter how much you felt compelled to question, aching to ask her how she was doing— people came to the bookstore to find something in the world that they were missing from themselves.

You, on the other hand, were only there to observe with a welcoming smile. Never judging, never questioning, never helping. They were here to help themselves, after all.

So, you smiled warmly at the somber woman and rang up her total. Turning back to your side counter with her book in hand, you wrapped it delicately with twine, pressing your pointer finger in the middle of it to tie a quaint bow with the tool. Your lips twitched melancholily as you picked a small bundle of forget-me-nots from the cardboard box beside the register and carefully tucked it into the twine.

You had gotten very skilled at not asking any questions.

Sighing at the computer screen before you, your mind was flooded with uncertainty as you skimmed through the countless college programs emailed to you by the advisor you’d spoken with weeks prior. She told you that, following your meeting, these seemed like the best fit for what you wanted to pursue. As you clicked into each one and read more into them, you couldn’t help but look around at the solace of a corner bookstore you’d built up from the ground just three years ago.

It wasn’t enough, you always thought when you heard about the countless deaths and tragedies that were befalling the city around you. After all, there were people on the frontlines, people making a difference, and you felt inferior as you selected your week’s display line up and decorated it just pretty enough to catch passer byer’s attention. You loved it with your whole heart, but was it enough?

“Excuse me,” A firm voice called out from behind you as the soft melody of the door chime sounded. Turning your head, you were met by the guarded gaze of a tall, suited man. His blonde hair sat almost perfectly on his head, save for the stray strands that fluttered across his forehead. The hollows of his cheeks made way for his carefully carved face and jawline, and the sight of him had your brows raising just a hair. “Do you happen to have a section for cook books?”

Despite his question being directed at you, he was already looking around the small store with a hand on his hip. The yellow tint of his glasses shone as the setting sun hit them from the window, revealing a glimpse of his narrowed eyes. Taking in his seemingly strong physique, his serious expression, and well pressed suit and tie, his question surprised you. A cookbook?

Shoving your questions to the back of your head as you always did, you smiled softly at him in greeting. Stepping down from the small footstool you’d been balancing on, you walked toward the far right aisle of the store, nodding for him to follow along with you. You heard his steady footsteps behind you as you stopped in front of your small selection of cookbooks. A timid smile lit graced your features as you waved your hands in presentation, watching as he nodded at the selection.

“Um… is there anything specific that I can help you find?” You cringed at your question, beacause, in reality, there weren’t that many cookbooks to choose from, so you were sure the more than competent looking man did not need your help. Still, you couldn’t help but want to linger— he was the most handsome customer that had graced your store in a minute, after all.

“No, that’s quite alright. Thank you.” The man didn’t even look at you as he dismissed your help, already peering curiously at the baking section.

“Right,” You muttered pathetically, turning on your heel to give him some space to browse. “Well, let me know if you need anything!”

It was only a few minutes later, as you continued busying yourself with the finishing touches of the display table, that you heard him politely clear his throat behind you. Catching yourself before you slipped off the footstool, you nodded bashfully before placing yourself behind the register. The man set a hardcover down on the counter in front of you. Peering down, you smiled gently. The Bread Bible. Something about the mental image of this beefy, solemn man carefully following cookbook directions to make bread tickled a part of your brain that had you suppressing an amused expression.

As he handed you his credit card, he took a chance to look around the small store thoughtfully.

“Is this a new business? I frequent the café next door, but I don’t think I’ve ever noticed this being here.” You were surprised when he initiated the conversation, as you had already gotten the impression that he wanted to be in and out of here without being bothered. “I usually go to the bookstore down the street, but it seems they’ve closed for renovations.”

“Oh! No, I actually opened about three years ago.” You flushed, suddenly very aware of the fact that your little store was by no means attention grabbing from the outside. Glancing at the front windows, you made a mental note to search around for some plants or lights that might make it stand out more.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“So, you like the café next door—” You squinted down at the card in your hands before smiling up at him and returning it. Grabbing the book from the counter, you made quick work to begin wrapping it up neatly. “Nanami-san? You should try their daifuku if you haven’t already. It’s to die for.”

Nanami’s head turned at the sound of his name.

“Daifuku, hm? I’ll have to try it the next time I go.” With curious eyes, he watched as you cut a string of twine and began wrapping his book. “There’s no need for that. It’s only for me.”

Glancing up at him with a smile, you shook your head in dismissal before plucking a few flower’s from your stash to place into the knot.

“I do it for all the books I sell.” You explained fondly, handing the beautifully presented book to him. His fingers brushed yours as he grabbed it, staring intently down at the soft, blue flowers that graced the cover. “Everyone needs a little reminder of the pretty things in life, right?”

For the first time since coming into the store, Nanami actually glanced up at you with the intent of seeing you. You wore delicate, linen overalls over your thin, long-sleeved white top. The loose strands of hair falling from your bun framed your kind face, making the corners of his lips twist up, just barely noticeably. Your smile was soft, kind— a reminder of the pretty things in this life.

“I suppose so.” Nanami quipped under his breath, bowing slightly in thanks before exiting your little, corner bookstore.

That cookbook didn’t get touched for the weeks that followed. It was sat beside the pile of other books he’d bought, always telling himself he’d make some time for himself to wind down and read them. Still, each time he stumbled home from work, his muscles aching and his eyes burning, all he could find the energy to do was shower and fall into his cold bed. After all, if he didn’t sleep when he had the chance, when would he?

Despite the dust collecting on the cover, those forget-me-nots always caught his attention from the corner of his eye. After a few days, they began wilting, but the reminder of them still rang clear each time he walked through the front door of his lonesome apartment and came face to face with the untouched, delicately wrapped and decorated book.

It seemed as though each day, his missions became more strenuous, and with each mission, his lips seemed to brush that much closer with the kiss of death. Though his past had brought him face to face with such tragedies before, it felt as though the added risk to his mortality was being brought to his attention more often. So, the more he put off his books, or learning new hobbies, or forming any sort of real connection outside of his work, the higher the stakes were drawn.

As he awaited his coffee that day though, just as he did every other morning, the rigidity of his routine was so much so that he didn’t even notice how he didn’t have to check the total before swiping his card— already knowing it by heart. The packaged pastry was warm against his cool hands as his eyes drifted over the display case, and he had the strangest feeling that he’d forgotten something. It wasn’t in his robotic list of motions though, so he left the café without a second glance.

Nanami was on his way to work when his routine was interrupted. Well, not interrupted, but perhaps distracted was a better word. The quaint bookstore he’d discovered just two weeks ago came into his line of sight as it always did on his way to work. Though he sometimes cast a sidelong glance into the window, he had yet to stop in again. This morning though, you were outside.

Your arms were outstretched above you, a set of fairy lights hanging from your fingers as you tried your best to loop them through the hooks above the door. The decorations you had ordered for the front of the shop had finally come in, and you were desperate for anything that would draw a little more attention to your hole in the wall of a shop. Hopping up a bit with a grunt, you pursed your lips in frustration as you missed your target again.

“Would you like some help?”

You whipped your head around mid-jump at the familiar, solemn voice. Sure enough, the mysterious Nanami himself stood behind you, coffee in one hand and packaged croissant in the other. Just as he was the first time you saw him, his suit was pristinely pressed, and it made you wonder what kind of big shot job he must have.

“Nanami-san!” You muttered in surprise. A flush quickly found its way to your cheeks, embarrassed to have revealed that you’d remembered the man’s name that you’d swiped from his credit card. He didn’t seem phased though, shifting his croissant into the same hand occupied by his coffee and taking the string of lights from your hands. Reaching up with an ease that made your previous hopping look quite pathetic, he carefully looped the fairy lights in and adjusted them to frame the door nicely.

“Is this how you wanted them?”

Too caught up in your blatant staring at his casual display of masculinity, you hadn’t noticed that he finished. Snapping from your haze, you took a step back to inspect his handiwork. With an excited smile, you pressed the button on the remote in your pocket, watching the tiny bulbs light up the entryway.

“What d’ya think?” You asked, not tearing your eyes away from the door.

Frankly, Nanami thought the lights were barely noticeable in the daylight, but you seemed so elated by the delicate change. So, he simply hummed in acknowledgment. Casting a shy look his way at the sound of his unenthusiastic reaction, you squatted down to grab the box of flowers at your feet.

“Thank you for your help. I didn’t really feel like dragging the ladder out here.” Grunting softly with the effort of the weighted box, you were surprised when he slid his arm right under it and relieved you of it, nodding for you to get the door.

The sorcerer took in the sight of the various, opened books that littered your back counter as he set the box down. From the looks of it, they all appeared to be exam preps. You blew your hair from your face and followed his gaze to the aftermath of your anxiety induced study session.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess in here.” You chuckled nervously, frantically moving to mark your pages and stack your books neatly beside the checkout. “I have my entrance exams in a week, so I’ve been cramming when I can.”

“Entrance exams?”

“Um… yeah! I’ve been thinking about going back to school.”

“Something related to business management, I presume?” His question made you look down apprehensively. Chewing on your bottom lip, you began absentmindedly picking debris, spare flower petals, and leaves from the counter.

“No, actually. I’ve been hoping to get into something more… meaningful?”

This made Nanami pause, tearing his gaze from the display case to face you. He wasn’t sure why he was lingering, but something about your sweet-tempered voice, and its nature to say whatever came to mind— it grounded him outside of his usual routine. It, of course, didn’t hurt that the owner of the nice, little bookshop just in the perimeter of his daily walk was so prepossessing. The sorcerer tilted his head with a furrowed brow.

“I’m assuming by that, you mean you think that what you do here isn’t meaningful…” His shielded eyes drifted down to the name tag pinned onto your sweater. The way your name rolled off his tongue, in combination with his gentle, lecturing tone, flustered you a bit. The man wasn’t harsh, or judgemental, or mean. No, his words were curious and calculated, as if truly trying to understand such a notion.

“I don’t know.” You squeaked out, feeling small under his dominant gaze. It had you wondering how intimidating he was without those damned glasses shielding his eyes. “I mean, is it really, in the grand scheme of things? I feel like people are dropping dead left and right. Probably be more useful as like… a nurse or something, y’know?”

Nanami hummed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other purposefully. Still, he gave you no solace from that smoldering, contemplative stare. You tried your best to take it head on, refusing to shy away from his determined eyes.

“There was a time that I felt the same way, but what I was doing was truly not meaningful. People come into bookstores to get away from the grand scheme of things. I believe an escape is just as meaningful as tackling these problems head on, wouldn’t you agree?” His question wasn’t as rhetorical as his tone made it out to be, because he was staring down at you expectantly, awaiting confirmation that what he was saying was penetrating. You nodded dumbly. “It’s just as you put it… remembering the pretty things in life?”

If he kept talking, you were going to fall to your knees in the middle of this damned store. With flushed cheeks, you attempted to collect yourself. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the soft, cotton of your sweater as a customer walked in. Finally, Nanami’s eyes drifted to the entrance, allowing you a chance to breathe. With the newfound clarity, you noticed the coffee and pastry in his hand.

“Speaking of,” You chimed in, grateful to get the topic off of you and your pathetic little existential crisis. His blond hair swayed as he turned to regard you once again. “Did you try that daifuku I told you about?”

It was like a bell had suddenly tolled in his mind, and he mentally cursed himself for having forgotten to pick one up, given he had been in and out of that café at least six times since you’d told him about the damned pastry. Pursing his lips, the blond looked down at his croissant.

“No, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Busy working man, I assume?” You teased, taking another once over at his suit and strangely patterned tie. Nanami hummed in a sort of regretful agreement. “What do you do anyway? You said you found your old work meaningless.”

For the first time since meeting him, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He bowed politely to you before making his way out of the bookstore.

“Have a nice day.” Nanami offered calmly over his shoulder, and you were once again left melting at the sound of your name falling from his lips.

The sorcerer heard you call out a meek goodbye behind him, and it made him forget that, for the first time in years, he was late to work.

Kento Nanami stopped by the shop more often after that. Certainly not as often as you would have liked, but he was swiping his card for a singular, new book at least once a week now. He would ask you how your studies were going, and you lied and said that they were good, too embarrassed to tell him that you’d canceled your entrance exams in a panic following his impromptu pep-talk. It wasn’t that you fully scrapped the idea, but his finding meaning in your seemingly mundane little career gave you pause. Maybe you just needed more time to think about it.

Each time he stopped by, there were new decorations out front. From the fairy lights he’d hung still lit up at the door, to the potted plants that dangled from the overhang, down to the charming welcome mat that you’d placed by the door. His usual bookstore finished construction a week prior, but it didn’t seem as appealing to him anymore.

His selection of books ranged drastically, to the point that you wondered if he was purposefully doing it to throw you off. The more rational part of you said that he didn’t seem the type to care enough about what picture he was painting with his literature choices. From thin books on mixology, to informational books about stain removing, and self-help books about time management— you could never get a proper read on Kento Nanami. Still, you bit back your questions and tied them all up with a different flower each week.

The sorcerer’s pile of untouched books grew and grew as the weeks passed, taking up his coffee table with a haunting energy. Ever since Sukuna’s vessel had sprung up, work was consuming him more than usual. Despite his hectic schedule, his aching muscles, and his survival mentality as he floated through life, the wilting flowers in his collection of books always grounded him back to his quiet apartment.

It wasn’t until a particularly perilous mission that he wished he had made the time to read at least one of those books. His cheek rubbed against the cool, gravelly cement, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood, spilled and pooling around him. At the very least, the special grade was sliced into desolate pieces and scattered around him. As he attempted a deep breath, trying to gather his energy to grab his phone and call for help, Nanami realized all he could manage were short, shallow breaths, and even they felt as though they were piercing holes in his lungs.

Crimson pooled his vision, and his lids snapped shut as the puddle of viscous liquid invaded the corner of his eye. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket to press the emergency button on the side of his phone twice, sending out an alert for help. Maybe they’d come in time. His hand fell limply to his side, and he shifted carefully onto his back, choking out desperately from the effort.

The blood beneath him soaked into his shirt and clung to his hair. He knew he was losing too much, it was evident in the way his vision began to blur, and his head began to spin in a haze.

The sorcerer thought about the pile of books in his apartment. He thought about each time he stumbled home and not once felt that he had it in him to do something for himself. The reminder that each time he could have indulged, the rigidity of his mindless routine kept him from doing anything of the sort— it haunted him as his consciousness began to wane.

His fading mind wandered over every abandoned book, to the wilting flowers that accompanied each one of them. Your words rang in his mind as if a distant echo.

Everyone needs a little reminder of the pretty things in life, right?

Despite himself, and how close his knuckles were brushing against death’s door, Nanami smiled, his split lip leaking with blood that stained his pearly teeth. Even in this mangled, godless tomb he’d found himself lying in— even with the demolished, irreverent figure that had desecrated his body so carelessly— even with the deplorable state his body would be leaving this world— you were there in the back of his soul to remind him, because you were the prettiest thing he could possibly think to remember in his final moments.

It was the first week that had gone by in some time that Kento Nanami hadn’t stopped by your shop. Though it might have been silly, you began to expect him each week— either early in the morning before his shift, or late in the afternoon when he had a certain gruffness in his tone that gave way to the lingering effects of his day. You would never be able to tell by the look on his face though. It was ever neutral; never a frown and even rarer a smile.

When the second week passed, you figured he’d simply gone back to his routine of going to the larger, more commercial bookstore that had reopened down the street. They had a wider selection, after all, and he said himself that he’d only stopped by your store due to their closure.

In a haze of high-school type infatuation, you had told your friend about the guarded man that had been frequenting the store. She had a job at the local clinic, however she often came by to help you out around the store on the rare instances it was too busy for one body alone to keep up with the influx of customers. Each time she’d come in for a makeshift shift, you always silently hoped he’d stop by so she could at least put a face to the name.

He never did though, and, with his now two week absence, you were coming to terms with the fact that she likely never would see him. You smiled wistfully at the thought as you watched her show a customer to the cookbooks. It was likely that you’d allowed your imagination to take you too far, and Nanami was, as simply as he put it, browsing your selection until the other shop reopened.

You couldn’t discount the hope he’d instilled in you though that the work you were doing did mean something to someone. Even someone as consumed by the hustle and bustle of the city as Nanami seemed to be made the time to stop by your shop with the intent of escaping, and it had been so important to you each time you heard his polite, reserved greeting filling the air around you.

“Excuse me,” You were snapped from your dissociative haze by the customer in front of you. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you’d failed to greet them before you began mindlessly scanning their books. Looking up in surprise, you smiled apologetically to the man in front of you. “Where’s that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

Your smile faltered for a moment at his borderline creepy question, but you shrugged it off nonetheless and began packaging his books up.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” You questioned politely, haphazardly measuring the twine you were rolling out before slicing through it.

“Well…” The man sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter. You knew then that you shouldn’t have asked, and, with an internal sigh, you knew you’d spend at least the next ten minutes suffering for your fatal mistake. “I was hoping to get the nice cashier’s attention, but it looks like she’s otherwise preoccupied.”

Not looking up at him as you continued packaging his books, you resisted the urge to correct his cashier comment to owner, figuring the less he knew— the better. Having picked out about five books, he had the time to go on a long winded rant about how decent courtesy was a thing of the past, and women just aren’t as nice as they used to be but that he was sure you seem different from all the rest. The irritation was rising in your chest, but you swallowed it down as you placed the finishing touches on each of his books.

“Have a nice day, sir.” You smiled meekly at him as you slid his nicely presented books toward him. He stared dumbly at you for a moment, blinking a few times before offering a sly smile.

“And I don’t suppose your number is written in any of those right?”

With a blush that was more so from irritation than anything else, you began cleaning your workstation, once again choosing to ignore him. You never were good at putting your foot down in such awkward situations. An anxious gulp forced its way down your throat when you heard him hum in question.

“C’mon, I see that blush—”

“Is it time for your break yet, my love?”

Your head shot up at the sound of another voice cutting off the sleeze’s comment, and your eyes met those of a taller man looming calmly beside your lingering customer. They were calculated, focused on you while seemingly ever-aware of the lurking presence beside him, hazel irises glistening from the sun shining through the windows.

It took you almost a full minute to realize it was Kento Nanami standing before you. You had never seen him without those goggle-like glasses always attached to his nose, and he wasn’t in his usual suit. Instead, he donned a cream colored, knit sweater that paired well with his neatly fitted, dark jeans. You couldn’t tell what caught you more off guard, seeing how striking his eyes were for the very first time, or how different he appeared in such casual clothing.

Clutched in his hand was a bouquet of white roses, light-blue forget-me-nots sprinkled throughout the arrangement.

“My love?” The questioning call of his voice, paired with the intense eye contact he was maintaining told you that he indeed was directing that term of endearment toward you. He cast a quick, sidelong glance to the man beside him, and you quickly caught on, nodding softly.

“Um, yes. I was just wrapping up with this customer.” You hinted, pushing the stack of books closer to the dumbfounded man for good measure. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Not allowing him to respond, Nanami stepped forward to take his spot at the counter, leaving the man to begrudgingly pick up his books and take his leave. Your eyes followed him out, and you couldn’t help the dramatic sigh of relief that heaved out your chest as the door closed behind him.

“I apologize if I overstepped, but it appeared as though he wasn’t taking the hint.”

Looking back over at your knight-in-cashmere-sweater, you smiled gratefully at him. Nanami’s lips twitched up ever so slightly at the sight.

“I didn’t even recognize you.” You admitted bashfully, looking behind him to assure there were no other customers waiting. Focusing your gaze on him once again, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that he had finally returned. “Those flowers are beautiful, by the way. Special occasion?”

He hummed, looking down curiously at his attire before meeting your gaze once again.

“Oh, they’re for you, actually.”

This made your finger’s soft drumming against the counter pause, assessing the sincere expression on his face. You gave the store a quick once over.

“I think he left already, Nanami-san.” You laughed softly, trying to quiet the butterflies in your stomach at the idea that he had actually come in to bring you flowers. His thin, blond brows furrowed a fraction at your comment, and he shook his head.

“No, I brought these for you. Also— please call me Kento.” He clarified, watching the way the blood rushed to your cheeks as your eyes ran flusteredly over the bouquet he was handing your way. “I apologize for not having come by recently, I got into quite the accident at work, but I’m feeling better now and would like to take you out. If you’d like, of course.”

Your fingers wrapped hesitantly over the bouquet. Leaning forward, you gently breathed in the delicate scent emanating from the flowers. It was mixing with Kento’s cologne, wafting into your senses in an intoxicating mix. He watched pensively— the way you tried to bite back your smile, but soon enough your teeth were shining brightly at him, cheeks ablaze in a manner that made you appear absolutely radiant. The sight clenched at his bandaged chest, and he wasn’t sure if the burning was coming from his steadily healing ribs or the erratic beat of his heart.

Despite what his rapid blood loss and slipping consciousness had led him to believe that night, help did come in time for him. They cut it incredibly close, but still, when he pried his eyes open the next day, his heart was still beating and his flesh was still warm. He spent a few days in the hospital, Gojo and a few of the students stopping by to see him once they were informed that he’d woken up.

The warm welcome back into the land of the living was kind enough, even if he had to beg them to quiet down at least four times during their half-hour visit. When he returned to his apartment a few days later, each step seemed to take every last bit of energy from his already worn out body. The door opened with a creek, and he was enveloped in silence.

Nanami usually welcomed the blissful peace with open arms, already worn out from the atrocious ways fate had played with him for one day. That night though, it only reminded him of how close he was to dying alone.

So, he stood before you, gazing upon the very smile that had flashed in his mind when he believed himself on the brink of death. Flowers were clutched firmly in his fingers, a reminder of the way you planted the seed of meaning back into his life— of something more than his thus far wasteful nature of crawling through his days had provided.

Kento smiled at you, pounding the final nail in the coffin that held any semblance of dignity you hoped to hold onto when you saw him next.

It was criminal, you thought, how perfect one man could look— how easily he could render you a stuttering mess with just a flash of his golden smile.

“I hope your silence isn’t my cue to take a hint as well.” His honeyed voice quipped, and you could swear there was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

“No! I mean— I’d really like that.” You attempted to save face for your flustered state, but you were sure even he could see right through it. “Thank you… for the flowers, Kento.”

Even his name falling from your lips sounded so blissfully intimate in his ears.

“Shall we go then?”

“Oh— now?” You squeaked, checking the time to see it was still only noon, and the shop didn’t close for another few hours. “I don’t close here until—”

“She can take a break!” Your friend suddenly chimed in, having been pretending to stock the shelves (she had been pulling and placing the same book from its shelf for five minutes now). You looked up at her in shock, watching Nanami turn and bow to her in greeting from the corner of your eye. She gave you a pleading look, as if she was the one being pulled from her shift midday by the six feet of pure gentleman that had just graced your store. “The rush has died down. I can hold down the fort for an hour.”

You made a mental note to bring her back something sweet from the café Kento was steering you toward, a guiding hand resting respectfully on the small of your back. Even with the well-mannered placement of his palm, the feeling of his touch at all was turning your brain to mush.

It seemed to all be rushing to you now, as you looked up at him. He was speaking calmly with the woman at the register of the café, and you finally caught onto the almost faded, yellowing bruise on the right side of his face. It lined his sharply defined cheekbone, a tiny scar on the edge that made you wonder how bad it had looked two weeks ago.

What kind of accident had he been in that made him rush to take you on a date with such fervor as soon as he was well enough to leave the house? Better yet, what line of work was he in that put him in such positions? It was all simmering in your mind, growing hotter as you recalled his dodgy answers when you would ask what he did for work.

Kento called your name, the sound slowly pushing its way into your consciousness as you snapped from your haze. He was looking down at you in question.

“What would you like to drink?” The tone of his voice let you know that this wasn’t the first time he’d asked you. Tearing your gaze from his, you gave your coffee order to the barista before nodding in thanks. “Something on your mind?”

You couldn’t help but notice how casually he’d crossed over this boundary with you. Just minutes ago, he was Nanami, your guarded, regular customer who had a knack for entrapping you in never ending daydreams of domesticity and dominating glances. Now though, in a matter of minutes, he had turned into Kento, your date who was paying for your coffee and pulling your chair out for you— asking you about what was on your mind, blissfully unaware of the fact that it was him.

His hazel eyes gazed down at you curiously as he placed an ivory plate in front of you before taking the seat across from yours. Glancing down at the dish, a small smile tugged at your lips. You must not have heard him order in your haze.

“Daifuku?” You grinned teasingly at him. He hummed in amusement, looking down at his own, matching pastry.

“If I remember correctly, you said they were to die for.”

“Yeah, like two months ago.” You laughed, blowing softly on your steaming cappuccino.

“Oh, has the title expired? I can take yours too, if you’ve changed your mind.” He was hiding a tickled smirk as he reached over to grab your plate. You swatted his hand away with a blush, taken aback by his subtly playful nature that had since been concealed behind pressed suits and tinted lenses. With a knowing hum, he looked down at his own plate. “Truthfully, I had been so caught up with work that I had forgotten all about it.”

“That secretive job of yours, huh?” You quipped softly and took a small bite of the chewy sweet, biting back a contented sigh upon the realization that he’d somehow guessed your favorite filling. It was a beat longer before you spoke again, afraid if you pushed it too much, he’d be too quick to throw out another guarded excuse. “Ever the mystery, Kento.”

At the sound of his name, he peered back up at you. You were glad your mouth was occupied by your warm cup now, convinced you would have drooled at the sight of his smoldering gaze.

“I don’t mean to be so… mysterious.” He admitted as he straightened his posture against the café chair. “The truth is, I can’t disclose much about my work. The nature of it is… sensitive. I hope you can understand.”

Your eyes drifted over the bruise on his face, and you thought back to how badly he must have been hurt to have gone MIA for two weeks. Kento was watching you so earnestly though, a glimmer of hope in his usually stoic eyes.

Against your better judgment, your ‘no questions’ policy began influencing an area of your life it definitely should not be touching. The sincerity in his explanation though, paired with his calm and collected demeanor, had all common sense evading you. You raised a brow at him, a breathy laugh slipping past your lips. His head cocked ever so slightly at the noise.

“Funny you should say that, I was like convinced you were yakuza for a while.” You attempted to lighten the mood of the heavy topic at hand— one he didn’t seem ready to explore yet. The serious expression on his face made your laugh falter for a moment, and with a quirk of his thin brow your smile disappeared all together. Your stomach fell uneasily.

Oh fuck.

“Oh, um, I… uh—”

“That was my attempt at a joke, I’m sorry.” Nanami’s tense expression finally broke, a genuine smile splitting across his cheeks at the fear on your face. It did make him wonder though, how you would react to his actual profession. “I assure you I’m not in a gang, though I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not that you think I’d fit the description.”

Jesus, this man was going to make you hurl.

“Yeah, big, buff, and quiet with your strawberry daifuku— so scary, Ken.”

He tried not to feel too proud at your description of his physique, hiding his smirk with a first bite of the dessert in question. A contented hum rumbled in his chest, and you found your lips parting as you watched his face melt in pleasure at something so simple. You didn’t have time to conceal your stare before his eyes opened once again.

Nanami wasn’t sure how he had been blinded for so long at how pleasurable life could be. It had been just beyond his reach, yet it took his near death for him to snap from his ambivalence. The confection he’d glazed his eyes over for years in this little shop, the bewitching girl he’d strolled right past, the ease of connecting with another soul; it was intoxicating how the promise of lighter days filled his senses, lit him ablaze. Looking back at your innocently charmed expression, he couldn’t believe he had almost left this cruel existence behind without ever having been on the receiving end of it.

The sorcerer’s weekly visits to your shop promptly resumed. This time though, he always came bearing gifts; whether it be a hot coffee (having already memorized your order from that first time he heard it), an accompanying pastry, or a fresh set of flowers when he knew your previous ones were beginning to wilt.

Maybe it was overbearing for so early on in your relationship, though he wasn’t even sure he could call it that yet, but he couldn’t help himself. Watching the way your eyes would light up, how your cheeks would flush, and, in recent development, you would lean across the counter to press an appreciative kiss to his clean-shaven cheek— Kento would buy the world for you if it meant he’d have the chance to see such joy one more time.

Much to his surprise and relief, you didn’t bring up the elusive topic of his career again, save for when you’d ask him how his day was going. There were times, so many times, that you had come close. Each time he’d show up with a new, what would have been a inconspicuous had they not been so damn frequent, bruise or cut on his face or arms, the question lingered in the back of your throat. When he’d help you move things around the store, and you watched him lift the still stocked display table with an ease you’d never seen before, even for someone with his impressive build, you bit back your interrogation.

A seed had been planted in your mind though— so tiny you weren’t sure if you were deranged for even having the fleeting thought of it.

Nanami had stopped by the shop one evening when you were stocking the shelves, eye level with the top shelf you were working on as you balanced on your trusty footstool. Your headphones were pressed snuggly against your ears, your soft music occupying any spare space in your mind. A pair of gentle hands settled over your waist, ripping a gasp from your chest as you jolted back. The grip around you tightened as you fell into a warm chest, one arm wrapping around your middle as the other moved to pull the headphones down around your neck.

“Perhaps the noise canceling headphones aren’t the wisest choice when you leave the store unlocked.” Kento’s buttery voice flooded your senses and calmed the fight or flight response his unexpected appearance had triggered. You turned to glare half-heartedly at him as he set you back down on your feet.

“Well, I left it open for you.” You mumbled sheepishly, adjusting the headphones around your neck and nudging your shoulder into his firm chest. As you turned to look up at the box you’d left behind, you missed the way he smiled softly at your comment.

“I’d be far more flattered if you would protect yourself from intruders for me, but I appreciate the thought.” Kento quipped, reaching up to grab the abandoned box from the top shelf just as you stepped up on the stool to grab it. You stepped back down with a shy smile. “I’ll be leaving town this weekend for work.”

“Oh,” You acknowledged quietly, unsure of where he was taking this conversation. Twisting the hem of your sweater awkwardly between your fingers, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Well… I’ll miss you coming to scare the shit out of me when I’m closing?”

“That’s sweet, darling, but I was telling you because I’d like to have you over for dinner before I go.” The sorcerer mused, using his spare hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You weren’t sure if your sudden onslaught of nerves and flushed skin was due to the nickname he’d given you, or the thought of going over to his house for the first time. Attempting to stop where your racing thoughts seemed to be wandering to, you began to absentmindedly grab books from the box clutched in his grasp to finish shelving them. He peered into the box before grabbing one and finding its rightful place, hoping to help you in being able to close and get home earlier.

“You sound like you’re about to go to war or something.” You joked hesitantly, but, honestly, the implications of his offer had your pestering curiosity peaking once again. “How long will you be gone?”

“It should only be a day or two.” His attempt at reassurance only served to concern you more though. Maybe, if he said he would be gone for a week or more, you would have understood his supposed urgency in getting one last date in before his trip. With him only being gone two days though? You realized that perhaps something more dire was at play here. Sensing your contemplative state, he halted his stocking and leaned against the shelf to look down at you. “It’s just that— my work is…” Kento’s voice trailed, unsure of where he was going with his explanation.

“I’d love to come for dinner, Ken.” You reassured with a gentle smile. The furrow in his brows, the hope in his eyes, the apprehension in his tone— it told you all you needed to know, and you heard it loud and clear.

It had been a while since Nanami had the chance to delve into one of his old hobbies. Cooking was one that used to be his favorite, something he indulged in before his schedule became so unpredictable and his missions turned more crucial— before he had lost himself to the cruelty of the reality he’d chosen for the sake of a meaningful existence. There was something different about this time though, he thought as his knife sliced expertly through his selected root vegetables. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, once the small, black timer on his counter went off, alerting him that his veggies were done boiling, that he’d be one step closer to setting a plate down before you.

The sorcerer glanced back at his modest dining table, already set up with two plates and utensils, taking a deep breath before wiping his hands and checking the time on his watch. It was already five minutes past the time he’d told you to come by, but he figured closing was simply taking longer than expected. After fifteen minutes though, he found himself frowning over the boiling pot, stepping away to check his phone in case you’d attempted to reach out to him regarding your delay. With nothing to show for, his mind began to race a bit.

You did have a tendency, Nanami had come to understand, of leaving the shop unlocked as you closed. This wouldn’t be so bad would it not be for those damned, clunky headphones you insisted on wearing each time, blocking out any noise possible danger would alert you with. Without much thought of how irrational he may appear, he found himself swiping through to find your contact and hitting ‘call’. It went straight to voicemail.

Yeah, he thought as he abruptly shut off the stove and tossed the towel from his shoulder, fuck the radishes.

Kento had all but ripped the door of his apartment open, barging down the hallway with terrifying calculation as images of you unconscious in the quaint aisles of your shelves flashed through his panicked mind, when he ran straight into you. Instantly recognizing your startled gasp, his hands reached out to steady you as you stumbled back in surprise.

“Kento, I’m so sorry!” You babbled, brushing your wet hair from your face in a frantic attempt to appear put together, when you knew deep down you were anything but. The man before you was staring down at you with a relieved expression, but it faded as quickly as it came as he took in your appearance.

You were practically soaked, mascara running mortifyingly down your eyes and onto your flushed cheeks. The delicate, ivory sundress you wore was clinging against your wet skin, and Nanami forced himself to respectfully avert his eyes from what the now see-through fabric was revealing. There was a wine bottle clutched desperately between your fingers as you waved your hands in explanation. “I know I’m late, I wanted to bring you some wine, but the store was short staffed so the line was abysmal. Then the train got delayed, and it started to rain, and my phone died. I’m sorry I look a me—”

The baffled man stepped forward, clutching your jaw between his calloused hands to lift your gaze to meet his. Despite your dishevled appearance, smeared makeup, and frigid clothes, all Nanami could think about was how relieved he was to see you well. Additionally, as you rattled off all the ways in which your night hadn’t gone as planned, the only thoughts in his mind were how grateful he was that these silly, insignificant little hiccups were the extent of your day to day battles.

It was so like him, so ingrained in his very being to expect the worst. The truth was though, not everybody’s life was on the line everyday. Not everybody drifted through life in survival mode as he had grown accustomed to doing. Some people missed the train and got caught in the rain, and his heart was so full with the notion that you were one of those people with such domestic struggles. On the other side of it all as well, you braved through them to come see him, and he didn’t think he could ever find you more beautiful than he did in that moment.

He exhaled with softly drawn brows, allowing his hazel eyes to appreciate each streak the rain left on your delicate features before leaning down to kiss you. Your lips were frigid against his, and you leaned into his warmth, the shame of soaking through his neatly ironed dress shirt with your rain soaked body flying out your head as he wrapped his arm around your shivering form in an attempt to draw out all chilliness that dared disturb you. The hand that gripped your jaw slid down and around your neck to tangle into your nape, tugging you closer.

You pulled away for a breath, but Kento chased your lips with determination, quickly capturing them once again. His fingers pressed firmly into your nape as if to stop you from escaping him so prematurely again. Accepting your fate with a graceful willingness, you reached up with your free hand to grip at his shoulder in an attempt to pull yourself up and closer to him. It wasn’t until a shiver ran down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was due to your soaked clothes or the desperation he was pouring into the unexpected kiss, that the gentleman in Nanami tugged him from his primal desires.

Pulling back with a heave, the sorcerer took a moment to compose himself, eyes drifting over your shivering figure. He ran a hand down his jaw, pretending not to notice the way you panted softly as you stared up at him with those wide, glistening eyes that made him rethink his restraint.

“It… the wine I brought isn’t that nice, you know.”

As Kento shut the apartment door behind him, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit awkward for the way he came onto you so suddenly, though something about the glowing smile you were attempting to conceal told him you didn’t mind as much as he did. You looked up from your search around his tidy apartment when he cleared his throat. It was evident in his face how he’d caught himself off-guard, barely able to look you in the eye. You bit your lip to hide your amusement.

“You must be freezing. I’ll grab you some dry clothes.”

You opened your mouth to stop him, but he had already disappeared into the hallway. Now by yourself in his space, you took the chance to unabashedly look around. It was just as you expected his apartment would look like; warm, pristinely kept, and it held an air, just like him, that something deeper was hidden within the cream colored walls. A warm smile fell on your lips at the spread he’d prepared, and you placed the wine bottle on the counter to continue your search. Just as your eyes drifted to the stack of books on the coffee table, the man returned, a small stack of clothes in one hand and a towel in the other.

“Please feel free to dry up in the restroom. Take your time, I’m just finishing up dinner.” He offered as he placed the soft articles into your arms. With flushed cheeks, you took note of the sweatpants and sweater he’d picked out for you.

“No, really, I’ll be fine. You made everything so nice, I would hate to be in pajamas.” You shook your head bashfully, nudging the items back into his hands.

“And I would hate for you to get sick sitting in wet clothes all night.” He countered with a playful shove of his clothes back into your chest.

“I am not having dinner in sweatpants when you’re in a suit, Kento.” Another shove back at him. This time, he tilted his head, his lips pursed in mock frustration, but you could see the playfully challenging glint in his hazel eyes. Straightening his posture, the blond accepted the clothes you shoved his way this time.

“Oh, is that what this is about?” He challenged before nodding softly to himself. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment then.” Confusion crept up in you as you watched him walk back down the hallway without another word, shutting the door of what you presumed was his bedroom behind him. You sat, slightly dumbfounded, on one of the dining chairs and cringed at the feeling of your cold, wet dress pressing against your thighs.

It was only moments later that he reemerged. Abandoned were his previous, light blue button down and khaki slacks, and in their place were a simple, white tshirt and plaid pajama pants. You felt your heart race a bit at the casualness of it all, how at ease he looked with his once neatly placed hair ruffled from the swiftness he had yanked the cotton shirt over his head. Biting at the inside of your cheek in any attempt to control your facial expressions, you watched his biceps flex as he handed you the previous stack of clothes with finality.

“No excuses now, hm?”

So, you and Kento sat at his formally set dining table that night and sipped at your wine glasses in your— well— his pajamas. The change of scenery helped ease some of the expectations for your date to go a certain way, setting a domestic tranquility over the evening as he watched you with his knuckles pressed against his cheek. Your face appeared fresher than he’d ever seen it, likely due to the fact that you had had no choice but to wash your ruined makeup off of your face while freshening up in his bathroom. It made his heart soar, as he imagined this is just how you appeared in your own space— comfortable, vulnerable, and beared truly to the world. It allowed him to see every freckle and blemish, every blush more clearly.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t help himself as he moved to grab your plate to place in the sink, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your awaiting lips as you tilted your head up to him expectantly. You already had pinpointed that look in his eyes. Under your breath, you thanked him for dinner as he pulled away slowly, your noses brushing together softly. For a moment, Nanami thought as he peered over his shoulder from his place in front of the sink, it felt as though you always had a place right there at his dining table, with his sweatpants rolled up at your ankles and his sweater swallowing you so warmly. He tried to think of anything else, because the thought of you taking up residence so comfortably in his space was exciting him way too quickly for a first home visit. The sorcerer cleared his throat.

“Oh, I had almost forgotten,” He began, placing the last, scrubbed plate onto the drying rack. You didn’t pretend to not be staring when he turned to face you again, leaning so delectably against the counter behind him. “Have you heard back about your applications?”

“My applications?” You questioned with furrowed brows, fingers rubbing pensively against your nearly empty wine glass. In an instant, though, you recalled one of the first conversations you had had with him, the one that planted that seed of intrigue in your mind in the first place. Your eyes fluttered down to the red liquid sloshing around the bottom of your glass. “Oh right. Well, can I be honest?”

Nanami only hummed in response, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“I never actually went through with my entrance exams. I… had a change of heart, I guess.”

“A change of heart, huh?” He repeated thoughtfully, regarding you with a curious gaze. You only nodded curtly, feeling small under his studious eyes. “What changed?”

Kento had pushed off of the counter to walk closer to you and lean instead on the table in front of you. You swallowed thickly at the sudden proximity. Setting your glass down beside him, you looked down at your laps, fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his grey sweatpants.

“I thought about what you said.” You confessed quietly. Peering up at him through your lashes, you didn’t miss the way his features contorted in perplexity. “You know, about how having an escape is just as important as getting your hands dirty. I… didn’t want to give it all up, but I couldn’t live with the guilt of not playing some sort of role in helping. You coming in every week… it made me realize that I was— y’know, in my own way.”

It felt as though all the resolve he’d built up over the years, trying to protect himself from caring too much again, it had all been for not. Here you were, an angel put down the middle of his path of unrighteousness, gracing him with your kindness, your humility and gentleness, yet you had the nerve to spill such fantasy from your plush lips that he had been the one to show you the path of meaning.

Kento’s hands worked mindlessly to pull you up by your gentle hands so that you stood between his thighs. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, allowing his other hand to find purchase on the back of your head as he pulled you into him.

One day, he thought to himself as you wrapped your startled arms around his chest, perhaps he’d tell you of the horrors that had led him to where he was today. Maybe over coffee and daifuku, he’d tell you of the boy who couldn’t save his best friend and cursed the world because of it. You’d smile and ask the blond about him— what he was like and all the memories he’d kept buried in his imprisoned mind for so long. Kento would tell you he was just like you; tender-hearted and with the willingness to save the world— existing in the same reality he had deemed fatuous and yet still holding that love for others that poured out with each wide lipped smile.

For now though, Nanami wanted you to remain just as you were; only plagued by long grocery store lines and dodgy weather. The sorcerer wanted you to continue to find meaning in your books and your flowers, even if just for a little longer.

“I’m glad.” Kento murmured against your damp hair, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing you from his firm grip. “The world needs you as you are now. No need to change anything.”

And there it was— that innocently animated smile gleaming up at him as if there was no wrong in the world. He smiled back at you, and you must have seen the misty haze in his eyes.

“What’s that look for?” You questioned in amusement, tugging at the sleeves of his tshirt absentmindedly. He shook his head, reaching up to brush your hair behind your ears.

“You just remind me of someone, is all.”

The two of you silently agreed that you weren’t ready to part ways just yet, evident in the way you lingered too long on otherwise pointless conversations, and how neither dared look toward the front door. You had confronted him about all his books that were still wrapped up and stacked neatly on his coffee table, teasing him about how the escapism qualities he spoke so highly of wouldn’t work if he never actually opened them up. Kento allowed you to rummage through them, recounting each memory you had of wrapping up each respective cover.

He watched with soft eyes as you laid back between his legs on the couch, one of his abandoned books laid snuggly in your lap as you read it to him, claiming if he wouldn’t make the time to read them that you’d do it for him. Your head rose and fell in tandem with his breaths as he laid underneath you, allowing your honeyed voice to fill his senses and breathe more life into his quaint apartment than he’d ever felt in the years he’d resided in it.

You tilted your head back to look at him as the hand that wasn’t occupying your raised thigh came down to brush along the swells of your cheeks. A dazzling, bashful smile flashed his way as you raised a knowing brow at him.

“Are you even listening to me, Ken?” You laughed, feeling dizzy with the way he gazed at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky. He immediately shook his head, and you laughed breathlessly at his bluntness. Leaning down, he pressed a longing kiss against your lips, his nose brushing against your chin as you tilted up to meet the motion eagerly. His fingers tightened around your thigh, and he allowed them to drift up just a fraction before he stopped himself.

“I was busy reminding myself of the pretty things in my life, darling.”

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winterrrnight · 8 months ago

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“the blue in your eyes” — new beginnings chapter IV

PAIRING: stepdad!soft!rafe cameron x mom!reader

WARNINGS: n/a

EDITH SPEAKS: I am so so sorry for the break I took with updating this! I'll try to be much more regular now <3 <3 please reblog if you enjoyed this and share all your thoughts 💞😊 I am sorry if this feels super boring right now but honestly it wasn't ever really meant to really interesting either 😭😭

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It’s been over one week since Sage joined Rafe’s class. You've noticed the big increase in her happiness; she comes home with a big grin gracing her face, and she proudly shows you her art pieces and small arithmetic and alphabet assignments she did with a huge good star adorning almost each one of them.

“Mamma look, Fafe gave me a star!” She would tell you, jumping around as you look at the star, along with the ‘very well done!’ written next to it.

You’re on your way to pick her up from the school, after finishing up with your own work. As you walk inside the school, you notice Rafe, Sage, and the rest of her classmates sitting in the grass in a circle. You can hear the little children giggling and Rafe laughing along with them. You can't help but smile at the sight; watching Rafe being extremely sweet with the children, always praising them when they do the little things right.

“Okay Sage it’s your turn,” Rafe smiles, handing her a football. “What do you love most?”

“My mamma!” She says, without hesitating even for a second. You softly gasp as you hear those words come from her mouth, deciding to stay here just for a moment more to see how this conversation unfolds.

“And what do you love about her?” Rafe asks her next, the smile still tugging on the corners of Rafe’s lips.

“She is pretty,” Sage sighs. “and she makes me happy.”

Hearing Sage not only call you pretty, but say you make her happy has tears pricking your eyes quickly. A soft smile takes over your face as you watch how Sage glows talking about you, her sweet grin never leaving her, and her little pigtails bouncing when she nods her head. These are the moments when you realize how lucky you are to have Sage in your life.

In the next few minutes Rafe wraps up the class and more parents appear to pick up their children. As Sage spots you, she comes rushing you and clutches onto your legs, hugging them tightly.

“Hey baby,” you smile, bending down to her level as you press a kiss to her cheek. “Did you have a good day?”

She looks up at you and nods her head, a grin on her face. Although you can see she’s feeling tired, her eyes droopy and yawns escaping her lips. “Good day,” she smiles at you, and hugs you. You hug her back, his head nuzzling in your neck. You laugh as you pick her up, her resting on your hip. Just as you get up, you see Rafe looking at you from a distance. You can't help but smile at him, and he waves at you.

A few seconds pass and you’re still looking at him, a smile persistent on your face. Sage’s body relaxes in your arms, and you see she’s almost asleep. You give Rafe a small nod of your head and walk back to where your car is parked.

You set Sage in her car seat, her now being completely asleep. As you close her door, you turn around to see Rafe walking to you.

“Hey,” you smile at him as he approaches you.

“Hi,” he says back, a similar smile on his face. You take a moment to look in his bright blue eyes, the light shining on them to make them seem even brighter than usual.

He takes a look into the car window, seeing the small resting body of Sage. “She’s very smart, you know? And a bright ray of sunshine,” he says, smiling fondly at her.

“I wouldn’t doubt that, she absolutely adores you,” I say. “She comes back home each day with a huge smile on her face,” I sigh, my smile not leaving my face.

“She is just… such a beautiful addition to the class,” Rafe says softly. A moment of silence passes over you two as you steal a glance at Sage in your car, her resting deeply in her seat. The cotton floss clouds slowly shift in the sky, small streaks of golden, hazy sunlight falling on you two.

Just for a second, you see the sunlight strike across Rafe’s eyes, and they seem a brighter blue than usual. Not the usual navy blue, but a sapphire blue instead; the pupil seeming even darker. Your own eyes almost widen at the ethereal sight; it seems as if his eyes just changed colors.

“Uh y/n?” Rafe calls softly. You blink yourself out of your daze and let a small smile grace your face, noticing how the sunrays aren’t falling across his eyes anymore and they’ve returned to their usual dark blue.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing, you just seemed a little lost there… is everything alright?” He asks, furrowing his brows a little.

And it happens again.

The sunlight falls, and the electric blue appears again. But you try your best to not distract yourself much from it.

“Yeah yeah,” you say, “everything’s alright,”

Silence falls over you two again, but it’s short lived before Rafe speaks again.

“Listen I uh… I wanted to ask you something,” Rafe says. You tilt your head slightly, your brows furrowed slightly.

“Hm?” You hum, wanting him to continue.

He seems to be fumbling with his words, not knowing what to say as his gaze refuses to meet yours, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

“I was wondering if…” he takes a deep breath, and you notice his hands are at his back, and your first intuition is that he’s probably fiddling with his fingers the way he seems so flustered. “I was wondering if you’d like to grab some coffee with me sometime…” He says, and his voice fades by the end of the sentence, the words dissolving in the air around you.

The creases in your forehead relax and your eyes widen slightly as you process the words.

You and Rafe. Out for coffee. That sounds like a date…

“I mean, we don’t have to have coffee, we can go to some other place if that’s more of your thing…” he rambles. “We don’t even have to go to some food place, we can go for uh… movies and such, or uh… an art museum maybe…”

You can’t help but softly smile at him. His cheeks tinted with a light pink as he rambles on, listing possible locations of where you can go as his gaze refuses to meet yours. It feels as if you’re a teenager, your first crush asking you out.

“Rafe,” you say softly, and he looks up at you. “The offer is beautiful but…” you take a deep breath, “are you sure it’s okay for you to go out for coffee with a… a parent?”

“Of course it is,” he says almost immediately. “Don’t think of me as your child’s teacher I just… I would love to get to know you better,”

You can’t help but smile at his words. The idea sounds quite nice to you, not to mention how Rafe has caught your eye since you first ever saw him.

Since you ended your marriage, you were busy with raising Sage, leaving you no time to put yourself out there for dating whatsoever. You barely even had time to even make a simple conversation with someone, seeing how you were always busy with either taking care of Sage or your own job.

But this? It feels right.

“Then it’s okay,” you say. “I’ll love to have some coffee with you,”

You can see how Rafe’s eyes light up; metaphorically and literally as the sunlight strikes against them and they turn the sharp electric blue, but it’s only momentary. His lips pull into a grin and he nods at you. “Sounds wonderful,” he says softly.

You acknowledge him with a nod of your own head, and pass on a smile.

This is good. This feels good.

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deliciouskeys · 19 days ago

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Me: I already wrote Tentacles for last kinktober. It's old hat now that it's actually part of canon. Why bother.

Me after staring at @vanshoundd and @annetess' art about it for like hours: Okay maybe I'll write it after all. (Thank you for your art 🤤)

Cozy corner kinktober 2024 prompt #11: Tentacles

Free and Wild and Beyond Good and Evil

Butchlander 3.1k; TW: noncon, violence, teratophilia, uh... idk just not very wholesome at all. Please excuse me.

There was never any real plan, Butcher admits to himself as he drives down the empty dark highway. Something something, Frenchie said the virus might be strong enough to kill Homelander, something something, it would have to be airborne which would start a supe plague and make everyone piss and moan about Butcher committing biowarfare genocide, something something, it was going to be a last resort. A plan Z, only nebulously conceived. So what was Plan A, really? What was good for the ganders (Ezekiel, Victoria) was unlikely to be good for the goose, but Butcher just can’t help but crave the visceral feeling of ripping Homelander apart, if not with his own bare hands, then at least his tumor’s jacked up bare hands. Cancer— it was really living up to the name. Butcher feels like he’s been possessed by an alien creature, cancriform, heinously ugly, and unbelievably strong. It’s just too tempting not to try, even though trying and not succeeding isn’t really a good option at all with a near-omnipotent supe like Homelander.

Butcher just has so little to lose. He’s a husk of a human being, and he feels more like a shambling, crumbling meatsuit to carry the cancer to its destination, its rendezvous with fate.

“I’ll get you your revenge, don’t you worry,” Kessler assures him and Butcher wants to hurl just a little bit knowing his cancer can just talk to him, choose whatever guise makes him feel at ease, through a literal neural link to his brain, even though Kessler seems to have chosen headquarters in a metastasis somewhere near his solar plexus, shooting tentacles out into the outside world like the rays of a black sun. “I’ll get you your revenge and you’ll get to experience every moment of it. I won’t leave you hangin’.”

+++

Homelander should have known not to take such obvious bait. Homelander should have remembered that the last two times William Butcher took it into his head to fight him, he very nearly succeeded in overpowering him. Or at least depowering him, with the help of a certain relic from the 1980s. At least that wildcard is still stashed in the federal freezer in DC. But Homelander should have realized that William Butcher announcing that he was ready to keep their scorched earth promise meant he came to play. Maybe he was touched that William called Vought’s headquarters and asked to speak to him. Maybe he was flattered to hear his phrase be used like code between them, even though they never seemed to entirely agree on its meaning. Maybe he was genuinely craving to finish William off before his illness got to do those honors.

Something prompted him to zoom over to the abandoned warehouse in Jersey City, without consulting Sage, without trying to locate Ryan and make sure he was safe, without doing much of anything besides walking straight into the ambush. Can it really be called an ambush if it’s announced beforehand? Homelander counts it as an ambush, because he expected to see William at half speed, that much closer to death with that growth in his brain no doubt spreading further. Instead… instead, before he can even locate which corner of the warehouse William’s heartbeat is coming from, a dark sticky tendril rapidly twines itself around his face— around his eyes first and foremost. Homelander let out only one snarl before something similar winds itself around his neck and begins constricting all breathing. Whatever it is, it’s moving fast, violently fast, and Homelander is astonished to feel just how strong whatever is trapping him is. His fingers scrabble at what feels almost like a plant vine around his face and neck, but he cannot wedge his fingers in and pry it away or apart. It’s squeezing him tighter and tighter… from what godforaken obscure corner of hell did William pick up this supe with boa constrictor powers? That Homelander can’t recall from Vought’s files at all?

Homelander tries not to panic, tries to orient himself, but he just feels more of whatever has him in its grips touching his legs. Not only touching his legs. Wrapping around his ankles, lassoing and pulling them flush against each other so that Homelander loses his balance and ends up suspended in the air. He thinks he’s hovering in the air through his own power, but whatever is holding him has got an iron grip and he suspects that he’d still remain suspended in the air even if he dropped himself down, held by this… thing, sticky, reeking of something oddly familiar and off-putting. The long vines holding him start winding their way around his body in tight coils towards each other, the one at his ankles proceeding to spiral up around the rest of his legs and the one from his neck proceeding to wrap his shoulders, pin his arms straight to his sides as it travels to meet its twin. Homelander is terrified to realize that no matter how much force he exerts against the long rope-like sentient arms, he can’t free himself. He’s never been overpowered like this… but that’s not really true is it. Last time he got pinned down against his will, William was one of the three perpetrators and Homelander had no doubt he was the ringleader. So where is he now? Homelander can hear his heartbeat, can smell him, his cigarettes, his beard oil, the tea molecules circulating in his veins and out his pores, and yes the vile stench of disease, and it’s overwhelming and all around him.

When Homelander renews his struggle to free one hand, a vine snaps against his knuckles painfully. “Knock it off,” William’s gruff voice tells him. Only then does it finally dawn on Homelander that the mystery supe managing to wrap him up like a mummy is Butcher himself, and that the sickly odor is exactly that— the smell of something that should be inside the body, the smell of something greedy and selfish and hogging all metabolic resources. It’s what William smelled ever so faintly of last time he saw him in the hotel kitchen, and now it’s on full blast so Homelander didn’t even place it as the same smell at first. A faint smile passes Homelander’s lips, always feeling pleased to finally recognize something. But that’s about all he has to be pleased about. The situation is dire— he cannot move and now he feels the distinct sensation of William’s two… arms? Vines? Tentacles? Trying to rend him in half. In vain so far, but the tentacles are so forceful, so persistent, that Homelander becomes worried when he hears popping sounds around his compressed ribcage. It’s not his body losing integrity like poor Vicky’s did though— it’s his suit giving up the ghost and getting shredded, the tentacles accidentally peeling him out of his clothing, rolling pieces of it toward his neck and others toward his ankles. Homelander tries to open his eyes, look through. Just getting a glimpse of the scene could help him figure out his best chance for escape, but the tentacle wrapped around his head is squeezing it tightly, as if hoping it can pop his skull open like a nut. It can’t, but Homelander also can’t open his eyelids against the constant pressure. He feels a breeze across his skin, he feels tatters of his suit still hanging off random limbs, but he’s largely naked, and the tentacle regroup, wrap around him again, and this time Homelander can’t help but squirm. It’s just too much sensation against his bare skin. ‘Stop’ he tries to plead but the tentacle squeezing his neck shut doesn’t let him do more than wheeze hoarsely and unintelligibly.

“I ain’t enjoyin it, I’m trying to rip him in half, hard as I can. Ain’t my fault he’s a durable motherfucker.”

Homelander desperately listens in, trying to identify someone else’s heartbeat, breathing, anything, trying to figure out who William is talking to, but all he hears is the cacophony of blood rushing through each tentacle as they twist and tighten ever more around his body. He can’t make out anyone else’s presence in the warehouse.

He still struggles against the grip he’s in, still tries to wriggle the hundreds of tentacle coils loose, but he has a sinking feeling that he’s immobilized until Butcher decides to relent.

+++

They’ve been in this deadlock struggle for more than an hour. Butcher isn’t so much physically tired as mentally weary. Homelander’s nude, and Butcher has never seen him like that before, even though most of him is hidden under the tentacles trapping him in place. Butcher watches the supe’s body periodically still making a valiant effort to escape, muscles shifting, flesh bulging around each tentacle constricting him. His skin is shiny and Butcher’s not sure if it’s the supe’s sweat or whatever clear sticky mucus his cancer’s tentacles keep secreting.

“Look at you two perverts. You’ve found a new bonding exercise!”

“Just shut it,” Butcher says very quietly, through gritted teeth, hoping the supe in his clutches is too preoccupied to overhear him talk to himself like the madman he’s become.

+++

Homelander wonders if the long time without taking full breaths is taking a toll on his brain functions. He’s stopped struggling against his confines. The tentacles can’t hurt him like they did Vicky— that much is clear. And Homelander is for some unfathomable reason both panicked and blissed out. He’s panicking at the level of strength he’s faced with here… He can’t bear to say it, but Butcher’s tentacles seem stronger than him. That doesn’t seem possible. Maybe they’re also ebbing his strength so he can’t get away. That’s a terrifying thought about a terrifying power. But he also can’t help but sink down and relax his body. The tentacles wrapped so tightly around him, trying to rip him in half, are also holding him so confidently, like a warm angry embrace. He knows Butcher’s trying to kill him, but not having his eyesight and not having enough oxygen is making his mind reel with bizarre thoughts in the darkness. There’s a warmth in his chest, knowing William is staring at him, knowing William is trying to twist and wring him out like a human towel, to no avail, not knowing how long it’s been because time has lost all dimension, but knowing William has been obsessed enough to hold him suspended in the air for quite a while.

He gasps when he feels a free end of a tentacle caress his face. The sensation could never be mistaken for a human hand by texture— the thing creeps across his skin leaving moist trails, moves unctuously with no bones inside it— but he can feel the intention behind the movement and it’s William through and through. And with his eyes forced shut, he can imagine the real scene but also see it as William spooning up behind him, holding his entire body in a chokehold, and caressing his face. It doesn’t matter if it’s affection or lust or even hatelust. Homelander leans into the touch, not only because he thinks distracting William might open up an opportunity to escape, but because firm, strong touch like this is instantly addicting.

+++

“The fuck is he doing?” Kessler laughs, watching Homelander clearly trying to push into the touch. “I was just going to stuff his throat, see if I can’t get him to stop breathing completely.”

Butcher doesn’t reply. He thinks it’s funny that Kessler has the need to explain his intentions. They share a brain, after all. They both feel it, no matter how they deny it. Butcher won’t deny it. If he can’t rip him apart, he wants to fuck Homelander in every hole he has. Maybe try to stab a new one into being while he’s at it. Enough with the foreplay. He presses a tentacle against the supe’s lips, preparing for a fight to push in, but the fucker parts his lips and offers no resistance. The only fight he encounters as he plunges in deep down his throat is he has to loosen his own grip on the supe’s neck, to allow some space for the tentacle to travel through.

+++

Homelander may have welcomed the tentacle into his mouth, but he still bucks in discomfort, gag reflex attempting to launch the thing back out, tears squeezing out of the corners of his shut eyes at the pain, yes the pain of feeling the tentacle invade him deeper and deeper, the pain of the tentacle’s diameter getting thicker and thicker as it pushes itself in, until Homelander feels like his throat can barely accommodate it, burning pain in his lungs as his airways are completely blocked off. No oxygen at all now. He won’t die from this, but he might start to get delirious, if he isn’t already. He can’t even moan, his vocal cords have no space to vibrate, stretched taut around the thick tentacle still plumbing his esophagus and god knows what else. So he can’t emit a sound, can’t really budge in protest when another tentacle presses into him from behind. He can’t say his body lets the tentacle in, because his body feels like it’s doing everything in its power to push out whatever just forced its way in. But it’s futile, and it’s not even under his voluntary control. His voluntary control is to quiet down and surrender to the sensations. Yes, he’s being violently spitroasted. Maybe Butcher still hopes there’s some path to killing him here. Homelander’s mind can’t even be bothered worrying about that possibility. He feels like he’s drifting, consumed by an uncanny deja vu, as if he’s been here before. Suspended, weightless, immobilized, attached, blind, muffled. At first he thinks it’s something from his lab days, one of many memories he’s largely buried and never unearths. But even though he’s anything but, he feels safe. Not much of what went on down in B6 felt safe. Maybe he just feels safe in the knowledge there’s nothing he can do, but it feels like more than that. With his eyes still forced shut, a strange vision materializes in front of his eyes. He’s in the womb, unborn, curled up and cramped but oh so warm, warm walls touching him on every side, muffled voices far away above him, his mother talking to someone, swaying when she walks and the fluid around him moving slightly with each step. Is it even possible that he could retain a memory of something like this? He grasps on to it, whether it’s a real memory or just a fever dream, because it feels so cozy, so safe, so loving, and even when he’s brought back to reality, to his body screaming for air, screaming for being able to free itself to move, screaming to push the thick intrusions inside of him back out, the alarm bells in his body seem far away and dull and irrelevant. He’s incredibly calm, maybe in a drugged, oxygen-deprived way, but it feels like bliss. Like fucking enlightenment.

+++

“He’s getting off to this shit. Un-fucking-believable.”

Kessler might feel the need to comment and distance himself from what they’re doing, but Butcher stays silent, lest talking break the spell Homelander seems to be under, watching the supe’s limp, pliant body accept everything he gives it.

“You’re one sick puppy, you know that?” Kessler comments, clearly uneasy as Butcher reaches a tentacle out to wrap around Homelander’s cock and that’s the one thing that causes his body to jerk violently again, but only once, accepting this too.

+++

Feeling that part of him touched brings Homelander out of the memory. It feels good compared to everything else inflicted on him so far, but it also brings him back to concrete, painful reality in a way he doesn’t like. He gags when he feels the thick tentacle slide out of his throat, scraping across his teeth as it exits. Homelander closes his jaw a few times, feeling soreness in his joints and in his throat, mouth full of thick saliva mixed with whatever sticky residue the tentacles leave everywhere. He coughs, spits, cries, there’s snot leaking from his nose and he can’t even wipe it off. He tenses when the tentacle around his head unravels as well and he blinks, adjusting to the light before staring down at Butcher standing below, finally seeing where the tentacles are coming from. His lasers power up, not even a conscious decision but probably a response to all the pain stimuli and seeing the culprit, but just as quickly a tentacle still wrapped around his forehead swivels his face away, and the laser cuts across the warehouse wall, missing the target.

+++

“Hoho, that was close!” Kessler laughs but doesn’t criticize the strange decision to uncover his captive’s strongest weapon.

Butcher looks on impassively as he fucks in and out of his nemesis’ lily-white ass, which gives a satisfying jiggle on every thrust of the dark tentacle. His mouth free now, he’s able to give little plaintive sighs and moans at each motion, and Butcher kind of wishes he could see his facial expression, but it’s just too much risk to have his eyes pointed anywhere but away.

“Do it,” Kessler says leaning in next to him. “You know you want to try.”

Butcher shrugs and briefly unravels the tentacles holding his legs together. Homelander bucks, as if trying to make a break for it, as if his upper body isn’t still being held fast by a bunch of other tentacle and as if the tentacle fucking him isn’t making it absolutely impossible to slip out backwards. Two tentacles wrap themselves around his legs, spreading them wide, probably painfully wide, because Homelander’s lasers go off again, a pathetic attempt at defense through offense again, considering his head is being held in a vise making sure he can only see the wall.

“That’s it, do it for her,” Kessler says, nodding slightly toward Butcher’s opposite shoulder. Butcher isn’t going to turn. He knows who’s standing there and he doesn’t want to see her face. He knows damn well this isn’t justice for anything she suffered. Just two monsters going at it, pretending they don’t absolutely love it. Homelander’s done pretending. His body shudders against the tight grip Butcher has on him, and spills on the floor with a sad sounding moan, visibly sagging in his confines before making the most pathetic movement to try and get away from the intrusion still going on behind him.

“Fuck him raw. Fuck him to death. A man’s got to have a limit doesn’t he?” Kessler cheers him on.

Butcher’s not so sure.

AO3 link

#cozy corner kinktober 2024 #cozy corner kinktober #butchlander #tw noncon #tentacles #billy butcher #homelander #the boys #the boys tv #fic #mystuff

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elliesmainhoe · 2 years ago

Note

literally begging for more of the modernau!ellie x femreader (you're feminine)

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Feminine!Reader (modern!au)

Part 2 of this

Ellie adores how unashamed you are of being 'girly'

You dressed in typically 'girly clothes', you had 'girly hobbies' etc. Etc.

Said hobbies being the classic knitting, arts and crafts and reading

She absolutely loves when you infodump to her about your books.

Her stupid smile as you talk about a mystical fantasy or a cheesy sapphic romance.

Pottery dates

"C'mon Ells- were gonna be late!" You cried, holding onto her hand as you began to walk faster.

"The pottery studio is literally just round the corner princess" she said as you turned the bend, a pastel pink shop front with the words 'Polly's Pottery' written in gold across the window.

"C'mon, c'mon c'mon!" You giggled rushing into the studio, the bell chiming as you walked through the door.

You made a pastel pink bowl with little red strawberries all over it with sage green stems!

She made a space themed mug. Dark blue base and planets and stars scattered all over.

You gifted them to eachother afterwards <33

You have knitted Ellie a sweater. It was pink and definitely not her style. But she wears it with pride! ✊

Loves all the decor you buy.

The comparison of her industrial, grungy decoration and your bright neons, pastel cooky nik-naks.

Ellie is a MASTER at doing your hair.

Doesn't matter what hair type you have- she is willing to learn.

Face masks with Ellie.

Ellie was sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet as you brushed on a cool paste onto their face.

"This feels so fucking weird." She grimaced at the texture.

"Oh don't be such a baby" you teased and pecked her cheek, already sporting the same mask on your face.

Is your knight in shining armour.... When it comes to catching spiders that are threatening you.

You:

Baby 9:46pm

Come home rn 9:46pm

I'm scared 9:46pm

Ellie:

What's wrong baby? 9:49pm

I'm heading home as we speak 9:49pm

You:

We have an intruder 9:50pm

Ellie:

What? 9:50pm

Fuck baby! 9:50pm

You alright- what's the fucker look like. 9:50pm

You:

It has eight legs 9:51pm

It has hair on it Ellie. I CAN SEE THE BASTARDS HAIR. 9:51pm

She comes home and kills it for you 🥰

Then lectures you for making her so scared- she was one tap away from calling 911.

"I love you princess. But never ever pull that shit again"

-----------

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @prettypeoniesx @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647

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dailyadventureprompts · 5 months ago

Text

Therapy Vs. Power Fantasy

Like a sage delving through cursed tomes to discover lost truths I recently I stumbled into some of the danker corners of the internet and abzorbed some absolutely vile takes. One of the recurring themes that popped up was people with rancid personal beleifs taking aim at the newer generations of TTRPG players (d&d and otherwise) for finding personal meaning or catharsis in their games, and how these new gamers were spoiled children who were getting overinvested.

Of course, they contrasted this "bitch" behavior there's a lot of other mysoginistic, homophobic, and ableist slurs they like to throw in when youtube TOS isn't looking with the badass way they play the game, like they've been doing ever since they were kids, like they still do in their playrooms mancaves away from all those pissbabies and girl feelings.

This got me thinking, specifically about power fantasies, how vunrability relates to art, and how repressed men are terrified of seeming weak, and how the early d&d lore is laregely based around childhood or adolesent fears.

The tie between media illiteracy and conservatism is nothing new. To enjoy art, you have to open yourself to it, to the chance of elation or disapointment or challenge, to let it resonate with you in ways you can't nessisarily predict or control. The fascist conservative only likes art that reinforces who they perceive themselves to be, strokes their ego, and confirms their biases about how the world should be.

It's very telling then that when you see chuds talking shit about younger d&d players, they often throw "therapy" around as an insult, because much in the same way that art can touch something inside you, therapy is about challenging your ingranned self image, toxic ego, and beleifs... all things that chuds consider vital to their sense of self.

This is not to say that a power fantasy can't be theraputic: a good portion of my own writing is about vicariously smashing broken systems and ousting the corruption of the world.. but there's a fundimental difference in the power fantasy of raising your fist against unjust power and the fantasy of being the boot inflicting that power downwards on those you dislike.

What the chuds are trying to do here is use d&d (or whatever OSR itteration they've decided to parasite this week) as a balm for their insecurity, not ask questions about WHY they're scared of being weak, or what strength really is, but to have a space where they can larp as being the ubermench real MEN they've always fallen short of IRL.

They're people who were bullied and ostrasized, and like good little bootlickers they've decided that the only thing wrong with their abuse was that they were the ones on the reciving end. Part of the reason they're so upset that this new generation of players is so "woke" is because the "woke" players refuse to put up with them being assholes, dening them the chance to establish themselves as the new top-rung in the abuser hierarchy.

Also, before I sign off, mad love to my friends in the OSR community, I know you have to put up with an above average number of these dipshits and while you prefer a different style of game to mine I know we're all fighting the good fight for a better, more welcoming TTRPG hobby.

#bad opinions #dnd meta #heavy topics #irl politics #osr

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notapradagurl · 3 months ago

Text

Take All Of Me.

Pairing: VAMPIRE!Unique x BLACK FEM!WITCH! READER.

Word Count: 4,629k

♡(Requested @naj-ay444 )♡

Summary: You were a young witch working with your aunt at an antique store in a small town where nothing strange happen, until your mom works late, you felt a presence. After arriving home safe and sound at night, you were all alone and he arrived unexpectedly.

Taglist: @keyera-jackson @satoruya @xblackreader @beenathembo @henneseyhoe @justhornyyme @sageispunk @roeroe-world @planetblaque @harmshake

A/N: I wish there were more fics about black vampires and dark-skinned women as the protagonist, however I will decide to write it myself, forget to like, comment and reblog. (comment if you want to be added to the taglist, 18+ only)

Warnings: praise, bondage, dirty talk, orgasm control, rough sex, mention of witchcraft, slight degradation, overstimulation, mention of blood, mention of d*ath, safe word, spanking, blood drinking, pet names, choking/breathplay, biting, nipple play, sadism/masochism, temperature play.

————————

The scent of rosemary and peppermint incense wafted through the air with the chime of a small brass bell ringing through the antique store, indicating that someone was coming into the store. You lifted your head to see your mother step into the store. You stood behind the desk in front of the cash register with your eyes roaming around the store, the brown shelves rested at the corner of the spacious room, the shelves were filled with small ancient vases and sage green coffee mugs. The four walls were painted in a light green hue.

It was a slow day in here when it was fewer people coming in, to be honest, you preferred it that way since your aunt owned the place, it meant you went home early and slept in all week or weekend long. Hell, you still got paid either way.

Your aunt Nicole was the owner of the antique store where you have been employed since your teenage years, and now you have reached adulthood.

You lived in a small town filled with a few black witches, you were a descendant of hoodoo culture that stemmed from your grandmother.

“Hey Mama, how are you?” you asked her, giving a warm smile as you carefully arranged a stack of books on the coffee table.

She greeted you with a warm smile and her eyes roamed the store and shifted back on you, “I’m good my sweet child, I see you've been hard at work again," she sang, her voice filled with pride.

"Yes, mom. Aunt Nicole needed some extra help today, so I offered to stay until I leave." you mused, yawning and strenched your limbs.

Nicole, your aunt and mentor, was a powerful witch herself. She had taught you everything you knew about magic and the mystical arts. The antique store was a place of business, but where they could share their knowledge and artifacts with those who sought them.

On the other hand, you've been feeling a presence specifically during the night, regardless of whoever or whatever it may be. Consequently, you had to approach your mom and inquire if she had any knowledge regarding the situation.

Your black locs were styled up in a bun, with two locs cascading gracefully over your shoulder. Your complexion was a rich, deeply melanin-enriched dark brown tone. You sported a black tee shirt paired with khaki dust-colored mini pants, plain white sneakers, and matching socks adorned your feet.

You moved around the desk, took your coat off the coat rack, and smoothly put it on your back, readying yourself to depart and lock up the store.

“Mom, I've been feeling a presence lately and I'm not sure who is it but it's calling out to me..” You admitted, your eyes fixed on her.

For one week, you feel a constant presence throughout the day, but the night arrives unexpectedly, like a clandestine intruder, an alluring and overpowering aura beckoned you.

Your mother responded to your confession by softly humming, causing her powers to awaken. She placed her hand gently on your forehead and closed her eyes, emitting a vibrant deep purple light from her palm. This light sent soothing vibrations throughout your body. After opening her eyes, she took a deep breath.

Your mom faced you with concern, she removed her hand away from your forehead. She knew exactly who you were talking about. You had to be warned.

"There is a presence trailing behind you Y/N, and I am well aware of his identity. He is none other than Unique, a powerful ruler of the vampire realm," she cautioned, her chin delicately cradled by her thumb and index finger.

"Mom, what do you mean he's coming for my blood?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. "Why would he be interested in me?"

You've been told about Unique and the tales surrounding him, and although you've crossed paths multiple times, you've exchanged a few words. This moment was finally your opportunity to overcome him.

After she explained everything to you, you couldn't help but be a little worried. The words hung heavy in the air as your mother spoke. A vampire king? Unique?

The name sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and curiosity. You had heard stories of vampires, but you never thought you would encounter one, let alone have one come specifically for you.

You've read books, and seen movies but do they really exist? What was the rivalry between witches and vampires?

“My dear, you possess a power unlike any other. Your blood holds the key to unlocking immense magical abilities. It is said that a vampire who drinks the blood of a powerful witch can gain even greater strength and control over their own powers."

"So, Unique wants to...drink my blood?" you took a step back, still trying to process everything.

"Yes, but it's not just about bloodlust, for centuries, witches and vampires have been sworn enemies..” your mother explained, crossing her arms.

"There was a connection between vampires and witches, until it became a bond that goes beyond mere sustenance. If you allow him to drink from you willingly, it can be a mutually beneficial exchange. He will gain power and you will gain power as well."

The idea both intrigued and frightened you. You couldn't be with a vampire, but gaining power, was both alluring and dangerous. But you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that coursed through your veins.

"What should I do, Mom?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Protect yourself with your powers Y/N..” she reminded you, Your mother's expression softened, and she placed a hand on your cheek.

You nodded, taking in her words. This was a decision that would alter the course of your life forever. But deep down, you knew that you had to be ready, and the pull was becoming harder to resist. With a heavy heart, you bid your mother goodbye and closed the antique store for the night.

You knew that whatever choice you made, your mom would always be there for you.

"I'll protect myself, Mom," you said finally. "But for now, I need to focus on closing up the store."

However, the following night, your mother is working late and won't return home until the next day. Meanwhile, you are left on your own in the cozy house that you share with her. At this moment, you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed in your personal bedroom.

You were wearing a simple gray tee shirt along with matching shorts, your locs pulled up in a bun while your eyes were glued to the television. However, you eventually sensed something, a recognizable presence.

A tingling sensation danced along your skin, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your senses heightened, and you knew that something, or someone, extraordinary was about to enter your life.

"Shit! He's here.." you muttered under your breath, your voice trembling a bit.

Despite your efforts to conceal your fear, you relied on your abilities to protect yourself, hoping they would be sufficient to stand against Joey.

The lights and television started to flicker in an unpredictable manner in your bedroom. Your heart pounded fiercely, beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead. Why were you still trembling?

The crimson-red cumulus clouds floated elegantly through the small opening in the ceiling and settled in the corner of your room. As you observed, your attention focused on the crimson clouds slowly separating and revealing Unique standing in between them.

He approached you confidently, his eyes retaining their crimson-red glow as red clouds billowed around him and dispersed into nothingness with a snap of his fingers. A mischievous smile spread across his attractive face, revealing his gleaming white fangs.

"Don't worry, I'm not gon’ hurt you. I just want to talk to you Y/N…” He mused, his tongue ran across his lips.

He stared intensely into your soul with his menacing gaze, piercing through you with those demonic eyes. As his black boots echoed with heavy stomps on your brown hardwood floors, a blend of longing and unease flooded over you.

You felt a chilling sensation down your back as his gaze focused on you, and you were not meant to experience such emotions towards him. He was your adversary, and you were expected to harbor animosity towards him.

You swiftly rose from your bed, watching him as your brown irises transformed into a pale shade of pink while you gesticulated, generating a protective pink barrier surrounding you. “Stay back!” you commanded, your fists clenched tightly.

The sage-green curtains allowed the bright moonlight to filter into the room, casting a gentle glow on his richly pigmented complexion. His dark skin looked stunning, radiating a captivating beauty.

He was incredibly good-looking. How could someone with such a dangerous aura be so irresistibly attractive? Your mom did always said the cute ones can get you into fucked up.

You weren't fully aware that your blood was both rare and exquisite, and he desired much more than just a taste. He yearned for every aspect of your being.

Unique’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. His eyes ablaze with a hungry crimson glow settled on you. The tantalizing scent of your blood filled his senses, causing a subtle twitch in his manhood. With a flicker, his eyes returned to their ordinary deep brown hue.

"Quite impressive, Y/N," he purred, his voice velvety smooth.

"But your weak force field won't last for long against me." His voice, now an octave higher, dripped with confidence.

With a snap of his fingers, the force field surrounding you shimmered and vanished. Instinctively, you lifted your hand towards him, and a radiant burst of sunlight erupted from your palm. His hand gracefully swept over yours, stealing the sunlight as he clenched his fist tightly around it.

The once vibrant light diminished, crumbling to darkness within his grasp. Your eyes widened, a mixture of shock and disbelief coursing through your veins.

Wait? Wasn't the sunlight supposed to kill them? Why wasn't it working on him?

“Sunlight doesn't kill us, garlic doesn't do shit and we don't change into bats, sliver doesn't kill us either Y/N. Every move you have for me, I can stop it before you can even try..” he spat with venom, his step slow and deliberate toward you.

With your hands shining purple, you raised them high over your head and swiftly pushed a massive wave of purple energy in his direction.

Unique effortlessly deflected the wave of purple energy with a flick of his wrist, causing it to dissipate into thin air. His eyes locked onto yours, amusement and hunger within them.

"Is that all you've got, little witch?" he taunted, taking another step closer to you.

"You'll need to do better than that if you want to stand a chance against me."

Fear coursed through your veins, but you refused to let it consume you. You had been trained by your mother and aunt to harness your powers and protect yourself. You took a deep breath, channeling your inner strength.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the energy within you, feeling it surge through your veins like a raging river. You called upon the elements, summoning the power of fire, water, earth, and air to surround you.

The elements swirled around you, The intense heat of flames licked at the air, while water droplets floated gracefully in mid-air. Rocks and leaves danced around you, pushing every single element at him, As he moved his hand swiftly, the rocks grazed against your face, hitting your arm and at the same time, the rocks vanished alongside the water and flames. You winced in agony.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I may be a little witch, but I'm not to be underestimated," you declared, your voice steady.

Unique's eyes widened in surprise, clearly impressed by your display of power. He circled around the forcefield, studying it with curiosity and admiration.

The elements vanished right before your very eyes, no longer in your clutch.

"Well, well, well," he chuckled, his voice laced with both intrigue and desire.

"You've piqued my interest, Y/N. It seems you're not as defenseless as I thought."

You held your ground, refusing to let his words intimidate you. "I won't let you kill me," you stated firmly.

"I don't want to kill you. I want you to be mine." he whispered, his voice filled with a dangerous edge.

“I know what you’re after, my blood. You want to suck me dry and leave me here to die as I turn to dust right Unique?” you asked, you took a look at your bruised palms.

By now, you were aware of his intentions - he simply craved to suck you dry until you couldn't breathe any longer. Until you were eroding away from existence, You were the vulnerable target, and he was the relentless hunter. You weren't stupid, you knew how this played out.

You plopped on the light green loveseat resting against the wall with your face resting in your hands, You felt blood trickle down your right cheek with the intense heat coursing through your arm, you hissed in pain and touched the bruise on your forearm.

Obviously, he was able to control himself completely

from the divine scent of your blood. He wouldn't bite you or taste you without your permission. Unique wasn't that cruel to mere mortals who roamed this planet.

Were you that powerless? Has all the training and dedication gone to waste in the battle? have you failed your ancestors from the heavens who looked down on you in utter disappointment? Perhaps they were discussing how your powers could've been more adequate. Would they lament at your abilities if they were here on earth?

Perhaps getting the new powers and strength from Unique could have been the solution, as he skillfully countered all of your best moves. So, what prevented you from taking advantage? It was your own pride.

The questions flowed into the depths of your mind, until you looked up at him as you absentmindedly patted the vacant spot beside you on the loveseat, inviting him over to sit with you. He strode across the room and plopped on the seat next to you, his brown eyes studying your saddened face.

“I'm not that cruel Y/N, I'm that way only for those who deserve it. I'm sure your ancestors are very proud of you.” He reassured, gently nudging your shoulder with his elbow.

“How can you be sure? You've blocked all my moves..”

“Come on girl, don't beat yourself up. I was very impressed by your power…”

“Do you truly want a relationship with me?” your eyes locked with his, making sure that there was sincerity in them.

“Of course I do but the choice is yours..” he replied, You pondered deeply on the choice, You took a deep breath, considering his words.

The decision weighed heavily on your shoulders, but deep down, you knew that you were drawn to him for a reason. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was something more.

"Alright, I’ll be yours then. Together, we will possess unimaginable power and we will always have each other," you whispered, resting your head on his strong shoulder.

"May I touch you?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

"Yes, you may," you replied, your heart racing with excitement.

"Your every desire is my command, princess," he said, his voice deepened. Gently, he lifted your chin, his eyes locked with yours.

As he held your chin between his thumb and index finger, he noticed a scratch on your face. "You have a mark on your pretty face, my love," he remarked.

Your cheeks flushed at his tender touch. "Can you heal it for me?" you inquired, your brown eyes fixed on his deep brown ones.

"Of course, beautiful. Just relax for me," he reassured you soothingly.

He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the spot where the scratch marred your skin. His tongue delicately gliding across the wound, and a warm, tingling sensation spread throughout your body. A shiver ran down your spine, and a soft moan escaped your lips as he healed you. The yellow sparkles scattered on your rich ebony complexion, and Unique's plump lips savored the taste of your blood. He let out a low groan, intoxicated by the flavor filling his mouth.

A shiver ran down your spine as his touch sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between the two of you, he gently pecked the bruise on your forearm as the dark purple wound faded away.

“Are you sure about this Y/N..”

“I’m sure, I trust you.”

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses on your deep ebony skin. The combination of his touch and the taste of your blood sent a rush of desire coursing through your veins.

You let out a gasp of pleasure as his sharp fangs grazed against your skin, teasingly close to piercing your flesh. Fueling your masochism with his bite, plunging his fangs into your neck as the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and yet, you found yourself craving more.

As he drank from you, you could feel your own power merging with his. The connection between you two grew stronger with each passing moment, until it felt as if you were one entity, bound together by an unbreakable bond. Your teeth sharpened quickly with your palm resting on the nape of his neck.

“I want you to tie me up and fuck me…”

Unique delicately released his hold on you, planting two quick kisses on the twin bite marks adorning your neck. He flashed a mischievous grin your way, his eyes sparkling with playful intent.

"Tell me, my sweet, how shall I bind you?" he inquired, his lips curling into a sly smile.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "I've always been curious about Shibari," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"But I don't want to be hanging from the ceiling. Instead, I want to be seated on your lap..." You trailed off, a nervous giggle escaping your lips as you bit down on them.

"As you wish, sweetheart. Let's explore this together," he purred, his eyes locking with yours.

Unique skillfully snapped his fingers, causing thin black ropes to appear in his hands while a mischievous smirk adorned his face. In response, both of you swiftly hurled off your clothes, flinging them carelessly onto the floor.

“Let me know if I'm hurtin' you or if it's too rough, I'll stop okay?” he reassured, He gently held your hand while planting a gentle kiss on your palm before kissing your lips.

“Okay..” you spoke softly, nodding your head at him.

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Orange…”

He delicately raised you and placed you on his lap, then flowed to attach the black ropes around your wrists and breasts, binding your hands behind your back. Meanwhile, he tenderly planted two kisses on your lips, all while his hands firmly grasped your hips and lifted you, ensuring you were facing him.

He hoisted you upwards to ensure that you faced him forward. Gradually, he lowered you onto his thick manhood, Unique hissed sharply and his eyes fluttered open, a low ‘fuck’ left his lips as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

“Fuck..Kadeem..” you moaned softly, the words escaping you, You move your hips gently against him, as his hands hold your hips and gradually guide you down to feel every inch. “You’re such a good girl Y/N..” he groaned in your ear, his praise gave you an intense thrill, he utterly filled you up. You started to vigorously bounce on him, feeling alternating waves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. The ropes around you grew tighter as you let out increasingly inhumane moans.

He gently placed his hand on your hip while his other hand gently moved in circles over your breast, with his index finger and thumb giving a firm pull to your nipple. Meanwhile, his thumb continued to trace circles around your nipple. When he unleashed his powers, the temperature plummeted to its lowest point, coursing through his fingertips and causing your nipple to freeze from his icy caress.

“Ssss…fuck!” you hissed with pleasure, riding him faster and harder. They both desired each other intensely, but there was a newfound exhilaration in the control and satisfaction you felt. His hand delivered a firm smack on your ass while he watched your juices gush all over on his dick. He grunted deeply from your wet walls hugging tightly around his length as he pushed himself harder, Unique carried you to the bed and laid you on your back, sliding himself back into you.

His hand latched around your neck with the ropes around your frame tightening again, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Your moans echoed through the room. “Look at you wettin’ up my dick like a needy lil’ slut.” he whispers, his hips pushed roughly upwards, referring to your wetness flowing smoothly between your thighs while your juices flowed down to his balls. “Y-you’re so big..” you moaned softly, Once more, his grip tightened around your throat as his hand vigorously struck your ass, leaving fresh marks from his nails on your thick thighs and curvaceous hips.

With each rough thrust, the bed groaned in response, echoing the passion that filled the room. "I...I'm cumming." you managed to gasp between breaths, your voice shaking. He pushed his hips harder, driving you closer to the edge, and released his grip on your throat. His lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling your breasts selfishly yet filled with deep, unspoken love.

"Don't you fuckin’ cum until I say so," Unique groaned, his voice rumbling with dominance. His thumb circled your throbbing clit, boosting the pleasure that consumed you. The overwhelming stimulation pushed you to the brink, and you cried out with choked out sobs. The ropes that bound you added a thrilling sense of restraint to Unique's rough yet tender strokes.

"I won't, baby! Fuck!" you managed to slur, your words muffled by the overwhelming ecstasy that enveloped you. You were lost in a sea of pleasure. Drool escaped your lips as he planted his plump lips against yours, showering you with kisses until they were swollen. He hovered over you, his deep ebony skin slick of sweat glistening in the soft glow of the ceiling lights.

"Can you please untie me Nique?" you pleaded, your voice raspy with desire. A wave of pleasure washed over you, causing your body to tremble beneath him. With your new vampire powers, you were able to hold on to your climax. He couldn't get enough of you, he adorned every curve and roll along your body, he kissed every single one lovingly, you couldn't think straight but you wanted to touch him so badly, “Of course I can, beautiful..” he cooed, pecking your lips.

He began to untie the ropes, his touch sending shivers down your spine. each knot was undone and tossed the ropes across the bedroom floor, the tension in your body released, and left a few rope lines around your body.

“Come here…” you whispered, you reached out and pulled Unique towards you, your hands roaming over his muscular chest and down his back. He slid his dick between your wet, swollen folds, you shivered from your lover filling up again, the both of you groaned blissfully, he inhaled sharply, His skin was warm beneath your fingertips as he resumed his rough strokes, earning more of your unholy moans and you reveled in the sensation of his body against yours.

He gripped your arms tightly with his nails digging into the marks left by the thin rope, causing you immense pain, “ouu..shit! Shit!” you hissed with moans of pleasure, You winced in agony, stimulating his sadistic side which prompted a cunning grin and a moan. He planted kisses on your jawline, glancing at your fucked out face as he took pleasure in watching you.

“Your pretty pussy is callin’ out to me..” he grunted deeply, his thick wad of cum splattered into you, combining with your warm essence, creating a pool around his dick on the bed sheets. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room with each rough thrust.

Unique grunted and moaned deeply with intensity as the seamless motion of your slick walls hugging around his dick tightly, his tip kissing your cervix with bridled passion. your hands gripped his back tightly, resulting in crescent-shaped marks from your nails on his skin, while you screamed out in immense pleasure that echoed towards the heavens.

You almost went crazy as you whined softly and broke down in bliss beneath him, feeling knots tighten up in the depths of your gut. “I-i gotta cum! Please!” you begged with a sob, He comforted you by kissing your tears, but his thrusts became jagged. Your lips formed a pout and your eyebrows furrowed slightly, while he wiped your tears with his thumb and kissed your cheek twice. At the same time, his index finger gently rubbed your sensitive nub in circles again.

“You can cum baby girl..i'm right behind you..” he whispered, his voice filled with affection. The words sent a surge of pleasure through your body, and you let go, your juices splattered around his dick completely. Unique followed suit by pouring his thick warm cum into you, "Fuck..." he groaned lowly. he pushed every drop of his seed into you to make sure there wasn't a trickle out of your pussy, your bodies shook together with the heat rising between you.

The waves of pleasure gradually subsided, leaving you both breathless and spent. Unique collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You turned to him, Tears rolled down your cheeks from pleasure and raw emotion as his thumb wiped your tears away. "You okay?" he asked softly, His face softened in concern.

“y-yeah, you wore me out baby..” you panted, nodding at him. snuggling closer to him with your head resting on his chest.

You were aware that your newfound existence as a vampire and witch was quite unusual, yet Unique was there by your side throughout the entire journey. You peacefully drifted into slumber, your eyelids gradually descended. He lovingly planted a tender kiss on your forehead, joining you in a tranquil sleep.

—————

#black!reader #black fanfiction #raising kanan #joey bada$$ × black!reader #joey badass fic #joey badass #black fantasy

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orqheuss · 11 months ago

Text

How to ask for help - PART 1

(Ominis/GN!Reader FLUFF)

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Summary:

The five times you helped Ominis, and the one time he helped you.

Word count: 2.9k

AN: This is so stupid, lol

Part 1: 'Water' You Doing?

September, 4th year

“Bollocks!”

You had just been leaving the main greenhouse after asking Professor Garlick a question about your chinese chomping cabbages when a curse came from your left. It was common to find you in that spot as of late, especially with the freshness of the autumn air nipping at the skin of your nose and cheeks. It was a beautiful day by all possible accounts in your book— the sun was softly burning down through the teal painted glass above your head and the leaves were just beginning to twinge the slightest shade of orange. The soft breeze that spun around the tiny outdoor space was a secret comfort to you, and you often spent time there reading under one of the many flowering trees that lined the pavement. As you strolled to your favorite spot under the giant tree at the center of the courtyard, you pondered over what the professor said about your precious foliage— deep in thought about the concerning brown spots decorating the leaves of your tiny, but ferocious, cabbage. You nearly lept out of your skin at the sound of the loud swear coming from the other side of the space, your heart picking up exponentially as you whipped your head in the direction of the voice, trying to see who the person was. By all accounts, it looked like you were alone among the plants, until the ripple of the pond just behind the buildings caught your eye.

Creeping carefully down the stairs and around the bend of the largest green emporium, you scan your eyes around the circled fish pond under the large weeping willow. You almost didn’t see them at first with how their clothing blended in with the grass, but at the farthest corner from you was a student— a boy, you realized, not much older than you from what you could tell. The green and silver adorning his house robe glittered in the leaf shaped sunbeams, making the silken hem look like scales on a garden snake. He was carefully leaning towards the waters edge, his blond hair catching the reflection from the water below and making it look like the shifting glass of the painted murals in the Defence Against the Dark Arts hallway— your mind brought forth a particular comparison between the large sea serpent tryptic and the way the soft sage green of the water melded with his flaxen locks. You edged closer to the boy, moving around the bend as quietly as you could as to not disturb him. Seeing him more clearly now, you noticed that his fingers were gripping tightly to the edge of the pool, his knuckles turning a, somehow paler, shade of his skin tone with anxious strength— one wrong move and he would be drenched and spitting out algae. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, the hiss of curses spilling from his clenched teeth as he desperately searched for something under the surface, whipping his head to and fro like he couldn’t see through the murky depths. You decided to make yourself known, letting your last few steps ring out in the space as you cleared your throat.

“Are you alright?” You asked the stressed stranger. “Do you need some help?”

He startled at the sound of your voice, his body jumping slightly and his head tipping precariously closer to the watery surface, before taking a deep breath through his nose and replying.

“No, thank you. I am quite capable of handling this myself.” His voice was clipped, irritation prevalent in each word.

You paused in your steps, confused at the hostility of the strange boy. You were just trying to help him, what was his issue? Your brows twitched in curiosity, hesitantly making your way closer again as you reached out a hand.

“Are you sure? You’ve been out here for some time—”

His icy tone cut you off. “Thank you for the astute observation. Now if you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Your hand retreated, shoulders straightening at being chastised like a petulant child. Why was he being so rude? You were just trying to help. It wasn’t like you insulted him.

You cleared your throat again, your words choking against the embarrassment lodged in your throat. “My apologies— I meant no offense. I’ll leave you to it.”

Your feet swished against the ground as you turned to take your leave, proverbial tail tucked between your legs from the verbal onslaught by the blond Slytherin, when a sigh stopped you. The boy adjusted his stance, leaning up to kneel on the ground and run a hand over his face and through his hair, dislodging the swoop tucking the strands into their neat style. From him came another sigh, heavy and full of regret, before turning his cheek in your direction to speak to you more directly.

“No, don’t go, it’s me who should apologize. I shouldn’t take my anger out on you— you’re just being nice. A trait that this school seems to be lacking sometimes.”

His hand was outstretched towards you, like you had originally done to him, his fingers twitching and hesitant like he meant to grab onto yours before you could disappear. You moved closer again as he hung his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. The tiniest bit of color could be caught on his alabaster cheek.

He let his hand fall again, his fingers curling into a tense fist at his side. “I’m not one to normally accept help from others, but in this instance I could use some assistance if the offer is still available.”

You stopped next to him, keeping a respectful distance between you both. Seeing your approach, he raised to his feet, turning towards where you were.

“What do you mean you ‘normally don’t accept help’— oh.” You raised your eyes from the ground, “meeting” his gaze for the first time. That being said, there wasn’t really any gaze to be met. He was blind.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Oh.”

You balked, shame pressing heavily against your shoulders. “Oh— oh my. I am so very sorry—“

“It’s fine.” He cut you off again, his sightless eyes shifting to the floor as his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. “I appreciate your kindness nonetheless.”

You took a shuddered breath, fighting to calm your heartbeat down to an acceptable tempo as you took in the boy once again. His eyebrows were squared across the tops of his eyelids, eyes still focused on the ground and his jaw clenched.

He looked quite constipated, actually.

He probably often had people asking him if he needed assistance around the castle. No wonder he was so snippy, he was embarrassed. Just from the little bit you had gathered from him, it was very apparent that he preferred to be independent. Not that you could blame him, of course. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like trying to navigate the world without your sight. If you were honest with yourself, you were quite impressed with the boy in front of you, even if you didn’t know him all that well.

It was his turn to clear his throat, dragging you out of your thought spiral.

You schooled your face into a gentle smile, letting your tone soften naturally. “It’s no trouble. What can I do?”

He seemed taken aback that you still wanted to help him, his posture relaxing slightly but his shoulders stiff as boards and his face now twisted into an expression of aloofness— pleased with your response but still wary of your intentions. All it would take from you would be a little push against his back and he would be, quite literally, swimming with the fishes. Your heart ached a little thinking about the fact that he had to worry about that from your peers.

The blond pointed towards the spot he was leaning over a moment ago, his white eyes darting around in his skull as if refusing to meet yours. His other hand fiddled with the end of his robe sleeve.

“My wand seems to have rolled into the pond. I—” he coughed, “I can’t see without it.”

Your response was instantaneous, your helpful nature taking over and banishing your previous trepidation. “Oh! I can help you find it, if you’d like?”

He exhaled the breath you didn’t realize he was holding, letting his guard down a little bit more at the genuine eagerness you had to help him in his time of need. You quickly made your way to where he was pointing, edging around his body to keep a safe distance, before kneeling in a similar manner as he once was. You peered into the swampy surface, eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary through the thick greenery and streaking colors of the koi fish swimming below. The boy sat with you, peering into the water himself as if trying to sense the location of his wand. After a moment, your shoulders slumped, unable to find his magic instrument. He noticed the change in your posture right away, forcing his own shoulders to shift towards the ground and his eyes to close, the crease in his eyebrow returning as he thought through his other options.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t see anything—” A gasp cut off your sentence, your eyes wide and a smile stretching across your face as your eyes looked under the surface again. The boy flinched at your sound, leaning closer to you and his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline in surprise.

“What? Do you see it?”

“Yes!” You cheered, your toothy grin bleeding through the solitary word.

There, just under a large patch of clover, was a softly glowing red light— a beacon calling for its lost owner.

You quickly shucked your house robe from your shoulders, throwing it in the direction of a dittany bush before hastily rolling up your sleeves and shoving your hand into the pond, causing tiny ripples to split the top into multiple little waves. The boy jumped back to avoid being splashed, nearly losing his footing against the wet concrete.

With a sound of triumph, you wrenched the wand free from the algae it was tangled around and back towards its anxious owner. Using the corner of your shirt, you carefully dried it off to the best of your ability before turning back towards your damsel in distress.

At first you were shocked by how close he had gotten in the mere moments you had been on the ground, but then as your eyes tracked up his face more, your breath stilled in your chest. Your mother had told you once that it was quite rude to stare at people you didn't know, but Merlin, his eyes. You had never seen eyes like that before. Wrapped around his pupils was a deep phthalo turquoise— the color of the north sea after a terrible storm. The hue seemed to bleed into the center, skipping over where his pupil should be and instead leaving a swirling pool of a lightly toned peat-bog, much like the pond you had just been elbow deep in a mere moment ago. Cutting through the oceanic depths were little zigzags of cornflower— like streaks of lightning on a summer night. They had to be some of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

“—Hello? Are you alright?”

It was only when you heard his voice that you realized just how long you had been transfixed by his opalescent eyes. Your cheeks heated to an uncomfortable degree as you hastily looked away, desperately trying to ignore the look of concern turning down the corners of his lips.

“Yes, I’m alright.” You couldn’t seem to clear the lump that lodged itself just under your jaw. “Here’s your wand.”

You held out your prize to him, tapping it against his knuckles so he could locate it and not letting go until it was securely in his hand. You both stood from your hunched position, dusting the grass from the knees of your trousers and gathering the things you had discarded in your rush to help. Now facing each other, the air became tense with anxious energy— neither of you knowing who should break the silence first and walk away. You fiddled with your fingers for a moment, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip as you looked around at the plants growing by the waters edge.

The boy’s voice took on a questioning lilt when he broke through the awkward silence. “Thank you for helping me, I appreciate it immensely. But, I must ask, why didn’t you just use Accio to summon it? Do you not have your wand with you?”

You didn’t think your cheeks could get any more pink. Shite, why didn’t you think of that?

A nervous laugh bubbled out of your mouth. “I honestly forgot that spell existed. This is all still a little new to me.”

The boy balked, his words leaving his mouth before he fully thought them through. “Oh! Are you a muggleborn?” He seemed to instantly regret asking, his eyes squinting shut and his face twisting into that constipated look again. You thought the rosy tint stretching across his cheeks and the tip of his nose was lovely. “My apologies, that was…insensitive of me to ask. I’ll just leave you to—”

“Wait!” You said, suddenly very intent on keeping this not-so-prickly-anymore boy talking. “It’s alright. No offense taken, I promise.”

He stopped mid turn, listening to what you have to say.

“I suppose you could say I’m a muggleborn, even though I never knew that was a term until I came here, of course.” You laughed lightly, hoping to clear away the stiffness that seeped into his body once again. “Been here for four years and this all still confuses me to no end.”

He faced you again, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth. “I would imagine so. I’ve grown up around magic and a lot of it is still a mystery to me.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, a nervous tick he seemed to have. “So, you’re a fourth year as well?”

You smiled bigger, pleased to see that he was just as awkward as you were when it came to idle chit chat with strangers.

��Yes! I think I remember seeing you at the sorting. It’s all a bit of a blur, really.”

A wry smirk tweaked his lips. “I think I remember you as well. You were wearing a ribbon in your hair, correct?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No, that must have been someone—” You watched as his smile became more wolf-ish as his words registered. You chuckled lightly, your eyes falling shut and missing how his own softened the tiniest amount at the sound of your joy. He thought your laughter was like the twinkle of wind-chimes.

With your smile never leaving your face, you stepped closer to the friendly Slytherin, extending your hand towards him in a friendly greeting, giving him your name finally. He smiled bigger, a genuine thing that made you feel warm as he took your hand in his.

“My name is Ominis. Ominis Gaunt. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A loud voice from your right startled you both out of the happy bubble you had created. “There you are, Ominis! I’ve been looking all over for you! What are you doing— oh, who’s this?”

The sudden volume of the stranger made you both jump, causing your feet to skid against the wet tile decorating the fish pond, knocking your balance off kilter. Ominis, to his credit, tried to keep you from tumbling into the water, his hand tightening against yours and his feet shuffling for stability. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain.

You vaguely registered a head of curly brown hair and freckled cheeks as your head was submerged, your clasped hands taking the blond down with you.

You breached the surface seconds apart, your clothes now soaked and sticking uncomfortably to your body. Looking to your new friend, you couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips at the sight of a sizable lily-pad draped against his dripping hair. Your joy must have been infectious, because it didn’t take long for the blond to begin laughing as well.

A hand appeared in front of you, the heavily freckled arm connected to the, now very bashful, stranger that sent you tumbling. He reached to pull you out, waiting for you to accept his help before easing you out of the pond and doing the same to his friend. He smiled sheepishly at you once you were back on dry land, grabbing your discarded robe off the ground and draping it around your shoulders.

“Sorry about that.” He apologized, before holding out his hand to you again. “I’m Sebastian Sallow. I hope I didn’t dampen your opinion of me after startling you like that.”

You shook your head, still smiling at the ridiculous situation you had found yourself in on what was originally a relatively normal day, and introduced yourself to the blushing brunette, watching as he took off his own robe and pulled it around the shoulders of your newest friend.

Turning back to Ominis, chuffed that he seemed to be enjoying this as much as you were, you sighed happily.

“Well Ominis,” you simpered. “This seems like the start to a beautiful friendship.”

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