#two silver streaked travelers

[joelsrose]

Grays & All

no warnings just fluff :)

Joel groaned softly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body stiff and aching from another night of fitful sleep. His knees cracked as he stood, stretching his back, the familiar twinge of discomfort settling into his joints like an unwelcome guest, reminding him of every year he’d survived. He let out a slow, weary breath, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and turned his gaze to you.

You were still curled beneath the covers, a serene picture of softness and peace. The golden rays of sunlight that filtered through the curtains bathed you in a warm glow, making you look even more ethereal. The rhythm of your breathing was steady, your chest rising and falling in quiet slumber, and Joel couldn’t help but watch you, captivated by the quiet beauty of the moment.

You’d been together for some time now, but each time he saw you like this, it felt new. His heart—old, aching, and hardened by years of survival—skipped a beat as he took you in. He couldn’t quite grasp what he’d done to deserve you, or why you’d chosen him.

His thoughts tangled, heavy with doubt, circling like vultures. He couldn’t help but wonder what someone like you, so young and full of life, saw in him—a man worn down by years of pain, loss, and hard living. You deserved someone who matched your energy, your light. Someone whose body didn’t betray them with every creak and groan, someone whose laughter wasn’t tinged with regret.

In Jackson, there were plenty of younger men, men who hadn’t been weighed down by the past, who didn’t wake up with an ache in their bones. Joel couldn’t fathom why you’d chosen him, but he knew deep down that he was afraid to ask, afraid of the answer.

With a heavy sigh, Joel made his way into the bathroom, the cool tile beneath his feet grounding him for a moment. He turned the water on as hot as it would go, letting the steam rise and fill the small space, hoping it would wash away the doubts swirling in his mind.

Stepping under the showerhead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, pressing his palms against the cool tile as the scalding water cascaded down his back. The heat soothed his aching muscles, but it did little to ease the weight in his chest.

The water pounded against him, each drop heavy, like the thoughts he couldn’t shake. Every streak of gray in his hair, every wrinkle around his eyes felt like a reminder of the years he’d lived, of the mistakes he couldn’t undo. He let the water stream over his face, his hands gripping the edge of the tiled wall as if holding himself together. Joel felt the pull of time in his bones, the relentless march forward, and it terrified him. The world had taken so much from him already, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could hold onto you.

When he finally emerged from the shower, steam billowing around him, he wrapped a towel low around his hips and caught his reflection in the mirror. His damp hair clung to his forehead, but the strands of gray were unmistakable, streaking through the dark like threads of time woven into his life. He ran a hand through it, frowning slightly as his fingers tangled in the silver that seemed more prominent with each passing day.

His eyes traveled to the dresser beside the mirror, where the necklace he’d had made for your birthday lay draped next to a photograph of the two of you from one of Jackson’s gatherings. The image was one of laughter, of a time when the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy.

Joel’s hand hovered over the photograph, his thumb brushing against the frame as a flicker of doubt tightened in his chest. How could someone as radiant as you love someone as broken as him? He dropped his hand, letting the question go unanswered.

The soft rustling of sheets behind him pulled him from his thoughts. You stirred, waking to the lingering scent of his familiar body wash that clung to the steam in the air. As you sat up, stretching lazily, your eyes found him standing in front of the mirror.

The sight of him—bare-chested, hair slicked back, still damp from the shower, the early morning light framing his body—made your heart stutter. Joel, even with all his scars and his age, was the most beautiful man you’d ever known. Every line on his face, every silver strand in his hair told a story of survival, and you loved him for every part of it.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep as a soft smile tugged at your lips. “What a nice view to wake up to.”

Joel turned to face you, the tension in his shoulders easing at the sound of your voice. “Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he teased, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and you noticed the flicker of something unsettled beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his gaze flickered back to the mirror, the way he ran a hand through his hair with a sense of hesitation. “What’re you doin’?” you asked gently, sensing that something was weighing on him, something more than the usual early morning stiffness.

Joel sighed, his hand raking through his hair once more. “Ah, it’s nothin’,” he muttered, though the heaviness in his voice told you otherwise.

You sat up straighter, your concern deepening. “Joel,” you pressed softly, your gaze locked onto his. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he stared at his reflection as if it were someone else looking back at him. Finally, he sighed, a quiet sound that felt like the weight of the world slipping through his chest. “It’s stupid,” he said, his voice low, rough. “These damn gray hairs… they’re gettin’ worse. Feels like I’m really startin’ to show my age.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerability. Joel wasn’t one to open up easily, especially about things that made him feel exposed. You hadn’t given his gray hairs a second thought—if anything, you loved them. They were a testament to his resilience, to the life he’d lived, and you found them incredibly sexy. But now you could see how much they weighed on him, how they reminded him of every year that had passed, of everything he thought he might lose.

You adored Joel in every angle, in every moment. The way his calloused hands ran through your hair, gentle despite their roughness, always sent a warmth through you. Watching him as he worked, his broad back flexing as he repaired something around the house or chopped wood outside—it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain. His movements were always purposeful, a quiet strength in everything he did, whether he was leaning over the table, focused and determined, or simply reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face with such care, you’d almost forget the harshness of the world outside. Even the way he drank his coffee in the morning, his jaw clenching and relaxing with each sip, or the quiet hum of satisfaction he’d make when he stretched after a long day—it all captivated you. He was rugged, raw, but to you, every motion, every glance, was filled with tenderness that only you were lucky enough to witness.

Without hesitation, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room to him. You reached up, your fingers sliding through his damp hair, smoothing back the strands as you offered him a soft, reassuring smile. “I love your gray hairs,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and sincerity.

Joel shook his head, still looking uncertain. “I don’t know, darlin’. Feels like the world’s catchin’ up to me.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Don’t know why you’d want someone like me when there’s plenty of guys in Jackson who don’t groan every time they get outta bed.”

You frowned, your hand sliding down to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing lightly against the rough stubble that shadowed his skin. You’d noticed the way Joel had become more self-conscious lately—the way he moved a little slower, the quiet sighs he thought you didn’t hear when he sat down after a long day. But to you, he was everything. “I want you,” you said firmly, your voice steady and unwavering. “Just as you are, right now.” Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers lightly tracing the lines of his body, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “Those other guys? They don’t know how to make me laugh like you do. They don’t take care of me like you do,” you added, your smile turning playful as you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, then another to his neck, letting your lips linger there.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, and in a soft, teasing whisper, you added, “They don’t know how to make me cum like you do.”

Joel’s breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening on your hips, and you felt the tension between you shift, the vulnerability of moments before melting into something heavier, something laden with the desire that had always simmered just beneath the surface.

“And those gray hairs?” you continued, a smile dancing on your lips as you met his gaze again, your voice low, “They make you even sexier.”

Joel’s eyes flicked up at that, his gaze dark.

“You’re just sayin’ that to make me feel better,” he muttered, though the gruffness in his voice was starting to fade.

“I’m not,” you insisted, stepping closer until your bodies were flush, your hands resting against his chest. “I mean it, Joel. You’re everything to me. The gray hairs, the scars, the rough edges… they’re all part of you, and I love every single part.”

For a long moment, Joel didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his chest rising and falling slowly as he let your words sink in. He stared at you, as if trying to figure out how someone like you could love someone like him—with all his flaws, all his doubts.

Finally, Joel reached up, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you gently into him. His lips pressed softly against your forehead, lingering there for a long moment as if trying to absorb every bit of comfort and reassurance you were offering him.

When he pulled back, there was something different in his eyes now—something softer, more accepting. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he muttered, his voice low and rough, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips now, a hint of the Joel you knew so well.

You grinned up at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I know,” you teased, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

It was a quiet promise—of love, of everything you cherished about him, flaws and all.

[cozage]

Hello, can I request for aged up characters x reader. Like them getting hit by a quirk that can age people up temporarily like them being in their 60's or something. Thank youuuuuu.

A/N: I FINALLY DID IT HERE U GO Characters: gn reader x Zoro, Usopp, Law, Ace Cw: Ace’s gets a little suggestive ;) Total word count: 1.2k

A Glimpse of the Future

Zoro

When you entered the kitchen, you were startled to find an older man walking around so casually. An older man with a scarred eye and green hair you knew so well, now slightly streaked with gray. 

“Zoro?!” You asked cautiously, staring at the man. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled. His voice was deeper than you remembered, but it was the same voice. 

“What hap-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He set his swords down and sat on the chair. After a heavy sigh, he finally spoke again. “Got hit by an ability that makes you old. Just a stupid prank from some kid.”

“Is it permanent?” you asked, grabbing the tea kettle off the stove. You had to admit, you liked this look on Zoro. But you were afraid of what it could mean. 

“Should be back to normal in a few hours.” He shook his head and sighed. “Everything aches, dammit. I hate this.”

“You always were an old man in soul,” you teased. You were relieved that he wouldn’t be this way forever, and now you could joke around with him.

“I’m not an old man!” he yelled. 

You had to turn around and pretend to work on your tea to stifle your laugh. He really was sensitive over this. Just like an old man would be.

“Calm down, now,” you soothed, walking over to him with a warm cup for the two of you to share. “Would you like some tea?”

He eyed it, and you could tell he wanted a drink, so you passed it off to him. 

“You don’t look bad, you know.” You ran your fingers through his hair, gently trailing over the new silver streaks. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, taking a drink and humming in delight. “I’m not meant to be this old.”

“Darling, I disagree.” You paused to kiss his cheek. “You were made for your golden years.”

Usopp

“Quick! Y/N! I need you!” An old man who looked shockingly like Usopp grabbed your hand. 

You scowled, pulling away from him. “Who the hell are you?!”

“I’m Usopp from the future!” He yelled, trying to usher you from the deck. “I’ve traveled through space and time just to reach you and give you a warning!”

“What warning?” you asked. You were still cautious, but he did act a lot like the Usopp you knew. The only big difference was the wrinkles and the streaks of gray in his long, tied-back hair. 

“Come with me immediately!” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you! We don’t have much time!”

“Usopp, stop. You’re scaring me.” Why had he not seen you in years? Why did he have such little time with you? None of it made sense. 

Old Usopp grabbed your face, holding you close to him. “On this day, in twenty years…you’re going to disappear right from this very spot!”

“What?” you whispered, trying to hold back tears. “What do you mean?”

“He’s lying to you!” Nami yelled. “He got hit by an ability that makes him old and he’s making it everyone else’s problem!”

Your fear turned to anger, and you shoved Usopp away from you. “That wasn’t funny!” you shouted, wiping a tear from your eye. 

Usopp started cackling. “Oh man, you look terrified! I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That wasn’t funny,” you repeated, still glaring at him. In hindsight, it was kind of humorous. You just wished the prank had been played on someone else. 

Usopp pulled you in for a hug, his soft, weathered lips kissing your temple. “Forgive me?”

“This time,” you giggled slightly from his stray hairs tickling your skin. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“Deal,” he said. “Now let's go trick someone else.”

Law

An older man with Law’s exact outfit stormed into your room and rushed to the bathroom. 

“Don’t say anything,” he said. 

“Law?” You cautiously peered around the door frame. 

His expressions and stance were familiar, but he was older. Much older. 

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

You flinched at the sternness in his voice; it was much harsher when mixed with the gruffness of age.

He noticed you in the mirror, wearily standing back and watching him silently. His tone had been extreme, and he knew it. 

He gave a sigh and pulled himself away from the mirror to walk towards you. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated about all this.”

You reached up and ran your hand across his hair, the black locks now streaked with white. You smiled to yourself. Even in his old age, Law was still incredibly handsome. 

“You’re old,” you whispered out the sentence, grinning at him. 

Law’s eye twitched, but he said nothing in response. You could tell he was pouting.

“Is it permanent?” you asked, rubbing your finger across his softened skin, now decorated with wrinkles. 

“Should wear off by tomorrow morning,” he grumbled. 

You hummed pleasantly, still examining his weathered face. His sharp, golden eyes were so out of place on a face that old. 

“Well, Trafalgar Law,” you purred, running your hands through his hair and placing a kiss on his lips. “If this is what I have waiting in store for the future, I simply cannot wait.”

Ace

The door to your cabin opened, Ace’s silhouette blocking out the light behind him. You couldn’t see his face, but something felt…off. 

“Don’t freak out,” Ace’s voice was far more husky than you remembered it, and his words sent a jolt of panic through your bones. 

“Ace?” You sat up in the bed, squinting to get a better look. 

“It’s only temporary,” he said. 

“Ace, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” You stood out of bed and walked to the door to greet him. 

Yes, something was definitely off. His body was bigger than you remembered, more stocky and muscular. His hair was longer. It was Ace, but it wasn’t the Ace you knew. 

“Something went wrong on the mission, but everyone’s okay. We’re just…”

You couldn't stand it anymore. You turned his body slightly so you could see it in the light. 

“Old!” you exclaimed, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re old!”

You could see a slight flash of irritation dance across his face, and you giggled. He certainly was attractive, even irritated in his old age. The kind of old man who would yell at kids to stay away from his house one moment and then run to play with them the next.  

“You’re handsome, Portgas D. Ace.” You tucked his long hair behind his ear and ran your thumb across his cheek. 

“You think so?” He gave you a slightly cocky grin, but you could tell he was still self-conscious about it. 

Your eyes trailed down his body, sinful thoughts filling your head. “How long are you like this?”

He shrugged. “Few hours, I think. We can just sleep it off.”

You blushed, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Who says we have to sleep it off?”

Ace’s mouth fell open, and then quickly corrected into a devious grin. “You, my dear, have major daddy issues.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

[ylangelegy]

haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows. 

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green. 

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige. 

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale. 

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming. 

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails. 

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend. 

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. 

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this? 

The door to the room swings open. 

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?” 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother. 

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.” 

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel. 

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this. 

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. 

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes. 

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent. 

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead. 

He lets out a small sound of protest. 

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”    

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.” 

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—” 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.” 

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?” 

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles. 

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look. 

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?” 

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before. 

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair. 

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that. 

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table. 

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call. 

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least. 

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. ��WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—” 

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone. 

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?” 

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning. 

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. 

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream. 

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm. 

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule— 

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday. 

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours. 

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts. 

🍒: myungho  🍒: are you feeling better?  🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok. 

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up. 

🍒: are you sure???  🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long?  🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home. 

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts. 

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now? 

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. 

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” 

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?” 

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.” 

“I can come over.” 

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.” 

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.” 

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.” 

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log. 

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him. 

Something was definitely not right. 

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time  🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)  🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed. 

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan. 

He had no memory of any of that. 

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear. 

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed. 

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” 

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name. 

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream— 

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore. 

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea. 

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter. 

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am. 

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.) 

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry. 

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know. 

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense. 

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom. 

Your name. 

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening. 

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can. 

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter. 

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his. 

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left. 

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation. 

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead? 

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence. 

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter. 

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao. 

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him. 

My family is in a different country. 

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you. 

I met your mother. She’s nice. 

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all. 

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want. 

And you’re right. This is crazy. 

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter. 

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue. 

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows. 

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half. 

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident. 

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words. 

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me. 

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him. 

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case. 

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording. 

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed. 

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance. 

He skims over the rest of your letter. 

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself. 

Wish me luck. 

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. 

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues. 

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door. 

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace. 

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there. 

“Take care,” he says. 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation. 

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression. 

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet. 

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do? 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.” 

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.  

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing. 

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen. 

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough? 

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones. 

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss. 

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee. 

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax. 

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter. 

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written. 

He might as well do the same. 

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills. 

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you. 

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets. 

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything. 

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library. 

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often? 

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks. 

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all. 

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor. 

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees. 

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over. 

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for. 

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters. 

月老. Yue Lao. 

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.  

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible. 

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure? 

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. 

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest. 

I hope I find love. 

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how. 

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please. 

“Are you going to check that out or what?” 

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—” 

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly. 

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly. 

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.  

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile. 

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station. 

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice. 

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth. 

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time. 

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way. 

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?” 

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert. 

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless. 

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase? 

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation. 

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu. 

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by. 

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid. 

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo. 

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG? 

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him. 

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie. 

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city. 

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste. 

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.   

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then. 

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified. 

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong. 

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils. 

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in. 

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him? 

Would he even want you to? 

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand. 

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not. 

Something is off. 

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack. 

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time. 

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.” 

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it. 

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds? 

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind. 

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to. 

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday. 

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?” 

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.” 

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?” 

“Them?” 

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew. 

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.  

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?” 

Nine years.

Nine years. 

Nine years. 

Since what? Since you? 

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday. 

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor. 

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes. 

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before. 

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently. 

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—” 

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?” 

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it. 

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.” 

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.” 

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.” 

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?” 

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned. 

The librarian isn’t the same one. 

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015. 

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence. 

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for. 

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— 

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though. 

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. 

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.  

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death. 

Except— 

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow. 

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do. 

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance. 

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon. 

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm. 

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.” 

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate. 

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” 

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed. 

“You’re always so dramatic.” 

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now. 

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen. 

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.” 

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?” 

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.” 

“We’re safe here—” 

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that? 

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. 

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly. 

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.” 

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain. 

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious. 

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger. 

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment. 

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—” 

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped. 

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life. 

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging. 

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though. 

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder. 

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles. 

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door. 

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care. 

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge. 

The entire apartment complex is bewildered. 

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen. 

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building. 

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music. 

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then— 

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh. 

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building. 

Because he’s alive. 

You’re alive. 

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him. 

He drifts off and dreams. 

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one. 

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes— 

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone. 

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft. 

“It’s me,” he confirms. 

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms. 

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?” 

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right. 

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back. 

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up. 

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Why—?” 

“— Did this happen in the first place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” 

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea. 

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please. 

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again. 

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.” 

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?” 

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—” 

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though. 

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too. 

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. 

Every day, back when I was a kid. 

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right. 

He had prayed for you. 

The chime of bells. 

The beige ceiling. 

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too. 

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms. 

Minghao never wakes up as you again. 

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought. 

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him. 

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing. 

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there. 

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him. 

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”  

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music. 

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings. 

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy. 

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok. 

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls. 

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit. 

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?” 

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock. 

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind. 

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?” 

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar? 

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition. 

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words. 

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market. 

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes. 

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you. 

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet. 

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums. 

It feels a lot like an answered prayer. 

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Anything for You - Pt 0.5

daemon x daughter!reader 

Previous Parts

*i wrote and posted this after pt4 btw bc Part 1 was supposed to be a one shot*

Summary: Daemon returns home from the war in the Stepstones after years and when you both see each other it feels as if everything shifts. Upon seeing you again Daemon knows he has to have you regardless of the consequences. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, wine, fingering, face riding, oral(f), loss of virginity, p in v, masturbation(m), two daemon PoVs

Authors Note: i did steal a scene from season one bc i wanted to and that’s ok 🙂‍↕️ wioumcysicha - gnawing at the bars of my enclosure fr 

Word Count: 6k sry

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Two years ago

My hands shake as I read his half scribbled words across the parchment. Tears pour down my face as I read it over and over. I send all of my handmaidens out and curl up in my bed letting the sobs tear through my body. I wipe my eyes to read it one last time before crumpling it up and tossing it across my chambers. 

Daughter- 

I'm sorry I didn’t tell you that I was leaving in person. I couldn’t bear to see the look on your face, sweet girl. I’ll come home to you as soon as I am able. 

-Father

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Two moons before Part 1

My handmaidens fret about my chambers offering me new dresses and necklaces to all I shake my head. My doors are thrown open as more come in with different wines and sweets and I get up and lay across my chaise on the balcony. There is only one thing, one person that could truly make me feel better: my father. 

He left me that night two years ago now and hasn’t returned since. There has been such an emptiness inside of me since then. The Red Keep is crawling with whispers and rumors of different fates that have befallen the rogue Prince but I know in my heart that he will return to me. I’ve been lonely the past two years and the King has tried everything to get me to agree to a marriage I have no interest in. 

My handmaidens whisper about eligible Lords who are visiting and known to be very generous. I’ve shared a meal with a handful of them but none of them could offer me what I truly desired or needed. I’m not deaf to the whispers around the Keep that surround me that call me a ghost ever since my father went to war. 

In the fortnight following my nineteenth name day I have begun to truly believe what they say. I have no interest in anything besides laying on my chaise or taking baths. I call my handmaidens over to prepare me a bath as I slowly begin to rise. I stretch out and look across the Bay and my heart stops when I see a streak of red. 

It cannot be. I shake my head and run over to the railing. The piercing song I remember travels through my chambers and I drop everything and sprint down the hall. My guard chases after me as I make my way to the main hall. I wait at the bottom of the stairs and stare at the doors, not daring to wait outside. I pick at my nails and focus on trying to calm my breathing. 

“Princess, could I escort you back to your chambers?” my guard looks down at me concerned. 

“No.” I don’t even deign to look at him. I keep my focus ahead as the minutes drag by. Servants pass by and avoid contact with me as I take a seat on the bottom step. I rest my head in my hands as I continue to wait for the door. My guard shifts uncomfortably next to me and I roll my eyes as I begin to grow impatient. 

“Princess, it’s been well over an hour. Do-“ 

“No,” I snap, rising from the stairs. “I’m waiting for-“ the doors push open and I turn as the breath is taken from my lungs. I notice his short silver hair first. I take a deep breath and run over to him as the tears start to fall down my face. “Daddy?” I sob and he opens his arms and picks me up. I wrap my body around him holding him tightly as I cry into his neck. 

The metal of his armor bites into me but I have no care as I hold onto him tighter. I press my lips against his neck as I burrow in closer to him and his arms constrict around me. He slowly sets me back on the ground and I look up at him with watery eyes. 

“My sweet girl.” his eyes look me over. 

“Don’t leave me again.” my lip wobbles and I wrap my arms around him in another hug. 

“I promise that I won’t.” he whispers into my hair. “Come with me, sweet girl.” he threads his fingers into mine. “I have to go see the King.” he starts to lead me in the direction of the throne room. 

I continue to look up at him as we walk and I can see the smirk painted across his face. I look up at his short hair with a makeshift crown sitting atop his brow. He looks down at me before pulling me closer and I splay my other hand on the metal covering his torso. I look up at him with such an intense need that a whine slips from my lips. 

“Daddy.” I breathe out clinging to him. 

“We’ll have time later.” he presses his lips against my forehead before ushering us into the throne room. 

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After an hour long talk with the King, my father and I are finally leaving the hall. His hand has stayed molded to mine since we clasped them together. As we walk up the stairs I call my handmaidens to prepare a bath in my chambers. My father and I sit on my couches staring at each other while my handmaidens prepare everything. After they’ve placed everything out I dismiss them and my father looks at me with a raised brow. 

“What happened to your hair?” I purse my lips walking over to him. 

“Do you not like it?” he looks up at me with a smile. His hands grab my waist and pull me between his thighs. 

“I do. It’s just different.” I lean over him and run my fingers through his short locks. His fingers dig into my waist as he pulls me onto his lap. A shiver tracks through me as his armor presses against me.

“You look different, sweet girl.” he cups my face. “A woman now.” his hands slide up my sides and my breath catches. 

“Let me bathe you.” I hum. “I’m sure it’s been moons since you’ve had a proper bath.” I raise my brow and he smiles. 

“Are you trying to say something?” he chuckles, raising a brow.

“I missed you. I want to make sure you’re okay. Check you for wounds. Scars.” he squints his eyes at me before lifting me off his lap. He stands up and presses his lips to my forehead. 

“I will come find you later.” he nods before slipping out of my chambers leaving me there feeling more lost and alone than ever. 

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Daemons PoV

He had to get out of her chambers and quickly. The way her body pressed so perfectly to his had him thanking his armor for hiding his hard cock. Gods and she wanted to bath him. This is the first non selfish decision that he has made in ages. He felt a strange feeling when she frowned so deeply when he declined her offer. 

His sweet girl's face deflated and he watched her round violet eyes begin to water. He didn’t intend to cause her so much upsetness; he just needed to clear his mind and think. Upon entering his chambers he’s bombarded with servants buzzing around and bringing in clothes and candles. 

“Out.” he holds the door wide for them and they all begin to filter out. 

He clicks the door shut behind him and begins to remove his armor. Once all of the metal is littered across the floor he goes over to his bed and collapses. He inhales deeply and groans. He has to be going mad or his want is taking over his senses but he can smell her on his sheets. He thinks about her sneaking through the tunnels to curl in his bed over the years and his cock stirs again. 

He can’t take it anymore and shoves his hand into his trousers. He groans as his fingers wrap around his shaft and he thinks about her tossing and turning in his bed. The sweet little pout on her lips that he wants to rub his tip over. His thumb swipes over his tip as it begins to leak and he jerks up into his tightening palm. He turns his head to the side and he gets another smell of her sweetness and a low groan slips past his lips. His mind conjures a picture of her squirming beneath him begging for him and his pleasure bursts across his hand. 

He sighs, pulling his hand out of his trousers feeling like a young boy who just saw his first low cut gown. He walks to his bath chambers and looks at himself in the mirror before cleaning up and changing. He walks back out to sit in front of his hearth and he rests his head in his hands. 

He wants her so badly. He thought he would have more clarity after taking care of himself but it’s only made his desire stronger. He hopes that a night on the street of silk will fix his problem and if it won’t he’ll make her his. 

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Your PoV

It’s been three days since my father left my chambers and I’ve only seen him in passing in the halls. He hasn’t come to see me or share any meals with me. My handmaidens look over me worriedly as I continue to decline their efforts. They prepare me for bed and I pout under the covers as they begin to blow out the candles. Once they leave me for the night I stare at the ceiling waiting for sleep to take over. 

I groan as I continue to toss and turn, not comfortable or warm enough to find sleep. I wrap the blankets around me tighter and whine before pushing them off and getting up. I grab one of my candles and light it before walking over to the door hidden next to my bed. 

I was always thankful that my father showed me these tunnels before he went off to war. On particularly bad nights I would sneak through them and curl up in his bed as the sobs tore through my body. Tonight I’m hoping to be engulfed in his embrace. As I push open the hidden door to his chambers I frown, finding it empty. 

I blow out my candle as I make my way deeper into his chambers. I see that the bed is still made as I make my way over to it and begin to pull back the blankets. I slide beneath the covers and inhale deeply smiling that it smells like him once more. I hug a pillow against my chest and finally my eyes are heavy enough to shut. 

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I whine as I feel the cool breeze skirting across my skin. I reach blindly for the blanket and turn over on my back to try and find it with my other hand. I gasp, opening my eyes as I feel fingers trailing up my legs. I blink them a couple times so they can adjust to the dark chambers and look up and see my father looking down at me. I look down and notice I shifted my night dress up in an attempt to find the blankets. I pull at the hem and my father lets out a low chuckle. 

“What are you doing in here, sweet girl?” his voice like gravel. 

“I wanted to be held by you.” I look over his flushed face and smell the ale on his clothes. 

“So you come lay in my bed and wait for me in this little dress?” his fingers skim just beneath the edge of my night dress. I nod my head and look up at him. “You should be in your own chambers.” he shakes his head and sits at the end of the bed. 

“Why?” my voice a whisper. 

“It’s hard for me to control myself around you.” he looks at me over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” I sit up and drape myself across his back. 

“I want to ruin that sweet little cunt between your legs.” he turns around and pushes me back onto the bed. I look up at him with a heaving chest and flushed cheeks. “Gods, look at you.” his fingers brush over my hardened nipples and I gasp, biting my lip. 

“Please,” my voice broken and he removes his hands. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to your chambers.” I push my bottom lip out at his words and he scoops me up from the bed and tosses me over his shoulder. 

His hands rest on the back of my thighs as he brings us into the tunnels. He walks back to my chambers on steady feet and when we enter them he walks over to my bed and tosses me down. He watches as I bounce back and my dress slides scandalously up my thighs before shaking his head. 

“Go to bed, sweet girl.” he pulls my blankets over me and presses his lips to my scrunched brow. 

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Daemons PoV

After he brought her back to her chambers he sealed himself in his chambers and stroked himself until he was spent. The little sounds she made when he brushed over her nipples had him almost bursting in his trousers. The intense want and need in her eyes was all he needed to know that she felt the same way. He made his decision and went to bed knowing he would get what he wanted on the morrow regardless of the consequences. 

He wakes early and dresses himself to meet the King in the throne room. The traditions of his family are strange to others but he’s hoping that if anyone will understand it’ll be the King. He ignores everyone because his mind is set and he’s ready to get what he wants. He pushes open the doors to the throne room and finds it empty. He looks up the jagged steps and turns as the doors open again. The King walks in and looks at him curiously. 

“What is it?” the King sighs, approaching Daemon. 

“Brother, I have something to ask of you.” he searches the King's eyes. 

“Calling me brother? You must be truly desperate.” the King's eyes crinkles as he smiles. 

“When I offered up my crown you said I could have anything.” the King's amusement begins to fade. “I want my daughter.” Daemon nods his head. 

“What do you mean?” the King shakes his head. 

“Wed her to me.” Daemon feels his heart beating faster and he doesn’t care if his brother says no or not. He plans to claim her tonight and nothing is changing that. 

“No.” the King scoffs. “Daemon, there are plenty of other women for you to choose from.” Daemon lets out a chuckle. 

“They’re not good enough.” he waves his brother off. 

“I wonder if anyone will ever be good enough for you.” the King shakes his head.

“She is.” Daemon looks to his brother. 

“I’ll hear no more of this.” the King brushes past Daemon and begins to ascend the stairs and take his seat upon the throne.

“I will have her.” he points at the King before leaving the throne room. 

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Your Pov

I flare my nostrils as I’m jostled once again through the covered carriage that’s pulling me through the city. I push the linen back and look out the small window at the stands and life going on. We hit another hole and my head hits the wooden frame. My handmaiden flies across the carriage to me and cups my head. I roll my eyes and have her take her seat once more. 

A small smile starts to form on my lips as we pass through the gates to Rhaenys’s Hill. The carriage makes its way up and comes to a slow stop in front of the Dragonpit. I smooth my skirts as I step out of the carriage and onto the ground. I hear Caraxes' song and pray that he remembers who I am. I walk through the doors with my head held high before my feet falter as I see my father in his riding gear. 

“What are you doing here, sweet girl?” he tilts his head walking over to me. 

“I wanted to see Caraxes.” I chew my lip looking up at him. 

“By yourself?” he raises his brow. 

“You don’t want to see me.” my lip wobbles and I clench my fists to steel myself. 

“Who said that?” he cups my cheeks and I huff as a tear spills over the edge. 

“You don’t come and see me. You’ve been pushing me away. I’m so alone.” my voice cracks and I frown at how I sound. “I don’t know what I did.” I sniffle and he pulls me against his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” he mumbles against my hair. His arms pull me tighter and I begin to settle. He pulls back cradling my head in his hands as he dips down. “Do you want to fly with me?” I search his eyes. 

“Really?” I start to smile as he brushes away my tears. 

“Come, we’ll find you a change of clothes.” he pulls me away from my handmaiden and rustles through some closets and finds me better attire. 

“Can you untie my gown?” I blink up at him. His eyes darken as he slowly turns me around. He pulls on the laces slowly while his other hand brushes the hair cascading down my back. Once loosened enough it starts to slip down my shoulders. “Thank you,” I hum, turning back to him. 

“Of course.” he nods his head. He turns and I push my gown off and begin to pull on the trousers and jerkin. He turns back to me and smiles. “I’ll have to get you your own riding gear made.” he chuckles, tightening the belt around the jerkin. 

“I would like that.” I offer him a shy smile. He grabs my hand and leads me down into the pits. Soft grumbles and songs come from deep within the earth as we continue our way to Caraxes. He slows our pace as we step into an opening with a curled Caraxes within. “Just as handsome as I remember.” I hum and his eyes blink open. 

Caraxes uncurls and pushes his snout forward into my father before pushing into me. A smile spreads across my face and my fathers arms wrap around me. He walks me over to Caraxes side and helps me start climbing up. He helps me take a seat in front of him and he holds me against his chest. 

“Are you ready, princess?” he whispers in my ear and I nod quickly. “Fly, Caraxes.” his dragon begins to move us out of the pits before climbing us into the sky. 

With every wing beat my heart jumps and my hands cling onto my fathers arms. As Caraxes levels out on the breeze I slowly relax. I close my eyes as I feel the familiar bite of the wind as Caraxes dips to circle the city. My father has him bring us over to the KingsWood. We land in an open field and we begin to slide off. My father cups my face once we make it to solid ground. 

“You have become so very beautiful in the past couple years.” he brushes his fingers across my cheek. 

“Thank you.” I look up at him chewing my lip. His thumb pulls my lip from between my teeth and I feel my cheeks flush. His thumb continues to ghost across my lips and I look up to him breathing heavily. He steps back and studies me. 

“Are there any young men who have caught your eye?” a smirk forms on his lips. 

“No.” I shake my head. “The King has expressed his wish for me to marry but no one is good enough.” I scrunch my brows because there is one person who is. “I’ve shared some meals but nothing ever progressed after.” I bring my hands together and pick at my nails.

“No little late night rendezvous in your chambers?” my head snaps up to his as I feel my cheeks blush.

“No.” I shake my head quickly. “No one touches me besides my handmaidens.” I feel my heart beating quicker as he starts to approach. 

“Do they now?” he tilts his head. 

“No, not like that, like bathe me and dress me and,” I shake my head feeling my face heat even more. “No one has touched me.” I blink up to him not knowing what to say. 

“Not even yourself, sweet girl?” he smiles. 

“Daddy.” I pout, not wanting him to tease me any longer. 

“I asked the King if I could wed you today.” my breath catches at his change in tone and conversation. I search his eyes to make sure he’s not teasing still. 

“Did he say we could?” my voice filled with unabashed hope. 

“You want to wed me?” he steps closer to me. My heart beats faster as he pulls me against him. “Be my wife? Carry my children? Let me bury myself between these pretty thighs?” he tilts my head up to him. 

“Yes, please,” I wrap my hands around his arms. He dips down and presses his lips against mine. I melt into his arms and he lifts me up holding me against him. His tongue pushes into my mouth as I gasp when his fingers dig into my ass. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, sweet girl.” he mumbles. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” he sets me back down on the ground and I pout looking up at him wanting to still be within his arms. 

“Can we wed?” I ask softly. 

“The King said no.” my smile drops. “But I don’t care. You’ll be mine.” he nods and my smile starts to return. 

We continue to stroll through the woods until the late afternoon. By the time we make it back to Caraxes the sun is starting to slip below the horizon as he carries us back to the pits. Once we land he takes me back to my gown and I quickly change. “Go back to the Keep with your handmaiden and I’ll come to your chambers later.” he kisses my brow and I smile up at him. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

I allow my handmaidens to give me a bath to get the smell of dragon off of me. After I’m smoothed with oils and perfumes they pull my silk night dress over me. I dismiss them for the night and lay on my chaise near the hearth. I wish I knew when he was coming or if I should just sleep. I frown and make my way to my bed when the door to the tunnel opens. A smile spreads across my cheeks as my father shuts the door behind him. 

“Were you going to bed, sweet girl?” he saunters over to my bed. 

“I was going to lay down and wait for you.” I walk over to him. 

“In an even shorter dress than before?” he groans, resting his hands on my hips. He gently lays me back on the bed and looks down at me. “Gods, I just,” he shakes his head. “Can daddy touch you?” his eyes snap to mine as a whimper spills from my lips. 

“Please,” my voice barely a whisper. 

He starts to lift my night dress off and I squirm under his heated gaze. His eyes trail over every inch of skin that he exposes. I squeeze my thighs together as he lifts my dress higher. When he pulls it over my chest I feel my nipples harden from the cool air. I lift my arms and he smiles, slipping the dress the rest of the way off. 

“Good girl.” he hums, skating his fingers up my torso. His fingers roll one of my nipples and I gasp below him. He crawls over me on the bed and I sigh, engulfed by his warmth. He dips his head down and sucks my neglected nipple into his mouth and I squeak as his tongue flicks across it. 

“Daddy,” I cry out. “Please,” I whine and he teases the hardened bud with his teeth. He chuckles against my skin before kissing his way down my torso. I watch with a flushed face as he spreads my thighs and settles between them. He presses his lips on the insides of my thighs and I tremble. 

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he looks at me with dark eyes. 

“Yes,” I whine. My head falls back to the pillows as his tongue pushes through my slit. Soft moans fall from my lips as he softly kisses my bud. His tongue trails down to my core and my legs shake on either side of his head. He holds my legs open against the bed and starts to lick at me with more fervor. “Please, yes,” I cry out and I bury my fingers in his hair. My body goes taught as my pleasure slams through me. 

I look down at him and see him staring up at me already. Soft pleas pour from my mouth as he starts to lap at me slowly again. One of his hands move from my thigh and soon I feel one of his fingers start to press into my core. My fingers dig into his hair and he groans against me slowly pushing his finger into me. He slowly starts to move his finger and let my head fall back as I feel my pleasure building once more. 

A loud moan is pulled from my lips as he presses a second finger in. My hips roll against his face as my stomach starts to tighten. His fingers curl slightly and I pulse around his fingers lifting up off the bed. He licks me through my pleasure before sitting up and watching my squirming body. I sit up and press my lips against his. 

“Please daddy,” I whine, pulling at his trousers. He watches me with an amused expression as I start to pull on the laces. I try to push them down and he chuckles, grabbing my hands. He rises off the bed and watches me as he slowly peels off his clothes. I lick my lips as he bares himself to me. 

“Lay back.” he watches me lay back and he starts to spread my legs to settle between them. “Such a good girl for me.” I mewl as his length spreads through my wetness. “I may not be able to wed you right now, but I promise you that I will one day.” he presses his lips against mine as he slowly starts to push into me. 

Every inch pulls a moan from my lips as he splits me open. My nails dig into his back as he stops his moments. I squeeze my eyes shut adjusting to his fullness while he kisses softly at my neck. He rubs soothing circles into my hips and I slowly open my eyes looking at him. 

“I’m so full of you.” I pant and he groans resting his forehead on mine. 

“You feel so good. So warm and wrapped around me so tightly.” he slowly rocks his hips into mine. I whine at the friction as he continues to softly rock into me. “You like the way daddy feels?” he groans and I nod my head. He pulls out of me and pushes back into me quickly, stealing my breath. He does it again and I arch up into him. 

“Yes,” my voice breaks and he chuckles against my neck as he starts a steady pace. 

I wrap my legs around him as my high watches through me. He stills in me softly cursing while his fingers dig into my hips. He starts to pound his hips into mine and desperate whines fall from my lips. My chambers are filled with the sounds of our skin and my soft cries. His rhythm falters and he groans stilling inside of me. I gasp as I feel his warmth spill inside of me as he collapses on top of me. I hold him closer enjoying the weight and warmth of him. 

“You did so good.” he lifts up and presses his lips to mine as he pulls out. He rolls over and pulls me against his chest. “My sweet girl.” He hums, pressing his lips against my hair.  

“Will you stay with me?” I look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Of course.” he wraps his arms around me. “Go to sleep.” I wrap my arms around his chest and close my eyes. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

One moon before Part 1

I pour my father wine as he takes his seat around the council table. He looks up at me with a soft smile as I take my place next to him. The other members slowly trickle into the room and I step closer to my father. His hand rests on my lower back and he rises when the King enters. The King places a kiss on my cheek before he takes his seat. 

The meeting today seems to drone on forever and I begin to lean against my fathers chair. He starts to rub circles onto my back and I look out the windows allowing the boring meeting to fade away. I’m brought back to the present as chairs begin to scrape against the stone as the members start to leave the hall. The King looks to my father and sighs. 

“There are plenty of eligible Ladies for you to court.” he looks at my father with tired eyes. 

“They are all plain.” he chuckles looking at the King. “You know who I desire.” my fathers bold words cause my knees to weaken and I shift on my legs to keep me upright. 

“I’ve already told you no,” he scoffs, sitting back in his chair. “I tire of this and the ceaseless rumors.” he waves us off. 

I feel the tears well in my eyes. My father rises with a shake of his head and leads me out into the halls. I softly sniffle as I cling onto his arm and he tugs me into an alcove and looks down at me. His thumbs brush away my tears and he softly places his lips on mine and I gasp pulling back but he pulls me back against him. 

“Someone could see.” I whisper up to him. 

“Let them.” he kisses me once more. “Let them see that you’re mine and only mine.” he kisses down my neck and I cling onto his arms. “Daddy’s good girl.” he purrs into my ear. I whimper and squirm in his arms before he’s pulling me back up to my chambers. “I got you something.” he shuts the doors behind us. 

“What is it?” I turn to him with a smile. He walks over to the table and returns to me with a box. He opens it and shows me the most beautiful necklace that I’ve seen. The jewels inlaid have to be worth a kingdom at least. “This is..” I press my fingers against the chain and he pulls it out and turns me around. His fingers ghost across the nape of my neck as he brushes my hair away. He clasps the necklace around my neck and steps back. “How does it look?” I turn and look up at him.

“You look divine. Though I think a lower cut dress would show it off more.” he licks his lips. 

“Do you want to take this one off?” I tilt my head, nibbling my lip.

“I do.” he nods his head and steps over to me. His fingers start to pull at the laces on my back before pushing it down. He helps me step out of it and looks over my body left in my slip. “This too.” he pulls at the hem and I lift my hands as he pulls it over my head discarding it to the floor. “Like this,” he nods. “Perfect.” his hands press against my skin softly digging into me.

“Please,” I lean up to try and kiss him. He smiles before pressing his lips against mine. I hold him close as he slowly starts to walk us back to the bed. He pulls his lips out of my reach and I pout up at him. 

“Get on the bed.” he helps me crawl onto the bed and watches as the jewels move across my chest. He lays down on the bed next to me and grabs my hand tugging me over to him. “Sit on daddy’s face.” I look down at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” I scrunch my brows. I squeak as he pulls my thigh and lifts it over his head. I straddle his face and look down at his mischievous eyes. “I don’t- Daddy,” I whine as he trails his tongue up my slit. His hands grab at my waist and push me down on his tongue causing me to cry out. I look down and see him watching me as his tongue lashes against my bud. “Yes, yes,” I roll my hips against his mouth and he groans, lapping at me faster. 

My hands catch on the hardboard as I start to fall forward. My back arches as he starts to lick against me more wildly. One of his palms lands against my ass and I jerk forward on his tongue. I whimper out and I start to roll my hips chasing my pleasure. His other hand lands upon my other cheek and I whine leaning back into his hands. He removes both his hands only to have them both land on me at the same time. My pleasure tears through me as I shake against his face. 

His tongue pushes into my core and I try to lift off of him but his fingers dig into me holding me down. I cry and gasp above him as his tongue swirls around my bud and I feel my high start to ripple through me. His palm lands on my cheek and I feel more pleasure start to pour out of me. He lifts my hips up slowly kissing down my thighs before laying me back on the bed. 

“You were such a good girl for me.” he murmurs, kissing my neck before licking across my breasts. He laps against one of my sensitive peaks and I whimper threading my fingers in his hair. “You look so beautiful like this. Flushed with pleasure, chest heaving and covered in jewels and sweat.” he hums, kissing over to my other nipple. He teases the bud between his teeth before letting it go. “A vision.” he shakes his head watching my breathing start to settle. 

“Thank you.” I reach up for him. He lays down and pulls me against his chest and allows me to cling to him. 

“Of course, anything for you, sweet girl.” he presses his lips against my brow. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i’m currently writing the final rn 🥺 i’ll prob have it posted by sunday tbh buuut before then if you guys  have anything you want to see in the final lmk and i’ll see what i can do 😏🤭

anything for you taglist: @mamawiggers1980

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss

[librababe99]

Incubus! Logan x Female Reader

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Incubus!Logan, Female Reader, Fingering Summary: In the dead of night, an alluring Incubus named Logan slips from the shadows to awaken your deepest desires, drawing you into a dangerously seductive dance between pleasure and darkness. WC: 1.4K

A/N: In honor of spooky month I had a little something in my mind--Depending on how this is received maybe i'll make a part two? happy reading loves... <3

The night was unnaturally still, a suffocating kind of silence that weighed heavily on you as you tossed and turned under the sheets. The air in the room felt thick, almost humid, clinging to your skin as you lay there, restless. Your body ached for sleep that refused to come, your mind buzzing with an unsettling energy you couldn’t quite place. The moonlight filtered through the half-open curtains, casting eerie silver streaks across the bed. You should have been tired—exhausted, even—but your pulse raced, and a warmth had been building low in your belly for days.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, far too fast for someone lying still. A faint heat simmered just beneath your skin, and no matter how you shifted or wrapped yourself in the blankets, you couldn’t escape it. It had been this way for nights now. Hours dragged on, leaving you sleepless, drifting between a surreal wakefulness and half-forgotten dreams. You pulled the blanket tighter around your body, trying to smother the strange ache that lingered inside you.

Something was wrong.

You closed your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but the moment your lids fluttered shut, a bone-chilling sensation gripped your chest. Your breath hitched. You blinked, eyes snapping open, heart racing, only to find the room darker than before. The moon’s light seemed to have faded, swallowed by the shadows creeping into every corner. Your pulse spiked, fear and something else—something darker—curling through you.

And then you saw him.

He stood at the foot of your bed, tall and imposing, his form cloaked in the kind of darkness that seemed to devour the light around him. He was barely visible, but his presence pressed down on you, heavy, suffocating. Your throat tightened, but no scream came. You were frozen, your body locked in place. His gaze, however, was unmistakable—two glowing eyes that cut through the dark like fire, staring down at you with a hunger that made your skin prickle.

He smiled—a slow, dangerous curl of his lips, the kind that promised something wicked.

“You’ve been restless,” his voice, low and velvety, seemed to vibrate through you, deep and primal. A sound that awakened something inside you. “I’ve been watching.”

Your throat went dry. “Who—what are you?”

He didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he moved closer, his steps almost predatory, slow and deliberate. As he approached, the shadows that cloaked him seemed to melt away, revealing more of him—a striking, sharp-featured face, with skin that seemed to catch the faintest glow of the moon. His body was perfectly sculpted, like something out of a dream—too perfect to be real, muscles coiled beneath his skin, power radiating from him in waves. His eyes, though—those burning eyes held you captive, making it impossible to look away.

“I am Logan,” he said finally, his voice thick with intent. “An Incubus.”

Your breath caught, a tremor running through you. You’d heard the stories—the whispers of demons who preyed on desire, who slipped into dreams to claim their victims, to fill them with dark, sinful pleasures. But this wasn’t a dream. This was real, too real. The way his gaze traveled over you, the intensity of it, sent a pulse of heat between your legs that you couldn’t ignore.

“You’ve been calling for me,” Logan said, his tone dark and teasing, like he was mocking you. “Your body knows what it wants. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The hunger inside you…”

A sharp inhale escaped your lips as his fingers traced lightly over your ankle, barely touching your skin but enough to make your body jolt in response. The touch sent an electric shock through you, and against your will, you found yourself arching toward it. You should’ve pulled away, but your body betrayed you, craving more. Needing more.

“Stop,” you whispered, though you could even hear the weakness in your voice, the lack of conviction.

“Stop?” His chuckle was low, dark, filled with amusement. He climbed onto the bed with a fluid, predatory grace, his body looming over yours now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His breath, hot and intoxicating, ghosted over your lips as he leaned in closer, his gaze searing into yours. “You don’t want me to stop.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand slid up your leg, slowly, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, moving higher, teasing with every inch. Your body trembled, the warmth between your legs now a steady throb of need, a need that only he could answer. Your heart pounded as his lips brushed the side of your neck, a barely-there kiss that sent a shiver through your entire body.

“You’ve been dreaming of me,” Logan whispered against your ear, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. The sensation was maddening. “I can feel it. Every night, you called out for me, even if you didn’t know it.”

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps now, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as he pressed his body against yours. He was solid, strong, his scent wrapping around you like a drug—spice and smoke, something dark and forbidden. The last remnants of your resistance crumbled. You couldn’t deny it anymore; you didn’t want to. The heat in your belly had built to a roaring flame, and every nerve in your body screamed for his touch.

“I can give you everything you need,” he purred, his voice dripping with seduction. His hand slid under the hem of your nightshirt, fingers splaying over your hip, burning hot against your skin. “Everything you crave.”

Before you could respond, his lips descended on your throat, kissing, biting, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, the sharpness sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. Your head tilted back instinctively, granting him more access as his tongue traced the line of your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh just below your ear. You moaned, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

His hands moved with expert precision, trailing over your body, fingers tracing patterns on your skin that set you aflame. Every touch was deliberate, calculated to drive you deeper into madness, to push you past the point of no return. His hand slid between your legs, fingers brushing against the damp heat there, teasing, never quite giving you what you needed, what you were desperate for.

“You’re so ready,” Logan murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl of approval. His fingers teased your entrance, slipping between your folds, but never fully touching you, always pulling back just when you thought he would give you relief. “You belong to me now. You’ve always belonged to me.”

His words wrapped around your mind like chains, and as his mouth claimed yours in a searing, possessive kiss, you surrendered. You gave in to the darkness, to the primal hunger that had been building inside you for what felt like eternity. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss bruising, demanding, leaving you breathless. His hand finally slid down, fingers pushing inside you, and you gasped into his mouth, the sensation sending you spiraling.

Every thrust of his fingers, every kiss, every touch drove you further into an abyss of pleasure. Your body moved against his, desperate, aching, lost to the rhythm he set. His name was a whisper on your lips, a prayer, a plea. He was everywhere, consuming you, devouring you whole, and you wanted it—needed it.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he pressed you down into the mattress, his body heavy, solid over yours. The way he moved, the way he controlled you with every touch, made you feel like you were unraveling. You were falling apart, trembling beneath him, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. His power surrounded you, dark and intoxicating, and you welcomed it, craved it.

And then, just when you thought you would break, he stopped.

Logan pulled back, his eyes still burning with that wicked glow, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a sultry whisper that sent a final shiver down your spine.

“Sweet dreams,” he purred.

And then, like a shadow, he vanished, swallowed by the darkness. The room was silent again, save for your ragged breathing, your body still trembling with the aftermath of his touch. The moonlight returned, casting soft shadows over the bed, as though nothing had happened at all.

You lay there, staring up at the ceiling, your body still buzzing with the memory of him. Sleep began to pull at you, heavy and inescapable, but before you gave in, one final thought echoed through your mind:

He’d be back.

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ ON A PILLOW OF

GRASS AND DANDELIONS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x fem!reader

summary: you and astarion take much-needed time to yourselves in a field kissed by the sun. blueberries are the fruit of the occassion, as messy and sticky as they were. sometimes though, messy is a good thing.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, ejaculation, deep-throating (??), a bit of nipple play if you squint hard enough, astarion's very vocal ( i don't make the rules ), astarion licks fruit juice off reader's chest, slight worshipping, not proof-read

a/n: wrote this at two am with a foggy mind and rusty smut skills. but alas, here's a small gift of an idea that refused to leave me. now, i can rest easily, bless.

The sun - a ball of fire in the abyss of the sky - is the brightest star. It burns the surface of your skin in vibrant rays of light, warming you from the inside; and setting you aflame. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, just one you learned to appreciate in the years you’ve been on this plane, a hug without drastic intentions, a heated embrace. Aside from the fruit in your hand; cobalt in color, soft-skinned, ripe, and dripping sour juices. It pools on the surface of your tongue alongside sugary essence once the sharp ridges of teeth puncture through; mixing in with warm spit, tricking down the chin and onto the expanse of your chest, loose, low-cut blouse leaving little to the imagination. 

The feeling you get from it is almost erotic, you think, as your lover laps at stray sweetness making its way to the base of your neck, right under the spot he adored so very much. The wet muscle of his tongue skims across your collarbone, his long, cold fingers hovering above your hip, the other keeping himself steady, hand sinking into the softness of the sheet below. His touches give off a certain urgency although his actions show otherwise. Astarion wants to take his time with you; albeit having seemingly all the time in existence to do so. 

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily, airy as the hairs on your arms raise every millisecond that his body inches closer to yours, craving skin-to-skin through the thin layers of fabric. It causes you to straighten your spine, almost as if you were a stick wedged in damp soil, letting it mold further into you, keeping your soul in place. Every single bone within you was practically screaming. They didn’t mind being constricted like this, a small jumble of voices bouncing back and forth. 

It made you chuckle, a sound that had him humming against your skin in curiosity. “What’s so funny, my love?” 

Smiling,  you lock your irises onto a cluster of stray curls above you, hand moving to twist around them - an action that makes him visibly shiver.

“I’m supposed to be feeding you.” 

With a raise of his head, you could see just how big his pupils had dilated, ruby eyes just a shade or two darker than usual. His low-lidded gaze traveled down toward the valley of your chest, a purple tint left in streaks adorning your collarbone; evidence of his affection. “Are you not already?”

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shuffle about next to him on your side, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into the ground beneath the white linen of the sheet. “No, you’re far too busy being a tease.”

At your words, he chuckled, face dropping to the left side of your neck with such swiftness that you raised your hips further into his at the feeling of plump lips on your pulse point. Although you couldn’t see him anymore, the way his fingers squeezed at your clothed hip told you everything you needed to know.  

“If you wanted me to bite you, all you had to do was ask.”

A breathy sigh left your lips, nails moving from his silver curls down to his back, his tunic wrinkling under your touch, preventing him from escaping. Hot white heat pooled in your lower stomach; a longing to have him touch you in your most intimate of places - desperately. Desire envelops you whole, just like the sparkle of the sun.

“Please Astarion….”

Shivering at the coolness of his lips against your neck, your face grew hot in sudden embarrassment. The organ that was your heart hammered erratically in your sternum as he sucked on your flesh, setting your skin ablaze in a way where it was somewhat painful… a delectable pinch as his fangs pierced the skin.

Astarion was no stranger to drinking your lifeblood, and the act itself wasn’t a rare occurrence. He enjoyed it - no, he craved it as if it were the finest, most expensive brand of wine he had ever tasted in all his years. It satiated his thirst.

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked once - twice more before pulling away, thumbing at the corner of his lip before parting his lips, tucking his bloody thumb into the heat of his mouth. “Delicious…”

Astarion was sure that his body had started to relax as your blood flowed through his veins, sloshing around in the confines of his belly as if he were a drunkard. 

The ridges of your front teeth sunk into the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, and you watched cautiously as he toyed with the edges of his tunic, lifting it to his naval. Slight hesitation embedded itself in his hands before he flexed them a bit, ridding himself of the fabric completely. Despite having been bare in front of you countless times - even if not fully on display, he found himself growing somewhat small under your fixated look, opting to stand and plop himself in a bed of grass a couple of feet away. 

He extended his arms outward, blades of deep green tickling his knuckles, creating an itch that he refused to scratch. Filling his mouth with fresh air, his chest rose before deflating, the hairs in his nose burning. “Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.” 

Lashes fan against his skin as he closes his eyes, his undead lungs trying to find a comfortable rhythm, steady.  You can’t help but admire him from your place, eyebrows unfurrowing from their constant state of distress. 

The light had moved in his direction, clouds changing their position to make way as it shone down on his figure, drawn to him like magnets to metal. It casts shadows on his face, carving out every gentle dip of his abs, the flexing of his biceps as he raises a hand in front of his face, blocking his vision from the viciousness of it all. Instead of irritation filling his undead heart, it was a foreign sense of calamity. A feeling that he held dear for as long as it lingered.

“This feels nice.” 

His ears perk at the sound of your feet crunching grass, alongside the periodic chirping of birds perched on enormous tree branches above. A gust of wind weaved through tendrils of curls, seeping into his scalp, metaphorically dousing him in cold water. For a second, he indulged in the thought of bathing in a nearby lake wherever camp was set up for the night, taking his time to let it take over every inch of his body. 

A clench of his stomach muscles sends his eyes shooting open, neck craning to stare down at your hand traveling down the ‘v’ of his naval, tracing patterns on the way. Your unexpected compliment was nothing but a whisper in the wind that made the tips of his ears grow as red as his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” Leaning down between his wide legs, your sticky lips graced his icy skin, sending a jolt of heat through him, a gasp caught in his throat as you painstakingly peppered his abdomen in an abundance of kisses. 

Astarion was by no means ashamed when it came to eliciting pretty noises in response to your touch; need apparent in the way his head fell back, cushioned by grass and a halo of dandelions, his adams apple bobbing as your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“Let me worship you Astarion. You deserve to be tasted.” 

He propped himself on an elbow, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as that of some sort of challenge at your request, his unoccupied hand stretching out to grip your chin loosely in his hands, fingers tapping on the fullness of your cheeks. “Needy little thing.” 

The low tone of his voice caused you to rub your thighs together, trying to soothe the developing ache between them, a feeling you knew wouldn’t go away unless he helped you - until he conjured every single facet of his love and adoration for you to the tips of his fingers. “Who am I to refuse my love’s desires?” 

Loosening his grip on your face, he allowed you to tug at the fabric of his pants, lifting his hips slightly as you shed them off of him completely, fingers dancing up his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his cock that lay hard before you, slightly curved and sensitive. His tip glistened with wetness that formed a waterfall of saliva in your mouth to coat him with. 

It practically begged for attention, some sort of relief that you were more than willing to give by darting out your tongue, bobbing your head down his length, and taking him down your throat as far as you could.

Through spit-covered teeth, Astarion hissed lightly as you palmed him gently, the extra layers of skin doing little to help him catch his breath. It stretched at every tug of your hand, at every bob of your head as you took him further in your mouth, cheeks hollow and mouth wet, shining under mustard yellow hues from the surrounding landscape of the hidden field. 

He was fucking perfect lying beneath you like this, devoid of any sharp remarks, and scandalous comments - just a blubbering mess. A man formed by all things precious, and a subtle sort of stunning. 

“Gods, just like that, pet.” He bucked his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat so violently that you gagged, an encouraging hum causing his cock to throb in the expanse of your warm mouth. 

He could stay here forever, your lips closed around him, cheeks stained with tears, fingers from your other hand tracing figure eights on his pubic bone to occupy yourself further with pleasing him. Even with a brain filled with endless fog, the pale elf couldn’t recount the last time you had sucked him as if your entire existence depended solely on his pleasure. 

Hell, he wasn’t complaining at all. The noises escaping his esophagus were more than enough proof, and you were more than happy to make it known. 

You swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering the taste of him, pubic hairs tickling your nostrils as the tip of your nose made contact with the base of his shaft. His lower stomach couldn’t help but clench tightly, only contracting when your lips widened, jaw slacking as you quickened your pace. 

White heat coiled in his stomach, a sensation so euphoric to him that his back arched slightly, brows furrowing, a chorus of broken, muffled cries leaving his parted lips. He released his seed, spurting his arousal down your throat, something you swallowed without hesitation as you pulled away from him.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, Astarion narrowed them at the white puff of clouds painting the sky above through vibrant leaves, a tingle vibrating throughout his body as you straddled his hips, rocking against him gently as he peaked at you. “Isn’t there something else you crave?” 

The flesh of your mouth meets his pointed ear and his spine grows rigid, then he shudders in anticipation, in desire. His hands are under your blouse before you can utter anything else, following the dip of your lower back as you press yourself against him. 

“I want to be inside of you.” 

There it was. 

The seven words you’ve been wanting to hear ever since he took your hand and whisked you away into the horizon, a basket full of berries that currently sat discarded somewhere around the crumpled blanket, rotting away in the heat.

“I’d rip this off of you if you’d let me.” He whispered, thumbing at your shirt, hair tousled and out of its usual format of precise placement. 

He looked like heaven. He tasted like heaven. He felt like heaven. 

It was a mantra that you repeated in your head as he discarded the shirt that covered the swell of your breasts, nipples perking when he pinched them between his fingers, taking one of them in his mouth almost immediately after as if he were still famished. 

Fidgeting with the ends of your long skirt, you bunched the fabric up your thighs, fingers disappearing under the material to move your soaked underwear to the side, throbbing with need. “You know I would if the circumstances were different.” 

Ah, yes, the fact that you two were fucking like rabbits out in the open. A thrill that never ceased to make your heart beat quickly no matter how many times you both found yourselves in this position. 

“Yet you’re letting me take you in broad daylight.” 

It was hard not to smile at that. 

After all, he did have a point.

tags: @tallymonster, @astariongf, @scandalcus

[sinsolstice]

★ 彡 MEETING MIGUEL'S VARIANT. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA

⋆𐙚₊˚ premise: meeting miguel's variant of earth 2401. ⋆𐙚₊˚ tags: within the spiderverse universe. afab reader + variant miguel. ⋆𐙚₊˚ wc: 424

this miguel variant is from peachy's drawing of her miguel spidersona (definitely one of the artists that i admire a lot).

It happened so fast. One moment, you’re fighting off an anomaly in your assigned universe for a mission. And the next, you’re thrown across the fabric of time into a different world again.

Your back hits the bricked wall and you fall onto the ground with a thud. It hurts and you groan but still have the energy to get up and fight. Your body aches and your head is spinning, but you have a job to do. To protect the multiverse.

That is, until you hear the anomaly that you’re fighting, let out a cry of pain. You merely stand up on your two feet when you feel your spidey senses tingle. It’s not from danger but something else entirely. When you run towards the noise source where you think your enemy is, you find the anomaly tied in webs and hanging in the middle of the warehouse. 

The anomaly is tied in a spider’s webs and it makes sense of your intuition earlier. There’s another spider-hero variant other than you in this universe. 

“You need to be careful in the future if your enemy discovers that you can travel through time-space easily.” A voice says. “It would cause more problems in the future, no?” 

“I– thank you,” you say breathily. “He came out of nowhere. I didn’t mean for the anomaly to escape.” 

“It’s not a problem. Mistakes happened.” The man says. The moment he turns around to face you—to reveal himself—your eyes widen in disbelief. Other than the fact that you’re gawking because of his shirtless state, this man in front of you looks familiar. But it’s not the man you know. 

The full body muscular, eight-pack abs and huge biceps. The tattoos on his body; one on his left arm, right shoulder and the side back of his neck. A full Spider tattoo on the left, a covered shoulder tattoo on the right, and a large cross on his neck. He still has the same dark brown hair, but it’s a little messy and you spot a silver streak on the front. There’s a slit on his left brow, giving him that devilish look, with two silver hoop earrings.  

The red eyes of the man staring at you are exactly the same eyes of a man you know. But he’s not completely the man you know. And you didn’t think you find a version of him from this universe. “Miguel?” 

“You know me? Well, that makes it easier for me to skip the introductions then,” he smirks. “I am this dimension’s Spider-Man. What are you doing here, nena?” 

more links to my works and posts.

[boarloved-art]

[ID: two pieces with full body coloured sketches of wei wuxian and lan wangji from mo dao zu shi, in outfits from The Untamed. The first shows wei wuxian running, with a ponytail and a dark blue overrobe with a black leather belt and bracers, as well as a red underrobe. He is holding suibian in his right hand and tugging on the binding spell string with his right hand. Lan wangji is in his light blue travelling robes, with white underrobes, a white belt, and a silver headpiece, he is walking with one arm behind his back, and the other holding bichen. The second shows Lan wangji wearing plain white robes with faint cloud embroidery, he is holding a bloody bichen and thinking 'where tf is wei ying', and Wei wuxian in plain grey robes with a simple black overrobe and red bracers and belt. His hair is down and has streaks of grey, and there is a basket of radishes beside him. He is rolling his eyes with a fond expression at something offscreen and thinking 'man i miss lan zhan'. end ID]

this started off as lwj in my fave outfits from the untamed but...he looked so lonely without wei yings............so...

[fanaticsnail]

You Kissed the Clown? Part 1

(S1:E2 OPLA timeline)

Upon waking, you found yourself in an unfamiliar environment. Stuffed into a small crate with your three travelling companions, your dark haired friend referred to as a “crew”, your senses were still groggy from the crimson powder exploded above your small rigging.

After your “Captain”, Luffy, disclosed to the group he had consumed the map to the grand line to “keep it in a safe place”, the crate opened to reveal a darkened space. Applause rang throughout the area and your eyes were drawn to a spotlight being placed on a man dressed as a white lion. Several circus-type performers littered the room and directed the large crowd to respond with prompts written on large white panels held by several members. You noticed the features of the crowd were bearing terrified expressions, crying streaks littering their cheeks and some crusted over wounds adorning their faces and bodies.

Through the small opening of the red and white tent, a displeased figure appeared out of the shadows. You were immediately mesmerised by the figure, brightly coloured facial paint adorning his cartoonish features, a large brim hat with blue tassels hung over the folded edge and a collection of mismatched stripes, spots, fur and feather upon his physique. He had a dangerous air around him, full of malice, ill-temperament and a small amount of desperation amongst his features.

The blue haired man immediately berated his companions, yelling at them for the wrong timing, the queue being off, the lighting contrasting over a lion-like man instead of his own features. You looked to your green-haired swordsman companion, making brief eye contact with him and quirking up your brow in question. He shook his head at you and nodded back to bring your attention to the scene playing before you.

You had no idea how you were among this ragtag trio of misfits, especially as piracy was never an occupation you fancied for yourself. You and those within your family line were skilled jewellers; antiquity restoration, appraisal and fine gold and silver smithery was your trade. You and your father were requested to appear before Captain Morgan and add a new gem encrusted embellishment to his recently acquired new head for his Axe-Hand.

You witnessed the fight that was brought out with Helmeppo and several other marines at the skilled hands of Roronoa Zoro. At that point, your father decided he was no longer going to be working with Captain Morgan; no payment was enough to continue working for a man that allowed his child to bully those lesser than him. You were given a choice then to find your own way in the world and bring attention to your own skilled crafts or to sail home with your father to return to work in the shop as a finery smith. Opting for the former of the two, you bid farewell to your father and found yourself upon the small rigging with three companions of whom you had grown fond of.

Bringing you away from your thoughts and tuning back into the conversation, your gaze fell to your orange-haired friend, Nami, as she attempted to bribe the blue-haired clown with a new crew member with untold abilities. Before you could stop her, she threw Luffy’s straw hat into the air and bolted for the opening of the large tent. Two members of the circus crew managed to drag her back to the group which she then berated the jester before you for destroying the town the tent was situated in. The conviction she held in her voice sounded quite intimidating, but the clown just laughed in response. He used a small knife to cut a piece of apple and place it into his mouth, while nonchalantly saying he didn’t destroy everything in the town – he allowed the townspeople to keep their hands to applaud his act.

You inhaled through your nose deeply and widened your eyes at his comment, breathing out slowly through your mouth while fixating your gaze onto his relaxed form. He continued to look over the four of you with a twinkling smile as he consumed his crisp apple before his gaze fell over you.

“You,” he began, pointing at you with the small knife in his hand, “you have been awfully quiet.” He gestured to the rest of the crew with the same knife, “that one threatened me,” he said pointing at Zoro, “that one attempted to bribe me,” he pointed the knife at Nami while sauntering over to the spot you were situated, next to Luffi and Zoro.

“Your Captain lays claim to what’s rightfully mine,” he continued while stalking your form. Your eyes leave his form to look to your companions.

“Don’t you look away from me!” he yelled suddenly at you, causing you to flinch in response. Your body began to tremble slightly at his demands, not used to threats of great violence being thrown at you at a whim. He almost danced over to your place on the ground, bringing his body within an uncomfortable proximity to your own. He made no effort to hide his gaze raking over your body from the hair on your head to the shoes adorning your feet.

Although he had a large nose that immediately drew your attention to it, you couldn’t help but to notice the hue of his irises hidden amongst white, red and blue paint. The intensity of his gaze was drawing you in like a moth to a flame. The hue was akin to several fine gemstones you worked with in your family’s smithery. Jade, sapphire, tourmaline and emerald being the first stones that sprung to your mind while gazing at the angry and menacing clown before you.

“And what would you do, hm?” he condescendingly smirked at you, “you’re no fighter, by the looks of you.”

You held his gaze, staring deeply into his mischievous teal eyes while searching your mind for a response to his pointed question. He placed the small knife into his breast-pocket within his long fur coat and stalked slowly over to you like an animal prowling over to their meal. You trailed your eyes over his form slowly, raking and sizing him up with a small amount of unbridled suggestion held behind your eyelids.

Unsure if what came over you was bravery, stupidity or something else entirely, you reached your right hand forward and swiftly grasped the mustard coloured cravat hanging tightly from his neck and pulled him into you with all of your strength and successfully closed the distance between your bodies.

He was right of course, you were no fighter. Your skills lay in appraising fine metals, gemstones and hand whittled crafts. You read books filled with fairytales, poetry and refrains whispered between lovers. With your occupation, an aura of charisma would often aid in sales; whether you were doing the buying or the selling. You were known far and wide in your homeland as someone with a small amount of flirtatious charm, which was why you were asked to aid your father in his journey to the “tight-pocket” Captain Morgan. You were to charm him as you did many others, swindling them out of their apprehensions and bringing more berry to the till of your family’s business.

A shocked whimper left the lips of the Genius Jester as you tenderly placed your own lips against his, bringing your left hand to his side and using it to bring his body flush against your own, cradling him into a tender embrace. Your eyes were closed as you deepened the kiss shared between you. You began using your lips to open his and caressing them slightly with your tongue.

You slowly felt him relax into your embrace as he placed one hand to the back of your head and the other hand wove itself around you, placing it to the small of your back. He almost gently laced his gloved hand into your hair and held you tightly against him. He released a stifled gasp into your mouth as the hand on your lower back squeezed slightly, pressing your bodies closer together. You released your right hand and moved it tenderly from his cravat to his jaw, feeling the slightly prickled skin beneath his painted face.

Not a word was uttered, silence engulfing the space. In this instance, nothing existed to either of you apart from the moment you were sharing with one another. The map? Gone from both of your minds as you held each other tenderly. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into him as you began lacing your fingers into the hair peaking out from the bottom of his broad hat. You snaked your left hand around his waist, beneath his fur coat and raked your fingertips over his skin, causing him to moan into your mouth and cradle you further into him.

You utilized your head to nudge his own head upward for you to deepen the kiss further. Trailing your hand from the hair under his hat down towards his neck and exploring his pectorals, you massaged down his body while holding him tightly and skillfully in this heated embrace. Your fingers began to explore the flesh of his back, lifting the material slightly to expose his flesh to your administrations.

He did not withhold any sounds from escaping his lips, as small groans released from his lips between kisses alerted you to how much he was truly enjoying your touch. You even allowed some gasps to escape your own lips as you continued to caress, massage and cradle him to yourself as he held you.

You were not foreign to the romantic touch of others by any means, but this kiss felt unlike anything you had experienced prior. You could almost feel his desire for affection as he hungrily held your body against him. Waves of loneliness escaped from his form and onto you as he began to be filled instead with your freely given affection, unlike the painted women he would pay berry for their time.

He groaned slightly and furrowed his brows together at the thought, releasing your lips from his own and holding you to him. His eyes bore into your own as your lips parted from one another, almost gazing into your very soul with the intensity he held.

Without warning, he pushed you from his body and swatted your hands from their position on his back. He turned to face away from you and brought his gaze to your captain before monologuing.

“Ok, here end the theatrics,” he began as the spot lights filter onto the four of you.

“I know one of you have my map, and I’m gonna get it back,” he said with malicious intent.

“What was it you said, rubber boy? That it was ‘in a safe place’?” he mocked with a small glint in his eye. Luffy looked to you in confusion.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I have eyes and ears everywhere,” he laughed. You trailed your eyes over his features, noticing the paint over his lips appeared more smudged than it had been moments prior. You then began to imagine how your face may appear after you shared the kiss with him moments prior.

“So,” he clapped his hands together and looked to his gang of circus members, “please make our guests uncomfortable in the green room.”

You felt hands clasp your wrists. You looked around to see a large man in a leotard grasping your form before you looked back to the clown. Your eyes met briefly once more, an unfamiliar emotion that could almost be described as a combination apprehension, longing and desire located in his eyes as your body was dragged to another location, this time without your captain amongst you.

You held little resistance as your body was escorted away. You looked to Luffy once more and attempted to reassure him with a nod as you walked briskly to be caged with your friends.

Nami was placed in a small cage suspended above the ground, whereas Zoro was bound to a large spinning wheel. As they were placed into these positions, their movements protesting and making it difficult for your captors to place them in these restricting positions; you held no such apprehension.

An aura of calm was coming from your form, confusing the large leotard-clad man. You placed your wrists together and held them out in front of you with a shrug and almost taunted him with how easy you were making this for him. His brows knit together in a puzzled fashion as he began to bind your hands in rope and tie you to a post away from your companions.

Once successfully restrained, the circus people left you with your thoughts as cries of laughter were echoing to the chamber that sounded like it was being pulled from the mouth of your captain.

“You kissed the clown?” uttered your green-haired, tri-sword wielding companion in a low accusatory tone, “why did you kiss the clown?”

You laughed slightly at the question, looking down at your bonds as you wiggled your hands against the tightly clasped rope, testing it for any sort of weakness amongst the restraint.

“I honestly can say I have no idea,” you smiled while pressing your knee against the post you were bound to with a small shove to assess its strength.

“It was incredibly stupid,” Nami commented from her enclosure, “if you were that touch-starved, I’m sure Zoro or Luffy wouldn’t have minded if you wanted to give them a little smooch.”

You turned your gaze over to Nami momentarily before rolling your eyes.

“Oh please,” you replied, “Zoro, I’m sure you are a wonderful kisser but unfortunately you don’t quite have what I’m looking for.”

He scoffed slightly at the comment while you moved your hands down to the hilt of your belt and began searching the folds of your skirts with your wrists.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, what does the dangerous clown-man have that Zoro doesn’t?” Nami asked with a teasing tone. Your wrists find the object within your belt and you smiled broadly, gripping it and bringing it to the light.

“Right now?” you said with a small twinkle in your eyes as you held the small object up to your new friends, "a knife."

For the first time in a while, the three of you shared a laugh before you all began to attempt an escape from the bonds of the green room.

Part 2

[saliosis]

happy halloweeen!! here's my take on a "core refresh" pack (part 6)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 + more under cut

frankie's fashion is very experimental. they like to explore themselves through what they wear since they're just learning things about the world. to symbolize their personality, they have a "quirky" style of fashion. mostly mismatched, mostly all over the place. there's not really a category for frankie's style... not that i can think of. they like to wear anything, honestly. dresses, suits, overalls, shirts, shorts, boots, heels. they're trying to figure out their style, so sometimes they'll incorporate some more colors. they like black and white, but they add teal in. yellow is another color added.

they don't wear real/natural silver because they've learned that this can harm their fellow monsters. any silver accessories they have is fake (painted grey, because that's a way to work around it)

they experiment with piercings

this was in my og design, but they have a huge patch over their left eye. it's plaid, so sometimes they try their best to match their outfits well enough for them to look aesthetically pleasing

likes patterns. stripes, plaid, etc. etc.

clawdeen's fashion is furry and bold. again, this is the fashionista of the school. she is the queen of fashion. again, she likes fur and animal print. whatever she chooses to wear is what usually sets the trends and expectations for those at monster high. she loves to explore herself though. i'd say her style evolves, but these are the main ideas of her fashion. she loves purple, but she also loves green. maybe has a french fashion inspiration? i don't really know how to label it. it's sort of mcbling, but also the style you'd expect of a very cunty aunt who likes shopping. she likes pants best, ngl. jeans are great. skirts are fine by her, she just loves pants.

i like the idea of clawdeen constantly changing up her style. yes, she can also wear something like her g3 outfits. much more coordinated. what i've displayed is the style that takes up most of her closet, tho

she wears glasses, but she has different pairs for each outfit

green is a color she loves so much but doesn't make use of it enough

the wolf family has a little emblem thing i've snuck onto each. it's a golden circle pendant with a small moon on the inside, two little bars holding up the design so it floats. it could also look like a money symbol... idk like coins. it's good luck. mostly for money manifesting and all. she runs with the gold and goes crazy. only gold, no bronze accessories. ever.

on days of the full moon, she will wear super loose clothing. the moon cycles could also impact her fashion choices.

draculaura's fashion is very iconic. a sort of gothy, classic, and romantic sort of look. i'd say she likes to take a spin on victorian styles and make them modern... while also mashing together those 2010s pink/black skull prints and tees that we all know and love. i really like the idea of her in a long dress that hits the floor. i would say she's romantic goth. she likes frills, long ball gowns, lace, and hats that can cover her from the sun whenever she has to travel outside in the daytime. lots of slip dresses if she wants to be more casual. elegance, but done cutely.

the silhouette of an outfit is what matters most to her when it comes to fashion

if she wears a skirt, she wears a big petticoat underneath. a very big petticoat

her parasol can be used interchangeably with a large hat. she always wants either or to match her outfit. and they are always kind of extra

her "victorian" style is a sort of nod to her immortality. she probably likes that fashion period best and likes to try and honor that

i like the idea of her experimenting with her hair. it was a g3 idea, kinda. but bangs, streaks, half and half, etc. i like to imagine draculaura being into the big goth hair

cleo's style is very similar to her g1 style. gold. blues. elegant, fresh, modern, and incredibly easy on the eyes. obviously, she loves to flaunt her designer clothing around school. and since she is so popular, it's expected for her to serve look after look. you will never ever see her look bad. every cleo portrayal i've seen never has enough mummy wrap. she needs it to survive and yet, she only has like, one or two bands on her arms. my cleo's fashion is all about wrap-themed clothing. she has lots of wraps. sometimes she comes up with ways to mix that or even show off her monster trait and heritage. she loves see-through, glittery material too, obviously paired on top of something. but it's glamourous. it's rich. it's sometimes a little 90s inspired, but mostly fresh.

this cleo loves pants. loose pants work, i suppose. but she likes them baggy. one of the best examples of what she likes to wear for pants would be those baggy pyramid-textued pants i designed for her once

gets custom made jewelry (braclets, earrings, etc) that spell out her name in hieroglyphics

likes shorter skirts, but secretly admires longer skirts ten times more

blue lover. any shade. try her. she will obviously mix around her makeup, nails, and hair to work around whatever blue she's feeling

loves gems. lots of gems. real ones, obviously.

doesn't like socks very much. she can literally just do the same thing socks do for feet with mummy wrap. same with stockings

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[hivemuthur]

Wait Ten Seconds

Okay, a tiny little break from Viktor, as I present you a request for my awesome friend, @aristenfromwarsaw! Thank you for having faith in me to write this, heh. Also, this is my fav screenshot of Astarion and Aristen, her Durge, just look at them :')

spawn!Astarionxfemale!redeemed!DU (fandom: BG3), explicit!

word count: 2,5K

summary: set in act III, after defeating Cazador and Orin. Not specified, but I can imagine them having a date before the doomed day of confronting the absolute and chilling somewhere in Rivington, away from people and the rest of the team :')

author's note: so nervous about publishing this, that I forgot to mention the undeniable blessing by my smut fairy, @rennethen, thank you!

—

She was fidgeting, to the point of Astarion wincing as he brought the wine and plopped down next to her on the blanket. The closer they were to their final goal, the more layers were peeled back, revealing the truth underneath. And Aristen’s truth lay very close to Astarion’s. The parallels were almost uncanny—two powerful creatures, made and shaped by another, more powerful, to be stripped of will and judgment and commit crimes nearly beyond redemption. Both beautiful, nearly deadly so. Both now free, though at a horrific price that included a lot of death, and their friends close to bleeding out.

And Astarion knew. He knew what it was like to swat away that extended hand, the one that carried a promise of eternal power and greatness without limitations. He knew how hard it had been for him when he held his dagger over Cazador’s head, his eyes darting to all his friends, who froze in fear of what he was going to do next. Their questioning faces, minds grinding gears, silently pleading with him not to do it. So he didn’t. And a mixture of relief and grief washed over him as they walked back through the corridors of the musky dungeon, their shirts soaked in blood, grime, and the dusty remnants of undead bodies. The stench was unbearable, nearly as bad as in the temple of Bhaal.

But after that came true reprieve. And suddenly, the price of his freedom felt small. Who needed the sun when he could have her? So he confessed his love and giddiness, and Aristen accepted it—all of it. Living under the stars and figuring out what would come next. If, of course, they survived the Netherbrain.

She kept fisting the blanket and biting the inside of her cheek. So he waited ten seconds before being an absolute freak and licking her face to snap her out of it.

“Wha— Why are you being gross?” She blinked, wiping the spit off her face with the top of her hand. But there was a smile, and Astarion sighed, relieved that such a thing could still take place.

“Copper piece for your thoughts?” he asked, passing her a carafe of Amnian Dessert. She took it wordlessly, their fingers brushing, and Astarion winced at the warmth of her skin. She gulped down three sips and forced herself not to burp.

“I… I feel you already know what I’m thinking about,” she said, offering him a sad smile.

“Humour me. Consider me a half-wit that needs everything spelled out for him.” His hands travelled up her knees to her hips, pulling her to slot between his spread legs. Once a safe space was created between them, Astarion tilted the bottle to her lips, pouring some of the wine down her throat.

She chuckled and shot him a look. “You don’t have to get me drunk if you want something, you know that, right?”

A drop of red streaked from the corner of her mouth, sliding down the side of her throat, and Astarion kissed it away. He purred at the rhythm of her heart, beating for the both of them, before nuzzling his nose into the crook of her shoulder.

“Hmm, I know that. But for this particular something, I feel you might need some liquid courage,” he murmured, entwining his fingers at the small of her back. “What is bothering you, my love?”

“Sometimes… I pray for the Netherbrain to win, so I don’t have to… remember,” she whispered into the silver of his hair, the words bitter on her tongue.

Astarion shifted. His eyes shot up to meet hers, and his hands cupped her neck. Again, with the drumming of that heart. He pressed his thumbs into her larynx, gently, a warning. He gritted his teeth, words balancing on the scale in his head, and asked, “What is more? Love or self-loathing?”

“What?” she croaked, her brows furrowing.

“Which do you feel stronger? The love or the hate?” Astarion’s voice was firm, as though he needed to insist. “And why, of all people, would you be the one beyond redemption?” He waited another ten seconds. No response came, only blinking.

“You get to start over. To be the person you want to be—not what someone else made you to be,” he whispered, his tone dipping dangerously low. Not sultry. It was the same tone he used when he was being honest. The same tone he used when he tried to wince away from an attempt to bite her, all those months back. “As do I. And I want to start over with you. Do you?”

“Oh gods, you know I do,” Aristen breathed finally, her voice inevitably cracking, tears pushing their way through the corners of her eyes. “What if I am, though? Beyond redemption?”

“Am I?” As usual, a precise shot. A rogue instinct took over, and Astarion planted his trap skilfully. He intended to wait another ten seconds, but she was faster.

“No, of course not.” Her warm hands were on his cheeks so fast, thumbs rubbing into the hollows of them, and if Astarion could flush, he would have. He shifted closer, caging her in.

“Then why would you be?” Seeing a thought forming, words already dripping off her tongue, he placed his fingers on her lips. “I will talk, and you will listen. You're no monster. You’ve saved me more times than I can count—” a sound from between his fingers cut him off.

Astarion shifted again, letting a single "but" slip away from her. He wrapped one hand around her waist, while the free palm moved to cover her mouth completely. “You will listen to me now.”

He waited ten seconds, and Aristen nodded, her eyes glued to his. His hand slid to cup her neck instead, their foreheads touching. Cold breath fanned her face as he spoke.

“I come from a life I cannot remember, which in itself proves how unremarkable it was. That life ended, and another began, and that one I remember very well. I remember every torture, every rat I was given, every slap, and every lover I led to their death. And it’s all very harrowing—the way it reminds me I do have a soul,” he confessed on a fabricated breath.

“And then you come. And you undo it all, piece by painful piece. Two centuries of pure shit. In a span of time that is merely a glimpse compared to two hundred years, you manage to defy a god, defeat my jailor, and yet you sit here crying—I wish you would stop; it’s utterly distracting,” he murmured, wiping the tears from her cheek. She allowed a hiccupped chuckle to escape her throat.

“Nothing ever gets undone, not entirely. But we get to rebuild ourselves from the rubble. So I ask again—what is more?” Astarion waited one second. Less than one second.

“Love. Love is more,” she said, nodding, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gave him a kiss full of salt. “Love me,” she pleaded, her hands fisting the frills of his collar, fingers ghosting over the two puncture marks on his neck, and Astarion’s unfabricated breath hitched.

“I do. With all of my eternal undead heart, I do,” he murmured against her lips, his fangs dangerously close to the tender flesh of red, but he was careful. Mouths touched, his tongue doing most of the work—licking, fighting hers for dominance. His hands had already travelled under her skirts, working to rid her of an offensive pair of breeches. He swung her legs to one side to slide them off, fumbling at her ankles as she tried to help but only caused more trouble than if she hadn’t.

While Astarion fumbled with those, she began unlacing his trousers, her breath stuttering at the coolness of his skin. Every inch of Astarion was so beautiful and she had it all memorized so well, she didn’t have to look, but she did, always, nevertheless. And Astarion remembered her as well, but he wasn’t looking. Too busy leaving open-mouthed kisses all the way up her legs, one of his fangs catching on the lace of her skirts in a rush.

Aristen couldn’t help a chuckle, having done her part of undressing him as she pulled him closer by the laces of his pants, now hanging loosely from his fly.

“First she cries, then she laughs me out, the audacity,” he rasped, placing his hands on either side of her waist and meeting her in a kiss. Deep and unhurried, Astarion let his tongue slip between her lips once again, as his hands travelled up her ribcage to cup her breasts through the material

Aristen let out a gasp and quickly unbuttoned her shirt, welcoming his cool touch against the heat of a summer night. Astarion growled at the motion and splayed himself flat on top of her, hooking one of her legs with his knee. The kissing deepened, and soon his mouth travelled with no particular destination, sucking on the pulse point below her ear, ghosting over her collarbone and flicking at each of her nipples.

He pulled himself up to cage her in, gently tracing her jaw and cupping her cheek. Another kiss lasting ten seconds, all tongue and as little teeth as Astarion could do, emotion seeping from it. When his lips left hers, it was only so his mouth could travel to her jaw, throat and sternum. His hands cupped her breasts, and oh, the weight of them, the softness, felt so sweet against his cool skin.

Astarion was very good with both—the words and the body. It was all very much rehearsed and carefully constructed into a self, that would shield his other self from showing. But with Aristen, his other self was slowly crawling out, so he let it. He let himself be desperate and wanting, to meet her unsure, wounded self. As equals.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, causing her spine to arch into the touch. “So needy,” Astarion teased, spitting on one of her breasts to ease the friction and pressing his mouth to the other. The contrast between the callouses of his thumb and softness of his lips made parts of her clench on nothing. She tugged on his hair, scraping his scalp and Astarion hummed into her skin.

The hum evolved into a chuckle, once Aristen released a muffled whimper and it only got worse for her. His lips travelled to the other side, leaving her skin glistening with his spit and exposed. She could feel featherlight kisses being placed all the way from her nipple, down, down to her ribcage, stomach, hip bone, until his mouth reached the crease of her thigh. And there, Astarion waited ten seconds.

Mouth hovering over her core, breath fanning, nose smelling. Then, a kiss, and she gasped. And then, finally, his lips closed around her, tongue teasing, licking into her slit. A gentle suck, to make her breath stutter, only to release her with a wet pop and Aristen whined.

With a ghost of a smile, Astarion’s mouth went back to roam up and down her rib cage, hands trailed down her sides to rest in the creases of her thighs. He then pulled away to sit on the balls of his heels and seeing the look on her face, he just said, “Patience, my love.”

He picked up her leg by the foot and placed a soft kiss at the flat of her ankle. Then, an agonizing lick to her pulse point. And agonizing for both of them, Astarion could add. Then, hot fast kisses all the way down her calf, her thigh, to finally splay himself flat between her legs.

Their eyes locked as he gave her cunt a reverent kiss. Both obscene and loving, as he stared into her soul and Aristen chuckled, trying to chase the flush away from her cheeks.

He licked against her clit, and feeling her body jerk he splayed a flat palm on her stomach to pin her down, the other arm wrapped around her thigh. Working her slowly until her sweet scent filled his nostrils, Astarion slid his fingers down her belly and teased her entrance. Once inside, he curled them, and Aristen moaned, her neck tensing, throat exposed.

Feeling her closing in on her climax, he made a switch. Mouth travelled down to fuck her with his tongue, thumb spreading her slick around the clit. And if this was his last meal, he would die fed. He would also die deaf, as her thighs closed in around his ears, her body tensing and flexing, fingers curling in his hair desperately. Her heels dug into his shoulder blades, and she felt her soul leaving her body, travelling straight into Astarion’s mouth, her voice echoing in the night around them.

Astarion waited ten seconds, just to watch her. To watch her chest rising and falling, to watch her eyes gloss over him, over his cock hanging free, painfully hard. He gave himself a few slow strokes, spreading precum from the tip to the root. Then, he shifted to all fours, reaching out for her hand to guide it between his legs. A warm hand replaced the cold one as she rubbed his tip with her thumb before flicking her wrist down to a long stroke against his length.

“No one touches me like you touch me,” he murmured against her mouth. “Take me and keep me forever,” Astarion said, meaning Take me and love me forever.

“Only if you take me and keep me forever,” she replied, her voice already fucked-out, bedroom eyes staring back into his. With that answer, he removed her hand, kissed her knuckles in gratitude and placed his hips between her legs. He rubbed his cock against her wetness to coat himself in her slick before teasing the entrance. The first few thrusts were shallow and Astarion glued his eyes to her face, watching her mouth fall open wider and wider, before sinking fully inside.

Once buried up to the hilt, he begun to thrust slowly and deeply into her. His movements were unhurried, his pubic bone pressing on her clit, rebuilding the pressure within her. His arms wrapped around her, chests pressed together, mouths touching, exchanging breaths. Her legs encircled his waist to seal the bond. Rocking their bodies toward completion, Astarion whispered, “I love all of you.”

She mouthed his name back to him, voice lost in her throat, as her walls clenched around him, and they reached the peak together. Bodies shook, fingers dug into flesh. He spilled himself inside her, head falling into the crook of her neck. And Astarion waited ten seconds, and then another ten seconds, and another, before sleep took both of them over, entangled, connected by their cores, and their hearts.

[m1d-45]

hey! not sure if ur taking requests but would love it if u cld.....my mind has been stuck on this for a while

I almost didn't get wanderer on his banner and it broke my heart. From the second I first saw to the little emo boy in the archon quest I've wanted him on my team and was so excited when they announced his banner.... I even prefarmed for him ;-;

But I lost the 50/50 (got tighnari ;-;) and calculated that I'd have only 50 pulls before his banners gone.....I've never gotten a character before 70 pulls so I got really sad and decided on a whim to build heizou since I had the teams and artifacts ready and I even started having fun with him when randomly at 23 pity guess who I get!!!

So I've kinda been living in my own little daydream(delusion xD) that wanderer got jealous of me having fun with heizou and came home.... could I request a sagau drabble or hc or something similar to my insanity totally fine if you can't 🥰🥰🥰

near miss

word count: ~500

-> warnings: spoilers for wanderer lore, minor spoilers for heizou lore, author once again dances around wanderer’s name

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

for being the creator, all knowing and all present, you were missed quite often.

your wanderer sat in his banner, looking down at your party as you travelled teyvat. he’d missed your first star shower on account of giving a lecture, and by the time he’d seen the star streaking toward the forest through the window, it had been too late. news of the forest ranger stealing what was his spread quickly, something akin to resentment burning in his chest.

but not this time. he was determined not to miss you again. your attention had been on him for so long; surely you didn’t think he’d just roll over now that you’d invested in someone else? no, he’d wait.. even if it hurt watching you.

shikanoin heizou. the sharpest detective in inazuma—or even teyvat, if you were particularly inclined to praise him. you’d given heizou what you had planned to give him, and he hated it. he was right here, he was listening, he didn’t have any more lectures for the week, so why did you have to insist on keeping your stars to yourself?

(it was his fault. if only he’d paid more attention, as you had so graciously given him…)

“maybe… i’ll get lucky?”

he snapped out of his mind, aware of your presence all at once. he could feel his heart in his fingers where he pressed at the boundaries, and he searched the sky around him despite knowing he’d never see you.

(luck. ‘lucky.’ he’d make his way to you if he had to crawl. what part of that was chance?)

his hat was already discarded in his inventory, so nothing would hinder him from following your star. all he had to do was wait for you… and hope you’d send them out at all.

you wouldn’t settle for heizou, would you? he knows you were enjoying yourself, but that didn’t mean you’d forget about him… right?

a beam of light split the silence, and he pushed at the edges of his banner to reach for them. but even reaching as far as he could, he barely brushed the edge of the star.

it was warm. even that glimpse of heaven set his heart beating a little quicker, purple mist lingering around his fingers.

again. he won’t miss it this time, he swears. don’t settle for a detective when you could have…

…him. would he be enough for you?

the skies split in two, another bright purple star beginning to fall. he reached, grabbing onto the handle of a polearm. with a sharp pull, he was set free from his banner, the silver spear flung elsewhere. hopefully you wouldn’t miss that.

if he’d thought the star from before was warm, then the fall back to the earth was burning hot. your light enveloped his entire being, stealing the air in his lungs. his surroundings were whipped away, replaced with a bright feeling only describable as divine.

still, he landed on his feet. with shaky hands he placed his hat back on his head, allowing himself a proud smile.

“welcome home, wanderer.”

[harryssattelitestomper]

Thirty, flirty and thriving in Paris (Harry Styles)

Warnings: None?

Wordcount: 640

A/N: Please someone teach me how to write dialog.

Inspired by the pictures below 😍

As the first rays of the sun painted streaks of gold across the London skyline, I stirred from my slumber, excitement coursing through my veins. Today marked the beginning of our much-anticipated travel to Paris. "Morning, lovie" Harry said quetly into the early morning.

"Morning, we really need to get up and pack, love"

"Just five more minutes." He said as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him.

"Harry, you were the one who wanted to leave the packing until this morning." My voice hardly heard since I was pressed against Harry's chest. But he heard me clearly.

"I know." Harry groaned and got up from the bed, pulling me along with him.

With a sense of purpose, we rose from our bed, our movements still lazy as we packed our suitcases. Harry, with his tousled hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, folded his shirts with practiced precision, while I, like the messy person I am, threw most of my stuff into the suitcase.

The bedroom buzzed with anticipation as we made our final preparations. Amidst the hurry of making it in time, we still managed to steal moments of stolen glances and shared smiles, our love a silent melody that echoed in the midst of even the busiest of moments.

With our suitcases in tow, we ventured out into the front of our house, where an uber was waiting for us. Me and Harry made our way into the uber, sitting side my side. Me, still tired from the early wake-up, rested my head on Harry's shoulder (I may or may not have fallen asleep for the entirety of the ride to the airport).

At last, we arrived at the busy airport, the hum of departure lounges and the scent of jet fuel filling the air. With tickets in Harry's hand and hearts full of excitement, we boarded the flight to Paris.

As the plane soared into the boundless sky, London faded into the distance, replaced by the promise of adventure and romance that awaited us. And as we settled into our seats in first-class, Harry made me sleep again, knowing how cranky I get when I'm tired.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon our arrival in Paris, we were greeted by the enchanting sights and sounds of the city. The Eiffel Tower stood tall against the azure sky, its silhouette a beacon of romance that beckoned them forth.

After settling into their charming Parisian hotel, adorned with vintage accents and overlooking the Seine, we dropped our luggage off to our room and went straight out to explore the city's culinary delights. Our first stop was a small cafe nestled in a cobblestone alley, which was almost empty.

Seated at a cozy table for two, we chatted quietly, both of us still slightly tired, and ate some flaky pastries. We lingered over cups of rich coffee, lost in conversation and the simple pleasure of being together in a city alive with possibility.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, we finally ventured out into the bustling streets of Paris once more. Hand in hand, we strolled along the banks of the Seine, the river shimmering in the twilight like a ribbon of liquid silver.

Our evening ended in a candlelit dinner at a charming bistro tucked away in a hidden courtyard, where the air was alive with the melodies of street musicians and the scent of freshly bloomed flowers. Over glasses of velvety red wine and plates of delicious French cuisine, we laughed and shared stories.

And as we walked back to the hotel, beneath the twinkling stars, we knew that our adventure in Paris was just beginning - a journey of discovery, of love, and of the timeless magic that could only be found in the City of Love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm begging for someone to teach me how to write dialog!!

[priestessame]

Sesshomaru -`♡´-

"Be no fool, I have no such time to waste" or so he said - sry

Fem AFAB reader x Sesshomaru

Warnings: Breeding kink, oral receiving, knotting, unprotected sex, Sesshomaru is a tease.

Minors DNI

(Re-upload from my old account :P)

"Did it surprise you?" He asked, voice like the patter of rain.

"It did," I said testily. I didn't have anything against sitting around having small talk, but I was for once, still coming to terms with the vision before me. The daiyokai of the west sitting there. Without an Armor, dressed in only the thin layer of his inner kimono. As he sat on the other side of the mattress, lounging, the inner, hung around his huge shoulders lazily, baring his pale smooth skin. I had never seen so much of it before, never seen the faint battle scars that rippled across the skin like dunes across silver sand.

I forced myself to look at his face. Not that it was any better. He was gorgeous, ridiculously so. The sharp lines of his face seemed to grow deeper in the moonlight, amber mauve eyes perched on me full of amusement. He wasn't the cold demon lord right then, it was a lover's vision. Sitting across from me, his silver hair beautifully tousled, a sight for me to keep. He wouldn't let anyone else see him like that, being so vulnerable. It wasn't just the breath's distance between us that was intimate, it was the space we were in too.

Most of the time Sesshomaru was a fleeting moment, gone before I could catch him, a silver streak across the sky. But now, sitting right here, he seemed to have all the leisure of time. He was past sneaking glances, right now right here he could gaze at her all he wanted and drink in every inch of her body.

"Would you have preferred separate chambers?" he mused, leaning forward, the inner kimono drew back exposing more of his skin. I hated how he knew exactly what he was doing. And what that was doing to me. I pursed my lips, trying to push down the urge to jump at him.

The last time I was here, I had my own chambers. The one closest to Sesshomaru's quarters. They were ice blue and faced the plum flower trees, I had made myself quite at home there. This time when I was here with the others, I was expecting to stay in my own chambers again, But surprisingly, ‘the others’ my two companions, Sara and Kagura were the ones who were given that room. I shouldn't have felt bitter, I had no right to. After all, I was just a guest of Sesshomaru's now, just like I had been before, nothing more. But I did.

I tasted the bitterness as Sara and Kagura squealed in excitement and hurried into the chambers I had once stayed in. I followed them awkwardly, the turquoise blue drapes, the gold-ornate embellishes on the walls it was all exactly the same. Exactly as I had remembered. The two ran past me, into the huge chamber. I was annoyed at how my heart sank. But I shook off the feeling and kindly asked the attendant where I was supposed to stay. But the cat demon had just blinked at me stupidly.

"I'm sorry my lady I don't understand." she said tilting her head, "Lord Sesshomaru specifically said, that you would be staying with him, in his lordship's chambers."

My soul had transcended there and then, but Sara and Kagura's expressions had brought it back.  Asshole. lady. He had made them call me lady.

"I-its alright," I said, pulling my attention away from his face. It was annoying how much I wanted him, for just how long I had wanted him. I had only gazed at him before, resting against the tree, the white fluffy thing pooling around him like starlight. Stupid demon mutt, with ridiculous body proportion and stupid ass fucking gorgeous eyes. Argh.  When I had first met him, I had found him unreadable and distant. Someone unattainable, a lone god. Rising and slumbering in his own world. The closest I had come to touching him was when we had traveled through the underworld, I remembered how my palms were pressed against the hash cold metal of his armor. It was less being held and more me clinging on for dear life. But that was the first time he had felt real. Blood, bone, and flesh. Not just some deity, melting into sunlight, but someone tangible. Someone who could be felt. Someone who could be touched.

Clearly, we had come a long way from then, I now had the unattainable God at arm's length, half-naked leisurely awaiting for me to come to him. And to think he wanted me as much as I wanted him was really too good to be true. As much as I wanted to dive in his arms, I was quite enjoying the attention. The great Sesshomaru, proud as one can be, was so shamelessly trying to entice a human girl…Not that I was any better. I had really pulled out my thigh-high socks, who wore those to bed? I had even kissed my oversized jammies goodbye and put on a kimono, which I had worn more like a bathrobe than a garment. It fell open embarrassingly high, and my entire leg was out on display. Unknowingly it had become a competition of who went to whom first.

His fingers ran through my hair, my heart was hammering away with anticipation. How many times had I thought of this moment? How many times I had dreamed of it?

His fingers trailed down my thigh sending goosebumps across my body. That's it.

My body reacted before I could complete my thought. I threw my hand around his neck, pressing myself against his body until our lips met with a crushing force. His mouth was hard on mine, but it came with an edge of desperation I didn’t quite expect. He growled against my mouth, fingers digging into my hips as he pulled me so that I was sitting in his lap. I pulled apart for a breath, but he closed the distance instantly. Through his kisses I could feel his fangs bite at my lower lip, sucking and pulling desperately. I moaned as I felt his tongue pry into my mouth. But I was feeling a little bratty. I clamped my mouth shut, refusing entry. I could feel his annoyance as he growled, he raised his fingers to trace my jaw, thumb pressing against my lip.

"Open." he rasped, it was definitely a command and I felt thrills of excitement run down my spine. I pulled my mouth open and his fingers slid in. I gagged as he pushed them further. There was something so dirty about him exploring my mouth like that, the way they traced over my teeth and rubbed against my tongue, but it turned me on even more. more. I needed more.

His rough kisses snaked down my jaw to my shoulder.

He yanked the fabric of the kimono past my shoulders and I yelped as the cold air hit my bare skin. He trailed his rough kisses down my throat, pulling, bitting the skin, teasingly. With the roughness there was an ease with which his mouth worked over my body, he was taking his time savoring tasting my skin. His fingers were still buried in my hips holding me in place as his mouth found my breasts. I could feel his bulge grow against my thigh, as he brought his arms up along my sides, nails scaping skin lightly. My palms pressed against his broad chest, sliding over his neck down to his tone stomach. I groaned as his fingers raked my body. His kisses slipping between my breasts, as his fingers squeezed and teased them. Fingers and palms pressing and rolling over my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down my spine. His hands and fingers were teasing, but his mouth was rough and desperate. He would pull the skin and bite my breasts so deliciously I wanted to throw my head back and arch into him, give him more skin to explore and claim.

My fingers dug into his skin, trailing down his tone arms and chest. I traced his abbs lower, fingers finally brushing against the hard bulge between his legs.  Sesshomaru snarled from the pleasure, but he just swatted my hand away. "tsk." he exclaimed, "You don't get to touch me tonight human," he drawled out, "Tonight is about me claiming you."

I blinked, claiming- what?

Long fingers undoing the obi around my waist, "You had no idea how to tie it, did you?" He sniggered, finally pulling the knot open. His fingers dug into my sides and left haunting kisses down the rest of my body. I mewled out as his fingers traced my lower abdomen, "No," I admitted, "But it seems to get the job done-" my breath stuck in my chest as his palm brushed against my core.

He arched an eyebrow, "Now you blush?"

He could easily see my dampness through my underwear, he traced a ghost of a touch along the darkened wet spot. He pressed into it lightly and I bit my lip, that fucking tease. Whatever impatience he had before, seemed to have abandoned him completely. Now that he had me under him like this, he was taking all the sweet time in the world. Rubbing me through my panties, drawing patterns with his fingers, when he finally tugged them down his nailed ripped through them.

"H-hey!" I cried, "I liked those, you don't get easily washable material like that in the feudal-". His finger slipped inside and I moaned as I felt my walls wrap around him. I had wanted something inside me for so fucking long. But he slipped it out before I could entirely enjoy it. "You're so wet," he growled, his fingers curled around my thighs as he pushed them up, kissing my knee. He continued to lower himself, trailing a path down my inner thigh. I felt my heart stop as his breath brushed against my core. "Let's see just how wet you can get for this Sesshomaru."

His tongue stroked my folds, and I bit my lip to keep myself from screaming. His tongue teased the folds, slippery lewd sounds echoed off the chamber walls as he continued to eat me out. His mouth reached my clit sucking it lightly and I couldn't help it anymore. Pathetic moans tumbled from my lips, my hips buckling and twitching to his tongue.

As busy as his mouth was, he still found ways to taunt me, “Look at you, mewling like a bitch in heat.” he snarled against my core,

"i- ah I-!" I could no longer comprehend words, pleasure burned into my core as he continued to tease my clit with his tongue, his thumb rubbing circles around my entrance. The orgasm tore from her as her walls squelched helplessly, Sesshomaru gave my clit a final flick and my body buckled from the overstimulation. I slumped back down on the mattress with a soft thump, chest heaving, and my mind swimming with pleasure.

He looked up at me from between my knees, slick covering his lips as he slipped his tongue out to taste me again. Just that sight threatened to make me orgasm again.

"turn around."

"What?"

He tilted his head to the side, long silver hair falling over his shoulder like a river to stars, but his amber eyes were still smoldering, "Turn around and get on your knees, kitten." he said. I scrambled on my knees, was he really going to take me like a bitch?

“it's embarrassing”

“Embarrassing?” Sesshomaru cooed, “To have your pussy exposed like this?” his fingers found my clit again. My hips buckled as he began playing with my entrance again, sliding his finger inside easily, arching them as drew them out. “A little late to embarrassed now isn’t it? Not when we are this wet, not when you’re making that face for me.”

'i-I cant help it- AH!" I yelped as he slipped a second finger inside, waiting for my walls to adjust to the size before returning to his lazy rhythm.

He curled his fingers, the thumb still drawing patterns on my clit, I felt myself reaching my limit again and my body shuddered, I was about to cum again, But-

"I don't-" I tried for words, fighting the irresistible pleasure riding through my body.

"what is it human?" he purred out, enjoying how much of a mess he was making of me.

"I don't want to cum from your fingers again-i-"

Sesshomaru pulled his fingers out torturously slow, I felt his fang scrape against my shoulder as he leaned in to whisper to her, "Tell me what you want, kitten." he rasped against my  ear, "Tell this Sesshomaru what you want inside you."

"You-" I said shamelessly, "I want your cock inside me."

I looked back to see his eyes darken, in the shadow of the room, he looked like a feral demon now more than ever. His lip twitched up in a faint smirk. He wrapped his fingers around my waist and flipped me over. I watched as he towered over me, pinning my wrists over my head. I felt my eyes widen. I felt an undeniable thrill run down my spine as I realized I couldn’t move my arms at all. He was really going to claim me tonight.

"Then human," he rumbled, "My cock is what you'll have."

I knew he was going to be big, so there wasn't much surprise, but still, the fucking thought of that being inside sent jitters across my body.

My heart hammered with anticipation as he finally, finally lined himself against my entrance. The bulbous tip stretched me out as he entered, he filled me up completely as he pushed himself entirely in, it was hot and heavy my walls pressed against him. "Look at you, such a good little kitten taking me so well." he purred, his nails dug into the mattress. I could feel the heat and the throb of his cock through my walls, it was so overwhelming I felt like I was going to melt. Every thurst was sending jolts of pleasure through my body, I could feel him move inside me, rubbing my walls, digging into me so deliciously I was seeing stars.

I grabbed onto his hair, fingers sinking into them like silk. His fangs scraped my neck as he drove forward.

I had never seen him like that. It both terrified and turned me on. The great demon lord seemed to have lost complete hold on himself. His blue marks extended, growing more ragged, his pants grew more erratic. I could tell he was very close. His penis throbbed as my walls squelched helplessly against his length. His grip on my wrist tightened as he growled, “I have wanted to fuck a litter into you for a long time.”

The thought of him breeding me turned me on more than it should have. I screamed, arching my back and snapping my hips up. “please, please breed me, lord Sesshomaru!.” I moaned out, shame having left my body long ago.

That’s all I needed to say to put him over the edge. Sesshomaru growled, slamming his mouth onto mine. I felt his release exploded inside me, warm liquid splashing against my walls, filling me up. The demon lord threw his head back, riding out his own orgasm into her. It was quite the sight to see, Sesshomaru in all his glory, chest heaving as he continued to ride her, a lining of sweat glistening on his body. The lewd sounds of him pumping his cum deeper into her. It was all too much. He was still inside me when he finally slumped down, burying his face in the crook of my neck. My pussy was throbbing and my heart was still hammering.

I had given himself to him. Completely. With the cum and him still inside me, I felt so full, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I shifted my hips and Sesshomaru groaned.

‘I, i-it-its stuck.” I said.

Sesshomaru grunted against my neck, “Just hold still, human.”

“oh okay.”

His fingers traced the outline of my jaw, his mouth gliding over my neck. I was quite enjoying the cuddling but…

“So..um.” I began, “How long does it take for it to usually.. unknot?’

“soon.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “You are a lot more talkative during sex.” I said, “The others would never believe how much you run your mouth.”

Sesshomaru looked up at me and grinned. It was terrifying. Nothing good ever came out of this man smiling.

“What?”

His amber eyes settled on mine, he was still inside me but it was the gaze that made me blush. “They’ll know.” He spoke.

I opened my mouth to question when the realization hit me. No way.

“You can't possibly mean-“ My voice trailed off as he flicked his tongue lazily over my nipple. “y- you gave them my room so that they could… hear us fucking?”

There was a ‘pop’ as he let go of the nipple. And I took that as a yes.

Oh well.

[ladamedusoif]

Long Distance - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2000 

Warnings: SMUT; Established relationship; Reader lives in Europe; No physical description of Reader; Older!Marcus; Marcus with a PhD; FaceTime sex; masturbation (F and M); oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; dirty talk; come (cum) play

Summary: Happily settled with you on the other side of the Atlantic and now working primarily in consultancy, Dr Marcus Pike sometimes finds himself travelling back to the US for work. But there’s always video calling, right?

A/N: I got...carried away. Ahem. I'm not really using taglists any more so follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. Thank you @agentjackdaniels for previewing this smutty little story.

You never really sleep easy when he’s not here. Strange, after all those years on your own, comfortably splayed out across your large mattress. A year of sharing a bed with Marcus, though, and you feel unsettled without him.

The display on your sunrise alarm clock reads 1.30am when your phone lights up with a message.

You still awake? x

Your fingertips tap out a swift response.

Very much so. x

You settle yourself and your phone as the call comes through. A moment of connection, and there he is: Marcus. Your Marcus, looking so very distinguished with his wavy, silver-streaked hair, warm eyes, and mischievous, boyish smile. He breaks into a wide grin as you appear on the screen.

“There you are, baby.”

"Here I am, love. How are you doing?” You cast a glimpse over the schlubby old FBI t-shirt he sometimes wears lounging around the house. “Are you in bed already?”

Marcus groans and rolls his eyes. “Yup, pretty much. I’m so tired, the clients all want to start at the crack of dawn. Why are they all so obsessed with breakfast meetings here?”

You chuckle. “Sweet man, you’ve become Europeanised.”

"I mean, you do have the better coffee.” He props himself up, resting his chin on his hand. “I miss you so fucking much. It’s only been three days and I’m going crazy.”

"I miss you, too. But what is it - tonight, and then two more nights? And then you’re all mine again.”

Marcus’s chocolate-brown eyes soften as he smiles softly, taking you in. “God, I can’t wait. Fuck, you look so good. Is that the, uh… that nightdress?”

You preen a little for the camera, innocently moving your body ever so slightly. You’re confident that he’s now got an even clearer picture of your tits, nestled in the burgundy lace of your - and his - favourite strappy chemise. 

“This old thing?”

He shakes his head and bites his lower lip, grinning. “You are a tease. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

"And what am I doing, Dr Pike? Use all that agent training, tell me. Decipher me.”

He licks his lips. “You’re showing off your beautiful tits, knowing perfectly well I can’t stand not being able to touch them right now.”

You keep eye contact but trail a finger along the soft line of your cleavage, slipping it under the lace to flick gently over your nipple. All the way across the Atlantic, Marcus groans on his DC hotel room bed.

"Oh, I see. You liked that, hmmm?”

He nods. “You know I liked it, baby. Fuck, you are gorgeous, you know? Just…perfect.”

You notice his right arm moving a little, working at something off-screen. 

“Are you hard, darling? Are you touching your cock?”

"Mmmm. Yeah, just - just through my shorts.” His gaze flits from your tits to your eyes and back, his breath a little laboured. “You turn me on so much, feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Will you jerk off for me, Marcus? Let me see how hard I make you. Please.” With a flutter of your eyelids you slip down the spaghetti straps of your chemise to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and soft flesh spilling over the lace cups.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yes. Hold on -“ He reaches for his phone and angles it just so, so you can see him tugging down the dark grey sweat shorts and his hard, thick cock springing free against his tummy. He wraps his right hand around it, gently pulling back the foreskin to reveal the head already weeping with pre-come. 

Now it’s your turn to whine as your pussy clenches around nothing, reacting to the sight of his cock ready and waiting and so far away. Marcus grins as he continues to stroke himself.

"Think you need to play with your pussy, too.”

You nod and slip a hand between your legs, gathering some of your growing wetness and displaying it to him on your fingers. “See how much I miss you, love?”

He speeds up a little, fucking into his fist and never taking his eyes off you. “Fuck, I wish my mouth was on that pretty little cunt of yours. Wish I was eating you out right now, baby.”

"And I wish I had your gorgeous, hard cock in my mouth, darling.” You start to rub harder, insistent circles over your swollen clit and moan as you listen to the sound of your boyfriend jerking off. 

He moans and closes his eyes. “Talk to me. Tell me, what would you do?” 

“I’d use my tongue - lick the shaft, first, the way you like it.” The sound of your wetness is lewd and arousing. “Then - oh, fuck - take you into my mouth, suck the head, stroke you with my hand…”

Marcus pauses to spit into his hand, a poor substitute for the lubrication offered by your slick. “Keep going. Keep fucking going, love.”

“Fuck, I wish I had that gorgeous cock inside me.” You slip a finger inside your pussy and whine at the sensation as you press on the sensitive spot he knows exactly how to work. “M’finger is nothing, need you.”

Marcus pants as he continues to stroke his cock, and pulls up his t-shirt to expose his belly. He’s getting close. “Wish I was fucking you, too. Feeling - oh, fuck - all of you on my cock, pulling out and…” He screws up his face and groans and your cunt aches for him. “Fuck, I want to come on your tits.”

Your free hand finds your breast as you continue to rut against your hand, fingers pinching the nipple and massaging the flesh. It’s your Marcus. He deserves a show, and you’re only too happy to deliver. He grunts and groans, never taking his eyes off you. 

“I’m really close, Marcus.” Your hips buck upward as you near your peak. “I’m gonna come for you - fuck, gonna -“

He strokes himself furiously, desperately, as he watches you reach orgasm - and talks you through it.

"Jesus, look at you. Coming on your own hand - oh, fuck - getting yourself off for me. Good girl. Good - fuck, gonna come - fucking good girl.”

He comes hard, angling his cock so that the white, viscous come hits his bare tummy. Your cunt still aches for him. 

“I wish I was there to clean you up, Marcus.”

He chuckles and lies back on the pillows, curls damp with sweat and a huge smile on his face. He grabs his phone so you can see him. “Right back at you. Bet you’re so wet now, huh?”

“Soaked.”

“Fuck. Hope you’re ready for when I come home, baby.”

In the early morning, your sleeping form rests peacefully in your large bed, an arm cuddling a pillow to your torso for comfort. When you’d set your alarm the night before, you reminded yourself that you just had two more nights before he was home again. 

Two more nights. Two more sleeps. And then: him. Him. Only him. 

A shifting weight on the mattress stirs you, still halfway between waking and slumber. In the hazy half-light, you turn your head and find a beautiful, familiar sight. 

“Hi, baby.”

“M-Marcus? What are you - did I get my dates wrong? I thought you were back tomorrow…”

“I was supposed to be,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “and I took an earlier flight because I just missed you so much. Hey - is that my shirt?”

You nod, turning your body wholly towards him and nuzzling against him. “It is. Your Georgetown T-shirt, I just - it feels like you.” He pulls you close and kisses the top of your head. “Marcus - what about the work?”

He hums happily. “The clients were happy, and there isn’t much more to do that I can’t do from here.” 

He moves his lips to your neck, softly nipping and licking the delicate skin as his big hands work their way under the T-shirt and up to your breasts. 

“I have been thinking about this the whole way home.”

You giggle. “Oh really? And you were able to keep yourself under control?”

Marcus kisses you on the mouth as he nods, fingers kneading your tits. “My self-discipline was tested, I admit, but oh, fuck, baby…”

Your hands are on his crotch, feeling the growing hardness under the grey sweatpants he likes to wear on long-distance flights. You lean into his ear as you tug down the sweats and his boxers, taking his cock in your hand. 

“Why don’t you see if I’m still wet from the other night?”

With a groan, Marcus slips his hand between your legs and finds the wetness already pooling at your core. “Pretty fucking wet, baby.” He sucks his fingers clean of your slick before shucking off his sweatshirt and tee.

“Good.” You sit up and quickly straddle him, his thighs between yours as you peel off the old T-shirt so you’re completely bare for him. “I’m going to make you feel so good, darling man.”

You gather some of your own slick across your palm and fingers before taking his cock in your hand, stroking the velvet skin of the shaft and gently bringing your palm over the head in a fluid motion that you know drives him wild. Marcus watches your hands as you pleasure him, little animalistic noises issuing forth from his beautiful mouth as he grows ever harder under your practiced touch. 

“Do you want me?”

He nods furiously and you lift yourself up to shift forward, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“Tell me, Marcus.”

"Need you so fucking bad, baby. Please.”

You take him inside you in one stroke, your wetness easing his thick cock into the tightness of your pussy. Marcus cries out as you begin to ride him, hands pressed into his broad chest. 

“Better than the phone sex, huh?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you hiss, hips rolling in a well-established rhythm as you fuck him. “Liked watching you jerk off to me, though.”

"Me too, baby.” Marcus grips your hips and grins as he admires you: your body, your curves, the way you’re letting yourself go as you ride his cock. You bite your lip and roll back your head, lost in the sensation of how your man stretches and fills you so perfectly.

When you slip a finger against your clit, he practically growls, meeting your rhythm as he starts to fuck up into you.

“‘M not gonna last, baby,” he pants, fingers pressing into the flesh of your hips and ass. 

“You want to come on my tits, like you said?”

His desperate nod is your cue to lift yourself off his cock, glistening with your slick and his pre-come, and shuffle down the bed a little. You press your breasts together as Marcus wraps his broad hand around his cock and pumps it quickly. 

“Fuck, your tits are pretty. So fucking soft and perfect and -“

He stutters and cries out as he comes, his release hitting your breasts and gathering on the hard peaks of your nipples. 

You gather some of it up on your finger and suck it clean. 

“Jesus, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” 

You release your finger with a pop. “Thank you, love. Can you get me a cloth?”

He wanders off and returns with a washcloth, gently cleaning your body and his cock before returning it to the bathroom. By the time he gets back, you’re tucked under the covers again. He grins as he joins you, pulling your naked body to his. 

“Missed you.” You wind an errant, silver-streaked curl around your finger. “It feels like there’s something missing when you’re not here.”

Marcus kisses your forehead and you nuzzle up against his chest. “Don’t I know it? I felt exactly the same in DC, wondering where you were. Missed going to sleep beside you, waking up with you.”

You chuckle against the warm, sweat-damp skin of his chest, pressing your lips to the freckles dusted across his golden body. “And fucking me.”

He laughs, and the sound makes your heart soar. “That, too. But trust me - I’ll make it up to you.”

"Oh you will, huh?”

His coffee-brown eyes are as sincere and honest as ever. “Always and forever. Even with jet lag.”

dividers by @cafekitsune