#the lonesome vessel

[vampiresfromxenon]

Kiss It Better

Astarion x gender neutral! Reader/Tav

Around 2.2K words 

Tags: Fluff, kissing, blood, soft!(ish?) Astarion, hurt/comfort, angst, 3rd person, no use of y/n

CW: Blood, deep wound on hand, existential thoughts (?)

Summary: After accidentally cutting your hand on your blade, Astarion is the only one in the camp to help you deal with it. You’ve been seeing him for awhile now, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually care. Perhaps he does feel the same way about you…

~

With the daylight fading, you rest just outside your tent, wiping the blood off of your blade with a damp rag. As you sit there, shining it to perfection, you can’t help but analyze your reflection, thinking about the events that led you to having newer, fresher scars on your face. It’s been a few months since the start of this nightmare, since the start of having these things inside your head. The tadpoles weren't that bad to deal with, but your feelings were worse. 

You’ve grown to love all the companions you’ve met along the way, laughing and enjoying their company as you travel across the land, searching for answers, for a cure. You all keep each other safe in one way or another, and while you hate to get too attached, knowing this won’t last forever, you feel as though you found your family, especially since you can’t remember your real one. God, your real family. One you once knew but now have no memory of. Your past is a mystery, and it haunts you, much more than the gnawing idea that you could become a mind flayer at any waking moment. 

You want to remember. Oh, so desperately do you want to remember, but you can’t. That is not an option for you. And besides? What good would that do you now? You can only confront the horrors that lie before you. The thought of losing your friends, the thought of losing yourself. The thought of losing… No. You can’t bear the thought of losing him.

You find your heart sinking in your chest at the thought of him turning into a mind flayer. Your chest aches at the thought of where you promised you’d stab him if, Gods forbid, he turns. Looking into his eyes and seeing nothing, no life, no character, but a vessel. A vessel for these wretched things. It was becoming too much to handle. Your body begins to tremble from these false images enveloping your thoughts, these twisted and sickly ideas corrupting your mind for far too long. You’re so distracted by these terrors that you fail to notice the fact that you started to scrub the blade harder, or even more pressing, the fact that you dropped the rag. 

In one swift movement, your palm forcibly glides across the blade, drawing both blood from your palm and a string of curses from your mouth. The images disappear, fleeing your mind as you pick up the rag and crush it into the palm of your hand to stop the bleeding. The blade was no longer important in this moment, tossed off to the side for later. You storm into your tent, clutching your hand, searching for any sort of healing potion or power that you could find. Shadowheart and the rest of the camp had left to explore the town for the night, leaving you all to your lonesome, or so you thought. 

You sit on a cushion, exasperated and upset with yourself and your doomed existence. Removing the cloth, you take a closer look to see just how bad the wound is, trying to ignore the stinging feeling. Distracted by the blood, you fail to hear a visitor’s light footsteps approaching. 

“Oh dear, what happened to you?” A charming voice rings out. 

You turn to see a pale, slender elf standing in the opening of your tent, his white hair perfectly styled as always, his piercing red eyes invading your soul. Shoving the rag back into your burning palm, you attempt to hide your mistake, though you know he smells the blood from miles away. 

“I had a moment of clumsiness, nothing more.” You stated in a nonchalant tone, attempting to downplay your embarrassment. 

You turn your hand away from him, your eyes drifting around your tent, avoiding his gaze. He slowly approaches you, kneeling down on the cushion you are sitting on. He moves his head to meet your gaze, not wasting a second of eye-contact. 

“Mind if I take a look, darling?” He purrs, asking more nicely than usual. 

Your heart begins to race as he leans over you a little, prying into your personal space. If it were anyone else, you would push them away, but he invited himself in so much that you couldn’t help but miss it when he left. However, in this moment you did not want to feel this vulnerable, this embarrassed at your mistake; you couldn’t help but push him away just a little. After all, he is not known for having the best 'bedside manner’, if any at all. Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look.

“I’ll be alright on my own, thank you, Astarion. Besides, I thought you went into town with the rest of the camp?” You inquire, suddenly aware of just how much your feelings of being alone may have been an illusion. 

“I had no need to go, and honestly I couldn’t take any more of Gale’s whining about ‘needing to eat magical artifacts’. I know everyone complains about my diet, but let’s be realistic here for just a moment…” He looks away smirking, proud of his own snarky comment. Turning back to you, there is suddenly a shift in tone on his face. While he still has his typical look, one that is oozing with flirtatious energy, he looks a bit more serious, concerned even. You’ve never seen this side of him before, and it shocked you considering just how insignificant he’d find a wound like this normally. 

“Let me see it, please.” His voice was low, softer than usual, but commanding. One of his hands reaches across you, his hand ghosting over yours. You can’t help but lift your bloody hand so his palm touches the back of your hand. Never breaking eye-contact, he pulls your hand closer to him, gently pulling the rag from your white knuckles. Looking down, he notices just how bad the cut is, taking up most of your palm. 

“Oh, my dear… How did you do this?” His voice is more concerned now, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your wrist. His eyes soften, and you can’t help but think back to what put you in this mess to begin with. Your body trembles once more, eyes breaking his gaze as you stare down at your hand. 

“My hand slipped while cleaning my blade. It’s alright, I just need to wait for Shadowheart to come back…” You trail off. 

“Why wait for Shadowheart? I can make you feel better, you know…” His free, slender hand reaches down and grabs your chin, gently raising your head to face his again. You blush from his touch, his willingness to command your body. Your mouth falls open a little, unsure of what to say or how to respond to such a comment from him. You were used to his flirting, but this unlocked a whole new feeling in you. He could sense your speechlessness, and so he did the one thing he knew how to do best: make you even more flustered. 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” He asks in his normal, teasing tone. This offering catches you off guard, breaking your immersion in this intimate moment. You can’t help but laugh, thinking now that he was only just charming you like he does everyone else. Continuing to laugh, you call him out. 

“Very funny, Astarion. Hilarious. Need I remind you of when I was opening up to you not that long ago and you said almost the exact same thing? Seems to me you’re running out of tactics here.” You roll your eyes, not amused by his antics.

You feel his grip tighten on your bleeding hand, pulling it closer to him. Looking to see what he is doing, you connect with his eyes one more time, seeing an almost predatory look. You stop laughing, your face heating up once again, your heart pounding as his soft lips connect with your wounded palm. It still stings, and you wince a little at the contact, but you can’t seem to look or pull away from him. He kisses all along your palm, and you can feel him gently sucking at the blood. Not only was he kissing you better, but he was feeding on you. 

If you weren’t so attracted to him, you’d be much more upset. Instead, you sit on this cushion while the vampire of your desires kneels before you, kissing and sucking at your wounded palm. You can feel his tongue lapping at your skin, his fangs ever so slightly poking out from behind his lips. Yes, he was feeding, but was he… actually kissing you too? His hands continue to massage the back of your hand and your wrist, trying to provide you comfort without completely invading your space. Eventually he stops, planting a final kiss on your wrist, his mouth covered in blood. He licks his lips, and you can’t help but tremble now but for a whole new reason. 

“Better?” He asks, smiling enough to show his fangs this time. 

“You just wanted an excuse to suck at my hand, didn’t you?” You raise an eyebrow, an attempt to see through him.

“I am always looking for any excuse to suck at any part of you, my sweet.” His voice is low once more, a rumbling laugh escaping his lips.

He finds a section of the rag not absolutely soaked in blood and pushes it back into your, now much cleaner, palm. Your whole face is flushed now, unable to think of any more witty remarks or comebacks. For the second time in just a few small minutes, he found yet another way to leave you completely speechless. The sly vampire decides to take advantage of your silence once more. 

Letting go of your hand, he leans forward, his lips connecting with yours. It’s soft, gentle, and new. To be fair, while you have spent a few intimate nights together, this moment here alone feels so much more real, so much more genuine. Almost as if he was kissing you… because he wanted to. A real, genuine want. His hand caresses the side of your face, his other landing on the small of your back as he continues to kiss you. Without hesitation, you lean into the kiss, your body elated by his touch. It’s not long before he deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, wanting more from you. 

He tastes of iron, what more could you expect, but for once you don’t hate the taste. You invite it more into your mouth as he continues to lean even further over you. He begins to push you back, your body relaxing into the cushion. He breaks from the kiss, planting small kisses on your face, trailing them down your jaw and to the side of your neck. You can’t help but close your eyes, softly sighing as he kisses at your skin, sucking softly, his fangs once again poking you. He had been feeding off you almost every night now for weeks while you were dead asleep, and while it was unusual for you two, it was so much more enjoyable to experience it this way. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes as a way of warning you he was about to bite. He opens his mouth, his fangs protruding, ready for the taste of your flesh and blood. 

“Helloooo? Astarion? Tav? We’ve got some goods!” Yells out Karlach, just a few meters away from your tent.

Shit. He sits up, kneeling over you, looking dissatisfied. You sigh and throw your head back into the cushion, frustrated. His cool hand caresses your cheek before tracing down your arm. He leans in close to your face one last time, his breath warming your skin. 

“Shall we finish this later tonight, my love?” He purrs, not even remotely finished with you.

You nod, still unable to speak from the last few eventful minutes. He kisses your cheek before standing. “Find me in the woods at our little spot, just after everyone has gone to bed. Don’t keep me waiting.” He flashes one last cheeky smirk before exiting your tent. 

“Hello, Karlach. Gale find any boots to devour today?” He quips, and you can’t help but laugh when Gale offendly responds.

The camp erupts in conversation, and you find yourself leaving your tent after a few minutes to track down Shadowheart. She heals you in her tent, though she has quite a few questions. Giving vague enough responses, she accepts them and lets you be on your way, but she’ll definitely be curious about it for a while. 

No matter, the only thought you could think of now was what Astarion had planned for both of you tonight; you knew exactly what was going to happen, but there was this whole new sense of excitement now that you could tell there was something deeper, real, and authentic going on between you two. You lie there in your tent, waiting for the snoring and sleep talking to begin to resonate throughout the camp, eager to scamper off into the wilderness with the elf you adore.  

-

Author's Note:

Hello! I haven't written any fan fiction in a loooooong time, and none of it was ever good to begin with- I've been struggling with writer's block for awhile now, and this was the first thing to break me out of it... lmao. I am very new to BG3 in general honestly, and I just barely started act 2. Please no spoilers, but also if Astarion is sorta OOC, I hope that explains why too :)

I've only had Astarion for what, two, three weeks now, and this man is just so whewww. I thought of this fic idea right as soon as I started a longer drive, and I started recording my thoughts on video so that way I wouldn't forget anything before I could start writing hahaha- I blushed so hard writing this, hope y'all feel the same

Hope you enjoy!

[starshipsofstarlord]

“thought you were mad at me.”

“it’s a hate boner, i swear.”

summary. you and daryl, despite fighting and surviving side by side for years, have always had a tendency to get on each others nerves. the one thing he hates more than your recklessness however, is seeing you hurt

warnings. boners duh, swearing, mentions of death and turning, daryl skinning an animal, feelings, daryl being a boob man, no smut, slight angst, love confessions, implied smut

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

There were many possible things that you could do to enrage Daryl Dixon; you’d been comrades for many years and it would have been suspicious if the two of you hadn’t found a way to flawlessly get on each others nerves.

Currently you were seated in your station of living, ass planted on a kitchen chair as you endured silent treatment from the archer whom was skilfully removing the outer layer of flesh and fur from a lifeless badger.

Your arms crossed upon the aged oak of the table as you silently criticised the lack of noise - the air was tense and riddled with thick annoyance, it was difficult to breathe through. To Daryl’s dismay, your fingernails danced in an attempted rhythm upon the surface of which that were layer atop of, creating a chorus of taps that were audible within the quiet room.

The sound filled his ear drums, and his attention drew away from the black and white striped creature that was in the process of having its fur stripped from its lifeless flesh upon the counter, and he irritatedly gritted his bottom row of teeth. He was becoming tired of your reckless habits, and the fact that you cared not for making one sorry mistake that would risk your life.

Despite the countless chances that he had had, he’d never told you of the feelings that he quietly harboured towards you, he kept them locked away from your knowledge, afraid that if he were to open up, he would only lose you, or that you would reject him for his deep infatuation. And that scenario was already on the verge of taking place, you’d been foolish, and luckily escaped with only scrapes and a few bruises.

But he was angry at your carelessness, it was as though you didn’t care whether you continued to live or died. His knife slipped across the badger’s skin, creating a thin red line through the mammal’s corpse as he stared down at it, hoping the morbid sight would distract him, though the sight didn’t sway him from being mildly aware of your presence.

Each fibre of his body was tense, he knew that you were hurt, somewhere on your body that he wasn’t certain of, but you hid the destination, which only brewed furthermore worry in his heart and chest. What if you were bitten? That would be something that he would never forgive himself for, that he hadn’t been there to protect you from the most gruesome process that a human could experience.

You would either turn into a cannibalistic monster that had an imperishable thirst for anything that breathed, or you would need a deadly pressure to your brain to prevent the walker transformation from completing itself in the vessel of your body.

It was an incurable disease, and you were all infected one way or another, but the bite would only enforce the burden of becoming one of them to a faster process. Daryl’s brain was haywire with emotions, his hand forced a tighter grasp around the knife, until he released it from his grip, placing it beside the spoils of his hunt.

He whipped around, glaring at you as you seemed undisturbed by the catastrophic ramblings that his brain was swirling in by its lonesome. Your brow arched in contempt, as you hid a smirk as you had seemed to make a crack in his brooding. But instead of his silence, there was a riddle of careful treading in his determined steps that slowly but intently made their route towards you.

Instead of being flabbergastered by his sudden change in exterior motives, you remained exactly where you were, fearless of the concoction of emotions that were emitting upon his face. Your hands continued their dance, precipitating farther exasperation to coil around the stealthy archer.

“Show me.” Daryl’s tone was brisk and harsh as they fell efficiently from his lips, and you ogled at them discreetly, employing the thought of them upon your own in your imagination. With a toying smile sprawled upon your lips, you cocked your head in query, stepping up onto your feet, allowing the entirety of your weight to fall upon them.

“Show you what? How to speak to a woman, because your tactics really aren’t working Dixon?” Not everything was a joke, this was a serious situation to him, yet you could not fathom that! Your words only made him enraged with your lacking will to look after yourself. It befuddled each cell in his body to think with common sense that you had managed to live this long, but he threw that building monologue away and as far as possible from flowing off his tongue.

He cared and that was all he wanted to show you, but it was impossible when you were so… impossible yourself! “The wound y/n. I swear ta god you better not be hidin’ a bite.” The hissing undertone of Daryl’s voice shocked you, whilst during past events he had made comments of his distaste for your methods of ‘getting things done’, he had never called you out so directly.

A pang in your chest told you how much you resented him using that tone to address you, but you shook it off, understanding that he presumed that you were destined sooner rather than later to meet a set fate. “Never took you for a religious man Daryl.” You gulped in your efforts to smother your blossoming timidness, hunching your shoulders as you pushed down on your confidence to make eye contact with the man. “And I’m not bitten,” you huffed, refraining from rolling your eyes, “I can prove it to you if you want.”

“Yeah, I do wan’ tha’.” He sternly replied, and all of a sudden you felt vulnerable. You rubbed your lips together anxiously, before reaching down and bringing your hands to the end of your shirt, beginning to peel it over your head, throwing the material that now hid little from sight on the table. In the moment you felt no regret for opting to wear a bra, but you still felt the need to surround your arms around your chest, which only drew more attention to your breasts.

You craned your neck, gouging his reaction as you turned to angle your ribs to his eye-line, the prominent flush of pink and purple bruising painting your side in a tie dye artwork effect. His lips parted, as his baby blues turned their focus from their rude excavation of your subtle cleavage to your side, his pupils wildly darting around the area with both relief and disdain.

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his face with his large palm, as he realised that another part of his body continued to be distracted by his the other parts of your body that were teasing him with their supple beauty. “We should see if there’s any ice in the infirmary.” He stated, awkwardly feeling encased in the roomy kitchen. “I’m sorry, didn’ mean to make ya feel like ya had to show me.”

He felt stupid. So fucking stupid. Whilst he was never brought up in that way, he always tried to be respectful towards women, and he respected you more than most general people. If he were to voice his certain love of you now, or any when after this situation, he would look like an utter idiot.

“It’s okay.” Your voice sounded smaller now, and hated that he was the one that had burst your bubble of troublesome words. “I understand, enough of us are no longer here. You needed to make sure, and I appreciate that Dar.” You bowed your head, and luckily you were looking at your own feet, Daryl thought, as he felt compressed in his pants.

“I’ll go get ya some ice, and some pain killers.” Daryl was prepared to rush off, but as he was about to brush past you to do the errands to treat you that he had just listed, your arm swung, as your hand caught ahold of his wrist, dragging him into your personal space. On any other heart warming situation he wouldn’t have minded, you’d hugged before during hard times, but not when he had a… problem.

Instantly your y/e/c eyes shot in the direction of his face that was blooming into the shade of a beetroot. You had realised, you couldn’t not have. “Thought you were mad at me.” You teased, and Daryl felt the remainder of his body grow stiff as he released you. He would never live this down, you would never let him forget this.

“It’s a hate boner, I swear.” He attempted to save himself from your prodding smugness, however he knew all too well that was a losing battle. Your face returned to its coy assertion, aiming your mischievous smirk towards him - his erect cock was your fault, that was obvious. And you had been on a road too long without even hinting that you felt something more than seeing him as found family.

To once have thought you deserved happiness would have sounded like a sickening joke, and you would have maniacally laughed at the delirious prospect, but your hue of vibrant damage from the impact that had clashed with your side, and Daryl’s morbid assumption had reminded you that life was truly too short to waste any scrap of time.

“If you forget about the ice,” you deflected from the ache that pinched your bloodstream, “then maybe you can forget about that badger on the side too and prove that you’re not breaking a swear. What goods a ‘hate boner’ if you don’t get to prove how much you allegedly hate me?”

“Could never hate ya.” Daryl leant down and placed a peck upon your forehead, as his hand ghosted against your cheek, brushing your bottom lip with his rough padded thumb. “Now settle down, ya need some pain killers woman, I ain’t playing games no more. I ain’t lettin’ ya pretend you’re fine, can see you’re not.” He glanced down at the large bruise once again and physically winced; he knew you were in pain, anybody would be with such an infliction of harsh force.

“Then how about we stop this game for once and for all?” You weren’t sure if your words were for him or you, but nevertheless you drew your faces closer, allowing the tips of your noses to brush. “I’ve loved you since- I can’t even remember when I realised it, it just happened. And from then on, it’s something I can’t shake, and I don’t want to.” You confessed open heartedly, putting the secrecy that you had hidden for so long on the table.

Daryl felt his heart jump out of his chest, sure you’d make some infectiously teasing remarks at his expense, but he never thought that a woman like you would have the desire to be with a redneck tracker who had been born into a life that already had its share of issues. “I-“ Daryl took a deep breath that filled his wide chest, as he realised that this was the moment that he felt as though he had waited eons for. “I love ya, have done since the first time I saw ya. Couldn’ get ya outta my mind, jus’ wasn’t sure that someone like you could ever love someone like me…”

“Trust me Daryl, you can be more sure about it than your hate boner.” A laugh tumbled from your lips, and whilst Daryl adored the sound more than the tapping that your fingers had done on the table, he decided to shut you up. With his hand on finding purchase finally on your cheek, he pulled you in, meeting your lips as your mouths melted together, his opposing hand hovering over your extreme bruising as though he could protect it from the air itself.

The kiss was filled with each memory he held of you, each flashed like a tribute in his mind behind his closed eyes, as he finally felt shockwaves of passion flow between you. It was the best thing that he had experienced since the outbreak had began, and each moment of turmoil and agitation was worth it. He was finally home, with you, the person who accepted him wholeheartedly.

[qingxin-dream]

“Righteousness”

summary | in another timeline, kunikuzushi never redeemed himself. he took interest in a different kind of heart—not the Gnosis, not a Vision—but yours. (art credits: @/Shiqaruki on twitter).

warnings | lore, kidnapping, kuni calls you ‘little songbird,’ profanity, brief mention of physical abuse, manipulation, praise & degradation, pining, obsessive/possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader (wears a dress & lingerie), dominant kuni, choking, yandere jealousy, murder/arson threats, worship, slapping, finger-fucking, mirror sex, kuni receives oral, deepthroating, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, mention of breeding

genre | yandere, smut with plot, canon-divergent

word count | 4.5k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

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In a time all but forgotten, a young boy sat on his knees, caressing a hand-sewn doll in his palms and looking up with childlike compassion to his companion.

“There once was a puppet solider whose greatest wish was to be with a ballerina doll forever and ever,” he began, his eyes reflecting the scene of his storytelling imagination.

He gently squeezed the doll in his hands, as if to comfort his companion before the truth spills from his lips. “But the solider didn’t have a heart and didn’t know where his feelings came from.”

“One day, his owner didn’t want him anymore and threw him away into a fire. But even in the flames, his eyes never left the ballerina,” he continued with a more somber tone, drawing attention to the gut-wrenching ending of a tragic romance.

However, his voice shifted, offering soft words of wisdom and hope to his distraught friend. “The next day, the people found a tiny heart in the ashes left by the fire.”

Instinctively, the beautiful puppet sitting before the young boy curled his lip in disdain. “Probably ashes in the shape of a heart… but that’s not a real heart.”

He could hear the affectionate smile pulling at the corners of the young boy’s mouth. “Maybe, but what if… hearts can be born from ashes?”

“What a joke. It’s just ashes,” the lonesome puppet can barely conjure up a breath in his agony. “Nothing left but ashes.”

As his chest twisted and clenched with the wretched filth of so-called human emotion, the divine puppet came to a profound realization. His body merely served as a hollow shell, cursed by the ghost of mortal weakness—a living testament to the depths of an Archon’s visceral mourning.

In his naïveté, he had trusted the boy he thought to be his friend. He had believed that silly little fairytale, that maybe he wasn’t as empty and worthless as he felt. There was no heart to be found in the cold vessel of a failed god.

Kunikuzushi would have to claim one for himself.

Sin.

The ultimate temptress of mortals. The manifestation of human greed and desire. That which demands repentance and atonement for fear of eternal damnation. It is hinged on the human condition that death is inevitable.

Mortals are easily persuaded by morals and ideology if it means life after death in a paradise that is not guaranteed. Humans create false narratives to exercise the sick satisfaction of controlling one other. When all is said and done, the real struggle is for power—namely the power to control fate itself.

For those who are destined to roam the world with no such motives, imprisoned in an earthly purgatory, sin and salvation are laughable notions.

There is no reason to live, for you cannot die; Sin knows no bounds and comes with no price.

“The sooner you accept this, the better,” Kunikuzushi laments, his face just inches from yours. The bewitching twinkle in his lavender irises has remained all these centuries, a cruel illusion masking the abyss beneath. “Nothing you say will change my decision.”

You were really quite the picture, if he was being honest, all tied up for him. Kunikuzushi loathed that just the sight of you was enough to make the void in his chest cavity ache with longing. A reminder of his imperfection.

Anyone else would have died a violent death for such a transgression. But you presented a unique opportunity.

“Kuni, please,” you whimpered, your pleas falling on deaf ears. On the contrary, he loves hearing your voice, especially when you beg so earnestly. “I-I don’t know what I did wrong… I’m scared. Please, let me go…”

The puppet hushes you lovingly, his lips brushing against your delicate skin toward your ear. “Hey, now. There’s no need for that. You’re safe with me, little songbird.”

You flinch, gasping and recoiling in fear, turning your head away defiantly. It’s not like you could push him away, your little limbs bound to a tall column in the kitchen nice and tight. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. It burns like hell.

“Untie me, Kuni!” you shrieked, squirming and struggling against the binds to no avail.

He snatches your face firmly between his thumb and two fingers, squishing your cheeks to the point you felt pressure on your skull. “Ungrateful slut. Didn’t I explain this to you already? Your heart beats for me from this day forward.”

Frozen in shock, your body stiffens involuntarily as fear floods your veins, rendering you utterly helpless. Even as he gazed upon you with an icy, detached stare, you couldn’t find it within yourself to fault Kuni for this act of desperation. He could never make sense of himself and the pain that came with betrayal after betrayal.

Why even try to embrace humanity if it would mercilessly punish you for not having a heart?

You still remember the day you found him, it was but a coincidence you both crossed paths. Kuni was a wandering traveler, or at least that’s how he introduced himself. He seemed kind enough. You were particularly taken by his appearance, so lovely it was almost inhuman.

It just so happened that you were willing to offer him a place to stay. It took a bit of convincing on your part, actually, but you were worried about the string of murders near your village recently. Someone must have had an insatiable vendetta against the blade-smithing arts, striking them down one by one.

A small knowing smile pulled at his lips, his eyes creasing slightly with amusement as he marveled at how you opened yourself up so easily. This was the first time he had talked to a human in who knows how long. Perhaps since the young boy’s passing many dreadful seasons ago.

Kuni found the void in his chest persuading him to entertain his curiosity about you.

He had to admit, once you both got to know each other, it was quite the impeccable arrangement. During the day, you provided the kind of mundane tranquility and domesticity he had always dreamed of. Thankfully, your residence was in a rural part of the countryside, which offered much appreciated security and seclusion from the world.

Once you were safely tucked into bed and sound asleep, he would lie restlessly in the guest room. Puppets have no need for sleep. On some lonely moonlit nights, he would entertain his own fantasies of you. In the absence of such desires, he was compelled to satisfy his blood thirst.

Though Kuni had long forsaken the human emotions that afflicted his existence with disappointment and abandonment, his burgeoning relationship with you had quickly proven to be the last remaining vestige of his innocent supplication for a purpose.

In fact, he demanded it, after witnessing you day in and day out slipping from his grasp. He was growing impatient, waiting for something more. You had always stopped short of taking a little leap of faith to hold his hand or kiss his forehead, leaving him yearning for your touch and attention. Why?

Even in your presence, he was not alleviated of his turmoil. A number of possibilities plagued him. Were you dissuaded by his artificial constitution? Did he make a fatal miscalculation? God forbid, was there someone else?

No matter how many times he twisted, folded, and bent reality in his mind, trying to make sense of you, he never came to an agreeable conclusion. By the time Kuni realized just how deep you had nestled yourself into the empty husk of his heart, it was too late for the both of you.

All of this mental anguish and pining was unbearable. Unacceptable. He loved you, yes, but needed you more.

The puppet’s chest fluttered as you willingly complied, tears staining your cheeks, but that’s okay. His soft pink lips brushed against your cheek once more, kissing away your precious tears. It was his first taste of you.

Kuni cradled you in his palms like a delicate doll, his thumbs ghosting your cheeks. He leaned in closer, indigo bangs tickling your face and his mouth parted with a breathless question. “Is your heart… truly mine?”

He had broken you, and you had no choice but to nod slowly.

“Say it for me, little songbird,” he encourages you with a warm intonation. His eyes were trained on your lips.

“I-I’m yours,” you replied weakly.

No sooner than you could speak were his plush lips pressed to yours, a breathy hum of relief exhaling through his nose. In turn, you muffled a whimper, overwhelmed by the sensation. He had untied you, knowing you couldn’t hurt him but he could certainly hurt you.

Kuni was gentle at first, relishing in his first kiss with you. He carefully took your wrists to guide your hands to his body, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you against him. Still, you trembled in his grasp.

“There’s no need to fear,” he whispers between kisses, holding your face to his. “I will take care of you.”

He can’t bear to leave your lips. Guiding you towards him, he leans against the kitchen counter and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. A small prayer barely escapes his lips. “(Y/N), hold me… touch me… please.”

“Kuni,” you choke out, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. You are silenced with increasingly fervent kisses, one of his hands trailing down to your neck just by his fingertips, giving you goosebumps in the wake of his featherlight touch.

“You are going to give yourself to me. Your heart is my heart, and I will not have you hiding any part of yourself from me,” his voice grows a bit more insistent, closing his fingers around your throat as a threat, but not yet squeezing. “Do you understand?”

You give a feeble nod, unable to look at him directly. Every time your gaze locked with his, it sent a pang of terror jolting through your fragile body. He brings you closer by your neck, kissing you with more confidence than before. There is a little part of you that is worried you are unable to discern fear from excitement.

The puppet lets his hand slip further, fingertips finding the contour of your chest. He hesitates briefly, then allows his palm to feel your plump breast. The act was enough to elicit a little whine from you, and he knew right then and there that he had to hear it again.

“Do you… have any inclination of how long I waited for you?” he whispers hotly onto your lips, feeling down your waist at an excruciatingly slow pace. He smoothed each wrinkle of your dress with his thumb, tracing the silhouette of your figure down until he felt the hem of your underwear through the thin fabric. His breath caught.

You were still not as receptive to his advances as he would like, and suddenly he scoops you up to hook your legs around his hips, pressing your back against the nearest wall in the hallway. Kuni was beginning to reveal his desperation for you in more ways than one, breathing a little heavier. He was determined to have you submit to him and if you weren’t responsive to his soft side, then so be it.

“Answer me,” Kuni lowers his voice with a commanding edge, his lips just inches from your neck while his messy indigo bangs tickled your jaw. You whimpered, involuntarily moving your hips against him at the mere thought of his mouth on you.

At long last, you found your voice—delicate and decadent with a tinge of spine-prickling anticipation. Perhaps you had lost part of yourself, your humanity, in him too. “H-how long, Kuni?”

You shivered slightly, feeling his mouth spread into a satisfied smile against the sensitive skin of your neck. His voice deepens further, sultry and needy, “Lifetimes… I’ve been so goddamn purposeless for too many fucking lifetimes, just waiting for you.”

Without warning, the touch-starved puppet sunk his teeth into the crevice of your shoulder at the base of your throat, sucking at the weak spot to bruise the skin with his mark. A surprised yelp fell from your mouth, and you so nicely turned your head to offer him more. He clutched your curves tightly, as if he was secretly wishing your bodies would just melt into each other.

Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum…

Your precious heartbeat echoed through his chambers of his chest. Kuni craved that little pulse of yours, chasing it up your neck in heated, sloppy kisses. All the while, you encouraged him with sweet little sounds of pleasure, softly asking for more under your breath.

“It’s mine,” he reiterated, perhaps to help immortalize the sensation against his lips. With a faint growl and yet another love bite, he added, “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

If only he could be bothered to pull back and catch a glimpse of how the puppet had unraveled you beyond recognition, equally as intoxicated by the heat of the moment. No matter. He will have his fill of you in due time.

“Y-yours, mhmm,” you capture his wet lips halfway, experimentally swirling your tongue with his passionately. You were clinging onto his shoulders, entangling your fingers in the soft ends of his pretty hair resting on the back of his neck.

With a faint moan against your mouth, Kuni lifted you once more by slipping his hands under your dress to feel his digits press into the soft flesh of your ass. It was light work to carry you, giving him the opportunity to squeeze and smack your ass with a smirk.

Slipping into your bedroom, he set you down and turned you around by your hips so that you were facing the tall mirror just a few feet away from the mattress. He leans over your shoulder from behind and you blush heavily at the image reflected by the mirror. Both of his beautiful hands traveled up your body simultaneously, one feeling your stomach, ribs, breast, and resting around the bottom of your throat.

The other, however, caught the frilly ends of your dress, sliding it up your skin at a painstakingly slow rate. Kuni’s violet irises shimmered with obsessive desire, admiring every inch of your body that was exposed to him. He bunches the dress in his fist as he raises it above your hips, revealing the most angelic lacy undergarments accented with cute little ballerina pink ribbons. Kuni chuckled, his breath tickling your neck.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. He takes his time to unveil your breasts, each one perfectly shaped with lovely nipples begging to be pinched. “Open your mouth.”

You comply, watching yourself in the mirror with curious fascination, before Kuni stuffs the thin, light fabric of your dress into your mouth. He nibbles your ear playfully. “Hold that for me.”

His eyes marvel at your body. If you told him you were a goddess, he would believe you without hesitation. Divine or not, the puppet was hell-bent on worshipping you like he had been dreaming of. Kuni played with the intricate lace of your snow white lingerie, his thumb brushing your pelvis teasingly.

Instead, he takes two fingers and caresses your folds outside of the undergarment, pleased to feel your panties dampened with excitement. You quiver at the touch, moaning faintly. Kuni is enthralled by the sweet noise, taking the tiny lingerie by his thumbs and sweeping it down your pretty legs.

He immediately sits down on the edge of the bed, quickly pulling you into his lap and spreading your legs apart with his knees. There it was in the mirror. Your glistening flower framed with the loveliest soft petals.

Kuni couldn’t possibly restrain himself when you were presented so exquisitely, wasting no time to slide his fingers over your pussy. You groaned in pleasure, muffled by the dress in your mouth, relaxing against his chest as the puppet focused on rubbing circles around your clit. He kissed your neck and shoulders endlessly, admiring your reactions in the mirror and whispering lowly, “So good for me. So, so good for me, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

Your thighs trembled. You desperately wanted to close your legs as his movements became faster on your clit, the stimulation swiftly overcoming you. Breathy moans soon evolved into incoherent pleas. Kuni held you steadfast with his legs, keeping you spread all nice, admiring how you twitched beneath him.

“What did I tell you?” his tone is one of warning, groping your right breast and littering your skin with a few more marks. “There are consequences to hiding yourself from me.”

The puppet suddenly swipes his middle finger over your leaking hole—causing you to moan lewdly—before slapping your pussy. It was a light but firm slap, sending an addicting concoction of both pain and pleasure through you.

After a brief moment, he returns to your folds to trace and admire it, then continuing his ministrations on your clit. Occasionally Kuni would let a finger slip to tease your entrance, finding that it drove you crazy.

“P-please, please, Kuni,” your words quivered like your body, bending easily to the pleasure he was so kindly bestowing you. It had to have been the hundredth small cry for relief tumbling from your throat, you were on the precipice of your climax. “I-I need it. Something, anything… fuck me.”

“You better not cum on my fingers,” the puppet orders, gathering your slick and gently inserting two fingers into your warm walls. You whined in frustrated pleasure as he stretched you slightly, pumping his digits in and out of you barely an inch but keeping you stuffed.

“I c-can’t, I’m…” you babble. Kuni knew you were on the brink already, but he wanted to at least try to prepare you for his cock. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, and with it escapes your climax. Tears were almost pricking your eyes. You could definitely feel them beneath the surface.

He slaps your pussy again as punishment for not listening to his commands. “Greedy sluts are not rewarded.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble and he grunts, pushing you off of him and to your knees in front of the bed. Kuni makes quick work of his clothes, tossing his shirt aside and pulling his pants down enough to spring his throbbing cock free. You had certainly felt his hard length while you were in his lap, but seeing it rendered you speechless.

No different from the rest of the puppet’s beautiful body, Kuni’s cock was perfect. A few veins wrapped around his hard member, bulging under the flesh. Towards the tip, it was gradually flushed pink with hot need, a pearl of precum on his slit. You took him in your hand, butterflies swarming your stomach with the realization that he had more girth than you expected.

Kuni grabbed a fistful of your hair and shoved your face toward his cock with a simple demand. “Suck.”

You experimentally drag your tongue underneath his cock, licking your lips, and working your mouth on his tip to lubricate him first. Kuni’s eyes roll in the back of his head, resting one hand behind him on the bed as he moans deeply. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

The sensation of you smiling with his cock in your mouth sent warmth through him. You eagerly fit more of him in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue just the way he likes it when you received praise. Yet, Kuni needed more.

“You can do better than that,” he scoffed.

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing your throat completely down on his cock just to feel it once. The puppet twitched in your throat, letting out a seductive growl of pleasure. You gagged slightly, before pulling back with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You coughed a little, but he cupped your chin and wiped it from your mouth sweetly.

“That’s my girl,” Kuni coos, guiding you up on the bed next to him and pushing you down onto your back. As much as he’d love to see you taking him in your mouth all evening, he had a prize more tantalizing waiting for him. Clothes on the floor, moonlight pouring over you both, the puppet vowed to never forget how you mewled as he dragged the pulsing tip of his cock along your wet folds.

Gasping, you achingly bucked your hips in tandem, utterly drunk on the delicious sensation of his thick length parting your pussy lips. You loved to be teased, that much was for sure and Kuni ate it up—the desperate crinkle of your brow in pleasure and how your breath became short.

He presses his tip at your warm hole, but never pushes it in.

You groan dramatically, sweat already forming on your forehead and you haven’t even began. Every bit of pressure he applies has you smitten, imagining the moment he finally fills you. “K-Kuni…”

The smug puppet smirks down at you knowingly, grinding his cock against you repeatedly, rubbing your clit just right. “Yes, my little songbird? Have something to say?”

Before you can speak, he kisses you to muffle your answer. You grow even more impatient, using your legs to keep his hips locked close to yours. Kuni peppers your jawline and neck with kisses and little playful licks of his tongue. “I’m listening.”

“Please,” you beg.

Kuni’s tone is unreadable. “Please what? Use your words.”

You give him a flustered look of desperation and he pins your hands on either side of your head, interlacing your fingers with his. You reply, biting your lower lip, “Fuck m-me, Kuni.”

A smile graces his face and his eyes soften, thumbs caressing your hand comfortingly to brace you for his length. “Is this��� your first time, (Y/N)?”

Though you were a shy and kindhearted person, he should’ve known from the way you deepthroated his cock earlier that it wasn’t your first. He wasn’t your first. That means someone else was. Someone else defiled you.

Kuni’s electric purple eyes darkened like an impending storm as you shook your head.

“Indulge me,” the puppet asks. “What other men have been in my position?”

You are not in the right state of mind, still insatiably yearning for your climax and grinding your wet folds on his length. However, Kuni doesn’t accept your nonsensical mumblings and half-answers. His hands tighten around yours, pushing his cock into you with a guttural moan inch by inch until he bottoms out completely.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sputter out, sighing in sweet relief and a bit of pain. Your pussy is filled to the brim with his cock, stretching you out good. You try to turn your head away and close your eyes, but Kuni refuses to let you.

“That’s right,” Kuni’s voice is nothing short of alluring in the most raw way possible. “Treat me like your god and fucking look at me while you take my cock.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t also utterly euphoric as he sinks his large member into your tight walls. Gritting his teeth, he’s taken aback by how you squeeze him unknowingly, even your subconscious is unable to deny the pleasure he’s giving you. It took you a few seconds to adjust to his girth, your eyes drifting down his muscular chest and toned abdomen in admiration.

With the first drag of his cock out of you to his tip, hushed hum of pleasures are murmured by each of you, until he buries himself all the way back into you. Kuni continues in this rhythm with a few thrusts, unable to his stifle his own moans. He was no better, his climax already building within.

Pulling back, the puppet releases your hands to push your legs against your chest by your thighs to get just the right angle and perfect view of your folds. He hovers above you, fucking just his hot bulbous tip into your needy hole. In mere seconds, you cursed to yourself at how good it felt when he brushed against your sensitive entrance.

Your clit pulsated for attention. How could he not press his palm onto your pelvis and drag his thumb across the slightly swollen bud? His half-thrusts became shakier as you unexpectedly tightened around his cock—moans freely and loudly erupting from your throat. The feeling was beyond exhilarating and convinced him to push you to your limits.

“You think I’m going to let any other man put his hands on you like this?” Kuni sneers with jealous envy reflecting in his irises. “I’ll fucking snap his neck. I’d kill him.”

Impulsively, the obsessed puppet roughly plunges his entire cock into your soft pussy. He relishes in your loud moan of shock at the pleasure and slight discomfort in splitting you wide open. His cock pushes against that wonderful spot deep inside you, incredibly sensitive after all his torturous teasing. You were seeing more than stars.

“I bet they couldn’t fuck you like I can,” he scoffs, possessively pulling your closer by your legs and holding your ankles on his shoulders as he fucks you mercilessly. “Make you scream like I can. And—nghh—breed you.”

You were finer than a work of art, truly, in all your fucked-out glory as you chase your high on his thick cock. His thumb flitting over your clit messily, primal groans of bliss echoing throughout the bedroom at every divine flutter of your pussy milking his cock so well. Your words were simply unintelligible, mumbling breathy prayers wishing for his seed.

“No one can take you away from me,” Kuni himself is beginning to tremble with pleasure, but nevertheless he keeps up his brutal pace. Every crevice of your walls and your womb will know his essence. “You’re mine, and I’ll burn the whole damn world for you if that’s what it takes.”

In a rush of jealous envy at the mere thought of losing you, the puppet abruptly pushes your legs back onto your beautiful breasts by his chest. The erotic melody of your fluids coating the base of his cock and v-line with every sloppy thrust pushes you both over the edge of an impossible free fall of euphoria.

“Cum on me, (Y/N). C’mon, cum all over my fucking cock,” Kuni demands with salacious desperation, pounding into you again and again until you’ve ridden out every second of your climax. The sensation is indescribable as he swears he could feel your rapid heartbeat through your walls—your heartbeat in his hands like he’s the supreme god of your body.

And as such, he blesses you with ropes of hot cum to drown your pussy in his everlasting love. Kuni collapses and cradles you, wiping the tears of pleasure from your sweet, angelic cheeks.

Righteousness means nothing to gods, for whom salvation is too late and sin knows no price.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I’LL BET THESE MEMORIES FOLLOW YOU AROUND / BURNING IT DOWN

touya x reader

thoughts on how touya would act in a very messy, non defined relationship

inspired by wildest dreams

touya todoroki, who, for all of his life, has never known love. if humans existed to love one another, touya was sentenced to death from the moment he opened his eyes. sure, his mother did love him (key word- did) and his father didn't always see him as nothing, but touya todoroki was given a vessel destined to burn endlessly. his father gave him the flame of eternal anger, the kind that does not flicker even in the face of hurricanes and hailstorms. his mother gave him a body ice cold, one that could withstand the coldest nights of his life. sure, touya could endure the penetrating frost of eternal lonesome, but he could only force his body to handle the inferno of suffering embedded in his soul from the very start. he could see it only grow as he did, the hatred, the pain, the ever-increasing thirst to be something more than a failure. his body was merely a metaphor for his insanity. his skin that screamed for salvation, the cold metal whose attempts to bond what was dead together growing futile, and the blazing blue eyes that were his last anchor to who he once was- if there was ever truly someone there.

dabi, who stumbles upon you while you're walking home one day, late at night. at first, he ignores you, and you do the same. but its hard to ignore the sight of blood seeping out of his thigh, as he attempts to clutch the wound closed. silently cursing yourself for even letting it cross your mind, you slink him over your shoulder and help him back to your apartment. he wants to relent, knowing that you're probably just like the rest- if not a hero intending on arresting him moments later. but its likely the blood loss driving when he allows himself to sit on your washroom floor as you attempt some form of first-aid. you're doing a shitty job and you both know it, but its enough for the sirens in his mind to finally quiet down. you both sit there, covered in his blood, not knowing what the hell this means, or why you feel more safe around him than you reasonably should be.

dabi, who now has your address in the back of his mind. washroom window is the easiest way to get inside. he knows you come home late, so whenever he decides to stop by he flicks a light on as not to startle you too bad. too late. at first he didn’t know why he would come by. you lived alone, not a boyfriend to pester him about breaking in, and for whatever reason- you never ratted him out. whether you knew about his atrocities or not was unbeknownst to him. he insisted he came for your cooking, if not for you to do a ‘shitty’ job at patching him up. you should be scared and you both know it, but there’s something about the way he goes to you and only you- you wonder if anyone has ever taken care of him before.

dabi, who would murder anyone who tries to even touch a hair on your head. he doesn’t understand his own feelings, why or how he suddenly has someone he cares about, but what he does know is that burning down the world for you suddenly seems 10x more appealing. you’re the one thing in the world that makes him feel okay about his existence. if he were to burn this city down, he’d trust you to salt the dirt afterwards.

touya todoroki, who doesn’t understand how you calm his flames. who tells you his real name, the first person to ever hear it in years. who tells you about his past, not trying to justify his actions but trying to tell you that he was once human too. who expects you to leave, to run, and who wouldn’t blame you for it. whose teal eyes widen in surprise when you stay.

touya todoroki, who has an existential crisis when you challenge his plan. when he finds himself wanting to stay, to stick around just to eat your food, get your treatment and be with you. he doesn’t understand he suddenly reconsiders everything he set his mind to, all the vengeance he swore. he planned on going down if it meant causing his father pain- but the thought of causing you pain burned so much brighter. he suddenly couldn’t bare the heat.

touya todoroki, who never truly grew up from a traumatized child. who woke up from a 3 year coma only to learn that his family didn’t forget- they were just never affected. who wants to be heard, to be felt, to be seen as anything but a failure. who screams to the gods every night, thinking its so cruel. cruel that they made him fall in love. cruel that they gave him a reason to stay when he was already nothing but ashes.

touya todoroki, who wishes you were kids when you met. maybe things would have been different.

touya todoroki, who could always hold onto a maybe.

touya todoroki, who knows you deserved so much better.

touya todoroki, who tells you to forget him.

touya todoroki, who selfishly hopes you’ll remember him.

[cosycafune]

I HATE YOU, IN THE SAME WAY THE SUN CIRCLES THE EARTH!

a summary: grief isn’t linear. mourning a man you love isn’t easy, so how are you to cope with speaking to a false vessel of him? especially when he’s all you’ve known?

synopsis of acts: death, pregnancy, grief, angst, slight fluff, yearning and emptiness. not proofread/ small chapter.

Satoru knows you hate him for following his roots in Jujutsu, abiding by his ropes of the strongest. Even as his ropes tightened around him, hurting him heavily, you knew he refrained from caring. Caring because Jujutsu is him, reforming and moulding the only identity he has even known.

As, who is Satoru Gojo when he isn’t the strongest? That’s what you knew he always thought and built himself upon, but he always refused to recognise the person that makes him him: you.

Flowers, he always bestowed them upon you, kisses, hugs and anything you needed, except from a guaranteed stay. Satoru would always pepper you with mental sincerity, but you always knew from the start that his proposed time was borrowed from the angels of death.

That’s why you hate him, glancing down at his grave, craving to be held and coddled by him once more. Nothing within you could heal the detrimental damage that adorns your heart, leaving you a wasting away wound of nothingness. Nothingness that can’t find purpose without a man who swore his time wasn’t borrowed, but he left you an unburied gift.

Innately, Satoru was supposed to grow old with you, whine and reassure you about the greys that tint your head, whilst an old bench takes the form of the two of you. But, no. You linger here, lonesome, adorned by the worldly chaos that consumed the only man you had even grown to love.

Satoru was your explodes sun, dissolved and reinforced into something that thrives away from you. It hurt that he remains stole from you, his limbs no more than a foreign memory of home, unable to wrap around you. Limbs that etch and write upon your mental notebook, soaking it with unfulfilled ideas and comfort that he is unable to bring you and your unborn child.

Nothing within this would heal the aftermath of his death, completely planned by cruel fate. Cruel fate that revoked your chances of listening to his beating heart, laying upon his chest and humming about nonsense only he ever listened to.

Yet, now you remain basking in your loneliness — laying beside Satoru’s grave with not a lick of devotion within you. Nothing within you held care, distorted and dissected by someone so largely impacted. Impactful through the wildflowers he would bestow upon your kitchen table, on your first date, but now you do so with his grave.

Satoru’s symbol of rebirth to you had now been used to capture second strand of peace he had ever gotten. However, that crowned peace was laid down by you, someone who still stresses about when would he come home.

When would he be the sun to your earth, unwilling to shatter into uncollected pieces that haunt you?

When will he come home, since what is an earth without its sun?

—

do not copy, translate or modify my works. all works are written by me: cosycafune. 2024.

[st4rbe0m]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ KISS THE GIRL - PSH

🫧 now playing - kiss the girl from disney’s The Little Mermaid 🫧 contents - the little mermaid au, no gendered implications but the word 'maiden' is used, implied kissing 🫧 wc - 0.9K 🫧 a/n - i hope this compensates for the lack of body search updates recently :( i need to structure that story out a bit more, so it'll be a while. might make a mini series out of this however teehee >.<

masterlist

Sha-la-la-la-la-la, My oh my Look like the boy too shy Ain't gonna kiss the girl

The blue luminescence of the algae around them, surrounding the boat in a surreal bubble, made the breath in Sunghoon’s throat hitch in awe. You were right in front of him, hands on the pair of paddles opposite to his own, making no move of their own, as your eyes blown wide in awe of scenery peered around. The way the drooping willow branches of the cove swayed in an almost rhythm like manner, creating a music of its own. The fish seemed almost animated as they playfully swam along the quivering currents of the water, the boat stalled and rocking almost like a crib, gently. The reeds whistled, adding the percussion to the music of the ocean, while the crabs and the seagulls perched along the rocks of the shallow alcove seemed to scuttle along, adding a tapping beat to the environment. Almost like this endeavor was planned. Almost. 

Sunghoon doesn’t really register how quickly this stranger, whom he’d found on the beach with no voice of your own, and almost seemingly no knowledge of his importance or his duties, had easily slid into his life, like the puzzle piece he’d been missing ever since he went aboard his ship on his birthday. The day he was knocked off the very vessel, and only had an angelic voice and a fleeting memory saving him from being pulled under by the unforgiving waves of the sea. 

The boat was swaying gently in the water as you both rocked along with it, eyes swallowing in all the beauty of the escape Sunghoon had found during his lonesome adventures to escape from princely duties. A hidden cave, with a shallow pool of water and a welcoming alcove hiding the both of you away from prying eyes. After all, the rumors and gossip about town would multiply with a frenzy, if any citizen were to come across the adoration on the face of their beloved prince, as he gazed upon this strange maiden. The mood around them was so tender, so fragile and so, so beautiful. Yet to Sunghoon, the only beauty he could focus on was the one right in front of him, only on the way your head was tilted up and looking around, like you were seeing everything that existed above the land for the first time ever in your life. The way your lips parted softly and exhaled a soft sigh of satisfaction, like a thirst to see everything was being quenched slowly. And how soft your lips looked, glowing under the moonlight that entered through the cracks above. The plump curve of your cupid’s bow, and the dip of white where your teeth bit into your lower lip in fascination.

If the ambience wasn’t already perfect, the buzzing of the fireflies, that illuminated the air around you both with their bright, yellow glow just made your heart leap in joy, and the smile that grew on your face made Sunghoon’s heart flip in his own chest, like the marine creatures surrounding you both, almost like they’d choreographed their own dance to celebrate the union of you both. The frogs that sat with their little webbed legs stuck on to the paddles of your boat, and the wonderful, colorful fish, creating a haze of flurried colors under the dark water. It was all absolutely delightful, as you both chuckled at the behavior of all the animals around you. One of the frogs on the paddle decided to leap in a move of its own, elegantly diving into the water with a plop. But as graceful as the move was, it ended up with a small splash of water ungracefully landing on Sunghoon’s cheek, which made you giggle in amusement. Bringing the fabric of your sleeve to your palm and shifting close to wipe the cold water off his face, your eyes met the warmth in his brown ones, making you fall harder for the enigmatic and handsome prince. The human you’d found yourself to be so captivated by. Prince Park Sunghoon, royal heir to the throne of the island country, Telmarina. 

Sunghoon’s heartbeat was thundering in his ears due to the proximity between the two of you, and if he didn’t already feel that magnetic pull that was urging him to push his lips onto yours, the urge just got stronger as he looked at all your features with such intensity, as to almost memorize them. You could feel his shortening breath on your face now, which just created a chain reaction to your own flusteredness. His eyes, which were settled on yours, hesitatingly shifted, and then dipped to your lips. And it seemed that you did too, as the pink tinge of his lips seemed to call you like a siren. Leaning in slowly, almost gravely, both of you inhaled as your lips almost touched to fulfill what you both had been yearning for this entire time.

That was until the solid wooden flooring of the boat under both of you seemed to disappear, leaving you both plunging into the cold water of the lagoon, icing the blood in your veins and leaving you both in a shocked state, floating in the water. Laughing at the state of both of you, the kiss that almost happened seemed to slowly leave both of your minds, and Sunghoon swore that if you listened close enough, you could hear some sort of disappointed groan coming from the rock where the crab and seagull sat. And holding out his hand for you to take as you both swam up to land, you both almost ignored the dark slithering eels that swam away silently from the scene, ready to report to their masters of the success of their devious plans.

[holrye]

A love she can't have

summary: a window into the sacred nights of a small island kingdoms queen and her lover

tags: plot divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, yearning, implied chubby reader (section is tiny)

a/n: ahhhh, so I'm super nervous to post this, lol. Im not the most confident in my writing, and I've been working on the idea for this for so long. tbh I don't know if I like how it turned out. I made so many different versions, and this is the only one that stuck. I hope you guys like it :)

One night, every six or seven months, the estate of this small island kingdom is empty.

No bustling of maids and butlers as they prepare meals and clean. The orange hue of the lights inside are dimmed and the sheer curtains are often drawn.

A tradition, some would call it. Others would say it's strange. What could the young ruler do all to her lonesome up in that immense estate? Does she force her staff to leave for nefarious reasons? What secrets could she be hiding? All fair questions that will go unanswered for as long as you live. 

Privacy as the ruler of a nation is somewhat expected to wane upon your coronation. The kings and queens before you knew this, and were mindful of it. But never has a ruler taken so many precautions as you on these particular nights. These nights were often random to the public as well, the only sign being when the staff are ushered from the large french doors at the estates entrance. 

What could the diligent leader be cooping herself up for?

Oh, if they only knew…

If your people only knew that their queen was hiding a scandalous affair, with a pirate no less. What would people think? They’d say you’d gone insane, and were seduced by some horrid marauder. You’d lose every ounce of power you gained and be left to fend for yourself. Not a thing to your name other than the clothes on your back, they’d raid the estate and denounce you. 

So, these nights are secret. Whispers between you and your midnight guest that never leave the halls of the estate.

Though the guest in question is far less worried about the conspicuousness of your meetings. Not because he lacks care for your reputation, but because some would say he's a bit obtuse. A fool in love with someone he should never associate with.

-

You only become aware of his visits hours before he arrives, leaving you little time to fruitfully convince your entire staff to leave. Though it sounds unchallenging, your estate employs hundreds of people. Gardeners, chefs, handmaids, every task you could do yourself is done for you, mostly at the behest of your late mother who ruled before you. 

There's only so many excuses you can use without sounding suspicious. You want them to spend the night with their families or you’d like the estate to yourself or you had an awful mark on your back you didn’t want anyone to see as you bathed (that last one only made your head maid look at you worried). 

By now, they’d chalked it up to your eccentricity. The queen is just a bit strange. It made you more likable to some, relatable. There was little judgment, at least to your face, though that too was likely because of your rank. You cared little, as long as they were all gone before he blew in. 

He usually arrived just before midnight, his boat tied just off shore. A small cove sat behind your estate, sharp boulders and thick shrubbery concealing it. This is where he hides his vessel, only doing so after it was nearly found the morning after by a gardener. 

You scolded him harshly in your letters through the following months.

You’d wait on your bedroom balcony, watching the bushes. Sitting at the small table, eagerly stirring your cup of tea and waiting. Your feet are bare, cold from the breeze and the stone underfoot. 

The chill of soft trepidation is a feeling you’ve come to know since you met him. An almost nauseous feeling in your stomach, stiff cold limbs, a heavy chest. The months worth of built up suspense that has you on the edge, tempting you to jump.

Only when a hint of tanned skin is seen through the leaves, does your chest tighten. The bush moves again and his body pushes through, nearly falling to the grass. He catches himself before looking up to your balcony.

A smile stretches his freckled cheeks, and his feet are moving again.

You stand, gulping the last drink from your cup before hastily fixing yourself. Crickets and his heavy breaths as he climbs up the balcony are the only noise throughout the garden. It seemingly makes your heart pound faster, anticipation building in your belly. 

With a few more pulls, the man hops over the banister and stands before you. A shallow and shaky breath leaves your nose. Months of letters, declarations of love and yearning built up to this meeting. It always feels like the first time, standing before him in your frilly nightgown. It's embarrassing and euphoric all at once.

“Long time, no see.” His voice is soft, smile apparent as he speaks.

You smile up at him, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. He moves a step closer, and you notice the small bundle of letters in his hand. They’re addressed to him and the handwriting is your soft cursive. You question his purpose in bringing them, but don’t ask. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask. It’s a silly question now that you think about it, the man is known for his appetite.

He nods, still smiling as he moves closer again. His hand meets your arm, slowly sliding up to lay against your neck. The movement is soft, his thumb caressing your jaw as he looks at you. 

Your arms move to his shoulders, broad and strong. They slip to the back of his neck, dark, wet hair matting to your hand. He smells of salt water and sweat. He likely had to snow to shore due to high tide, which completely engulfed the cove most nights.

His eyes droop, as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. It has you curling into him, his full hand meeting your hip. His feet start to move you backward, against the cold stone wall behind you. His hand moves from your jaw to the space beside your head, stealing your breath as he kisses you. Your hands twist into his hair, keeping him there until you both break with a gasp. 

He moves his hand to your lower back, pulling you into him again only for you to press a palm to his mouth. His eyebrows twist as he looks at you.

“I have some things inside for you.” You say, cocking your head to the left.

“Of course you do.” He smiles at you again.

-

Your bedroom, a large rounded room with a bed much too big for one, is lit with hundreds of candles. Two bottles of champagne sit unopened on the table in the middle of the room with two glasses sat to the side. An array of cheeses, bread and fruit sit on a plate to the side as well.

The bedspread is soft below you, your eyes glued to the liquid in the flute as you listen to Ace read your writing. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and your head rests against his hip as his voice nearly soothes you to sleep. You want to make a bed out of his tambre and sleep in it forever.

“I fear the selfishness I feel when you aren’t in my company. I cower at the thought of it boiling over and taking hold of me, interfering in my daily work. I yearn so much for the day I can be with you, freely, without the need to veil our flirtation. To think, I rule a nation as a queen. I wield power most only dream of, and yet I feel powerless in your absence. It nearly sickens me.” He pauses, looking at you over the parchment. 

“A kiss would satiate me for the time being. I soft kiss that speaks your tenor and goes by your name. I look forward to when we meet again, my love. May that heavenly time come soon.” He ends it by saying your signature out loud. He folds that paper again, placing it back in its envelope. 

The look on your face is melancholic, thinking back to the sadness you felt writing those letters to him. How much you missed him and what you would’ve done to see him at the time. It's embarrassing, listening to the heart you poured into the paper for him out loud.

He looks at you again, hand moving to the top of your head. He plays with the hair there, the comfortable silence taking the place of his voice.

“Is Edward well? I heard his health started declining again.” You ask, sipping from your glass again.

He nods, smile fading slightly as he speaks again.

“Yeah, the old man shouldn’t work himself as hard as he does. It's catching up to him.” Whitebeard was an acquaintance of your father, often meeting him for peace treaty signings. Even as a pirate, he’d earned your fathers respect.

“Hardworking as ever.” You smile.

He smiles as you sit up, finishing your glass off and setting it upon the bedside table. 

“You're one to talk, your highness.” He chuckles, extending his arm for you to lay against his chest.

“Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. I do what I have to do. You’d think being a pirate, he’d use more of his free time being…free.” You say. A soft laugh leaves his chest as he nods his head.

“You’d think.” His voice evens out again as he looks down at you.

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It’s warm. Everything about Ace is. Whether it be his devil fruit or his personality. He warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. It makes it harder when you have to watch him leave, his broad form disappearing in the bushes. You’d say goodbye to him with tears in your eyes as he kissed your lips and abandon that warmth until you saw him again.

“You're so beautiful.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, biting your lip when your mouth speaks before you catch yourself. His lips quirk, eyes half-massed as he gazes at you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

The room goes quiet again.

He takes your hand in his, pressing your palm to his lips. It's soft and he keeps moving up your arm, to your shoulder. He pauses a moment before looking at you again. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. A blush brightens your cheeks. You know what he's asking.

With a dry swallow, you nod and he smiles for the millionth time tonight. He climbs on top of you, moving from your collar bone up to your neck. Your hands move to his head, grasping the hair there at the sensation. He kisses the section just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

A throaty chuckle falls from him as he starts his descent of your body. A kiss pressed to your collarbone, a kiss to your sternum, a kiss to your belly, it's all too much. His hands meet your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress slightly. He moves down, pressing soft kisses to the middle of your thighs.

“You're so soft.” He says, smiling into your sensitive skin. You sigh, wanting nothing more than for him to ravish you like he’s done so many times before. His hands bunch at the end of your skirt, slowly pulling it up inch by tantalizing inch. It's enough anticipation to make you sick. 

He raises the hem to your hips, your lacy undergarments showing. You sit up as he pulls it off of you, your breasts bouncing as they fall. He kisses your lips again, before laying you down on the bed again. Your knees press together, a familiar warmth swirling through your gut and into your core.

His hands land on your hips, softly squeezing the skin that lightly hangs over your panties. Your breath catches when he kneels at the edge of your bed, looping his fingers into your underwear and slipping them down your thighs.

He exhales loudly, seemingly holding his breath before. He takes your knees over his shoulders, nipping at the fat of your thighs. A long stripe from your inner thigh to your groin has you shaking. His hands move to yours scrunched up in the blankets, lacing your fingers together.

A slow lick to your clit leaves you breathless, eyes shutting as you squeeze his hands. 

“You taste so good.” it's muffled by your skin, but you understand him. He licks you again, softly sucking your clit into his mouth. 

His mouth is so warm and wet, it has you in a euphoric state. This feeling only he can give you, one that you want to feel forever. Making love to Ace felt otherworldly, no matter how many times you did it.

“Ace..ah-” Your voice is caught in your throat, his tongue moving down to your hole.

“Yes, my love?” His tone is mocking, as if demanding you answer him. Your lips are raw, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you try to speak.

Words fail you, one of your hands moving from his, to his head. Leverage.

He hums into you, slipping his tongue in and out of you a few times before replacing it with his finger. His mouth moves back to your clit and your seeing stars, the blinding white matching the pace of the growing knot in your stomach.

“Ace-” You sigh as your muscles tense up. Your orgasm hits you in waves, leaving your thighs shaking around his face. He sucks the soft skin around your pussy as you come down, hands moving to your thighs.

“Mm, baby…” He says, his voice hoarse as he moves up to your face. Your skin is sticky, hair sticking to your face and palms sweating. He kisses you, the heady taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hands move to his face, draping your arms around his neck.

With little hesitation, he reaches for the buckle of his shorts, dropping them and climbing on top of you. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips. 

“You ready?” He asks, and you nuzzle your nose into his. With a huff, he’s pushing in and the both of you sigh loudly at the contact. His movements start slow, smooth.

His hips meet yours and your eyes go white. His hand rests next to your head, his thrusts making his bicep flex a bit. It makes you drool, pressing a kiss to his wrist as he evens out his pace.

“You feel so good…hah-” His breathing is erratic and his other hand moves to the fold of your knee. Your head falls back, moans leaving you otherwise speechless. It feels so good, you can’t move.

His pace picks up, quickening as both of you approach your highs. Your breathing is stunted and your eyes are clenched shut. Ace moves his face to the crook of your neck, licking a strip up to your chin. Everything is perfect.

“I love you.” You say, looking him in the eyes. You swear you feel his cock throb inside you.

“I love you too, your highness.” He smirks.

With two or three deep thrusts, he’s finishing inside you. You scream, voice breaking when you finally cum again. He thrusts a couple more times, only pulling out when his cock stops throbbing. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his cum dripping out of you onto the pristine sheets. 

He falls into the empty space next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you clench your thighs together again. The aftershocks leave you drowsy and you roll in to his chest, drifting to sleep.

-

You don’t wake again until the early morning the next day. Ace is awake, his warm hands brushing through your hair. Your eyes scrunch at the brightening horizon before looking back at him.

“You sleep ok?” He asks.

You nod, kissing his jaw before rising to stretch. He rubs a hand down your back and gets out of bed.

Mornings after he visits are melancholy, knowing the inevitable has come to pass yet again. He’ll leave you for another period of time unknown to him or you. Your letters will be the only form of communication you'll have for months. It’s all a bit too much to bear.

You rise, hugging him from behind as he puts his clothes back on. Freckles decorate his back and shoulders and you want to count every one of them.

Before you know it, you stand looking up at him on your balcony wrapped in a sheet. His kiss is as warm as ever, not wanting to leave. You hold him there for a while, tears nearly forming in your eyes already.

“I’ll see you soon.” You nearly whimper. He wipes your eyes with his thumbs, smiling at you. 

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my love.” He smiles and you remember your gift you still have to give him.

“Wait!” You say, scurrying inside and grabbing a small locket off of your vanity. You hand it to him, and he opens it.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You say. The picture inside is of you, and it warms his heart. A smile creases his eyes as kisses you again. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead as the sun starts to show over the horizon.

“I love you.” He says, slowly stepping back and over the banaster. You reach your hands out one last time, cupping his face and kissing him before he climbs down and runs through the garden. 

With one final wave and kiss to his palm, he disappears into the greenery.

-

No one knows why the queen hides herself away certain nights of the year. Maybe shes up to nefarious activities. Maybe she does have secrets. 

Maybe she's just in love with someone she can’t have.

[definii]

Does the lamb liking making Narinder suffer (teasing) in your au?

Oh very much. Being chained in thr dimension of the afterlife does not offer much entertainment other than your own vessel. The lamb has their ways of "friendliness" with Narinder.

Both lonesome beings which fates are caused by the same title as creatures of cannon fodder

[stardust-for-your-soul]

currently thinking about 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 and his endless vanity.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who is revered as the lotus-eyed, twice-born born and golden-sighted. all who look at him are mesmerized, and none are those who can afford to resist his endless charm. the very epitome of beauty in masculine vessels, he defines the perfect balance of yin and yang—being as ethereal as they come, and twice as wise.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who puts up the pretense that he never quite feels the need to be worshipped so, being as modest as possible. yet internally, it is through lotus offerings, garlands of roses and lamps and lanterns blue and white that he truly measures his importance in the eyes of the man. the easiest god to please or upset, the lothd eyed god has few vices he does not know to erase. hence is the reason he is revered by all, the kind hearted god.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who takes great pride in the lonesome shrine dedicated to the 'god of all ancient wisdom', and enjoys flittering around in the forests and lakes that surround his shrine from all sides. quiet whispers often go ignored by him, benevolent in godhood as he already is. there's a saying—if you ever spot a purple-haired being with lotuses in his hands and gold on his neck, then be sure to quieten your steps and softly whisper his name. though he won't respond, his gaze will certainly fall upon you. while he doesn't entirely agree with this, he still arguably enjoys the attention this saying gathers him.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦— and his infatuation when his gaze lands upon you, standing amidst the maidens with gold offerings in your hand as you stared at him through plenilune eyes, your gaze holding wondrous awe. he can't speak, can't avert his gaze, nor can you and both are quite understandable in their place. after all, for a god, occasions of 'love' are few and far between, and even more so with mortals.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who always keeps an eye on all his followers. especially, you, of plenilune gaze and ethereal essence. he loves being pampered in general, always sitting patiently whenever he enters the shrine and the maidens sit him on golden stands and bathe him in flowers.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 and the way his gaze pins upon you as you move through the forest, navigating around to reach the lake of lotuses. who knows very well that this is the first time you have left to get lotuses on your own, a cruel order of the head priestess who was upset about his disregard for the prayers of the others. and while he is willing to be more benevolent next time, he ensures to cut down excess bushes and lead you right to the lake, almost confusing as to how easy it was to reach the lake.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who can't help but turn red yet watch helplessly as you slightly lift your waist cloth, revealing the soft skin of your waist, pulling the dagger out and walk slowly into the waters, cutting freshly bloomed lotuses from the water. but his gaze remains pinned to your form regardless, unable to watch anything or anyone except you.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 develops a tiny bias towards your prayers then on, always listening a bit keener to them. who can't help but create a situation such that all priestesses leave to attend to the royal family and their transgressions and you're left to look after the shrine. and then he comes in all graces, dressed in gold pieces and pearls white, ethereal looking when your gazes meet.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 who laughs slightly when you immediately bow and call him by all his hundred names, amused by your devotion. who desires to speak softly with you, leaving you spellbound with his quiet melody in speech. he is a bit biased you see— it's rare, after all, to see the god being vain but anything other than himself.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 and his expectation of finding you at the lake of lotuses every day, getting disappointed should you ever switch duties with anyone. he doesn't give up though. he has his ways, and you can't really escape him if he shows up at the shrine, himself after all. he just ensures to bite back the smile that forms on his features when you place the lotuses on his feet and light his sandalwood incense.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 being infatuated with your delightfully mortal charm and the fleeting sense of forbiddenness that you bring. gods and mortals do not mix well—he knows and he also knows that you know too, but it's hard for both to resist when either looks so supple and lovely.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘥! 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 and his love for you, his favourite devotee.

header credits: @cafekitsune !

[mt-oe]

its finals season (again..) and huge projects for classes right now. can we get a stressed reader x modern mizu where reader is like actually tweaking out? like I mean pulling our energy shots, shivering hands, 'gotta lock in', hysterically crying on snapchat video and sending it to their groupchat for moral support type of tweaking out and the reader is going BANANAS over all the final papers, and studying for finals and mizu helps comfort reader?? i hope this would be a silly little write but also helpful to anyone going through finals season right now. much love! xoxo <3

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

To start this, I am absolutely sorry for being gone for so long. I had my thesis defense, practicals, laboratory works, deadlines, and my finals all in the span of two weeks AND I fainted twice, got sick twice, and nose bled a LOT.

I was chugging 3 cans of energy drinks a day, eating one meal per day, sleeping minutes less than how long I showered, and smoked quite a lot. Someone even caught me sleeping on the fire exit stairs (istg so embarrassing ;;). Honestly makes me wonder how I'm not six feet under by now.

To those who are going through their finals, please don't follow my lead. Vomiting at 3am from how dizzy you are while some Sepultura song plays in the background is NOT the experience you'd think it was. Try to plan when you'll tackle your work and get some sleep as much as you can, on your free time, on your commute. I swear, answering tests are SOO much easier when your vision isn't spinning or tunneling.

Chose to do this request first to remind you all to take care amidst your finals (or as a reward if your finals are finished, good job dear!).

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa <3

warning: not proofread, my corny jokes, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Blue orbs watched as you cracked open another can of Red Bull. A small grunt leaving your throat as the fizzy caffeinated drink went down your esophagus. Was this your second? third..no wait..fourth?

Damn.

How are your blood vessels surviving this onslaught of caffeine you've been shoving down your system? She had no clue. But what she did know was that you've had enough. This wasn't healthy at all. Your lips were already as pale as the palms of your hands which were trembling to the point where you couldn't stop writing because that meant you'd feel the quivering of your hands even more.

The two of you had decided to slave off at Mizu's apartment for your finals. It was mostly Mizu dragging you there since your friends have been bombarding her to take care of you since she had the closest to what was considered a free schedule. T'was something about you freaking out and crying over the finals. She didn't have a Snapchat account so she didn't know.

Usually, she wasn't even interested in these stuff, but when Akemi showed her a picture of you with a thumbs up, holding a can of Monster, dark circles under your bloodshot eyes, tear streaks on your face, with the caption 'Boutta pull another Kay Chung tonight', concerned didn't even begin to describe what she felt.

Boutta pull a Kay Chung?

What or who was this Kay Chung anyway?

She knew you were a hard worker, probably one of the most studious people she knew, so she already expected you to be busy studying. What she didn't expect was the mess you were in.

The moment she stepped into your unit, cans of energy drinks, bottles of energy shots, cups of coffee, and random paper strewn randomly littered your apartment. The only source of light was your window and a small dim lamp you had.

Was that cup noodle container growing mold?

Ew.

It was like the Capital Wasteland in here, and she was the lonesome wanderer, awaiting the dangers to come.

And you were a radiated ghoul hunched over your desk with the emptiest gaze she has ever seen. Your head in your hands, as you scrunched your eyebrows together, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with your equation.

Now she understood the bombardment of messages from Akemi and the others, and damn was she grateful for the heads up because you looked like you were at death's door and death... Death just thought you looked too pitiful to let in.

The two of you were now sitting on Mizu's carpet, books, papers, and gadgets on the smooth wood of the coffee table. In her mind, she thought a bit of companionship would comfort you like it usually did. But she was wrong.

The shaking grip you had on your pen and the occasional 'what the actual fuck?' or 'the hell?' already told her that you were too locked in to relax even just a bit. You looked like you were losing it.

Her eyes peered over your review sheet before she raised an eyebrow at how scattered your handwriting looked, numbers and symbols italicized to the left and to the right as if they were dancing and your solutions scattered. Add this value here..derive the formula there..problem 3's solution is somehow on the back of the paper even though problem 5 was solved on problem 1's spot. It looked like a shit show.

"What...problem is this for? You did it wrong." Her tongue clicking as a slender finger encircled a formula you derived wrong, making you look at her with a mildly bothered look. Your eyes tiredly scanned your review sheet, looking away to the side to blink the heaviness of your lids away, then looking back at it before letting out a strangled sounding groan, shoulders slumping back onto the sofa as you covered your eyes with your hands before looking at your own solutions again. "I don't fucking know..maybe it's for..umm..for..fuuuuuck," you sighed defeatedly, realizing that you couldn't understand your own handwriting either.

You wanted to strangle yourself so bad right now or like, strangle your professor until they give you a passing grade. Maybe the threat of arson would scare the university admins into passing everyone for the semester???? The prospect of being a sugar baby is starting to sound better than trying to finish this degree.

It wasn't like you were an absolute idiot. You could solve these problems no problemo. However, your vision was already lagging and tunneling. Whenever you tried to read the problem or your own handwriting, it was like your vision was hyper-focusing on one spot and the areas around it were...spinning or it'd focus on everything else EXCEPT the ones you wanted to focus on.

The amount of caffeine you had consumed wasn't even helping anymore. Instead of waking you up, you just felt jittery like a hyper-charged toy. Before you were sleepy and slow, now you were still sleepy but faster.

And when was the last time you even ate anyway? Was that moldy cup noodle your last meal? You didn't even know anymore at this point. You could barely feel anything aside from the fear of your impeding academic doom. Not even hunger was strong enough to stop you.

Mizu's eyebrows furrowed at how miserable you looked before sighing and pulling a sheet of paper out of her own notebook. "Here," she sighed out, sitting beside you and scanning each problem you had printed out before re-writing each question you looked like you struggled with. Her eyes occasionally glanced at you, unseen worry rising with every hitch of your breath and every twitch of your eyebrow as you looked at the questions she rewrote.

"Mizu..I don't want to do those all again," you groaned frustratedly, ruffling your hair own hair aggressively, strands falling to the carpet below. A hand held yours firmly, preventing you from tangling the ends of locks even more. "I'm going to teach you, dumbass. We can't have you failing and dying at the same time," she huffed, grabbing your calculator and placing it in front of both of you. She leaned closer to you, hand on your waist to pull you closer before taking the pencil and pointing to the first problem she rewrote.

"I'm not going to repeat my explanations, so listen well,"

...was what she said.

However, Mizu was a big softie when it came to you. Every time she caught you spacing out or having a hard time in general, she took her time and explained it to you again, even explaining it slower, simpler, or more detailed as needed. She really made sure that you understood the principle of the problems and the process of solving them, handing the pencil and calculator to you to make sure you actually understood her.

After a while, you were slowly starting to understand you earlier mistakes, and with her help, you were able to finally solve the review sheet. Thank god for hot smart women.

A look of amusement crossed her face as she watched you slump back onto the sofa with a loud sigh of relief. Shaking her head with a small lop-sided smile, she took the pen again before grabbing your laptop and searching for similar problems. "Here," she said, turning the device towards you. "Solve these. I'll be back in a bit."

You looked at her in confusion before letting out a tired groan. The exhaustion was starting to let itself be known through the heaviness in your lids. Another problem set was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

Oh wait.

Fuck, you still had to edit your methodologies and results, and you haven't even started on the discussion yet. Oh god...

'Better get started, I guess,' you thought with a defeated sigh. Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you picked up your pencil and calculator and began solving yet another set of hellish questions while the dark-haired woman stood up and walked off somewhere in her apartment. Silence filled the room aside from the aggressive scritching and scratching of lead against paper and the sound of clacking from your calculator.

Every now and then, Mizu would come back with something to comfort you. May it be a cup of water, a bigger pillow, a hair tie, or to charge your phone for you. She didn't really speak though, fully wanting you to focus on your work.

It was like her quiet little way of telling you that she was here and that she cared for you.

Amidst your problem solving, the smell of something being fried hit your nose, making you look up. It was a bit oily, but at the same time, homely and savory. Your stomach growled slightly at the smell, reminding you of that uncomfortable feeling of hunger that you were somehow able to ignore during your study sessions.

Just as you had finished writing your answers, Mizu came out of the kitchen with a bowl of rice and a plate of what seemed to be fried fish. Kinda burnt but maybe that's a charm point...or something. At least she tried.

She set it down on a clear space on the coffee table and gently urged it towards you. "Here," she mumbled, looking at you expectantly. You stared at the food she prepared, snorting a bit at the charred skin, some bits missing which obviously stuck to the pan while she was frying it. "Err..Mizu...?"

"Don't mind how it looks just..just eat, okay?" she groaned, sounding a bit embarrassed, a bit of pink dusting her cheeks. Her eyes looking away as her hand went up to cover half her face. You couldn't help but laugh a bit. Mizu? Embarrassed? God that woke you up, didn't it?

The sound of your laughter made her feel even more embarrassed but at the same time relieved. Your laugh was so fucking cute. She was glad that you were starting to sound a bit more like your usual self. Hell, you were smiling now. A big improvement compared to the face of misery you were making earlier.

Eventually, your laughter subsided upon the realization sinking into you. She really did all this just to take of you. Dragging you to her apartment, tutoring you, fetching things for you, cooking for you...

She really does care. Doesn't she?

Your hands picked up the chopsticks before breaking into the soft flesh of the food in front of you, picking off the bones before taking a bite. It was salty, the char even made it a bit bitter, and for god-knows-why, even a bit spicy?? But it tasted so good to you. Heavenly, dare I say.

As you continued to eat, bite after bite and scoop after scoop, the shakiness in your hands slowly calmed down. You couldn't help but look up at your friend who was now checking your answers, the ghost of satisfaction making itself known through the barely visible smile she had. "Mizu..."

She looked over at you, raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was listening. "Thank you for uh..taking care of me," you said shyly, giving her a small smile. A low chuckle escaped her throat as she shook her head slowly as if in amusement. "At least you're not shaking like a leaf anymore," she joked, followed by you letting out a small 'hmph!', making her chuckle yet again.

Though she wouldn't tell it to you right now, she'd be more than happy to take care of you anytime you wanted or needed it.

The sound of your pen tapping on the paper filled the room again as her eyes narrowed at your answers, checking it carefully. After a while, she handed the paper back to you, looking very much satisfied. "Looks good," she said, eyes watching the proud smile on your face. "How 'bout a reward?...Some rest I suppose?"

Your smile faltered at the sound of rest. "I can't...my manuscript is due in a couple of days and I haven't even finished editing my methodologies and results," you explained, opening the files for each of your chapters. "The data isn't even tabulated in the required format. It looks like shit."

She stood up from her spot and sat next to you, placing a hand on your head to pat it gently as she looked at the screen. Her eyes narrowed again while you scrolled up the file for her before she sighed. "Yeah, it does look like shit," she agreed before suddenly grabbing your laptop and setting in front of her. "Go and take a nap or something. I'll do whatever I can to...whatever this is."

"But Mizu, this isn't even your field. I can't—" She cut you off with a finger to your lips before gesturing towards the sofa behind the both of you. "Nap," she ordered firmly. You sighed before standing up and laying down on the sofa. You knew there was no use arguing. When Mizu makes up her mind, she's deadset on it.

Her eyes scanned your figure for a moment, taking in every curve of your body and the way your face relaxed. Then, she took off her jacket and draped it over you, before giving you a small loving pat. Before you could even open your mouth to protest, she immediately shushed you and turned to your manuscript, scanning over it.

Your eyes observed the way her eyebrows furrowed and the way her eyes darted from word-to-word. The sound of her typing and clicking filling the room, oddly relaxing you.

It didn't take long for you to drift off to sleep. And for the first time since hell week started, you finally relaxed.

No frustration, no stress, just...sleep.

You did nap for hours longer than expected though.

Don't worry.

Your methodologies were now updated, results properly formatted, and ideas in bullet points for your discussion were laid out in a new file. Even your references were fixed.

Damn, you really wanted to smooch Mizu reaaal hard after this.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 11. aphrodisiacs

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “picture perfect”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ ivy was not expecting this little christmas get together to get all.. steamy.. but now he has you all to himself

pairing: iv (ivy) x gn!reader

a/n: he’s a slut and i want him

cw: nsfw content. aphrodisiac. there are aphrodisiacs laced in the drinks. dubcon-ish. both parties are affected by the aphrodisiacs. intense foreplay.

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“fuck what are you doing to me…? get over here. now.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

the nighttime bar was bustling with life. it was filled with a variety of many different people, having a good old time and using the night to unwind and just relax, drowning themselves in the rave of chaotic excitement.

christmas was a time for joy, but of course, there were always party animals that wanted to wallow their emotions into the empty sweetness of elicit liquor and frosted sugar pastries that the fancy, rich distilleries had to offer.

that’s where ivy found himself tonight.

accompanied by his lonesome self, he idly twirled a shot glass in his hand, watching the rich drink in the cup swirl around against the glass, keeping his fingers on the rim of it. ivy wasn’t so sure why he came here in the first place, especially on christmas evening of all days, where the party was high and people were rowdy. the guitarist wasn’t much of a party person to begin with anyways. but, his band mates wanted to come here to celebrate another successful year as a musical group, and of course, he couldn’t say no.

still, he’d much rather be home at the moment.

“still by yourself, ivy?”

that familiar voice snapped him out of his trance. ivy’s gaze lingered to your form, and he just let out a heavy sigh.

“you know i prefer to be away from the crowds.” ivy sighed, sipping a little bit of alcohol from his glass. “but i can’t say no to vessel. that big oaf he is.”

you chuckled and took a seat next to ivy, keeping your hands on your lap as you spoke to your fellow member, deciding to distance yourself away from the crowds for now.

“that’s sweet of you, vy. but really, you didn’t have to come out here if you don’t like parties.”

“nah, it’s the least i can do. i love you guys too much to say no to you.”

your heart warmed at the sound of ivy’s words. he was always so intricate and precise with his wording. he meant every sentence of that.

“thanks, ivy.” you thanked with a genuine smile.

underneath his mask, he smiled back. “anytime, y/n.”

you wished that ivy would show this sensitive, soft side to himself more often. it was really a beautiful sight, really. to see someone who’s usually super stoic, be all caring and watchful for those he loves. it was quite nice.

the two of you exchanged small talk for a bit, just talking about your most recent tour and how you’re both excited to get to work on the new albums and eps that vessel had planned for the next year. it was going to be one hell of a year to remember, that’s for sure. ivy was surprisingly a very pleasant person to talk to. he always had different topics to bring into the conversation, and he was just an easy person to chat with.

though, as the two of your exchanged pleasantries, sharing a couple of laughs here and there, the bartender slipped you both two alcoholic drinks in fancy cups. both of you raised your eyebrows at this, considering you did not order another drink, aside from the casual shots.

“sir? we didn’t order this.” you tried to correct, but the bartender only gave a coy smile.

“don’t worry, it’s on the house.” he winked. “consider it a … special holiday drink.”

you and ivy couldn’t even get another word in, because the bartender went off to do his work, serving other clients and customers that came in. the guitarist just side-eyed the bartender for a bit, before taking the time to observe the drink he was given. it was clearly alcoholic, and the rim of the class seemed to be lined with crystallized sugar. the actual liquor itself seemed to dawn a sunset-pinkish shade, with red and purple swirled into the liquid. ivy couldn’t tell what kind of alcohol it was, but he had guessed it to be some sort of vodka, mixed with another unknown drink.

ivy eyed the glass suspiciously. the drink looked pretty… almost too pretty for it to be just some casual alcoholic drink. though, his curiosity was piqued, and his mind wondered how the taste would pop in his mouth.

“strange… that guy was kind of weird, giving us a drink like that out of nowhere.” he chided, still holding his suspicions high as he observed the glass.

“yeah… but i haven’t had a good drink in a while.” you said with a curious voice, tilting your head as you brought the rim of the glass closer to your lips.

the two of you shared a look for a moment, thinking the exact same thing.

“how about it?” you asked. ivy pondered for a moment, before nodding.

“why not?”

the two of your clanked your glasses together, before downing the drink in one go. it tasted sweet, some of the crystallized sugars finding its way into ivy’s mouth and sizzling into a sugary delicateness that bursted with flavor. it tasted sweet… very sweet. ivy actually found the taste to be warm.. but that warmth went from his throat, to his stomach. slowly, it started to simmer into an uncomfortable warmth.

that warmth flowed throughout ivy’s body, and it soon become an itching hotness that clung to his skin. the guitarist’s eyes widened from the sudden feeling, and he could immediately feel himself sweating. he started to fan himself by flapping his shirt, trying to relieve himself of the uncomfortable heat that clung to his body like a parasite.

“what the hell…?” ivy practically panted out, trying to find a way to make himself feel better. “what the hell was in that drink?”

you nodded, arms heavily pressed against the bar counter as you groaned and panted, sweat beads sticking to your forehead. you were having the same problem as ivy.

“i don’t know… but i sure as hell feel so damn uncomfortable right now.” you gasped out, running a hand through your hair as you tried to maintain your composure.

ivy was about to agree with you, turning his head to meet your gaze, but the moment he locked eyes with you, its like the fire burned within him more brightly. he suddenly felt… needy, and just looking at you was enough to send his mind into overdrive. he was practically drooling over your form, aroused by the very sight of you alone.

what?

what was ivy thinking? why was he thinking this way? and why couldn’t he stop…?

“y/n…” he practically growled out. his hands moved to grip your shoulders, and you gasped from the sudden closeness. “stop that…”

your voice was quivering, and you leaned back against the bar counter. the surrounding people didn’t even matter anymore, it’s like it was just the two of you.

“stop what?” you practically stuttered out, feeling a familiar burning hot desire brew within you as you looked at ivy.

“that.” he rasped. “looking so damn… appetizing.”

you looked at ivy with wide, yet lustrous eyes. at this point, you both came to realize what had happened. the drinks you were given were laced with aphrodisiacs, of course they were. however, ivy couldn’t stop himself from what he was doing.

“fuck what are you doing to me…? get over here. now.”

his fingers fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, and he slowly unbuttoned them while kissing your neck, not even caring about the people around you guys. besides, they were too focused on partying to see what you two were doing. you let out soft sighs of pleasure, but tried to snap back into your senses, trying to push ivy away despite your growing lust.

you gasped as you felt ivy start to bite and nibble your neck with his teeth, and his fingers trace over the exposed skin on where he unbuttoned your shirt. this was so provocative and risky, doing this out in public. you couldn’t even think straight, with how your mind was hazy with promiscuous desires, and ivy was only feeding into your fantasies.

“ivy…” you muttered our lustfully, moaning a bit loudly as he kissed your neck, jawline and face with deep, needy kisses.

“i need you.” he grunted. “i need you so badly. this heat, it’s so fucking uncomfortable. please… please let me touch you.. i promise i’ll make you feel good.”

ivy’s voice was desperate, almost like he was in pain. the aphrodisiacs that bastard gave him was making him so incredibly horny and hard. he couldn’t stop kissing you, trying to feel your skin on his.

fuck. you needed this too.

with a heavy sigh, you nodded, looking down at him with hearts in your pupils. “please take me.”

that was all the confirmation ivy needed, before he swept you away into a dark, secluded corner of the bar, away from the party.

from there, he could give you the fuck of a lifetime.

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[tenjiiku]

1995 / i do

6k words

masterlist | next

“I’m never going to trust a man ever again! Never! Never in a million years!”

A woman wails to two of her friends in an empty ramen shop during a chilly Winter night in November. Said ramen shop was aptly named Minano Ramen, a few miles away from Minano Station, Saitama. Said woman had no correlation to the location (as she was a bona fide country-bumpkin, hailing from somewhere in Nagano), nor to the type of provisions being sold at the aforementioned ramen shop (she was in a committed relationship to whole wheat and everything which came from it). Still, her company grounded her — which is why said woman, Amaya Bando, persisted under such shoddy circumstances.

You, being one of Amaya’s closest accomplices, gently pat her back as she lounges across half of the dining table. Her blouse was an utter disaster, and her hair was in an even more uncanny state of disarray. Being as you were sitting in the stool next to her, you were in charge of physical comfort for the night: The Good Cop. Your friend, the owner of the family-owned Minano Ramen shop, Umeko, was overseeing the harsh, motivational talks — as she was across the counter from both of you, wiping down dishes to close up for the night: The Bad Cop.

“Amaya-chan, you will sprain a muscle exerting yourself like this,” you coo, ever-so-softly, gently running a hand through the woman’s chestnut coloured hair.

“So be it! It will just be another tragedy added to the list that is my life! What is one more, anyway!?”

“You’re turning red,” Umeko coolly interjects, passing a glass of ice cold water to the hysterical young woman, “calm down before you burst a blood vessel.”

Amaya, sniffling, finally lifts her head from the counter. She is, indeed, flushed in the face. Her nose is an almost violent shade of burgundy — and she blows it once more in the handkerchief you hand her. Your brows furrow and your lips pout. You did not like seeing your friend like this, even if she currently resembled a spider monkey.

“I just thought—,” a gulp of water, an exhausted moan, “I just thought Sota would—would be the one, you know?”

“For fuck’s sake— he made you pay on the first date. I’m glad he left you.” The Bad Cop chastises.

“You deserve someone so much better, Maya-chan,” The Good Cop consoles.

Amaya’s eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth — presumably to resume shrieking — but nothing leaves. A few seconds pass just like this, her mouth gaping and her teardrops escaping her eyes to fall on her flushed cheeks.

“You think she’s paralyzed?”

“Umeko— you… don’t say that. She’s upset.”

“Over Sota…”

“Yeah, so?” Umeko shoots you a look which screams ‘Are you serious?’ which makes you snort and murmur a quiet, “What?”

“Sota.”

“I know Maya-chan’s ex-boyfriend’s name, Umeko.”

“The man with the receding hairline. Who made our dear Maya-chan take the bus home — knowing he had a car — from their first date. Which she paid for, by the way.”

Amaya chokes and you jump at the sound, gently patting her back and shooting Umeko a stern glance. Umeko only snatches the napkin you scrunch in your hand away from you and walks away into the back, presumably to throw it out. Or leave you and Amaya to your lonesomes. That too was a possibility.

“Why do you care so damn much about who and who didn’t pay on the first date?!” Amaya hollers, suddenly gaining the strength of twenty bulls when being on the receiving end of Umeko’s cold indifference.

Before you can interject, the woman is already returning to the bar, hot on her heels. You open your mouth — but, like Amaya, excluding the frenzy — nothing falls out.

“That should have been a sign! No good man would have taken you on such a shitty date. And what do you do? Call him an hour after you return home and tell him you had a good time! A good time! Your socks were soaked from the downright torrential rain for god’s sake!”

“Umeko—”

“Yeah?! Well— I—I’m a nice woman! Unlike you! I—I see the good in people. And Sot—So—… whatever-his-name, he—he did many good things after!”

“Amaya—”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Ume—”

“He—He bought me flowers! Took—Took me on other dates that he—he did pay for, by the way! Since money is everything to you!”

You sigh shakily into your cup of coffee and lean your cheek against your palm, grinning when you receive a message notification on your phone.

>> (19:00) Where are you?

“Yeah, he bought you chrysanthemums! You’re allergic to chrysanthemums! He basically tried to kill you!”

“Why—Why are you so mean?!”

“Why are you defending the man who dumped you to be with someone else?!”

A silence befalls the shop after Umeko’s last statement. The two women engaged in the for-some-reason argument recline into themselves. Peering up at them, you shake your head before sending a reply to the message you received moments ago.

>> (19:02) Minano’s. Witnessing Ume and Maya in a brawl. Got off work?

“I think we can all agree here that Sota is the real McCoy of dickheads. And I think we can also agree that Amaya is much too beautiful and kind hearted for half of Earth’s population — and that Umeko can use Benadryl.”

A huff escapes Umeko’s lips and she runs a hand through her dyed yellow-blond hair. Amaya snorts a laugh, snot escaping her nose and the last of her tears pouring from her eye. You squint a little at the sight, and take a tissue from the rusted napkin dispenser to hand it to her.

It is a peaceful quiet for a few seconds. Then Amaya asks, her voice strained with a hint of pure amusement tinted between, “What the hell does being the real McCoy mean?”

“The saying originates from Elijah McCoy. Quite a famous inventor in the late 1800s, owned many patents after a bunch of dupes followed his name.”

Umeko guffaws at your statement. She looks at Amaya. “Can you believe she’s the one in a committed relationship between the three of us?”

You snicker and smile smugly to yourself, with Amaya letting out a chortle of her own. She sighs, scooting her stool closer to yours to rest her head on your right shoulder. You pet her cheek with your left hand, the other holding your phone open.

“Where’d you find such a man like Rin?” Amaya sighs gently, nuzzling into the sherpa of your coat.

Umeko sets down the last bowl on the counter before leaning against it, elbows propped up as she sneaks a glance towards your phone screen. She leans closer, seemingly also wanting to know the answer.

“Find? They’d been attached to the hip since university. If anything, he wouldn’t leave,” Umeko teases. You grin shyly and shrug your shoulders, careful not to exert the gesture and disturb Amaya’s newfound calmness.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “I just got lucky.” Turning towards Amaya you lightly pinch the fat of her cheek, “It’s about to run out. I can feel it.”

The low lighting of the bar sets Amaya’s piqued expression so naturally — it was as though it were her instinctual reaction to everything.

“You’re just a perpetual pessimist. I’d be willfully ignorant and quiet if I were you. Evil eye is a thing, you know.”

“Since when did you become so spiritual?” Umeko retorts.

“Since my ex stole ¥11,000 from my shoebox and left without sparing so much of a goodbye in the middle of the night.”

Umeko and you still for a few seconds. It is so silent you can hear the bellowing of the snow outside the shop. Then, Umeko murmurs, very quietly, “The hell? You never told us that. That’s a crime.”

“It’s fine… he left his Grand Seiko watch.. I bet it will fetch a good price.”

You grin and Umeko huffs. “Good girl, Amaya.”

The chime of the door opening alerts the three of you. Though the closed sign was turned, the establishment remained unlocked. No one had ever dared come inside when the patio lights were off. At least, not until now. The sight of the person at the door, however, pains a pleasant smile on your face. You hop off of the stool, not without a groan from Amaya who has to resume laying on the cold marble of the bar table, wrapping your arms around your body to adjust your coat.

“Yo, Itoshi, we’re closed.” Umeko’s voice hollers from across the shop. Rin grins at the statement, and it grows when you approach him.

“Hello, Honda-san, Bando-san.” he greets formally, taking your purse with his free hand and adjusting it to fit into the crook of his elbow, where his briefcase rests. The side of his mouth lifts as he looks down at you — adjusting the collar of his peacoat.

“It’s Amaya, Rin-kun. A-ma-ya.” The half-drunk woman slurs into her mug of beer. You shoot Rin a teasing smile, making him apprehensively run a hand through his hair and loosen his wool scarf — a bright neon pink colour — which you bought him as a joke years ago, but for whatever reason he wears consistently through the cold season.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper to him as Umeko and Amaya argue on the latter’s alcohol tolerance — or, lack thereof. You place your warm hands on his cheeks, turning his face left and right as you look for any imperfections.

“I was in the neighbourhood. I thought you knew?”

Rin murmurs in the low voice you like so much — the one that leaks in the bedroom. Your eyes widen and you look up, meeting his roguish gaze. You subconsciously cross your legs and shyly adjust your hair and pencil skirt, looking down at your sore feet clad in heels.

“I—I didn’t think you were this close.”

And he really was not. His office was a good twenty minutes away from Minano Station, by train. Thirty, if you consider the harsh Winter blizzard and Friday night traffic. But if Rin Itoshi was anything, he was your overzealous lover.

“I wanted cheesecake,” he says, so casually deflecting your onslaught of guilt. It never hits you. He never lets it.

You laugh at this softly, shaking your head. He leans into your one hand that still cups his cheek and you can feel his smile against your skin.

“Your hair is a mess.” You mutter, bending down to meet his eye.

“You look very pretty.” He replies instantly, making you flustered all over again. Rin has gotten better with pouring out compliments in recent years. It still takes you aback each time you are the receiving end of them.

An obnoxious cry breaks the two of you out of the daze you find yourselves in. You turn to find Amaya glaring at you with disgust, then looking towards Umeko.

“Blah! If you both are going to be in love and whatnot, please do so with a five kilometre distance away from me.” She utters and Umeko resumes to bicker with her regarding what constitutes as too much beer to consume in one sitting for a four foot one woman in her late twenties.

Rin looks at you, confused. He bends down a little bit, to accommodate for the strain you put into your neck. You feel the side of your mouth twitch. You can practically see his tail wagging.

“Breakup. Sota is an asshole.” You explain. Rin hums.

“I never liked him. He tried getting me to invest in Worldcom. Its trajectory is not looking good.”

Amaya, still listening in on your conversation and tuning out Umeko’s incessant lecture, sits up as straight as a brick.

“What? So Sota’ll lose money?” She inquires.

Rin sighs, taking his hand to rest around your shoulder and nodding. “If he still holds, definitely.”

Amaya makes a sound between a choke and a laugh and simultaneously claps her hands. She leans back in her chair and you quickly step forward to catch it — Rin being pulled with you.

“Umeko-chan, keep the celebratory drinks coming!” The woman cheers loudly, chugging her empty mug and presenting it to the tired woman across the counter. Said woman sighs exasperatedly — turning her gaze to Rin and yourself.

“You two should leave. Amaya is an obnoxious drunk and I don’t want to ruin the eve of your 30th birthday.”

You giggle at this, and turn your eyes to Rin. You ask him mentally — “Should we?”. And he gives an answer by positioning your purse and his bag — “We should.”

“Alright. Maya-chan, drink responsibly.” You murmur, placing a kiss on Amaya’s temple. She hisses so you take a step back. You nod towards Umeko. “Umeko, take care.”

“Yeah, yeah. You better send us photos of the celebration tomorrow.” She answers, furrowing her eyebrows when Amaya raises her mug and slurs gibberish on simultaneously wanting to be loved and to be a cat.

As Umeko ushers you both out, the door chimes softly, signalling the end of the raucous camaraderie. The cold night air greets you once again as you step onto the snowy streets, your hand held tightly in Rin’s. Neon lights cast ephemeral shadows on the white canvas beneath your feet, creating a surreal ambiance. Rin’s touch provides a comforting anchor in the quietude of the night. The city, wrapped in its wintry silence, seemed to only amplify the tenderness exchanged.

“You’re so warm…” you whisper to Rin.

“Am I?” He mumbles, his voice deep and smooth. It sends shivers up your spine, “You’re making me incredibly nervous, dressed like that.”

A wind blows by. You blame the sudden gust of cold for the sudden rigidness you find yourself experiencing.

“Rin…” You mumble, hiding your face in his forearm.

He only laughs, and stops walking when the two of you are under a street lamp. Opening your eyes, you find him in front of you — looking as though you have a treasure he desires. He takes your cheek in one hand, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into it, placing a kiss against the expanse of his thumb, and you giggle when you see a sudden redness develop on his face and earlobes.

“I love you.” He murmurs, leaning down to capture your cold lips with his warmer ones. You sigh, content at the warmth and the fluttering feeling travelling up and down your frames

When the two of you part, your whisper to him — a want, a need, something you have never received from anyone before. Until him.

“Never leave me.”

When Rin smiles, you know you are safe.

“Always.”

.

.

.

Five minutes after you arrive home, you vomit the contents of Minano Ramen Shop in a spectacularly violent fashion. In the quaint washroom you currently are in — still in your work clothes and with Rin in his half undone peacoat — resides two toothbrushes in a Miffy cup Rin bought for you for Christmas, a poster of the album cover of The Bangles, All Over The Place which the two of you found venturing small thrift shops in the corners of Shinjuku and pencil marks on the door frame — measuring your height for the last two years, bi-monthly (you have only grown half a centimetre. Rin has grown five.)

“Oh, love.” Rin mutters, holding your hair back as you clutch the toilet seat for dear life. You cringe at the smell, tear up and sniffle, then resume emptying the contents of your stomach — unwillingly, “I’m here. Let it out.”

Rin is very patient. You hang your head low, tears soaking your face. You do not want to see what you look like in the mirror. Probably anything but pretty. You can sense Rin bend down onto the soft bathroom mat beside you, massaging your shoulder and running a comforting, large hand down your back.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Yeah, I—I think,” you gag before you can finish your sentence — and continue vomiting. Rin stays with you, his gentle voice acting as an anchor to ground you.

The whole ordeal lasts nearly a minute — but it felt like one hundred million years to you. By the end of it, Rin is carrying you to your shared one bedroom as you slur your words of protest.

“I can walk, Rin. I puked food… I think. Not blood. So I’m not dying.”

“You talk too much for a sick person.”

“I’m not sick,” you say, holding back another gag when you smell the remnants of vomit on your chin. Rin lays you down on your queen-sized bed, magically pulling wet wipes from his person and cleaning your face off. It is scary how overly attentive he can be at times. You were convinced he possessed psychic abilities for the first few months you started going out. Unfortunately, to your dismay, he was simply born with an innate sense of observation skills.

“Stay here.” He orders you, like you are a wet dog. He stands from his crouched position, and you feel much too dizzy to follow as he leaves the room.

He enters with a thermometer. You grunt.

“Rin… this is ridiculous.”

Of course, he does not listen to your demands. Hooking his index finger and thumb to your chin, he gestures for you to open it. You obey, of course — because you are hoping this attentiveness of his will stay after he is done this checkup of his.

“Your temperature is fine…” He murmurs, gazing down at the device. He looks up at your tear-stained face and his lips twitch, “I will go brew some tea.”

Anyway, he is gone again — and far be it for you to divert him from his rigid mind. You lay there, roughly for five minutes. You wonder if Rin is preparing anything else for you other than tea. You would not put it past him. Something possesses you when you are left to yourself, though. It has been happening for the past few weeks. A sudden intuition or shift in your brain — it tells you: ‘Something is wrong. Something is not right.’

You don’t know what exactly drives you to take a pregnancy test. You just turn your head to your bedside table, open the drawer, and see the plastic bag from the pharmacy. You picked up medicine for your frequent headaches and nausea, but, as stated previously — something possesses you when you are left alone. And, at that moment, it drove you to purchase some pregnancy tests. Plural, because this Thing is quite persuasive and nagging.

Rin returns to the bedroom, a tray with miso soup, warm rice, a cup of jasmine tea and leftover mackerel from this morning in his hands. He does not find you there. He calls for you, with no answer.

“Honey?”

A sound from the bathroom catches his attention. He places the tray on the bedside table, coming to you.

“Darling! What are you—”

You sit on the toilet seat, your hands shaking as you hold one of the tests in your hand. Your eyes are wide, and Rin sees it before you even have to tell him. He falls to his knees in front of you, bracing you by placing his hands on your thighs.

“It’s positive, Rin,” your voice is soft and weak. You can make out the sound among the ringing of your ears, “Am I losing my mind? Are you real?”

“Y/n…” Rin’s voice is even more gone. He opens his mouth, then opens it again. You can hear the tremble in his tone, “Is this real?”

You sniffle and your voice is wrecked as you whimper out, “What? Why are you asking me? I peed on the stupid thing and now it’s saying this. You think this is a sick prank?” You lightly hit Rin at the chest with your hands, but by the fifth swing he is bracing your wrists and looking up at your tear filled eyes with a pair of his own.

“Rin…” you feel your feet grow numb, and the ringing grows louder and louder, “I’m pregnant.”

.

When you were young — you would guess around seven or eight — you had a neighbour, Sana-san, who had a new man over everyday. Or, every night. You would watch her greet them from your parent’s bedroom’s terrace — typically around dinner time. Mama never let you watch television shows around 6:00 pm, so you resorted to watching your very own live reality show.

One particular evening, when papa was working overtime, and after watching Sana-san greet a man — who looked no older than 23 — with a hug and a kiss and a smile, you find yourself seeking out mama who cuts small chunks of potato directly into the hotpot. You only reach her hip, but you manage to fetch your stool so you can reach the counter height and observe as she makes your favourite beef curry.

“Mama,” You ask as she goes to wash her hands, “Why does Sana-san have so many husbands?”

Mama makes a sound between a choke and a grunt. You see her back stiffen and her hairs stand up. She turns to you, and in the softest voice she can manage, she explains to you.

“They—They are not her husbands, kitten.”

“But I saw her kissing them.”

“Where?! Where did you see that?”

“From the terrace. Every time I feed Inari.”

The stressed woman buries her face in the palms of her hands. You tilt your head, and follow her as she gestures to you outside the kitchen. Was she upset that you housed a bush warbler, whom you named Inari? You sit on the couch, as she crouches you in front of you with her apron still on.

“Kitten…” she starts, “Listen to me, Sana-san is a… very peculiar woman. She has her own ordeals and I have mine. I only have papa and she… she chooses to have many lovers.”

“Lovers? What does that mean?”

“It’s in the name. Someone you love. They are your lover.”

You hum at the explanation, then smile widely, “I want to be like Sana-san when I grow up. She has so many of them.”

Mama’s eyes widen the size of saucers, and she clasps your hands on her own. You flinch at the sudden movement.

“Kitten!” She blurts. You tilt your head.

“What?”

“You don’t— You shouldn’t strive for that. I mean, it’s nice, you’re right — she has many… many lovers. But it is even more special if you have one true lover that will stay with you forever and ever — like your Prince Charming. Right?”

You look into mama’s eyes. She seems tense. Strange, considering most of the time she is very much composed. It must be important, then, that you take her word for this situation. Though Sana-san seemed delighted every night, you were never the early bird — so you never saw her expression when her lover for the night would leave in the morning. Was Sana-san aware that they were going to leave? If she knew, how did she manage to say goodbye? Would she even get the chance to if they left without saying anything?

The possibilities all send an unpleasant feeling in your stomach. You want to eat curry and forget about it.

“I guess so…”

And that was it — at least for the night.

The next month, you saw Sana-san for the last time. She had come over, actually. You remember mama telling you to go upstairs when the woman came. But, being the sneaky seven or eight year old you were, you managed to hide yourself around the corner of your living room. You recall seeing Sana-san sob into her hands, and mama holding her small frame. You’d never seen Sana-san cry — not like this, not in general. The woman seemed so much smaller to you at that moment. You did not know what she was crying about, until you were thirteen and were running errands with your mother when you asked in the chip aisle — casually and erratically.

“She got pregnant. Her.. partner at the time wasn’t pleased. Neither were her parents. She moved to Australia, to live with her Grandmother.”

You swore to yourself from that day forward, you would never allow yourself to ever be in Sana-san’s place — even if you had to let go of everything good in life.

.

But you were a naive thirteen year old. You acted like you were thirty at that age. Now that you are twenty nine — you are acting as though you are nine again. Maybe living with your debilitated grandmother would be better than finding out you are pregnant with snot and vomit covering your shirt.

“Y/n.” Rin calls for you, squeezing your hands, “Everything will be okay. This is… it’s all alright. At least, it is to me.”

“You’re fine with this?” You ask, and your voice is drenched in anxiety and an unfamiliar rawness.

“Of course.” Rin expresses, looking down to meet your eyes when you lower your face to avoid his, “Are you?”

“I—I’m going to be a mother, Rin.” You whimper, “You—You’re going to be a father.”

The sudden realisation hits you — and it feels like a million pounds descend on top of you, not giving you any room to breathe. You feel terrified yet ecstatic, all at once. The beginning of an end.

“Oh—Oh,” you fall into Rin’s embrace, and he holds you — all of you, the dirty bits and emotional parts.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, “I love you.”

Through your sobs and whines, you murmur a small anxiety which makes Rin laugh and you feel alright.

“I drank black coffee. An hour ago. What if they’re hurt?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He whispers, and you feel a wetness fall on the top of your head, “We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

.

.

.

The next morning and late into the afternoon, you decide to take on the role of an interviewer, with Rin being your more than willing subject.

Brushing your teeth together in the one bathroom you have in your shared apartment, staring at each other’s features — trying to see which one falls first:

“What if—What if my feet start to swell? And my boots don’t fit anymore? I’ve heard that happens…”

“We can buy new boots, love.”

Rin, frying an egg for you on the stove as you stir your cup of coffee again and again and again with a spoon — as though your milk and espresso could be anymore amalgamated. The pigeons you shelter in the heated house you impulsively spent two weeks salary on — when you stumbled upon one shivering in the corner of the building entrance — chirping a morning melody for you in the snow-covered balcony. Brrr brrr brrr:

“Where will the—the,” your voice becomes a whisper, as though you are uttering a profanity or a strange secret, “baby,” then it returns to its normal tone, “sleep for the first few months?”

“With us, of course.”

“What if I smack their face? You know I’m a violent sleeper.”

Rin brings you your egg in one hand, and in the other, a bowl of freshly cut strawberries. He places a kiss on your forehead when he leans down towards you, “I am pretty sure there are beds for newborns we can look into to prevent that from happening.”

Standing, frozen, in the food bar of the grocery store — eyeing today’s special: sashimi. Rin directly behind you, reading the discount of chocolate chip cookies — 2 for the price of 1!:

“I am not allowed to eat raw fish. I—I shouldn’t. Well, I don’t know. Mama ate it all the time when she was pregnant with me. I turned out fine, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Rin murmurs, holding your hand but not turning around, making his arm bend in an uncompromising manner, “You turned out beautifully.”

You turn your head to Rin, then back to the sashimi, then back to Rin. You walk up next to him, and wrap your two hands around his forearm, resting your head against his bicep.

“I will eat tempura.” You mumble, and without looking, he pets your cheek as he reads the sale written on the sign.

And, the present — as the two of you sit side-by-side in your childhood bedroom, on your twin-sized bed that still has the same sheets on it as you left it (washed, you hope, if your overzealous mother remained overzealous enough):

Only a lamp is on. Its golden hue sets a peaceful tone. The window is open, the curtains bellowing at the cold Winter breeze filters through the wires. This was your sanctuary for so many years — until you left for university. You shared so many memories in this room, and now your unborn child… (Fetus? Really, what should you refer to them as at this stage? They must be not even the size of an edamame seed) resides in the same room you had your first kiss in.

You sit quietly, just like this. You can feel Rin observing you, as he always does. Except, unlike all of the other times, he gives you your space — room to act as unadulterated as you please.

Your mouth opens, and you can feel your lips tremble when you hear your mother and Rin’s laugh with one another about the wilted tulips outside, on the porch.

“I— we have to tell… our parents.” You say, your voice the quietest it has been today, “Just in case… in case anything happens. They’ll… They’ll have to find out eventually— if—if that happens, right?”

Rin has your left hand in his lap. He holds it with both of his, gently massaging the skin. He picks it up, and places a small kiss, before returning it to rest on his thigh.

“Nothing will happen. But, you’re right. We should tell them, preferably before you start to show. It would be a little… awkward if that were to happen.”

You laugh, and you cannot help but let a few tears leave your eyes. You turn your face to Rin’s, urging him to hold you. He obliges, and runs his thumb across your under-eye to catch your tear before it falls. You cannot believe how hormonal you are already starting to act. You are apprehensive on finding out how you will completely and utterly change as a woman — as a human being — for the months to come.

“Papa is out buying me a cake, right now. And his unmarried daughter is pregnant. God.” You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Is that what you are worried about? Having a child out of wedlock?”

You snort, “Out of wedlock? What are we? In the 80s?”

“Darling.” Rin whispers, and damn him for calling you that — because he knows you like it so much, “If that is what you are worried about… it’s trivial.”

You are hormonal and cranky and pregnant, so, obviously you flip out on him over a very rational statement with no hidden undertones.

“What? How is that trivial you bastard? Are you going to be a deadbeat father— only visit during holidays and their birthday, is that it—”

Rin cuts you off — shuts you up, for a lack of a better term — with a suggestion so out of left field it almost makes you jump.

“I want to—I want to marry you, Y/n.” He starts, his voice louder than it was before, “And… And I want you to want me to marry you, too.”

For a few seconds, you say nothing. You just stare at him, as the moonlight behind you paints him in an evanescent glow. For a moment you think you are looking at an apparition from a dream. But Rin looks at you — and he looks at you with all the seriousness of a thousand men.

“You propose like this? When I look so hideous?” You say, your voice weak.

“You never look hideous. Ever. For as long as I’ve known you.” Rin mutters, getting off of your twin bed to only bend down on one knee in front of you. His hand plays with the hem of the dress you wear. He kisses the tips of your fingers, each one, looking up into your eyes.

“You—You are serious about this.”

“I am always with you. You know this, more than anyone.”

You feel your breath hitch. You feel the urge to hold him. Do something to sedate this uneasiness within you. So you mutter a half-brained statement, successfully pushing this off of you.

“You… Grandma does not even know who you are. Neither do any of my distant cousins. We—We’d have to let them know, too. Right?”

Rin pauses. His eyes widened. Your lips tremble as he cups your right cheek.

“Is that a yes?”

“I—There’s so many—There’s so many things to take into consideration—,” you start. But Rin does not let you finish this time.

“I know,” he says, voice low and you feel the thousands of pounds lift from your frame. “But is that a yes?”

.

You hold Rin’s hand as the two of you make it downstairs to the living room. You adjust your dress, and Rin his tie. You make sure to stop in front of a mirror to wipe the remnants of red off of Rin’s lips. He only smiles down at you — almost as though he is proud of the current situation.

Really. What the hell was I thinking? Having sex with my parents downstairs, in the bedroom I used to play dolls in. What type of answer is that to someone’s proposal?

“Sweetheart,” you jump when Rin’s father and yours appear from thin air. You instinctively grab onto Rin’s forearm, and his hair falls on his face when he bows to greet your father. The man in turn only holds a hand out, and Rin stands up straight again.

“Happy birthday,” Rin’s father smiles at you, holding out an envelope. Your eyes widen.

“Otousan… you shouldn’t have…”

What leads from that conversation is a lot of back-and-forth. What the etiquettes one should follow on someone’s birthday are — even those who may be close to the birth haver. Your father rehashing his thirties, with Rin’s father going into vivid detail about all of the spicy details and drama which enfolded in the University of Tokyo, where he was taking his masters.

By the time your fathers let the two of you be, your feet are already sore.

“It’s starting, already.” You sigh dramatically, and you can’t help but giggle at Rin’s expression.

“Relax, honey. My feet are just sore. I’m not giving birth at this instant.”

Rin’s eyes widen even more, and he looks around him to make sure no one is listening. He knocks his forehead against yours.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mumbles, low, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

“Keep it in your pants, Itoshi.” You bite back, kissing his cheek. He places a hand on your hip, but before you can even start, a tired voice speaks up behind Rin.

“Still seeing my brother, huh?”

Rin turns and you watch his face drop. You grin and step in front of him.

“You ask that every year, Sae-san.”

“And every year I hope to hear another answer,” The red-haired man retorts. You shake your head as Rin and him start to argue amongst themselves.

Hearing a knock at the front door, you excuse yourself to fetch it.

“I’ll get that.” You say, leaving Rin and his brother to fight in your living room — you have learned you can lead a horse to water but cannot make it drink.

You were not expecting anything when you opened the door. It could be a few other family friends mama invited. You were happy and you were content. You had a loving family, a loving partner, and a cake awaiting your arrival.

But, when you turn the door and your eyes meet the man who stands there — the same as he left you — you are suddenly nineteen again, and going through the first heartbreak of your life.

“Long time no see star-girl,” he says, a nickname you have not heard in nine years.

“Yoichi…”

You were right, last night — your luck was beginning to run out.

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel comes up with a plan to make your time together much more tolerable. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

notes: tysm for reading and i’m so srry for the delay but i hope this steamy chapter makes the wait worth it <33

chapter 10

Gold. Suffocating and blinding as it cascades upon the pale mounds and curves of your vessel. Your eyes a hue of darkness behind the shielding lids, your temples a pounding rhythm parallel to the beats you once waltzed amongst.

Your lips part, slumber’s dance with you slowly cascading into nothingness as luminous rays return to greet you. To tug your soft palms back into your reality.

Your lashes, fanned against your flushed skin now fan apart as your gaze is greeted with unavoidable radiance. The morning.

A breath leaves you, trembling as it greets the cool air. You force yourself upright and it is then that blood rushes from where it once lay dormant and pooled to spread itself evenly throughout you— enticing pins and needles from the tips of your fingers and toes.

You feel like a creature undead, following the actions as you would normally but in an imposter’s stance. Your feet drag you to the dimmer kitchen, and your temples are grateful to be secluded from the sun and its warmth.

A yawn overtakes your exhausted features as you open the russet metal of your refrigerator door. You must be dreaming still. It’s stocked with fresh fruits and produce bagged in tan wrappings. Your eyes wander over each welcoming color in the once vacant and lonesome, cold and gray space.

It’s lively now.

A burst of red peeking through behind awful greens piques your interest, and you bury your hands in the tufts of healthy emerald to pull the sweet basket filled to brim with blossomed strawberries. They are fresh and plentiful.

You truly are dreaming.

No longer do you notice the ache pounding at you. You only see red in the purest of ways. You shut the door with your foot and examine the seeded berry with hungry eyes before encasing your teeth round the plumpness of it.

It isn’t long before you part the ripe treat with pearly teeth, and you moan gratefully when you do. Juice drops from each corner of your mouth, down your chin as your lips suckle the nectar and swallow it in quick motion.

It’s the best one you’ve ever had.

Another bite, then another berry and another. You can only hear the soft chews of fresh fruit and sharp seed alongside the blood pumping in your ears.

You don’t hear the scorching water cascading to drain halt, and you don’t hear the rest until your eyes can register what your ears cannot.

As you munch upon the berries, you blink when a phantom creature turns the knob of your dilapidated washroom door and creaks the shield open. Steam rolls out into your living space like the waves of Poseidon’s great seas— but the only god to greet you beyond the mist is not one of oceans and pretty things.

It’s the evil one.

Hades.

Miguel.

A soft gasp leaves you as you swallow in the sight with dazed eyes, tufts of chocolate locks are coiled and dripping water all over your wooden floors. His suit pants are there as always, but his jacket is not present. No, not now. Only a white undershirt, tight to the body and tucked away into where a belt constricts is all he wears.

You gulp down the remainder of fruit you forgot to swallow and allow the severed berry to drop into its basket.

The man sighs, scrunching at his hair with the towel before tossing it on your couch. That would annoy you if you weren’t so baffled right here.

His eyes search the couch for you, and when he finds you vacant from your waltz with slumber— he scans the room quickly before settling on your frozen stance in the kitchen.

He locks eyes with you.

“Good morning.”

He says it with amusement, you’re certain. Laced behind his throat.

It is eerie, it is polar opposite.

He looks— calm.

Your mouth is ajar, you remind yourself to close it.

“I- what?”

He pays your confusion no mind as he approaches, weaving through your pathetic and unimportant home like he’s become comfortable with it— like he’s learned it.

He towers over all your trinkets and furniture, and the singular stool is bound to collapse under his weight. He eyes the broken thing then decides to lean forward against the counter instead.

You gulp, remnants of strawberry juice staining the newfound dryness in your throat. And the enigma of a man, he just studies you for a moment before turning over his palm. Waiting.

You gaze at it in confusion, wondering if he’s pointing out something upon you that you can’t see. Yet his eyes are on the basket.

Oh.

You pluck one from its leafy stem and shakily place it upon his calloused palm. His eyes lock back upon yours and he clears the tart berry in one bite— licking the juice from his lips with an eager tongue.

You squirm— knowing not what to do other than just slide over the basket. The silence is suffocating, reminding you of only two weeks prior when you practically begged the man before you for a place of employment alongside er— below him.

“I didn’t buy these!” You blurt out. Because you don’t know what else to say to break the quiet and because the thought only now crossed your mind. You know now. No appearance with him is any possibility of a dream.

The smell of palo santo is muted now. He smells of your floral soaps.

He indulges in another.

“I know. I did. Your fridge was pathetic.”

Oh.

Your eyes fall to the countertop, unwilling to meet his own. It’s far too tense, and far too confusing. You’re far too dazed.

“Why are you-?”

He interrupts you as if he had been expecting the question, “You were acting drunk, and stupid. I brought you home.”

You’d scowl at his description of you if you weren’t still coming to, searching the chilled air for answers you’d rather not be forced to ask of him. You knew well that you’d have to— he wouldn’t offer them any other way.

He must enjoy the torture. Inflicting it.

You narrow your eyes and the expression may seem devoid to most— but something tells you there’s more within it.

Fine, then.

Christ.

You shake your head, hearing him chew upon another berry as you greet your newly stocked fridge and steal a water from its stomach. Your back is to him as you swallow down heavy sips. You sigh after, and when the coolness has shocked you awake enough and you are satisfied- you turn.

A cool breath of air kisses your breast as result of the motion, and your eyes widen, shooting down to find a silken robe of powder pink all but you have clad on alongside your panties. It’s slipping.

Your eyes dart up to find him staring intensely at the spot where it does slip, and you twirl back away to harshly tug at it and fix it.

Your breasts are bare— your dress is gone.

Your jaw ticks and you turn again— taking quick strides toward the counter where he resides on the opposite side of.

“Did you fuck me?”

He is silent, eyes glazed over as if he’s lost in thoughts you cannot see or be apart of. He takes a moment to absorb your words, fingers twitching against the berry they clasp before he blinks and his dark orbs lock against your again.

They send an inferno against your flushed cheeks.

He hums.

You don’t know what at, but you have a strong feeling it’s at the thought.

You know, the thought of fucking you.

He stares on at you as he takes a bite of the berry, and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

It’s a no.

You sigh, but you’re not relieved.

You’re silent again, shakily taking a seat upon your creaky stool across from him. You fear if you stand for any longer under the brunt of his gaze, you’ll faint.

You bury your face in your hands, and you feel his eyes against your golden locks. The place where he stares, your scalp prickles.

Wood slides against chipped countertop.

“Eat these. You haven’t eaten.”

He seems to know a lot, right now. It makes you anxious.

And yet?

He tells you not a word of it.

It infuriates you.

This morning is odd enough, so you won’t stand for secrets. You force your head up and you’re unsurprised to find his gaze already locked upon your own.

“What happened?”

Your voice is firm, it sounds like more of a command than question and you’re certain he notes it. He studies you for a moment, and you don’t know why; but his eyes fan over your upturned lashes and the soft bridge of your nose. Down to your lips then back up to your eyes, again.

He takes his sweet, frustrating time to think his answer through. Just maybe though, your night was as rough as your morning has greeted you. Because he takes pity on you— he answers.

“You went out dancing. Made a big show at my club, drank all my good alcohol from every man willing to hand it to you, then you vanished without your things. Out my back door. Cindy came to me, and we went after you. There was a man out back. He was planning to— how did you put it? Fuck you, cariño… not me.”

You flush the color of persephone’s sweetest pomegranates— eyes wide as the images flash like some mortifying movie in your mind.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god…” you whisper in repetition of your horrified thoughts, pressing the coolness of your palms against the heat of your cheeks.

He hums again, but this time in agreement. It far from helps. You press two fingers against each temple, shaking your head as you search for suitable words.

“I don’t do this often or- at all, really. I just— I needed…”

“I know.” He cuts you off in the middle of your search for an end to your sentence, and it’s the first thing he’s done that you’re grateful for. Apart from the fridge full of food.

You remember now that you blew all your grocery money, so.

You feel ridiculous, mortified. He must think of you as some obsessed idiot who showed up at his club because you couldn’t be at his workplace.

God.

You can’t stand the thought.

Only you would chose there of all the clubs in New York.

You don’t even offer him any further explanation, you know well that it will be a mess you dig further and further. Deeper and deeper until you babble and stutter, you stay silent to avoid it.

You torture yourself in another way, reliving the night prior in quick flashes… piecing them together like a parted jigsaw. They weave in place swiftly, but there’s something missing…

You rack your brain, yet nothing comes of it in its crowded closet. You’re blank, baffled. You’re in a robe, a new robe and you’re topless underneath. Sitting across from Miguel O’Hara in your own pathetic kitchen.

Christ.

“You are a dancer.” He observes, making your head spin.

The conversation takes a left turn. Sharp, quick. Perhaps he’s not so used to seeing you this silent, perhaps he knows just the subject to get you talking again. It’s the most normal you both have ever talked, in fact.

“Was.” You correct in a shameful whisper, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask about it further. Your eyes drift to the framed photo he stares at behind you. It’s you, pretty as you are with one leg bent up to the heavens and the other firmly planted on tip toe into the ground. Your pale pink mesh cascaded from your hips and your golden locks were tamed into a perfected bun.

You adore that picture.

Yet as admirable as the memory is, it’s also sad. You don’t spare it another moment, your eyes fall to the surface below where it hangs. The Daily Bugle. It’s new, dewdrops of rain kissing the ink, bleeding some of it away. He must have gathered it for you.

Christ. He stayed here.

You wince at the thought, too plagued with headache to analyze his intentions— rushing forward to gather the fresh paper in your hands so you don’t have to worry about it any longer.

You’ll read the newspaper in silence or at least pretend to to avoid telling the three-headed Cerberus to leave and never return. He watches on at you, quiet and emotionless as you skim past the front page that speaks of sports nonsense. Further down, spending more time on the fashion column before reaching the golden page, the hot spot of Daily Bugle. Drama.

In all your years of consuming the horrid paper, you never leave this page unread. You feel slimey as you absorb, and yet it’s addictive. Miguel is still here, you remember. He must think even worse of you if it’s possible.

Just the girl who keeps reminding him of his dead daughter at every chance she gets. You wince, letting out a shaky breath as you smooth out the paper of the next page and finally see it.

In black and white proud, long curls cascading down a sequined number with heels higher than you’ve ever worn. Small, back flush against him. Your face is tilted to the side, captured blurred as it was in motion. Yet to you, it’s clear and recognizable. It’s a memory.

The puzzle piece, served up to you by the universe on a stupid, golden platter.

You’re on the front pages.

So is he.

You’re on the front pages, together.

CEO MIGUEL O’HARA ENJOYS A NIGHT OUT ON THE DANCE FLOOR WITH MYSTERIOUS PROCLAIMED “DANCING QUEEN”

You look— horrified, and he looks to be brushing his curled fingers against his tanned lips to stifle his amused grin. He can’t risk any other emotion than stoic, of course. Your eyes are wide as they snap up to him.

“You’re good publicity.” He offers.

His voice. It isn’t cold. It isn’t lifeless.

It’s as if something has laced itself within it. Something you don’t like.

Humor.

At the expense of you.

You’re angry. You’re confused and it makes you angry.

The puzzle is a painted picture now. The dance, the music, the heat, the grinding— god you’d just about melt if you weren’t so baffled and preoccupied right now.

You practically crush the paper in your hands. You look like a slutty girl taking her chance with the richest man readily available. How on earth will you ever work anywhere else again?

You’ll have to chop off your locks, you’ll have to—

He clears his throat as a weak attempt to conceal the amusement itching at his tongue.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“This is funny to you?”

This man. This mind fuck of a man has gone from towering over you with fury foaming at his mouth to forcing your hips to brush back against him to finding humor in your suffering in your own kitchen.

He narrows his eyes back,

“Very, cariño. Very funny to me.” His voice is dark, cold again.

You part your pink lips to curse him, but he interrupts the process before it even begins. He straightens his back, returning to the tower he is before rounding the counter till he’s right in front of you. You shrink again, your attitude melting as you remember the events of the week prior. His screaming, the ornament.

You shift, breath thinning as you turn your head away from him. He moves his head so his eyes may follow yours, when it doesn’t work— his jaw ticks.

“Mírame.”

You do, eyes snapping back to meet his gaze.

It’s soft, yet still commands your attention. You don’t have any other choice but to look on at him, you’ve noticed he has an odd thing for eye contact. You’d squirm, but your head is spinning.

No possibility to delay and procrastinate calling home now, it seems.

He sees your mind fogged with preoccupations, and you can’t keep like this any longer.

“What is going on, what are you doing?” You whisper, eyes darting to the paper then back to him. The question. It means far more than just now.

What is he doing?

Does he feel guilty? Is this how he’s apologizing?

You’re not sure, it’s impossible to know— to understand. Enigma doesn’t seem to be enough to describe him, nor does mystery.

He’s infuriating as he is simple, and maddening as he is tolerable. He’s back and he’s forth, up and he’s down and he’s killing you.

Why did he yell?

Why did he dance with you after it?

Why is he here now?

He sighs, his hands caging you up against the counter as he rests his palms on either side, grasping at the chipped marble and dipping his head to search for an answer.

It takes him a long moment, but when he’s satisfied? He lifts his head.

“I’m a good boss. A great one. I pay my girls generously, I would have done the same for you if you were capable of just following orders.”

You frown at that, he ignores it— continuing.

“You’re a shit employee.” He says it with conviction. As if his word is etched into stone at the birth of all life and creation. Your jaw nearly drops, but you allow tension to blossom like spring poppies within it instead.

“You’re an asshole.” You snap, gasping after the word leaves you. Your cheeks flush the color rose, and his expression remains cold and devoid as he tilts his head at you.

But his brows arch. Questioning.

You await for what seems like ages for him to respond, to snap, to scream— honestly you’re half expecting him to snatch the knife from the countertop and jab it into your gut to shut you up for good.

He does none of those things.

Warmth trails like caramel down a chasing tongue, rough and calloused palm sliding up the length of silken coverage from your knee and upward. Higher, higher. Your breath hitches in your throat, and his eyes burn furious holes into your face— your wide-eyed, pretty face.

The soft, small netting of nerves between your thighs jumps in excitement, and you’re certain your cheeks burn hotter than the sun. He reaches your hip, he halts— straightening his head. Almost unnoticed.

“I’m an asshole?”

A shiver overtakes you now, and you feel betrayal constrict you like that of a serpent as your pink nipples pucker themselves up for attention.

Don’t look, don’t look. You beg within the confines of your own mind.

The asshole…

His eyes flicker down immediately, as if he sensed your body calling to him.

It’s the first flash of emotion you’ve ever seen beyond anger. You can’t name it, you can’t understand it—you can’t even process it. You’re frozen here.

A noise, guttural— like that of a forest creature restraining itself from its natural instincts to slaughter a helpless lamb. It becomes him. From the very back of his throat.

You blink, tense, back straight and pushed firmly against the wall. His eyes find yours again and you’re certain then that you’ve bursted up in flames.

“You were saying?” He whispers, eyes wandering down. Past your puckered nipples and the bumps upon your skin. Down. Lower. To— there.

The action, it’s enough to shake you out of this trance. You push him back, he doesn’t protest the move and plays into it— you’re sure. You stumble from that suffocating wall and take a breath of air that feels awfully fresh even in your stuffy apartment.

His hand, where it once grazed you is a memorized motion replaying like a record shattered upon your leg.

He’s toying with you.

Getting his payment for his generosity, that must be it.

Or maybe he’s not. Maybe it was the dance…

Maybe— you don’t know which it is.

Now you’re angry.

Frustrated.

He’s put you through hell in the short amount of time he’s known you. Then suddenly, he does one good deed and takes it as a free ticket to fuck you?

You’re livid.

You turn on your heel, slamming your finger into the firmness of his chest.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

His hand, warm as fresh laundry wraps around your wrist. He tilts his head low like a charred olive branch extending, leveling with you.

“Testing my theory.”

It’s all he offers. You narrow your eyes to cold slits, electricity still buzzing between your thighs in opposition to your anger.

“What theory?” You sound exasperated, and you are.

The tick in his jaw is back. It jumps. He’s frustrated again.

How is it possible?

A man so stoic and cold, and yet so capable of flipping through emotions like an old scrapbook buried away from years past.

He breathes slowly through his nose, and when you nudge his chest again with your finger as hopes to provoke an answer? He moves. Quick.

In a flash moment, he walks you back against the countertop— caging you again.

He must like that.

Making you feel small.

He wastes no time once you are caged there, happy to be in control again.

“It seems like the only way I can stand you is when I respond with lust, and not logic… Dios mío…” he breathes the last part. It allows a chill to creep up the base of your spine, paralyzing you.

Silence blankets you both again and he bows his head once more. You breathe, shakily but nonetheless.

Lust?

For you?

Hair unruly and unkept, frizzed and wild. Too loud for your liking and too sharp of a tongue for his.

Maybe he’s truly lost it.

Maybe it’s been there all along.

Although the thought excites you, you know it’s silly. Men of his status and power— they don’t busy themselves with pretty things like you. It’s impossible. It’s a movie, a picture made for fantasy.

But here he his.

Toying with you.

You’re certain now.

It clicks then, his game with you. Revenge sweetly. Play pretend, get you to fall but not catch you when you do. It’s cruel. It’s like him.

You’ve been at the harsh hand of a man vengeful before. You won’t do it again.

Tears sting at your eyes.

“Don’t do this to me again.” You mean it to sound like a demand, yet it floats from your petal pink lips like a weak and pathetic sound. You speak to him, and you speak to the man before him. In your eyes, now, they’re the same. All your interactions before this were so inhuman and cold, and yet here you are— feeling all the colors of the damned sky before him. Interacting like humans do. Only, he’s got a motive behind his emotion. Not you. Never you.

He hears the weakness, the falter. His head snaps up again.

You avert your eyes, playing a balance game with the swelled tears threatening to parachute onto your cheeks. He straightens his back at the sight of them, he gives you space. You relax.

His eyes, they find a map upon your face and they wander amongst it. Observing, analyzing. When he’s satisfied, after you’ve swiped away at your tears, he speaks again.

“I have a job for you.”

You’re certain he’s lost it now.

Completely thrown himself off the deep end and into the insane asylum. How can he lust you and loathe you and employ you all at the same time? All within the same hour?

You need to rest, you’re exhausted.

“No.” It’s all you offer, turning your back on him. Hoping he will take it and leave you be. Silly you. A firm palm spins you back around, right back to where you were.

“Listen to me.”

It’s not a question, it’s a command; and as much as you hate him and his arrogance… you comply.

“Fuck… there’s more to you. Something that I can find behind my frustrations with you. A hunger… Last night was an annoyance, an amusing one no less. I just can’t get rid of you no matter how hard I try… but I think sometimes that this game we’re all playing is at someone’s hand. I need morale, you’ve made the front covers now. Jameson can eat shit for all I care but for the sake of my girls— I need to fix the mess I’m in…”

He muses the last part to himself, and baffled as you are at the events that have taken place in one morning alone… you straighten your back and cross your arms over your chest. Curious. Listening.

“I’ve been here all morning because I have been thinking close to the source. Thinking about what it is about you that is so fucking infuriating. I didn’t find an answer. But what I did find was a solution. After— fuck… after Gabi…”

Oh…

Oh.

He’s talking about her, and not because of your snappy mouth.

Like a fresh petal, you unfurl.

“Jameson. He wants to slander me. He wants my girls to read his bullshit and believe it and as much as I hate to admit it, the cabrón could manage it. And fucking morale… it can’t function when my morale girl is only working hard at pissing me off.”

It’s an insult, but you’re far too glued on the edge of your seat to interrupt his train of thought. You scowl softly and let him continue,

“I don’t want you in my office, I don’t want you talking about things you don’t get to talk about. I don’t want you to anger me with your stupidity because I don’t want to yell at you like that again. I won’t. But I am glad your idiocy brought us here last night, because I can see how much of a shithole you’re in.”

You flush again at that, nervous eyes glancing around your dainty apartment and its rotted walls.

“I’m in one too, in a different way. The tabloid is a good thing. When you were dancing, I tolerated you. I enjoyed you, even. And your presence made for a good paper with a headline not involving my baby girl. I— need that. I need these people to stay distracted and fuck, sweetheart. Soy la respuesta...”

Cruel as he is, you find your heart constrict— just for a small moment. You can’t imagine it. Losing your life, your whole sun, moon and stars and being constantly reminded of it on every newsstand and broadcast because of some awfully obsessed vampire.

So much so that it leaks into your glass tower in the sky and makes it crack, each new story another stone thrown until it cracks under the pressure.

But you… you stopped it.

Just once, at least.

Even so….

It amazes you.

Makes you feel powerful.

He is watching you close, gauging your reactions. You challenge his eyes, imploring him to continue. He does.

“I want you to play pretend with me, just like you did last night. Dos desconocidos bailando por primera vez, like two strangers dancing on the floor. I wanna feed them the shit they want to be fed and keep their mouths shut and satisfied. Only for a few months until I find a way to buy out the Bugle and bankrupt the hijo de puta… We can help each other. You’ll live in my suite and do whatever the hell you want all day. You’ll get a monthly allowance on top of your big check. You’ll help me keep them quiet.”

He speaks slow. Calculated and measured. In a way one would immediately understand. But somehow, you don’t.

You don’t get it.

Beyond the words for what they are, you’re baffled.

He wants you to play pretend, and it all seems perfect and fine except?

“You hate me…” it’s meant for yourself, truly. Yet it parts from your lips nonetheless. Your brows are furrowed and soft as you search the space beside him for an invisible answer with your eyes.

He sighs.

“No. I don’t. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. How could I when you move the way you do? So pretty under my lights, I like her a lot. Maybe we have to get you drunk more often, hmm?”

He means it to lighten the tension, to slice it with silver blade and yet all it does s quiet you further. He sees this, and a warmth floating within his very fingertips meets your chin. He turns you to him again.

“Dime que sí, cariño. Tell me yes. Stop letting yourself think about it.”

You have a million loose and frayed ends that you cannot seem to knit together on your own. You’re certain he won’t offer you any assistance either.

There’s a plague in the air, a sickness. One that causes nothing short of pure insanity. Why? Well because of what you see now.

Money.

No more debt.

Food plentiful.

A door that actually locks. A heater that will keep you warm on harsh winter nights.

No going home.

Another chance… another opportunity to dance again.

Only for a little while will you have to bare him. Only for a little while and then all your troubles get tossed upon the burning pile. You could start again. You could fix what you ruined. You could be her, again.

Your eyes wander to the gold trimmed frame with a girl that seems so unrecognizable and unreachable now.

But what if he— this cruel and baffling creature with all the money, power and influence in all of New York City and maybe beyond could help you reach her.

All you have to do is play pretend..

That’s it, right?

You gulp.

And Christ…

You whisper it like it’s a gruesome sin on the tip of your tongue. Like it poisonous and repulsive. Sealing the deal with the devil himself before it is too late to think it over again…

“Yes…”

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @bimb00000 @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @justanothers-things

[altocat]

I just rewatched the AC fight with Cloud, and Sephiroth mentions something kind of interesting: he wanted to steer Gaia as a vessel, but to a new planet to start a new future. I knew about the vessel thing but I thought he’d just sail through the cosmos in his lonesome. What do you think Sephiroth would’ve done with a new world? Like what do you think this future could’ve been?

(also I’m still of the firm belief that the Sephiroth we see at the edge of creation is the Sephiroth that won and realized that he maybe- just maybe- didn’t think this whole eternity of solitude thing through and now wants a do-over.)

Sephiroth likely still has intentions of becoming a god. The fact that he refers to Jenova in his plans adds to the notion of him basically wanting to take dominion over a new universe with Jenova as his "consort" of sorts. He's just being petty at this point, wanting to use and lose Gaia just because it's fun. Any paradise he opens would just be tainted and used to serve himself. Sephiroth is too evil and twisted to form any kind of real utopia.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

A Figure in the Shadows...

PAIRING: Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Human!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,278.

SUMMARY: The mystery surrounding the young, desolate Prince Aemond, was ultimately a discovery you had never dreamt imaginable, and yet you craved just as he did...

WARNINGS: vampire tendencies, mentions of period blood, self-mutilation/harm, mentions of blood.

A/N - I finally got around to this AU, hope you all enjoy x

Aemond was not a person that favoured making himself known. Neither loud nor obnoxious, he was a reserved and distant figure who tampered with dark magic that ultimately led him to a fate he could not escape...

Rarely seen in broad daylight, you would often catch faint glimpses of him in some bustling background, hidden amid the masses: his ominous presence was palpable.

It was your scent that seized his senses, captivating his mind solely. Sweet and rich, a ripeness to it that heightened his senses.

Then the nagging, harrowing thoughts followed, potently wondering what you would taste like...

Initially, he tried to resist the urges to stalk you, yet his body had a mind of its own, and found himself helplessly enamoured in basking in your presence, relishing in listening to your delicate voice [even if it was from afar].

Relentlessly keeping himself distant and hidden in the darkly dim, cornered shadows as you naively wandered the long, stony hallways all on your lonesome self [his mind often teasing him that now was the perfect chance to treat himself to a flavour of your ripe blood], yet he refused to treat you like his common prey.

After a few nights, he noticed how much more aware you had grown to your surroundings. Anxiously looking over your shoulder often, closely peering down the hallway hesitant yet hopeful to find a desolate figure or hungry eyes lurking over, only to be greeted with silence and absence [or so you were convinced].

Aemond sought for more of you: desperate for something more tangible than just memories of your enrapturing figure. In the daytime, when you had embarked on some errand needing the daylight, he would sneak into your private chambers, and meticulously rummage through your belongings [particularly eager for your undergarments... Used under-garments in the woven laundry basket that the maids had not yet reached, his nose and tenacious sense of smell leading the way to treasure].

Freshly wet and much to his favour, drenched in your maiden blood: his black pupil dilating intensely at the raw sight, swallowing the lilac colour of his Targaryen genetic, whilst the sapphire [of his mutilated eye] glistened in awe.

He found himself inhaling your natural scent, and soon his tongue and mouth lapping at the bloody fabric. Even though the source was not "fresh or alive" nor even palpable, he was intoxicated with your flavour, and was desperate to sink his fangs into something more alive.

In the late, cold hours of the night, Aemond snuck into your chambers, lurking in the shadows, observing your defenceless, lonesome self deep in slumber. Unblinking, his eye wandered over your near naked body, the sheer, luminescent fabric of your nightgown ranked up from your unconscious movements, and the sheets tussled.

Aemond drew himself closer and closer, vividly hearing the gushing sound of your blood streaming through your vessels, and the rhythmic pounding of your heart. He found himself a mere few inches away from the crook of your neck, almost as if you were taunting him yourself, like a siren luring a sailor into his death.

The primal urge to feed had overpowered his humane thoughts, and Aemond succumbed to his animalistic traits. Hastily and sharply plunging his grown fangs into your soft, tender skin, the sudden sting of his bite was enough to abruptly awaken you.

Finding a sudden stranger, let alone a man, atop you, firmly gripping your body down against his heavier, stronger weight, the fright had set, as your breathing quickened the adrenaline pumping now, feeling your heart beat faster: it only made Aemond sink in deeper, earning a loud cry from your behalf, as his large, rough hand fell over your mouth, ceasing any further cries or pleas for help.

As your sight grew accustomed to the dim light, and sense resumed once more in your mind, your gaze paced over the figure, realising the familiar platinum, long strands, you immediately recognised Prince Aemond.

Your helpless whimpers, and the drop of your body temperature, growing colder the more Aemond drew of your fresh blood, he'd grown apparent of his actions, immediately pulling himself from you: fresh, bright blood drizzled all across his defined lips, as his tongue lapped it up eagerly.

Feeling the sensitive, sore open wounds [two-precise openings] at the crook of your neck, blood smeared across your shaky fingers. Seconds passed, before you began to feel hazy and frail, your mind drifting off once more into a faint.

The following bright morning, the soreness of the wound still very present, you were adamant to seek out Aemond: searching the castle keeps thoroughly, questioning servants of the revered Prince's whereabouts, the forbidden keeps of the library, planted beneath the castle's foundation, close to the prehistoric skull that belonged to the black dreaded beast, Balerion.... Wintry, dark and isolated, it was the perfect hideout for the creature that Aemond was...

Sneaking into the desolate chamber, book shelves boarded up and locked, Aemond seemed to pay no mind as you made yourself known: possible that he had heard your haste footsteps from afar, inhaling that alluring scent of your maiden blood, oozing from your aching cunt.

Aemond attempted to nonchalantly persuade you upon confrontation: "sounds like a terrible dream", and that the wound was one of your own doing in your active sleep.

Impatience brewing, you remained stubbornly persistent in your truth, and despite Aemond's obvious attempt in maintaining some physical distance between yourself and him, you hastily stormed towards, drawing the dagger from his slim waist, slashing your forearm, as fresh blood gushed out invitingly.

"I suppose then the sight of this should not undo you... A Targaryen Prince, weak to the sight of blood? Mayhaps... Is my scent something alluring... Is my Prince is feeling a little... Thirsty?"

"Taste me, my Prince... I desire for you to feed from me, this I grant you from now always."

Whether it was a toxin from his bite, or some trance he casted, there was something invigorating, from that night Aemond first succumbed to his instincts. How captivated and enraptured he was by your very humane being. All his senses were lost, defenceless and yet you, empowered.

The chilling notion that Aemond is this supernatural, almighty being and yet, would become feeble and vulnerable against your mere, mortal existence was captivating for the both of you.

This was a first for Aemond, in all the long years he had existed and for all the prey he had drained, none like you.

He did dislike the notion of feeding off you directly, if necessary or when you desired: frightened that he would reach a point of complete intoxication, losing any sense of self-control, only to be left with your empty, physical vessel.

You would definitely have a safe word, and some plan to fiend Aemond off, if necessary. Regardless, he was strong-willed and refused to indulge himself utterly.

Innovating, Aemond preferred keeping a vial of your blood with him: sating himself even if you were absent.

Aemond did enjoy replenishing you: hand-feeding you with rich fruits [especially pomegranates] and wine [often justifying that it made your blood taste sweeter].

He enjoyed bathing you in floral scented soaps, lathering your skin with rich oils. Providing you with a lavish self-care ritual that no servant could.

He was highly protective of you, often noticing strange glances from afar only moments after you would enter a room: and immediately he would act a menace, incomprehensible to his repercussions.

Despite what Aemond was, you loved him as he deeply loved you. Devouring yourselves in each other's affections and admiration: a love that would last an eternity of lifetimes.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag] - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

[veryace-ficrecs]

Destiel Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Clean up, aisle you by withered - Rated T

Dean’s the baby whisperer. A regular Daddy Daycare, only with a better car and less of a gut.

He’s gotten used to kids coming up to him during backyard barbecues in the summer. Whether it’s asking him inane questions or requesting piggyback rides, or making proclamations and abruptly leaving, Dean’s pretty nonchalant around kids as a rule.

It’s why he does nothing more than blink when he feels a small hand grab his, and flash a surprised, “Hey there, bud” upon discovering he’s been claimed by some random kid toddling around unattended in the snack aisle

The Dadification of One Castiel Novak by runraerun - Rated G

When one of Cas’ old I.D.’s gets rejected, Sam and Dean tell him afterwards it’s because his picture is outdated—but this doesn’t make any sense, Castiel explains; Angel vessels don’t age. Dean has to break it to Cas that he doesn’t look like he’s in his 20’s anymore.

In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved) by caelum_writes - Rated T

A 26-year-old Dean is transported to 2021 and confronted with the unfathomable - a future where he is happy, safe, and loved. --- “Aren’t you gunna say it?” he asks tentatively, as if he’s crazy for picking up on the obvious. “Yeah, you’re me. Past me, anyway,” the other Dean replies. “I wanna know from when.” “What are you talking about?” “Time travel,” the older Dean states as if it’s so obvious and ordinary. “It happens.” “To who? Marty McFly?”

if wishes were horses by teen_dean - Rated T

“Thought it was me at first,” Dean said. “Just not in my nature to settle. But then I thought: there’s not supposed to be suffering here. So what’s with the heartache?” He sighed. “I know I can’t make Cas show up if he doesn’t want to. Maybe he doesn’t want to take a chance on me. Maybe he’s moved on. But then I gotta feel lonesome for eternity and call it Paradise?” “Dean,” said Mary. “Are you going on a hunt in Heaven?” “Yeah,” said Dean. “I reckon I am.”

Water, Sunlight, T.L.C. by youaresunlight - Rated T

Cas is turned into a plant after an unfortunate skirmish with a coven. Hannah brings him to Dean and Sam to seek their help, and Dean has a few emotional discoveries while taking care of Cas. I assure you that this is not (I repeat, not) a crack fic, and I'm rather very proud of it so I hope you enjoy it as well.

Where Overreaction Meets Sam Winchester And They Live Happily Ever After by LazyBaker - Rated T

Dean is suddenly eating healthy and the world (i.e. Sam) is not prepared for such change.

nightlight by fleeceframe - Rated G

But the thing is, as he gets closer, he has to blink his eyes to make sure he’s seeing things right. Because that’s definitely Jimmy’s body slumped over against the trunk of one of the apple trees, but floating above him is- well, it’s a floating light, a sphere with a one-foot diameter, just hanging out at Dean’s chest level. Dean approaches it carefully with a furrowed brow and half-raised hackles. “Cas?” Dean prompts slowly. “Is that-” And the orb is glowing out sweet and white like it could easily be used to keep away the dark in a child’s nursery. It’s so welcoming. Like Dean could just reach out, out, and catch that gentleness in his hands without any sort of consequence. “Hello, Dean,” the orb hums. or the one where cas gets expelled from his vessel and he isn't as much of a dude as dean thought he was

Something Dumb to Do by PorcupineGirl - Rated T

Dean sits back in his chair, drinking his coffee and watching Castiel. After a few moments, he realizes that the soft, mellow feeling in his chest is… contentment. He's not happy in the way that a little kid is happy at their birthday party, or even in the way that he is when Cas or Sam has been miraculously brought back to life after one of the long string of disasters in their lives. He's happy in a new and different way. And has been, maybe, for a while now. Nearly as long as Cas has been living here, human, in the bunker. And then Dean Winchester has a moment of absolute clarity.

Bee Mine by solisdraconis - Rated G

Castiel is human for the first time. He faces all kinds of new human challenges, like picking out birthday presents, hangovers, and the flu. Good thing Dean is there to help him through it. Gadreel never happened and Cas never got kicked out of the bunker. And he met Charlie. How things should have gone, of course.

love (is a burning thing) by rupertgayes - Rated E

Dean doesn’t know why it started, and unlike his brainiac of a brother, he’s not exactly cracking open a psych textbook to find out. People have their things, that’s just how it goes - you like it rough, you like toys or melted wax or feathers, you can’t get it up unless your partner’s wearing a sailor outfit, whatever. If the spirit is willing, who cares? Dean just wishes some of his things weren’t so fucking embarrassing. Or: Dean likes Johnny Cash songs. A lot. More than he should. And then he meets a certain angel with a very deep voice...

I'm Dreamin' of a Grey Christmas by almaasi - Rated G

Coming in from the snow, Dean notices Cas now has a streak of grey in his hair. Angels don't get older. But Cas has been getting older for years. Is this a loophole that can save him from his deal with the Empty? Or is "adorably middle-aged" just another thing to add to the seven million reasons Dean wants to kiss him?

Enemies Closer by almaasi - Rated T

A "You caught me keying the wrong car in our middle-school parking lot, but when you found out my motivation you wanted to help me... except now we're both complicit in the same crime, and we have the power to end each other's teaching careers – and as they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer – sooooo is a nerdy date at your after-school A.V. club close enough for you?" AU

He Called Me Honey by almaasi - Rated G

After having a weird dream in which he kisses Cas, Dean accidentally discusses the matter with Sam over pancakes. (Then Cas shows up. Dean is a flustered mess.)