#so nothings left unturned

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…�� you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

[calypsocolada]

they think they lost you... ft. sanemi, rengoku, obanai, giyu, tengen, & hotaru

authors note: holy cow this was a lot of writing but i fear i may have done a good job. i hope you all enjoy this angst :)

cw: lots of mention of blood and gore, suggestive, angst, not proofread apologies

wc: 6.8k

click here for my masterlist

Sanemi isn’t able to speak. He'd never felt more anger in his life as he searched the charred remains of the mansion. A hopeless sort of desperation slowly nudging his anger to the back of his mind as he almost frantically tossed debris out of his way. His eyes searched everything they could, he left no stone unturned and only when all hope had been lost had he taken a step back.

You two paired up for this mission against Sanemi’s wishes of course. He’d been cold to you ever since you became a Hashira. Ignored you at every turn and when he couldn’t outright ignore you he was outwardly rude. Saying things about your position, how you weren’t strong enough to be fighting beside him, let alone any other hashira. Things that burnt you to your core. A part of you didn’t want to care about him. Didn’t want to linger on his vile words but you found yourself trying to prove him wrong at every turn. Trying to prove to him that you belonged. That you were strong enough to fight alongside him. It was stupid. It was idiotic. But you couldn’t help yourself. So when the chance to pair up with Sanemi arose you snatched it up with pleasure. 

He didn’t talk to you the entire train ride to your destination. You tried sparking some small conversation but… he just wasn’t having it. Not wanting to evoke his anger, you let him be, you lapsed into silence. You let him spend the rest of the ride alone in the suite as you explored the train, landing a seat in the little cafe until your platform was announced. Sanemi met you at the train door and gave you a withering look as he led the way off. For a moment you paused. You could let the door close right now, let the train carry you away. Let this week not be wasted on a man like him. 

But you stepped off the train.

The ashes of the mansion dusts up around Sanemi as he kicks the nearest pillar causing it to crack under his ire. You followed him off the train. He stayed spiteful to you. Why in the hell did you follow him? Sanemi felt the endless pit of anger in his stomach grow. You followed him into this mansion despite his warnings. You fought well. You fought violently and when Sanemi felt backed into a corner you helped him out of it at the cost of your life. This was the exact fucking reason he was so cold to you. The exact reason he kept his distance. The coldness inside of him was warmed just by your mere presence and he hated it. He hated that the mere thought of you and the mere sight of you weakened his deposition. You made him weak and you made him sloppy. You evicted his better judgment and filled his thoughts with only images and moments he’s shared with you. You’d never know this though because he never once let even the slightest amount of want slip through the cracks. He was a tight ship and he hated himself for it. Because all his work amounted to nothing. All his attempts to scare you into another avenue, another way of life and it all didn’t matter. You were dead and you’d never know just how much he cared. 

Sanemi felt the aching start in his chest. A deep bone rattling ache that made him physically reach up and place a hand over his heart. He was bereft. He was speechless and angry and couldn’t fathom that your last moments were wasted saving someone like him. He could hear the spiraling of his thoughts, their downturn. Honestly… he wasn’t quite sure if he could live with himself after this. 

“Shinazugawa!” A voice chirped, clipped and quick. Then again. He turned and the sight was something that almost took out his knees. The utter relief that flushed over him turned his stomach and healed the ache in his chest. You limped your way towards him, your hand still gripping your broken sword. There was a shit eating grin on your lips as you waved your sword at him. “I saved your life, you absolute asshole!” You yelled, coughing slightly as you slowed your pace. Sanemi didn’t answer your words. He almost said he could kill you for scaring him so deeply but with the possibility still real and tangible in his mind it was something he couldn’t speak aloud. He walked forwards without words, none of them would come out right no matter how it was spoken. You slowed down at his quick pace and something flashed across your face moments before he yanked your stubborn ass into a lip smashing kiss. You stumbled back at the force of it only for Sanemi’s ash covered hands to slide around your hips and yank you into him.

~

It was beyond Rengoku’s scope that you’d been taken from him. The indomitable spirit within him wasn’t allowing him to accept the very real fact that you could be dead. That no matter how hard he fought there were things beyond his control. Things that could be taken from him. Even when he held on with the utmost of his might. 

Rengoku had happily asked you to accompany him on his mission. You weren’t a demon slayer, just a nice girl he met in a village diner a few years back. 

He’d seen you in the kitchen, watched you from his diner booth. Watched you wipe sweat off your brow as you fixed food so effortlessly, tendrils of hair around your face like vines of ivy. He couldn’t look away, even when a nice waitress brought him his food and it sat slowly losing its warmth. He’d made a habit of coming to the diner as often as he could and it wasn’t for the food, obviously… 

The first speaking interaction you two shared was a quick moment as you passed by. He met your eyes and you paused. Your town was pretty normal, most people around her dressed in darker colors and lots of layers due to the colder climate, hair usually one of three or four colors so seeing a man with loud two toned hair and fiery garb had stopped you in your tracks, though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him it still gave you some pause. That was until you remembered your father telling you about the hashira that had been stopping by a few times a week. You minded your manners and gave the man a soft smile.

“Enjoying your food?” You knew the answer, this man usually ate ten to fifteen bowls in one sitting. He was currently on his seventh bowl when you ventured out of your spot to take a little break outside. The man’s mouth was full so he gave an enthusiastic nod of his head as you breathed out a soft laugh through your nose. “Good to hear.”  You said demurly, walking your way towards the front door. 

Rengoku searched the depths of the forest, he called out your name relentlessly, He listened intently. He searched for hours.He’d search for days for years if needed. He’d run himself ragged, he’d tear through the leaves, he’d overturn mountains, he’d tear down the sky in search of you. He’d find you too. There was something about the determination in him that would fight off the improbability that you could really be gone. If there was even the slimmest, smallest chance he could find you, that he could save you he’d traverse the depths of hell and back. He’d do it all for you. 

Rengoku popped his head out into the cold to follow you outside. He hadn’t followed you after the first time you spoke to him but he decided a few days later he wanted to talk more with you. Not usually given the chance while you were hard at work You sat on a bench on the side of the diner, shielded by the overhang as snow flurried around you. Rengoku wasn’t used to the cold but just the sight of you brought warmth to his bones. You turned your head at the door being pushed open and offered him a polite smile. Rengoku returned your smile, wide and bright. 

“Morning.” You greeted.

“Good morning.” Rengoku returned eagerly. You moved over, sharing your space as Rengoku greedily took your offer and sat beside you. The first thing you noticed about this man was his warmth. You grew up in the cold with a colder family. Rengoku’s smiles and radiating kindness was something foreign to you. Foreign but wholly welcomed and intriguing. For a few days after he sat beside you it started to be a sort of regular occurrence, he’d find you, you’d offer him a seat you two would talk. The normality set in quite quickly and you began to look forward to the moments you two shared on your little breaks. You found yourself drawn to him like a freezing body drawn to a roaring fire. Before you knew it things were serious, he took you away from that cold town, away from uncaring parents into a stable environment. He filled you with love and soon enough the dregs of your past were slowly forgotten. And when you begged him to let you tag along on just one of his missions he was unable to turn you down. 

So as he searched for you now he didn’t have a moment to cry. To let out his emotions. He wouldn’t let himself grieve. He hadn’t lost you yet. 

“Kyojuro…” Your voice was small but there was no way in hell he’d let it go unheard. He called out to you again and waited. He heard his name once more and ran with ungodly speed towards the lips that had spoken it. When he found you it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. You parted your lips, most likely to apologize for letting the demon separate you two but Regoku swept you up in a hug, spinning the both of you around. His hands held you tightly as you smiled, breathing out in relief. For a moment, lost in the pines, you felt that cold creeping in. But once again this man fought it out and won.

~

You staggered, your wounds opening as you pushed out through the trees. You felt the warmth of oozing blood staining your uniform. Losing your footing you crashed into the forest flooring, the pain making you see white momentarily. You tried to push to your feet but you were unable.

Obanai was fast through the trees, he was quiet, precise. He killed the left over straggler demons without remorse, without a second thought. He sliced cleanly and kept moving. You two had been separated for too long and Obanai couldn’t help but assume the worst. Assume that he’d lost you and due to his negligence would never see you again. He found part of your haori in the hand of a slain demon. He ripped the scrap away from its hand and held it tightly between his fingers, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest.

You had managed to finally get to your knees, you sat there for a moment. Rain had started to pour, freezing rain that soaked you completely through. Against all odds you got to your feet, you trudged forwards towards a clearing, back the way you and Obanai had previously been separated. 

Obanai enjoyed nights like these. Cold and quiet. With rain pouring against the roof of Kagaya’s mansion. He’d stopped here to give a report but the rain poured so heavily he was asked to stay over for the night before taking a trek back to his own home. Likewise you were in the same position and out of all the hashira to be stuck with Obanai would be your last choice. You found him terribly scary. He was standoffish with mannerisms much like his white snake that always perched itself on his shoulders. You weren’t necessarily a fan of snakes, nor a fan of the man that had one as a pet. But the people pleaser in you kept what little conversations you two shared, well more of you talked and he possibly, possibly not listened. 

You found yourself in a similar situation tonight like many other nights. That damned snake always found its way to you, startling you into a choked scream. Embarrassed, you clapped a hand to your mouth, not wanting to wake Kagaya and his family. Pretty much every time you were forced to interact with Obanai it was after he’d come looking for his snake that, without fault, found its way to you everytime.

“H-hello Kaburamaru.” You greeted as the white slithering thing made its way closer to you. You felt your heart in your throat as the creature raised its head as though to greet you back. You swallowed as it lowered itself and slithered towards you again. You stepped back, softly blowing out a stressed breath as it wrapped around your leg and made its way up and up until it was around your own shoulders. A part of you hated this but another part felt sort of… excited, almost honored that this creature chose to climb on you. Kaburamaru’s head sort of nuzzles against your cheek as you hear the backdoor to Kagaya’s kitchen slide open. You’d been eating a late night snack when the snake found you. Your probably wide eyes met Obanai’s as he stepped inside. He takes in the scene, his hand paused on the handle of the door. “H-he always seems to find me doesn’t he?” You ask, attempting lighthearted banter with the dark spectral that was Obanai. His two toned eyes meet yours. His black hair was slightly damp from the rain and he wasn’t in his usual haori but instead some casual clothes. You cleared your throat after he didn’t answer, after realizing you were staring at him. “It’s like he likes me or something.” You say as Kaburamaru nuzzles you again and you swear the creature nods its small head. Obanai doesn’t answer, just walks forwards and holds out an arm. It takes a moment for you to realize he’s extending a branch for Kaburamaru and you feel slightly sad as the creature slithers off of your shoulders, leaving them bare. Obanai wordlessly makes his way back to his room. “G-goodnight.” You call after him. No response.

Obanai stopped in a clearing, slowing. He felt… disheartened. Kaburamaru hadn’t perked up since the moment he last saw you and the last time was… well it was bad to say the least. You were injured, far worse than you tried to let on. Obanai didn’t want to push, he just wanted to get you out of this damned forest in one piece. But he’d been searching for over an hour, he couldn’t sense you at all. He’d called out to you time and time again but only the sound of trees rustling responded. That’s when he spotted something, something unmoving and still at the edge of the clearing.  

You sat beside him the next morning. Kagaya and his family had left earlier, leaving only you two. You were an early riser. You fixed breakfast and just as you finished Obanai stirred awake. WIth messy hair he walked groggily into the kitchen, yawning. When you first looked at him you almost didn’t notice but then you did. Usually he had a white bandage around the entire bottom half of his face below his nose. Usually. But he must’ve been entirely exhausted because that bandage was nowhere to be found. You didn’t let your eyes linger, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

“M-morning.” You greeted in the same sort of nervous cadence you always greeted him in. He didn’t respond as he gathered his things. “I made breakfast.” You said.

“I see that.” He answered, his voice clearer than you’d ever heard it. You swallowed, feeling silly. 

“I made enough for two.” You added and watched his hand pause. He then suddenly slaps a hand over his mouth and wordlessly leaves the room. He must’ve noticed in a reflection. You fixed two plates in his short absence and two cups of green tea. Obanai appeared a few moments later with his bandage in place, Kaburamaru on his shoulders and his bag packed. “Wait… you should eat something before you go.” You say and when he doesn’t respond you just stop. You stop talking, stop trying to be his friend. He wrenches open the front door of the mansion. 

“Obanai,” You called out one last time. He pauses and turns as you walk up to him. You packed the breakfast into a little container, you held it out to him. “At least take it to go.” You say. He stares at you, eyes scrutinizingly sharp and you felt like he could see right through your skin to your innards.

“You saw my scars.” He started coldly. Your lips part in surprise as your eyes rise up to his. You give a simple sort of solemn nod of the head to him. His snake eyes cut to the container in your hands, the stare lingered there for a moment before rising back up. “You shouldn’t be nice to me.” He says. You can’t help but furrow your brows slightly.

“Hm?”

“You should be disgusted.” He says as though your reaction to his scars is something strange. You suck in a quiet breath, thinking about the right words to say at this moment.

“I’m not.”

Rain pelted against Obanai as he ran to you. You were slumped against a tree, blood staining your uniform. He didn’t waste a single second, he scooped your limp cold body into his arms and set out at a breakneck pace towards the way you two had previously entered the forest. There was a village doctor and Obanai would get you to him in record time. He wouldn’t lose you. Not after figuring out just how important you were to him. Not after sharing moments and nights and stories. You knew of his past, he’d told you everything over the few months after you’d seen his scars. All that shit that weighed him down, that haunted him you had listened to and bore some of its weight, easing things up for him a bit. He felt lighter with you around. He felt seen, he felt heard. And most of all… he felt loved. Care for even. You deserved everything you’d given to him, tenfold. He took you to shelter, he held your hand through the worst of it and sat at your bedside until you woke up hours later.

“That was one tough bastard of a demon.” Were the first words you’d spoken the next morning. Obanai had a crick in his neck from sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to your bed. With snake-like grace and ease he rose from his chair and was sitting on your bed in mere seconds. You gaped at him as his hands slid against your cheeks, cupping them as he pulled you to him and pressed his forehead against yours. A gentle and tender gesture. He didn’t even need to tell you how bad you’d scared him, you understood it in the slight tremble of his fingers as he held your face.

~

It was happening again, just before Giyu's eyes. That fresh pain of revelation sat familiar and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’d watch someone he’d loved risk it all before and lose. He couldn’t watch that again.  

Not after all you two had been through. 

Through ups and downs. You were just as much of a pained soul as he was. You’d lost about the same as him. Where he resorted to quiet you resorted to anger. It was something to be worked on but Giyu had never known anyone stronger than you. The loneliness inside him had reached out greedily for the smallest bit of warmth you had to offer and vice versa. You two had found solace in one another. A quiet comprehension and understanding. He’d begun to rely on you. You’d begun to trust him. You two had formed something not many hashira could keep. A simple thing that had been ripped away from almost every single one of you. Love. Something so pure and simple. You lost your family and after a lot of hardships and shutting yourself off from the world Giyu had found his way through your walls. He wormed his way into your heart and although you were wholly reluctant at first in the end you realized that life was just entirely too short to keep behind shackled walls. 

It wasn’t easy. You were easily scared off to relationships let alone the absolute devotion Giyu showed you. It was hard to stick beside him when you were so damn scared you’d lose him one day. It was just a recurring curse that always struck you when you least expected it. It was as though loving and losing was just a prophecy to be fulfilled. Giyu stood strong. He never wavered in the face of your fear. He stayed by your side even when you screamed and yelled for him to leave. He never raised his voice, he stayed on the path. The path being you. Because everytime you’d leave, or storm away, or get scared to your core he showed restraint to his own fears. He was as afraid of losing you as you were of losing him. But he didn’t push you away, in fact that only made him pull you closer. 

“One of us will die, leaving the other. So what’s the point, Tomioka? This will only serve to hurt us.” You had said teary eyed one day in the beginning of your relationship. For a few weeks you two wrestled with your feelings and it resulted in Giyu kissing you. It changed everything because from that point on you craved more. You hated it too. To crave someone so deeply knowing one day you’d lose them. 

“That’s true.” He said softly then. He’d reached for you, taking your hand, gently kissing your knuckles. You bit your lip, your cheeks flushed. Giyu was always like this when you were alone, around others you could never figure what he was thinking but alone he let you know exactly the scope of his thoughts and feelings. “But I’d rather be with you than not.” He answered as if it was really just that simple. He started kissing his way up your hand to your wrist, past your wrist up your arm. You swallowed dryly and when you turned your face towards him he kissed your lips. That terrible flip in your stomach came and the fear that wracked your brain over things out of your control slowly washed away. 

You killed them demon. It was an upper rank that surprised you both. It had Giyu at one point, had him by the throat as its jaws opened to finish a thing that wasn’t a person to it. That was until you swooped in, you knocked Giyu out of the way to safety and took the battle alone on your shoulders. Giyu was gravely injured and the moment he hit the ground he lost consciousness. The last thing he'd seen was the flash of the moon glinting off your chipped sword then nothing at all. When he woke up all was quiet. He’d sat up achingly quick. Blood rushed to his head making him dizzy as he searched for you. The demon you had killed was slowly dusting away in front of you. Giyu pushed to his feet and limped his way over to you, only pausing for a moment to watch your sword fall from your grasp. His breath caught in his throat. All those nightmares of his dying in front of you were in vain because your fear ricocheted to him. About fifty yards from you Giyu watched as you crumpled to the ground, still and lifeless. Giyu tripped over himself to get to you and in his haste reopened the slowly healing wounds on his body. He didn’t care, no amount of pain could stop him from reaching you. The closer he got the better he could see your weakened state. There was so much blood, your hair was stained red from the color of it.

“Hey… hey---” His voice was strained and weak, choked up from the sight of you. His hands slide on either side of your face. You felt him touch you and immediately opened your eyes. Although you looked close to the grave it turned out that after your almost hour long fight to the death that really you weren’t as bad off as it looked. You were just fucking exhausted. You smiled up at him. 

“Hey.” You breathed out and the absolute relief on Giyu’s face brought fresh tears to your eyes. 

“You scared me.” He barked, not necessarily loud but you could tell with the way he slumped down against you, hugging you tightly that your dramatic fall to the ground had his heart in his throat.

“Sorry.” You apologized, gently sitting up and wrapping your arms around him. He kissed the side of your head and pulled back, kissing your lips.

“You saved me.” He spoke against your lips. You smiled.

“Uh huh.” You mumbled, missing the press of his lips already. “Let’s get out of this damned forest.”

~

Tengen wasn’t someone that hides his feelings. In fact to the effect where it was always known that he was in love with you. That this thing you said made him laugh or the way you trained made him proud or the way you killed demons made him flush. All those factors were something you weren’t new to but still caught you off guard every time. All these compliments, his kisses and time spent with you was something you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to but… slowly you were starting to look forward to it all. He’d first kissed you after begging you to choose going on a mission with him rather than Giyu and after that any moment you two were alone things dissolved into flicked off lights, warm exploring hands and heated kisses. This had been a recurring thing for weeks with no end in sight. But neither of you wanted it to end and although Tengen was the more outspoken of the two of you, your quiet confirmation was all he needed to push you against the backs of doors and kiss you senseless. 

But that’s all you let it be. Against Tengen’s multiple attempts to make it something serious you’d just shut it down. He’d ask you to accompany him on missions but you’d say no. He’d be gone for weeks and write to you but you wouldn’t write back but the moment he’d darken your doorstep again you’d grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him inside. He could tell you missed him through the way you touched him but that’s all he had to go on. You never slipped up when it came to revealing things you kept close to your heart. Revealing how you truly felt was a well kept secret behind locks and vaults and ciphers. You were a riddle that Tengen was driving himself mad to solve. But Tengen was shameless, he didn’t care if he had to beg and plead on your closed doors because just an ounce of your attention was flashy enough for him. 

That’s why when you finally agreed to go on a mission he felt as though it was you finally giving him some ground to stand upon. And he accepted it greedily. You weren’t a Hashira like him, you were Gyomei’s tsuguko and although you wouldn’t tell Tengen this, Gyomei had asked you to accompany Tengen. Though you wouldn’t also tell anyone that you wanted to come every time he’d asked you before but wouldn’t allow yourself. It wasn’t that you were afraid of commitment because people could come and go in your life all they pleased. It was more of the fact that you already felt tenfold of what Tengen probably felt for you. You cared for him so much that it affected a lot of your training. So much so that Gyomei sent you away on this mission because of how frustrated he was hearing you mope around the house waiting for Tengen to stumble on the doorstep. You couldn’t travel together though for circumstances out of your control and when you finally made it to the entertainment district almost an all out war was being waged.

Tengen sat, unable to stand, his wives surrounding him as the poison in his blood had finally been cured thanks to Nezuko. He was one arm short and short of one girl that he’d make his wife one day. Hinata had taken the other two wives out to look for you in the rubble of the district after Inosuke had told them you had helped decapitate that female demon. But the aftershock had separated you into disappearing from the rest of the group. Tengen tried to push to his feet but held no strength in his limbs whatsoever. The pain of the fight was nothing compared to being stuck unable to look for you. Then it only got worse when he saw a flash of your hair and realized you were being carried. It was Obanai that found you, he’d got here late after all the destruction and stumbled upon you. Tengen sat up, his wounds screaming as Obanai carried you closer. You weren’t moving. He called out but his voice was strained as Obanai met with some of the medics, handing you off to them. You still didn’t move. Tengen was in absolute hell watching this. He pushed to his feet and fell back to his knees, the pain so striking it brought fresh tears to his eyes. But he persevered. He got to the medic who’d set you on a makeshift stretcher, carefully inspecting your wounds. He jumped at the sight of Tengen.

“M-Mr. Tengen!” He was startled. “Y-you should be sitting down.” Tengen dropped to his knees, he reached for your hand, it was cold in his grasp. Your face was pale, a large slashed cut stretching across your brow down the side of your face. Your uniform was stained in soot and blood. But the only thing that kept Tengen from losing his mind was the steady slow rise and fall of your chest. You were alive and you were breathing. The relief was like a punch to the stomach and it seemed the search for you was the only thing keeping him awake because the moment he realized you’d be okay Tengen fell unconscious beside you.

When he woke up he was in a room alone. He felt better, though his body still ached he pushed out of the bed. He traversed the halls of the butterfly mansion, outside he saw his wives eating, he smiled at the sight of them. He kept going, looking for one more person, one more thing he’d been craving. When he pushed open the door to the training room he felt weak in the knees. It was as though you weren’t even affected. You trained mercilessly, sword swinging expertly. You paused, turning at the sound of the door opening and met Tengen’s eyes.

“You’re awake.” You greeted, voice light. Tengen didn’t waste another damn second. He was across that room in the blink of an eye. Sweeping you up into his arms, hugging you tightly as he spun you around. “Careful!” You called out, amusement in your tone. “You’re still healing.” 

“Don’t care.” He breathed out, setting you down, arms sliding down against your waste as he and his giant body leaning into your space, lips meeting lips. 

“I care.” You mumble against his lips. He kisses you hard at that. It’s not often you expressed a liking for him outloud. 

“That’s good to hear.” He kissed past your mouth down to your neck as he hugged you tightly again, lips kissing at whatever they could find.

“Uzui.” You warned. “Lots of people walking around.”

“Don’t care.” 

“I care you big oaf.” You snap but your tone is light, still amused. Tengen raised his head.

“Come home with me and the wives.” He asks, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Hm,” You hum as he pulls back, so tall you have to crane your head to meet his eyes. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Most of the time, yes.” He answers simply. “I want you. I want to be with you, I want you home with me. Please… say yes this time.” He can tell you’re thinking about it so he lowers his head and presses another kiss to your forehead, sweet and tender.

~

Hotaru first kissed you a few months back. It was a startling and confusing moment. You’d traveled to his village for a new sword scared out of your mind because you’d broken a sword. You stupidly asked a competitor of his to fix it, hoping to save yourself from his wrath. But Hotaru caught you in the act and instead of being outwardly angry… he kissed you. And this simple act changed everything. It changed how you perceived all your interactions after that day. His competitor had referred to you as Hotaru’s favorite and you hadn’t been able to wipe that from your mind since. You hadn’t seen him since the kiss and you tossed and turned almost every night since just trying to make sense of the moment if there was any sense to be found. Maybe he’d kissed you to shut you up. Maybe he kissed you in a polite way? Like a thanks for keeping him in business kind of kiss? No… that kiss was anything but polite. It was hot. All consuming. It was everything you didn’t expect to come from the man who struck fear in all demon slayers. So despite your better judgment you used the little bit of time off that you had to trudge back to his village. You told everyone you were going there to relax before your new mission but in reality it was to solve the mystery of why he kissed you and why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Hotaru lived on the outskirts of the village. A bit of a walk from everyone else’s house, It was like he was the town pariah or something. It was dark when you spotted the glow of his parted curtains, his chimney puffing out smoke. It was the dead of winter so you were chilled to the bone, not only at the fact you were about to speak to him after months of silence but also because of the damn snow storm you trekked through to get here. 

As you got to his door you blew out a breath and knocked. But just as you lowered your hand you heard something. A rustle, the movement of steps in the snow. You turned, surveying the area. Maybe a villager kid had followed you up here, interested in the girl that had come to talk to the town's scary ghost. Your eyes scanned the trees as the door opened. You didn’t turn back and that’s when you spotted it, lumbering through the trees, blood dripping into the snow. You turned back, hand flying to your sword. Hotaru stood in the doorway unaware of two things. Why you were here and why you pushed him back and closed the door in his face.

“Stay inside!” You called out to him, your sword in your hand at the ready as the demon busted through the trees towards you. 

The thing was viscous and obviously starving as its jaws opened and latched onto your shoulder. You screamed in pain, hitting it back and slashing violently across the length of its stomach. It was hard to maneuver in your layers of thick winter clothes but you mostly made it work. You fought the demon back away from Hotaru’s house, it’s bloodlust like that of a rabid animal. It snarled and growled and slashed at you, slashing up your clothes and your face. When you were finally able to get the upper hand you wasted no time slicing it’s head from its shoulders. It crumpled into dust and fire, blowing away with the wind. You blew out an exhausted breath, leaning heavily against a tree near you. So much for relaxing. You jolted at the sound of Hotaru’s voice as he called out for you near the treeline. You sighed, pushing off the tree, trudging towards his voice through the snow. 

“That was one tough bastard.” You said as you spotted him. You must’ve looked worse than you felt because Hotaru stumbled his way towards you rather ungracefully. “Careful,” You said as he approached, slamming against you in a tight hug. You gasped in surprise, winded by the force of his body slamming into yours. He hugged the life out of you. Hugged you so tightly you wondered if he was trying to kill you. “It’s okay-- I’m fine.” You breathed out and still he didn’t let up. 

“I heard you scream. I couldn’t find you.” He spoke into your hair, tightening his hold on you just barely. 

“Yeah, it bit me.” You answered nonchalantly. Hotaru pulled back, anger on his face. You sucked in a breath at the look on his face.

“What were you thinking!” He growls, turning and pulling you gently towards his house, despite the anger in his voice he handled you with care. 

“What?” You stuttered.

“You scared the hell outta me.” He says, throwing open his door and pulling you into the warmth of his house. He guides you to the kitchen. “Strip.” He commands and you do as told, kicking off your snow boots and peeling off your layers of clothes, careful around the stinging bite on your shoulder. Hotaru gathered some things, slamming things left and right. You were speechless, his reaction to you saving him was something you weren’t expecting. When he grabbed all he needed he dropped into the seat next to you and you turned to face him.

“Are you mad that I saved you?” You asked and watched his brows furrow. You sighed out heavily, almost exhaustedly. Both his hands slid against your cheeks and in another surprising twist he kissed you. He kissed you so softly and tenderly it had your stomach turning in knots. This man was loud, he was angry most of the time and every single slayer and villager was scared at the mere thought of him. But he was different when he kissed you, it had your entire body lightening on fire. You absentmindedly tried to wrap your arms around the back of his neck only for that bite on your shoulder to remind you with white hot pain. You gasped, sucking in a breath as Hotaru pulled back. He didn’t waste a second placing a rag over the wound, soaking up some of the blood. 

“I’m not angry you saved me.” He said after a moment. “Just mad you got hurt.” 

“I get hurt all the time.” You answer lightly, hoping for some humility but Hotaru doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s just part of being a Hashira.” His gentle hands are patching up your shoulder and he doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds. Once he’s finished he gets up, grabbing a blanket, wrapping it around you to warm you up. He sets back down and pulls your chair closer to his. Your nerves spike at the closeness. 

“You didn’t come all this way for a broken sword right?” He asks, your breath catches as you shake your head. 

“My sword’s fine.” 

“That’s good to hear.” He says, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair back out of your face. “Didn’t visit my competitor first this time?” It’s weird to see him joke but you find yourself relaxing.

“No. I came straight here.” You answer and his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Thanks for saving my life.” He says.

“You’re welco-” He cuts you off with a press of his lips against yours.

[milky-aeons]

— 'TIL DEATH DO US PART

ᯓ★ starring: dazai osamu, kunikida doppo, atsushi nakajima, chuuya nakahara and fyodor dostoevsky; what they would be like on their wedding day.

warnings: marriage, swearing, alcohol-intake, wife reader, w.c 3.5k

ᯓ★𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔

: ̗̀➛ Dazai, who never really acted like a conventional human being, also did not propose like one, either. After dating the enigmatic Armed Detective Agent for, by then, two years, you did not expect him to get down on one knee and produce a beautiful ring, like you had seen in the movies. But you also did not expect him to drop the question like it was a frivolous thing one random Tuesday evening while you both shared a drink at your favourite late-night bar.

Blinking, your glass frozen mid-way to your lips, you turned to him and said, "What did you... just say?" That mischievous smile you were so quick to fall for flashed across his face. "I said, why don't we get married, hmm~?"

: ̗̀➛ There was no other answer in your mind, your heart, than a resounding yes. For he was the thorn in your side as much as he was your other half. Through the whirlwind of months following, you found it hard to discern where one day ended and the next began. Time bled together until you didn't have nearly enough of it, and the day of the ceremony was here. It was a casual affair not bound too tightly by tradition. By the help of the agents, an old, abandoned manor sitting by the riverside had been fashioned into your very own cathedral.

: ̗̀➛ Yosano Akiko fussed over your dress, your hair, your makeup — to a point where you thought she was having way too much fun. And yet, she left no stones unturned, either. As you walked in through the building decorated with bouquets of flowers and rows upon rows of familiar faces, she hooked her arm into yours and walked by your side. Using Thou Shalt Not Die, the doctor instructed fluttering, iridescent butterflies to sit against your dress and your veil, the cornet of your hair, any place she could in order to make you glow.

: ̗̀➛ He stood to his towering height at the alter with his back turned to you in an immaculate suit of white. And when he spun to face you, you fell in love for a second time — with his brunet hair tucked behind his ear, the blue rose pinned to his suit lapel and his eyes; how they watched you. With a type of stunned disbelief that melted into adoration. When you came to stand by his side in front of the pastor, his hand reached down to twine with your fingers, and he whispered;

"You — are absolutely breath-taking."

: ̗̀➛ Kyouka Izumi played the role of ring-bearer, delivering a small white pillow with the two shining bands once it was time to say your vows. Dazai reached out tenderly, slowly, as if to preserve this moment for as long as he could, and lifted the veil from your face. His eyes shuttered. He reached for your hand and slid the smaller band onto your finger, his eyes downcast, his voice low and intimate.

"Through you I have found what it means to love, what it is to feel human, and while I am by your side — I endeavour to protect and earn that title. For as long as I shall live, I am yours. My soul, my name, they are all yours."

: ̗̀➛ As the ceremony reached its closure, when you had both been bound to each other in heart and in soul, Dazai could not wait another moment before he could reach for you. As soon as the words you may kiss the bride left the pastor's lips, Dazai had looped his arms around your waist and bent you back into a dramatic dip. Cheers and claps filled the riverside chapel, you smiled widely against his lips, expecting nothing less of him. Your soulmate. Your husband. Your Osamu, who's name you brandished as your own.

𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 . . .

"Kunikida-kun~!" Dazai's loud voice, a little accentuated with alcohol, swam over the crowd. "Play the thing we talked about!"

Curious, your head turned to the sounds of footsteps shuffling onto the dancefloor illuminated by pale spotlights. The afterparty was in full swing, you had been flanked by a group of well-wishing women when your husband's voice reached your ears. Each of you observed as Dazai, alongside Kunikida, Junichirou, Atsushi and little Kenji took centre stage. Excited murmurs fluttered through the throng.

"What on earth are they doing?" You wondered, and then the starting notes to All The Single Ladies began blaring from the party speakers. Your mouth dropped. Every single one of the Armed Detective Agents began to move in unison to the beat of the music.

And for the third time, you fell in love with him, again. Expecting that there would be many more to come.

ᯓ★𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎

: ̗̀➛ Kunikida Doppo, who, at first, had not planned to marry you. After all, you only met twenty out of his proposed fifty-eight requirements that made the perfect wife. That was the thing about your relationship, however — you had come into the agent's life unplanned, uninvited, and turned every one of his rigid ideals up on their heads.

: ̗̀➛ Yet it was only telling of the Idealist and his old habits, how Kunikida went about asking for your hand in marriage. It had been early on a weekday afternoon when he had called you into one of the private meeting rooms of the Agency's office. He'd pushed his glasses up the strong bridge of his nose and laid out his terms. He'd even written a business contract for you to sign. The page had gone flying in the air when you had tackled him from across the table. Smattering a thousand kisses against his blushing, flustered face and breathing the words yes, yes, you silly man, yes!

: ̗̀➛ To concur with both your family's wishes and his own, a traditional wedding was set in motion. Kunikida Doppo was always a man to abide by rules and regulations, but it had occurred to you that perhaps he was taking this affair a little too seriously. For your parents, he gifted them the very traditional shiraga thread. During the sake ceremony, the blond sat ramrod straight, moving mechanically to take sips from the three cups. One for past, one for present, and one for your future. Together.

: ̗̀➛ He was so serious, in fact, that you had become nervous on the morning of your wedding — your most beloved of friends helping you into your garments, trying to soothe your thoughts. What if he doesn't want to marry me? You would whisper as they fashioned your hair up. What if I've forced him into this, what if he's unhappy? To one of your many anxieties, your friend had met your eyes in the mirror, and smiled.

"Oh, honey," She chuckled, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "You should see the way that man looks at you."

: ̗̀➛ Her words played in your mind as the traditional music was strung during your procession to meet him. The black colours he donned made his long ponytail appear golden, his body strong, his face even more handsome. As he watched you come down the shrine walkway to be by his side, the blond reached up with one hand to push his glasses away and covered his eyes. It had taken you a few months after to realise that in that moment, Kunikida Doppo had shed a tear.

: ̗̀➛ It was not tradition for vows to be spoken, and yet Kunikida asked to say a few words as the ceremony drew to a close. You watched him carefully as he picked up the microphone, curious at the intentions he had. It was in that moment that your newly wed husband faced the crowd and brought the mic to his lips.

"First, I would like to thank you all for gracing our marriage with both your presence and your blessings. It is something we will see not to squander." "Second, I would like to say some thoughts of mine, if you would all be so inclined. Marriage, to me, was initially an agreement of convenience. I had the perfect woman laid out seamlessly. And in my wife that stands with me today, I say that she is not that perfect woman I so wished to find. But she is everything more. She is my best friend, she is my support, she is the person I go to sleep thinking of and wake up searching for. To me, she is my home, and I will take care of her fiercely."

: ̗̀➛ At your small reception, Kunikida was stolen away from you by some affiliates of the Armed Detective Agency and had his sake cup topped up one too many times. He found you afterwards, and proclaimed both his love and adoration for his newly-betrothed to everyone and anyone that was within a five mile radius.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 . . .

"Come here," You whispered to him, now in the comfort of your own apartment walls. A considerably uncoordinated Kunikida was struggling out of his Haorihimo, cursing in drunken slurs and promises of retribution to the small sliver of fabric.

Your fingers eased the cloth out from underneath his arms and you began to loosen the knot. Your husband was staring up at you from behind his crooked glasses. He swayed a little, and you stood in front of him, ready to support him if he went toppling forward off the bed.

But then, two strong, solid arms came up to the small of your back and he crushed you against him. Burying his head into your chest, he murmured;

"From the very first day I met you... I loved you. D'ya know that?"

Your heart grew tiny wings in your chest and began to sore. Smiling, you reached up, carding your fingers through his blond locks and undoing the tight ponytail.

"The first day you met me, you told me I was inefficient and lazy, my dear husband." You mused.

He grunted. "Same... thing."

ᯓ★𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

: ̗̀➛ Your relationship with Atsushi was one that blossomed slow and tenderly. It was a natural progression, after three years of happy dating, for the agent to ask you to marry him. Everything Atsushi Nakajima did in regards to showing his affection for you was always timid and reserved — you never expected it; the elaborate surprise he had waiting in store for you that morning you came into the Agency's offices just like you always did.

: ̗̀➛ Well, perhaps he had a little help from the other agents, for the office was barren when you entered. Your eyebrows had creased at the very uncharacteristic quiet of the usually chaotic area you worked in. You had checked the time, wondering if you had showed up a little too early on accident. But then, there was a voice — the voice of agent Dazai Osamu, shouting at you to come to the nearest window and to do so urgently—!

Each of the agents stood at the sidewalk, all holding up a sign with different characters that made up a whole sentence. A question. And Atsushi — your sweet, kind, caring Atsushi, was perched in the middle, the biggest bouquet of roses in his sheepish hands. Will you marry me?

: ̗̀➛ Both you and Atsushi decide to get married somewhere far removed from the city skyline of Yokohama. You wanted somewhere special to remember this day, and perhaps, the great outdoors and stretching greens spoke to Atsushi's beastly side a little more, too. So you chose the heart of a nearby woodland where a great, ancient willow tree served as your alter.

: ̗̀➛ Atsushi wore a suit of sky-blue. You wore a simple slip dress decorated with accents of lace and flowers, Kenji had twined some wildflowers into your hair. The fauna of the forest acted as your choir when you walked down the small trail of brambles to your soon-to-be husband who waited at the base of the winding trunk.

: ̗̀➛ The reception was held in a greenhouse funded by the Agency's private books — you and Atsushi were members, after all, so Kunikida took a little less persuading than usual to move his ledgers around. For lunch, you served chazuke, and when you took the first dance, Atsushi's eyes appeared more gold than they were violet as they looked at you so lovingly the whole time.

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 . . .

"Atsushi, they'll notice that we're gone." You giggled, bunching your dress up so you could step over the little bush of thickets. When you both reached the winding roots of the willow tree you promised yourselves to each other underneath, Atsushi transformed his arms and legs into their tiger equivalents.

"Dazai-san said he'd keep everyone entertained." He whispered, and then stepped forward to wrap his soft arms around you. "Are you ready?"

"It may be a little late for second thoughts." You teased, but looped your arms around his slender neck and relaxed into his hold. The new golden band on your finger glinted in the moonlight.

And using that tiger-strength, Atsushi dug his claws into the ancient tree bark and began to climb. Higher and higher until you both broke through the canopy cover and could look to the millions of stars winking at you overhead.

"Oh, Atsushi." You breathed in awe, taking in the wonders above. "Oh, it's beautiful."

Your husband nuzzled into your hair and whispered, "Each one represents all the lifetimes I'd still find and fall in love with you in."

ᯓ★𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

: ̗̀➛ It had initially been you and your General lover's plan to keep your engagement quiet and have a small affair away from town. Just the two of you, because Chuuya thought some of his colleagues were insufferable pains in his ass, and all hell would break loose if they were to figure out they had a wedding plan on their hands. It was, however, unfortunate, that you two had been discussing what type of ceremony you'd like to have when Hirotsu was just about to turn one of the corners. It took exactly one hour for the entire Port Mafia to know. Two for it to reach the Armed Detective Agency.

: ̗̀➛ It was no longer a personal affair. This wedding became a spectacle within the Mafia's ranks. From the lowest levels all the way to the boss himself, everyone was abuzz with ideas and anticipation, excited that one of their top brass was getting married and they could all take advantage of the time off to have a grand party. Chuuya threatened to resign several times, you always laughed at how excited the entire criminal organisation became at the prospect of celebration.

: ̗̀➛ True to the boss' word, you and Chuuya's wedding was held in one of the grandest churches Yokohama had to offer — having mysteriously skipped the two year waiting list. The building was laved in gold and stain glass windows. Chuuya wore a fine suit of blood-red and a black tie that contrasted with his wild curls, his hard blue eyes. But when they saw you come down the aisle, they softened, and when he said his vows to you, you never thought anyone would look at you with such adoration ever again.

: ̗̀➛ The main event was held in the bowels of the Port Mafia — one of the largest show-rooms this organisation had to offer, with chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and a private band playing any songs they were requested. Chuuya, for the majority of your reception, could not seem to keep his hands off of you. If you were not by his hip, his eyes would instantly go searching for you within the throng of party-goers. When he did find you, he would place a hand to the small of your back, he'd lean in to kiss you and say;

"There you are, my wife."

: ̗̀➛ There was another reason as to why Chuuya Nakahara was originally so hellbent on taking your wedding somewhere more quiet and peaceful. And it came in the form of a brunet ex-partner waltzing into the organisation's party, a broad simper on his infuriating face. Dazai Osamu took your hand and kissed the back of it, extending his deepest sympathies and that if you ever needed to blow off steam, he could give you his number.

: ̗̀➛ The Port Mafia ballroom had originally started off with three grand chandeliers. After Dazai had purred those taunting words, there was then, only two.

: ̗̀➛ After the many shards had been swept from the floor by a cleaning crew, the private band struck an up-beat quartet. Both you and your newly-wed husband took to the floor for the first dance. Chuuya's hand splayed protectively against your back, his other gloved palm slotting into yours and guiding you to twirl, skip, spin.

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 . . .

"Shit, sorry." He grumbled when your foreheads were touching, the proximity sending his breath fanning across your cheeks. His pointy canines were jutting against his bottom lip. "That motherfucker — he just makes me see red."

"Hey, it's okay." You said, catching his eyes. "Because I love you. You, Nakahara. I am all yours and no one else's."

Those words touched something deep within this man's chest. Of course, the proof that you were his sat in the form of two stacked rings on your left hand, but to hear it. To look into your beautiful eyes and see the amount of love there.

He surprised you by reaching down to your hips and lifting you up, twirling you around, around, around.

"And I'm forever yours, babydoll."

ᯓ★𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘

: ̗̀➛ The initial letter you received from Fyodor asking for your hand in marriage — originally, you believed it to be fake. A shallow joke from someone who knew of you and the mastermind's occasional on-and-off relationship whenever he returned to your homeland. But as you traced the delicate loops of the handwriting that looked so much like his own, in the intimate moonlight beams of late night — you'd let yourself imagine. Hope. Only for it to swell and dwindle like ashes of a flame. Because there was just no way he would ask to marry you. That he would marry, at all.

: ̗̀➛ It was fitting then; how palpable your shock was when the slender, pale man you had accidentally fallen in love with — like a fool — was standing on the other side of your door that early morning. You had blinked hard, rubbed your eyes, wondered if you were weary from too many sleepless nights. When the stars had cleared from your vision, he was still there. An amused little smile stretched against his lips.

"So? Are you ready to get married?" You stared at him. And stared. And then dropped your morning cup of coffee onto the tiles of your hallway.

: ̗̀➛ At the news of your sudden betrothal, your family were both elated with a healthy dose of scepticism. Who is this man you are intending to marry, they fluttered around you with questions when you broke the news. Fyodor? I've never heard you speak of him, why do you intend to marry this man, girl? At that, you had smiled, not bothering to hide the small heat of blush on your ears, and murmured;

"Because he's a thief, and he stole my heart a very long time ago."

: ̗̀➛ The wedding was held in an old cathedral of gothic architecture. You don't think you've ever seen Fyodor look so refined; standing there in his simple suit of stone-grey with a black shirt. He had his hair tucked behind his ears, his eyebags were a little less pronounced, his skin brighter — but perhaps that was just the early-morning light. When you stood before your husband to-be and handed your heart over to him, for him, there was a shift in his eyes. You could not explain it, but you knew it ran deep. You knew that in his own way, he was also handing himself over to you. And you would accept all of him, just like you accepted his name.

: ̗̀➛ Much to the dismay of your family, you did not hold a wedding reception after the ceremony, but that was only because Fyodor decided to walk with you through the freezing streets of Moscow. He held your hand, and even though on many nights where you lay together he was stone-cold, today, he felt warm.

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

"Fyodor?"

"Hmm?" He answered, noticing the sheepish tone in your voice. You looked up at him with those big doe eyes.

"Why did you ask to marry me?"

Fyodor held your gaze for a long, pregnant second. It was at that moment that a single flake of snow fluttered down from the grey sky and landed on his immaculate suit. Then another. Each one the same colour as your dress, each one different to the rest.

Fyodor held out his hand to catch them. "Why does the snow fall? Because it is natural. It is meant to be. I married you because it is the way I wish to fall. With you, by my side."

requested by the lovely [ @cocodrilofeliz! ]

[andersonfilms]

≛ THE APPLE'S ROTTEN STRAIGHT TO THE CORE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

♪ ˚. THE BRAT CHALLENGE ♱ ⋆.˚

feat. drummer!abby x fem!reader x footballplayer!ellie

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: switch!abby (kinda), jealousy, cheating, abby’s pierced nipples, reader desc. feminine, fingering, munch activities, toxicity ensuing, voyerisum, strap sex.

THE APPLE'S ROTTEN STRAIGHT TO THE CORE, ellie williams, sporting 88’ on the back of her jersey, the world renowned football player from the united states. the overly competitive blood runs through her veins, passed down from her father, just as well as an overpowering ego the size of texas. she has the girl of her dreams, the most important game of her life in sight, but what happens when one drummer threatens to wreck it all?

wc. 10k

It’s easy to feel safe and comfortable with her, slipping into a simple life. Traveling the world with your favorite soccer player, the auburn-haired five-foot-five of pure talent, as soon as her custom cleats step foot on the field. 

When the crowd echoes chants of her name, the rumbling of the rowdy fans, aggressive shouts cursing the other team. With crushed beer cans, sunflower seeds are spat on the ground, and they are begging for a goal. The 88’ jersey was littered across the stands. Every fan in the arena went to see her, yet you aren’t here. 

It was one of the biggest games of her career, and you would not be seen anywhere, especially after the past week. She doesn’t blame you; Ellie could only blame herself but needs her good luck charm. The events replaying in her mind, haunting her while she tries to get one wink of sleep, but the look of horror in your eyes, the shoulder check you left her with, green eyes pleading to reason with her, but you refused. 

Let me know when you want to grow the fuck up and tell me what’s wrong with you. 

The words running in her mind, haunting her as she sleeps at night, wondering if today is the day the stone will be unturned or if she’ll actually tell you everything bothering her. But she doesn’t. Never had she seen you like it; rage carries higher than the waves of a tsunami, and all of it, every drop of water, seems to be crashing over her. 

Every drop of it suffocates her until there is no oxygen left to breathe. 

When she gets home, she scours the apartment for a trace of you, yet half of your belongings are absent. Ellie starts to wonder if she’s pushed you too far this time. Always, she’s betted on you sticking around through thick and thin but maybe you finally had enough. 

Has she pushed you too far? Are you too far out of reach? She has no choice but to let you drown with the devil itself, succumbing to your own needs for once, not hers. 

The side of the closet holding your belongings was in disarray. Ellie could see that your favorite belongings were absent. All the sweaters, hoodies, hell, even the flannels you would steal from her were meticulously folded and placed in the corner. 

Ellie thought you would give her the benefit of the doubt. She thought you would let her explain why she had taken the job offer without consoling you. Now, considering what she seems to be losing, there’s nothing she wishes for more than to take it all back. 

Any success is so trivial if she has no one to celebrate it with, not without you. 

From the very start, you’ve been right there by her side. From the very beginning, it wasn’t as picture-perfect as she imagined. The fairytale began with what she thought would be a never-ending love story. 

Something so pure, it could never turn rotten. 

—

Growing up on the outskirts of New York had its perks. The small town was busy, yet the countryside tucked an hour away gave you a sense of solitude. Entirely predictable suburbs, the cul-de-sac tucked in the back of the neighborhood reeks of disturbed suburbia. 

Everyone knew everyone, and you knew Ellie. 

You were ten the day the two of you became friends, and you’ll never forget it. Clumsily, you had just fallen off your bike, knees skidding by the concrete as the skin had been peeled, the wound viciously open. 

“Did you fall—” the girl shakes her head at herself, curses flying into the wind. “Of course you did. God, so stupid.” 

She continues talking to herself as you weep slightly in a pathetic manner. Affectionately, the mysterious girl who also happens to be riding her bike past the park in your neighborhood pats you gently on the shoulder. 

“I'll be right back. Stay there. I'll be back. Promise.” 

She disappears on her blue and red bike, red hair flying in any direction the wind takes, but returns just like she said — a girl of her word. 

“Here, let me fix you.” She grabs the first-aid kid from the bucket on her bike. Ellie kneels on the ground. You notice her bright blue Converse with red laces, which match her bicycle perfectly. 

“Yeah, okay—” you sniffle, wiping away your tears as the nice girl tends to your knee. “Thanks.”

She grabs the needed tools, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Well, I used to fix my dad all the time. He's a soccer player and gets hurt a lot. 

You stay silent as she rambles on. 

“One day, going to be just like him, but better. My old man got too old before he decided to be good. I'm going to be the best player ever.” 

“I bet you will be.” your eyes find hers, the sun making them shine like an emerald diamond, just like the one your mom wears on her ring finger. 

“My coach says I'm good already but tells me not to get my hopes up.” 

You realize Ellie has already cleaned your wound; her small hand applies pressure with the gauze as he wraps it away. She's so concentrated but simultaneously rambles away about her dad, the last soccer game she played in, and jokes to get your mind off the pain. 

“How does it feel?” Ellie asks, the corner of her lip upturns, a soft smile gracing her freckled, full cheeks. 

“Better,” you thank her, smiling shyly. She observes you as you hop back on your bike, ensuring you aren't in pain. Curiously, her mind drifts to how cute you are, and she wonders why her stomach is in complete knots. 

She confuses it for sickness. 

“You’re welcome.” Ellie stretches the nape of her neck, and her short hair sticks to her skin from the heat. “I'm Ellie, by the way.” 

“I know.” You offer your name as Ellie blushes, her cheeks tinted pink. The love you feel is etched right into her heart, and she feels it from the first moment your name is said. 

In a cliche, obvious way, the rest was history. 

The two of you were best friends until college, bringing out the best in you—platonic love blossoming into something sweet, a one-in-a-million love you can only hope to find in someone else. 

The tricky thing? It works. The two of you fit better than you could have ever dreamed of. The incredible bliss of youth leaves your faith blinded, corrupted by the true love you have for Ellie. Oblivious to flaws, all you see is her. Assuring you follow her around like a lost puppy; anything she wants, she gets. The skeletons in the closet are no match for the two of you, each being dragged out one by one. 

But not by either of you. 

— 

One Week earlier…

“Would you stop so we can talk about this?” Ellie nearly shouts at you, granting her another eye roll, she’s lost count on how many you’ve thrown at her since the two of you left the club. The longing looks, her wandering olive eyes on someone else all night, gawking at the muscles, making you feel envious of someone you couldn’t have. 

Your girlfriend’s attention. 

But this is all your fault, right? 

“Talk about what? How you, Ellie, made a decision to make a life altering decision without me? Yeah, okay, let’s fucking talk.” You have a bite in your voice, one Ellie has rarely heard, the sweetness diluted with her consistent need to keep you in the dark. “Fucking talk, please. I’d love to hear the bullshit excuse you’re gonna give me.” 

“Why are you making this a big deal? It’s my career, not yours.” You bite your tongue as the words leave your mouth. Instantly, you feel burned by the person who thought loved you more than anything. Even in the heat of the moment, you figured she would give you the benefit of the doubt, even when you’ve been blind sided by her teammates. All because she was too much of a coward to tell what she’s already done. “Right. Foolish of me to think we’re a team.” 

Spitefully, you throw your belongings in your tote, ignoring when she tries to grab your wrist, dodging her quickly. She tries again but stops when you tell her to. The only boundary she leaves untouched it seems. 

“We are a team.” Ellie tries to convince you, but you don’t budge. Not an inch of you believes the shit she’s spewing at you. 

“Oh! Well, that’s a surprise to me. If we’re such a team, why don’t you tell me why you won’t have sex with me….for eight months?” You raise your eyebrows at her, giving her an opportunity to speak but she stays silent like she always does. “If we’re such a team, why did you accept a job offer on another continent without even giving me the respect to tell me about it before you accepted the offer?” 

Ellie stays silent, finding the hardwood beneath her feet more interesting. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You change into something more comfortable, slamming the bathroom door shut as you do, gathering other toiletries, different necessities you would need for the next few weeks. 

You find her sitting on the edge of the bed in tears, as much as you want to hug her and give her the comfort she probably needs, there’s no good will in your heart. As much as you love her, only the boiling anger can be found. Blistering frustration, the one someone has when their girlfriend won’t touch them, kiss them, or even warrant them the truth. 

“I love you, okay? I just need to figure some things out.” Ellie pouts, eyebrows furrowed as she says enough to get you to look at her. She sees the tears threatening to spill over, but you won’t let them fall in front of her. Never have you liked crying in front of others. Just as if she was anyone else, you would wait until you were in private to lick your wounds. “I just need some time, I just don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

But all sincerity is lost, all you see in front of you is lies and deceit. Someone backed in the corner with no way to manipulate their way out. 

“Well…figure your shit out, Els. Right now? It doesn’t seem like you do.” You grab your bags, slipping your shoes on, “I’ve had enough for now. Let me know when you grow the fuck up and let me know what’s wrong with you.” 

— 

Still, your blood boiled from last week’s exchange, the venomous words crawling up your throat like bile, as if this wasn’t what she wanted, what she started. All of this had been her idea. 

Time and time again, dismissive words found their way into your heart, making a home before you had enough time to catch them. Sure, committed and faithful, she says. Then, she does this, makes your decisions without consulting you, and scolds you for getting upset about it. You craved space, so you did what any rational person would. 

Swiftly packed your bags and flew to the other side of the country. 

The fresh feeling is still swarming through your head, and the lingering words are aimed at your heart with more impact than you could stand. When they were told, Ellie regretted them the second they left her heart-shaped lips. Yet she stands there as she analyzes your tense frame, avoiding her at all costs. 

You leave her with a soft murmur: staying at a friend’s. What you neglect to mention is that your friend lives on the other side of the country, tucked away in the safety of New York. Luckily, the nightlife is an easy distraction and does its job. 

Intentionally, the first few nights are spent drowning yourself in liquor, letting yourself be grinded on by other drunk girls until they buy you shots, walking up back in your hotel room alone — then the cycle repeats. 

The tranquility of a life forgotten, the gift of Don Julio, so like anyone else, you chase it. The drinks are free, the girls flirting with you are prettier than you’d ever seen but maybe that’s just the loneliness eating you up from the inside out. Yet, you find yourself itching to venture beneath, allow yourself to drown in someone else. Was there black lace? Possibly white or navy green boxers underneath? But you couldn’t, and you won’t. The guilt would eat you alive. 

You told yourself it was just a fight, but was it? It’s when the second thought seeped in, invading the pessimistic part of your brain and feeding into malicious tendencies. Maybe you do want this? Something new? 

Someone who wasn’t Ellie. 

The thought alone sends shivers down your spine; an agonizing dread fills you. Never had you ever been provoked to leave, but the longer the silence welcomes you with open arms, the more the affliction lingers. 

No text. No calls. No voicemails. Nothing.  

Part of you ached for resolution. Even if it meant a means to an end, you could somehow soothe the aching in your chest. On the seventh day, she reached out. 

A lazy effort of a text — couldn’t even be bothered to call. 

elsbaby: can we talk, baby? please. 

Perhaps if it had been the day after, two, three, even four — you would have the compassion to empathize. When she comes crying a week later after she spewed the most severe insults you’ve ever heard come out of her mouth? Any need to reconnect has dissipated at the drop of a hat. 

this is what you wanted. 

It shouldn’t make you spiral, but it does. You end up at a show; a rock band takes center stage at The Wolfhouse, and upcoming musicians try to make a name for themselves. Sitting at the bar, letting the vibrations of the base and the thumping of the snare drum infiltrate 

Solemnly tapping the beat of your healed boot to the beat of the drum, you take in the singer on the stage. Black raven-haired beauty with a prominent nose and beautiful lips. She made the stage her own as she worked every angle known to man. 

A firm belief is settled in your heart and everyone in there. She was born to be up there. You were too entranced, enjoying the music too much along with the cocktail in your hand, and you didn’t even notice the blonde making her way up to you. 

As soon as you felt someone next to you, the first thought in your mind was how hellbent you were to be left alone. Even if it physically put you in distress, fuck, you couldn’t even remember the last time Ellie and you went on a date. The last time she touched you, kissed you, fucked you within an inch of your life. 

It’s a pathetic, good for nothing excuse. 

The line of morality blurs whenever your eyes latch onto eyes so gray the blue almost fades into them. Gorgeous freckles scattered across her smooth cheeks like twinkling stars in the galaxy. 

Slowly, she takes your figure in, examining you up and down before smirking. She says nothing to you as she orders a neat whiskey. She hands her silver credit card to the bartender, “and whatever she wants for the rest of the night.” 

You think for a moment she’ll talk to you, but she winks before settling into a booth with four others who look oddly familiar. The rest of the night, you’re met with tranquility and the steady and skilled bump of the bass guitar. It reminded me of when you were young, ambitions were the only thing on your mind, and you were lost in the never-ending need to be someone. It’s when you still believe something is worth living for, more than beating your drum to someone else’s tune. 

You sipped on three Mexican martinis throughout the night and got lost when you walked up to the bar. The beefy, muscular blonde was there to greet you. This time, you got a clear look at her. Her rugged and toned frame shows off her commitment to the gym. 

Yet, her deep blue pools are more charming than you would like to admit. A delicate edge to her jawline pulls you in as you admire the septum ring decorating her freckled nose, the bump in her nose making you smile softly. 

You’ve always loved a girl with an intense nose for many reasons. 

Mouth-watering, luscious, bliss - are all the words coming into mind when you’re looking at her. She’s wearing as little clothing as you would expect someone who leans masculine to wear, but fuck does she know it works for her. Black leather vest worn in, eating you up from the inside out, the musky scent filled with mahogany and a dash of vanilla. 

The mysterious blonde's lack of undershirt adorns her body and steals the show. Immediately, she commands attention in every conceivable way. As mesmerizing as the raven-haired beauty appears, you would pay a lot to see her front and center on that stage. The shape of her small breasts is the real show in your mind, and the broad and toned torso gives you much to gawk at. 

Nearly, you salivate at the defined four-pack she’s sporting. A pretty enticing deep v disappears delectably into her black leather pants as if she’s a modern-day adonis but with divine feminine written all over her. Without one doubt in the world, she knows she’s the hottest piece of ass in this bar, and for some unknown reason, she’s made you her target for the night. Wined and dined you all night without saying more than a sentence to you, and it seems she’s here to collect. 

In the forefront of your mind, you believe it’s to serve some self-serving action to get off from what’s between your thighs, the sweet treat every girl has chased in this long week, but your long-term commitment tying you down like handcuffs to the post of your bed Ellie has kept you in. 

Petrifying you to your bones, you aren’t sure what to make of the thrill building up; you can’t deny the longer you look at her, the more your thighs rub together in sync with the other. 

“So—” With her tall stature, decisively, she steps forward, lips pressing against your ear with her hot breath seeping under your skin, “Are you wet because you know who I am or because you can’t stop looking at my tits?” 

“Who are you?” Your eyebrows quirked up, and you wondered why it was a factor. Was she someone you were supposed to know? Now that she said something, there was something familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. “Why would I have any idea who you are?” 

Though your pussy has a heartbeat and seems to have a mind of its own. You forget about everything else when the woman gives you a toothy grin, which is too perfect. 

“That’s cute, but see, everyone knows who I am—” Abby takes matters into her own hands and begins to nibble on the side of your neck, harshly biting and sucking lightly, taking in the taste of your skin as if she’s trying to find the perfect vein to puncture with her pointy canines. If it were the case, you’d let her suck the life out of you if you got to keep her to yourself for the night. “Don’t worry pretty girl, you’ll know by the end of the night.” 

She’s passionately driven when her skilled lips and velvet tongue continue to make a mark on you as if you are hers to own, hers to please as she sees fit. You don’t even know her name, but the raging storm of lust isolates you within her honey trap. All of it feels too finite, everlasting, even if it’s just solid concrete to stand on for the night. 

Then, you remember Ellie. The longing text sent to you, not even a call. The love of your life, or so you’d always hoped, couldn’t be bothered to call you this entire week. The fallout of an inconceivable aftermath only now did she try to reach out. 

“Tell me why you’re soaking wet, baby girl.” 

You try to push her back, but she doesn’t even move; her frame is too strong. Now, your warm, firm hand places itself on her defined abdomen, pressing against the clearly defined muscles. 

You can’t deny how flushed you’ve become. 

This time you are drooling; her thumb wipes away the liquid before she sucks it back into her mouth. Her grin is even more wicked, knowing she has you right where she wants to be. 

It’s when you notice the mirrored scorpions, one on either side, her muscular biceps littered with tattoos, and the front of her neck — practically having fuck me written all over her. 

You should leave. 

You fucking should. 

She has an appetite for something else, pulling you by the waistband of your pants, her finger securely wrapped around the belt buckle. Pelvis to pelvis, grinding against you swiftly to see how much you move, and the smile she’s wearing is satisfying enough. 

She’s always liked them needy, messy, and so damn right horny they’re putty in her extensive and capable hands. 

“I’m waiting.” Her hunger is evident in her tone. She is ready to relish her sudden craving, at least to you. 

“I-I don’t even know your name,” you confess, hoping it will steer her away from you, but it’s a pathetic attempt. 

“Abby. What else is your concern, babygirl?” Her knee sneaks between your legs, applying pressure to your cunt. 

“I—” Almost with a soft thrust of her knee, Abby pushes against your cunt, damping her leather with a fucking desirable slick she’s dying to taste. Although it’s clear you like the chase, she gives it. 

Had you had sex in the past eight months, you might have pushed away the overly cocky specimen, but it has been that long. Only making the patch in your panties grow as she teases your pussy. 

Abby’s frame blocks anyone from seeing what she’s doing to you, your skirt riding up so much she can see the rounded cheeks slipping out, the black fabric slightly exposed under the bar's dim light. The more she presses, the faster your hips move against her. 

Without a care in the world, you slid so far back, and you’re on her thigh, strong arms wrapped around you, whispering filthy nothings in your ear as you get yourself off on the stranger’s muscular body. If the bartender notices, she doesn’t mind. Pretends like you’re not even there. You’re not sure which is more embarrassing. 

“Fuck, move those hips. Just like that, yeah.” 

The high, the one you’ve wanted from your girlfriend who doesn’t even want to touch you, is so close. There’s a burn in your throat infused by sheer guilt that someone else will bring you to head. Some stranger you don’t know, one handsome stranger, yet when she pushes your panties to the side and thumbs your clit it’s so challenging to care about anyone but yourself. 

You moan her name as she touches you, a skilled touch as she lightly pinches and soothes the sensitive bud. She completely enraptured you with the light touch she had to offer. Terrifyingly so, it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. 

The look in her eyes would have sent you reeling. Her musky scent is already doing enough for you. You find yourself tangled in the webs of honeydew, suckling until you’ve had enough of the sweet sensation. 

You’re just not sure how long it’ll be until you do. 

“God, acting like you haven’t been fucked, baby. Such a dirty slut letting me do….well, whatever I want.” 

Abby uses her free, dominant hand to guide your hips at a pace she sees fit. A thrill shoots down her spine as your incessant need grows like a flower at the dawn of spring—a tiny seed that is useless unless it bears root flourishing from where it’s planted. 

“So, what’s it going to be?” Abby questions. A glimmer of assurance fills her ocean eyes. She was playfully biting your exposed shoulder blade. 

“I can get you off right here, or you can come home with me.” the incredible sensation of her pierced muscling punching your skin with a chill, the stainless-steel ball adds a new sensation you weren’t expecting. She suckles and bites, marking you the more bruises as if she’s decorative for her enjoyment. “Or both. I think someone is close. I bet you’re ready to spill on my thigh. Wanna give me every last drop like the whore you are.” 

“Your home?” you manage to spit out, trying to ignore the filth she spits, but it only brings you closer to your much-needed euphoric bliss. Abby’s efforts double over as if she’s fucked you before, bouncing her leg as as you ride her thigh, knowing exactly what you need to cum all over her. 

Typically, the thread of your orgasm wouldn’t have been so easy to pull, but it seems she’s the one who placed it there in the first place. Months of not being touched left you in the hands of this Greek god who could make you feel whatever you wished for. 

She’s cocky, confident, and the sexiest woman you’ve ever seen. Yet, the answer is still hard to find. 

“Yeah, angel, my place.” You nod, unable to make a verbal confirmation. 

“Gotta hear you say it.” Just then, the feeling that was bubbling spills over and all over her hand as she cups your cunt, thumb continuing to rub at your puffy clit. 

“Yes, Yes, Yes.” you curse, chants of ecstasy fumble from your loose lips. Carelessly, you’re focused on the intense heartbeat between your legs, your body convulsing against her. 

“What's that? M’not sure if I can wear you over your weeping cunt.” Repeatedly, Abby slaps your cunt as punishment. 

“I-I want to, fuck, shit. Oh god, yes. I want to go home with you.” Your body slumps against her as she holds up your weight, and your high fades. Still, you feel blissful against her touch. Any other worry plaguing your mind dissipates, and all you think is her and strong muscles keeping you upright. 

“Good girl,” she whispers before paying off the tab and putting the lace material pack in place. You feel the white liquid stick to you, filthy, resting against you—the once taintless fabric coated with the pleasures of your sin. Dizzy, unsteady, breathless — it’s everything you feel. 

She thrives on knowing you need her. Even if it’s for tonight, the purpose will be served. Regardless of what she needs, this will be even more of a thrill, and the only thing she uses is her hand—not even her dominant one. 

Abby moves your skirt down so your ass is covered again. “C’mon, pretty girl. let’s see how much of a slut you are." She leads you outside while she makes quick work of her phone, and suddenly, there’s a sleek black car, a Cadillac, you assume, with a driver in tow. The windows are tinted enough for you to wonder if it’s even legal. Silver rims, with a diamond emblem in the center shining so bright under the moonlight that it nearly takes your attention from the woman who has you in her grip. 

“Last chance? I can have her drive you home.” She smirks, knowing you won’t take the out that’s being so generously given. Perfect, beautiful, she thinks, eyes still dilated from you getting off on her thing and the continuous swipe of the pad of her thumb. 

It’s there. The smidge of penance you feel you’re obligated to ask for. Regardless of how amazing it feels, there’s something about the ending. This will be the end of all fuck ups; maybe, there’s still hope for the two of you if you go home. Call Ellie in the morning before the need to suppress the shame. 

But don’t you deserve this one thing for yourself? 

Everything under the sun has been for the auburn-haired beauty who has held your heart from the moment she patched up your bleeding knee. The moment a total stranger managed to win your heart, an adolescent love that knew nothing of the lesson of heartbreak or the years you chased after Ellie while she was chasing others. 

How she let her feelings hover over the friendship of years with no consequence, especially after her long-term high school girlfriend, the one whose heart she broke into a tiny million pieces. Tragically, there still stood an existing fear for you. She was just a kid, but would she move on as quickly now as she did back then? It was as if they meant nothing to her, moving from the next one as if the time spent together had been insignificant, meaningless, just an ease to pass the misery of time. 

You feared you would be the same. 

Falling under the same umbrella, but you hope you are different. There were talks of marriage and settling into the countryside once she could retire. A shared dream, you thought. Perhaps it was a foolish sin to keep close to your heart. 

Then there was Abby, a heavenly distraction from all the dread waiting for you. Everything you must pick back up eventually if you want to stay tucked into the nightlife of New York is just your dreams hanging up on the shelf, totting away with the relationship. An expiration date was labeled on the two of you, and an impending doom you could only fall through. 

Everything was always for her. 

Ellie. Ellie. Ellie. 

“What’s it going to be, princess?” She pulled you towards as she spun you around with ease, back pulled to her chest, her lips kissing your ear. All you could focus on was how strong she felt. Her strong hold bending you to her will wouldn’t be a challenge. If she wanted to, she could do whatever she liked. You are sure no isn’t a word she’s used to hearing. 

But it went further than just how she looks. 

It’s in the way she doesn’t even have to lift a finger to have you hooked on her. It entices you, thinking about how long she’d been staring at you all night. The curve of your ass in your tight, little skirt — was she staring at it? Did she think about all the ways she could fuck your perfect little hole if you would let her do everything she’d been thinking of? The way your hardened nipples poked through your mesh top. If she said anything, you could blame it on the draft, not just her sheer presence making them protrude through the fabric. 

She did no work whatsoever to make you cum, letting you use her to get yourself off. There was an ease to it. One you hadn’t experienced before. 

Here she is, using it against you again. 

“Am I coming in the car with you, or will you rub your clit, alone, wishing you’d let me fuck you in all the ways I’ve been dreaming?” Her hands sneak under the lace, pinching your nipples between her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the way your hips buck up, aching to be touched by her again. 

“Just give in, baby. I know you want to.” Her dominant hand abandons your nipple, leaving the other to tease it. While she escapes underneath your skirt once again, “So wet for me already, huh?” Harshly, she grips your cunt, a finger sliding up your slit, but she’s intentional about not letting it slip in. 

“I-I shouldn’t, shit, oh my g—” You try to think of an excuse, one good enough to convince yourself you should not go through with this. “I really shouldn’t.” 

“And?” Abby’s canines dig into the side of your neck as she teasingly bites the flesh, soothing it with a velvet tongue, making more marks on the side she hadn’t touched tonight. “Are you taken?” 

“That’s a complicated question.” Abby grins at your response with a sinister smirk. 

“Well, if she’s not making you happy, let me do it for her.” Abby tilts your jaw, forcing you to gaze at her. 

“Let me guess, no one has touched this perfect pussy in a long time. So, fucking neglected, huh?” 

“I didn’t say I had a—” 

“It doesn’t matter to me.” Your pussy dripping with shame at her words. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You admit. Abby continues to torture you with the split of your slit, the two of you starting to draw attention, but you think it just excites her even more. “I haven’t felt—” 

The moment you say the words, Abby spins you around. You whine at her touch leaving your pussy, but she makes up for it slightly when her hands palm your ass. “Tell me. Look me in my eyes, baby, and tell me what you need. I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.” 

Your hands weave themselves into her golden locks. You are intertwined with the waves that disguise themselves as shimmering waterfalls. But you look down as you try to think of some excuse to leave and make yourself leave with dignity. 

Big mistake. 

The happy trail, the blonde hair travels inside her pants, leaving you in awe underneath the moonlight. Abby’s leather vest pushed off slightly, her tits still covered with black pasties. 

“Why don’t you take them off? Wanna see my pretty tits, baby?” You nod with too much eagerness. Abby chuckles. 

She watches with a smirk as you take them off. The silver, shining barbell has you moan at the sight of them—the sight of her. Smudged black eyeliner makes her appear even more irresistible, hooded eyes gazing at you; a gentle hand finds your throat, applying pressure with her thumb, constraining your breathing slightly. 

“Fuck, they are perfect.” You confess, your eyes gleaming at her pink nipples exposed before meeting with her eyes once again. 

“Yeah, they are, but they would look even better with your pretty lips around them.” 

She will not give up. 

“This is such a bad idea.” Abby knows your mind is made up, and you’ll come home with her. Even if the guilt swarms like a bee to a honey hive, it’s all the same to her. “But, God, you’re so fucking hot.” 

Your hands roam her toned, tattooed torso, the scorpions so delicious you want to outline every detail with your tongue. The thought of being strong has worn off—only the woman before you is on your mind. 

“Well, to me, it seems you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” Fingertips grazing her tits, her nipple hardening underneath you touch. “I’ll let you do whatever you want after I’m done with you. Well, if you still have the energy.” 

A grumbling of frustration leaves your lips — you aren’t sure if it’s a desperate plea, a sigh of relief, or something else entirely. 

“Like what?” You can’t stop touching her breasts, continuing to tease her pink nipple, but you meet her eyes. Abby’s positive you’ve never seen a smirk so wide. 

“What do you like?” Abby pushes your hair back, fuck me eyes looking up at her. The ones that hadn’t left from the moment you laid eyes on her. She leans down just a little so her lips are pressed against your ear, “Do you wanna fuck my ass? Want me to sit on your gorgeous face while you eat me out? Fuck me in front of the mirror and watch my face when I cum?” 

Grabbing your hair, she yanks it. Exposing the expanse of your neck. She’s grown so fond of marking. The slick between her thighs continued to blossom as you let her do whatever the hell she wanted. Like a whimpering bitch in heat, you took everything she had to offer. 

Fuck it. 

You cradle her face with her palms, smashing her lips to yours. It’s all tongue and teeth. Rough palms squeezing your ass, making you grind into her again. Your force casually lets her stumble into the car but you don’t let up. Whimpering and moaning into her mouth like there’s no tomorrow, as if this moment will slip right through your fingers. 

Her breath smells of fresh mint, her tongue casually dominates yours, staking claim to what she already believes to be hers. It’s then you realize your forever doomed because you feel the fluttering in your stomach as she growls in your mouth, animalistic — your pelvis grinding against her much more defined one. 

You pull apart for one moment, unable to take one more moment away from her. 

If you don’t get it, her tongue, her cunt, those pretty fingers decorated in silver jewelry, hell, you would settle for her pierced nipples rubbing against your clit. 

“Abby?” She stops, opening her eyes to see you. You’re even more fucked out than she is. “Yes, baby?” She hums into your mouth, the sweet sensation vibrating your entire body. 

“Let’s stop giving everyone a show and give me one.” Abby nods, the first sign of her eagerness as she opens the door for you, unable to keep her hands off you. 

“We better go before you soak my car then, hm?” She slaps your ass as she leads you in. 

— 

As she has you in tow, hand in yours leading you towards the elevator in her building, the most luxurious one you’ve seen, one so high you’re sure it’s the highest in the skyline of New York City.

 It isn’t surprising she has her own driver, or she lives in the penthouse of the building, even the plaques decorating the wall — a shrine to her evident success. Everything just…makes sense. Yet there’s a pit in your stomach, crawling and feasting. It's swarming within you, a nagging incessant fly buzzing around warning you to run. You don’t have much time to think about how horrible of an idea this is. 

Alone with someone who could easily overpower you, at the mercy of a complete stranger yet when she puts her arms around your waist, all of it seems to melt away. She’s given you no reason not to trust her. You’re just thinking too much. 

That’s all it is. 

The little voice chants in your head, trying to make excuses for yourself as to not go through with this but they dissipate when her calloused palms find home on your waist. Soothing over your delicate skin, enticing you into her impenetrable web. Everything about her intoxicates you. Making every thought vacant your head, even more so when she starts playing with the hem of your skirt. 

“Let me get you a drink.” She kisses your temple before going behind the makeshift bar in the dining room. An assortment of every liquor component known behind her. Part of you thinks she’s doing it for show, the way her biceps flex as she shakes the drink in the silver canister, pointingly making the drink you’d been ordering all night long. 

So, she had been watching you all night. You knew if she wasn’t as hot as she is, you’d be creeped out. But it’s hard to be creeped out when she’s still shirtless, the black leather vest doing very little to cover her. Any time she moves you see her pink pierced nipples, nearly making you salivate. 

With the Mexican martini in her grip, with her own in the other, you’re stuck. You didn’t think she’d actually want to have a conversation with you. Leading you out to the balcony, almost the entire view of the city before your very eyes, practically causing you to freeze in your footsteps. 

“Wow.” Unable to conceal it, you voice your immediate awe. Abby chuckles, the first sign of sincerity you’ve seen all night. Everything else only seemed as a woman trying to get a needed fuck but right now but she hasn’t even tried to even so much as kiss you. Taking small sips of her whiskey, hip touching yours as the moonlight reflects from the water to her blue eyes, nearly as vivid as the moon itself. 

“Yeah, it’s quite a view, think it’s the only thing keeping me coming back here. I’m on the road so much, it’s nice to have some stability.” Abby smiles softly, the confession tumbling from her lips before she can catch it. ”A pretty penny for me to keep it but it’s worth it.” 

“Is this your move then?” You know the martini is doing the talking for you, if not you’d be a mumbling mess unable to form one sentence that even sounds remotely coherent. Abby quirks one of her blonde eyebrows upwards but keeps her mouth shut, waiting for you to continue. “Is this what you do with everyone?” 

Abby takes a step closer to you, giving you all her attention. She plays with the chain on your neck, pulling it lightly to bring you closer to her. Carefully eyeing you up and down, smirking as she does, “Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie like I do with everyone else?” 

It’s more than you expected her to offer. A careless lie would have suited her more. If there is one thing you know for sure, Abby could get anyone she wants and she wouldn’t have brought you here if she didn’t want you to be here. 

“Are you capable of the truth? M’not sure you are.” For once, Abby is a bit silent. Carefully, she contemplates on what to say next. She isn’t sure what she should say. Usually she’s the one laying the honey traps for the swarming bees but right now? Abby feels like the control is slipping from her grip. 

She can’t have that. 

“Which one is going to make that guilt easier on your conscience?” Abby smirks as the shame fills your eyes. “It’s a girlfriend, isn’t it? It always is.” Anyone else would take two steps back, maybe even see themselves out but you want to prove a point. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” The immediate rejection of your very real girlfriend fills you with even more shame than you know what to do with. Abby chuckles at the omission, the way your voice shrieks out the statement with a sense of urgency. A desperate action to cover the truth. “Sure you don’t.” 

“I’m telling the truth!” Your voice raises as you lean into Abby, her firm hands on your waist as you both face each other. Abby nods, tongue poking through her cheek, pulling at your necklace once again. Admiring the curve in the E, the gold chain shining. It’s a pretty necklace, probably one your girlfriend gave you but Abby makes no comment of it. 

“Yeah, okay, and I hate pussy.” Abby giggles. You think it’s so cute, it shouldn’t even be funny, but it is. Just like earlier in the night, you’re so close to her, nothing as slim as a sheet of paper could fit in between the two of you. Without even thinking about it, you rest your hand on her abdomen again, her strength tangible as you feel her up once again. Truly, you’re unable to stop touching her. Every part of you wants this to happen, even if it comes back to bite you in the ass, the curiosity and your fluttering cunt can’t really think of anything else. 

“You can still walk out that door. Just say the word and my driver will take you home.” Abby whispers into the busy street beneath you, it’s so faint from the distance but the two of you can hear it. “Or you can let me slide your pretty little skirt up and let me make a slut of you, babygirl.” 

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it’s your throbbing clit, maybe it’s the lack of contact in months, most of all maybe it’s the fact Ellie took so long to reach out, but you give in. Throwing your arms around her neck, pulling her lips to yours, regardless of the possible consequence looming after you, threatening to tear apart the picture perfect life you thought you’re living. 

All of it happens in a blink of an eye. Abby’s tongue staking claim, dominating in ways you didn’t know were possible before she’s pushing your front against the balcony, placing your hand on the railing. With ease, she maneuvers your body in just the way she wants. “Gotta tell me yes pretty girl, that’s the only way this is going to start.” 

Facing the view, the buzzing city filled with nightlife and wonder, endless possibilities on your fingertips but you’re thinking about her hands. How much you want them inside you, fucking you full, or the strap in her pants you’d be rubbing against earlier. The thoughts of her slipping her cock inside you, claiming you in a way no one has in awhile. Making you feel wanted, needed, even if it was a fleeting feeling just for the night. You deserve it. Just one, stupid, decision — you were owed at least one. 

“Yes, s’what I want. You.” That’s all it takes before Abby pushes your skirt to your waist, sliding off your panties as she allows you to step out of them. 

“Are you sure?” Abby questions you. She pushes off from you, you hear her zipper being brought down as you look back at her, her vest being chucked to the lawn chair by the pool. 

Fuck. 

If she’s even half as good as she’s claiming to be, you are so fucked. 

“I’m sure.” 

Abby wraps her hands around your waist again, hands dipping under your shirt as she squeezes your breasts, teasing your hard nipples with her fingers. You sigh instantly, loving the stimulation she’s providing. You feel the barrel of her tongue piercing as she lightly sucks behind the sweet spot behind your ear, as if Abby's the one to place it there in the first place. 

“Good.” Abby teases your entrance with her cock, your body shuddering as it slides over your folds, using your slick as lubricant. Already, you’re grinding against her, just like before as she guides your hips in the pace she likes. “Do you like getting off on my cock, baby?” 

“Mhm, yeah, I do.” It’s all but a whisper. Abby still hears you speak, slapping your ass playfully, blunt fingers digging into the skin. She can’t believe anyone not wanting to touch you, not wanting to make you feel good. You’re the hottest person she’s ever fucking seen. Your ass, your tits, the moans spilling from your mouth, it’s been in her filthiest dreams. 

“What about now?” Abby lets her cock slip inside you, stretching out your walls as you take everything she has to offer. It’s been so long since you’ve been filled like this, your cunt greedily taking every inch has she slides in further and further. With a tight grip, you hold onto the railing as she thrust with her strong hips forward, your back arching so deep as she places her hand on your lower back, forcing the bend. 

“Oh…” Abby grins at your desperate moans, “You really do know how to be a good girl and take it.” Her name falls from your lips like a stuttering prayer, as if she’s the god you’re praising at the altar. With each thrust, Abby back more of her strength into, packing a powerful punch to your cunt. Pulling at the strings, already making you see stars as you take from the angle. 

“Fuck!” With no warning, Abby pulls at your hair, your body conforming to her will. She could do as she pleased and you would let her. You wonder if you even had a chance or if this is what was meant to be. Her speed grows rapidly, your stomach doing flips as she penetrates you, fucking you until you’re irrevocably spent. 

“See? You’re just a whore. My whore. Got you cock drunk for me. Don’t I?” Abby thumbs with your clit, making you see stars. Lost in the effortlessness of her actions, calloused fingers playing you like her drums set. With ease, from memory she pulled out a performance, just like she did at every show, aiming to please her audience. 

“Do you—” Abby draws circles on your puffy clit, your growl as you attempt to push through your words. “Shit, I’m—” 

“Hm?” You hear it, the sound of your cunt being fucked blending into the busy street, her hands pulling you on her cock over and over. “Didn’t think I’d take it easy on you now, did you?” 

“I just didn’t think you’d actually feel this good.” With one particular hard thrust, Abby has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body begins to shake at her ministrations. 

“We’re just getting started but I wanna see that gorgeous face.” She pulls out of you as she sits on the nearest lawn chair, “Hop back on, babygirl, s’all yours to use.” You remove the rest of your clothes, the E chain the only thing adorning your body. 

Messily, Abby spits on her large palm, mixing your slick coating her cock making sure she’d be nice and ready for you to slide right back on. You grip her soft, freckled shoulders as she helps guide you, her blue eyes darkening as she sees the bliss written all over your face. Sinking on her cock is a sight Abby wants to replay in her mind, the high pitched moan that releases from your body is food for her soul. 

“Fuck yourself on me, babygirl. Mhm, show me how much you need it.” You lean her forehead against yours, look in her beautiful blues, feeling a strange sense of intimacy as she fucks hours brains out. Abby likes the fact you have no idea who she is but you’re riding her like no tomorrow. 

When you start bouncing on her cock, Abby loses all coherent thought. Your not so subtle bounce of your tits, she loves them so much she cranes her neck to suck on your nipples, her tongue piercing adding a new sensation, unable to stop your pussy from gushing around her. 

“Does your girlfriend fuck you like this? Mhm, I don’t think so. My sweet babygirl, so frustrated, and all you need is some good fucking cock, huh?” 

“All I need is you.” Abby thrusts her hips into you, her heavily ring hand slips her pinky ring off, the shimmering gold is placed on your clit, your body jerking from someone so cold on your throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“Since you can’t feel the little ball on my tongue right now, I suppose this will have to do.” 

“Is that so, baby? Need me?” Abby glances over your shoulder before looking back at you, before she continuously meets the roll of your hips with her thrusts. “Dirty fucking slut, so horny for your cunt to be fucked properly. It’s why you came out tonight, why you got off on my thigh at the bar, why you couldn’t stop looking at me, s’why your hands have been over me all fucking night.” 

“Abby, shit, keep talking like that.” 

“Hm, you like when I call you my dirty slut? When I tell you how needy you are for me? Bet you would have let me bend you over the bar and fucked you right there.” You’re groaning, you scream her name so loudly, Abby can’t help but grin with a sinister smirk. 

“Yes, would let you do anything.” Abby hums approvingly, the cool sensation of her diamond encrusted ring doing wonders to bring you over the edge, “Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever—” 

One particular hard thrust has Abby wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you up as your body nearly becomes deadweight, her head making home on your shoulder. It’s when she steps into the light, met with Abby’s darkness. The night she had perfectly curated to fully benefit her, the strategic planning of a rotten apple, split right down the middle when push came to shove. 

— 

Three Months Prior…

“You said you would tell her.” The frustration written all over Abby’s face, her voice only raising an octave higher. Abby has never been so disgusted with herself, stopping so low, thinking she would get chosen over the long term girlfriend. 

Stupid. 

“I know what I said. I’m telling you, I can’t.” Ellie pinches the bridge of her button nose, trying to concentrate as Abby makes no move to do anything else but continue to fuck Ellie’s cunt. 

“Oh no?” Abby slips a third finger in her pussy as she shoves her face between her slender thighs. “You don’t wanna tell her why you won’t fuck her anymore? All the light night calls with your manager are flights to come to my penthouse and get your pussy fucked out?” 

Her tongue dips into Ellie’s pussy, she flattens her pierced tongue, the cool golden ball adding stimulation to the weeping woman’s clit, her body jerking at the action. “She’s too fucking good for you.” The speed of the bigger girl’s fingers send Ellie into godspeed, flirting with another dimension as she allows Abby to play tricks on her pussy. 

The reason she comes back, no one makes her cum like she does, not even you. Abby wants more but Ellie refuses to give it, not willing to leave you even if you know what she’s been doing, all the lies she’s told in order to fuck Abby, you’d never look her way again. “She can't do this though? It’s why you keep coming back, you need my fingers stuffed in your pussy.” Abby’s fingers are reaching so deep, kissing Ellie’s cervix as she grips onto her wrist, bucking her hips up into the rockstar’s fingers. 

“Maybe I should give them to her instead. I’m sure she would be more grateful.” Abby spits sloppily on Ellie’s pussy, kitten licking her clit until she sucks it in her mouth, tongue rapidly flicking over her bundle of nerves. Abby tsks, “Selfish slut, cum on daddy’s tongue like you fucking mean it.” 

Like the greedy whore she is, Ellie squirts into Abby’s mouth and the blonde doesn’t waste a single moment, she slurps obnoxiously on Ellie’s cunt. “Fucking whore.” Her tongue flattens as he licks from her puckered hole to her clit, every drop dispersing into mouth. 

Ellie’s entire body shakes, barely registering when Ellie throws on a robe, leaving it open and she lights up a cigarette on the balcony of her bedroom. Ellie whines for Abby. 

“This was the last time.” With a flip of a switch, Abby’s tone changes, her cunt with her blonde pubes making her pussy appear even more irresistible, all she wanted was to get on her knees for Abby, repay the favor but the stoic look on her face tells her she won’t be getting anywhere near her tonight. 

She exhales a puff of smoke, her sun kissed skin reflecting off the moonlight, every defined line of muscle making her even more beautiful. “But why? Did you suddenly grow a conscience?” 

“No but I’m not interested in being someone’s side piece. I’m the main fucking show.” Abby shrugs her shoulders matter of factly, “Show yourself out, Williams.” 

— 

The memory flashes before Abby’s eyes, she’s sure it’s crossing Ellie’s mind, her worst nightmare playing in front of her. Her girlfriend, screaming her mistress’s name, as she clings onto Abby like a second life line. The look of horror in her emerald eyes, she would know your body everywhere, it’s you. 

“All mine, my pretty pussy baby, m’babygirl gonna cum soon? yeah? can you do that for me?” Every word spoken was salt in the wound, smearing in as Ellie stood frozen still. The text was deliberately sent tonight for her own demise. Using Ellie’s needy nature against her, but it seems someone else was quite needy, but fuck was she prettier. 

Ellie is a fucking idiot, Abby thought. 

Knowing how much she loved it, Abby brought her finger to her mouth, sucking on the digit, then she teases your puckered hole and you’re begging to convulse. Letting yourself be held by Abby, but your hips don’t stop moving. 

No. 

You’re fucking yourself even harder on her. 

“Mommy, please? Make me cum, fuck, need to cum all over your cock. Gonna dump her for you, please. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” With her finger only slightly slipping into your ass, you see pull on her golden waves, allowing yourself to slip into the hold of rotten intentions. Ellie has seen enough as she slams the door on her way out but you’re too fucked out to even clock it. 

“Good girl. Let it go. Mommy’s got you. Mhm, give it all to me, baby.” When she’s don’t fucking you into another dimension, Abby lays back on the chair, feeling quite satisfied with her successful plot of revenge. 

Even better, she has you. 

You fall on top of her, still stuffed full, when she finds sucking on her nipples. Your tongue toying with the barbell, pushing and pulling as Abby takes a sharp intake of breath. 

“Sorry, I've been wanting to do that all night.” You giggle lightly, Abby drawing random patterns on your exposed back. She doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt as she lets you suck on her tits, marking her porcelain skin. You’re already more of a giver than Ellie, she smiles at the thought. 

“Don’t have to apologize. Never going to say no to a beautiful girl sucking my tits.” 

She’s entirely mesmerized by you, in ways she hasn’t been before. Truthfully, she almost came from seeing you cum. Never in her life has someone brought her so close without having her pussy in their mouth. “Do you want the driver to take you home or do you want to go for round two? I’d like to fuck you on my bed, feel your dripping cunt on mine, make you forget about that pathetic girlfriend of yours.” 

You forget she’s still inside you because you sit up fully and you’re moaning, again. 

“I’d like that but let me give you another ride, yeah?” 

Unbeknownst to you, the rotten apple lays beneath you, the same E chain hidden beneath the countless chains adorning her neck but sometimes they can taste just as divine as the sweet one. Sour or sweet? That’s for you to decide. 

Bloody, intentional, reckless — Abby Anderson has brought it all. 

Showing Ellie just how sweet something rotten could really be if preserved for someone else.

reblogs and extra thots are appreciated! hope you enjoyed ♡

taglist: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @mytwoseater @cherrybunny @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-a-gay @pa-co @rkivedpages @lucidfairies @vxqen @liizzygrant @ivka165-blog @yourfriendlyneighboorhoodeden @lluvme9 @wifeoftish @wildcatsgs @skzhoiic c @sheadoreshannah @angelynn-nicole @dizzy-dyke @crackhead237 @fairydxll @ellieusedtampon @bottom4butches @slxtcity

sorry if you aren’t tagged, my tumblr likes to be a butt. </3

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Part 4)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Shhh,” Daemon rocks his wailing grandson.

Aegon the fourth remained quiet during their ride to Harrenhal, though he has since realized the man holding him is not his father.

“Are congratulations in order?” Alys calls. “I’d no idea you were expecting a babe.”

“He’s not mine,” Daemon tells her, “and he very well knows it.”

“Where did he come from?” The woman wonders.

“Come,” he ignores the question, “you’ve got the hair, see if he’ll take to you.”

“Her grace’s son.” Alys realizes, “I can’t imagine she’s happy about that.”

“If men off the streets can steal one of her heirs, anyone could.” Daemon reasons, “she has left the children weakly protected. I solved the issue.”

“If you say so,” the woman takes the babe from him, carefully. “Does he have a name?” Princess Y/N’s line is ever growing, it’s impossible to remember them all.

“Aegon, fourth of his name.”

“Named for the Conqueror,” Alys coos, allowing the child to take hold of her dark locks.

“My son, Aegon, is named after the Conqueror, this child was named for his father.”

“This babe is of very old magic.” She tells him, “he knows your distaste of those dearest to him.”

“He is a babe.” Daemon scoffs, “he knows naught but to feed and wet.”

“Yet he cries for you, and quiets for me.”

“Because you have the hair.”

————————————————————————

Y/N’s search for Aemond continues as members of the King’s guard race about the castle.

From the windows of the Keep, smallfolk call out. “Dragons!”

“Dragons?” Y/N stops one of the white cloaks with her hand.

“You must return to his grace, my Queen. We are under attack.”

“What of my son?”

“No stone will be left unturned, your grace. The Prince will be found.” The guard assures her.

Y/N releases his arm, taking the stairs two at a time down to the dragon pit. “I need Stormborn.” She tells the nearest keeper.

“Your grace?” The woman turns to her, “she has not flown since the loss of Sunfyre.”

“I’ll see to her myself,” Y/N decides, rushing past her. Her children’s dragons and Dreamfyre pay her little mind.

Stormborn lies with her head resting on her front legs.

“Rytsas, ñuha riña.” Hello, my girl. She addresses her in High Valryian.

The dragon whines.

“Nyke gīmigon iksā ojūdan mijegon Sunfyre. Iksan ojūdan tolī, yn istiti sīmonagon toliot īlva ōdres se sōvegon hēnkirī istin tolī.” I know you are lost without Sunfyre. I am lost too, but we must rise above our pain and fly together once more.

Stormborn extends her wing, allowing Y/N to climb onto her saddle.

“Sōvegon.” Fly.

————————————————————————-

“Is it terribly painful, father?” Visera asks, seated beside Dahlia on the right side of Aegon’s bed.

“Well, it is not pleasant.” Aegon admits, feeling her little fingers squeeze his. “But I have the maesters and your mother to help care for me. Each day the pain is less.”

Dahlia says nothing, staring at her father with tears in her eyes.

“Do not cry, my dearest love.” Aegon breathes.

“I worry for you, father.” She sobs.

“Come here.” He reaches for her with his unharmed arm.

“Mother said we mustn’t touch you.”

“See here, where the bandages are?” Aegon motions to his left side. “That is where I am hurt, you can touch me safely on this side. It’s alright.”

Dahlia carefully lies her head against his shoulder.

Aegon strokes her silver hair. “This will pass.”

She nods.

“Say it to me,” so he knows she understands.

“This will p-pass,” the little girl chokes out.

Visera rubs her sister’s back.

“Are you still doing alright, my darling?” Aegon asks his second eldest daughter.

“Yes, father.”

He catches her hand at Dahlia’s back giving a squeeze.

Laenor is easily entertained on the floor by Chérie, at only two years of age he does not understand that his father is fragile. The prince loves to pounce on his Papa.

When he finally does point toward his father, Chérie takes him into her arms, holding him over Aegon’s bed. “My Papa.”

“That is your Papa.” Chérie smiles, smoothing a hand through his light curls.

“I love you, sweet boy.” Aegon grins, despite the pain it causes.

The little boy looks to Chérie, “him wants a kiss?”

Aegon swallows hard, “I should love a kiss, but no hands please.”

Chérie is sure to hold Laenor’s arms to his sides as she dips him down to meet his father’s cheek.

“Oh, thank you, my darling. I feel much better.” Aegon thanks him. “Chérie?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Might we have the maids so you are free to check in on our other endeavors?” Y/N and Aegon IV.

“At once, my King.” Chérie nods.

————————————————————————

“Has there been any lead on the Queen’s whereabouts?” Ser Criston asks.

“We’ve word from the dragonkeepers, they say she took to the sky.”

“I see the same two dragons,” Cole remarks. “Neither of which belong to her grace. Bring them down.”

Vermax and Moondancer circle the Red Keep, despite the firing of arrows from the castletop.

Jace spots his sister’s dragon, flying up to meet them.

“What are you doing?” Y/N demands, once she’s within earshot.

“We’ve come to provide you safe passage to Dragonstone.”

“Mother sent you?”

“No.” Jacaerys purses his lips.

“You must return to her. I cannot leave.” Y/N informs him, “Aegon is missing, stolen from his rooms. Guards are searching the halls as well speak.”

“How’d someone manage to steal the King?” Jacaerys wonders.

“My son,” Y/N clarifies. “I believe Aemond had a hand in it, but I’ve not been able to find him.”

“We will find him together,” Baela offers.

“I mean to kill him.”

“Even better,” Jace remarks.

A cluster of clouds roll over the sun, shrouding the earth in darkness. Then the storm breaks, and the dragons dance.

————————————————————————-

“Hold your fire!” Ser Criston calls, “that is your Queen.”

The arches lower their arrows, watching on as Vhagar charges one of the smaller dragons.

Despite Stormborn’s strength, she is but a third the size of Vhagar.

“Who is with the Queen?”

Cole paid little mind to the dragons, until a few short days ago. He knows the King’s and the Queen’s. Vhagar, of course. But he knows little of Rhaenyra’s dragons and from their current position, it is impossible to identify their riders. “It matters little. Rally the maesters now, they must prepare to receive her grace.”

“For what injuries?” The archer asks.

“Those similar to the King’s.”

“His grace was wearing armor made of Valryian steel…the Queen will not survive a fall of the same magnitude in only her riding gear.”

“I said ready the maesters!” Ser Criston snaps.

One of the smaller dragons fall, green with red wings, into the surrounding woods.

“Locate the fallen dragon and their rider. They must be identified.”

————————————————————————

“Jace!”

Moondancer is trapped in Vhagar’s hold as Y/N circles back, soaring up over Vhagar.

“Sir, Stormborn!” Now, Stormborn.

The dragon growls, sinking her talons into the larger dragon’s eyes.

Y/N tugs her reigns upwards, effectively blinding the beast and allowing Baela to escape her clutch. “Go now!” Y/N yells, hoping the other woman can hear her over Vhagar’s howling.

Aemond tries desperately to calm her, but the dragon is no longer heeding his command.

Baela nods, taking Moondancer to ground in search of Vermax and Jacaerys.

More damage has been done to the old dragon than even Y/N realized. The flapping of her wings slows, her blood staining the earth beneath them. Vhagar uses her last bit of strength to fly Aemond level with Stormborn.

Like a man possessed, he jumps, sword drawn onto Y/N’s saddle. Sinking his blade clean through her left shoulder. He grunts, crudely yanking it free, “I meant it for your heart.”

Y/N swings her leg out, kicking at him, as she clutches her injury. Scarlet droplets blooming between her fingers.

Aemond scoffs, “you’re finished, bastard.”

At her rider’s command, Stormborn leans to her left…and Aemond falls.

Part 5

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @callsignwidow @hyde-jpg @novelswithariana @klutzylaena @ynbutbetter @ravenqueen27 @danart501 @woodlandwrites @saraiadg @tempo-rary-fix @lxdyred @supernaturalstilinski @httpvomitello @dd122004dd @shadowrose13-blog1 @dracaryxzs @magictrump @vee-mage @mrs-starkgaryen @labellapeaky @multifandom-loser @minttea07 @blackdiamond2317 @baybaybear1

[noneorother]

I went dumpster diving into the posters for Good Omens Season 2 and found a few pearls.

I found it odd that this season had SO MANY official posters. Hours and hours of work and real dollars from Amazon went into the production of these things. This one won a freakin Clio award. I know Neil confirmed he didn't have a lot of control of what went into these 21 (Or 22 depending on whether or not you count the umbrella piece that was made before season 2 shooting began. Personally I don't!) pieces, but I will leave no stone unturned, so here we go. I combed through every single season 2 poster I could find so you don't have to. Here's everything I've found so far:

1. The allegiances poster

After having watched season 2, knowing what we know now, this poster seems very much to me like a Game of Thrones style family at war image. We have a perfect mirror down the center, with Aziraphale/Angels/Nina&Maggie on Aziraphale's traditional left side, and Crowley with Beelzebub & Jim as reflections of Maggie/Nina, and Shax and Michael(?) as reflections of the three angels on the other side of the mirror. It seems unbalanced, unless you count the floating white head (conveniently watching in the background) as The Metatron...

Which means Michael is... not on the same side as Uriel and Saraqael? She's also grouped in with the Metatron and Shax, on the side of the demons. How very odd. Gabriel & Nina also have a mirror in that they've both turned their backs to the crowd. Gabriel is willing to go live with Beelzebub in hell, and shut down Michael's plan and the Metatron's scheming for a second Armageddon, so that literal turn towards Beez and away from everyone else makes sense to me. The Nina one however? Not so much from what we've seen. Why is she turning her back on the angels & demons? 2. The individual posters

Interestingly, the individual posters all line up pretty much exactly with the all the allegiances this season. You just have to look at the way the characters are slanted vs. how the backgrounds behind them are slanted. All 3 bookshop posters and all 3 street posters are slanting left, with their characters also slanting left. They are who they say they are, and they're on the same side.

Michael and Uriel have right slanting backgrounds, so odds are heaven is supposed to slant right. Uriel is following the rules and slanting right, but of all the characters on the posters, Michael is the only one really betraying the background slant, and is slanting left against her background. Something's up with Micahel. They're not on the same side as they claim to be. Saraqael is more mysterious, as the only one sitting straight, and the only angel to have a left slanting background. Shax seems to be slanting left with a left slanting background, which puts her in the same pose as Uriel, but mirrored. While Beelzebub is weirdly slanting right with a right slanting background, making them a bit of a traitor, like Michael. Shax, Saraqael and Michael have some explaining to do. Lastly, and I think mostly obviously, there's clearly a missing poster in the set. Why doesn't hell have a third green poster? Is it supposed to be the Metatron, and they didn't want to spoil the surprise? Furfur maybe? Why wouldn't poor old Furfur get a poster when he has more screen time than Uriel? I don't think this is very important other than it's funny : everyone single person is holding something in their right hand, except for Shax and Crowley, who are holding things in their left hands, and Muriel, who's holding fucking NOTHING. Poor baby Muriel lolsob. One thing I do think might be important is that there are 21 posters in total + 1 missing one. So maybe 22 posters for season 2? How appropriate. 3. The triple phone box

In both the Nina street poster and the group street poster, there's are a set of 3 red phone boxes down the street. We never see phone boxes in series 2. Seriously, not once. Every other detail in these ones is from Whickeber street footage: gumball machine, post box, newspapers, coffee sign, puddle, walking extras... The only thing out of place is those blasted phone boxes. As far as I can tell it's literally the only thing in all 21 posters that never appears in the show in some form, and this background plate is used for all the street posters, so the phone boxes are in quite a few of them.

4. Crowley is showing his good side, Aziraphale is always facing away from Crowley.

Crowley is always shown with his head tilted to his right this season, body tilted towards Aziraphale and always with long sideburns. Even in the illustrated poster his default is head to the right, sideburns long.

EXCEPT for this poster. This is the only time he's looking away from Aziraphale, and his snake tattoo is visible. And his sideburns are short. Either nobody noticed this or they refused to fix it. There's also the matter of Aziraphale facing his body away from Crowley in every single image except the allegiances poster, where they face each other. So cute.

5. The sneaky details posters

This one has: 1. Pride & Prejudice 2. Treasure Island 3. A tale of two cities 4. The Crow Road 5. Catch-22 9.

AND whatever the hell this photoshop artifact/invisible thing coming out of the scroll on Aziraphale's desk. I checked every version I could find of this poster and it's always there. It looks like someone tried to edit out something that was there and sort of got it mostly right. Which is completely ludicrous given the amazing amount of flawless photoshopping and collaging going on in this image. These are the magicians linking rings from the 1941 magic shop. Mystery solved!

This one has the yellow book on the bookstand, the record, and : 1. Only one clock hand on the grandfather clock, facing 6. 2. A feather duster on the floor (but weirdly it's grey not yellow). 3. The dark horse statue with Crowley's old sunglasses on it. 4. Aziraphale's bowtie ON THE FLOOR. What. Why. I can only conclude that in this poster either A) Aziraphale and Crowley have left these things behind (meaning no more bowtie for Aziraphale in season 3) B) They are currently not wearing these items somewhere else in the bookshop....

_____________________________________ I ran out of images. So the dome poster will have to be it's own post!

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention. 

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 6k+

A/N: For this chapter, I played with the idea of having Zoro’s POV. It felt necessary for the story progression that I had in mind. This chapter was a tad fun to write, and I hope that translated well into the story. Originally it was going to be longer, but I realized I wanted to save the dinner to go with all the action to end the Episode 3-4 story arc. Thank you guys so much for the love you’ve given this little story. I hope it continues to be one you enjoy 🖤 Much Love, Jenn

Previous Next

This place is a maze. 

That thought rang true with every hallway you entered and the endless number of rooms within. With every step you took inside Kaya’s large estate, those words kept echoing through your head. How many guest suites could one house possibly hold? But also, why would you ever need so many?

You’d been wandering the halls for what felt like an eternity. Your head poked into each room after a brief knock. Yes, a brief knock before plunging head-first into someone’s private space wasn’t much of a warning but at least you were knocking. 

And all of this just to find Zoro who may or may not help you expose whatever metaphorical skeletons this butler had stuffed in his metaphorical closet. Or an actual closet. The possibilities felt endless. 

You weren’t even sure how you were going to explain to him exactly why you were searching for him without sounding like a creep. You would just have to cross that bridge when you came to it. 

You were about to give up trying to locate him because you were pretty sure you’d just passed that same exact clock for the second time in a row. You let out a raspberry as you placed your hands on your hips. Was it plausible you were lost? Inside a ginormous house like this? Yes, it sure as shit was. Maybe you should’ve been dropping breadcrumbs to find your way back to your own room when this was over. 

Rolling your tongue around your mouth, you looked down to your right and realized there were only two more doors left. What could it hurt just to look? You were already down here anyway. 

With a shrug, you moved towards the second to last door near the end of the hall. You weren’t in a rush to check what was behind either one, but you were also not leaving any stone unturned and all that. If your earlier dozen room checks were any indication of what to expect, you were willing to bet that you were going to find absolutely nothing waiting for you. The joy of joys. 

You were just a few feet from the door when you heard the lock click. The sound caused you to stop dead center, facing the door like an absolutely terrified rabbit caught in the headlights. What were the chances that whoever opened that door was going to be Zoro? And what were the chances that he would be willing to listen to what you had to say? 

The possibility of your questions being answered ebbed the panic in your chest down just a tad. Enough that when the door finally opened and Zoro was, in fact, standing before you, you silently thanked the universe for your suddenly award-winning luck. 

That was until you realized he was just standing there. In a robe. A silk robe with his swords slung over his shoulder and because of his current hold on his swords, said robe in question was flashing a peak of his chest. You immediately wanted to take back your previous thank you letter to the universe. 

This should be illegal. 

The worst part? You were pretty positive from the way Zoro was staring at you - his eyes taking you in from top to bottom lord HELP you - he did not seem as impressed with you as you were of him. Why in the hell couldn’t you say a word? Yes, he was attractive - stupidly so - but he was also just another guy. 

A guy in a thin silk robe and hair still damp from a bath. 

You watched as Zoro’s body began to relax, or relax as much as someone like him could. It was when he let out a sigh as if your very presence was keeping him from something important, that you felt your feet remove themselves from their spot in the carpet and spring you forward. 

There was a split second when Zoro’s eyes registered your movement. His eyebrows raised up in surprise as the almond shape of his eyes widened just a tad before he braced for whatever you were about to do. Zoro was planning on an attack and his body was primed to force you back. Instead of violence, he was met with your hands shoving him back inside his room with your foot kicking the door swiftly closed behind you. 

Once you knew you were both securely back inside the room, you stopped shoving him. You waited for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room before you looked around. It would be embarrassing if you’d done this and someone else - Nami or Luffy or anyone else really - had been inside with him. The only thing you noticed, however, was his previous clothes strewn across the room. 

When your eyes ventured back to Zoro you found his earlier shock replaced by what you could only guess was his usual stonewall expression. 

“Look,” he began the timber of his voice causing you to jump. “You seem nice and all, if not a little disturbed, but I’m not interested.” 

You looked up at him with your confusion knitting your brow together. 

“Not interested?”

You weren’t sure why it took you that long to realize what he meant, but it was dawning on you at warp speed and your confusion was quickly replaced with horror. 

“Oh my god! No, no! I was not trying to like, do anything to you like that.”

The disbelief in his eyes told you plainly he didn’t believe you, and by the tick in his jaw something was bothering him about your statement. 

Shit! He thinks I’m a perv 

You wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and die there. You followed his eyes as they trailed down his chest to find your hands were very much still attached to him, practically groping him. 

“Then why are your hands still on my chest?”

A small squeak of surprise left you as you dropped your hands down to your sides and shook them like it would be enough to get rid of the feeling of cupping his very pronounced…chest. You took a step back from him in hopes that giving him space would save the entire interaction. 

“Sorry about all the ugh…touching,” you mumbled. “But I did come here to speak to you about something.” 

“This is going to be good. Is it to convince me you weren’t trying to grope me?”

“God, you aren’t going to let it go, are you?” 

Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. When you finished, you opened your eyes again and gave him the best smile you could muster. 

“Okay, let’s start this again. I,” you motioned towards yourself, “have come to ask you if you noticed anything weird.” 

Zoro cocked an eyebrow at you. His arms moved to lock his arms across his chest somehow exposing the peek of flesh from the robe even more. 

“You mean weirder than right now?”

You purse your lips together tightly as you try to exhale all the annoyance from gathering in your body. 

“Let’s just move on from this moment, ok,” you began. “I came to talk to you about the butler.”

Without warning, Zoro rolled his eyes and dropped his arms from his chest. His swords clanging against his leg reminding you that he wasn’t making any move to set them down anytime soon. 

“Here we go again about the butler,” he groaned, and the very sound shouldn’t have sounded as enticing as it did.

Focus! 

“Oh, save it!” You snapped. “I saw you, okay? The way you looked at Klahadore before you followed your friends inside. You looked at him like you recognized him. Like you’d seen him before somewhere.” 

Zoro regarded you coolly. The hardness that had disappeared while he’d teased you earlier slid back into place until he was as unreadable as stone. 

“I’ve never seen that butler before in my entire life.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

You couldn’t keep the exasperation from your voice or how your desperation was starting to creep back in. Could you have been wrong about Zoro this whole time? Did you just see what you wanted to see?

No. You know what you saw and you were not going to be called crazy. You took a step towards him and weren’t surprised when he didn’t move back. Instead, he tilted his chin, his full pouty lips still very much pouting, as his eyes carefully watched you. 

“You know, that I know, that you looked at that guy and went, ‘hmph, something’s not right there’.” 

Yeah, that felt like a solid argument. 

You waited under Zoro’s cool gaze for him to reply. For him to show any sign of anything, really. He was literally the most unmoving person you’d ever meet, and you were starting to wonder if he was even real. The shitty part about waiting in silence, besides the uneasy commentary your brain was beginning to make, was the smell of the vanilla and sandalwood that wafted off him in mini waves that assaulted your senses. 

You were so intently transfixed by trying to match his unblinking gaze that when he finally moved his head down to be eye level with you, you’d almost jumped out of your skin. 

“Is everything okay with you? Do you suffer from any brain damage?” 

You wish you could say you handled the next few seconds with grace and poise. Things that all upstanding future doctors did when faced with adversity. However, that was most definitely not you, and you weren’t able to keep an exacerbated yell of frustration from cairning past your lips. 

“Oh! You are literally the most infuriating man I have ever met!”

“And you are the most perverted woman I have ever met,” Zoro shot back, this time taking a step towards you. 

If he was trying to intimidate you, he should’ve tried back when you weren’t ready to tear him limb from limb. 

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Who just pushes a semi-naked man into a room so they can grope him?”

“I wasn’t trying to grope you! I was trying to interrogate you for information!”

God, that sounded so much worse. 

“That sounds a lot worse, actually.”

Of course, Zoro would state the obvious, and was he - was he smirking? Your eyes rapidly blinked as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing because as fast as you’d noticed it, that devilish smirk had disappeared. Now Zoro once again looked as serious as before. You began to move back towards the door with your hands up in mock surrender. 

“You know what - fine! If you don’t want to help me, that’s your choice, but you know I’m right. And I’m going to prove that something is wrong here with or without your help.”

You shot one last look in his direction before turning on your heel and giving him your back. You were at the door, your hand on the doorknob when Zoro surprised you with a question of his own. 

“Why ask me to help you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you expected to see that smug smirk on his face or to get the cold shoulder. What you found instead were eyes so intent on you - waiting for your response - that it caused your lungs to collapse. A million replies played over through your mind, but only one of them mattered. 

“Because out of everyone here, I thought you would believe me the most.” 

It didn’t matter if it was the answer he’d been looking for or the one you thought would win him over. You meant what you said and you hoped he’d felt your admission genuinely. If Usopp didn’t want to believe you, and if Zoro, who you still believed knew or at least felt something was off here, wasn’t going to be able to help you, you would just have to do it yourself. 

Did you know what that entailed? Hell no, but Naan didn’t raise a quitter, and you weren’t going to roll over and just give up just because it was hard. Not when someone’s very life depended on you. 

——————

After your incredible failure of finding a co-conspirator to help you on your quest for answers failed with flying colors, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with yourself. Usopp no doubt must have snuck in by now to see Kaya - sans your “gift” - and the others were probably in the ridiculous closet looking for dinner attire. While you could’ve gone just to socialize with everyone else, Kaya had sent a dress to your room. 

Sham had looked absolutely miserable dropping it off and that was a joy all on its own. 

You considered heading to the closet just to see Luffy again. Luffy radiated optimism like sunshine; at the moment, that sort of unyielding optimism was the mood booster you needed. 

Unfortunately, you knew Zoro must have made his way there by now and you weren’t necessarily ready to face him again. The disappointment was clinging to you and that’s what you hated the most. You didn’t understand why you’d seemingly put all your eggs inside the Zoro basket. Just because he’d looked at Klahadore weird didn't mean he’d sensed something off. 

Shit, Klahadore was weird and deserved every side-eye glance he got. 

All it meant for you was going back to the drawing board for a new plan. One that was going to be able to get you next to Kaya. At least long enough so you could perform some kind of assessment. 

You rounded the corner to what you hoped was the hallway your room was down. The earlier thought you’d had about getting lost turned into an accurate one. You’d spent just as much time trying to get back to your room to get ready for dinner as you had searching for Zoro. 

Zoro.

Even just thinking about him made your jaw clench with fresh irritation. What was more infuriating than your most recent conversation was the fact you could still feel the strength of him in the hollows of your palms. The sharpness of his jaw and the high sculpt of his cheeks- 

No! Absolutely not, you chastised yourself. 

It was maddening how little he believed you - mocked you - and yet, here you were acting like some lovestruck teenager. He wasn’t that handsome. 

You were lost in your thoughts to the point you weren’t aware of your body's attempt to warn you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and a sickening feeling began to rot in your gut and made sure all the imaginary - very imaginary - butterflies disappeared. 

The goosebumps that rose along your exposed skin informed you that the grand hallway, filled with all its riches and fine cherry woods was as ice cold as the dead. Has it always been this cold and you just never noticed? Or the eerie silence that made the manor feel more haunted than alive. 

Your feet involuntarily came to a halt in the middle of the hall. You couldn’t explain the panic that was building in your chest, but it felt like you were being watched. Your heart rate sped up until you could practically feel it thundering against your ribs. 

“You are being silly,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just an old house.” 

“Old houses do have their quirks, don’t they?”

You wish you could say that when Klahadore spoke from behind you, you’d reacted with grace. With dignity. What actually happened was you screamed sharp enough it could raise the dead. 

The whiplash you gave yourself as you turned to face him was dizzying. You wanted to kill the fear that widened your eyes and pressed your brow into your hairline. Your mouth was painfully dry as you took in his presence and the absolute shit-eating grin he wore. 

He enjoyed seeing you afraid. 

“Oh dear, Doc, did I give you a fright?”

Klahadore gently tipped the frame of his glasses with the edge of his palm. You wanted to smack them off his smug face. 

“What do you want, Klahadore?”

You struggled to regain your composure. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you afraid. It was what he wanted after all and didn’t take much to notice. He was already trying to close the few inches your retreat had given you. 

“I was simply wondering why you were wandering around the manor. You’ve been showing highly suspicious behavior ever since you and your friends arrived.” 

Your eyes narrowed in on him and as you held your head high. 

“Have you been following me?”

“Oh, come now, don't be silly. To have someone followed means you’re worried about what they’ll find, and you? You are the last thing I would be worried about.” 

Klahadore dropped his head down until he was eye level with you, but somehow used his size to remain imposing. A thinly veiled threat to remind you exactly what he thought of you; nothing. 

The first time you’d ever received an insult from Klahadore had been just like this. Alone and away from anywhere Kaya could hear him. He’d made sure that Usopp and you were together just so he wouldn’t have to repeat the insult twice. 

“I know you two must feel exceedingly special having Miss Kaya ask for you to come keep her company, but I’m afraid this will be the last time you ever come over unannounced or not. We can’t allow her image to be tarnished from being seen with unwanted children.” “Unwanted?” Usopp had been so confused - he knew he was wanted; wanted by Kaya and you. Klahadore saw in that confusion an opportunity to place doubt in his mind and completely tear him apart.  “Yes - unwanted. So unwanted that your father never returned, and your mother chose death as a final way to be rid of you.” “You son of a bitch!” You’d snarled and snapped. You were only kids.  The world had taught you early on about hardships and fairness; how the world and the people in it could lack kindness. But Naan always made you look for the good in the world, and in the people who sometimes allowed the ugliness of others to warp them into someone they weren’t.  It was a concept child you never understood. Teenage you were barely beginning to grasp it, but when Klahadore spoke those words so full of hate and venom at your best friend: there weren’t enough flames left in hell to cover up your rage.

The memory of that day left a black mark on your soul and you find it replaying at the most inconvenient of times. A harsh reminder of the first time you’d ever considered murder as a means of healing. The world would have to be a better place if someone like Klahadore wasn’t in it. Right? 

Naan, as always, talked you down from doing something rash. From allowing someone like Klahadore to have the last laugh and ruin all the plans you had for your life. 

But Naan wasn’t here to talk you off that ledge or to remind you who she knew you were. Your rage shouldn’t define you. Looking at Klahadore’s retreating back, you weren’t all too sure if it wasn’t you because if he ever showed up needing any form of medical attention, you weren’t so sure if he’d leave on his own two feet. 

A body bag would suit him nicely. 

You watched him until he completely disappeared leaving you alone once more inside the hallway. It felt weird to take those first steps back towards your room. To go inside and see the dress Kaya had sent to your room and know you were going to put it on and share dinner with that man standing in the same room. 

There had to be a way to show everyone here exactly who Klahadore was, and you would spend the whole dinner trying to do just that. 

———————

He’d been searching for a drink since his interaction with you back in his room. Zoro wanted to call you crazy - hell you acted crazy enough, but you’d done something he hadn’t expected. 

You’d surprised him.

He didn’t want to admit it then but he did get a weird vibe from the butler. The minute his eyes landed on Klahadore it had sparked a nagging feeling of a memory he just couldn’t quite place. 

And you’d noticed. 

After you’d left his room, he couldn’t shake the conversation you’d forced him to be a part of. Teasing you had been easy. He’d expected you to be a bleeding heart, but as you’d turned to leave, stomping your feet and spitting back words that stung for just a second, it had been Zoro’s turn to notice something about you. 

It was the fire of your determination that piqued his interest.  

While Zoro wasn’t sure why you held such a stick up your ass exactly about the butler, he was positive you had a reason. Besides the fact he couldn’t seem to pull up a clear memory of why the same butler piqued his own interest, and that was beginning to piss him off. 

What was even more annoying was the fact you’d brought it up enough that he’d asked Nami and Luffy if the butler seemed familiar. He didn’t know why he’d asked. If it had been more for him or for you. 

That pissed him off more. 

You seemed to be good at that. Pissing him off and getting under his skin. 

When he came downstairs, Zoro expected you to be there already. A quick glance around the room informed him you weren’t there, but a row of flutes filled with what he hoped was alcohol most certainly was. 

He carefully set down his strap of swords and moved closer to the drinks. No one else made a move towards them and, for a split second, Zoro was worried maybe the flutes were nonalcoholic. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the delicate crystal and quickly brought it to his lips. 

The smell of the liquor hit him first and his muscles relaxed instantaneously. 

God. This was exactly what he needed. 

“Zoro! You gotta try this!”

Zoro didn’t bother looking because he’d seen the appetizers being served when he came down the stairs. He wasn’t impressed. Plus, if he was going to make it through this evening, he was going to need way more booze than what was inside these little Crystal flutes. 

“I got all I need right here,” he replied and brought the glass up to his lips. 

The first sip erased all the tension that had been binding up his muscles. The next pull from the glass relaxed him completely, and he downed what was left in one giant gulp. He placed the now-empty flute back down on the tray and swiftly grabbed another. 

Zoro was vaguely aware of all the chatting going on around him. The sound of Usopp and Luffy sharing stories and Nami doing whatever it was Nami did during fancy dinner parties. He meant what he said - he did have everything he needed to make it through this dinner inside these glasses. At least, that’s what he thought until the sound of a heel echoing off the step brought his attention to the top of the stairs. 

He was sure the new flute with his latest drink was at his lips. Zoro inhaled the sharp scent of liqueur with every breath he took. He just couldn’t seem to make his elbow bend enough to drop it from his face. 

You were making your way down the staircase, oblivious to the world around you as you came down with a hand carefully placed on the railing. 

The dress you wore was covered in article flowers; all of their small bold colors were bright against the backdrop of black chiffon. The top of the dress left your shoulders exposed, and the style you’d chosen to wear your hair, with beads of pearls intricately placed within each strand, made you seem ethereal. 

You looked like moonlight inside a garden; soft and wild and for the first time Zoro forgot that breathing was important. 

Once you reached the last step, your eyes finally moved up from the safety of your feet. Zoro was vaguely aware the rim of the glass was still resting on his bottom lip, and that he’d yet to take a drink. He felt frozen - helpless - until your eyes found his rooted frame - helplessly waiting - and the smile that curved your lips brightened up the room. 

It was in this second that he realized he was fucked, and the annoyance of that realization was enough for him to finally upend the glass in one large gulp. 

——————

Zoro had looked at you for less than a millisecond before he’d upended the contents of his glass in one large gulp. His disinterest was evident enough throughout his entire body. With one last glance in your direction, he turned back to the waiting tray of glasses. 

Well, that wasn’t the reaction you’d expected. 

The disappointment scraped raw across your chest as you watched Zoro take up another glass. His gaze was steadfast at the wall as he downed whatever was inside. What felt more disappointing was the fact you’d cared. 

For all intents and purposes, Zoro was an asshole. So, it begged the ever-present question: Why did it bother you so much? 

Yes, you’d painstakingly gotten ready around the dress Kaya left inside your suite. Was it your usual taste? You weren’t all that sure, to be honest. It’s not like you’d ever been invited to any fancy dinner parties before. You weren’t sure if this was the proper form of dress or if you’d gone overboard with your hair. 

At least Nami had a feather inside her hair and it looked as if she’d given her blood-orange hair some curls. She looked absolutely gorgeous and you made it your mission to tell her.

“Wow, Doc you look-“ Usopp began. 

You turned beaming towards your friend as you waited for him to acknowledge your hard work. Maybe at least Usopp, of all people, would say something nice. 

“Different.”

You could practically feel your smile deflate at the edges. 

“What did you put in your hair?” Luffy asked around a mouthful of meat. 

“Oh yeah, I was wondering what looked different. It’s the hair,” Usopp confirmed with Luffy. 

The both of them smiled and nodded at one another as if they just solved world hunger. Your tongue rolled around your cheek as you debated on what to say. Maybe you’d expected to much out of a bunch of men. 

“They’re pearls,” you huffed. 

“That’s silly,” Luffy chuckled. “Why would you ever put pearls in your hair?”

“It’s to look nice.”

“I never knew hair needed accessories,” Usopp offered before taking a bit of his appetizer.

“Nami put a feather in her hair,” Luffy offered before taking another bite. “Maybe you guys can talk about putting random stuff in your hair.” 

There was no way this conversation could be real, and yet…

Luffy was still wearing his genuine smile while he and Usopp continued to enjoy the appetizers Sham passed around. This evening was turning out to be the last time you’d ever consider wearing anything like this again. What was even worse was that out of the three of them, Zoro was the only one properly dressed. 

While Usopp went with his usual no shirt underneath his jacket, Luffy was wearing just a petty coat and miraculously found dress slacks that didn’t even reach his ankle. They looked like their usual selves, just dressed in black. 

But Zoro…

No! Absolutely not.

“I’ll go look for Nami so we can discuss…putting things in our hair.”

“That’s great! I’m sure it will make her happy. She seemed frustrated earlier when she asked for help.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you mumbled, as you turned to find Nami speaking to Merry. 

Well, it looked like that was going to be a bust too. Man, she really did look very pretty, though. You were considering what your options were. You weren’t comfortable just injecting yourself into whatever conversation Nami and Merry were having, especially not when she was rubbing his arm like that. 

Luckily for you, the sound of Klahadore announcing Kaya’s entrance kept you from having to go with your final option, which was to get a drink. Next to Zoro. 

You all collectively turned to watch as Klahadore helped Kaya make her way down the stairs. You couldn’t help but smile up at her and her current choice of attire. While she’d made you look like a garden, you could only assume she was the sunshine that hovered above it. The only problem you had with the golden silk material was that it somehow made her sickly pale skin appear paler. 

She must have picked the color in hopes it wouldn’t do that, but all it did was raise the alarm bells in the back of your mind. You’d allowed a pretty dress and a fancy meal to cloud the real reason you’d come in the first place. Instead of being a doctor, you were playing dress-up. 

You were still scolding yourself when Kaya finally made it to the end of the staircase. Her smile was bright and happier than it had been in a long time, as she regarded Nami and the dress she’d chosen. It hadn’t even registered that any of the clothes you currently were wearing belonged to her deceased parents. You made a mental note to make sure to take extra special care not to ruin the dress with any droplets of food. 

“Oh, Doc, I’m so glad I picked this,” Kaya breathed. “You look absolutely magical.” 

You couldn’t help but look down at the dress again. It was an incredibly delicate dress. A work of art to be worn on the body. Maybe that was why you felt like such an imposter wearing it. 

When you looked back at her, you tried to give Kaya a convincing smile. One you could even make yourself believe you felt worthy to have it on. 

“Oh, Kaya you are too nice,” you replied, only for her to shoot you down with a wave of her hand. 

“Nonsense. Usopp is always telling me about all the good you do for everyone. It’s time you let yourself be appreciated.”

Your earlier response to Kaya’s welcoming smile was one of your own, but at the mention of your supposed good deeds, you felt it tighten into a grimace. 

It means nothing if I can’t even help you.

Up close, her color wasn’t pale - it was ashen. The whites of her eyes were devoured with a yellowish tint and - 

Like the parasite he was, Klahadore was there pulling Kaya gently by her elbow to lead her back to the conversation between herself and Merry. Your eyes followed him as he made sure to plant her a few feet in front of you; her back excluding you from following to join. 

Once he made sure she was safely away from you, Klahadore stationed himself a few feet away next to the penguin pillar at the base of the stairs. He thought he was sneaky and that he had stopped your trained eyes from being able to do a quick evaluation.

Unlucky for Klahadore you were quicker than he thought. 

You were getting ready to head over to him when you caught Zoro walking back over to the tray. He was doing his usual of placing down an empty glass only to grab a fresh one, except this time he was talking. To Klahadore. 

What a fucking liar!

You couldn’t think straight as you watched the exchange. The way Klahadore overplayed the flabbergasted victim. You didn’t have to be close to them to know what Zoro was asking him, because just like you’d suspected, he did seem familiar to Zoro. 

It felt like you could breathe fire, you were so pissed. 

At some point, Klahadore ended the conversation by interjecting himself into someone else’s conversation. You didn’t care what it was. They could’ve been discussing flying pigs for all you cared. Your eyes were still honed in on Zoro who regarded you for a split second before he sat back down in the parlor’s middle seat. 

You started making your way towards him when Klahadore called out it was time to eat. You suddenly weren’t hungry. 

Zoro must have sensed you coming for him because in one swift move, he was out of the seat and standing. The strap that held his katana’s back over his shoulder as he followed Sham behind the double doors.

“You son of a-“

“Doc!” Usopp whisper-shouted as he nervously took your hand in his. “Sit next to me. Please.” 

You were still seeing metaphorical red. Your brain firing rapidly on only one main thought and that was to get a hold of Zoro and throttle him. 

It wasn’t Usopp’s fault that Zoro was a dick, and he looked genuinely terrified. Stuffing your current bad mood as far down as you could muster (you were about to see said moss-haired reason for your fowl mood in t-minus two seconds), you planted on a smile and gently took Usopp’s hand. 

“What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t?”

“Oh, thank god,” he laughed. 

The both of you followed closely behind Merry and the others as you were all escorted inside the dining room. Merry quickly took his seat at the end of the table, and you noticed rather quickly Zoro had claimed the seat closest to the door. 

Without thinking, you took the seat beside him and motioned for Usopp to take the last one. The one directly beside Kaya. For a moment, Usopp looked at you wide-eyed and uncertain. You did your best to make him comfortable. 

“You got this, Usopp,” you whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”

His response came in a small nod that did little to erase the terror that shined in his eyes. You gave his arm a light squeeze for reassurance before you straightened up in the chair. Glancing over, you watched as Zoro poured what looked like a freshly opened bottle of wine into a glass. 

You waited patiently for him to finish and when he went to set the bottle down you made your move. With a slight lean to your right, you swiped your hand out to grab a hold of the glass. Zoro caught the movement too late, but you now had his full attention. His nostrils flaring the only indication that he was irritated by your sudden drink stealing. 

Good. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He questioned. 

His dark eyes never left your face as he waited for you to answer. 

“Being petty.”

To bring the point home, you tilted the glass in his direction in a silent salute. You made sure he watched as you brought it to your lips and took a sip of the blood-red wine within. 

Zoro’s jaw ticked in irritation as you gave him a devious smirk, and when Sham came by Zoro waved her over. 

“I need a new glass.”

Now the smile that graced your lips was genuine and you made sure Zoro was aware of it. It was time to have a little fun of your own and that included hogging as much of his alcohol as humanly possible. 

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

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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

Taglist:@thegreatesttttttttt @katiemrty @sorasolarium @ponyboys-sunsets @flowersgirl02 @spilled-coffee-cup @instabull @charleslec-airlines @dixonsbugaboo @amanda08319 @moony-artemis @iloveautumn1 @yoheyyosup @ghostyycat7 @csmbrainrot

If I missed tagging anyone please let me know!

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[NEXT PART: ALLIES]

[northgazaupdates]

13 February 2024

Journalist Wadea Abu Alsaoud documents the obliteration of southern Al-Rimal in Gaza City. Previously a beautiful and vibrant area with lovely homes and thriving businesses, the IOF has completely destroyed much of it. Instagram user faridaek provides a full English translation:

"Witness the scale of destruction in this area following the withdrawal of Israeli occupation tanks. The area has been completely destroyed, as you can see. We stand amidst a catastrophe zone where everything-trees, people, and stones-has been obliterated. Not a single house or tower was spared by the occupation's missiles and shells; the area has suffered immense destruction. Nothing here has escaped the reach of the Zionist enemy's missiles and attacks. The homes have been extensively burned and destroyed. We're now in the Southern Rimal area of the Gaza Strip, once among the most prestigious locales and considered the capital of Gaza, now severely damaged. The occupying forces' tanks have left no stone unturned destroying everything. This scenes speaks to the occupation's crimes, brutality, and arrogance towards civilians and their homes in Gaza. These were homes of ordinary people: doctors, professors, engineers, and many who had no ties to the resistance. The destruction here is severe.

Not a single house remains intact—this area is now a disaster zone and completely burnt. I am recording this footage hours after the Israeli tanks's withdrawal. You can support us by sharing these videos and our accounts so the world can see the extent of their brutality and injustice. All we ask for is for you to share our videos so they can reach everyone, in hopes of awakening the world's conscience after 127 days.

Source: Wadea Abu Alsaoud on Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by وديع ابو السعود (@wadeaa_.9)

[prettyboykatsuki]

vanilla-cherry sweetheart | h. sakura

✮ tags ; gender neutral + afab!reader, dom top!reader, sub bottom!sakura, explicit feminization (referring to sakuras ass as a pussy, dick as a clit. the pet name good girl etc.), light dollification (reader dresses him up), rimming, anal fingering, pegging, cumming untouched, lots of gender fuckery, BRIEF breeding kink / pregnancy reference directed at sakura, excessive dirty talk, mirror sex 18+

✮ wc ; 5.1k (im crazy im crazy im crazy)

✮ a/n ; there's no way im not ovulating. this is insane. sorry. also sorry if there are any egregious typos i can only read this once over before i feel like exploding

✮ synopsis ; you think sakura makes the prettiest girl.

The soft slip of silk and satin feel weird  against Haruka’s skin.  

You’ve put effort into this, more than he thought possible. Every detail of him has been preened and plucked. A soft scent rolls off of his freshly smooth skin,  cherry and vanilla. His hair is styled down against, bangs laid flat as opposed to push backwards, decorated with clips and accessories.  

He has a face full of makeup on which was a pain to apply and even more of a pain to not rub off. His lips are parted, polished with color and his eyes are lined with a soft brown. There’s some shadow underneath, some glittery dust but everything is generally subdued. He hasn’t seen what the hell he looks like and he thinks he’d prefer it that way.  

Like hell he’d wanna see what perverted things you’ve done to his face.  

His clothes feel the most unfamiliar to him. Boxers replaced with frilly boyshorts. Bra straps tugging against his shoulder. Expensive so the fabric doesn’t itch. The kind without cups, all loose and sliding against his nipples every time he shifts. He’s wearing clothes you’ve hand-picked. Dresses that girls usually wear. Skin-colored tights underneath a patterned slip dress with that he doesn’t have the full chest to fit into, accompanied by a sweater hanging off of his arms and shoulders.  

All of these details on Haruka’s musculature make no sense. It can’t look very good on him, he thinks. Haruka has a hard body. Sinewy muscles from manual labor and fighting, a square set of shoulders. He’s always been thin and languid but not…feminine. He has no idea how to posture himself. In what ways he should sit or stand, how to behave with these soft clothes and light scents on his skin. 

The delicacy of your hands as they paint more of a nude rouge onto his mouth, makes Haruka blush further. His stomach turns as he stares at you, searching for answers he doesn’t find in the calm express on your face. You cup his jaw, your other hand using a lip brush to slide it against his mouth as you finish up with last touches. Focused as you prep him to your standards, whatever the hell they are.  

Haruka won’t pretend to understand. He thinks most of the effort you’ve poured in priming him is wasted. He thinks that this whole affair has been stupid and he’s sure the minute he catches a glance at himself he’ll want to explode into a thousand little pieces. You’ve been so damn meticulous, Haruka can’t even bring himself to destroy your hard work. No stone left unturned, each and every element met with incredible focus and detail.  

More shamefully, the attention has felt good. It’s hard to pretend that it doesn’t when it’s the only thing that makes Haruka bend at your will. He’s never had a relationship before, but he’s not ditzy enough to think your sex life is particularly normal. Nothing about you really is. Maybe your unbridled affection for Haruka can be attributed to that. It was you who pursued Haruka, you who courted him and romanced him - cornered him even as he  ran away, with frustrating levels of discretion - until the option to fall for someone else had all but disappeared.  

And Haruka had tried to run away from you. Many times. Your persistence wore him down until eventually his mind would only fill with you and whatever you wanted to do to him. With him.  

(Haruka loves you to put it plainly. You’re clever and sardonic and interesting and he doesn’t totally get you but he loves you so madly it makes him crazy. Loves you for the ways you’re good and careful, and loves you for the ways you love him. You’re so good to Haruka, so good he can’t stand it. So good his head feels staticky trying to make sense of it 

That’s why he’ll do anything for you, no matter how horribly shameful.)  

It’s impossible, difficult, irrational  - the breadth and depth of Haruka’s feelings for you are completely and utterly distanced from his own understanding. Where Haruka is abrasive yet timid, you are soothing but straightforward. Sincere. You’ve been gently introducing him to the depths of your affection, putting yourself forward in expressing your desires and thoughts.  

You’ve always been this sort of person, you hope he won’t hate you etc.  

You always give Haruka a chance to run away from you.  

No expectations. A warm gaze from across a shared bed that turns Haruka pink, incoming dawn on his cheeks down to his shoulders and collarbones. He always has options, but he likes the option making you happiest. The words thank you sound like a hymn on your lips. 

He tells itself its for you, and it is mostly. Mostly. After all this time though, he’s  conditioned. His body is molded for your touch. The unwitting pleasure of submitting himself to you had shocked him the first time he really experienced it. How soothing you were, how easily you dragged him into abyss of pure pleasure. Pleasure and sex he couldn’t imagine existing.  

Your touch had conditioned his body to burn bright wherever it lingered.  

The shame is always there, pooling in his gut and lying in wait to swallow him. It overwhelms him whenever he’s alone.  

But you always pull him from it, out of it - cradle him in the palms of your skilled hands as you whisper sweet platitudes against his skin. Praise him, fuck him into something boneless and desperate. Being exposed to a type of want, the euphoria in humiliation, the reclamation of his shame. It turns Haruka’s doubts into noise slowly but surely. He falls so deep into that depth, becomes completely unrecognizable only because he’s so sure you’ll catch him.  

He hates it so much. 

(Read: He hates liking it. Hates liking the forbidden sexual things you’ve introduced him too that he can’t forget. Hates liking the fact you’ve imprinted so mercilessly on his body and mind. Haruka could never be with anyone else. Nothing would work.  

No one could make him feel like this. You’re the first and only in the world.)  

A few weeks ago, you had mentioned wanting to dress him up like this. Stared, long and hard before petting his hair and assessing he’d make a pretty girl. There’d been traces of it before then but...  

To have it brought up so deliberately made him hiss at you feral until you winded him back down. Asked if he would be fine with it, assured it’d be okay if not.  

He said no then, and you didn’t ask again.  

(He brought it up later and felt all melty seeing you beam.)  

He thought it’d be simple. He’s seen stuff like this before when he went to look up other things you wanted to try. He thought it’d just be panties or clothes, something basic and lacy. Still perverted but simple.  

But everything has been elaborately crafted to make him pretty. The soft drawls and whispered demands, the compliments, painting his nails and washing his hair and shaving him.  

These are ritual acts of beauty, made to accentuate feminine appeal he doesn’t see in himself but you so clearly do.  

After you’re finish up your last touches, you tell him to keep his eyes closed. You stand behind Haruka with a hand under his jaw once he turns in his seat, still blind to his new looks. Your voice is an appreciative murmur, so genuine and so raw it makes all the hair on his neck stand on end.  

“Open your eyes. You’re so pretty, Haru-chan,” Your thumb slides against his cheek lightly. “Look how pretty you are.”   

He doesn’t recognize himself. Adorned, dolled up. The sinew of his muscles and hard lines of his figures contrast against the shapely pulls of his dress. He’s smooth and smells nice, perfumed and stunning. The makeup on his face doesn’t overwhelm him. It’s him but he’s pretty. So pretty it freaks him the fuck out.  

Pretty like a girl. The hell.  

“What’s all this even for? Doesn’t make sense. I’m a guy and I’m not—,” He murmurs, trying not to shudder as he feels self conscious. You lean down, your chest pressed to his back as your arms circle around his neck. “You’re so weird.”  

You ignore his empty threats skillfully. “It’s for me to fuck you in,”  

He wants to be pissed at you but you look so pleased. Obvious satisfaction making your shoulders relax, eyes raking over him in the mirror again and again. He looks in the mirror and sees a version of himself so…cute it’s unfathomable it’s even him.  

He makes a noise of discontent, lip jutted in a pout. That’s met with an airy laugh. “Seems pointless.”  

You smile at him in the mirror and his skin shades a deeper pink, tucking his chin.  

“It’s fine if you think that,” You murmur. “Is it okay if I make you feel good now?”  

“Don’t say it in such an embarrassing way.” He grits. You laugh again as you bend down over him where he sits, kissing him once before the two of you stumble into shared bed.  

Haruka feels conscious of himself when he finally lays back into the sheets. His dress rides up near over his lmees and there’s nothing underneath to shield him from your hungry view. His tights are too sheer of any use. You amble on top of Haruka, sitting on him as he lays back.  

You admire him for a long while like that.  Palm settled on his waist, you trace his features with appreciation. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you Haruka?”  

“I’m…” He deflects instinctively. A coy smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your fingers find the hem of Haruka’s dress. It’s a loose thing, a printed pattern decorated with a frilly hem meant for a more shapely frame. You toy with the material, rubbing it between your fingers. “Fuck off,”  

He can’t bring himself to say he’s not a girl. For some stupid reason. The words die on his lips when he stares up at you and sees you looking at him so reverently. So expectant without words. He squirms and looks away.  

“What word do you say when you want to stop, Haruka?”  

“Tomato. Or I can pinch you,” He repeats from memory. You smile lovingly.  

“Right. Is there anything you want to say to me?” Do you want me to stop? 

He looks away, frown deepening. Relieved when you take his silence as compliance as you often do so kindly.  

“Don’t worry about anything else,” You slide the spaghetti straps of his dress off his shoulder, pulling it down past his chest and revealing the soft patterned black lace underneath. His nipples peek through the material, the rosiness more noticeable through the paneling. It looks so lewd from the angle he sees it. “Just focus on being a good girl for me,”  

Haruka lets out a strangle protest before uttered soundless from your steely gaze, nodding  frustratedly as your hands slide up to his chest. You brush Haruka’s nipples lightly with the dull edge of your nail, his spine arching responsively to the pleasure. It’s a brief touch, a promise of what’s to come. You lean forward pressing your lips to his as you rub the hardened buds until they’re tender. His lipstick smears a little onto you, a dusty rose. Haruka moans into your mouth, entirely aware of the thing barrier between your touch and his chest. Your fingers are deft in rubbing his nipples as your tongue occupies Haruka’s. You lick against his lips and tongue, sucking on it lewdly. . 

Shameless in your pursuit of him, his ass throbs from prior prep and his cock stirs to all the sudden stimulation.  

The way arousal floods his brain scares him. He can’t fight it.  You’re so good with your hands. Good at everything, like knowing where and how and when exactly to touch him. His cock tents, strains against the suffocating nylon wrapped around his legs and waist. He shivers as he feels the leaky tip press against the silk and push desperately through the nylon - stretching it with it’s length. His whole body is throbbing urgently.  

You kiss down Haruka’s bare chest until your mouth finds one of his nipples. You suck them through the cups first before tugging them away slightly and giving Haruka what he wants which is the full heat of your mouth. You’ve made him so weird. Wired his body into feeling this unimaginable pleasure in places he hardly used to touch.  

His hips buck into anticipation, mouth open and panting as your incisors sink into the flesh of his pec.  

He cries out, shuddering as he grabs the nape of neck to anchor himself at the wet feeling. His blood is rushing south making him light-headed. He feels needy, sensitive. So much anticipation had built up while you spent time on him and all of it floods to his mind all at once. The attention you pay him and only him.  

The weight of your gaze clings to him.  

“Your clits getting all hard and sticky from having your nipples teased,” You point out.  Haruka groans reflexively at your tone of voice. “You’re a perverted girl, huh?”  

Haruka should protest your words. He wants too. The cognitive dissonance should cause him discomfort but he finds only euphoria in it’s wake. He can’t understand why. It’s all so weird, but you sound so sure of yourself. Falling deeper into those unfamiliar depths makes his anxiety curl up in his chest yet when he looks at you it all fades.  

He feels greedy. Feels so selfish when his mind chants for you to keep looking at him just like that. He falls deep into that familiar liminal space, warm and comfortable.  

Your eyes are softened and assured. Haruka makes a pathetic whine. It doesn’t feel like his voice. He protests the words right away. “I’m not,”  

“Not what, Haruka?”  

He blinks at you wetly, brows scrunched. He huffs. “I’m not a pervert, dammit.” 

It’s the right thing to say. He thought it’d be. You light up at the admission, sucking a mark into his neck as you grab his waist a little more and grope him all over. You can’t keep your hands off of him, your fingers searching for all of his skin as you kiss him again more feverishly. He wraps his arms around your neck, his sweater sleeves slipping awkwardly when he does, making you kiss him harder.  

“My Haruka. My Haru-chan,” You murmur against his lips in between kisses. Haruka opens his eyes to you looking utterly adoring. Lovesickness bleeds into your eyes, a drug to his system as you direct it his way. “So pretty and perfect.”  

“Shut up,” He goads, trying to get you to kiss him a little more. “You’re so annoying.”  

You kiss again, deeper and stronger before pulling back. “I’m gonna eat you out, Haru-chan.”   

The words make him gasp, shiver  - goosebumps covering every visible inch of your skin. “Gonna make use of your pretty pussy and split it open on my cock, make you cum from the inside like a good girl.”  

It melts him down to his core, spoken with such clarity - smooth leaving your lips and so genuine. Haruka has been fucked enough to know how it feels and to want it. He thinks of all times prior, and feels the plug inside of him more consciously at the mention. He squeezes his legs together from the arousal, like a girl he thinks and the whines somewhere deep in his chest. Preens for you.  

His consciousness feels like it’s fading with each step, each breath he heaves from his lungs labored.  

He forms his lips around words that never escape him. Before long you’re scooting yourself further back, down between his legs until you’re faced with his clothed erection.  

Arousal nips at him at the sight of your face near his cock underneath so many layers. You purposefully hold the skirt of his dress and rub all over - emphasizing the shape through it. Haruka flushes at the way his cock sticks up against them. Distorts that stupid floral pattern, stretches it. His ears grow hot at the lascivious image it paints. Your palm glides over his bulge once, twice, three times before sliding it up again.  

A wet patch stains his nude nylons visibly after all of the teasing, pre-cum dribbling between two thin layers that makes Haruka want to die. Your voice is gravelly, lacks it’s usual amusement. “You’re so wet, Haruka.”  

He shivers and huffs.  

His cock twitches and his ass is throbbing. Unspoken desire nips at him as your thumb presses against his slit through layers of fancy material. Praise falls from your lips crassly. He becomes more aware each second. His bra and panties, his dress and skirt, the feeling of make-up on his face and the sensation of clips keeping his bangs away from his eye. He looks like a girl and his dick is leaking, twitching, pitifully as you touch and caress him.  

His head rings heavy with the words wet.  

He wants you to touch him more. Nearly begs with his eyes for you get the memo. 

And you do. Of course you do, all wispy and pleased by his obvious desperation for your touch. “Haruka’s got such a needy little pussy, huh?”  

He hisses, swears, takes a sharp inhale of air as your fingers find the seam of his stockings and pull until they rip unceremoniously. You pull them until his cock and the insides of his thighs are open to air, and snagged nylon shrinks against his waist. His panties, black boyshort lace panties, make his milky skin look whiter and the tip of his cock redder. 

It’s so unbearably dirty to him. It’s so humiliating. Vanilla scented skin and the heady scent of his own cum, his painted, blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands  - bitten chest and misplaced bra,  all of it is so humiliating. Makes his dick even harder under everything as your fingers wrap delicately along his shaft with the fabric. “You have to cum from the inside first, Haruka,” 

You remind him and he aches, grits his teeth about it but you don’t budge.  

You don’t take Haruka’s panties off either. The panel of fabric barely covering his cock instead gets pushed aside. Haruka bends his legs up instinctively. Your thumb taps on the jewel end of a plug, one he’d mostly forgotten about until he’s forced to be reminded it of it. He swears loudly.  

You make an abrupt move suddenly, reaching over to bedside table and rifling along for things you’d both need. Lube, a harness, and something to fill Haruka with. You settle back between his legs when you’ve got them all before you carefully tug his plug away from him.  

The emptiness makes him whine  - hole pink and fluttery and open. Your thumbs pull him open until he gapes a little more, hands massaging his thigh. “Such a perfect pussy.” 

Haruka makes an aborted noise  - a pitchy whine cut off as you dip down further and further until your nose tucks against his perineum and your tongue slides over wet hole.  

He cries out at the sudden intrusion, muscles fluttering as you force your tongue as deep as it can go. It’s embarrassing, so shameful he could die and it feels incredible. 

“It’s fucking dirty,” He shouts, cries, prying himself away from you before it can feel even better. “Stop, it’s—“  

“Ish not dirty,” You mumble, words mumbled against his puckering hole. “I helpedth you clean, remember?,”  

You pull away and your face is wet with something, lube likely, but the visual mixed with everything else makes Haruka want to crawl into a hole. Your hands on his thighs are soft and your eyes gaze, turned on him is sparkling. “You’re a cute girl, Haruka. Saying things like it’s dirty. But this much is normal, okay? It’s only polite if I eat your pussy.”  

His stomach flips, heart racing at the ease of your words. A cute girl. Being praised in such a way… so genuinely. Enough to make him think it. Haruka likes being your boyfriend, your good boy but there’s something so much naughtier about all of this that makes him want to cry. His body is so chery red, down to his neck and shoulders.  

You’re going to fuck his pussy while he’s wearing these lacy, frilly, girly clothes and he wants it so bad he could die from the shame.  

“Do you want me to eat you out? Do you want me to make your pussy feel good?”  

The words come out like a sob, ripped out of his labored breaths. “Fuck, yes —“  

So you dive back again, pressing your tongue to Haruka’s hole with reckless abandon. It feels strange but it feels good when you tease and slurp. It’s sensitive and ticklish with each stroke, something about it feels dirty. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand - electricity shooting through his nerves and making him pulse hot all over. You’re doing it so passionately, eating him out like he really has a— 

He moans a little, shuddering, cock dribbling pr-espend. Tip ruddy and desperate, he want more. He grinds against your face searching for it, hips chasing for friction.  

He knows what he really wants even if it’s too shy to voice it. His body feels so empty, so uselessly empty. He casts his gaze on your harness, your cock—laying beside him and clenches without thinking. He wants it so bad he’s drooling, aching, hips pushing against air as he moans while you eat him out. Please, please,please.  

You make an appreciative noise into him as you pull away, his hole soaked from your saliva as you look up at him from between his legs. Noticing the state he’s in, faced reddened and chest heaving. He feels so ruined and so, so stupidly horny. He wants to cum any way he can, he thinks.  

He looks at your face, absolutely lovestruck, then shivers.  

That’s not true. He wants to cum from your cock, from being fucked. He wants to cum like a girl. 

“I want you to see yourself baby,” You say, all warm. Haruka pants. “Come here,”  

Haruka is dazed as you help him up to his feet and guide him back to your vanity. He can barely stand he’s so hard. His knees buckle further when he sees himself in the mirror. 

God. He looks ruined. His makeup smudged slightly at mouth despite himself, his bitten chest and skin and his clothes. His ripped tights. All of it is too overwhelming to process. He decides against thinking.  

You wrap your arm around his waist from behind. “My pretty girl.”  

Haruka covers his face instinctively, squirming. “Shut up.”  

“Mm,” You put a hand on the front of his thigh. “Put your knee on here and your hands on the vanity table, Haru-chan.” 

Haruka obliges only because he can barely keep himself upright other wise, propping one knee onto the vanitys bench. He’s close to himself in the mirror this way - the lights making him look at himself with more scrutiny than before. He has no idea what it is about this you like. Gold-silver eyes, short hair - everything about him, he doesn’t see what you admire.  

But you’ve put so much focus into accentuating each of his features. It’s skilled in the way Tsubaki is. Everything done with meaning.  

He looks at himself closely. The sweater around his arms, the shiny polish on his fingers, the jewelry. The ornery of it all messy and ruined. Mascara rings around his eyes and his lipstick is swiped messily. All of that effort to make him so beautiful only to fuck it all up. It’s fitting. To be made and completely ruined by you in the same breath.  

When you return to him, you’ve got your strap harnessed and lube in your hands. Pour  it onto his pussy and rub it in with rough touches, doing the same to your silicone cock before tossing the bottle back towards the bed. You finger Haruka open with a hand on his hips, squeezing appreciatively at his ass through tights before tearing them even more.  

He groans, gripping onto the sturdy vanity for his life as you work him back open soft enough to be fucked.  

“Haru-chan,” You murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss the small of his beck where his dress rides up. “I’m going to fuck your pretty pussy and make you watch,”  

Your crass words sent heat flaring through up his spine. His nerves fray at the end. He pushes his hips back on instinct as you slip a third finger in, curling against his prostate. Nearly slipping, Haruka lets the sensation bleed through him, tip weeping as his pussy aches for the perfect stretch.  

“Deep breath, Haruka.”  

He takes in a sharp inhale as the head of your cock swells inside of him. Pushes past the puffy, pink rim of his hole and stretches around the sticky, veined shaft. His mind goes numb, body limp. Your hand pushes down on the curve of his back until he’s arching properly, feeling it deeper. His body and mind disconnect, acting on instinct as his teeth grind making up for the emptiness. The tables edge digs into his palms hard and Haruka shakes. His mouth drop opens, drooling from the corners of his lip.  

“Deeper,” He groans, can’t think, can’t think of anything but the delicious and obvious intrusion of your cock inside of him. “Harder, fuck.”  

“I wanted to be gentle,” You tsk then thrust. Slam yourself into the welcoming tightness of Haruka’s pussy without second thought, knocking all the air from his lungs. “It’s good to be gentle with girls. Haruka likes it rough though, right? You like your cunt mistreated even though you’ve got such a cute face.” 

Your hips grind against the back of Haruka’s ass as you bottom out and his cock twitches. His vision goes white, body taut before trembling violently. You pause. “Did you cum, Haruka? Did you cum from having your pussy filled?”  

He’s shaking. He can’t stand up properly. He’s so full. His stomach is so full, he’s so happy to be so full. It feels so good everything in his vision is white, smatterings of starlight behind his lids when they flutter closed. His pussy feels so good. He feels good for you. He’s so contented nothing else makes sense.  

“Haruka,” Your voice is wrecked. Like you were the one being devastated, not him. “Oh, my perfect girl. Cumming from my cock, so good. You’re a good girl, you’re such a good fucking girl. Such a tight pussy.”  

You fuck Haru with reverence. Pure delirium. His eyes widen frantically when you pull out and blow wider when you slam back in - forcing him to hold onto the vanity for dear life. You angle yourself and fuck Haruka hard and hot without so much as another word of warning. Praising him endlessly as you look at him in the mirror.  

“Fuck, look.” Your hands go around to his chin, cupping his jaw upwards with free hand until he sees himself in the mirror in sheer bliss. He sees you in the reflection, too, besotted. Flushed all over, eyes glazed over in complete hunger. Haruka looks embarrassing, looks euphoric and messy and so filthy he can’t believe its him he’s looking at. “Look how fucking pretty you are.”  

You pull Haruka up back his arms until his back is against your chest when you fuck him, sinking your cock so deep he feels it in his throat. He cums again, dry, from the inside just like you want. The wet slam of your hips is making it hard to think.  

“So beautiful. Gorgeous, aren’t you? So stunning even without all this. My beautiful Haruka’s and his pretty, perfect cunt. You’re made for me to fuck you like this. Made for me to fuck you like a girl,”  You babble, voice hoarse as you fuck into him hard and precises over and over and over. “Made for my dick. Should fuck you pregnant, keep you all filled until you carry my kid , turn you into my housewife.”  

It’s nonsense. Useless, horny filth. And it makes his head spin, makes his body ache so hot when you say it. Hearing you praise his cunt so affectionately, being made to take your cock. All of it makes his blood rush and turns him stupid. Impossible but his body aches at the possibility as it gets filled. Haruka can’t keep his head on straight, can’t find his tact or pull away from you fucking him so ruthlessly.  

He moans your name with his voice shattered, hands at his sides as you pound away. Dick slapping against the soft plane of his stomach each time, dribbling cum onto satiny floral and dying it white.  

His body goes taut. He can feel it. He’s going to cum again, going to cum harder.  

His voice is shot as he begs.  

“Touch me,” He whines. “Touch me,”  

“Touch where, baby? Say it.”  

He nearly buckles. “Touch my c-clit. Make me cum, fuck.”  

“Good girl,” You praise, so sweetly. “Such a good girl for me,”  

Your wet hands wrap around Haruka’s shaft and everything he was keeping pent up inside him explodes all at once. You barely stroke twice before his cock starts to twitch so hard it hurts, an orgasm hurdling towards him full speed before he nearly gets knocked down. His spine arches against you as he finally, finally gets the relief he wants and he cums.  

Haruka cums hard. Thick, heavy, wet ropes of white semen splash onto your vanity and mirror, into your fingers as you fuck him through his orgasm, jerking him off hard until he’s howling from overstimulation. He’s overwhelmed when you bottom out, sticky hand holding his hips as you grind.  

“I’m close,” You pant. “Hold still.”  

Haruka feels as you grind yourself against the leather harness of the strap with your forehead pressing his back and feels aroused all over again. His brain is so clouded with lust he can’t stop the words from escaping his lips as he looks at your face in the mirror trying to cum.  

“Cum in me,” He begs helpless. “Want you to cum in me,”  

And you push yourself into him further, deeper, hips rutting until you drop down in a shudder and scream. “Fuck. Shit! Cumming in you, fuck,”  

You cum and still drunk from the endorphins Haruka thinks its a waste you didn’t cum inside  - too deep in his head space to think about the whine from his lips.  

You breathe slow and kiss his shoulders and all over his neck. “Love you, Haruka.”  

He shudders. “…Love you too,”  

[writtenbymoonflower]

Book Blues

Your book is sad and Remus is sweet. fem!reader

800 words

cw: crying, brief mention of smut at the very end (if you blink you'll miss it)

It was far too late to be this awake and reading. In your defense, Remus was still awake too. He was downstairs finishing some report for work and you were upstairs, finishing your book. You didn’t have much left, and you were hoping to finish by the time Remus came up for bed. It made you happy that you and Remus could do your own things but still be as connected as ever at the end of the night. 

Still smiling to yourself, you returned to your book. You were right at the climax and you were scraping your eyes excitedly over the words. You could feel the tension of the scene building, and building, and building, until it all came crashing down. 

Something awful happened. 

As you continued to read you could feel tears well up in your eyes and your sinuses clog with sadness. It may be overdramatic to get this upset, but you loved this book! You felt like you knew these characters themselves and their tragedy affected you greatly. You stayed in the same hunched-over position until you finally reached the end through the blur of salty water in your eyes. You leaned against the headboard, hugging the traitorous book tight to your chest, finally allowing yourself to break down. 

It was a lot of tears for something that wasn’t real, but you couldn't help it! The story resonated with you. You choked out soft sobs, sniffling and hiccupping Through your sobs you couldn’t hear Remus’ gentle ascension up the stairs to your shared room. You couldn’t even hear the creak of your old door as he stepped in. You just kept sobbing. It wasn’t a full-on come apart, but it was clear you were very upset. In your curled position Remus couldn’t see the book in your arms, all he could see was your stained face and shaking shoulders. His heart wrenched, he wondered what had made you so sad.

He wondered what he would have to do if it was someone who made you this upset.

He wondered why you didn't come find him when you started crying.

“Hey Dove, what’s going on?” He tried to keep his voice even to not scare you, but you startled anyway. 

“Mm, ‘s nothing.” You reached one hand up to quickly wipe your damp face. He was obviously very nervous, and you felt bad about scaring your boyfriend. But, you still were processing your book and even if you could talk, he might tease you and your heart couldn’t take that right now. 

“If it was nothing I feel like you wouldn’t be crying this hard, Sweet Girl.” He made the short distance from the door to the bed in two long strides before sitting next to you and rubbing your back soothingly. “Come on, out with it.” He was growing more worried and impatient by the second. 

Physical affection wasn’t something Remus required all the time. He loved it, it just wasn’t a constant thing between the two of you, but he felt like right now called for it. He made quick work of uncurling your arms and turning to face you. He started to pull you into a proper hug but he was stopped by the foreign object in your lap. He pulled away to look down.

“Dove, what’ve you got?” He asked, confused. You looked at him with a sheepish smile. He picked up the book in your lap, recognizing it as the one you had been keeping on your bedside table the past few days. His brows furrowed and he looked confused, before realization fell over his features. “Is this what’s got you so upset?” His brown eyes found yours, looking for confirmation. 

“Yes,” You replied, slightly ashamed and ducking to avoid his eyeline.

“You worry me, poor girl.” He gently chided. His mouth was unturned in a teasing smile. “Was your book sad?” He quickly turned sympathetic, wiping your wet cheeks and nose with his sweater sleeve.

“It was so sad, Remmy.” You played hard into his pity. Your hand came up to wrap around his slim wrist and hold his palm against your face. 

“I’m sorry,” He pouted at you, teasing still flickering in his eyes. “Anything I can do to make you less sad?”

“Yes,” You said grimly, lashes wet with tears. “You can buy me another book.” Your face lit up as you finished the sentence.

“Cheeky,” He pulled your face to his chest, wanting to scold you but he was too endeared. 

“You asked, I was just honest.” You quipped, playful.

“Fair enough, I’ll just have to find you one that’s sadder. You’re a lot sweeter when you’re crying, you know?” 

“You didn’t think so earlier, you were scared.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to have you crying for me in another way.” Your cheeks flamed at the comment. “How does that sound, Dovey?”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Eros: Chapter Seven

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Nothing Explicit, Nudity, Language.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.1k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The grand throne room of the Dreaming is shrouded in an atmosphere of unease. The usually calm and composed Morpheus sits on his intricately carved throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the marble in aggravation. His queen has vanished without a trace, and an uncharacteristic worry clouds his thoughts.

Lucienne, the loyal librarian, stands nearby, her face reflecting the same concern, and Matthew perches on the armrest of Morpheus’s throne, his dark eyes flickering with anxiety.

“My lord, it has been two days,” Lucienne begins softly, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “We have searched every corner of the Dreaming. There is no sign of her.”

Morpheus’ usually serene blue eyes are stormy with frustration and fear. “She cannot simply have disappeared, Lucienne. We are bound together. There must be something we are missing.”

Matthew ruffles his feathers, shifting uneasily. “Boss, you don’t think it’s some kind of magic, do you? Someone messing with the Dreaming? Or worse, with her?”

Morpheus’ gaze hardens, and he looks down at Matthew, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought. “If she has been taken by magic, then the perpetrator will know the full extent of my wrath. But we must consider every possibility.”

Lucienne nods, stepping closer. “Perhaps we should review her last known whereabouts. Was there anything unusual in her behavior recently? Any disturbances in the Dreaming that could have indicated a threat?”

Morpheus’ mind races through the events of the past days. He has been preoccupied with the duties of the Dreaming, but nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. “She mentioned feeling restless,” he admits. “She often spoke of her desire to walk in the Waking World.”

Matthew tilts his head. “Actually, boss, there was something. Just before she disappeared, she went to check out the Ocean of Dreams. There was a storm, and she thought something was wrong. She dove in to investigate.”

Morpheus’s eyes widen, a mix of fear and anger flashing across his face. “Why was I not informed of this sooner, Matthew?”

The raven flinches slightly, his feathers ruffling. “I’m sorry, boss. She told me to go get Lucienne, and by the time I got back, she was already gone and never came back up. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary at the ocean after she disappeared.”

Lucienne looks thoughtful. “The Ocean of Dreams is a powerful and ancient part of your realm, my lord. If she went into it and encountered something unexpected...”

Morpheus stands abruptly, his robe billowing around him like a storm cloud. “Then she may be trapped within its depths or worse. I must go there myself.”

Lucienne nods. “I will continue searching the archives for any records of disturbances in the Ocean of Dreams. There may be something we’ve overlooked.”

Morpheus turns to Matthew. “You will gather the ravens. I want them scouring the Dreaming and the Waking World for any sign of her. Leave no stone unturned.”

Matthew nods, taking off to carry out his task. Lucienne bows and quickly departs for the library, her mind already racing through the possible texts she will need to consult. Left alone in the vast throne room, Morpheus lets out a slow breath. His connection with his queen, so strong and vibrant, is eerily silent. He cannot sense her anywhere, and that absence gnaws at him.

As he strides out of the throne room, determination etched into his features, he reaches out with his senses, feeling the vast expanse of the Dreaming. He will dive into the Ocean of Dreams himself if necessary. The thought of her being trapped, alone, fills him with a fear he rarely acknowledges.

With every step, he resolves to uncover the mystery of her disappearance, to bring her back to his side where she belongs. He will not rest until his queen is safe once more. Morpheus arrives at the shores of the Ocean of Dreams, the usually tranquil waters now churning with an undercurrent of unease. He stands at the edge, his eyes scanning the horizon, feeling the pull of the ocean's ancient magic. He will find her, no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, he wades into the water, letting its cold embrace wash over him. As he dives deeper, the currents grow stronger and more aggressive, mirroring the turmoil in his heart. He reaches out with his mind, seeking any trace of her presence, any clue that could lead him to her.

The depths of the Ocean of Dreams are vast and mysterious, but Morpheus is relentless. He will search every corner, face every danger, to bring his queen back. His love for her is deeper and more powerful than any magic, and he will not rest until she is safely in his arms once more.

Morpheus paces the floor of your shared chambers, the ethereal light casting long shadows across the room. His normally composed demeanor is shattered by the torment of not knowing where you are. He has scoured the Dreaming, reached into every nook and cranny of his realm, and found nothing. Even the Ocean of Dreams has turned up nothing! His thoughts race as he considers who could have caused your disappearance. His anger simmers beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

His mind is a whirlwind of possibilities, but none seem plausible. You are powerful, and the protections around the Dreaming are impenetrable. It would take formidable magic to whisk you away without a trace. He stops his pacing and runs a hand through his dark hair, his thoughts briefly interrupted by a flicker of a memory—your wedding, the joy in your eyes, the warmth of your touch. He had asked you whatever you wished for, he would give you… you had told him that all you wished for, was him, and he had only fallen deeper in love with you.

He is about to turn to make another round of the room when a shimmering light appears, and you are suddenly standing in your shared bedchambers. You are naked as the day you were born with wide round eyes and shock plastered across your features. Morpheus should have been staring at the state you are in—love marks covering your body and evidence of lovemaking thoroughly coating your thighs—but memories flood his mind like a rampant tidal wave.

You wake with your face buried in a pillow smelling of marjoram and flowers. Feeling like your entire body is one big ache, you struggle to roll over onto your back and blow the hair out of your face. You blink a few times, making sure that you do, in fact, still have legs, before trying to roll to the edge of the bed. Son of a—

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself, feeling embarrassed that you are this sore from copious sex alone. Oneiros certainly has a healthy appetite for the indulgences of the flesh. You wouldn’t complain though, you haven’t seen that catastrophic glower of sadness and devastation upon his face in days. Job well done, you suppose. But you really need a bath... you glance down at your thighs and cringe. Your combined releases are smeared all over your discolored thighs, and when you stand up, you all but moan out loud when you feel it dripping from you.

“Bath, definitely need a bath,” you grimace, nearly waddling forward on what feels like newborn legs. Mustering up the strength, you take careful steps, teetering around on sore muscles. But as you make it to the center of the room, a flash of electricity runs along your skin, and your vision goes black. Floundering for a few seconds, you force yourself to remain calm until your vision returns moments later… but you are certainly not in the same place as you were a second ago.

Blinking away black dots, your eyes go round the moment you spot Morpheus standing not far from you, frozen where he stands. He looks disheveled and ill, paler than you have ever seen him. A few seconds go by and he still hasn’t moved.

“Morpheus?” you question in a small voice, your voice cracking a little from soreness and the shock of the sudden change in surroundings. Morpheus remains still, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and relief. He had thought he would never see you again, feared the worst had befallen you. The sight of you standing before him, albeit disheveled and confused, is like a caress to his tortured soul.

How many weeks has he spent looking for you after you disappeared from his bed into thin air? Endless. It was impossible to understand your sudden disappearance from Athens. He had wallowed in misery and despair, the absence of your presence weighing heavily on his heart until he ultimately moved on.

“αστέρι μου,” his voice is raw with emotion, his usual composure shattered in the wake of your sudden return. Your brain connects what is going on in his head. He is remembering you. His gaze drops to your body, and you shift as a flush crawls up your neck.

“In my defense, you seduced me first,” you softly mutter, not seeing the raging jealousy flashing through silver-blue eyes. You think, perhaps, that he would be angry at you for having sex with his past self, and he would certainly have every right to be so… but that is not what is running through his mind. All Morpheus can think about is how Oneiros has indulged in your body and repeatedly filled you with his seed. Jealousy rears its ugly head all the while the Endless can’t help but feel an intense lust for you. He wants to reclaim you from Oneiros. Right. Now.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Morpheus takes a step closer to you, his eyes darkening with desire and possessiveness. Then, in an instant, he is on you. His lips crash against yours in aggressive possession as a hand buries itself into your mussed hair. You can feel the intensity of his need in the way he kisses you, a mix of hunger and desperation that sends shivers down your spine.

You instinctively grab onto his shoulders, not quite expecting this aggressive onslaught but also not wanting to fight it. His kiss is raw, unfettered, a testament to the depth of his feelings. As your minds meld once more, you can feel the mixture of relief, desire, and possessiveness radiating from him in waves.

His hands move from your hair to your waist, pulling you closer. The hard lines of his muscular body press against you, reminding you of the intense passion the two of you have shared. The desperation in his kiss becomes more apparent and your own desire stirs within you. The realization dawns on you that he is trying to reclaim you from Oneiros. The clothes have to go.

“Clothes,” you barely manage to eke out between tongue-tying kisses that leave you feeling drunk. His lips never leave yours as Morpheus dissolves his clothing from his body and pulls you against his naked flesh. As he envelops your body in his strong embrace, your skin tingles with the sensation of his warm, bare skin against yours. His touch is electric, a mixture of tenderness and urgency that brings forth a whirlwind of emotions.

His hands roam over your curves, tracing every line, every contour, sending a storm of desire coursing through your veins. Each touch, each kiss, is a claim, a valid reaffirmation that you belong to him. The memory of Oneiros fades into oblivion as Morpheus' deep, silken voice whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"You are mine, and only mine," he growls, his eyes burning with possession and an intense desire to make you his own once again. It is a claim that reverberates through your very soul, leaving you breathless and completely under his control.

“For as long as you shall want me,” you return, raising your hands to cup his face. His eyes flare with intensity, fueled by the raw desire that courses through his body. He knows that his claim to you is unmistakable, yet he can't help but feel the reassurance in your words. “But I do have to ask…”

Morpheus’s eyes glow as he waits for you to air your question.

“Are you jealous?” You watch as his expression twists with a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and, yes, jealousy. It is an emotion he has kept well-hidden, but seeing it now, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

"You think I would be jealous?" he scoffs, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Beloved, if you are still able to use your legs come the morrow, I am not jealous.”

Well, shit.

Date Published: 6/12/24

Last Edit: 6/11/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[the-monkeies-girl]

That picture of blue eyes holding Cornelius but instead it his and his s/os kid. *melts from cuteness*

Gahdamn i am no better than a man. I'm supposed to be working on the customary series SH-

Blue Eyes had never thought it possible as he set his gaze on your breathing, sitting himself at the edge of the nest as he prepared to depart for a hunt with his Father, Cornelius, Ash and Rocket. Never imagined that you felt the same way that he did towards you, the year it took to even get you to look each other in the eye, followed by two more years of fruitless mating, something he bared through knowing it was a remarkable impossibility. But, upon rounding your third year together... He balled his hands into fists for a moment before he drifted his eyes downwards to the small ball of fluffed hair laying snugly against the animal pelt next to your head, tucked in so deeply and so warmly that Blue Eyes felt a bit jealous that he was about to throw himself into the cold of the morning, dawn right around the corner. Soft and shallow breathing. Blue Eyes was entranced by it for a moment and felt the tiniest of smiles split across his face at that. He turned to leave. Giving you one more glance, giving the small bundle one more glance, satisfied beyond comprehension.

--

'When will you bring... your child with us?' Ash signed to his friend, smiling rather smugly at him at the notion that Blue Eyes had succeeded in doing what he aimed to do. Breed you. Mate with you. Bear fruit with you. It left a pit of unturned pride in Blue Eyes' stomach as he made brief contact with his father's gaze, a huff leaving his nose as he shuffled his horse to the right.

'All they do is cry.' Cornelius groaned audibly, 'Keep family nest up at night.'

'Not able to hold head up like Ape young,' Blue Eyes explained as the five of them rounded the corner towards the embankment that lead towards the mouth of the Colony's border. He ignored his younger brother, full of nothing but complaints at his age. 'Very fragile.'

Caesar snorted at that to himself, though it was heard from the other Four Apes. He knew that to be abundantly true from his time with humans.

'Will take time.' The King of Apes signed at them, leading the pack with Rocket trailing behind with the bulk of the hunt.

Blue Eyes fell into a small silence at the thought that in only a few years, he'd be able to bring his own son, the one you had given him out of love and adoration despite the complications of the birth itself, to hunt with himself, Caesar, Cornelius... Family, he thought, looking over at Ash who was processing what was said, sliding back towards Rocket and nodded to himself. Yes. Family. Upon rounding near the Colony gate, Blue Eyes was able to see the back of your head and the knotted nature of cloth against your shoulder as you were shuffling young Apes around your feet to get them upwards towards Maurice for the afternoon lesson. He stared at you longingly, bringing his horse in a bit faster, trotting right passed Caesar and hurdled to a stop right next to you. You had heard the trotting in the distance, excitement hitting your chest at the fact that your mate was returning, safely, as you so often worried after his bear attack years ago. The sheen of the scars on his shoulder captivated your attention for a few seconds as you looked up at him with mildly-hungry eyes at the sight of him wearing his War Paint.

'Good hunt?' You signed with one hand, holding a small head against your chest with the other as you had strapped the baby to your chest in a very secure perch. You had no fur for them to hold on to, something that... Much like a Baby Chimp, your baby enjoyed doing.

Blue Eyes looked down at that action, dropping right off his horse and came to greet you without having to gaze down at you. Forehead pressed against yours swiftly as a greeting. Sinking into it, you let a small sigh leave your parted lips.

'Many elk.' He signed in return, bringing his hand upwards to place it against yours as you both cradled your small baby. 'Slept well, I hope. Timber up all night again.' Blue Eyes hesitated for a moment. 'Apology for leaving you all day.'

'No apologies, babies are always up all night.' You always gave him too much grace, Blue Eyes felt like he didn't deserve it at times. Your eyes fell to Caesar as he trotted in, giving you a not-so-stern glance. Five years ago had you thought about your father-in-law being the King of Apes would not have even crossed your mind. But, here you were. He was followed closely by his second son, then Ash and Rocket who went to greet their own family.

You looked down at the grasp that Blue Eyes had on your baby. So soft and gentle like he was afraid of hurting them. The cooed right against your skin in response to sensing their fathers touch, vibrating it gently as Blue Eyes brought his other hand up and cupped the back of your head to kiss foreheads once again.

'Want to hold?'

Blue Eyes did not speak or sign, only nodded as you were careful to untuck your baby from his warm homely nest against your chest, balling himself into a tight knit at the chill that hit him all of a sudden before he was incredibly wrapped into more warmth as Blue Eyes took him - all to gentle in his actions, into his arms, against his chest. Little fists found themselves balled into a thicket of fur. 'Gets bigger every day,' Holding his child in one arm, he used his free one to sign. 'Looks more like you as well.'

A blush hit your cheeks, "Well," You were speaking and leaned inwards to place a hand on your baby's head, twirling your fingers into the thick fur of his head, "I am their mother. I see more of you in him."

Blue Eyes looked down at them. Hazel eyes peered right back up at them, only now coming into their color rounding their 4th month of being here. He looked back towards you, a look of intent in his eyes that left your mouth flying open at the innate and undeniable implications.

'Just gave birth four months ago!' Blue Eyes only stared at you, leaning his head in suggestively, 'I am not getting pregnant again.'

Blue Eyes contemplated for a moment and offered, 'Practice?'

'Would Caesar and Cornelia feel comfortably watching Timber?'

"Can ask," Blue Eyes muttered quietly, finally giving you the taste of his voice that was all to rare, "Sure... They would... not mind watching... Grandchild."

[simp4eshal]

Ballroom

Count Vronsky x poc!reader/OC(Arabella Von Jaga) (but she's mostly reader i just felt more comfortable giving her a name)

warnings: obsessive behavior, angst ??, smut, yearning, fluff, lemme know if i forgot something

In the dimly lit study of his opulent manor, Count Vronsky paced restlessly. His eyes burned with an intensity that betrayed his turmoil of emotions. It had been months since he had last laid eyes on her, months of sleepless nights and restless days spent yearning for the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips. His heart ached with a longing so powerful it threatened to consume him whole. She was his obsession, his raison d'être, and he would stop at nothing to make her his. Her name was Arabella, and she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

He paused before a large mirror, running his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame the wild beast that had taken over his appearance. His once-handsome face now bore the telltale signs of his all-consuming passion: dark circles ringed his eyes, his skin was pale and sallow, and his muscles were taut with unspent energy. Even his once-elegant attire seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, wrinkled and askew.

He could no longer deny it; he was losing his grip on reality. His thoughts were consumed with her, and his actions had become increasingly desperate. He had tried to fill the void with other women, but it was futile. They were but pale imitations of the one he truly loved. Arabella was his sun, his moon, his stars, and without her, he was nothing but a shadow of his former self.

Determined to take matters into his own hands, Vronsky gathered his most trusted servants and issued a decree. He would hold a grand ball in her honor, an extravaganza the likes of which the kingdom had never seen. The invitations were to be sent out far and wide, to every corner of the land, inviting everyone who was anyone to attend. The catch was that the ball would be by invitation only, and the only invitation that truly mattered would be in Arabella's hands.

For weeks, Vronsky's servants worked tirelessly to prepare the manor for the event, transforming it into a veritable wonderland of opulence and excess. Intricate tapestries hung from the ceilings, gleaming chandeliers cast their warm light across polished marble floors, and towering floral arrangements adorned every available surface. A full orchestra was hired to play throughout the night, their haunting melodies weaving in and out of the revelry.

As the appointed day finally dawned, Vronsky paced anxiously before the grand entrance, his heart hammering in his chest. He had spared no expense, had left no stone unturned, and yet he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't enough. He longed for her to be there, to see the depth of his devotion, to feel the weight of his obsession.

Dusk fell, and the first guests began to arrive, their opulent attire casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ballroom. Ladies in shimmering gowns and gentlemen in finely tailored suits mingled amidst the fountains of champagne, their laughter and conversation filling the air. The orchestra played on, the music swirling around them like a living thing, weaving a seductive spell that enraptured everyone within earshot.

Vrronsky paced restlessly, his gaze darting about the room, searching for any sign of her. His heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise, the anticipation almost unbearable. He had invited every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the kingdom, hoping that one of them might know where she was, might have heard a rumor or seen her somewhere. But so far, there was no sign of her.

Hours passed, and the ball reached its zenith. The guests, their appetites whetted by the endless feast and flowing champagne, had begun to let loose, dancing wildly to the orchestra's stirring melodies. Vrronsky, however, could not join in their revelry. His focus remained fixed on the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her.

As midnight approached, he grew desperate. He had to know if she would come, if she would accept his invitation. He spotted a servant hurrying across the ballroom and beckoned him over. The servant, out of breath from running, bowed low. "My lord, a messenger has arrived with a note for you." Vronsky snatched the envelope from the servant's trembling hand, his heart racing. With shaking fingers, he tore it open.

The note was brief, but it was all he needed to hear. In her delicate script, she had accepted his invitation, promising to attend the ball. He read it over and over again, the words losing their meaning as tears of relief and joy streamed down his face. He could feel the weight of his obsession lifting from his shoulders, a lightness in his chest that he hadn't experienced in years.

With renewed vigor, he rejoined the revelry, laughing and dancing with the other guests. He scarcely noticed the envious glances that were directed his way, for he was no longer concerned with the opinions of others. All that mattered was that she was coming, and soon she would be in his arms once more.

As the night wore on, the ball reached its climax. The orchestra struck up a new, haunting melody, and Vronsky could feel a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. He glanced at the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. There, framed by the doorway, stood Arabella, resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, revealing the long, dainty column of her neck. She held a single red rose in one hand, its thorns glinting in the candlelight.

Vronsky's heart skipped a beat as he saw her, and he felt a surge of relief wash over him. She had come. She had accepted his invitation. With a graceful smile, she glided across the ballroom, her eyes never leaving his. As she drew closer, he could see the love and devotion reflected in her gaze, and he knew that she felt it too. They met in the center of the room, and without a word, they began to dance.

The music seemed to fade into the background as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Their hands entwined, their fingers interlaced, and Vronsky felt as though he had found his anchor in the world once more. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and the sensation was intoxicating. She leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and he could feel her breath hot against his skin.

The other dancers seemed to fade away, leaving them alone in their own private universe. Time itself seemed to lose all meaning as they moved together, lost in the music and in each other. Their every touch was electric, every movement full of promise and passion. They danced until the orchestra had finished its final song, until the ballroom was empty and the candles had all burned down to stubs.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Vronsky lowered Arabella back onto the parquet floor and stepped back, his heart racing. She looked up at him with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the heat of their embrace. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely audible above the sound of their labored breathing. "That was... that was perfect."

He smiled down at her, his eyes taking in every detail of her face. Her lips were still slightly parted, her eyes shining with a mix of passion and desire. "I love you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "You are my world, my reason for living."

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, they stood there, lost in each other. Then, slowly, Vronsky bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, before growing more passionate. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and he could feel her respond to his touch, her hips grinding against his.

With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the ballroom and into his private chambers. The candles flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows as he laid her down on the bed. She arched her back as he trailed his fingers down her neck and over her breasts, helpless and full of desire at the same time.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as they tore off each other's clothes. Vronsky kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his trousers, revealing his aroused length. He positioned himself between her legs, feeling her hot, wet folds against his skin. With a growl, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She cried out in pleasure, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, driving deep inside her with each thrust.

Her body arched off the bed, meeting his each stroke with a grinding of their hips. Their sweat-slick skin slapped together in a rhythm that grew faster and more frenzied. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, and the candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced across their entwined forms.

As they moved together, lost in the intensity of their passion, Vronsky felt a building pressure deep within him. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, as he struggled to find release. He felt her body tense beneath him, her muscles clenching tight around him, and with a hoarse cry, she shuddered violently in his arms. Her inner walls gripped him tight, and he felt himself spill inside her, his climax overwhelming him in a wave of pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together, his weight pinning her down. For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, their hearts racing. Then, slowly, Vronsky rolled off of her, their entwined limbs separating with reluctance. He looked down at Arabella, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving, and felt a surge of love and possession course through him.

"You are my everything," he murmured, trailing his fingers down her stomach and over her hip. "My reason for living, my reason for breathing. No matter what happens, I will always be yours."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at him. "And I will always be yours," she whispered, her voice still husky from their passion. "Forever."

Vronsky felt a shiver of possessiveness run down his spine at her words. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, and breathed in the sweet, feminine scent that clung to her skin. "You are mine, and I will never let you go," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one else will ever have you."

Their eyes locked, and he could see the heat of desire burning in her gaze. She reached up, tracing a finger down the line of his jaw, her touch sending shivers through his body. "I belong to you, Alexei" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I always have, and I always will."

[pursuitseternal]

“Bites in the Night: Part 4” returns hotter bloodier than ever: a series of nsfw Astarion x Reader on the road

“Let me have that sweet ambrosia, my love…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 2.7K of Period sex 🩸

Summary: Remaining behind to loot your enemy, the moon is full. Your belly aches. He smells it instantly, the feast between your legs, and he just has to do something about it, for his sake and for yours.

CW: (tasteful) period sex, a ravenous vampire rogue, very attentive care and comfort, blood kink, NSFW, a bloody feeding frenzy for Astarion

A/N: Ambrosia: Ancient Greek for menstrual blood and the perfect Vampire meal😈🩸

Read here if you prefer AO3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Night is falling, and you are nowhere near the rendezvous point. Your back, your ass, and everything in between is killing you. Astarion had to insist on looting that enemy camp. He left no chest unopened, no stone unturned. You sniff in mild irritation. Fucking rogue.

Your horse begins to slow, another thing he insisted on keeping as spoils. Two beautiful mounts to hurry back on your journey. The rest of your party is half a day ahead, but you should have been there by now.

You turn in your saddle, eyeing the packs of loot on the rump of your brown mare, and the equal amount on that beautiful black stallion your vampire rogue rides on behind you. His eyes meet yours, his mouth twisting in that irritating smirk that drips with sex. “It is quite the view, you know, watching your ass shift and bounce with every step…” his voice is loud, sultry and daring.

When it’s just you two, he hides nothing. Every little dirty thought or suggestion, he proudly voices. In fact, it’s why you’re running late. Your roguish lover insisted on replenishing his strength after the fight almost the instant you two were alone. He fed well, not to mention you just had to help each other burn off your blood running hot after battle. Nothing a quick rut in the forest didn’t fix.

But now you paid for it, your belly aches from

How deep he had taken you, the folds of your cunt swollen and sore from roughly fucking in the dirt.

You tut your tongue at him before turning back around in your seat and urging your horse forward. Faster.

But now your belly burns. Looking into the sky through the trees, you begin to see the world growing dim, bathing in the light of a full moon. That’s when you swallow.

Oh.

It isn’t just from being fucked hard after battle that your belly is sore. You look down at the tan of your saddle, your suede breeches. And sure enough, they darken.

Blood.

You groan.

And of course, Astarion knows. He urges his horse alongside yours now, brows furrowed. “I smell blood, darling, yours no less…”

You reign in your mount. This little clearing among the pines will have to do. “It’s nothing,” you shrug. You pull your cloak over your shoulder, hiding your lap from his crimson prying eyes. “You see to the tent, I’ll tend the horses. We can camp here for tonight.” You’ve decided.

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we simply ride….” he begins to argue, but the way your face screws in hot irritation makes his mouth snap shut. He arches a single brow, but he mumbles his acceptance. He slides from his horse, beginning to unlatch the bedrolls and packs from his stallion. He eyes you suspiciously when he thinks you’re not looking, but you are taking your sweet time, waiting for him to leave before you slide off your saddle. Knowing it’ll reveal the mess you have made.

At last he carries armfuls of equipment away. But you know you don’t have long. You dismount rapidly, grabbing a rag and some saddle soap, trying to work the stain from the leather.

You hurry, but you’re not fast enough. His hand comes to rest on yours, pinning you mid-swipe with the rag in hand. You watch him lean towards the leather, his nostrils flaring and his eyes observing the spots of red on the cloth. He cocks his head, a single finger slinking to lift your cloak ever so slightly. Just enough to show the stains that darken the tan of your breeches.

“You smell of blood, of ambrosia, my darling,” he purrs. Fingers now claw around that edge of your cape, holding you fast in place.

“It’s just the moon,” you grimace, trying to pull away. “Just my monthly bleeding. Nothing so delectable.”

You ache, eyeing the tent he has pitched with ridiculous speed.

But his hand only grips tighter and pulls you harder. “Darling,” he breathes, heavier than before, and you look into his eyes, they catch with the moonlight and glow their deep crimson. You watch his chest heaving, slowly but noticeable. “What am I?”

“You…” you scan him. Every muscle in his body is taught and ready to spring. Pupils dilated. Cock already bulging from his trousers. “You’re aroused?”

“Darling, what… am… I?” now he growls, his finger pointing to the two scars in his own ivory neck.

“Vampire,” you exhale, never feeling more like you are trembling before a blood-sucking monster than now.

“And what are you?” he pushes, raising the stained cloth, covered in your courses and in saddle soap to his nose. Watching him breathe deeply, fairly drooling as his eyes open again.

“Bleeding…” you reply to a look of deep approval from your lover.

“A perfect combination, I would say,” he croons as he tosses the rag at your feet. “Now, you get yourself in our tent, you rest for the slightest moment while I tend to our horses. And then you’ll find yourself in the arms of so much attentive caring, you will beg me never to stop until I’ve had my fill of your ambrosia, darling.”

You shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from his sweet and dirty words or the fact your body is in such turmoil. Slogging your way, you manage to get into the tent, dropping your cloak and immediately reaching to unfurl the blankets and bedrolls, tossing them all over the ground. Your belly aches and your breeches stick uncomfortably. You need them off. The pressure, the stick.

Shimmying them from your waist, you keep your back to the entrance, because somehow you know he’s standing there. Watching and waiting. Maybe it’s the heavy breathing that you notice first. But you finally step out of the soiled pants, turning in nothing but your shirt to come face to face with Astarion. Your hungry vampire. The very picture of famish and yearning.

He licks his lips, eyes almost black, dilated so wide as he looks at you. His lips pull back, fangs bared, the beast barely restrained.

He crosses to you in a split second, faster than lighting, lest you forget he has already feasted on you once today. His mouth ravages yours, suffocating and consuming. As if he feeds on your air, not your blood. Fingers tangle into your hair, angling your mouth perfectly for his tongue to delve into its warm depths. His other hand grips at your back, pressing you flush against him, the hard, cool plane of his body giving you some reprieve. His touch is hard. Commanding. His hips give a little thrust where you ache. Your vision blurs, but not in pain. No, it feels… good. So good. Pushing and thrusting where your body feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

He doesn’t speak, his heavy breathing deafens you, the little growls he makes into your mouth make you somehow feel even wetter between your legs. “On the ground, darling,” he finally rasps into your kiss. One hand grips into your shirt, pulling it off you so swiftly, your skin becomes gooseflesh with it gone.

Astarion moves your body down, letting you spread yourself over his hips, sprawling himself across the haphazard bundles of blankets. He hushes you softly, “Shhh, my love. Now, you just close your eyes, and I’ll tend to everything. Every little drop of your delicious blood will be mine… if you wish?”

You nod; “Yes,” you breathe.

Large, cold hands grip into your ass, urging you forward from where you straddle him. His tongue is already licking his lips. Splaying your hands on the ground, you let him move you, your drenched cunt a banquet he will savor. You feel him as he licks you so rapidly. Wet everywhere as he centers you over his hungry mouth. Then, he really, truly feasts.

You cant your hips, both hands splayed on the ground as his grip keeps you pinned over his greedy mouth. Your arms shake, your body growing more and more rigid, taught and building and ready to burst.

He gives a light slap on your cheek, making you twitch as his tongue dives right into the center of your channel. Palms cupping you, his tongue slows its lick, languorous now, exploring more than cleaning. Attentive, exquisite pressure catching and swirling in all the right places. His hold on your rear eases, letting you swivel and buck as he licks you, your belly aching in more familiar ways. The clenching of your muscles, the throbbing in your core wants more than just to be cleaned and fed upon.

You clamber off of him, the sight of blood on his chin not unfamiliar, but that greedy, irascible glare makes your blood run cold and hot all at once. He sits up quickly, eager and hungry as he licks his bloodied lips. He will pin you down and keep feeding unless you take control, you see it in his eyes. In the ferocious appetite that claws beneath that hard, flirtatious exterior. You see it in the way his hands clench and open as he scans every inch of your flesh.

But you know what you want, what you need next. Hands tug his shirt from his waistband, pulling it from his ivory skin. “Gods, I’ve never wanted to feel you inside me more than now,” you breathe, one hand bunching the fabric of his shirt.

You use it to wipe the blood from his chin, revealing the dramatic pout of his lips. “Darling,” he tries to purr, but his voice is thick in his throat, edged with the gravelly tones of his appetite, “I was saving that for later.”

“Not if you are going to kiss me as you fuck me, my love,” you offer as lightly in reply as you can.

It makes him smile, wickedly and brimming with delight. His hands already unlacing the band of his breeches, he moves with that near-supernatural speed in his fingers. Before you even can laugh, he is on top of you, the cold, heavy weight of his body stealing your breath. You gasp to feel his cock already straining, pressing at your aching entrance. All that blood, that arousal that pools there, it makes it so easy for him to slip right in.

Groaning, he takes you, merciless, your cunt engorged. Swollen from your courses, he thrusts harder into you, filling you with the delicious drag and pressure of his cock. It presses, hard, straining against the way every muscle inside you clenches. Astarion watches your face, cautiously scanning for your every reaction. He smirks, relishing how your eyes roll and flutter, savoring the feeling of your hips bucking to take every single one of his rapid thrusts somehow deeper into your warm bliss.

He groans, his forehead coming to rest on yours, hand clutching with command into your hair. “I want to feed, my love, I want my mouth on any and every part of you,” he growls, the chill of his breath passing between your lips from where he hovers.

“Yes,” you moan, “yes, anywhere. Everywhere.”

His hand in your hair pulls you slightly, his teeth in your neck again before you even have a chance to finish your words. You shudder, feeling his taught body dancing on the edge of his control. But for as quick and hard as his fucking is, his mouth is tender on your neck. You twist to face him, catching his mouth with yours. You don’t even care as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your body is warm and numb and cradled, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his cock pummels your cunt.

So swollen, so full, so overcome, you can’t even tell when your climax begins to consume you, not until you are screaming into his mouth and clacking your teeth against his fangs. Not until your legs buckle and clutch around his hips. And not until your muscles clench harder than they ever have, even as he persists with his thrusts. His breath heavy in your mouth, grunting with each dive into the wet that comes pouring out of you. His head throws back, and you watch his own wave of ecstasy claim his pale, handsome features. His face tweaks in painful pleasure, and you watch those glowing eyes beam down at you as he eases from his climax, the smile on his mouth covered in equally crimson blood.

You breathe deeply, hand brushing gently to his neck to bring that mouth against yours once more. His kiss is tender—satisfied and soft. “Feel better, darling?” he purrs with a caress of his icy fingers against the flush of your face.

“Much,” you breathe, still relieved at the pressure of his cock deep inside you. “Thank you,” you give a little list of your hips.

“Really, darling, it is my pleasure,” he smirks, heavy lidded eyes regarding you with such intensity. Again. “There is nothing more delicious than you, my treat. I could gobble you up all night…” he taunts, a hint of mischief playing over the lines of his face. “Now, you rest, and let me tend to the cleaning…”

You look at the mess, at your bloodied clothes, relaxing to merely have to rest. He slides from you, and your body goes limp the moment he withdraws that prodding and massive length from your walls. But even as sleep begins to claim you, you feel that wet mouth lapping at you again.

Groaning, you glance between your legs, his face buried deep as he does, in fact, tend to the cleaning.

You drift off anyway, his tongue far less instant than before. But even as you rest, overcome in exhaustion, you stir hour to hour. Stirring every time he comes back to your thighs to feed again. And again. Until finally, sometime during the night, you shut your legs tight, hand reaching to shove him away. “Not until dawn,” you groan as you roll back over.

He only giggles, low and deep in his chest. His cold body lays behind you, hard and unyielding and comforting as you let the waves of sleep take you again deep into their embrace. As you rest, wrapped in his arms.

The moment light breaks, grey dawn filling your tent, a hand spreads your knees apart, throwing one leg’s sleepy weight over his shoulder as he laps and sucks from you again.

“True to my word, darling, I have waited until daylight,” he whispers, breath passing over your still aching mount.

You try to sit up, but a hand presses down on your still swollen belly. You sigh. “We will have to get moving, my love, if we are to meet the others…”

“Oh, my treat, you are in no condition to travel,” he croons between wet slides of his tongue up your thighs. “The others will just have to understand…”

“But…” your words are silenced the second his tongue delves back between your folds, making hard little circles over your clit.

“You are in no condition to have me let you out of my bed, darling,” he replies, hand pressing one leg lower against the ground, opening up your wet slick even more. “It would be dangerous to have you traveling with so much blood… You never know what monsters out there might scent you and try to claim it for their own.”

You give a scoff from your dry throat. “Like a vampire…” you groan as his tongue returns to pleasure you again for a moment.

“They, my pet, are the most demanding of all.” He grins at you, from between your legs again. “Tch,” he sucks his teeth, taunting and arrogant and handsome, “you should know better by now.”

“You are a demanding beast, you know…” you moan before you can finish your words.

“You should see me… if you were to deny me my feast, darling…” he replies between swirls of his tongue. “Now, hold still and let me have that sweet ambrosia, my sweet.”

Hips bucking a bit, letting him in deeper, you relax, luxuriating in his bed. For who are you to deny your vampire such a feast.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Other “Bites”

Part 1: “Go back to sleep, darling…”

Part 2: “You’ll have to keep quieter than that…”

Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Ascended Astarion x Reader: “The Rogue You Were”

[undyslady]

Behind The Wall

Undertaker (Black Butler) x reader

It was the calmest it had been for weeks, since the case of Jack the Ripper was solved by the child Earl, less "guests" had entered the doors of the parlour owned by your beloved.

Over the last couple of days, where you had more free time than you wished, you had noticed the state of the parlour. Spider webs, dust on every single surface and you could swear you saw a cockroach speed across the room once.

After a very long scolding to your beloved about the hygiene of the place to which you got a laugh in return.

"Oh my dearie~, you certainly were hilarious with your expression just now!" he had stated, a manicured index finger resting in between your furrowed eyebrows, presing on them signaling you to relax them.

You had scoffed and rolled your eyes, calling him a "bastard.." which you knew he heard by his small snicker and went to gather cleaning supplies.

"If he will do nothing then I will..." not that you expected him to do anything, no man would lift a finger to do such "women assigned jobs" like cleaning.

For the next 3 days, you spent your day cleaning, still finding the energy to throw insults at Undertaker about his lack of care about the place while huffing and puffing due to exhaustion.

You left no place untouched, nothing unturned and you got a pat on your shoulder for each room cleaned, it wasn't you patting yourself in the back, it was your lover.

He'd bother you in the middle of the cleaning, of course he would. To stupid questions :

"Do you think this little guest of ours looks better in red or green, my dear ?"

And to lingering touches:

"Well we haven't spend too much time together lately~~ " he'd chuckle , "I'm only a man, I need my lover's affections!!"

All of which, were ignored by you ,of course.

Cleaning had revealed spaces in the parlour you never knew existed, that might be the explanation why you found yourself pushing against a wall.

You had noticed a crack, one that seemed perfectly sculptured.

Your curiosity growing, you had been pushing at it, convinced your eccentric lover had a secret room, probably full of dead bodies, you had thought in joke.

As a joke, of course!

Yet when you gave it one final push, the wall moved and you almost fell to your knees.

Entering the dark place, desperately trying to find a lamp to light, you brushed past a coffin , accidentally making it fall over, causing a noise you were sure, your beloved would hear.

Cursing , you reached further to find a lamp and light it. Once the room was in view you squinted your eyes and looked around.

A small gasp left your mouth and somewhat dissapointed you looked at multiple closed coffins , alongside the one you knocked over.

"Well, not so entertaining now, are we?" you chuckled, expecting something more eye catching from your lover.

You strolled around the room, looking over the coffins, they all seemed the same aside from the one you dropped.

That specific one was blue, with black tape around it, which proved useless since it ripped by the fall, you made a note to tell Undertaker later.

While examining the coffins in front of you, you heard noises behind you which you ignored and called out

"I didn't know you'd hide this from me, what else could you be hiding, love ?"

However, when you didn't receive a reply you turned around to find a small child, rising from the coffin, teal hair and a rather rich outfit.

Upon turning around to face you, you could clearly make out the great resemblance he had to the Phantomhive child.

"My Lord-" you were cut off as he lunged at you, ripping a scream out of your chest as you stumbled back, falling on your bum.

Waiting for an attack, only silence engulfed your trembling figure, until it was broken by a familiar snicker.

"Hehehe~, your screams are ever so pleasant to hear, I do find myself glad at your clumsiness, if not for the coffin dropping, you'd be done for!! " and in all of his glory, there stood Undertaker, looking down at you, his hand gripping the Earls head with too much force, you'd deducted.

"You becoming one of my dolls...." he paused to think " I cant say that will please me, I do adore you as you are, even with your temper, dearie"

"What are you-....what is this??" You took a deep breath "What is the Earl doing, is that even him? This is not normal human behaviour??" Your voice rose with each question.

" Ah my dear, this is just a hobby of mine, and this.." he pushed the "Earl" towards you " is the Earl....oh! But not the Earl you know , my dear, I'm sure he's being the same temperamental child he is as we speak." a manic smile in his face. Not that you minded those, they were quite...pleasant to you usually but the situation did not encourage such feelings at the moment.

"Undertaker.....what is this ? Why is he like this and what is he doing here ?" You exhaled shakily, unable to process anything.

"Ahhh, as I said, a little hobby of mine, let me introduce you two" he grinned, dragging the boy by his hair and stuffing him in the coffin and closing it.

" You see, my dear...this is the Earls twin. The one that died years ago, but as you probably are thinking, he doesnt seem quite dead, does he ?" He approached you, in return you moved away. An action so simple, but you needed not see his eyes to know that he was frowning.

He cleared his throat and continued " I simply...experimented on him! I could not bear to loose another Phantomhive" he giggled, crossing his arms.

Making his way towards you, he grabbed your chin and looked at you "I do doubt, however that I would have started this hobby of mine if I had met you earlier" he tilted his head, grabbing you by the arm and hoisting you up.

His arm snaked around your waist as he held you tightly against him, his other hand grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and turning your head to the other coffins.

" In all of these coffins, there is a dead body that you, my dear have probably seen come in as one of our guests" he stated, "it was quite helpful that most of these people were not cared for enough to have funeral, it made my job easier" he chuckled lightly, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"A man must have hobbies, right ?" He brought your face up as he glanced at you, his emerald eyes piercing through your soul.

"You're sick..." you whispered at him, tears swelling in your eyes.

He was a lie. The idea of him was a lie. Everything you loved about this man was a lie.

How could he ?

"Oh my dearest love, I knew you'd act this way, but fret not, I'm sure you'll come around." He said quietly "you love me too much dont you ? You must accept me the way I am , just as I have accepted you despite your mortality"

Mortality? What sick shit is he thinking ?

"Wha-" your cheeks were squished together harder.

"AH ah! No more questions until your mind opens to my little...hobby! " he exclaimed, giggling at your face.

You did not want this.

You wished this was a dream

No.

A nightmare.

Wake up, you told yourself.

Please...wake up.

If only you didn't let your curiousty win. If you had just cleaned what you could and went on about your day, you would've been content loving a liar.

"Curiosity killed the cat, dearie~" he snickered " and this time, satisfaction did not bring it back~"

You could not think straight, everything you felt for, believed and lived for, shattered by the mere revelation of the activities that happened in the same roof you lived and worked. You did not know the man you shared your home with, the one you shared the last couple of years with yet you knew him enough, you knew the part of him that was calculating , he would have never let the crack on the wall be that visible.

No.

He was too good for that, he intended for you to find this room and he let you find it with a sick grin.

He knew he'd shatter you, and he decided to shatter you despite the smiles you gave him this morning, but fret not, he'll be there to bring those smiles back again, he'll make sure of it.