#that are just brown enough to be brown but are black enough to look black???

[fullflowerking]

A. Removing my name because some of you can't behave 😁

B. I don't remember my wings that well, but definitely closer to a lighter shade. Perhaps bronze or sandy brown

C. I was a lower ranking angel, tasked with observing humanity. Not intervening

D. See above

E. I didn't fall, I reincarnated to earth as a human being and I still consider my species to be an angel

F. I remember being in a beautiful garden at some point. My mind felt light and airy, and I "felt" things around me with spatial awareness instead of objectively viewing it. If you asked me to describe a single plant or creature in this garden I wouldn't be able to.

G. I resonate with the element fire because I was born in December. My dad was sick with cancer when I was born, and they told him he might not live. After I was born, he got better. I always attach this to the transformative power of fire, and my angelic abilities are still attached to me in utero.

H. I'm a biblical angel, so I guess more likely the Christian god. I don't remember him though, just a faint memory of Him being present.

I. I feel I became confined to earth after observing humans for so long. I think at some point I wanted to be involved more than I was, so I decided to join.

K. The advantage of being an angel on earth really depends on your definition of an advantage. My definition is having more freedom, being able to touch, see and experience the world like a proper mammal rather than like a divine being. You miss out on a lot when you lack the 5 senses.

L. A disadvantage. There are many. When you're an angel, you don't get tired, you don't need to go to the bathroom, you don't need to eat. Suddenly all these things that make you human become an exhausting task that you have to be involved in, all the time. There are more, but I want to keep this short.

M. I was around during the holy war. The crusade before crusades. I remember a few angels starting to feel less angelic over time, and it was like a ripple effect amongst the loyal. Suddenly, the side I was on with my brother Michael felt less and less like the winning side, and more like the side you pick when there's no better option. I desired the same freedoms as the other side but I suppose I was too cowardly to take it.

N. No one around me knows my identity. I feel like it's unnecessary to tell anyone. I can never go back to what I was. The best thing I can do is live my life as heavenly as I can in my current life.

O. Funnily enough, I started suspecting i was something more at a very young age. I didn't know quite what. I remember having mental shifts in the church growing up, and having visions about winged creatures when I was around 10. I discovered angels outside of the Bible and for the first time I felt like these things were the best thing I could use to describe myself.

P. Lol. I was hoping this question would come up. O fortuna is at the top of my list. It always gives me chills. Any songs in Latin or slavic-based languages always makes me go into mental shifts.

Q. To feel angelic, I watch movies with angels in them, read books with angels in them, exercise and ride my bike to just feel the wind against my face. I go to the park with a long black coat on and listen to music, and just watch people. Sometimes I talk to them, but not often because I can be quite introverted.

R. See above. I also veil on occasion, especially when I'm around religious buildings or graveyards or when meditating. (I do not pray to the Christian god)

S. I'm not repelled by religious buildings. I'm also not attracted to them. But when I step inside a place that has been cleansed, anointed or used for worship, I can get mental shifts and my vibration raises to the point that I believe that religious figures and children can feel.

T. Good question. Unfortunately I don't know what my halo looked like. I'm assuming it was closer to light than a physical object, maybe light that my divinity gave off. Like a rainbow spectrum or pure white. 🤷‍♀️ no clue.

U. If I did, I don't remember.

V. Not prophetic dreams, but I've had vivid dreams and nightmares about snakes, naked human beings, violence, starvation and fire. I have had many dreams of what I believe to be pre-flood events on earth, where animosity & disbelief became more rampant between Him and humans.

W. Nope

X. Anywhere that has a beautiful garden. I also like fountains, aquariums, the forest and jungle

Y. Nope

X. I remember being in Europe at some point. I don't know exactly where, I just remember hearing some francophone language being spoken, and there was a lot of political unrest. Unfortunately, the details were never that important to anyone, and as I've mentioned before, I didn't see things the same way as an angel as I do now. My best guess would be middle ages or less. They seemed to be very complicated with the Catholic church back then.

I hope you enjoyed my answers as much as i enjoyed answering them

Angelic Ask Meme

I’ve been meaning to make one of these for a while…send some to my ask, and feel free to reblog!

A-what is your angelic name? B-what did your wings look like? C-what are you an angel of? D-what order or rank of angel are you? E-did you fall? If so, why? F-describe a random angelic memory G-what element/s do you align with? H-do you remember or follow any gods? I-do you know or suspect why you are earthbound? J-what other angels were you close to? K-an advantage to being an angel on earth? L-a disadvantage to being an angel on earth? M-were you around during the war? If so, what side were you on? N-does anyone irl know you’re an angel? O-how long have you known you’re Angelic? P-what is a song that reminds you of being angelic, or of an angelic memory? Q-what is something you do to feel angelic? R-have anything you wear that makes you feel like your angelic self? S-are you attracted to places of worship, or repelled by them? T-what did your halo look like? U-any angels you had a rivalry with? V-ever have any prophetic dreams, or things like that? W-are you an empath/psychic/medium/etc? X-any places on earth that remind you of home? Y-ever had irl contact with other divines in this life? Z-have any past earthbound life memories?

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends au where Eddie's mom, Elizabeth Munson, is hired on as Steve's nanny when Steve turns four.

Elizabeth may not have the best reputation in town, but she went to school with Linda Harrington before she threw her life and money away on Al. She was young and foolish and thought he loved her like she loved him. It hurt to be proven wrong, that he loved her modest saving account more than he could ever love her, but at the end of the day, he gave her Eddie, so she carries on.

Linda had known her from before she met Al. They weren't ever friends, but Elizabeth was from a nice lower middle-class family and had long black curls that the other girls could admire. Not popular by any means, but someone who could be partnered up with Queen Linda for a history project without heads turning. Linda also knew from health class that Elizabeth was good with kids, so it's not a complete surprise when she gets a call asking if she'd like to nanny her 4-year-old son, Steve, for the foreseeable future so she can return to work with her husband.

The Harrintons are a wealthy couple, for Hawkins Indiana at least. In the grand scheme of things Richard's position as one of many property realtors in a major corporation keeps them comfortably in the upper middle classes, but the dollar stretches almost twice as far in the sleepy parts of Indiana.

Still, to Elizabeth who has never known more than a modest three bedroom and little Eddie who has never lived outside the tin walls of the trailer park, the Harrington home seems like a mansion fit for a king.

Or in this case, a little prince.

Steve is a sweet little boy, if a little bratty the first few times Elizabeth has to tell him no. When she first comes to the house to be briefed on all Steve's needs and how the house runs, he clings to his mother's perfectly pressed skirts and looks up at him with big brown eyes that remind her so much of Eddie's, full of barely contained curiosity. It doesn't take long after she introduces himself to him, stooping down to say hi and shake his little hand, for him to lose all that shyness and start, trying, to ask her questions. He's not at a place where he can use full sentences, but he makes do with pointing and the words he does have.

It's easy to see that Linda doesn't know how to interact with Steve, telling him more than once to let the grownups talk and to stop holding her skirt. Elizabeth doesn't say anything though, it's not her place and she could really use the job. Edde is sprouting up like a weed, and her previous income from the diner wasn't enough to get him all the things he needed. The Harringtons, for all their faults, are offering her more than a fair salary to look after their son.

The next week, she brings her and Eddie bright and early to make sure they get there just as the Harringtons head off to work. Elizabeth knows Richard wasn't keen on Eddie coming with her, probably not wanting his son to associate with a child he sees as lesser, but Elizabeth quickly realized that matters of the home like childcare were left to Linda's discretion, and she hadn't seen a problem with it.

Steve is waiting for his mother on the front porch, clutching her hand as hard as he can. When Linda pries his hand away he starts to snivel and cry, but to Elizaeth's surprise, he doesn't start to wail and scream. The first time she had to leave for work Eddie just about had a complete meltdown, not understanding where his mom was going or why he had to stay with his Uncle Wayne. Steve stays quiet, muffing his cries in a way that tugs at her heartstrings.

She takes his hand and guides him inside, holding back from scooping him up in her arms like she would Eddie to sing him a song and dry his tears. Something tells him the Harringtons wouldn't appreciate that.

So he waits, watches their car depart from the open doorway, and once she's sure they're completely out of sight she swoops down to hold him in her arms. The act opens the floodgates. Steve starts really crying and wailing into her arms, asking for his mama and clutching hard at the sleeves of Elizabeth's blouse.

That's when Eddie steps in, placing his hand on Steve's shirt and rubbing clumsy circles on the younger boy's shoulder. Eddie's not five quite yet, has about four more moths to go, but he's talking much more than Steve is and seems to relish in the use of his voice. Right now he's using it to soothe Steve, telling him it's going to be ok and his mama will come back and that they can share his mama until she does.

Then he does the damnedest thing.

He starts singing.

It's the same thing she's always done for him. Every time Al comes home and leaves again, when he falls off the jungle gym at the park, when one of the kids in town points out that his shoes have holes in them and that he must be poor. She holds him close, rubs his tiny shoulder, and sings her favorite Patsy Cline song into his ear.

The three of them stay in the Harrington's entryway for as long as it takes for Steve's tears to dry out, starting this new phase of their lives to the tune of Sweet Dreams.

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Showering with Sunghoon;

Pairing; fem!reader and boyfriend!Park Sunghoon Synopsis; You love showering with Sunghoon. He is the best boyfriend, takes care of you even in the shower, not letting you lift a finger. Not even to wash yourself ;) Genre; Fluff (a bit suggestive) Warning; None (?) Sunghoon is a true GENTLEMAN!! Kinda horny!Sunghoon because you are just too hot (?)

A/N: This is the Sunghoon version of the, 'Bathing with Ni-ki' scenario. When i was writing the Ni-ki one, i already had the idea for this one heheheheh. I can't tell each one of them is my favourite, but... a man like Sunghoon (at least the one in this story) is my dream!!! I hope you guys enjoy it, likes and reblogs are always welcome, thank you so much <3

Also, happy Christmas eve, my loves ♡♡

If there was one thing you loved doing with Sunghoon, it was showering together. Everyone knew he was a gentleman—always opening doors for you, making sure you weren’t cold when you went out, and keeping his eyes on you to ensure you were safe and comfortable. And when you shower together, nothing changes.

Sunghoon knew you better than anyone else. He understood how you always put others before yourself (blame it on being the older sister). So, whenever he could, he took it upon himself to care for you. When you showered together, he refused to let you lift a finger—washing your hair, using all your scalp products, and gently cleaning your skin for you.

So, when he got a text from you saying you’d be taking a quick shower, he rushed home. Stepping into the foggy bathroom, he heard soft music playing—Cigarettes After Sex, as usual. Sunghoon quickly discarded his clothes and approached the shower. Before stepping inside, he paused to admire you.

Your sweet voice carried softly with the music, your head tilted back under the hot water, the droplets cascading down your body like a sculpture brought to life. To him, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he couldn’t be more grateful to have you.

When your back was turned to the door, he finally stepped in. His tall frame came up behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. You jumped slightly in surprise but quickly giggled. You loved it when Sunghoon was clingy.

“You should’ve waited for me…” he murmured into your ear, resting his face on your shoulder as the hot water poured over both of you.

Turning your head slightly, you pecked his cheek. “We have to be quick, baby. I promised your mom I’d meet her at the mall by 3 p.m. We’re picking out new things for her kitchen,” you explained to your handsome boyfriend. Then, you turned around fully to face him.

The water had completely soaked his hair, and he ran a hand through it, pushing it back. You gazed into his eyes, captivated by the view in front of you. His pale skin was drenched and shining before your curious eyes.

“Why didn’t she call me?” he whined, wrapping his arms around you again, as though he wished he could be under your skin, just to be closer to you.

“I’m the one with the interior design degree…” you joke, resting your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin against yours and the hot water cascading over both of you.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond; he simply kisses your hair and holds you close for a few minutes. The bathroom grows even steamier, the air heavy with humidity. You look up at him, captivated by his handsome features— his big nose, juicy red lips, adorable moles, and the depth of his brown eyes, completely drunk on love.

He gazes back at you with equal intensity, his mischievous fingers trailing along your side, sending goosebumps across your skin. The way you look at him—those beautiful, pleading puppy eyes—are enough to drive him crazy. Slowly, Sunghoon leans in and captures your lips in a slow, loving kiss, his soft lips molding perfectly with yours.

Your arms wrap around his neck as your fingers weave through his black hair, gently pulling. His tongue teases its way into your mouth, and the kiss quickly deepens, turning hungry. The sensation of your wet, nude body pressing against his is intoxicating. You finally pull away for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you both catch your breath.

“Turn around so I can wash your hair,” Sunghoon says in a breathy voice, regaining his composure and focusing on taking care of you. His hands remain firmly on your hips as you turn, your back facing him—a sight that makes him momentarily wish his mom would forget about your plans so he could have more time with you.

Noticing he hasn’t moved, you glance back over your shoulder, only to catch him staring at your body with a sly grin, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter making your skin turn white.

“Hoonie…” you call, snapping him out of his trance. A soft blush spreads across his face as he realizes he’s been caught.

“Sorry, princess, I got distracted,” he mutters in a low voice, quickly reaching for your favorite shampoo to get started.

You turn your head forward, giving him better access to your scalp. When his skilled fingers begin massaging your hair, it feels heavenly. He always has a way of being so gentle yet confident, and it makes your knees weak every time.

Sunghoon has a habit of massaging your neck while washing your hair—one hand steadying your head while the other works on your tired neck muscles. You gulp and bite your bottom lip. Today, for some reason, his touch feels even better than usual, making you momentarily regret agreeing to plans with his mom.

“All done. Let’s rinse you off,” Sunghoon says softly, holding your hand as you turn to let the water rinse your hair. As the warm stream flows over you, Sunghoon notices your quickened breaths.

“You okay there, princess?” he asks with a knowing smirk, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

You don’t answer, just nod, your eyes still closed. After rinsing your hair, he applies a bit of conditioner to your ends, gently scrunching them to enhance your waves. While the conditioner sets, he grabs your loofah, squeezing out some of your body wash before carefully lathering it.

You let him take over completely, utterly under his spell. His hands move with precision and tenderness, washing every inch of you—from your neck and arms to your chest and belly. He even kneels to wash your legs and feet with the same care. You watch him with hearts in your eyes, completely smitten by his loving attention.

When he stands again, you turn around, brushing your hair to one side to expose your back. He resumes his task, one hand holding your waist affectionately while the other traces gentle circles over your skin as he cleans you.

Sunghoon smiles when he’s finished, admiring the way your skin glistens, still covered in bubbles. He leans in to press a quick peck on your lips before turning the water back on to rinse you off. Stepping back, he leans against the cold tiled shower wall, his mischievous eyes tracing the path of the drops as they slide down your body.

Noticing his gaze, you smile and gently take his hand, pulling him under the warm stream. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head against his chest, craving the comforting sensation of his skin against yours. The two of you stay like this for a while, soaking in the moment, until your hair and body are completely rinsed clean.

“Do you want me to wash your hair too?” you ask, looking up at your handsome boyfriend. He returns your gaze with a soft smile.

“No, princess. You can go see my mom. I’ll finish faster if I do it myself,” he says, his thumb caressing your cheek affectionately. You laugh, knowing he’s right. If you stayed, things would likely go far beyond just washing his hair.

“I love you,” you confess shyly, placing a lingering kiss on his perfect lips before stepping out of the shower.

“I love you more,” Sunghoon replies sweetly, his heart swelling at the sight of your radiant smile. “I’ll be waiting for you…” he adds with a playful wink as you close the door, your laugh echoing softly in the steamy bathroom.

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[vhswolf]

McLaren Christmas Dinner | Landoscar x Reader

Warnings: none I think, just a jealous Oscar wanting to go home

It's time for the big McLaren dinner party, the dinner I thought I wasn't going to participate in. I've been dating Lando and Oscar for a couple of months now, it was something that was difficult to know if it was going to be a great idea or an awful one, none of us had done this before, dating one person is hard to imagine two and imagine one of them being your teammate. Even everything being a recipe for disaster, we made it work. But the idea of going to a full on McLaren celebration was off my mind until Lando said we need to have a meeting (a stupid way we had to say that we needed to talk).

"I'm the bringer... bringer? I bring an idea for you two."

"We're listening." I said, cuddling up on Oscar's arm as Lando stood in front of us with a big smile on his face.

"Since we can bring a plus one to the McLaren dinner, what about we bring our girl?" Lando said like it was an obvious idea.

"I agree." Oscar said.

"Agree? Boys, are you guys thinking? That's a bad idea." I said sitting up.

"Why?"

"Because people will want to know who I'm, and you're going to say what? Our girlfriend? I don't think PR would approve of me being girlfriend of one of you."

"We can say you're our mutual friend." Osc said.

"Handsy like the two of you are? I don't see this working."

"You're overthinking it, babe." Lando sat by my side. "First of all, we can keep our hands to ourselves if needed and nobody will be there to out us, because if they do, they lose their job."

"And, they wouldn't believe we got luck enough to date you." Osc said, and Lan nodded.

"Yes, Osc is right and to be honest they think Osc is too boring to even try anything like this."

"I'm listening, Lando."

"I'm not saying it, McLaren people are, and come on, you look like a church boy, Oscar." Oscar rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Whatever, they won't figure anything, love, we promise you."

"This is risky as fuck."

"We just want to show up our girl a little bit, can you please go?"

"I'll go, but if anything happens, you both are the ones going to the PR meetings, not me."

"Deal." They both said together.

I got a gala worth dress, it was one of the Clio Peppiatt ones, and I asked for them to personalize it with a little McLaren logo in papaya, it was so beautiful, popping out in the middle of the whole black and silver dress. Both of my boys in black suits, Oscar with a traditional tie in dark dark midnight blue, and Lan with a black bow tie, both looking like a Disney prince. The two drivers were stopping at every step talking to everyone, I was a bit behind, not wanting to be seen by anyone, but it didn't work for long.

"This is (Y/n)." I heard my name as I was looking around, completely lost in my own thoughts. I looked at them and saw Zak Brown looking at me, so I smiled.

"Hi."

"Hello, nice to meet you." He looked at both boys and back at me. "So, you're friends with my drivers? How come I never saw you?"

"I was never invited to the paddock." I joked and Lando looked at me shocked.

"What? That's not fair!"

"Not a lie, though."

"You two need to learn how to treat a pretty girl, that's why you guys don't have a girlfriend." He shook his head and I chuckled. "You will be very welcome anytime."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, and you two, invite the girl, c'mon."

"We will." Oscar said, looking at me, then Zak walked away. "We never invited you?" Oscar asked and I laughed.

"Sorry, what I was supposed to say? That I didn't want to go?"

"Now you're going, I don't care what you say." Oscar said in a low voice before walking away.

"Uhh, Osc is mad, you're fucked." Lando whispered in my ear.

"Osc!" I called, walking a bit faster to get to him. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not." He is.

"I'm sorry, baby." I whispered in his ear and he looked at me, but didn't say anything. He walked to the bar and Lando put his hand on my shoulder.

"Didn't work, did it?"

"Nope, can you talk to him?"

"I can try, but I won't be getting punished because of you." He said walking to where Oscar was.

"Hello." I hear a voice behind me, when I turned I saw Pato O'ward with a big smile on his face. "I'm Patricio O'ward, but you can call me Pato, nice to meet you."

"Hi, I'm (Y/n), nice to meet you too, Pato." I smiled.

"I never saw you around, I'm wrong?"

"You're not, I'm Lando and Oscar's friend." He nodded.

"I love your dress, you look good in McLaren." He joked.

"Thank you, maybe I'll use more McLaren." He nodded.

"You should." His flirty aura is bigger than Lando's and I thought this was impossible. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you..." Before he finished his question, I felt a hand on my waist, and then another one.

"Hey, Pato!" Lando said smiling. "Everything OK?" Pato nodded.

"Yes, I was just saying her dress is gorgeous."

"I agree." Oscar said, squeezing my waist even more.

"That was all, see you guys around." Pato said and walked away.

"Pato, really?" Oscar said through clenched teeth.

"I was just being nice." I turned to look at them and get away from the touches on my waist. Both men had a drink in their hand, Lando was more in a happy mood than Oscar.

"He wanted to fuck you, you don't need to be nice in this case."

"Osc, it is not like I was going to give him my number or anything."

"Is kinda funny, Osc, did you see his face?" Osc bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress his smile.

"That was nice, but still, no more talking with that womanizer."

"You say it like your boyfriend isn't a womanizer too."

"Former womanizer! Now I'm a family man." Lando said, crossing his arms. Oscar chuckled and shook his head.

"I can't be mad at you for long, can I?" He ran his fingers through my hair and sighed. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby."

"Too much for pretending to be besties?" Lando said looking at the scene. Oscar rolled his eyes and pulled away.

"I want to go home."

"After dinner." Lando said, hugging Oscar shoulders. Osc nodded, and we started to walk off, but not before listening to a person behind us commenting.

"Does Oscar know Lando wants to fuck his girlfriend?" We looked at each other and laughed.

[yogurtkags]

❝ HAPPY ACCIDENTS ❞ — kuroo tetsurou

cw. f!reader, fluff, cliche meet cute, strangers to friends to maybe more down the line — wc: 1.3k~

to cheer @nekomacheercaptain , my giftee ♡ for the hq x reader secret santa by @lale-txt

the winter breeze is brutal.

coupled with the featherlight flutters of falling snow, there’s nothing you want more than a mug of hot coffee, hot chocolate, hot anything. not hot enough to scald, not lukewarm, just right — warm to the touch of your hand and a heat that reaches to the depths of your bones and every crevice.

your gloved hands are shoved into the pockets of your coat, hanging heavy on your shoulders with a nice weight akin to a grandmother’s hug. god knows you need one right now, the colder days haven’t been kind to you and just getting yourself up and out of the house is a struggle all on it’s own. maybe some fresh air will do you some good, but it doesn’t feel like it when the snow’s crunching under your feet and soles of your shoes barely find purchase on the pavement as you take slightly faster but cautious steps towards alchemy’s brew.

the soft chime upon stepping in welcomes you with a sweet tune, the warmth that envelops you causing a sigh to slip out. this place was always a cosy visit no matter the season, a little nook that was a pleasant surprise to find and become your regular caffeine pick-me-up spot. you shoot a smile at the young barista working the counter as she greets you, walking over to a small table which is seemingly the only one unoccupied in a quiet corner.

small items prove difficult to handle with gloves on, let alone dollar bills and change as you fumble with your belongings. dusting away flits of white and gently tugging the fabric off your hands finger by finger, you drop them off on the table and turn around only to bump straight into a firm surface, eyes widening at the flash of jet black before you can stop your movements.

“oof—“ “woah watch ou—“

kuroo isn’t having the best day, well morning, the day just started. emails and emails, did i mention emails, bombarding his inbox and gods it’s his day off, do they even see his out of office notice? surely they can read.

it’s cold out and he much prefers the warmth of his apartment but alas, he is driven by a caffeine addiction. corporate norm if you will. he’s been meaning to try out this cafe since he moved here but he’s been so caught up with everything and everywhere in between that it just became a forlorn thought at the back of his mind, months passing and it still remains an untouched pin on his map.

he needs to step out and put his laptop away from his line of sight before he breaks his personal “no work on my off day unless it’s an emergency” rule, why not take the chance?

so he finds himself at the front of the line of alchemy’s brew, slipping the barista change and a polite smile, turning to find a seat while his hands warm up from a delicious hot drink, head in the clouds and lost in thought. maybe things are looking up.

until he completely fails to see ahead of him and collides into a smaller frame.

“i am so sorry!” you and the unfortunate individual that you ran into blurt out simultaneously, minds in sync to the horror of the scene in front of you, marked not by splotches of red, but a rich brown against tan vinyl.

your eyes quickly scan his clothing, letting out a held breath at its unstained appearance. finally bringing your gaze up to his face, the first thing you note is his very tussled hair, it resembles the ruffled feathers of a bird, or maybe more like a black cat that’s just had its coat aggressively petted and you can’t help but let the corner of your lip quirk up in amusement for just a split second before returning to a concerned frown. poor guy just wanted to have a peaceful morning and a hot drink and you probably ruined it.

what looks like a hot chocolate sloshes in the cup in his hands, slowly coming to a still after the sudden movement just a moment ago. what you assume was once full now stands half empty, and you meet his gaze with a wince, mustering up the most genuine apologetic smile you can, hands twiddling in nervousness.

“really, i’m so sorry about that, i should’ve seen where i was going.” you gesture towards his drink, “can i get you another—“

you visit this place regularly enough that you can easily get a new one for free and having made friends with the barista on shift today. you’d be willing to pay either way, it would be the right thing to do. you just want to move on from this situation as quickly as possible, the stares from the other customers starting to get under your skin.

he’s quick to cut you off with a panicked wave of his hand, “no, no, you don’t have to! you had your back turned to me, you couldn’t have known. if anything it’s my fault really.”

the way his eyes widen and words spill from his lips hurriedly doesn't quell the guilt, and instead makes you double down even more, unable to stop yourself from wanting to make it up to this seemingly sweet soul, lord knows you'd be on the verge of a breakdown if the same thing happened to you. “oh my god please, it’s the least i can do.”

"no, no, no, ok how about this— since we're both alone, or at least i assume you are? correct me if i'm wrong—"

the cafe's unexpectedly pretty busy on this saturday morning, a steady stream of customers and quiet chatter filling the air. there’s something for everyone here no matter the vibe or purpose, a solace standing the in midst of the cold like a crackling fireplace, a sanctuary.

as nice as the place is, you'd think no one in the right frame of mind other than yourself would be willing to get out of their warm bed and come outside in the snow — no one in your circle is at least, and you're certainly not waiting on anyone.

"i am!" you sound almost too chirpy affirming him about that and he thinks you so adorable.

"okay perfect, you can repay me with your company then."

"oka— wait what. are you sure?"

"i promise it's fine, you seem nice and i uh, would like to get to know you! i-if that's what you're comfortable with—" kuroo leaves out the part where you were settling down in the table he was eyeing before this whole thing happened, but he's slightly flustered, usually certain and sure but now thrown into a loop by the pretty girl that crash landed into his day, not that he's complaining. well other than maybe his spilled drink but that’s totally on him.

now that the initial shock is over, meeting his hazel eyes with a smile, you only just notice how pretty they are and compliment the rest of his features well, finally taking note that the man before you is actually very handsome and suddenly you're slightly bashful and even more embarrassed about what just transpired.

thankful that your scarf covers a little bit of your newly flushed demeanor, you nod with a shy smile and eyes averted, "i'd like that."

with a matching grin, he puts his cup down and pulls out a chair for you, and as you try to subtlety squint your eyes to peek at a scribbled name somewhere on his cup, he notices and laughs, a sound you think may be the music to your reddenned ears for the next hour or so. you’re not sure if the colour is still a reflection of the cold or a growing interest in this unnamed man, but who are you kidding, it’s more likely the latter.

“it’s kuroo, well—my name’s kuroo.”

it surprises yourself that as you sit across kuroo, this man that you just accidentally met in the middle of a cafe on a wintry morning, you think that there's nothing more in the moment that you want than to make him laugh again.

gen taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @urslytherin

networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

notes. hi~ it’s been a while~ i’m a little rusty, so cheer, i hope you like this and to everyone out there, happy holidays ♡

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Reader (Vicky)

Rating/CW: fluff, smut, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, oral sex, holiday romance, MDNI!

WC: ~5.2K

Summary: A holiday tale of three Christmases with your neighbor Higuruma.

a/n: As part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve, I wrote this for my secret santa @sassypossum. This is my first Hiromi fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Divider: @arminsumi @mikeykuns

The first time wasn’t planned.

Most people fill their December evenings with bright parties that have too much alcohol and shopping bags, with wrapped presents and spiked eggnog. But not for you. This Christmas night, you find yourself climbing to the roof of your apartment building, a thermos of hot chocolate warming your hands.

The day hadn’t started great—an alarm that never went off, a train ride that was twenty minutes late, and your favorite tea that you’d spent money you would rather not think about had arrived in a package soaked to the bone, destroying the precious herbs inside. Just being in the walls of your own home wasn’t enough.

So now here you are. The city sprawls before you, and blocks of flickering concrete, reminiscent of your Christmas lights before they blew out from a fuse you still can’t find.

You don’t expect to find him there.

Not too tall, standing at the edge of the roof with his back turned. A suit as black as night and wrinkled along the hem, swept back hair fluttering faintly in the chilly breeze. His shoulders rise just slightly and then relax, a plume of smoke curling into the air. You’d seen him around the building enough to know his name—his habits. 

Higuruma Hiromi, a man who consists of late hours fighting endless battles most would consider already lost, exhaustion always clinging to him like a second skin but always sharing a gentle smile when you both brushed past each other in the hallway.

You’d seen him around but barely had the confidence to actually have a conversation. There was something about him that always made you stop short, to open your mouth and then close it again in fear of humiliating yourself just by asking him out for coffee.

“Mind sharing that rail?” you called out, watching him startle slightly before craning his head over his shoulder to look at your approaching form. His small pupils, a deep chocolate brown, focused on you with an intensity you couldn’t quite place, then flickering to the thermos.

“It’s public space,” he resigned but shifted slightly to make room for you. The metal railing was cold against your thin pajama pants as you settled beside him, close enough to smell the tobacco and what might have been a hint of coffee on his breath.

“Rough case?” you asked softly after a few quiet moments, your eyes on the Tokyo skyline as you offered him your thermos. 

Higuruma’s tired eyes look from you and down to the thermos in your hands, hesitation flashing over his features before he pops the cigarette in his mouth and uncaps the lid. “Hot chocolate?” The surprise in his voice is enough to make you smile despite his evasiveness.

“With candy canes,” you add. “Christmas tradition.”

His quiet laugh catches you off guard—a warm and low hitching in the back of his throat that sounds misplaced, as if rusty and remembering how to work. “God, I don’t think I’ve had hot chocolate since…“ he trails off, eyes jumping from building to building in order to remember before giving up.

He pulls a heavy drag instead, turning his head away to exhale the thick gray smoke and take a sip of your drink. The city hums with holiday energy, lights brighter than usual, cars honking louder and longer than necessary.

“I usually work through the holidays,” he says finally, cigarette already half gone. The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy with years of solitary Christmases. Of declining parties and get-togethers and finding company in himself and the bed he collapses into after a long day. 

You don’t know what makes you say it. The serenity in the air. The subtle jumping of your heart when you watch his lips purse and the embers of the butt illuminate the curve of his nose. 

“Well, now you have company this year,” you reply gently, trying to ignore the feel of his fingertips brushing yours when it’s your turn to collect the hot chocolate.

He hums noncommittally; gaze turned back to the city long enough for you to study him. He’s a handsome man with lean features and a strong sense of justice that makes your heart flutter in ways you don’t understand. 

You drink the last of the hot chocolate—the peppermint of the candy cane forming a syrupy concoction at the very bottom that slides along your tongue—but you don’t leave. You stay with him until his cigarette is ash, until the bottom of your thermos is dry, until the December air has painted both your cheeks pink. 

The next day, you don’t speak when you pass in the elevator, but something’s changed—like the first note of a song neither of you knows you are waiting to hear.

Time flies when you become aware of things, and a year passes like seasons through a window. There are glimpses of each other in the elevator, shared cigarette breaks that become a habit, the way you learn to read his different types of tired. Just like that, winter finds you again, this time in the lobby of your apartment building. A convenience store bag is clutched in your hands, fingers shaking with the prospect of what you want to do, your eyes watching the numbers above the elevator tick down.

Maybe he’ll be there again. Resting on the railing, smoking a cigarette with his gaze on the city skyline. Maybe he’ll smile when he sees you, just like he did a week before when you both checked your mail at the same time—brushing shoulders, a joke passed back and forth, his lips breaking into a smile that lingered long after he was gone.

When the doors open, he’s there—suit jacket missing and sleeves rolled to show sinewy forearms. Those small pupils widen slightly at the sight of you, a year’s worth of rooftop conversations living in the space between you, unspoken but undeniably present.

“There you are,” he says casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you cross the threshold of the elevator and slink beside him. The words are simple, but they hang in the air, heavy with an implication that’s enough to still your heart.

The elevator doors slide closed slowly, casting you both in silence, and the subtle ‘ding’ of levels climbed. He turns, leaning one side of his body against the elevator wall, his full attention on you in that intense way you have learned by now is not apathy. 

It didn’t take very long to read him, to pick past the perpetual weary expression on his face to take in the ticks in his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the blinding smile he gives when he gets past that initial few minutes of shyness. That sense of conviction he has for his cases translates to everything else in different ways. And now, it’s on you, a look so intense with something warmer. Something sharper.

“Late night?” you ask, trying your best to cast the room into something else other than your nerves that seem to ooze out of your skin like tendrils. You squeeze the handle of your bag, the plastic rustling faintly in the quiet. His gaze flickers down to your hands, taking in the brand stamped on the bag.

“Always.” That weariness is softer now, worn smooth like a river on jagged stones from all the nights you’ve shared his silence. “I take it you have plans this year?” He nods to the bag in your hand.

You try not to think about the resignation in his voice. You clear your throat, opening the bag for him to peek inside. “If by plans you mean a Christmas cake? Then yes, I have plans.”

The elevator dings again, five stops away from your shared floor. He whistles long and low, pulling a snicker from your chest as he pulls out the cake and turns it in his hands to examine. “You sure you can finish this on your own?”

You scoff, feigning offense and snatching the cake away to shove back in your bag. “I’ll have you know that I have a very insatiable appetite.”

“Is that so?” he asks, dripping with so much suggestiveness that you’re convinced you’re just hearing things. The elevator doors slide open, but neither of you moves. His gaze catches yours, steady and unyielding, and suddenly, the air feels heavier, your chest tighter. 

“I have coffee,” he offers finally, his voice low, deliberate. The words carry so much more—an invitation, a continuation, a year of understanding distilled into a simple gesture. “If you would like company…for your plans.”

He smells like a hint of cigarettes and cologne that makes you lightheaded, but you pull in a deep breath to let the smell fill your lungs, willingly disorienting yourself.

“Sure,” you say gingerly, your voice catching slightly in your throat. He steps aside, holding the elevator door open for you, and you follow him down the hall.

His apartment is exactly as you imagined—case files neat on every surface, the quilted throw blanket on his couch that he had wrapped around you two days ago on the roof, that cheap coffee maker you’ve heard him defend countless times humming in the corner. But there are new details too—a mug you recognize from the combini downstairs, the one you mentioned liking a month ago. Artwork that looks like it came directly from a museum on every wall, adding a quiet sophistication to the otherwise practical space.

You can only take in so many details before he’s moving, kicking off his shoes and taking the bag from you as he walks to his open kitchen. “How about tea instead?” 

He opens one of the kitchen cabinets to display a plethora of neatly arranged glass jars filled with tea bags and loose-leaf blends. The sight surprises you, your breath hitching slightly as he quirks a smile. “You like tea.” And it leaves his mouth as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You do. And the fact that he’s remembered this small detail leaves an electric warmth in your chest that you try not to let show. Instead of responding, you focus on unloading the cake from your bag, carefully peeling back the wrapper without smudging the icing.

Behind you, the quiet clink of jars being opened and spoons measuring tea and coffee into a pot fills the space. There’s a domesticity to it—the ease with which he moves around his kitchen, hovering and reaching around you without invading your space—feels almost surreal. It’s the kind of quiet moment you’ve imagined in fragments, alone in your apartment, in the early mornings when you’re mind is more imaginative than usual, during work meetings that you should be paying attention to. It’s something you’ve thought of, but never quite dared to believe could be real.

When he sets two mismatched mugs on the counter, a tea bag hanging from the one you mentioned, the steam curls between you both like an offering. You look up at him, your heart stumbling over itself at the softness in his gaze. The darkness beneath his eyes is still as intense as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of care painted over his skin that eases your worry.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet filled with the whir of the coffee maker as it cools down and the warmth of the tea between your palms. He cuts the cake evenly, sliding the entire treat between you both and presenting two forks of equal size.

The first bite of the cake is far too sweet, the tea doesn’t have the amount of honey that you prefer, but neither of you seems to mind. The world feels impossibly small—just this kitchen, just this quiet, just you and Higuruma.

He presses his forearms on the counter, leaning on his elbows and tilting his head to regard you. His dark hair flops over one side, wild and ruffling and itching for you to touch. His curved nose only enhances his features to create a devastating concoction of tired beauty.

“You really brought all this just for yourself?” he presses, voice soft but laced with that quiet amusement you’ve come to expect. There’s no judgment in it, just a curiosity—an invitation for honesty that he already knows if you’re brave enough to give it.

You shrug. “I imagined you had the expertise to solve this kind of question on your own.” 

Higuruma snorts, stabbing a corner of his side of the cake. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me,” you playfully hiss, pointing your icing-covered fork in his direction like an accusation.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, unflinching despite the heat, his eyes locked on yours in a silent battle that you’re definitely losing. The cup clinks onto the counter, cutting through the silence.

“You like me.”

Several things happen at once. 

Internally, you’re panicking, heart picking up in speed, stomach coiling with nervous heat, mind screaming at you to abandon ship like a giggling school girl. 

Externally, you narrow your eyes, feigning indifference with all the composure you can muster. “Or, I just thought someone could use a little Christmas.”

If he believes you, you can’t tell. That level of apathy you can read has only taken you so far, and without the experience of working with him, there’s no way you can pick apart the mask of a lawyer who has the answer but doesn’t want to give it away.

But slowly, his brow lifts, something in his expression shifting—warmer, softer. “Someone?”

Your fingers tighten around your mug, the ceramic almost too hot to hold. You bring it to your mouth, stalling with a long sip as your chest tightens, and somehow manage a small shrug. “Yeah. Someone.”

He hums, contemplative, accepting even as he forks a piece of cake and presents it to you like a silent toast. “Well, if I were this someone—which clearly I’m not,” he drones, smirking at your rolling eyes, “then I would say thank you for bringing it to me. And Merry Christmas.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full of something unspoken, something that hums in the space between you like an unsung melody. You hold your fork aloft, mirroring his gesture, and lightly tap the prongs against his.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Outside, the city glows with the soft pulse of winter as Christmas draws to a close, but here, in the warmth of his kitchen, the world feels impossibly still. Just this quiet, just this moment, just you and him. 

Time moves differently again.

Too fast, yes, but now when you’re falling for someone in fragments—in elevator rides with your shoulders pressed together, in text conversations that stretch into dawn, in the way Higuruma’s tired eyes seem to hold more light when they find yours. Another year passes like this, in moments you collect like precious things.

Your apartment feels unusually warm, the faint scent of pine mingling with cinnamon from the candle flickering on the coffee table. Your Christmas tree stands in the corner, a decent height with artificial branches fluffed to their best shape, the entire ensemble still missing the final touch—the ornaments scattered on the table beside two mugs of tea.

You glance at the clock nervously, dusting imaginary lint off your sweater. He’s late, not by much, but enough for you to wonder if he’s had second thoughts. You know you shouldn’t entertain it. Higuruma is more than able to text you should anything come up. But still—

There’s a knock—firm and stead, unmistakably him and your heart drops to your stomach. He’s there, of course, when you open the door—suit jacket gone, dark hair messy from running his fingers through it, tie crooked and loose. His dark eyes meet yours, and the weight of them is both comforting and disarming.

“Please tell me you didn’t put it all together without me?”

You roll your eyes, letting him inside and silently swallowing the hint of tobacco that wafts from him. “Saved the best for last.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to fall into a rhythm. The ornaments vary—some old and sentimental, others newer and playful. He’s careful with each one, furrowing with that harsh concentration as he places each bauble on a branch that seems to hold significance. You both work efficiently, a hum of Christmas music filtering through the air, the warmth from the fireplace warming your toes. When you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the tree, your mind wanders.

You know him better now. Know that he likes his coffee with two scoops of sugar (and a dash of cream when he thinks no one’s watching), how his voice sounds rough with exhaustion after long cases, how he hates when his hair touches the tips of his ears, how his usual detachment melts into something softer when it’s just you two. 

“Before you…I hadn’t had a Christmas tree since law school,” Higuruma muses wistfully.

You glance at him, admiring how the firelight softens the perpetual exhaustion in his features—the glow illuminates his face so you can trace his aquiline nose, the slight darkness beneath his eyes, the length of his dark eyelashes that blink slowly. 

“Not even those years you won bigger cases? Feels like that’s worthy of time off to enjoy the holidays.”

“Especially not then.” He picks up a small ornament, rolling the metal hook between his fingers. “Never seemed important enough to take the time.”

You busy yourself with pinching the flimsy metal hook of a larger ornament, trying to ignore the resignation you saw in his eyes often during those late nights when he opened up to you. Another victory only meant more time to take on another case, another person with the system automatically turned against them in need of his help. Even with the knowledge, there’s something that still twists in your stomach. Spending every Christmas like this—hunched over a desk, buried in work, alone.

You hold an ornament for him—a tiny racing car from your third year of life— wiggling it like a wad of cash before he rolls his eyes and snatches it playfully from your hands. The tree slowly begins to take shape, lopsided and shedding plastic pine needs, but still beautiful in its imperfection. As you both begin to hang the smaller ornaments one by one, you ask, 

“So…before you decided to take on the world, what kind of trees did you have growing up?”

Higuruma pauses, a faded blue bulb hanging from lightly tanned fingertips. For a moment, his gaze drifts, his already solemn expression dipping fractionally, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then he speaks, his voice softer than before.

“Real ones,” he mutters. “Tall ones that shed pine needles all over the floor and made the house smell like a forest.” He places the ornament on a branch near the top, bending the thin metal hook to secure it. “My mother used to insist on decorating it all herself, though. She had this thing about symmetry.” A small, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. “I think I preferred watching her more than actually helping.”

You smile softly, picturing a younger Higuruma sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair probably shorter, eyes smooth around the edges and free of sleep deprivation, observing with quiet curiosity. “What about you?”

“Depends on the year,” you shrug, holding up a Spongebob ornament and inspecting its slightly chipped edge. “Some years, we had fake ones like this. Other years, my family would drag a real one home and spend the next six months vacuuming pine needles.”

His chuckle is low and warm, seeming to drift across the room, wrapping around the tree to warm your skin. For a moment, the air between you feels lighter, more familiar.

The tree glimmers by the time you’re done, a haphazard mix of ornaments and lights that somehow works. As he helps you pack up the empty boxes, Higuruma pulls something from the depths of one—a sprig of artificial mistletoe.

You freeze, hair standing on end as he holds it aloft, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. “Were you planning on using this?”

“Not intentionally,” you murmur, rushing to him and reaching to snatch it from his hands before he tilts it away and dangles it above your heads. The sight of where it is, the implication of what it means, makes your throat dry up quickly.

“Isn’t it a tradition?

“It’s cheesy,” you try to reach for it again and sigh when he raises it higher. “And for someone who hardly pays attention to the holidays, why do you suddenly want to follow tradition now?”

Higuruma grins, and the look of it, the way it makes him seem so much younger and filled with mischief, only makes heat spring to life in your belly. Unwarranted and quickly flaming out of control.

“Because for the past three years, you’ve made sure I follow at least some kind of tradition. You want to try this one too?”

You open your mouth to retort, to tell him that you don’t want to kiss him, and spend the next few nights crying because he doesn’t feel the same way. You don’t want to finally put yourself out there and then be so miserably crushed that you’ll probably find a way to break your lease.

But the words dissolve on your tongue when his free hand cups your jaw, his touch warm and grounding with the faint littering of callus. The space between you shortens, the air thin so quickly you can barely breathe, his lips brushing yours so lightly it’s almost asking the question again.

And because you don’t know if you can wait another year to be in this position again, you close the gap. Your hands twist into the front of his shirt as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss, the weight of three years fizzling into nothing as he wraps his arms around your lower back, the mistletoe dropping to the floor.

It’s not enough for your brain to process before you break apart, both of you breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. 

“Good?” you exhale, the word trembling on your lips.

Those down-turned eyes study you, taking in the curve of your eyebrows, the length of your lashes, and the humps of your lips. He responds by pulling you back into him, his kiss feverish now, mouth pitching against yours until you open with a soft gasp and welcome his tongue.

For as much as he smokes, he barely tastes like tobacco. Your tongue picks up on coffee and spearmint, licking against him and resisting the urge to bite down when the hands on your hips dip past the hem of your shirt, brushing the bare skin of your sides. 

When he pulls back again, the sound he makes in his throat feels as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and one cheek. “Is this okay?”

For a moment, you want to be offended by the question. This man, who you’ve wanted for years, is stopping the very thing you want to ask questions. But when your brain puts two and two together, when you realize that, of course, he’s asking for permission, it only makes that heat in your belly curdle.

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, pulling him into you again. His touch is deliberate yet tender, palms exploring more of your skin and pulling you into him like he can’t get enough. The intensity of the kiss leaves you dizzy, and you barely hold on to his neck long enough for him to hike up your legs and wrap them around your waist. 

The journey to your bedroom is hazy. You register when your back brushes against a wall when he stumbles, a sting in your lip when he bites down. By the time you both fall into bed together, the sheets are cold, your skin naked and flush with his and you blink away the arousal enough to take him in. Despite his outward appearance, Hiromi is beautiful. The sinewy muscle that curves a faint impression of abs, firm pectorals, and lean thighs with a thick line of dark hair that collects where he hangs heavy.

He leans down, trailing soft kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, licking the curve of each nipple before taking them in his mouth one by one. You arch into the wet feel of his tongue sliding down your stomach, nipping down your pelvis as he slides large hands under your thighs and throws them over his shoulders. The sight of him there, between your legs, hair mussed and falling in front of his eyes, sends a rush of heat through your body so quickly that you almost choke on a breath.

“You like me,” you can’t help but tease, exhaling in a fluttering laugh when he snorts and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. It feels as gentle as a promise, flaring in importance as he works his way up, the stubble of his jaw grazing your sensitive skin, leaving a blistering trail of fire in its wake.

“I definitely do.”

Your back, which is already unconsciously arching slowly from the feel of his breath at the apex of your thighs, practically snaps when you finally feel him on you, a cry leaving your throat inhibited. The world seems to narrow on the feel of him, the way his thick tongue moves with unrelenting accuracy, the way his lips press and suck, groaning into your folds when you unleash sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. 

“Hiromi,” you gasp brokenly, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging closer as the tension builds in your core. He hums against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, a vibrating jolt of pleasure shooting through your body. It’s too much and not enough, your breath coming in ragged gasps and pleas as he takes you apart.

When you finally shatter, it’s with his name on your lips, your body shaking wildly as waves of pleasure consume you. Through it all, he doesn’t waver, licking you slowly through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs to work you down.

When he finally pulls away, his lips glistening with your essence and dark eyes fixed on you, there’s an intensity in his expression that steals the breath from your already struggling lungs. He trails wet kisses back up your body, hands picking up what’s missed until his tongue slides back in your mouth again. The taste of you is enough to lick that flame back to life again.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, roughened by desire but laced with unmistakable care that makes your eyes sting.

You nod, your chest still heaving from your orgasm, but the weight of your emotions and the look in his eyes demand words. “Yes. Always, Hiromi.”

Something passes over his features at the sound of his name on your lips, soft and unguarded. He kisses you once more, slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring you. It’s not just want—it’s need, tethered to something deeper that’s been growing between you for years, but you were always afraid you wouldn’t be as strong on his side.

“I need you to know…this isn’t just tonight for me. It’s not just because that mistletoe was in that box.” He swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you…this.”

The words settle between you like the freshly fallen snow that started a few hours ago, soft and weightless but undeniable. For a moment, your chest tightens, a fragile knot of hope loosening into something sure as his gaze searches yours. You cup his jaw, tilting his face so you can look into his eyes through your blurry vision. 

“It’s not just tonight for me either.”

The tenderness in his expression melts into something more charged, more finite—lips claiming yours and tip pressing to your entrance before he carefully slides in inch by inch, his eyes never leaving yours until he’s fully seated inside. It’s overwhelming—pleasure and emotion weaving together to make your body tremble beneath him.

It feels like it takes so much time and none at all for momentum to build between you. The heat of his breath, still tinged with your scent, fans across your cheeks as if he’s memorizing the shape of them. His hands dig into your hips and pull your closer to him, curving his cock with a blissful thrust that makes you see stars.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent as he kisses up your neck. “So perfect, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the meat, yanking him impossibly closer as your throat pitches moan after moan into the hot air of your apartment. Each thrust is slow, deep, and intentional as if he’s trying to show you everything he can’t yet put into words. But you can feel the promise in the way his hips smack against yours. In the way he groans against your lips and swallows your pleas for more.

“I’ll do it right next time,” he whispers. “I’ll take a few days off work. Take you to dinner at the izakaya up the block you’ve been talking about.”

“Hiromi—”

“Three years of wanting you, of pretending—” You can’t answer him, can’t really soothe him when his movements are growing desperate when he kisses you in a way that makes you lose yourself even further. 

You’ll muster up the energy later for another round, but right now, you’re rushing to the finish line, whimpering against his lips that turns into a debauched moan when his fingers find your clit, rubbing slowly despite the frantic clap of his hips.

You fall over first, you can’t help it. The whisper of your name from his lips is enough to yank you over with an embarrassed keen. He follows not long after. It’s not just pleasure—it’s the unraveling of three holidays spent balancing on the edge of this moment. Every rooftop conversation under snow cloud-covered skies, every flicker of shared warmth over tea, every stolen glance and whispered joke—all of it spills out now. It’s every lonely Christmas rewritten in the language of him, of this, of now.

He’s holding you through it as your orgasm pulses through you like its own heartbeat but doesn’t let go. In the quiet that follows, you think of that first night—how you brought him hot chocolate and warmth when he thought he needed neither. His lips press soft kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your fingers. His eyes so heavy with the need to sleep but his actions saying everything but.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something you hope to have a name for in the near future. 

You smile, dragging your fingers up and down his back. That unspoken thing finally becomes tangible, a soft tune creating harmony with the Christmas music still playing in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Merry Christmas, @sassypossum!!!

[httpvomitello]

Request: Snippets of Rhaenyra x son of Daemon and Rhea Royce throughout various stages of life as they grow up and eventually fall in love and their life leading up to the Dance. Reader is the "black sheep" of the family for lacking any and all Valyrian features and has pretty much been forsaken by Daemon who wants nothing to do with him. Mainly just fluff stuff like playing together, Rhaenyra teaching him Valyrian, him showing her around Runestone or her showing him around Dragonstone, supporting each other as they mourn the death of their mothers, flying together, etc.

Hello, hello! Hope you like it ~ ♡

Kindred Souls *���.⁠✧

rhaenyra targaryen x m!reader

Childhood:

The first time Rhaenyra saw him, he was sitting alone in the godswood of Runestone. A boy of six, with unruly brown hair and eyes too bright to belong to a Royce but too distant to belong to anyone else. His shoulders were hunched, his small hands gripping a stick he used to draw aimless shapes in the dirt.

Rhaenyra, barely older, was visiting with her father, King Viserys, and her mother, Aemma. She had grown tired of the formalities of her stay and wandered off to explore. It was the sight of him, this boy so strikingly out of place, that stopped her.

“You’re him,” she said boldly, stepping closer.

The boy looked up, startled but wary. “Him?”

“Daemon’s son,” she clarified, tilting her head. “He doesn’t speak of you much.”

He flinched, his fingers tightening around the stick, but he said nothing.

Rhaenyra sat down beside him, uninvited. “I’m Rhaenyra,” she said, ignoring the tension. “And you are?”

He hesitated before muttering, “(Y/N).”

Rhaenyra smiled, her young face full of warmth. “It suits you. You should come with me. I’m going to explore the cliffs.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, as though trying to decipher her intentions. But then he stood, brushing dirt from his tunic. “Fine. But I know the cliffs better than you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Rhaenyra shot back, already tugging him along.

That day marked the beginning of something neither of them could name but both would cling to for the rest of their lives.

(Y/N) didn’t have a dragon, and for years, he thought he never would. Daemon never deemed him worthy of even standing before one of the Targaryen beasts, let alone bonding with one.

“You’re not less for it,” Rhaenyra said firmly one day as they sat together.

“I am,” (Y/N) muttered, tracing a crack in the stone with his finger. “Everyone else thinks so, even my father.”

Rhaenyra turned to him, her violet eyes sharp. “Your worth isn’t measured by a dragon, (Y/N). If you had one, you’d be unstoppable, but even without one, you’re more than enough.”

He didn’t believe her then, but her words stayed with him, replaying in his mind every time he felt the sting of Daemon’s indifference.

Lessons in Valyrian:

“You’re not saying it right,” Rhaenyra insisted, her nose scrunching in frustration.

(Y/N) sighed, his fingers digging into the dirt beneath him as they sat beneath the shade of the weirwood tree on Dragonstone. “It’s just a stupid language.”

“It’s not stupid,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “It’s our language. You’re a Targaryen. You should know it.”

(Y/N) looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not like you.”

Her expression softened, and she shifted closer to him. “You’re more like me than you think,” she said gently. “Now, say it again. ‘Dracarys.’”

“Dracarys,” he muttered, the word awkward on his tongue.

Rhaenyra grinned. “Better! Now, if only you had a dragon.”

(Y/N) snorted. “I’ll take a hawk over a dragon any day.”

“That’s because you’ve never flown.”

“And you’ve never had to clean hawk droppings out of your hair.”

Adolescence:

When Rhea Royce died, (Y/N) didn’t cry. He simply disappeared. Rhaenyra found him hours later, hidden away.

He was sitting on a ledge overlooking the sea, his knees pulled to his chest and his face blank.

“(Y/N),” she called softly, approaching him.

He didn’t turn, but he didn’t tell her to leave either.

She sat down beside him, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she said, “You'll always have my support, you know that, right?”

(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “She was all I had,” he said, his voice raw. “And now she’s gone.”

“You have me,” Rhaenyra whispered, her hand covering his. “You’ve always had me.”

He looked at her then, and the tears he had been holding back finally fell. Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he wept.

Flying Together:

“You’re scared,” Rhaenyra teased, her hair whipping around her face as Syrax shifted beneath her.

“I am not,” (Y/N) shot back, though his hands clung tightly to her waist as he sat behind her on the dragon’s saddle.

“Then stop squeezing me so hard,” she said with a laugh.

Syrax took off in a burst of movement, her powerful wings carrying them high into the sky. (Y/N) gasped, his grip tightening even further, but Rhaenyra only laughed harder.

“Look!” she called over the wind, pointing toward the horizon. “You can see all of King's Landing from here.”

(Y/N) dared to open his eyes, and the sight took his breath away. The city stretched out beneath them, the sea glittering like molten silver in the sunlight.

“It’s beautiful,” he admitted.

Rhaenyra turned her head to smile at him. “Told you.”

Confessions:

They were older now, the years having shaped them into who they were meant to be. Rhaenyra, bold and determined, the Realm’s Delight. (Y/N), steady and fierce, the forgotten son who had carved out his own place in the shadows.

It was late, the two of them sitting by the fire in Rhaenyra’s chambers. The flames danced in her silver hair, casting her in an ethereal light that made (Y/N)’s heart ache.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, breaking the silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the fire.

“About what?”

He hesitated before finally meeting her eyes. “About how I’ve always felt like I didn’t belong. Until I was with you.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, and she reached out to take his hand. “You’ve always belonged, (Y/N). You just needed someone to remind you.”

He smiled faintly. “You’ve been more than a reminder. You’ve been my everything.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, years of unspoken feelings pouring out in that single moment.

When they finally pulled away, Rhaenyra rested her forehead against his. “It looks like you know how to kiss.” she provoked.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but a huge smile was on his lips. “I say the same about you, princess.”

Dance Of The Dragons

As the realm fractured and war loomed on the horizon, (Y/N) stood by Rhaenyra’s side, his loyalty unshakable. They had faced every storm together, and now, as the winds of the Dance began to howl, they would face this one too.

The council chamber of Dragonstone was alive with arguments and heated debates, the voices of their allies clashing as they planned their next move. (Y/N) sat beside Rhaenyra, his presence as steadfast as it had been throughout their lives. He didn’t speak often in these meetings; his strength lay not in politics, but in his unwavering loyalty to her.

As the others dispersed to prepare for war, Rhaenyra lingered, her fingers tracing the edge of the war table. (Y/N) approached her, his footsteps soft against the stone.

“Will we survive this?” she asked, her voice low and unguarded, a vulnerability she rarely allowed anyone else to see.

(Y/N) stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the painted table before them. “We’ve survived worse,” he said, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

One evening, (Y/N) found her in the dragonpit, her hand resting on Syrax’s golden scales. She didn’t notice his approach at first, her face drawn and weary.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing?” she asked softly when she finally noticed him.

He stood beside her, his hand joining hers on the dragon’s warm hide. “What’s right and what’s necessary aren’t always the same.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “And if we lose?”

“Then we lose together,” he said without hesitation. “But I will fight until my last breath to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

[onekeii]

Little sweet

Day 5: Cookies | "That definitely looks... interesting?" Bungou Stray Dogs: Ranpo Edogawa x GN!Reader Warnings/Genre: fluff, imagine Word count: 441 AN: definitely NOT based off that time i fcked up cookies for my boyfriend

Imagine you’re working on Christmas Day - it’s bothersome, but someone’s gotta do it. Crime doesn’t stop just because everyone else is on holiday. Besides, it pays extra.

Ranpo was not pleased with the idea. He made you late by clinging to your leg and pinning you to the bed that morning. You were only able to wriggle free when you promised to bake his favourite cookies when you got home.

It was a ridiculously easy recipe, and you had perfected making it all within just twenty minutes, thanks to how often your boyfriend ate them.

Days off were always spent with Ranpo slumped over the kitchen counter, scrambling for cookie dough remains from the bowl while you carefully peeled the baked goods off the tray.

So, in the spirit of Christmas, Ranpo tried his hand at baking them himself. He found your handwritten book of all your favourite recipes and said to himself, “This can’t be too difficult.” Besides, he’d seen you do it a hundred times.

When you burst through the front door, nose red and hair littered with snow, you did NOT expect to be greeted by the blaring fire alarm, or by Ranpo frantically waving the oven gloves around the little machine to silence it.

Smoke and burnt sugar wafted past you. You sigh, unphased only because work had already done you in enough today, and ask, “What happened?”

“I tried to bake the cookies…” he trailed off, moving himself in front of the smoky oven tray and obscuring it from your view. He’s frowning and pouting like a dog being scolded, tail curled between its legs, you can almost see big floppy ears drooping over his eyes.

He quickly steps aside when you approach, assessing the damage.

Usually a sweet gold-brown when you baked them, Ranpo’s cookies had been flattened into the tray, brown in the middle and black around the edges. 

You can’t contain your laughter, but you know he really tried. You finally settle on saying something more ambiguous, “That definitely looks… interesting? What happened?”

“I added more sugar because I thought they could be sweeter,” he explained nonchalantly, “then I doubled the heat because ten minutes was just too long to wait!”

“Pftt,” you giggle, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on his lips, “It was a courageous attempt, Ranpo. Let’s try again, shall we?”

In a clean bowl, you guide his every movement, measuring the ingredients precisely together and scolding him when he tipped a little more sugar in than needed.

Finally, with your supervision, you got to enjoy the cookies you promised after all. Even if they were a little sweet.

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆

[deeranon]

Chip and Tail | Aventurine X mer! Reader

Warnings: characters may be ooc, blood, body disfigurement(kinda?), implied killing, mention of Jade(who is a warning in and of herself), weapons,wounds, may contain grammar mistakes, use of it/it’s for living being(reader) leave if you don’t like or are uncomfortable with it, implied slavery, implied wars

Read at your own risk!

Despite use of it/it’s and they/their pronouns used for mer reader is whatever gender you wish

Mermaid, siren, and sea-daughter are seen as gender neutral terms—not gender specific in this story

The Showman swayed with the waves, creaking and groaning as foam crashed against the hull. The crew shifted restlessly, bodies tense as they shuffled around deck, waiting for even a word from within the Captain’s quarters. Never before had they stayed in one place on the ocean surface for so long, the pause casting unease within their ranks.

Gulls cried as they circled overhead, uncaring for what was going on within the heart of the ship.

“Did you shoot down an albatross or are you simply very unlucky?” Aventurine cooed as he shuffled his deck. Rings of gold and silver lined every other finger, shining haughtily underneath the sunlight as his black silk gloved hands shuffled the deck for the final round.

The captain of The Showman, a wiry and tall man with a full black beard seethed from on his plush velvet seat, face red with rage. “I ain’t unlucky. Yr’ just a cheater! Trying to trick me inta repayin’ my debt! I repaid you blithering sea-snakes ages ago!” He thundered, furiously slamming a scarred hand on the wooden table. Trinkets and pearly jewelry in the place of betting chips laid on the table trembled at the crash, falling to the floorboards miserably.

Aventurine gave no reaction to the man’s whining, smile only widening as he eyed the dark green coat his pirate opponent had obviously stolen from some unfortunate noble. “I’m afraid that’s where you are wrong. You simply think you repaid us.” Aventurine started with a casual shrug of his shoulders “Two years ago, you reached out to us—The Medusa, claiming you had enough money to rid you of your debt. A colleague of mine agreed to meet you at Sargentine’s one and only port city casino, yet when she got there…you were drunk beyond comprehension. You had gambled all of your savings away, just months before your payment was due. So close to freedom, too.” Aventurine gave the quaking captain a faux sympathetic look, tutting like a disappointed parent while dealing cards with practiced ease.

“Blasphemy! I worked my crew half to death getting all that precious cargo—I wouldn’t let it all go t’ some silly landfolk game!” He shrieked. The grip on his cards was paper white.

“You were quite drunk, I heard. Spent too much time at the brothel, perhaps?” Aventurine said with a chuckle. “But let’s get back to the point. I’m here because no matter how you spin it, you have payments to us that are overdue.” He straightened in his chair, smoothing out his perfectly pressed white silk shirt as the air grew thick with tension. “Now, you can try your hand at a game with higher stakes than your stolen jewelry and attempt to win your freedom, or I can simply evict you here and now for the murder of Cassidy White: late father of the Prince of Sargentine.”

The captain paled at Aventurine’s words, the hand of cards falling from his grasp in a shower of inked paper. His brown leather eyes widened with fear, staring down at him in shock.

Aventurine laughed heartily at the stupefied look, head thrown back from laughter as his eyes crinkled with mirth. “You think I didn’t recognize the embroidery on your fancy jacket? Cassidy White was a lover of the sea before he settled and married the current Queen of Sargentine. He had that coat custom made and wouldn’t go anywhere without it. It’s a shame you killed him on his ship, he sounded like the kind of guy I could talk with. Oh well, no crying over spilled milk I suppose.”

The captain paled even further if possible, gripping at his coat’s cuffs like a lifeline as realization dawned on him. The coat was a brilliant dark greenish-black color with blue leather cuffs and lapels patterned with golden ripples like the sea. Fancy gold trimming accompanied by a single thick rope covered the shoulder pads. Within the collar of the coat was the cursive signature of Cassidy White with the royal insignia of Sargentine emblazoned next to it. Aventurine would have had to be a complete fool to not recognize it immediately.

“Fortunately, you ended up with me: the Aventurine stoneheart to the Medusa. The Monetary Evaluation Department Underseers of Seaside Altercations if you didn’t know. I would say I’m a very generous man, so I will repeat to you your two options.” Aventurine raised a single finger “One, you win my game of Roulette and drop this sorry betting game with cards,” he raised another “Two, I kill you now and throw your entire crew into company custody for first degree murder on multiple occasions while on a ship given to you by Medusa. Taking all possessions to repay your debt. What do you say, captain?”

The boat groaned, singing with the waves as it swayed in place, the sound filling the vast room stuffed with stolen goods and currencies like music. Aventurine waited silently with a smile, one hand on the holster of his gun as the wiry man contemplated his choices.

That was the wonderful thing about the mother ocean. A man could only run the length of his ship before he could be caught. No land to hide behind, no trees or buildings to protect him. Only the vast ocean filled with more horrors than any sane man or pirate would dare to take a chance against. Trapping him with his own monsters until he touched earth.

After another moment of thinking, The Showman’s captain looked Aventurine in his glaring pink and blue eyes with steeled nerves and gave a grim nod. “One. I’ll win yer’ damn game.” He growled.

Grinning, Aventurine couldn’t help but disagree. “We’ll see about that. Fate works in mysterious ways.”

Taking his silver revolver from its holster, Aventurine loaded three bullets into the chambers before spinning the cylinder round and round until there was no possible way to know what it would shoot. “Any last words before we begin?”

The man spat at Aventurine’s face, a scowl forming on his dry lips. “Yeah. B’fore the loser dies, they reveal valuable information no one knows but themselves to the other. One less secret for you t’ take to yer grave when I shoot you where ya sit.”

“I can agree with that. But I highly doubt you’ve got a secret I think is good enough to spill on your deathbed.” The stoneheart said nonchalantly, twirling the gun in his hands with unnecessary flare before gripping it tight.

The captain, topped with the iconic pirate hat and a gnarly scar running down half of his bearded face stared at the gun as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

Aventurine never let his eyes leave the pirate, staring into the damned man’s soul for what would probably be the last time.

Bowing dramatically, one hand behind his back and the other cradling the gun, Aventurine rose and said “Got a coin we could flip? Winner shoots first.”

The ocean hissed at the pensive crew, water dark and stormy brewing. Twitching with unused power, the pirates grew antsy as time passed overhead, their leader yet to return or give them a single word of new news.

Paul, a stout man with one eye and a torn lip leaned against the heavy oak door. Ear pressed against the wood, he strained to hear anything through the door. He waited and waited for any sound, but it was dead silent on the other side.

Paul was ready to push away from the door when there was a muffled bang that echoed through the wood. A gunshot. It had to be. Paul knew that sound by heart.

Heart light, a grin broke out on his face as he turned to his crew mates. Jamming a thumb behind him, Paul mimed a gun firing with his other hand.

Hobbling away from the door, Paul snickered to himself as smiles and proud sneers broke out on everybody’s faces. Some even managed to let out chortles or snorts of sadistic laughter. The tension broke like a fickle stick to be added to the fire.

The captain of The Showman was not to be messed with. They had plundered and pillaged hundreds of ships and towns, a single man was nowhere near enough to stop him.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over.”

The crew froze, smiles shifting to frowns as they all stared in confusion at the blond man before them.

Aventurine gave a languid smile, waving a gloved hand covered in jingling bracelets and rings in greetings as he casually carried a long greenish-black coat over his shoulder.

“You’re not the captain.” Paul spat venomously, staring at the coat in Aventurine’s possession with disdain. The other crew members grumbled and hissed in agreement behind him, hands inching for their weapons.

“No, but his ship is mine now. And you lucky lot are under arrest. My sincerest apologies.” Aventurine said, unaffected by the crew drawing their swords and guns. Shoving a hand in a black pocket stitched into his pants, he withdrew a small pile of silvery blue dust.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The blond warned.

The rebellious crew froze immediately at the sight of the powder: Ground siren’s scales. A single sniff could knock a grown man out for weeks, and could even cause death and permanent paralysis in more serious cases. Aventurine had enough dust in his hand to kill the entire crew and then some.

The ocean crashed violently against the ship, as if sensing the presence of one of its lost children. Sea froth stained the floor of the vessel as it rocked back and forth violently. Aventurine adjusted his stance with ease while the seasoned crew struggled to gain their footing. The sea longed for the dust, calling for it desperately.

“Now, if you don’t want to end up with immovable limbs for the rest of your lives I suggest you stop resisting. The ocean is the perfect place to dump bodies and I’d prefer it if you didn’t make more work for me. Though if you’d like to jump now I’ll allow it, the ocean seems pretty finicky today. Maybe a nice snack will calm her.” Aventurine warned, holding the ground scales closer to the ocean and causing the ship to lurch so hard half of the crew fell onto their backs.

The few that remained standing sheathed their weapons, knowing well when they were outsmarted. Aventurine grinned, pocketing a good portion of the dust before reaching for the flare gun strapped to his right leg. With a single click, the flare sailed into the air for as long as it possibly could.

Like a cheetah suddenly leaping from the grassy savanna, a ship so large it made The Showman look miniature appeared in the distance. It fought against the crashing waves as it slowly approached, growing larger and larger the closer it came. The crew watched with slack jaws as the grandiose ship neared.

“Ah! There she is! The mighty Sigonius, my favorite ship.” Aventurine crowed, chest puffing with pride like a peacock flaunting it’s feathers. “Be thankful that you get to board the Sigonius before you are thrown in jail, ladies and gentlemen. It is a privilege indeed.”

The crew felt both annoyed and awed at Aventurine’s words. Annoyed at his flaunting, and dumbstruck that he could ever captain such a large ship. The Sigonius approached much faster than one would expect of a ship of such large size. Slowing to a stop, the gargantuan teal ship sent out a large metal bridge to connect both sea vessels together.

“Sorry, but lowly scum like yourselves aren’t allowed to see the insides of Medusa ships.” Taking his chance, Aventurine blew the dust straight into the heart of the Showman crew. One by one, they all crumpled to the deck like puppets freed of their strings.

In perfectly aligned rows, troops marched down the bridge and began casing the groaning ship. Weapons were confiscated and jewelry was gathered into crates labeled “perishables”. The workers swarmed the smaller ship like bees drawn to flowers, buzzing with activity wherever they went.

Deciding that his job was finished, Aventurine started to make his way to the bridge when the ship shook violently.

Dulled by the wood, a horrific spine crawling sound echoed from beneath the floorboards of The Showman. Workers paused to listen to the wail-like scream, stunned with shock and hit with unease as the sound continued.

Aventurine frowned, hairs standing on end and goosebumps rising along his arms. His heartbeat spiked the more the sound continued.

Suddenly it stopped, as if it had never happened in the first place.

Was that part of the secret the now deceased captain had told him about?

Turning to the nearest worker, Aventurine flashed a charming smile barbed with tebsion. “Take a team below deck and find out what made that noise, okay?”

“Yes sir.” The soldier nodded, saluting before marching off to rally a team.

With nothing left for him on the ship, Aventurine stepped foot on the Sigonius once again, heading straight for his private sleeping quarters. The ocean continued to riot against the small Showman, pummeling its sides and swaying it violently. At that rate, the ship only had a few hours until the tides capsized it. Hopefully the ship could be cleaned out before then.

As Aventurine was about to open the door to the hall, a keen shrill broke through the air and made the sailors cover their ears in pain. Quick to cover his own ringing ears, Aventurine staggered over to the railing of the ship—desperate to find out what was making the horrid noise. Even with both hands clamped tightly to the side of his head, his ears still dribbled with blood from the nauseating noise.

Searching with pain filled eyes, Aventurine scanned the waters between the ship for signs of monstrous life. Instead of finding a six headed beast or a pack of agitated Cyclas, Aventurine spotted a sizable hole torn through the wooden side of The Showman’s hull. Wood splinters drifted in the raging ocean along with thick fisherman netting twined with red string. An incredibly bad omen.

Oily black liquid stained the surface of deep blue sea, spreading out from the hole now starting to fill with sea water. The liquid dripped from the hull like wet paint, giving off such an intoxicating smell Aventurine was ready to believe that The Showman had raided a perfume store.

Holding his breath, Aventurine waited for the wail to sound out once again. Like clockwork, the piercing shriek pounded away at his ears determined to turn him deaf. Mind racing, Aventurine carded through his internal library of sea creatures at lightning speed.

Ink black liquid, enchanting smell, angry ocean, horrific screams, enough strength to bust through the hull of a Medusa ship, red string intertwined with fisherman netting: it was a mermaid. Possibly even a siren.

As if confirming his suspicion, another sorrowful scream shook the ocean and rocked even the mighty Sigonius. The netting Aventurine had thought to be simply drifting in the water now thrashed violently, the thick rope was black with the same oil colored liquid in the ocean. Furious waves crashed against both ships as the black substance continued to increase with each jerk of the hook and seal infested netting.

Blood. It was all blood.

“I want all men off The Showman immediately! There is a breach in the hull!” Aventurine roared when the scream trembled to a long whale like whine. “And get that mermaid out of the damn netting! They’ll drown us all if they don’t stop!”

Men still aboard the Showman scrambled to cross the shaking bridge while Aventurine ran for the lifeboat closest to the blood stained water. With no patience to wait for fellow sailors, he dropped the boat into the thrashing sea. It was never a good idea to stay between two large ships that could knock together and crush you at any time, but Aventurine was willing to take the risk if it meant stopping the siren from killing them all by accident.

Letting the water bring him closer to the net, Aventurine reached out and began to draw in the bloody rope as he sawed away with his hunting knife bit by bit. It tugged and jerked in his hands, threatening to send him beneath the waves multiple times, but Aventurine sat firm in the small boat.

The nets were endless as they were large, Aventurine cut as much as he could but more net seemed to replace it each time. Either this was a siren, or Aventurine was dealing with a very young and unhappy whale.

Sailors grouped in the other boats dropped into the sea around him, grabbing at the net and heaving with all their might. It was no use trying to cut the sea creature free, there was simply too much net to get through before the sea creature drowned them in a tidal wave.

They had to bring it aboard the ship.

The ocean raged endlessly, transpiring with the ravenous storm from above. Together both elements made even the Sigonius ship feel like it was capable of tipping.

To take a sea-daughter away from the water invoked the mother’s most powerful protective measures to ensure its child’s safe return.

The only way to calm the mother ocean was to return its daughter back to water. Every sailor and pirate worth their salt knew that one thing before agreeing to a life on the ocean. Himself included.

Aventurine only had one problem: there was no place to set the net swaddled mermaid on the Sigonius. Not naturally, at least.

Riffling through the previously locked drawers of the dresser planted against the wall of his sleeping quarters, Aventurine searched for his Favour. A magical sand-dollar that would build you a single non-living object if you set the evil or troublesome soul trapped inside of it free. Aventurine had come across it while strolling through the port market in a different country. A lucky find.

Since that day, he had kept the Favour tucked away for a moment like this one.

Having finally found the pitch black sand dollar, Aventurine made his way through the groaning ship to his office. A group of ten men kneeled before the mass of red twined netting covering the deck, wax muffles stuffed deep in their ears as the beast let out softer yet still ear rupturing cries. The group worked tirelessly to slice through the thick hook infested ropes, trying their best to not accidentally stab the hidden siren with their knives or dig the arsenal of hooks into its skin.

Aventurine paused, his head aching from the pain of the continuous crying. Raising his voice as loud as it could go, Aventurine yelled “Have the mer brought to my office when most of the nets are gone! I will take it from there.”

Only two men seemed to realize he had spoken over the shrill whale like noise the mer let out when a stray hook supposedly caught onto its body. They nodded, squinting at his lips but giving him two thumbs up before returning to their work. With the hope that the crew mates actually knew what Aventurine asked of them, he made his way to the office reserved for the captain of The Sigonius.

Pushing the heavy furniture around until it all stood grouped together in the middle of the room, Aventurine crushed the Favour without hesitation as the Sigonius rocked uncomfortably.

Red mist arose from the sand dollar, curling in the air like incense before it transformed into a giant angry cloud that whirled around the room. It writhed and shrieked, the horrifically deformed finned face pressing against the cloud harmonizing with the beast outside before coating the entire room in a thick scarlet mist.

Aventurine held his breath, elbow over his face as the red filling his vision deepened to a color reminiscent of dried blood.

The spirit gave a final wail from within the mist before throwing itself through the wooden walls to the ocean outside. A siren’s soul had been trapped inside, now free to drown sailors from beyond the grave of it so wished. Though Aventurine saw the trade as necessity as he stared at the object before him.

In place of the mist was a great tank that nearly reached the roof of the room, a rolling ladder made of iron connected to black railings attached along the outermost glass wall. The entire tank spanned three of the four walls, edges perfectly curved and inside wide enough for Aventurine to lay flat on his back and still not touch the walls. A kind of cement or rubber like object protected the wooden floorboards beneath, capable of protecting the room from leaks. Water a perfect blue hue filled the dull and empty tank, saving Aventurine a great deal of time.

With the addition of the tank using up a chunk of the office, Aventurine got to rearranging his desk and other equipment out of the way to the ladder before opening the door and waiting for the sailors to arrive.

It seemed like his words hadn’t been lost to the crew mates, now dragging a still entangled mermaid behind them. It’s screeching was like metal grating against clay, thrashing weakly as hooks poked through the now few layers of netting encasing it.

Aventurine nodded at the exhausted crew members. “Good. Help me get it in the tank, and then you’re free to rest.”

“Of course, captain.” One of the sailors agreed, bowing their head.

As a team, the tall and hulking sailors hoisted the mermaid, now limp from exhaustion or merely accepting its fate, into the water with a loud splash. Aventurine waved for the crew to leave from his position on the ladder, watching as the sea creature within started to squirm the moment it hit water. The ocean outside immediately started to calm, the rocking waves growing weaker by the minute.

The door closed with a satisfactory click as the last of the group left the room now colored in a blue light from the water blocking the stained glass window. The sun, now peeking out from the dying storm started to fall below the horizon.

Aventurine stared, waiting with bated breath for the creature to reveal itself. Tendrils of black blood spreading in the once pristine seawater thanks to its wounds. Except, there was no further movement. The mer did not slip out from the nets in a dramatic reveal of beauty like Aventurine thought it might. Nor did it leap out from the tank and tear his throat out in the span of a few seconds. It laid hidden within the blankets of bloody black fishnets, unmoving aside from the small rise and fall of (supposedly) its chest.

The mer had fallen asleep. Or was dying slowly from blood loss.

Either way, it would be pointless staying up to watch the (hopefully)sleeping mermaid. Aventurine had a ship to captain and a meeting to attend on land. Letting out a sigh, Aventurine left the messily arranged office locked behind him as he started a search for the night crew.

The Sigonius was now docked at a port owned by Medusa in the land of Pleyr-Tor. A merchant hub where only the wealthiest families of all species thrived. The ship was silent save for the grumbling crew as they heaved heavy boxes of food up the bridge and repaired injuries sustained by the Sigonius on their voyage.

Three days had passed since Aventurine stepped on solid land for the first time in four months. The sun was readying to descend when the captain finally returned to his ship.

Crew members watched silently as Aventurine stalked up the bridge with a lax smile, knowing full well what would happen if they disturbed him. Sailors parted like the blond was radioactive, forming a path for Aventurine to walk through all the way to the thick wooden door protecting the Captain’s office. The door opened and closed with a normal click that might as well have been a slam to the oldest members of the crew. If there were seasoned crew members left, that is. All had been lost to sea or let go to some other ship before they could ever form true bonds with their captain.

Locking the door behind him, Aventurine sank into his overly comfortable desk chair. The cedar wood table was littered with betting chips and papers for navigation and myths, debts to collect and which land to “assist” next. A single oil lamp placed in the top left corner, his only source of light on late nights. It needed replacing soon as it was having trouble lighting for the past few days. Aventurine made a note to himself to buy a better oil lamp while in Pleyr-Tor.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye as Aventurine worked away at the papers on his desk. His head ached from the constant smell of seawater, distracting him from any further work. Breathing out a sigh, Aventurine turned his chair around until it faced the large tank holding his underwater guest.

Madam Jade’s words rang in his ears, increasing the pain of his headache tenfold and causing the grip on his chair to increase.

Everything had a cost. Even freedom. No matter the race or situation. All debts must be repaid. Accidental or not.

Aventurine was not allowed to let the mermaid go.

Staring through the crystal clear glass, Aventurine watched as the sun slowly inched away from its low post in the sky. Down and down it went, painting the sky in yellows and pinks. Closing his eyes and letting himself soak in the fading sunlight until the sky turned a gentle purple, Aventurine did not catch when the once still mess of nets moved just slightly to the left.

“What should I do…” Aventurine muttered into his hand, glancing at the hidden mer within the still empty tank.

Perhaps that would soon change. If the mer lived, maybe sand and rocks of every color would brighten the dull cage. Seaweed could be taken from the ocean and planted for the slightest increase in privacy. Small fish to fill the void. Would the mermaid eat the fish? Hmm, maybe the fish could wait. Would the mer care if Aventurine added incense burners in the room to get rid of the seawater smell?

The nets, only two or four left, started to move. Aventurine snapped to attention, pushing away all his thoughts of decorating as he stood from his chair, knocking it over with a crash.

The ink black nets, large enough to easily capture Killer Whales, were jerked and pulled in every direction. Ropes started snapping one by one. Red twine floated in the water like bloody seaweed as the frayed strings broke apart.

Aventurine saw a faint flash of scales and a shadow of a hand slicing through rope from within. The creature, now awake and furious writhed underneath the netting. Blood matching the color of the night sky graced the dark blue water once again as hooks dug into flesh and scales. Water leapt out from the tank and onto the creaking floorboards below, staining them a dark brown.

The final rays of sunlight flickered below the window line and engulfed the room in almost total darkness. Slowly, Aventurine’s eyes adjusted to the dim setting. Blinking rapidly, Aventurine never let his gaze wander from the cloak of blood crusted fisherman netting even as his largest source of light sank beyond his vision.

There came a skin crawling trill from within the tank. It was clearer this time, the mer’s disorienting melodic voice humming with the water instead of its painful cries when above water. Goosebumps arose on his flesh in waves, hair standing on end the longer the call continued. The air, once warm and comforting was now colder than the winter ocean.

A clawed hand broke free from the nets.

Backing away on shaky feet, Aventurine turned to snatch the oil lamp from his desk while his heart started to beat louder than a drum in his ears. There was the muffled sound of nets continuing to snap and break from behind, the being writhing just beneath the surface. Water stained black fell to the floor around him, no less different than human blood when drying into wood.

Aventurine fumbled to light the lamp, pausing when there was a flash of blue light from behind. His heart went still and his mind raced, wondering if he truly had brought a killer siren onto his ship.

Face instinctually morphing into a calm smile, Aventurine turned around, lamp forgotten.

Eyes deeper than the midnight zone stared into his soul with pupils blown so wide the irises were barely visible. Fins flared with a rattling quiver as their lower body looped and coiled throughout the enclosure that almost seemed too small to fit their massive size. Lights flashed continuously along their skin and long, flowing tail. Aventurine couldn’t tell where one bioluminescent fin ended and another began in the darkness filled only by the light of the mer.

Claws sharp enough to pierce bone reached up and up and up until they touched the edge of the glass tank, unblinking eyes never leaving his form for even a moment.

Lips parting to let out a deep warble, Aventurine saw two sets of razor sharp canines peeking past their lips. The creature lifted itself up with only its arms until it reached out of the tank. Tail still curling in an endless spiral in the water as their upper half touched the wooden floorboards.

Instead of backing away for showing fear, Aventurine gave his best smile as he stepped forward, watching at their water logged hair splayed on the ground around them. “Y’know, you caused a lot of trouble for me. Sinking a ship I just finished taking over and having me loose valuable artifacts was quite rude of you. I deserve an apology, don’t you think?”

Their lips pulled back further than should be possible for a human, the flesh of their cheeks tearing in bloody strips until their rows upon rows of pointed teeth were revealed. Torn frills all along their body quivered angrily. Scales flashed in warning, a clear message to stay away or risk death. Letting out a chitter-like sound, the mermaid’s eyes narrowed as they continued to stare at Aventurine.

In the dark of night, Aventurine only had the dim glow of the mer’s scales to make out their towering figure. His mind more than happy to fill in the details he could not see.

He stepped closer, hands stuffed in his new coat pockets. Aventurine never was one to play safe. “Breaking through the hull of a ship like that must have caused some serious damage. I’m surprised you’re even standing right now. Tough cookie, aren’t you?” He said, tilting his head to the side as he willed his eyes to adjust better to the lack of light.

“You are quite the beauty, as well! What’s your secret? Let me guess…the flesh of sailors?” While laughing at his own joke, the mer continued to watch him with their hundred yard stare. The fins in place of human ears flicked at the sound of his voice, trembling softly.

“Oh it’s nothing, just an old pirate joke. You really are lucky that I was the one who came across that ship you were in and not one of the other Stonehearts. I doubt Topaz would find you cute enough to rescue.” Aventurine hummed, watching as the mer drew more of its body from the water. The sea-daughter was long—so long Aventurine couldn’t tell the length of their tail with how it had to circle around the entire tank and then some just to fit. Definitely more than a meter or two, that he was sure.

The mermaid’s clawed hand twitched as their smile widened. Tilting their own head to the side as their large eyes bored into Aventurine’s soul, a pale film covered them for a brief second as they blinked without proper eyelids. A clicking sound reminiscent of dolphins left their mouth instead of the horrific screech Aventurine was haunted by on the day he saved its life. Dagger sharp nails tapped against the bloodied and groaning wood rhythmically as the raspy clicking continued.

Aventurine paused as he listened to the mer’s clicks and taps, watching as they repeated the action over and over again. Clearly, they had yet to murder him via siren song or rip his arm off and use it as a snack to munch on after showing how easy it was to lift their own body over the glass wall like it was nothing.

What were they trying to say? Or were they saying anything at all?

“Can you even understand me?” Aventurine questioned, shifting on his feet. The mermaid, to its credit, looked thoroughly confused on it’s part. They let out a growlish “Buwerr?” And tilted their head further than should be safe for something that looked so human.

“I’ll take that as a no. A language barrier, huh? This is going to be interesting.” Aventurine muttered to himself, though he was sure the mermaid heard with how it’s fins twitched. It had good hearing.

The mer towered over Aventurine, face still broken and showing a concerning number of teeth with eyes eclipsed to a near completely black state. It was incredibly unnerving, especially since the only light was from their fluorescent fins and blinking scales. Not to mention they were covered in their own blood.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. All that dried blood can’t be comfortable, can it? We can discuss other matters later,” Aventurine said with a grin. His body easily fell into its masked routine, hiding the fear and uncertainty he felt and replacing it with confidence.

Fins flicking and scales blinking, Aventurine’s newest bet nodded. The mer shifted, jaw re-hinging and skin weaving back together over their cheeks until their face looked exactly like a human. Blinking with those filmy white eyelids, their pupils shrank and morphed into perfect replicas of human eyes—no, Aventurine’s eyes. He shivered involuntarily at the sight of eyes that mirrored his own as the mermaid changed itself to look like a deity among men for his own comfort. Or for it’s own comfort, which is more likely.

The mermaid chittered in a chipper tone, lips curling into a toothy smile. It had horrifyingly sharp teeth.

Yep, still a mermaid.

Holding out a now dainty hand the same colors as the sand, the mer waited with an expectant look. It’s tail swayed playfully in the water, sloshing seawater over the edge and onto the already soaked floor. When Aventurine did not take their hand, the mer made a tutting noise and retracted their arm back to their side. Their frills trembled and glowing scales blinked to a deep green before shifting to scarlet red, and finally a bright fuchsia.

They made a strangled animal sound, like an elk with a frog in its throat. Their lips obviously weren’t used to moving properly. They paused, scowling and fluttering their fins moodily before letting out an unidentifiable sound.

“Gr….grr..greetings.” Aventurine’s own distorted voice echoed back at him from the mermaid’s mouth. It huffed with pride, fins flicking in waves.

Ah, so it could mimic as well. How dandy.

Holding its hand out once again, the mermaid repeated the word twice over with lips un-synced from Aventurine’s copied voice.

Ah, so it wanted a handshake.

Chuckling, Aventurine said “Ah, I suppose we did skip over pleasantries,” he cleared his throat “I am Aventurine, a stoneheart of Medusa. Pleased to meet you. Use me as you wish, you can even stab me in the back if you want to—but I don’t make bets that don’t pay off.” Reaching out, Aventurine twined his fingers together with the mermaid’s. Hands palm to palm.

The mer stared down at him, gazing at their intertwined hand as their webbed ears twitched and titled, finely tuned to the pitch and exact tone of his words to break the barrier between their languages.

Shaking their held hand, the mermaid nodded with a smile.

Clicking and trilling, the mer drew words from the air to repeat a word still unintelligible to Aventurine even with the mimicry of his voice.

“Ah, the language barrier strikes again. How about I just give you a nickname instead? Just until we can find a middle ground.” Aventurine suggested with a shake of his head. His conscience weighing too heavily on his shoulders to handle a shrug.

“Yes…yes!” They sang, pulling Aventurine close to their chest as they circled around him like a boa. The mer nodded merrily, lights flaring to a rosy pink. Aventurine pulled his hand away, adjusting his glove as he pondered.

“Well, it has to be fitting—but not too odd. Since we’ll be together for quite a while it should have some kind of meaning behind it, don’t you think?” Aventurine went on as he craned his head upwards to look into the mermaid’s curious eyes. They nodded sagely, fins attentive as they licked their salty lips.

Aventurine slowly listed name after name, watching for a change in the mer’s expression. Eventually the mermaid returned to the water from pure disinterest in the names, holding him steady as they forced him to sit on the highest stair of the ladder.

The mer looked ready to drift underneath the water by the time Aventurine was starting to run out of names. Grasping at his last few ideas, Aventurine hesitantly listed the last name that came to mind. Your name.

Erupting from the water, your hands grabbed at Aventurine’s shoulders as you both fell back into the water like whales breaking from the ocean for air.

“Perfect!….YES! YES!NAME! YES, NAME!” You shrieked joyfully, tail crashing in the water as you literally lit up with glee. “MY NAME NOW! EVER!”

“Alright! Alright! That’s your name now! Glad you like it.” Aventurine sputtered, dragging his soppy wet blond hair away from his wide eyes as he floated in your tank. You circled around him in a never ending spiral, chittering and trilling with a smile so large Aventurine thought your mouth might just split open again.

Swimming to the edge, Aventurine stared into your bright eyes when you met him at the rim.

You reminded him a lot of himself when he was young. Aventurine didn’t know how much he liked that fact as he watched you twirl in the water without a care in the world.

Aventurine called your name and you paused, eyes a carbon copy of his own staring back into his soul and touching something he thought was buried the day he lost his family during the tribal wars. “…Don’t ever let Medusa tie you down, okay? This stupid organization doesn’t need to ruin any more races.”

Your fins twitched at his words, blinking to a deep blue lighting. “Stoneheart…Medusa,” You parroted with worry. “Aventurine…tie..”

“Hmm, no—forget I said anything. We can talk about all that later. If you’ve already forgotten, you are still pretty injured. So let’s focus on you getting better for now. We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later.” Aventurine huffed, patting your head with a bare hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither are you, is what Aventurine chose to leave unsaid.

@idkfitememate merry Christmas!! 🎁🎄 here’s your present!

@kaitsawamura made the scale divider! Thank you!!

[nocasdatsgay]

Kept - Harlots of Autumn Fic

Pairing: Reader/Beron; Mentions of past Reader/Lucien and mentions of past Reader/Vanserra Brother | Rating: E | Word Count: 2230 |

Autumn Harlots Master Post| Previous Part: Sold | Read on ao3

Summary: Lucien was gone from Autumn. The High Lord requests your presence a week later to find out if you’re worth keeping. 

Trigger Beron. Vague mentions of past non-con. Dubious consent. Power imbalance. Non-con due to power imbalance. Blow jobs. P in V sex. Fire Rope. Inappropriate use of High Lord Powers

A/N: Merry Crisis. It’s still Christmas Eve here so. Anyways no time like the present. HEED THE WARNINGS. 

Gen Tagging List: @secret-third-thing @readychilledwine @acourtofladydeath @lady-of-tearshed @daycourtofficial @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @thisblogisaboutabook @ninthcircleofprythian @pit-and-the-pen @ysmtttty @jon-snows-man-bun If I tagged you by accident let me know

A month of mourning. The whole Forest House was in black daily, solemn moods on every face. The only person you mourned was Lucien. He was so kind to you for so long. He kept his brothers at bay for the first year but eventually they got their hands on you. 

Leon, one of the two you were supposed to be mourning, was the roughest. He liked it when you cried- be it from pleasure or pain. He always made you look him in his ugly brown eyes while he fucked you. And he always forced an orgasm out of you. You might as well enjoy it too, he would whisper in your ear. 

If there was a grave to spit on you would have done it. 

The other brother was just an annoyance when he was alive. Sloppy and drunk most of the times he called for you. You could get him off with your hands and he would pass out immediately after. When he did fuck you he was quick. Maybe it was a blessing he died before taking a wife. 

It was only five days after the announcement of what happened that you received a letter with the High Lord’s seal. Your heart stopped when you saw he requested you meet him in his quarters after dinner. You tossed the letter and burned it- you didn’t want the other two girls, Beca and Rhian finding it. They were kind but even after a few years you still didn't trust them fully yet. 

When you went, you put on one of your better dresses. A burnt orange one that you wore last month at the ball. It was the newest, you felt maybe it would look better if you showed off how you appreciated his generosity. There was a guard at the door. He looked down his nose at you before knocking. A call from the other side and he let you in. 

“High Lord,” you walked in and curtsied. You kept your eyes on the floor. “You called for me?”

Silence. You didn’t look up, too afraid of this being a test. 

“I did.” He finally broke the silence after a moment. You kept your eyes on the decorated carpet. “Do you know why I called for you?” 

“No, High Lord.” 

He hummed. “Beauty but no brains then. That explains why that runt didn’t wish to keep you. I do not know why, considering he was no better.” 

You heart quickened. 

“I gave you a task when you were hired. Entertain my youngest. You must be abysmal company if you could not keep his attentions. Do you have anything to say for yourself? You may speak.” 

“High Lord, I assure you I did my best-“

“Your best obviously wasn’t good enough. Did you know? Of his dalliances with that creature?” 

You winced. “No, High Lord. I did not.”

He hummed. “I believe you. If there was one thing he did learn, it was how to be sly. Besides, if you lied I would know. I always know.” He paused and you held your breath. “That still leaves me with you. What to do with you? Are you worth keeping?” You didn’t answer. “Show me why I should keep you.” 

Your stomach sank. You knew what he wanted. 

“How would you prefer me?” You replied softly. 

“Take three steps, then kneel.” Three small steps and you kneeled on the plush carpet. “Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snapped up. He looked at you from where he lounged in his chair. You had never seen him in such tight clothes. A simple and loose ruby undershirt, the top untied. Your gaze flickered to his brown leather trousers- another article of clothing you’d never seen him in. He looked younger like this. You’d call him handsome if he were a stranger. If you didn’t know what kind of male he was. He stood. You could see and smell his arousal even from a short distance. 

“You are a pretty one,” he stepped up and grabbed you by the chin. Gods, he looked like Eris this close. “But are you worth keeping after your failure to please that runt? Open your mouth.”

He let go and you opened your mouth, resting your tongue on your bottom lip. He forced two fingers into your mouth. You only recoiled slightly from the sudden movement but kept yourself from gagging as he pushed back further. You took a calculated risk: you closed your mouth around his fingers and sucked gently. He grinned. 

“You’re a nasty little cunt. To think you were pure when we got you.” He pulled his fingers out and straightened himself. “Show me how you please a High Lord.” 

You gathered up your hair in the ribbon you kept on your wrist. He laughed at you but you didn’t pay him any mind. With your hair secured, you reached out for his trousers. For half a moment, you wondered if it would be sacrilegious to pretend this was Lucien. You did that sometimes. You wish you knew more when he bedded you so that you could make him feel good too. 

You focused and realized Beron had a belt on- it wasn’t typical Autumn fashion. Still, you undone it from the buckle and undid the button on the trousers. The dark hair on his navel came into view and his clothes were pushed aside. Heat pooled instinctively between your legs at the peak of his straining cock. When you pulled it out, you didn’t know if you physically or mentally made a noise. It was unfair how attractive the Vanserras were considering their personalities. Looking at it fully, it was just as pretty as his sons’. His hand went to your head while you stroked him. Gods, you hope you did this like he wanted. His hand didn’t leave your head while you licked up the underside of his length. 

You kept your eyes up, looking at him from under your lashes when you took him in your mouth. You bobbed once, coating him in your saliva. He tasted different- sharp like Fire Whiskey. He groaned, fingers digging into your scalp to hold you still. You knew what would come next and relaxed your jaw. 

“Good girl,” he sighed and thrusted into your mouth. 

Your mind drifted. Lucien called you a good girl. When he stretched you out with his fingers. When he made you come on his cock. The memory made your panties wet. Your gaze unfocused thinking about him; sucking his cock. He’d reward you and make you feel good too. Beron must have noticed. He grabbed your ponytail and yanked your head back. 

“You focus on me,” he snarled, flames in his eyes. 

“Yes sir.” You muttered and opened your mouth again. 

You made a point to stare at him as he thrusted into your mouth, hand tight on your hair. Did he fuck his wife like this? Did he fuck the other girls like this? They never said. They only talked about the heirs. 

“I see why they wanted you,” he groaned, his thrusts getting rougher and threatening to gag you. “You’re so fucking pretty on your knees. Cry for me and I’ll give you a treat.” 

Beron started pushing down your throat. You gagged once but caught yourself. As commanded, your eyes watered. He seemed to like that. It didn’t take long for him to come down your throat. You swallowed, the aftertaste like whiskey coating your mouth. You desperately prayed to The Mother you wouldn’t cough or choke. He stepped back, your salvia leaving a string from the head to your lips. You didn’t dare wipe it away. 

“Get up.” Beron caught his breath. He let go of your hair and you watched him stroke himself again. “Get up and bend over the chair.” 

You got to your feet and scrambled to the chair he’d been sitting in. You bent over the left arm. In your mind you were terrified but your body- you could smell your own arousal and his. You told yourself it was from thinking of Lucien. Deep down you knew the truth. You liked it. You bit your lip as he came up behind you. You stood your toes, hopping to lift your rear the way he might want. 

His hands gathered your skirt, lifting. He reached under and you inhaled sharply when his warm hands caressed your thigh. He tugged on your undergarments, making them fall to the floor at your feet. 

“I’m keeping these,” he said. 

You could hear him move. He reached down and you made sure to quickly step out of them. You didn’t understand why he would want your undergarments. His sharp inhale startled you. 

“You almost smell good enough to eat. Maybe one day if you earn it.” 

You didn’t know what that meant. 

Suddenly warm fire wrapped around your neck- he had made a fire rope. It didn’t burn but was still warm against your skin. Then he pulled. You gagged and choked as you tried to sit up and lessen the pressure. He laughed and tugged it again. 

“Lift your leg whore.” 

You steadied yourself and lifted your left leg up onto the arm of the chair. Then two more fire ropes wrapped around your wrists. You yelled when your hands were yanked off the chair and moved to your back. He pulled on those, holding you up and you tried to shift your weight to take the pressure off your throat. The rope fire holding your arms behind your back held fast just like the rope on your neck. But it seemed to be what he wanted. You felt him let one hand go and throw up your skirts. He run his fingers along your slit. 

“Whore indeed.” You whimpered when he pushed two fingers into you with ease. “My boys trained you well. Are you always this needy?” 

You knew better than to answer. His fingers felt around until he hit a spot that made you clench. The bastard chuckled. He loosened his hold of the fire on your neck long enough to shove his cock into you without warning. You moaned involuntarily. 

“Been a long time since I had such a tight cunt.” He thrusted and jolted you forward. He let out a deep groan and did it again. “Maybe you are worth keeping.” 

Beron fucked you in long hard strokes, dragging himself out slowly only to thrust into you quick and hard. The chain on your neck tightened, making you dizzy. You tried to focus, to figure out what he wanted from you. Did he want you to come? Did he want you to be silent or vocal? Vocal seemed to be what he wanted. Each time you gasped and whined when he tugged the chain made him grip your waist harder. 

And it felt good. 

Each stroke hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. It didn’t help that each thrust rubbed you against the arm of the chair, stimulating you from the outside. And with the pressure from the chain on your throat- it was hard not to let go. 

“You like this don’t you,” he whispered. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped. 

His fingers dug into your thigh.“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, high lord.”

“Good girl.” You whined and he groaned. “I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to walk out with my seed in your cunt. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you struggled to get out, “High Lord.” 

He finally loosened the chain of fire on your neck and held you by the ones on your wrists. He cursed and came. You could feel the heat of him coat the inside of you. Then unexpectedly, he pulled you up flush against him. 

“Come for me.” He whispered in your ear. “Come for your high lord.” 

A command your body couldn’t disobey. You moaned loudly, pulsing around him, pleasurable warmth rolling through your body. It felt so good you forgot for a moment who had you in his grasp. Then the ropes vanished and he let go. You fell face first panting into the chair cushion. He stepped back, pulling out and leaving his cum dripping out of you. 

“Clean up your mess.” 

You pushed yourself up, turning to see him watching you intensely. Your eyes dropped to his softening cock. It was muscle memory at that point. You got on your knees and licked him clean. You looked up at him the whole time, watching to see if he approved. He reminded you of Asher, the way his face held no emotion or tell at what he was thinking. Then he shoved you away. 

“You can stay. Don’t make me have to call for you again, understand?” He tucked himself back into his trousers. 

“Yes High Lord.” 

“Out.” 

You scrambled to your feet, his sticky mess dripping down your thighs like he promised. It was by the grace of The Mother no one was in the hall as you made your way to your chambers. Beca and Rhian were missing when you entered- another blessing. You were shaking by the time you drew a bath and got into the water. You washed away the smell of him and tried desperately to not think about what would have happened if you had not pleased him. 

[followyourfleart]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔

Chapter 1 -

After the outbreak and countless heartaches, you found yourself in a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Much different than Austin, Texas. In your years of living there, you have built a wall to save your feelings, even if you are the teacher for the small kids of the town.

Your life was going as fine as life could go, until Tommy brought back his estranged brother and a kid, opening memories you spent years suppressing.

Word Count: 2.5 k

When you were thinking of a new neighbor, a gruff man, and his daughter living right next door was not the idea.

You remember seeing it when the two hugged on the streets. You guided a line of young kids back to the school after their short recess in the horse stable. The kids were tugging on your hands, with their missing teeth grinning up to you. Your breath had curled in the air as it became visible and soon disappeared while you adjusted their scarves.

“Tommy!”

It was enough to make you stop in your tracks. No one ever called out Tommy’s name like that unless something was wrong. And every day, it seemed like everyone stopped what they were doing when they heard it. But this time, the desperation in the voice was different—urgent, as if time had stopped, leaving only that one sound hanging in the air.

When you were watching them hug, you looked at who was death-gripping Tommy. An older man, his roots greying into his black to create an ashy shade. He was wearing multiple layers, his brown jacket covering his frame and his dark gloves gripping Tommy’s shoulders as they spoke.

The kids gawked a little bit, staring up at the obvious reunion. They didn’t speak, but soon grew bored of looking, and dragged you along. Your body followed, but your face would turn back, looking at them talking. You didn’t catch a look at his face, or at the new girl who was sitting awkwardly on the horse.

By the time you had gotten home, word had moved around fast. Gossip tends to spread quickly in this settlement in the mountains. Turned out that was Tommy’s brother, Joel Miller. The girl was only 14 years old. As you walked home, the cold freezing your nose, you couldn’t keep your mind off the pair. Strange, how fate allowed those two to meet again. A prickling of a feeling you can’t identify starts in your chest, but someone cuts off the idea.

“Reader,” It was Tommy. His jet-black hair was sprinkled with white flakes, which were quickly melted into his scalp. “How are you doing?”

You smiled, “I’m fine, Tommy. I saw what happened earlier, and I’m glad you found your brother again.”

Tommy’s expression turned amused. “I guess everyone already figured out that Joel is my brother, huh? Word doesn’t keep to itself around here.”

“I guess not.”

An awkward silence came over you both. To say you were close with Tommy was a lie. While he did save you, time had let you make your friends and meet others. You still had good contact with his wife Maria, however other than that, it was radio silence.

He broke the tension with a request “Listen, you know the girl that came with him, Ellie? Well, I want to make her more comfortable with this life, so I was wondering if you could take her in at the school.”

Your eyes widened before you almost laughed. “You know that the school isn’t a private school. We take anyone, there isn’t a process or anything like that. You could drop her off and no one would bat an eye.”

Tommy cleared his throat “I know that Reader. I just want you to keep your eye on her. She’s important… to Joel. And I want to make sure everything is good for them. Give them a semblance of normalance.”

You nod your head in agreement. You don’t miss that ‘important’ part “It’s possible she could come on Monday next week with Joel, see how things work for her age group, then put her in on Tuesday. It’s only Wednesday today, so you can give her the rest of the week to see life here.” You had to make a mental note to write that down in the shared teacher planner.

His face brightens, before he clears his throat, going back to his cool professional look “Thank you, Reader, I owe you one.”

It was the opposite. You quite literally owed him everything, as his intervention saved your life. But you simply parted ways, and you finished the trek to your home.

It was simple, a white house with two rooms and two floors, something you would have killed for before the outbreak. You run the heels of your boots against the ledge of the porch, scrapping off snow and dirt. Then, you heard talking.

Bringing your head up to the noise, you saw Joel and Ellie walking up the steps to the house next door, Tommy leading them. You had watched in curiosity. New neighbors, you suppose. The girl was looking everywhere, the large house and the railings, the dead shrubs, and the icy walkway.

Tommy caught you in the corner of his eye and waved. You returned it. Joel’s eyes followed Tommy’s sight, before landing on you. You couldn’t see his expression from so far, but you nodded to him in common courtesy. He returned it, with a small lift of his hand. Tommy then leads them both into the house.

Even with the time going by, you couldn’t help but think about them. When you were living before the outbreak, you would have spied on the new neighbors to get to know them, before actually talking. But the full snow made it harder for them to see anything, and they weren’t about to play in the snow on their first day.

So that’s how you ended up, 9:30 in the night in front of his house, with a plate of cookies.

It gave you some sort of normal, being in front of another’s house with a plate of cookies. You had never been the ‘welcome wagon’, bearing a plate of food, nor have you been given the chance. When you first got here, the house next to you had already been filled by a couple in their late 50s, now 60s. They were the grumpy kind that you would see in the movies, yelling at kids on their front porch. The chances of them showing up like guardian angels with food were little to none.

You fidget with your scarf nervously. What if no one showed? Then you would have looked like an idiot with a plate of cookies you wouldn’t even end up eating. You knock twice, adding a third for good luck.

Then, the door slowly creaks open, with only a sliver of a face present. He was taller than you, his face was covered by shadows. His face was unreadable, however, his eyes couldn’t mask the suspicion that came off him.

“Can I help you?” His gruff voice came out from behind the door.

Your words were suddenly caught in your throat, but you forced them out. You were not about to look like a fool in front of your new neighbors.

“I’m Reader. I live right next door. I waved to you earlier today…” Your voice started to die off as you tried to give him pointers on how you knew him slightly.

“I know who you are.” His voice was even and cold. You swallowed, the conversation dying. He was actively shutting this down. You attempt to save it.

“Since we’re now neighbors,” You stammer, “I thought it was only right to properly introduce myself!”

“Great.” He said deadpan.

“Here,” you push the cookies toward the crack of the door, which he half-heartedly takes “Made these for you and your daughter. Hope you aren’t allergic to anything.”

You joke with that last part, but Joel’s expression becomes colder than it already was. Guess he doesn’t joke about allergies.

“I’m gonna… yea I’m gonna go now.” You can tell when you're not wanted, and clearly, this man would rather eat his foot than continue this conversation. As you make it down their steps, you can feel his eyes still on you. A brief look back shows you that he is still looking at you through the sliver at that door before he shuts it. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much and when a man is wanted. It’s been a couple of days since Joel and Ellie arrived at Jackson, and almost every woman has stared at him for a solid 30 seconds. You, unfortunately, had become one of those women lately.

He was strangely magnetic, even though it was clear he could care less about what others thought about him. He was more interested in Ellie’s well-being than anything else. Joel’s eyes were always on her when they were together, however, Ellie took any chance she could to explore the settlement.

This gave Joel enough time to spend time with Tommy, and they always ended up at the bar, the bar that you also ended up in during the weekends. However, it was the only bar in Jackson, so everyone ended up there.

When you walk into the bar, it’s busy. A successful raid had brought a bunch of supplies that Jackson couldn’t grow. The people were wall to wall, holding bears and glasses of alcohol. Music played from the stage, old music that you haven’t heard since before the outbreak. You shuffled through groups of people, making your way to a lone table in the back near the wall. 

“Reader!”

Tommy’s voice is loud enough to cut through the noise and the music. You turn your head, rubbing your temple. He makes his way to you, people patting him on his back. His brother follows close behind, setting his drink on your table when he gets there.

“Hey, Tommy.” You wave “How’s the night going? The only talk I’ve been hearing about is how good the raid went.”

Tommy grins. “More than great. Managed to snag a couple of books and supplies you asked for for the school.”

A waiter comes up, takes your order, and promptly smiles and leaves. You guess everyone is more than happy today “I saw that, thanks.”

Joel looks over the crowd, before taking a long swing of his beer. This was where you could see his features properly. 

The man standing before you was rugged in every sense of the word. His dark ashy black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was unkempt but somehow suited him. A scruffy beard covered his jawline, rough and uneven, as though shaving was a luxury he’d long abandoned. His skin was tanned and weathered, creased around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years spent enduring the elements.

What stood out most, though, were his eyes. Dark and intense, they scanned his surroundings with a sharpness that made it clear he missed nothing. Those same eyes, framed by furrowed brows, carried a weight that made it hard to look away, though she wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or discomfort that rooted her to the spot.

You understood why it was so hard to look away now. He was simply, breathtaking. He was the type of older man that your mother warned you about when you were a teen but couldn’t help but stare at those modeling pictures.

When the waitress came back with your drink — a light beer to calm the nerves — you took a sip to sedate yourself. He was a man who just moved into a town after suffering years on the outside with a child on his hip. He wasn’t anything special either. Maybe it was the rugged single dad look that attracted every single woman in town.

“Hello,  Joel.” You say politely “Did Ellie enjoy the cookies I made?”

His head remained looking outward, but his eyes snapped to you. He turned, nodding “She did. Couldn’t get her to stop eating.”

“Kids are like that. They always love all this sweet stuff. We have to make sure we don’t overfeed them. Sugar rushes are not fun.” You joke.

The conversation was easier than at his house. Was it because he was near his brother? He seemed actually open to talking.

“The kids always pester me around Christmas time for sugar cookies,” You continue  “But I rather throw myself in mud than deal with over 20 high on sugar.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow “You deal with the kids?”

You nod “I’m one of the teachers at the school. Well, it’s not like a school we went to. It’s more like a daycare for the younger kids and having the older ones supervised and getting used to working in the community.”

He keeps his hand on his drink “So you’re going to be taking care of Ellie.”

“If you want that,” You keep your mouth shut about Tommy's involvement in enrolling Ellie. Knowing Tommy, he liked to keep his good doings to a minimum “I’m sure Tommy has told you the idea of putting Ellie in a school setting. Does Monday work for heading to the school and checking things out?”

He thumps his fingers against the wood of the table. His face was one of concentration “Sure.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes “I can bring her there and have her check things out.”

As the night rolled along, the alcohol warmed up your body. The bar got even more busier, the music being drowned out by the chatter. Maria soon came as well, drinking along with Tommy. Joel remained close to the wall, on his second beer.

The night was getting long, and your eyes dropped. Fridays were always the worst, the kids were always jittery, draining your energy to the lowest of lows. 

Slip out of your chair, you head to the front to pay. You gesture toward Tommy and Maria, saying goodbye. With your hands in your pockets, you make your way into the cold night. Lights cast a glow over the snow, the mountains darkening the sky even more.

The crunch of snow under your boots was soon accompanied by another pair. Turning back, you see Joel. His breath fanned around his sharp face.

“Joel, didn’t expect to see you coming this way.” It hurt to smile, the cold freezing up your muscles.

“I live the same way.” He motioned down the road. 

‘Oh, I guess that is right’  You rubbed the back of your neck.

You slow down to match his pace. Having him just trail behind you was just strange and it wouldn’t help your anxiety of walking home alone. A silence that was present when both of you first talked fell over you both again.

The snow slightly drifted you both, the brown of your coat getting small dark dots on the shoulders. There was slight chatter from the center of the settlement, that slowly went away as you made it toward the cemetery.

Now that you were looking up at him so close, you felt like you’d seen this man somewhere. Not before you were living in Jackson, but somewhere earlier. His face seemed like it was a part of a distant memory.

When you reach Rancher Street, your house comes up first, the roofs full of snow. You slow your walk and put your foot on the first step. Before heading up more, you turn back to Joel who is watching you with an intense look.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I.”

authors note -

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter!! Don't look at my past posts and realize that I haven't posted in almost a year. Oops!

Here's my a03 account where you can read this same story on a03 if you prefer that format: Writer_Spins

[theokusgallery]

Hiiii I saw you say you have Notes on your Remus and Janus designs 👀👀?

Could we see/hear some tidbits?

FOR SURE !! Here's what the original doodles for their designs look like, first off, (I know you didn't ask for Virgil but I did these three at the same time)

When I drew this I had just finished an exam and had to wait another hour until I could leave the classroom, so I wrote down enough notes that I had to flip the page instead:

Virgil:

- Virgil has light brown hair that he dyes black (badly). It is essential that the dye job look like shit. It looks artificial, his roots are showing, there's patches where the color didn't take, etc etc.

- He also has blue eyes, which I decided on mostly because it makes it even more clear that his hair isn't naturally black.

- He wears earrings, but his ears aren't actually pierced — they're fake little little clip-on things.

- He wears black nail polish at all times, but it's always chipped because he gets the cheapest stuff he can get his hands on.

- His hair (especially his bangs) get very long at times because he gets too socially anxious to go to the hairdresser. Back in middle school, he used to have Janus cut them for him (Remus could have done a better job but trusting him with scissors would have been a mistake). Now he mostly cuts it off by himself — it looks about as good as his dye job.

- Virgil's purple hoodie is a leftover from Remus' fashion design endeavors that Remus thought didn't look weird enough.

Janus:

- He has naturally strawberry blonde hair. The length is very important to him — he started growing it towards the end of middle school. (He allows Remus to experiment with hairdos sometimes as long as he doesn't cut anything off. I need to draw that sometime)

- I'm not entirely settled on his eye color. I know at least one of his eyes is a very pretty brown, but I have half a mind to give him a yellow glass eye for his left side — I'm not sure it'd make any logistic sense for his situation, though

- He got his ears actually pierced when he was 16.

- He also may or may not have a forked tongue. Not sure how I'd ever be able to show that off — but if he does have one, then Remus definitely was the one to encourage him to do it.

- His fashion style was definitely influenced by being around Remus (who may have used him as a mannequin/dummy because he's small.) so much. Remus also attempted to make clothes for him, but Janus is very fancy and picky, so he doesn't wear those clothes very often (though he might accessorize with stuff Remus made for him occasionally).

Remus:

- He has naturally very dark hair. He uses temporary/surface level dyes a lot, but if he's using permanent or semi-permanent dyes, he's usually limiting himself to the grey streak — it's kind of a sample strand, since it's already bleached. He 100% copied his hairstyle from Roman's.

- He (and Roman, of course) has greenish blue eyes.

- Janus paid for him to get his ears (and eyebrows) professionally pierced because otherwise he was just going to do it himself with a sewing needle.

- He has a lot of very shitty stick-and-poke tattoos he made/makes on himself. They're almost always hidden by his outfits.

- Speaking of which, Remus makes most of his outfits costumes himself. The quality of the work may vary, but they are always way too over-the-top for casual wear, because he stands out anyway, so... in for a penny, right. (As I said in the tags of a post: he is very creative and has no shame or social anxiety at all, so he had his whole aesthetic ("overdramatic green") figured out by the time he was 13)

- He also has SH scars, but, again — they're hidden by his outfits 99% of the time. He's a slut who never shows an inch of skin

[littlehungrywarriorcats]

hi! I was wondering if you have any tips on drawing/visualising rufousing? Stuff like it's effect on non-black cats, where it's the reddest etc.

My current go-to reference is Somali cats but that's not entirely ideal considering their tickedness and amount of reliable sources for the rarer combos

Thankfully google images is full of a diverse array of black tabby pics so it's easy to find references from across the spectrum!

This is a pretty standard level of rufousing, a very normal brown tabby. You can - if you know what you're looking for - see the clear divide between more/less areas of rufousing across the body. It's more obvious when I pixelate him:

His rufousing falls on the belly, nose/muzzle, and chest. On other cats, we see the same pattern:

Belly, neck, chest, muzzle, and this one's paws are a little redder too.

Here's a very low-rufous brown cat who still has a rufoused line up the nose:

Even the grayest black tabbies have this tbh.

Here's a very rufoused brown tabby:

It's harder to see bc of how brown he already is, but we STILL see that intense (seasonally-appropriate) nose redness! Cats are rudolph I guess XD

As for non-black tabbies, they're usually reddish enough already throughout (AKA, can't get gray enough) that, while rufousing does still distribute the same way, it's much less noticeable. Here's a choc tabby w/pretty average rufousing:

Now that you know to look for it, the reddish nose IS still there...but it just looks the same color as the stripes!

Here's a more high-rufoused brown tabby, where it's a little more obvious that the nose strip is rufousing:

We can see it on the paws, too! It MIGHT be on the chest, but even with this fella's high rufousing, that red just looks like the normal agouti redness we see on the flank, so it's hard to tell!

I usually just draw rufousing in choc/cinnamon to be a straight increase/decrease in saturation for this reason tbh. Then again, I tend to do the same thing for my brown tabby designs... I find that rufousing in a way that doesn't look like weird tortie hard to draw :( Oh I can PAINT it, sure, but when it gets stylized into clean lines? Much harder.

Another important thing to keep in mind is that this white-ish spot on the muzzle here...

...is ALSO the result of banding! That's not "true" white, this cat has NO leucism. The red intensifies around the muzzle and then turns more "white" towards the center as a result of normal tabby agouti-ness :3

Here's a chocolate with the same faux-white as a result of being a tabby.

Sometimes it's just on the chin. Here's a cinnamon tabby with...some kind of rufousing! It's harder to tell w/these guys already being so red, but I'd venture to say "lower" bc of the lack of lightness on the belly/face:

When it comes to cinnamons, who are SO light, most of their visible rufousing is either just going to look like stripes or turn fully faux-white. His paws just looks darker instead of redder!

I hope this helps!!!

[islandtarochips]

Secret Santa Gift

Arthur's Note: Talofa everyone! Christmas is ALMOST here and my mutuals and I were doing these Secret Santa events! And I have pulled out fooooooor….. @kaitaiga I was a bit nervous to show this because I don’t know much about her OCs nationality. Like how they speak and act I mean. But I'm still learning! Also, I have chosen to do Archie and his cat for this one. Since I know he deserves some love everyone! And I hope that this is okay depending on how I type. But Kai, if there’s something WRONG that I did in here. PLEASE just let me know and I’ll fix it RIGHT away. Want to make this as perfect as POSSIBLE! So don’t hesitate to correct me for I do need to know what I did wrong! And….hopefully you’ll enjoy this one! So…Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Words: 2125

It was a snowy night in Newcastle, Australia.

A nice snowy night in a nice snowy town. Seeing the snowflakes falling down so smoothly. Everyone in town was walking through the streets, seeing many beautiful Christmas lights hanging from one pole to another.

And everyone was enjoying every second just to look at the beautiful decorations. They even started to buy some toys, jewels and some good clothing for them to wrap up for presents. And some good foods and pastries for their dinner.

While everyone was busy doing their shoppings and sightseeing. A young man, named Archie, was walking through the streets, carrying groceries in his arms while humming to the Christmas music that was playing on the street. He greeted some people as he passed by. With that soft smile of his. He even made some women giggle when they passed by him.

He was just on his way to his apartment. Bringing the groceries that he bought to make something for himself and with a special someone.

He greeted a few more people on the way before entering a building. And heading to the elevator. “Okay, it seems liyyke I got everythin'. Now I hope he’s not fahkin' angry at me fawr takin' so long.” He saw the elevator door had opened and he stepped right inside as he pressed the button of which floor he wanted to go. Humming to the Christmas music that was playing in the elevator and watched the numbers on the top of the elevator door passing by. Then saw the number had stopped on the 5 which it’s his floor. Reaching for his keys in his pocket before stepping out of the elevator while walking his way to his door. Holding the bag with his other arm.

Pushing the key into the keyhole of the doorknob and turning it to open. As he opened the door and stepped inside, he started to stomp his boots a bit to get some snow fall onto the rug and ruffled his wavy dark brown hair to get the other snow off as well. Before he heard a small meow sound as if it was a greeting for him. He looked down and snickered to see his black cat had already got some snow on his fur. The snow that was from his hair that he was getting off from.

Watching him shake some snow off and gently rubbing himself against Archie’s legs.

“Hey there Vadah. Miss me?” He said as he bent down a bit and petted him while carefully holding the groceries bag in hand. “Sorry for takin' so long. There are heaps of people around the bloody streets.” He stood up and placed the groceries on the small table before taking off his coat as he hung it up on the coat rack against the wall. Then grabbed his shoppings as walked over to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter.

And then he was looking at the window when he walked to the kitchen, seeing some snowflakes falling down. He somehow found this quite calming. Since the weather forecast did say it will be a smooth and calm snowy month. Thank God.

He had enough crazy moments right now since he came back from a mission about a few weeks ago. He remembers how rough it was and hoped that this Christmas holiday would give him peace.

After that mission, his Captain, Lachlan, had already released them to have their Christmas time with their family.

He heard that he was going to spend some time with his daughters and with Talullah. He wished him luck by the way with that nice woman.

Damien, the Sergeant, was also planning to visit his family back at the farm. Hopefully he’ll be okay when meeting his parents. Even Daniel was planning to go back to see his lover. Spending some NICE Christmas nights with her, if you know of what he means.

And lastly, Joseph. His buddy. Had already gone to do his own things on Christmas. Joseph WAS planning to spend some holidays with him but he has to do some things. Which Archie understands and doesn’t mind at all.

He started to bring out the cat food from the bag and some ingredients that he needed to make his own food.

“Merrow…”

“Patience Vadah. I’ll get tah yah tuckah after I get some things ta make my tucker. Yours is easy ta make while mine needs some pans 'n pots 'n a stove.” He said with a small smile while he walked to each cupboard to get a pot, cutting board, knives, some spices and everything that he needed to make his food.

After that, he started to open the cat food for Vader and would smile to hear him meowing. Archie had started to pour it in Vader’s bowl that shows a Star Wars theme on it. He placed it down before he started to make his food.

“Alright, let's get started.” He stretched his arms and started cooking.

#a~one hour later~

“Done!Whew! Thought it will nevah be done!” Archie smiled as he adored his cooking that he made. He could feel the pride inside of him as he took the food onto the table.

Vader had hopped onto the table and was sniffing the food. “Mrow.”

“Hey Vadah. Wait just a moment. I need ta grab some drinks then we can eat. Alright?” He started to head to the fridge as he brought out a bottle.

Vader started meowing at him when he saw the bottle.

“Hey hey. Calm down. It’s NON-ALCOHOL. I still remembah I promise ya I won’t go rotten while you’ah ahround.” He placed a glass cup on the counter while opening the bottle. “It’s Altina drinks. Relaxed.”

Vader was just staring at the bottle while still looking at him like he’s not believing his owner’s words. Archie rolled his eyes to see his own cat not believing him. He put the bottle away and walked over to the table as he sat at the end of it.

While Vader jumped off the table and landed on the chair next to his owner. Sat down on the chair while looking up at him. Waiting for him to eat first.

Archie took a good look on the table to see the food he made.

Two meat pies, half of the Christmas ham, pork and a small choc ripple cake. He didn’t cook that much since it’s only him and Vader. He sighed as he gazed at the chair on the other side of the table. Archie was silenced for a bit as he was staring at the empty chair. Vader noticed too of how his owner was staring.

The poor man kept staring at it as he started to see an image of an old man sitting there. With that cheerful smile on his face. Smiling at the pilot man as he nodded at Archie. He could feel his heart was aching a bit before reaching something into his shirt and pulled out an ID tag and gently rubbed on it with his thumb.

“Miss ya, grandpah. Wish ya weah heah ta enjoy these that I’ve made.” He softly smiled at the tag before he felt the presence of his grandfather near him. As if he was just right next to him. “And…I hope you’ah proud of me. I’ve wawrked so 'ahrd ta reach this fahr. 'n I really wish ya could meet my teammates awr make that family that I've made.”

Vader started to clean his fur a bit while listening to his owner talking.

“They’ah grouse. 'n I would’ve made it this fahr if it weren’t fawr them.” Archie kept rubbing the tag as he smiled softly at it. “I hope I've made ya proud. Miss ya and…love ya.” He gently kissed on the tags before tucking it back into his shirt. Smiling at his cat nuzzling onto his hand. “I’m okay, buddy. Just…missed him.”

He petted Vader’s ear before placing some piece of ham and pork on his boy’s plate. And just smiled softly at Vader hopping on the table as he munched on the food that was provided for him.

Archie petted his cat for a bit before he started eating his food. “Mmm. So good.” He said it softly as he looked at Vader. “Dya like the bloody tucker Vade?”

Vader meowed happily as he continued to eat.

“That’s good as gold. Now, tomorrow is a big day for ya ta open up yah prezzy. 'n I promise ya, you’ll love it.”

“Mreow.”

“No. Ya won’t open it tonight. That’s now how it goes.”

“Mrrrooooow!”

“Don’t give me that attitude, young bloke.” He chuckled as he continued to eat.

After that great dinner they had, Archie had started to clean up. While Vader walked up to a window sill and lay there. Watching the snowflakes fall down. He also sometimes put his paw against the window trying to get one of it.

Archie smiled to see his cat scratching on the window glass. “Don't scratch on the bloody glass, Vadah. Don't want ta replaced befawah Christmas.” He started to wash the dishes after turning on his phone to play some Christmas songs in a Jazz version. Since he really does feel like in a mood of hearing something soft and slow tonight.

Soon after cleaning up the kitchen and wiping everything. He started to grab some wine in the cabinet and grabbed the wine glass before hearing Vader meowing loudly again at him. “Oh come on, I know I said I promise ta not drink tonight but I really need it. Okay?”

Vader just sat at the window sill and glared at his owner.

“Oh don’t give me that look. Just fawr tonight…please?” Archie pleaded to his cat.

Vader just kept glaring before hopping down from the window sill and made his way to his owner. Just rubbing himself against the legs to show that he’ll let him drink. Just for tonight.

Arhcie smiled before he crouched down and patted him. “Ta, love. I promise it won’t be mawah than five.” He quickly lifted him up a bit and pecked his head before putting him back down. Then he stood up and went to get his wine ready.

Vader purred a bit as he started trotting his way to the couch and hopping onto it. Getting himself comfortable before laying down.

Meanwhile, Archie is getting some candles from the shopping bags that he brought. Cinnamon scent. Now that would be nice to fill this room with Christmas spirits.

He placed one on the small table next to the couch, one next to the TV and the last one on the window sill where Vader used to sit. Already light up with the match. Archie had breathed in the scent for a moment before grabbing his glass and the wine bottle and turned off the music from his phone.

Vader’s ear twitched a bit to hear Archie walking over. He stood up and stretched before making room for his owner.

Archie smiled a bit to see his cat move away as he sat down. Placing the bottle of wine on the small table next to him and grabbing the remote, putting on a Christmas classic movie. While sitting down and had a wine in his hand. He smiled softly at Vader hopping onto his lap.

He petted him before switching some channels. “So, wat would ya liyyke ta watch?”

Vader took a look at the screen before moving his head to see that one movie he would like to watch. “Meow.”

“Gahrfield? The bloody Christmas special? Agayyn? We already watched that last yeahr.”

“Mrow…” He looked up at Archie with his pleading eyes.

Poor Archie couldn’t resist his kitty eyes. It ALWAYS gets to him. Seeing those kinds of eyes is almost like looking through stars at night. Which he adores with that so much. So he sighed in defeat and smiled. “Oh how can I say no ta that face? Alright then, we’ll watch this.”

He clicked the movie before sitting back and watched while enjoying drinking his glass of wine. And Vader just lay on his owner’s lap, watching the movie and purred softly to feel Archie’s hand on his soft fur.

“Merry Christmas, Vadah.” He said quietly before continuing to watch the movie.

The two. A man and his cat. Enjoyed the rest of their evenings watching a movie and waiting for the next day of opening their presents. 

And pretty sure that they will be happy to open it-

“VADAH! NO! I SAID NO OPENIN’ THE BLOODY PRESENTS! BAD KITTY!”

……Well, SOME might be too happy to open their presents.

THE END

[thearcherbrothersx]

Her slight bit of hesitance was met with an expectant arch of his brow and a gentle "now, my darling." She probably didn't need the little bit of extra incentive to do as she was told; he knew she would comply, but he liked to remind her not to dawdle whenever she did nonetheless. Even if, secretly, he didn't always mind as much as one would assume.

Declan's gaze had focused itself on their surroundings as she climbed off his lap, his expression largely unreadable - and then she spoke. He turned his head to look over at her, a small curve of subtle amusement at his lips, brows a little raised for just a few seconds before they settled. "A little bit at a time, pet," he told her then, reaching out to brush a bit of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. "We will get to all of it. There's no rush." He paused as the car stopped, though his gaze lingered on Cora. "And yes, angel, I am."

They were the last words he spoke before Tim opened the door, and Declan exited, glancing at the McLaren a final time before he took Cora's hand in his and walked inside. The minute they stepped through the door, and it slid closed behind them, Declan sighed, his eyes settling on the male who walked into the foyer to greet them.

Brown hair, dark eyes, a smirk settled comfortably on his full lips, he paused in the entrance to the rest of the house, leaning casually against the wall, muscled arms folded across his chest as he eyed Declan, then let his gaze roam over Cora. He wore black jeans and a black t-shirt that fit just tight enough to cling to the planes of his obviously well-toned torso, yet loose enough to look comfortable. "Looks like a fun car ride," he observed playfully, mirth lingering in his dark gaze. "Declan's taking good care of you, I see." He flashed Cora a smile that made Declan raise a brow, although the small curve to his lips made it clear he wasn't actually too bothered.

"Marcus..." he greeted before glancing down at Cora. "My brother," he explained, shaking his head a little at the younger man as he looked to him again, considering the different reasons for Marcus' appearance his evening. Marcus inclined his head in Cora's direction, playful smile still glued to his handsome face. "Aaand you must be Cora."

Cora felt a silly little surge of pride when he told her he couldn't find another example. "What can I say? You inspire greatness." She teased him, her expression nothing but affectionate. He was fun. He was so smart, and he kept her on her toes, and she absolutely adored that.

She was hesitant to get back into her seat, not entirely ready to be off of him. Still, she didn't spend too long disobeying him, before she was crawling off, straightening out her dress as she did so. Cora smoothed her hands over her hair, sucking in a deep breath, smiling at him before exhaling.

"I want you to push me." Her eyes were dark, shamelessly meeting his. "Don't hold back." It felt like a bold request, but she wanted to make her wants clear, felt it was important to do so. "I'm yours, but you're a little mine too," Maybe not all the way, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that, but she felt like she could take a little bit of him as hers. "So if you've got fantasies... or things you want to do that you've never gotten to before?" Maybe that was silly to offer, maybe he'd already lived out every fantasy. Still, she wanted to make it clear that she was all in, "I'm yours to try it with."

[astralmarionette]

dear God i will PAY edgar to get better clothes