#under crystalline dreams

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - omnipotent perception

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some plot, porn with feelings, angst with comfort

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 6.5k (who’s surprised)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight spoilers and alterations to ‘omnipotent perception (rafayel’s misty invasion card), slightly toxic relationship, m!receiving handjob, bathtub sex, pulling out, cummies in hair/face, lots of making out, hickeys, HEAVY references to rafayel’s lore (sea god and some abysswalker), references to rafayel’s 4* memory fragrant dream, so much angst (with comfort), soooo much feelings, sensory deprivation, sensory play, blindfolding, switch!raf, desperate rafayel, kinda withholding rafayel, clothes on in tub, p in v seggs, use of y/n, use of pet names

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | xav's version | sylus's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: RAF IS HERE! sooooo this one is a long one. each one of my misty invasions got longer and longer, i am a menace to myself. but this one made sense, i felt as if raf’s misty invasion had the most lore subtly stitched into it and you guys know i always try and explore some angst/lore <3 i am very happy and excited to finally close out the misty invasion series. 

i’m going to be taking a much needed break after this. i’ll likely still be writing, but slowly and in my own time. I had a brief period of motivation, after the clarity of sharing my story, but now i am back to being anxious and exhausted.

that being said, please do not send anyone hate in my name or in my defense. I have never and will never ask for that. it’s enough that i have your support, i don’t need more than that. 

special thank you to my friend @myusuchaa for helping me SO much with the rafayel lore. definitely the biggest fish forker i know <3

as always, if i missed any warnings or used too specific physical descriptors, let me know and i can do better! thank you guys for your support. i love you!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

—

It’d been a beautiful summer day, riding bicycles along the Italian coast of Verona. Rafayel had just finished his piece for an art exhibition in the capital of the picturesque city, and you’d had time to soak in the summer breeze with each other. The air was wonderfully salty, just enough to remind you of the sea itself. Of Rafayel. 

It hadn’t truly surprised you when you’d found out Rafayel had lived here before, especially now knowing his Lemurian roots. Something about the way he walked through the Veronian brick paved roads, the rustic wind tousling his beachy waves, the cloudy sun shining on his effervescent skin. Like he’d belonged here, once upon a time. 

It was the perfect day.

Even when you’d teased him about the Lemurian who’d dissipated into sea foam for a mere human, and Rafayel’s expression misted over with a melancholic nostalgia. When his eyes glazed over with a torrent of inexplicable emotions, he could tell you wanted to prod him about it. But you didn’t, and for that he was incredibly grateful. There was a part of him that longed for you to know, to remember, the truth of that story. But he couldn’t trust you with that part of him again. Not yet. 

Even then, it was a perfect day. The two of you in Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet. 

Two ill-fated lovers. 

It was perfect, he was perfect. 

Until you asked him that question. 

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

Suddenly, Rafayel couldn’t look you in the eyes. Even when the rain droplets had started to patter onto your sun kissed skin, Rafayel holding you close under his favorite cardigan to shelter you from the onslaught of crystalline water. He couldn’t look at you. He refused to look at you.

If he did, you might’ve seen the tumultuous storm flickering in his eyes. The violets in his irises bright with unshed tears, the blues dark with a bitter loneliness. 

He didn’t speak to you the entire way back to your hotel, heading straight to the bathroom. At first you think that perhaps he’s upset with you, but he only draws you a warm bath in the luxurious clawfoot tub overlooking the Italian night lights. 

When he finally does speak to you, peeling off his layers of soaked clothing, you can tell he’s masking his true emotions under a facade of classic Rafayel sarcasm. Joking about whether he should write a Lemurian handbook for you or just read you 1,001 Lemurian stories. But he surprises you when his voice cracks with a raw genuineness, one that’s masked under layers and layers of hesitancy and loneliness. You can’t quite understand it.

“You can be my caretaker. And I can tell you 1,001 stories,” he mutters, eyes trained on the ground once more, voice soft and vulnerable. 

“I’m okay with every choice you provide,” he continues as he peels your wet jacket off your shoulders innocently. When his hand reaches the inside of your coat, grazing against your exposed waist, he pulls his hand back. His face is a storm of conflicted torment.

“...But you should take a warm bath first. Or else you’ll catch a cold.”

As he turns to leave, the sight of his lean and muscled back making you blush, you muster all your courage and call out to him, “You can’t leave. You still haven’t answered my question.”

You catch his wrist, using all your force to pull him back. Rafayel stiffens, unable to catch himself before he tumbles backwards into the filled tub. 

He’s able to protect his head from hitting the edge of the tub, the water sloshing around and splashing onto the tiled bathroom floor. Rafayel sits in the tub, not a semblance of annoyance on his face. Instead he looks flustered, the warm water clinging to his defined muscles.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Rafayel’s hair is disheveled, the water making clumps of his damp hair stick to his wet skin. His eyes watch you with inscrutable emotions, waiting for you to speak. 

You don’t answer his question, instead asking one of your own.

“You can spare me the details, but there’s something important you should tell me…” you hum, walking to his side by the tub, leaning over him, “How do Lemurians express love?”

Rafayel looks startled by your question for a second before composing himself, “Do you really want to know?” The fragrant candles in the bathroom flicker, the steam of the bath dancing against the soft flames. His words seem less like a genuine question…and more like a vague warning. 

Before you can respond, Rafayel’s fingers are closed around your wrist, tugging you into the tub on top of him. You squeal as Rafayel guides your body onto his, the violent crashing of water loud against the soft sound of the rain against the large glass windows.

Rafayel looks smug, his hand holding yours against his chest. You’re messily sprawled across his half naked body when he shifts you off of him so that he can sit next to you, his strong arm wrapping around your body. The warm water is uncomfortable against your still half-clothed body, but you can only focus on the way Rafayel holds your fingers up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand like you were royalty. 

“When Lemurians fall in love with someone…” Rafayel mutters, his warm breath fanning against your hand, “All our senses are committed to perceive them without question.” His eyes are intense as he speaks to you, hoping to convey even an ounce of the love he speaks so honestly of. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Your senses? Like…this?” You untangle your hand from his, bringing your index finger up to his lips. You barely graze his pouty bottom lip before he’s panting, struggling to speak. 

“...Your way of triggering my “senses” has only touched the surface,” he mutters sulkily, yet he has to look away from you, cheeks rosy at your mere touch. He grabs your hand, eyes locked back onto yours giving you a silent warning. 

But you only proceed further, your fingers grasping his chin, your eyes peering up at him with a faux innocence. It’s not long before your fingers wander south, pressing into his heaving chest, flitting around his sharp collarbones. Rafayel’s reaction only fuels you with mischief and confidence, the way his breath matches his heartbeat: fast, erratic, and demanding. 

He looks at you with almost…disbelief. Disbelief at your actions, but more so disbelief at the way your simplest touches can have his body reacting so viscerally. It was a testament of just how much the dark-mauve haired Lemurian loved you, his every sense reacting to you so readily.

“...Are all humans idiots?” Rafayel grits, refusing to look at you again. But his body betrays his words when your hand ventures further down. You’re barely able to register the shocked expression on his flushed face before your back is pressed into the edge of the tub, the water splashing wilding as Rafayel hovers atop you.

He’s careful not to press his body into you, knowing he’d be an absolute goner once he felt your core against his. His thick muscles twitch angrily as he holds you down against the back of the tub, your hand clutching his shoulder for support against his erratic actions. 

“Someone’s intentions are as clear as day,” he accuses you. Though his words hold not even an ounce of ill-intention, he narrows his eyes at you. Just then, the rain outside turns into lightning, briefly illuminating Rafayel’s ethereal features. The flash of light accentuates the tempest that’s brewing in suspicious eyes. 

As you watch the turmoil flicker in them, you suddenly think maybe you pushed too far, “Do you not like it?” Your voice comes out more insecure than you’d wanted it to, suddenly aware of how forward you were being.

Rafayel sighs, pausing before his voice comes out pained, “If I said I didn’t, would you stop?” 

At the hint of anguish in his voice, you move to pull your hand away. But Rafayel’s hand abandons its grip on the tub to clasp against your hand, holding it tighter against his neck, refusing to let you go.

You gasp, as his movements cause the warm water to swash around. With his forceful hand over yours, your flushed skin prickles against his alarmingly chilly skin. 

“Rafayel, your body is so cold!” you whisper worriedly, fearing he might be catching a cold. For a second you forget that he’s Lemurian, accustomed to the frigid depths of the ocean. As your eyes search his anxiously, hand still gripping his cold shoulder, Rafayel’s own eyes watch yours meticulously. 

The swirls of blue and pink in his eyes have always been breathtaking, like the perfect mix of the most expensive paints. But now, as he watches you with the depth of the whole Lemurian oceans in his eyes, you’re completely speechless to the flickering of rampant passion behind them. 

That is until he grabs your chin roughly. Rafayel was no stranger to taking what he wanted, but this was different. The way he grabbed you screamed of…insecurity. Demanding, but unsure all the same. His cheeks are tinged the prettiest of coral pinks, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he closes the distances between your faces. Quickly, so he can’t change his mind. 

His soft lips slot over yours in a bruising embrace of passion, need, and unwavering longing. There’s something mind numbing about how gently his lips take yours, yet the pads of his fingers hold your chin so forcibly, as if afraid you’d slip into the depths of the water and disappear from his arms forever. 

The thunder rumbles deafeningly but all you can hear is Rafayel. He pants into you, his mouth claiming every inch of your lips, of your tongue. He kisses you like he knows nothing else, like he feels nothing else. 

He doesn’t let you go, although you’d never want him to. You only want him to hold you tighter, pull you closer, take you harder. You want to protest when he finally pulls away, gasping as a thin rope of saliva connects your parted and bruised lips.

Flashes of light illuminate his face, making him look as ethereal as the sirens warned about in ancient tales and myths. He hesitates to speak, trying to find the words to convey the emotions he’s been trying to control since the memories of Verona had begun to overwhelm him. The memories of his past. His past with you.

“And you’re warm,” he pants, still trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding painfully, his body always so willing to react to you. All his senses, always so hyper aware of you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His thumb strokes your glistening bottom lip, fingers still holding your chin captive. His eyes watch you with an unbearable longing, the previously intense crinkle in them softened to a tender vulnerability. 

“So perfect for me.”

Butterflies wriggle in your tummy, and you reach your wet hands reach up to cup his cheeks. 

“Rafayel, you seem different…” you mumble, stroking the cold and smooth expanse of his cheek. He looks down, avoiding your gaze, clearly grappling with a turmoil of intrusive emotions and memories. Despite that all, his face softens under your touch, even unbeknownst to him. 

Before you can ask him what’s on his mind, he’s rubbing his cheeks into your palms. The warmth of your affectionate embrace makes it difficult for Rafayel to think clearly, and he can’t stop himself from whispering, “Will you still love me no matter who I become?”

You’re speechless at the blatant insecurity in his voice, in his eyes. Rafayel was always confident, years as a world-famous artist had made him self-assured in more ways than one. But now, as his shadowed and down-cast eyes searched yours desperately for an answer, you could see just how unsure he was. You could see the cracks forming in his polished shield, the fissure spider webbing uncontrollably, on the precipice of shattering completely. 

His eyes pierce yours, fully intending to get an answer from you. You don’t even think he notices how pouty he’s become, his bottom lip protruding in an tragically adorable show of just how badly he needs you to understand him. To love him. 

To remember him. 

Unable to withstand his paralyzing gaze any longer, you yank him down to you by the chain that hangs around his neck. The silver necklace matched the shimmering bracelet he’d gifted you, that currently sits on your own wrist. 

Rafayel grunts as you pull him closer, clearly taken aback. His gaze doesn’t lighten, only becoming more intense and heated as your breath grows more bated against his own parted lips. 

“You…” he grumbles, trailing off, eyes flickering down to the beautiful sheen across your lips, before they dart away, looking to where his fingers grip the edge of the porcelain white tub. The rosy blush that dusts his cheeks gives away just how much he yearns for more, more of you. 

You find him to be so irresistibly tortured that you can’t help but hook your arm around his neck, pulling him further down until your lips collide with his collar. If you can take even an ounce of his tumultuous pain away, you’d do it.

The thunder roars violently as you kiss him, the water in the tub splashing over and hitting the bathroom tile. Rafayel is quick to relent all control, letting you take every inch of him. His fingers thread into your hair as you kiss his sensitive chest, teeth nipping at the cold skin on his collar. His whimpering gasps are audible, fingers tugging at your damp hair, as you suckle torturously at his chest, no doubt leaving a reddened bruise. 

When he finally pulls away, there’s a clear look of reluctance on his beautiful features. You try and pull him back, and he briefly lets you before pulling back, the look of hesitation returning to his thunderous eyes. 

You give up, instead moving your finger to brush against the reddened hickey forming on his collar. Rafayel looks at you, pained and begging for mercy, as your fingernails graze over the sensitive skin. 

“When humans fall in love…” you hum, admiring the beautiful bruise, “We try to leave a unique mark on them.” 

At that precise moment, the moment you mention you’re in love with him, you can visibly see the fractured remnants of Rafayel’s walls come crashing down. He pants, eyes fixed on the way your hand presses over the right side of his chest, so dangerously close to where his heart was. To where his bond with you was etched into his very soul. 

In that very moment, a flip switches in Rafayel. His eyes burn, not with anguish or uncertainty, but with a dangerous desire.

“If you say so…” he rasps, leaning in until your breaths mingle into one. As his eyes flicker closed, lips ghosting along yours, he whispers, just before his lips claim yours. 

“Join me, then.” His lips press into yours, holding back as to not take you completely.

“Let’s drown in the ocean.” He inhales your torrid gasps, his words deceitfully simple. 

“Together.”

Rafayel kisses you, instantaneously consuming you. He pants into you, unable to soften the way his body reacts to you, the way his senses consume you until there’s nothing left of him. To him, loving you, losing you, and repeating the cycle…felt exactly like that.

Like drowning. 

He throws all that emotion into the way he kisses you. The embrace is so intense that it makes tears form in your eyes, emotions welling in your chest so tightly you fear you might burst. 

When he pulls away to breathe, you look up at him, “You never answered my question from earlier.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened, knowing exactly which question you were referring to. What he didn’t expect was for you to be so direct. His eyes dart around, but you hold his face in your palms before he can physically turn away. He opens his mouth to speak, before pursing his lips again in hesitation. 

You gently prod him, fingers stroking his locked jaw, “Raf?” 

“It…” he starts, eyes crackling with emotions. Rafayel struggles to find the words. He knows exactly what he wants to tell you, but can’t find the words to express it to you. 

It’s not that he wanted to be withholding, least of all with you. He would give you anything. He had given you everything, time and time again. To the point where it destroyed him. 

But the fear of having it all taken away, again, had made him so reluctant to lean back into the wind, like he’d done so many times in the past. Too scared of how much of himself he’d lose again in the never-ending cycle of falling irrevocably in love with you. 

And yet, as much as it took from him, it didn’t matter. Because you were everything to him.

“In this human world…it’s not difficult for a Lemurian to become lonely,” he laments wistfully, eyes misted with a faraway look. 

He continues. “But in all the lives I’ve lived, I almost never felt lonely,” Rafayel gently smiles at you, a smile filled with a wistful sorrow. 

“Really? Why?” you ask genuinely, still soothing his hardened jaw. His features had softened considerably as he peered down at your wet form, the tension between his legs growing visibly.

Rafayel chuckles. His answer was simple. 

Because, there was always you. 

But that was a tale for another time. 

“Are you trying to trick a foolish Lemurian into giving up all his secrets again, my little human?” he whispers huskily, leaning down to kiss at the skin under your ear. 

You’re about to ask him what he means by again, but the words die on your tongue when Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck. His fingers find the buttons of your drenched top, unbuttoning it feverishly, desperately shedding your layers of clothing off of you.

Before you know it, you’re naked in Rafayel’s arms, his own bare manhood pressed insistently into your inner thighs, dangerously close to your core. Though the rest of his body is chilly from the rainwater, his throbbing erection burns against your skin. Even submerged in water, you can feel his pre cum oozing onto your leg, hot and thick.

His lips trail down your shivering body, kissing the grooves of your collar, teeth grazing the swell of your breasts. He’s nearly heaving, gasping for air like he can’t breathe. And truthfully, he couldn’t.

The dam of his emotional barriers absolutely decimated, the flood of his unabated passion overwhelming his senses. There is only you. The smell, the sound, the feeling, the sight, the taste of you. 

A Lemurian in love. Utterly, brokenly, and wholeheartedly. 

You try to match his intensity, pulling at his soft and wavy hair, drawing him closer to your naked body. You thrust your chest towards him, wanting him to claim you like he’d done so many times before. 

Rafayel chuckles at your obvious desires, but more than willing to oblige. His Queen. 

His lips close over your breast, his lips cold but his tongue wet and hot against your nipple. The warm water splashes messily against your clashing bodies. The lightning outside flashes, the shadows of your lewd acts dancing against the bathroom walls.

“Nnghnh, R-Raf!” you wail, his skilled mouth devouring you whole. Your spine arches into his demanding mouth, the wet splashes of the bath and the ravenous slurps filling the acoustics of the hotel bathroom. 

The pleasure of his tongue is so intense that your body can’t help but squirm backwards. Rafayel chuckles almost cynically, as he captures the back of your neck with his long and slender fingers. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to run away from me,” he pouts, leveling with your drooping eyes, body already delirious from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to bring you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, bringing your chin up so that your eyes meet, “Don’t make me wait anymore, please.” 

You can’t help but smile at his adorable pout, his eyebrows furrowed in a sulky plea. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, twirling his wavy hair into your fingers, bringing him closer until your foreheads are pressed together. 

“I don’t want to wait either,” you whisper breathlessly against him, his face so close you can feel the length of his eyelashes against your cheek.

Rafayel gulps, his neck bobbing with the pressure of how forcefully he has to restrain his senses, restrain himself. It’s so clear how vulnerable he is to your every whim, so you take the opportunity to push him below you. His glimmering eyes shine with confusion, but he lets you climb atop him, hissing when your slick cunt presses down on his cock.

“What are you doing, Miss?”

You don’t answer, leaning over the tub to grab Rafayel’s damp cardigan, bringing it up to his face. He raises an eyebrow in question at you, his palms resting in the fat of your hips as your bare pussy drags against his pelvis. 

“Do you trust me?” you grin playfully at him, spreading the cardigan out and preparing to use it as a makeshift blindfold. Rafayel seems to know exactly what you’re planning. He looks up at you, inexplicable emotions reflected in his glassy eyes. 

“I do,” he whispers finally. His worlds are simple, yet something about them rips through your consciousness, filling you with a torrent of bittersweet fractures of a lost memory. 

A memory of another time Rafayel told you those same words.

I do.

Rafayel can read the confusion in your eyes, and squeezes your hips reassuringly. You’re shaken from the confusion of your mind-bending memories. Trying to focus on the moment at hand, you clear your throat and carefully tie the soft and expensive cardigan around Rafayel’s head, effectively cutting off his vision.

You lean down to whisper against his ears, lobes pink with excitement and anticipation.

“Let me show you what else humans do when we’re in love.”

Rafaye’s entire body quakes, his chest rising rapidly at your unabashed words. His fingers dig into your hips as he does his best to limit his embarrassingly visceral reactions to your body. With his vision limited, all his other senses are heightened to your will. 

With your lips at this ear, your neck is exposed to him. The smell of your pheromones mixed with your perfume clouds his thoughts, the urge to drive his teeth into your pulse so unbelievably overwhelming. But your palm on his chest pushes him down, your lips trailing down his ear, down his neck, and to his chest. 

With his eyes covered, his skin is all the more sensitive to your touch, 

“Please,” Rafayel rasps, nails digging into your thighs, “Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

You giggle at how adorably needy he’s become. You can tell just how much the blindfold affects him, his body more readily reactive to your lips, your fingers, your words.

Even with his eyes covered, Rafayel can’t help but pout. The inability to see you, his beautiful Queen, made him all the more desperate.

You decide to indulge him, fist closing around his cock under the water. Rafayel’s hips jolt violently, his lower half lifting to chase the friction of your soft hand. While he cries out in pleasure, you kiss down to where the water meets his defined chest.

“O-oh fuuck,” Rafayel hisses, his head thrown back on the edge of the tub, neck straining into the cool ceramic. His hips buck up into your fist wildly, your hand moving far too languidly for his taste. You continue to tease him slowly, his cock and your hand completely submerged under the surface of the water. He whimpers, teeth digging into his bottom lip, continuously thrusting up into your hand.

You take his desperation as an opportunity to torture him more, moving as gently as you can so that you can move up to his ear without him noticing. With your hand still pumping his oozing cock under the water, you whisper into his ear, letting your tongue graze his earlobe.

“When humans love someone…we want to make them feel good,” you whisper seductively into his ear, purposely letting your words come out in hot breaths. Rafayel jolts and squirms in response, fingers gripping the edge of the tub until his knuckles are pale white. 

“Sh-shiit,” he hisses breathlessly as your hand pumps up and down faster, the movements causing the water to ripple. His muscles flex under your touch, shining with a wet sheen against the flashing glow of lightning. 

“So? Does it feel good, Raf?” you murmur into his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to where his throat bobs with the heavy beat of his pulse. 

He thrusts himself into your hand violently, voice coming out in a gravelly groan, “Yes. You always feel so fucking good. S-so soft.”

Surprising him again, you take his lips into yours, insistently pushing your tongue into his mouth, all the while your fist continues to jerk him off. You catch every one of his unabashed moans with your own mouth, the muffled sounds of his pleasure mixing with the thundering storm outside.

It’s a furious clashing of saliva, teeth, and pure unfiltered passion. His fingers digging into your waist, your fingers squeezing his cock so tightly it threatens to have him spilling all over you and the filled tub. 

When you pull away, the spit dribbles down Rafayel’s chin and onto his damp chest. He looks adorably flustered, the cardigan still covering his eyes. With his sight gone, the feeling of your tongue against his, your fingers wrapped around his cock, your plush thighs against his twitching muscles is all the more intense. His body, all the more pliant for you. 

“Hah – if you keep going, I’m g-gonna–”

He doesn’t even have time to finish his words when his cock lurches in your greedy hands, thick and burning rivulets of cum shooting into the lukewarm bathwater. It’s strangely beautiful, like a ribbon of iridescent pearls. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rafayel gasps, nearly choking over his own rapid breath, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub.

His body convulses with his orgasm, a broken mantra of swears and lewd groans the only thing audible even in the roar of the storm outside. 

“Nnnghnh – b-baby,” Rafayel whines as you pump him through a mind-numbing overstimulation, desperate to see you. But you don’t stop, only giggling as you watch even more cum spurt from his angry pink tip. 

In a sudden flash of splashing water and strong fingers gripping your thighs, you find yourself under Rafayel again, his hand holding the back of your neck protectively as he slams you into the edge of the tub. His cardigan no longer covers his eyes, likely discarded somewhere on the wet floor.

Your eyes are wide from the whiplash of his sudden movements, “Rafayel?”

His sunset eyes blaze wildly as he watches you, the sight of you so utterly indulgent and overwhelming after having his vision returned to him. 

“Will you let me worship you?” 

His question is vulnerable, desperate. He looks at you so damn hopefully that it’d be impossible to say no even if some insane part of you wanted to. 

You reach up to clasp his cheek in your hands, pulling him closer until your noses brush against each other, “Yes, always.”

With the breathy desperate utterance of consent leaving your lips, fanning across his open mouth, he loses it.

He forces your thighs wider, gripping you by the fat of your hips and dragging you towards him until your bare cunt brushes right against once-again hard erection. You were used to Rafayel’s virtually non-existent refractory period, his cock upright and commanding attention so quickly after his orgasm.

The lukewarm bath water makes every touch feel much more fluid, all the more intimate and sensitive. Your grip the edges of the tub for support, Rafayel’s movements erratic and unpredictable. He leans down towards you, your bodies as close as the confines of the tub will allow. 

“My Queen,” he mutters under his breath like a vow, shifting to line himself up with your entrance. Without another warning, he pushes himself into you. 

You squeal at the stretch, your arousal making it easy for him to push into you completely. Rafayel groans as he enters you, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his large hands wrapped around your thighs. 

Rafayel is absolutely not shy with his cries of pleasure. His body shudders even though he hasn’t moved since seating himself fully inside of your warm and impossibly tight walls. 

When he doesn’t move, you screw your eyes open in confusion, doing your best to speak through the wonderful stretch of his cock inside your quivering walls, “R-Raf? Are you okay?”

Rafayel doesn’t speak, but the glow of the storm outside illuminates the way his throat bobs, every fiber of his body overstimulated with the pleasure of your body gripping his, refusing to let go.

You move to shift towards him, worried about the way he’s locked up, but that only causes your body to involuntarily squeeze around him. Rafayel hisses, pushing you back down gently, his fingers caressing your cheek.

“I-I just need a second.”

“A-are you okay?” you ask worriedly.

“You’re so tight, so warm,” Rafayel chokes out, his fingers tightening around your cheek and thigh. You can vaguely feel his cock growing inside you, and it’s then you realize he’s paralyzed, not by hesitation or pain, but pleasure.

You can’t stop yourself from teasing him, clenching down on his manhood snug inside you. Rafayel moans, his hands coming down to grip your thighs in a silent warning.

“No more teasing me,” he cautions with a pout, one hand shifting to rest on your naval. At your mischievous grin, Rafayel presses down. 

You cry out, eyes rolling back as he forces the walls of your pussy to rub against his cock. Rafayel wants to smirk at your helpless writhing, but the sensation is also overwhelming for him. His body heaves, nearly collapsing on top of you, only catching himself by gripping the sides of the tub.

Your fingers wrap around his trembling biceps, eyes urging him to take you.

Rafayel swears, obliging at the fucked-out look in your eyes. He unsheathes himself fully from your addicting gummy walls, barely even leaving his tip in, before shoving himself back into you.

The newfound vigor of his thrusts makes the water in the tub slosh wildly, splashing all over your face and hair. But you could care less, because the feeling of his excitement bruising its way in and out of your throbbing cunt is literally all you can think about. Pathetic moans of pleasure, the only sound you can make.

Rafayel fares no better, strings of beautiful grunts leaving his own lips. His pelvis slams into your soft inner thighs, the sound of the water against your colliding skin sinfully mixing with your combined moans. 

“You’re so – nghnh – perfect for me, Y/N,” Rafayel groans as he drives into you, the tip of his cockhead brushing into your cervix and g-spot all at once, at every thrust. 

His hands clutching the tub on either side of your head cage you in, making it so the only thing you can focus on is him. And the only thing that his senses can perceive is you.

The only thing he can see is you, your tears mixing with the soapy water, the reddened love bites blossoming on your skin.

The smell of you heightened even against the fragrant scent of the bath soap, your pheromones driving him to the edge of insanity. 

Your wanton cries for him, fueling him to fuck you harder, the sounds of your sweet pleasure making his own noises come out unabashedly. 

The taste of you lingering on his tongue every time he bends down to capture your lips in his, saliva running down both your chins. 

But mostly…the feeling of your perfect walls constricting him, pulling him in, refusing to let go. The feeling of your hands, pressed deep into his twitching muscles. Your soft thighs locking him against your sopping cunt. 

God, he was so in love with you it was nearly pitiful. 

“You’ll always be my Queen,” Rafayel babbles, thrusts becoming erratic as he becomes overwhelmed by the bittersweet memories that’d resurfaced in Verona, “My entire heart.”

You nod vigorously at his words. “Always Raf,” you gasp, holding onto him as he pounds into you even harder, your spine thudding into the tub, the water cushioning the blows.

“You better never leave me,” he broods, putting every ounce of emotion into the way his cock claims every inch of your poor cunt. The word ‘again’ dies on his lips, the writhing artist above you opting to save that for another time.

“W-would – nnghnh – never leave you.”

His wild eyes focus on your words. He says simply, the subtleist hint of insecurity and doubt playing in his shaky voice, “I’m gonna – hah – hold you to that.”

You bob your head, wanting him to see how serious you are, see just how much he meant to you.

Your fingers venture to your clit, desperately pent up from all the sexual and emotional tension that’d built up from today. Rafayel doesn’t see you immediately, his head thrown back in a drawn out groan, his body glistening with sweat and bath water, chiseled muscles twitching with his impending release.

When he finally glances back down, he sees your fingers furiously pawing at your clit and he nearly growls at the sight beneath him.

His voice comes out broken and husky, uncharacteristically so for the normally charismatic and smooth-talking painter. He gently pushes your fingers away, his own lengthy and skilled fingers replacing yours.

“Let me,” he begs, hips stuttering as he nears his second release, “I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

His sweet words make you shiver, your body convulsing around him. Rafayel shudders as you grow tighter around him. It felt like you were nearly cutting off his circulation, in the best way. 

Rafayel’s fingers on your quivering bundle of nerves have you seeing lightning even with your eyes screwed tightly shut. He truly had the hands of a god, fingers slender and deft, the pads of his digits hardened from years of skilfully maneuvering expensive paint brushes. Your body was his canvas, and he’d spend hours creating art with you. 

“R-Rafayel, I’m soo – nngh – c-cloose,” you slur, your body arching into him, head thrown back until all you see is the ceiling above. 

Rafayel heaves at the sensation of you coming undone around him, his fingers still rubbing furiously. There’s a bright desperation in his glowing eyes, the need to see you cum on him as strong as the need to fill you up with his endless seed. 

As his body trembles above you, his fingers grip the tub so harshly his knuckles have turned taut and deathly white. 

“I-I’m close too, baby,” he groans, “Please, can I cum?”

You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than to feel him release with you But Rafayel wants to hear you. 

“Say it, Y/N. Tell me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.” His voice is so brokenly desperate it drives you closer to your release, the sound of his lewd pleas so utterly erotic. 

“Ra-Rafayel, n-need it s’bad. Shiiit – please!” you all but scream, his insistent fingers pushing you into your orgasm. 

Rafayel chews on his bottom lip as he watches how beautifully you explode on him, so unbelievably close to finishing himself. He desperately wanted to cum inside you, but he knew if he did that he would be at the point of no return. You’d very well spend the rest of your trip in Verona locked in your hotel room, his cock nestled inside you until you literally begged for mercy. And maybe not even then. 

So with every ounce of will he had left, he pulled out of you as he came, standing on his knees so he could wrap his fist firmly around his cock as he came. The force of his cum so strong it shot all over your damp breasts and even your face, your expression still contorted in the ecstasy of your climax. 

You watch in awe, your cunt convulsing around nothing, your orgasm tapering off, as Rafayel trembles through his own pleasure. His cum is hot as it splashes onto your wet body, some of it shooting into your hair. Honestly the sight of how powerfully his cock erupted makes your stomach lurch in arousal.

Rafayel whimpers through his endless orgasm, his fist pumping up and down as he finishes on you. You’re left quivering beneath his imposing body, mesmerized by the white ropes of cum that shoot from his angry red tip. 

When he finally finishes, his glassy eyes watch you, absolutely awestruck. He bends down, his forearms trembling as one grips the side of the tub, the other stroking your cheek. He catches a rivulet of his milky seed with his finger, grinning cheekily at your reddened face.

“I’ve never seen anything so damn beautiful.” 

If it’s even possible, your cheeks burn even more furiously. You swat his fingers away.

“Shut up,” you whine, looking around at your bodies, joined in the filled tub. You inwardly cringe when you notice there’s more pools of milky white fluid than there are bubbles at this point. The amount of cum he gave you every time was nothing short of a phenomenon. 

“It’s everywhere!” you shriek dramatically, hitting his chest above you, “We need to get cleaned up!”

Rafayel’s grin widens, and before you can ask him what he’s scheming, he uses the finger still on your cheek to smear his cum around.

“Rafayel!” you yelp, trying your best to inch away from his filthy fingers, coated in both your arousals, struggling due to the limited space of the tub.

“But you look so exquisite like this,” Rafayel murmurs, fingers capturing your chin, pulling you up to look at him, his eyes hazy and sated, “My beautiful Queen…”

He dips down to press a lingering kiss to parted lips, mouth hitched open in excitement. When he pulls away he grins playfully at you.

“Besides, it’s good for your skin. Lemurians have a lot of uses, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Is that why your skin always looks so flawless?”

Rafayel’s cheeks flare, his eyes averting from yours, “Okay! Let’s get cleaned up shall we?”

You smile widely, unable to contain your fit of giggles. Your body shakes with your laughter, making the water ripple, “You’ve tried it haven’t you?”

Rafayel’s sheepish expression answers your question, “No! Shut up!”

“I knew it!”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . WAKING UP WITH THEM feat. 𝓙𝓤𝓙𝓤𝓣𝓢𝓤 𝓚𝓐𝓘𝓢𝓔𝓝!

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi + itadori yuuji

warnings! none, fluff ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hi it’s been so long + i just got a sudden urge to write with the new season + all! life has been super cray but hopefully i get to do some more jjk again ueueue! back to my roots <3

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU

it was almost a mission getting up next to gojo, or more so having to actually get out of bed when you have your overgrown clingy boyfriend wrapped around you.

his breathing is soft, the rise and fall of his chest is steady and despite the way the light barely breaks into the room you can see the way his lashes still rest along his cheeks.

now’s your chance, you think to yourself as you ease gojo’s arm from where he’s got it draped over your waist — gently as to not jolt him awake as you push yourself closer to the edge of the bed. you gently swing your legs over the edge, but just as you go to push yourself up you hear the slow, drowsy drawl of a man who’s definitely not about to let you do that.

“oh, what’s this? i don’t think so, sweet thing.” your snowy haired boyfriend grunts as his arms take their previous place around your waist from behind, tighter this time before you’re pulled back into his chest with such an ease you almost squeak. you barely heard him move and the speed he always seems to despite the early hours still makes your head feel dizzy.

“you wouldn’t leave me cold would you? where’s your heart?” gojo teases but you note that he’s warm when he’s pushing himself into the crook of your neck, letting his lips graze along the skin there as he chuckles at the way you shudder at the touch. he knows you’re pouting, your little mission not so successful—but he still thinks it’s adorable the way you melt back into him regardless.. like you were secretly hoping for the loss.

“you were literally asleep a second ago.” your words are accompanied by a playful pinch at his cheek before his large palms graze under your shirt, squeezing at your waist as he pulls away to give you a tilted look. his sleepy smirk is in place as it stretches wide before he leans into to press a quick kiss against your lips, then another against your cheek that lingers.

“oh yeah? but i thought i was still in a dream, sweet girl.” crystalline eyes pull back to look over you, mapping out your features like gojo hasn’t already committed them to memory. but you think it’s unfair how handsome he seems to look in the mornings, especially when you’re trying to resist the way he makes you want to give in to his request to stay in bed a little longer.

“yeah yeah, just get up already.”

“nuh ugh, you’ve not even given me my good morning kiss yet. how will i survive the day, hm?”

✩ ˛˚ . GETO SUGURU

you need to get up, geto knows when your alarm goes off for the third time even though it was the first that woke him. “i know you’re awake, pretty girl.” he hums against your temple, but you’re still pressed up into him and every attempt to shake you gently awake has you inching yourself closer to his chest rather than to the edge of the bed.

“come on.” his words are accompanied by the smooth trace of his hands along the curve of your spine and you think it’s a little contradictory, the way he’s making you melt even more into him despite the way it’s supposed to be waking you up instead.

“sugu, but i’m tired.” a kiss to your forehead and a squeeze of his hand at your hips and you hear geto chuckle as he pulls back to look at you — his dark hair still messily framing his features as he pushes himself up.

“yeah? you seemed to be sleeping well when you were snoring.” he teases even as one arm still wraps around you and pulls you into him anyway. chuckling, long and low when you grumble before nuzzling into the crook of his neck to press butterfly kisses along his skin.

“i don’t snore.” you reply before you find yourself lost in him, geto always smelled good, so good you wanted to wrap yourself in him like the blanket you wrap yourself in at night. you hear him hum at your words; like he’s not quite convinced before he’s reaching over you to tap at the alarm, again.

“but we really need to get up.” he sighs but somehow manages to keep you still pressed against him as he sits up, letting you curl up against his chest as the first cold press of morning air rolls over your shoulders while he stretches.

you look up at him with drowsy features but it seems to warm you from the inside out when you notice he’s already staring, a smirk in place before he’s pinching once at your cheek and kissing your lips when they jut out into a pout.

“hey, don’t gimme that look after all of those alarms, pretty girl.”

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO

waking up with nanami was easy, or more so being woken up by him. he was always up early, waking you up with a sweet kiss against your cheek, followed by another against your temple. his coffee still lingers on his lips but you think it’s familiar, like it makes the first stretch of the day come a little easier when hes resting over you.

“morning, sweetheart.” his voice is a low drawl but he knows you’ll probably still be in bed by the time he leaves. but you know you’ll walk into the kitchen to sliced fruit on the table and your slippers will be waiting in their place over the edge — perfectly positioned for you to slide into because he knows the floor is a little colder in the morning.

“morning, kento.” your voice is cute, barely audible but nanami’s still close enough to hear it as he lets his palm push gently down the curve of your shoulder — squeezing at the skin affectionately. your eyes are barely open, but you can still feel the way he tucks the comforter over you, sighing softly before he pulls back.

“do you want me to bring in dinner?” he asks, you’re barely awake but he still waits for an answer. a little nod follows and he smiles to himself when you subconsciously roll onto his side of the bed, seeking out the small remainder of the warmth he’d left behind although you’d still rather he be next to you instead.

“then i won’t be late, i have dinner plans now after all.” nanami pulls back to take another sip of his coffee but you still seem to find the consciousness to reach out to grab at the cuff of his shirt. a drowsy blink up at him and he knows he can’t deny you when he’s leaning over you again, leaving you with another few kisses that find him having to smooth down his shirt and hair again afterwards.

✩ ˛˚ . FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

you think it’s charming, the way megumi is already looking at you as you wake, blinking blearily at your dark haired boyfriend as he gives you a content sort of look. you blink again, stretching slightly before you roll onto your side, edging yourself closer before you speak. “were you watching me sleep?”

your question is still drawled as you tease him, barely awake but you can still see the way it makes him jolt slightly — like he’s been caught in a daze as the tips of his ears sting with a blush. “no” but his reply is too quick, followed by a tsk while he’s suddenly looking everywhere but at you with a pout on his lips that only seems to lure you closer.

you giggle as you press yourself into megumi’s side, humming at the grumpy expression on his face because you still think it’s cute the way he lets you climb all over him. “what? i think it’s cute.” he softens at that, slightly as his eyes dart quickly to look at you before they’re gone again.

you let the silence settle for a few moments before you feel his arm reach to wrap gently around your waist, securing you against him before he clears his throat to finally say something. but his gaze remains on the ceiling. “i wasn’t staring..” he begins before he gives you another quick look, “.. you, you just made a sound, i was checking on you.”

you hum at megumi’s little excuse as your press your cheek into his shoulder, failing to hide the way your lips are starting to stretch into a grin that he notices before his brows furrow slightly. “hm? you looked happy about it.” you tease again and you feel his fingers squeeze at your waist slightly as he breathes out a long sigh and curls you closer.

“shutup.”

✩ ˛˚ . ITADORI YUUJI

on the rare occasions itadori seemed to wake up before you, you were never far behind — mostly because he couldn’t seem to wait too long without you. so you always seemed to find yourself woken up by a few messy kisses, pressed quickly into your cheeks, then your neck, then your nose until you’re pushing him away playfully at the way they tickle your skin.

“yuuji! i’m awake..” you huff out as your overgrown boyfriend leans his weight over you, like a giant puppy licking his owner awake in the morning as he sends you a bright grin. you always thought it was cute how pretty he still seemed to be in the mornings, even when his hair is messy and it’s barely 8am— there’s still a soft sort of glow in his eyes when they meet yours.

“morning!” itadori replies, his voice is lower than normal but he still handles you softly despite how tightly he wants to wrap you in his arms. but he was warm, sort of like sunshine and you think you quite enjoy the moments when you get to wake up under the sun.

“do you wanna get breakfast?” you ask softly and you swear you feel your boyfriend squeeze you tighter at that. but your arms wrap around him and he doesn’t think anything is gonna be as good as the feeling of you against his chest right now.

“five more minutes, babe. i wanna cuddle a little longer.” itadori’s words are muffled when he speaks them into your skin, continuing where he left off on his onslaught of kisses as he peppers them across your features. across your cheeks, along your jawline and down your neck until he’s pressing you into your pillows and groaning when you scratch your fingers through his hair.

but you accept, even though in five more minutes you know it’ll be ten.

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Imagine Yandere!Zhongli in a Reverse!AU, where you're Liyue's Archon and you seal him away. Thousands of years ago, you and him were friends ruling over different sections of what would become Liyue. You hardly noticed the way his eyes lingered on you whenever he saw you, hardly knew how he would dream of having you all to himself.

One day, he makes an advance as you both sip on tea at Mount Aocang, pledging to move mountains and sink continents if you ask. The price of his eternal affection remains unsaid, but you can see it in the feral, draconic look in his eye. Every dragon has a hoard, even Zhongli. And he will stop at nothing until he can have you as his most valuable treasure.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from escaping, you manage to flee back to your territory. Weeks later, Zhongli attempts to catch you off guard with a surprise invasion, but in the heat of battle, you manage to seal him away beneath the earth.

Millenia pass, and you mourn the loss of a friend, but work to build the nation of Liyue up to the ground. The Fatui come, offering a deal for your Gnosis, and you refuse. It is a mistake you will regret every day for eternity.

One day, the earth shakes in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You feel his presence before you even catch a glimpse of his crystalline horns or golden eyes. Warm and earthy like petrichor. Running out into the city streets, you help an elderly couple around some piles of rubble, before continuing towards the source of the power.

The God of Contracts finds you first, though, easily snaring your feet in stone. His power is choking in a way, and when you try to fight back with your own magic, you feel the power in your body quickly draining from you. Zhongli notices the surprise in your face, and a small smirk plays on his lips. "I've had many years to learn some new...tricks, my treasure," he murmurs, striding towards you confidently. His fingers hook under your chin, pulling it up so your eyes gaze into his. "The people that freed me said they would let me keep you if I gave them your Gnosis."

In an instant, his hand is in your chest, grasping around for your Gnosis. You cry out in pain and try to struggle, but Zhongli grabs your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing you steady. It only takes a moment for him to pull out your Gnosis, gazing at it intently. "You cannot truly understand how long I have dreamt of this day. Of you, my dearest. And now, we will never have to be apart," he whispers, pressing his lips against yours greedily. He allows himself a few seconds to savor this scene, before pulling away.

"Now, my treasure. I wish to make a contract with you." With a wave of his hand, he manifests a piece of parchment filled with words on it out of thin air. "I will help repair all the damage I have done if you promise to be mine, in body and spirit, for better or for worse." You glare at him vehemently, spitting out your refusal. In return, Zhongli simply chuckles. "In that case, I will turn every building to dust," he threatens.

Turning to some already-damaged buildings, he raises a hand, ready to demolish them with a flick of the wrist. Your cries of acquiescence stop him before he can, however. When you finish signing, Zhongli gives you a predatory smile, brushing his fingers against the side of your face. "I knew you would surrender, my dearest," he purrs, possessiveness filling his eyes. "Now, allow me to fulfill my own contract, and then we can return home," he says.

You get the feeling that you will not be leaving home for a very long time.

[dragon-ascent]

Zhongli, the Siren

mermay special~ dark content ahead!

════════════════════════════════════════════

Siren!Zhongli whose songs are knowledge - and his reservoir of it vast. When he finds you washed ashore onto his islet, cradled by rocks and debris, he sings for you.

Siren!Zhongli whose rich, silky voice bewitches you, happily watching you lending your ears and baring your heart to this strange and handsome creature. Brown wings and scales and glimmering eyes alike, he is enthralling.

Siren!Zhongli whose talons turn into hands to gently hold you, embrace you, touch you. His soft caresses and feather-light kisses upon your skin seem to promise a world of love for you. Pure, sweet, melodious love.

Siren!Zhongli who senses your nascent wish to leave...so he places a tender kiss under your ear, wrapping you in his arms, and whispers to you to stay...stay, and listen to his musically-wrapped wisdom. Another kiss, and another song.

Siren!Zhongli whose hands - no, talons hold onto you with sentiment whenever you gaze longingly toward the horizon, murky memories of your life making themselves apparent. His lips are warm upon your neck, and...what were you longing for, just now?

Siren!Zhongli whose songs fell rescue boats that come this way, fragile wood bested by merciless stone and swallowed by the ravenous waters; watching blankly as they sink into the depths of the blue, blue sea...

Siren!Zhongli whose melodies become enriched with besotted attachment for you, his lyrics embracing you...constricting you...his every word dripping with tainted truth of his desires.

Siren!Zhongli whose crystalline tears stream down his face when he sees you waking up from his saccharine dream, tasting the bitterness masked by his golden honeyed eyes. One more song, he tells you, running his fingers down your arms gingerly. One more song and you can leave, and thus he pulls you into his sickly-sweet dream again. And again. And again.

Siren!Zhongli who keeps you around until the span of your life has withered out, and as he places one last kiss and breathes a final song into your cold lips, he watches as you, too, sink and become one with the recessed relics of the sea.

[willownwisp]

love on me

iv. you're exciting, boy come find me. (di!leon x fem reader)

author's note: yayyyyyy, fourth entry !

cw: NSFW MDNI. love hotels. p in v. oral (f receiving and m receiving).

part 4 of ree's leon valentine's advent

If he had been born under different circumstances, Leon swears he'd surely become a beach bum. Better an idle man rather than get smacked by bioweapons day in and night out, not only that, but have the top brass of good ol' U.S of A breathing down his neck constantly. Yet, he's a man who has seen things, he'd already vowed to protect whatever and whoever he can. Cold and cruel this life may be.

So he loves the warmth of the sun on him, lying down on a sun lounger sipping on dry drinks. Enjoy the view in the tropics of crystalline beaches and white sand on his feet, letting loose and relaxing himself.

Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights.

So here he is, you in hand, his cute girlfriend clinging onto his bicep like a bunny that hopped in excitement at every interesting thing you see because you're adorable to him like that.

You were extra flirty too, Leon had chalked it up to you being over the moon because you were finally in Japan after so long of dreaming it, he's smug and pleased with himself, he likes the good boyfriend brownie points, but you had other things in mind.

"Bunny, aren't you cold?"

Leon cocked his head to the side to take a look at you, in your skirt, crop top, and cardigan combo. He's not the type of man to control women and their clothing. Come on, don't people listen to Beyonce? Girls run the world. He doesn't really know who the fuck Beyonce is but he does know Sherry listens to the song.

"Nope."

You give him a cheeky grin, shaking your head.

"Besides, you'll warm me up anyway."

You say this with a wink as you both card through the busy streets of Tokyo as Leon gives you an innocent grin, oblivious to your intent.

"Of course I would bunny. I take care of my pretty girl."

He coos, before giving you a chaste kiss on your forehead, you giggle at how he missed your innuendo before smirking.

"I wanna go somewhere."

You reply as you slide your hand to lace both your fingers together, his calloused ones enveloping your own as you all but drag him to the busy streets.

You turn him around to an alley, google maps pulled up on your free hand as you show him, what seems to be a rather flashy building illuminated by red neon lights and blinged up signs. It was like the establishment wanted to be purposefully flamboyant.

"What am I looking at bunny?"

You flash him a toothy grin, Leon knows that glint of mischief in your eyes as you reply.

"A love hotel."

Leon is floored.

"A what now? A motel? Bunny, if you were horny I'd be hauling your ass back to the hotel room right now."

He breathes out, smoke escaping from his lips as he quirks an eyebrow at you, but you giggle.

"This is different!"

No shit.

Leon thinks inwardly as sapphire eyes scan the building once more. Motels for sex used to be inconspicuous during his time. He really is getting old.

"You wanna check in bunny?"

You nod your head quite excitedly with a huge grin on her face, there's no mistaking it. Your eagerness, and Leon relents. Of course you would want a vacation and his cock. No surprise there.

Leon sighs and squeezes your hand, being the gentleman that he is, leading you inside of the garish establishment. He'd be lyin g if he says he isn't the least bit interesting, you were always the more exciting and free-spirited one.

On the reception counter, he waits for the key, with you standing just beside him, hands still entwined. As Leon grew curious, you grew embarrassed. The lobby was decorated with red. Red hearts, mirrors, sensual posters, and oh god, the brochures on a nearby rack that had photos of toys and costumes

You're fairly aware that love hotels are popular, but now that you're gonna experience this for yourself, bashfulness and your own eagerness had you blushing.

Leon could see you, feel how you'd gone and overheated in his arms and you both aren't in the room yet. He chuckles, squeezing you. You got him going now, as a shiver runs down his spine.

"Are you interested in a specific suite? You can take a look on our brochure here."

The receptionist asks and Leon shakes his head.

"We're fine with anything."

The receptionist nods, handing Leon the key as he cooly leads you to the designated room. Despite his laidback demeanor, Leon is already briskly walking, adrenaline in his veins. As you both reached the designated room, he eases the key in the lock as it opens with a low clicking sound. He leads you inside first, following behind but not before locking the door while you turn the lights on. Another clicking sound, the lighting is a kind of low red and Leon blinks as he follows in, you both inspect the room with amusement and fascination. There inside the center of the room is a queen round bed, with a heart-shaped headboard, covered in satin sheets and what seems to be a confetti of hearts on the foot of the bead, even the pillows were heart-shaped, and the most ridiculous part were the mirrors. Everywhere. Mirrors on the wall, on the ceiling, mirrors of various  shapes and sizes at each of the walls. Red, heart-shaped lounge chairs and a faux tiger rug. Gaudy as the room is, it certainly looks like a place to fuck alright. 

Your eyes slowly adjust to the light, but you were beaten by Leon, who is certainly not the least bit captivated by the interior choices. He did, however, wanted to fuck you in it. He's already dropped his coat on the floor before proceeding to toss his shirt away as he stares at you with an amused smirk while you stood speechless.

"You embarrassed now?

He asks while putting his hands on your waist before turning you around to face him. Face his smug face smirking at you.

"Who? Me?"

You reply with a cocky tone.

"Nah."

You wink at him and he chuckles, he takes your hand pulling you to him as he strides to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Figures," he shrugs "You always wanna fuck me. Don't you, bunny?"

He coos before kissing your palms, your fingertips brush across his lower lip, and he kisses your fingertips one by one, the small act only making you shiver.

"Is that a problem?"

You ask him as that familiar warmth pools in your stomach, he had just finished unbuckling his belt and is now rubbing his hands on your thighs, before peeling your skirt off of you.

He gives you that same handsome grin, there was a sparkle in his eyes and you blush. You take off the rest of your upper clothing to help him before Leon pulls you to sit on his lap, his pretty bunny.

He presses his lips into yours in a sweet kiss, before sweeping his tongue on your lower lip, a cue to open your mouth, proceeding to stick his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you and you sink into his lap. The kiss a passionate tango and as you both part for air, his lips connects to yours with a thin strand of saliva. He swipes it with his thumb before chuckling.

"You're so fucking pretty."

He breathes out before lifting you up, only to place you gently on the bed. Leon's eyes roam over your voluptuous figure, smirking at the dampness on your underwear, he kneels down, peeling that last pesky article of clothing off of you, already admiring how swollen your clit is already.

"So fucking hot too."

He murmurs against your skin as he trails kisses on your ankle, your knees, and up your thighs.

Your breath hitches on your throat, you feel yourself soaking the sheets with every kiss.

Your blissed out face doesn't escape Leon and he smirks, he presses another kiss on your pelvis, before he presses a kiss on your clit. It was like a greeting, in his silly mind.  

His cold breath against fans against your skin before he takes a long, languid lick on your pussy.

Your hands immediately reach down to grip fistfuls of his dark hair, pulling him closer as he licked over your slit, lapping at your essence.

"Fuck, Leon."

You whimper, tossing your head back and Leon smirks against your pussy. He always liked seeing you coming undone with his mouth. His tongue dips into your entrance, the wet appendage flicking and curling inside you.

He presses his thumb on your clit while his mouth still worked on you, relishing in your sweet taste and breathy moans while you could only shut her eyes closed and sob his name helplessly. He doesn't let up, he pulls his tongue out to wrap your clit in his warm mouth and sucking it, inserting two fingers inside your sopping wet pussy. Scissoring and curling inside you while his tongue flicks and sucks on the hood of your clit. It doesn't take look that you gush around his fingers in an orgasm and he smirks. He let's you breath, admiring your flushed face as he stood up. Takes his boxers off and his thick cock springs out, already erect leaking with precum. He stands beside your face. "Suck."

Despite his domineering voice, he looks at you with soft eyes and you turn your body to his direction, you sit up on the bed. With a lick of your lips, your fingers trail over his abs, before your tongue sweeps across his slit, swiping it clean with his precum and he grunts, his body tensing in your touch.

"Fuck yeah."

He hisses through gritted teeth as your tongue swirls around the head before engulfing his dick with your mouth. You dip your head, swallowing him deeper as your hands grab his waits, until his length reaches the back of your throat, knowing he was looking, you don't break eye contact and you suck his cock, thick on your tongue and rolling your eyes while he looks.

"Shit, bunny. So pretty sucking cock like that."

Leon's voice is throaty and you know he likes what he sees, his dick practically jumped in your mouth and you moan. The vibrations make him shiver violently, and he grunts.

"Goddamn."

He breathes, patting your cheeks, A signal for you to stop and you peels yourself off him with a pout like he had just taken your favorite lollipop. Which is true, he is after all, your favorite lollipop.

"Don't be upset now. You suck cock so good, I won't last long."

You both laugh in unison as he breathes in to calm himself, while stroke his cock, he twirls a finger around.

"Turn around for me, bunny. On your fours if you wanna be good."

You hum in response, turning your back to bend over for him. You arch your back, with your ass perked up against him. In that moment, you understand why Leon wanted to fuck you from behind. The image of you bent over and him standing up, his dick plush on your ass is reflected in all of the mirrors on the walls and you let out a scandalized gasp while Leon only chuckles, sensing your embarrassment.

"Wanna see you moan while I pound you into that fucking mattress."

Leon winks at you from the mirror and you see his smug expression reflected everywhere. He kisses your ass cheeks, he's too horny out his damn mind now. He's inside you with one strong thrust, his thick cock all the way inside and he shuts his eyes close. Stilling for a moment to let you adjust to his sized as you close your eyes and whimper.

"Jesus Christ… no matter how many times I fuck this pussy."

He groans, sweeping his auburn strands before steadying his grip on your waist.

"It never gets used to me. Poor little thing."

The fullness makes you squirm and he savors the addictive feeling of your walls clenching on his cock desperate to get him to just fit. You're pressed against the mattress, your pathetic moans muffled by the sheets.

When he starts to thrust, finding that rhythm, your body jerks forward with every rock of his hips. His body moves to cover your own.

"Watch us baby."

He whispers, his tongue sweeping on the shell of your ear and you could only whimper. Clutching the sheets as he finds his rhythm with his hips rocking against yours.

"Look. Don't hide."

He raps before tugging on your hair to forcibly lift up your face while his free hand tug on your arms. You find yourself feeling small with Leon's muscular body covering you. The muscles on his arm flex as both his hands are now grabbing your arms and your hair. The way his muscles pulled and flexed as his hips slams against her ass, the way your ass bounced on him, the thin layer of sweat that coated his torso, the way his mouth hung open in ragged breaths, the way your breasts bounce at every thrust. You feel so turned on at the sight it was crazy. It looked so erotic. This only elicits louder moans from you, while you move back against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Shit!" Leon groans, clenching his jaw. This positions and rhythm was blowing his mind, coupled with how your face twists into pleasure and the heat that coiled in his stomach. This was so fucking hot, he really wouldn't last long.

"Come here" He whispers, planting a kiss on your shoulder, before pulling out which makes you whine in displeasure. He chuckles, both his hands grab you, picking you up. Manhandling your ass to pin you down the mattress. "Shh," he coos. "Not done with you yet bunny."

He chuckles before kissing your nose, guiding himself back inside your pussy. You chuckle as you look at the mirror on the ceiling.

"You've always had a nice ass."

You tease, despite the breathlessness of your voice and Leon only cocks his head to the side in confusion before following your line of sight, remembering that there was a mirror atop the ceiling and he chuckles, a rush of desire running through his veins with the sight of tangled limbs.

"Yeah, so?" His tone full of sass as he smirks. "Jealous much?"

You laugh as he places his fingers under your jawline, bringing your face close before crashing his lips down yours in a sloppy kiss, before moving inside you again. His pace rougher and faster, cock slamming down your pussy like a freight train as you lock your legs around his waist tight, bringing him close before you bite down on his shoulder and Leon hisses a curse.

He peels your legs off of him first before hooking your legs above his shoulders. He growls, this position slips him in deeper, and you squeeze his cock tighter.

"Holy fucking shit!

He exclaims, it's no secret that you both are vocal in the bedroom. You both love verbally assuring each other that the pleasure is mutual, you were always the louder one, but this time it was Leon. Completely pussy whipped with every clench of your walls.

"Got me drunk on this tight fucking pussy."

He grunts and your hands reach out to grab his hips, slamming down on you rougher with every thrust. Your nails digging on the flesh of his waist and he moans. His jaw slacked, sweat dripping down.

"I'm gonna cum inside yeah? Gonna fill this tight pussy up for making me this rabid."

He laughs as his thrusts become erratic. He knows you're close, just like you know that he's close as well.

"Goddamn, got me addicted to pussy."

He moans and your toes curl as he slams into you one last time. His body tensing up, shooting ropes of his cum inside you as you both climax together.

"Yeah, bunny. So good for me. Creaming on this cock like a good girl."

He soothes you, kissing your forehead as you tremble beneath him in the intensity of your orgasm, he looks at you intently. Rubbing your body gently. Not pulling out yet as you gush around his cock.

"You're so pretty when you cum."

He hums. You both cuddle up for a minute to calm down before he pulls out.

Much to Leon's surprise, you whine.

"Lovey… don't pull out yet…"

Leon chuckles, pulling you into his arms to cradle your body.

"Yeah? Give me a minute. Have mercy on the lil guy."

You giggle softly, you were feeling fuzzy and the throbbing in your pussy suggests you were not fully sated yet, and with the way Leon looks at you like a hawk, he wants another too.

"There's nothing little about that."

You retort, giving his chest a little slip and he has a proud look on his face.

"Yeah? Maybe I'll compare it with those next time. Gonna use it on you."

He winks, pointing at the assortment of toys just neatly placed on the bedside table that went unnoticed in the heat of your lovemaking, as you both share a hearty laugh.

[valeriianz]

for the blossoming romance prompts, either 14 (looking at their lips while they talk), 19 (talking late into the night), and/or 27 (sharing an umbrella/coat/blanket, etc) for dreamling!!

i chose "looking at their lips while they talk" tags: human au, hard of hearing Dream, hurt/comfort

--------

Dream is always staring at Hob’s lips whenever he speaks.

It’s something Hob has gotten used to… or so he tries to convince himself. Dream is hard of hearing– not quite deaf, though his hearing is deteriorating. He’d met Dream like this, after his hearing loss began so, without really having to explain why, Hob was able to roll with it– with how Dream has always relied on reading lips.

It did become harder– watching Dream’s gaze drop to his mouth– once Hob realized he had developed a crush on his friend.

Nothing ever prepared him for those deeply crystalline eyes to focus on his lips, even during the most banal of conversations. Hob’s pulse would skip and jump, faltering over his words and laughing at himself sometimes. He wondered what Dream was thinking, during those moments when he would stammer and stutter over a sentence for seemingly no reason. It certainly made conversation drag on a little longer, Dream often having to ask Hob to repeat himself with a patient, almost coy smile.

Or– lord help him– if they were in a dark place like a backyard bonfire or a bar, Dream would lean in close, his face scrunching adorably as he tried to understand the conversation happening around him, and Hob would have to speak directly into Dream’s good ear, a hand cupped over it, like he was telling him a secret.

“I can’t hear a thing in this place,” Dream groused in Hob’s ear, both of them leaning against the bar and surrounded by minimal lights and thumping bass lines.

Hob leaned into Dream’s space, the man automatically turning his head to catch his voice.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Hob’s lips brushed the shell of Dream’s ear and Hob was just drunk enough to not apologize over it, but the brief contact set his skin on fire regardless.

They soon found themselves walking along the waterfront, the temperature dropping in the cool night air and a breeze kicking up to match the waves on the water. Dream tugged on his jacket before stuffing his hands in its pockets, knocking his head back as he took a deep breath, tasting the city air. Hob watched fondly, the street lights they passed under giving Dream’s skin an orange glow, warm and inviting, and he had an easy expression on, the quiet hour giving him some reprieve.

Neither of them spoke, which Hob sometimes preferred… After knowing Dream for nearly a year now, he’d gotten used to these quiet moments, happy to just enjoy each other’s company. Hob liked that the most about Dream, how he was able to find solace and comfort in the silence, rather than feeling the need to fill it with small talk.

It’s late so there aren’t many people out among the scattered benches and picnic tables, as they are properly walking now into a rest area which usually would be bustling in the daytime. Vendors around them closed for the evening or just breaking down.

They come up to one that still looks open, a chalkboard sign boasting snacks like hot dogs and tater tots. Hob slows and points out the open and lit up stall.

“Food?”

Dream’s gaze sweeps over to the sign, his brows lifting in interest and he nods, turning with Hob as they approach the counter.

Unfortunately they no longer have food, the person behind the stall informs sadly, but they are still serving alcohol. With a sideways glance at Dream, Hob gives in and orders a night cap, and Dream follows suit.

So, here’s a funny thing. Hob watches Dream discuss their cider list with the cashier, and his eyes flick down maybe once or twice during the conversation. And, maybe it’s difficult to tell while he’s not facing Dream, but Hob could swear Dream doesn’t have his gaze affixed to other people’s lips while in conversation with them.

Hob of course has no idea how much Dream really relies on reading lips– how the whole interpretation works for him, matching lip movements to the words… but Hob could swear that he never needs to hyper focus on people’s mouths; he always seems to get along just fine without prolonged eye-to-mouth contact.

In fact, now that he is tipsy enough to overthink, Hob is certain Dream hadn’t always stared at his lips. Hob had naively always attributed that to his hearing declining… but that didn’t make sense, as again, Dream never needed to stare for very long when in conversation with literally anyone else. 

Drinks paid for, Hob and Dream walk a little out of the way of the path, finding a bench in a patch of grass and collapsing onto it with matching sighs.

Hob slowly sipped his beer and Dream, from his cider, staring out at the lit up skyline beyond the water. The windows in the skyscrapers were high and far away enough that they resembled stars, reflecting off the water too. It was pretty, Hob always preferred the city when the sun went down. 

Dream did, too. Much of their experience together was shared after hours.

Hob stares at Dream’s profile, how he can somehow still see his long lashes even in the limited light, the point of Dream’s nose, his devastating jawline that Hob has fantasized pressing his lips to, cupping it with his hand, nudging his nose along until he was in Dream’s sooty hair. He wanted to know what it felt like, to tangle his fingers in that hair, comb through it lovingly and also pull it just to hear what sounds Dream would make if he did so, exposing the line of his throat so Hob could latch his mouth onto it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob set his drink down on the space next to him, and tapped Dream on the shoulder.

Dream turns, his expression curious and only a little faded, muddled from alcohol, though Hob swore Dream had less to drink than him.

Hob’s pulse kicks up once he realizes what he’s about to ask. He licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Dream’s eyes flit down to catch the movement.

“Why are you always staring at my mouth?”

Dream’s brows pinch, looking back up at Hob’s eyes with a patient stare.

“Because I need to?”

“No, why are you always… staring at my mouth.”

Dream doesn’t need to. Hob is certain of it. And Dream tenses up, his own lips parting silently, his gaze sweeping sideways.

After a beat, Hob panics. He hadn’t meant to put Dream on the spot, or make him feel awkward. He shifts to be just a smidge closer.

“I mean, is the way I speak difficult? Do I have some sort of lisp I’m not aware of?” Hob tries to joke, to lighten the mood, to brush off the question like it wasn’t aimed at Dream. 

Dream doesn’t even look at Hob while he speaks, continuing to stare into the middle distance, turning the tin can in his hold around and around.

Finally, Dream sighs, his shoulders going with it as he turns to bodily face Hob, planting one foot on the bench and almost curling around his bent knee pressed against his chest.

“I’m going deaf…”

A sudden lump appears in Hob’s throat at the quiet, defeated way Dream speaks, his eyes downcast, staring at his drink.

“Figured I was, obviously,” Dream takes a breath, tapping a finger on the rim of the can now. “It's genetic, doctors think. No cure yet. My hearing is just…” he waves a hand around his head. “... deteriorating. Fast. I’ll lose it completely in my left ear within the next five years, and then my right will surely go soon after.”

Hob swallows hard, his throat clicking at the tightness in his throat.

Dream looks up and Hob feels his eyes burn at how watery and red Dream’s usual clear, blue eyes are. 

“It sucks,” Dream proclaims with a choked off laugh, averting his gaze again. “No more music, no more podcasts… soon I won’t be able to hear the sound of my own voice…” his gaze tentatively slips back to Hob’s. “... or yours.”

Hob’s lips part, butterflies now twisting his stomach into knots.

“So I’ve been…” Dream’s eyes rove over Hob’s face, as if searching for the words. “... trying to memorize the sound of your voice.” He gives another broken laugh, his chin dipping to his chest.

“The way your lips move is unique, it helps carry your accent.” He pulls his head back up, resting it on his bent knee. “The way your tongue curls around vowels, the way you putter and stammer sometimes, it creates a profile, and I can attribute the sound of every letter to the way your mouth forms the words.”

Hob is speechless, a complicated mix of euphoria and sadness swirling around within him. 

He must take a moment too long to sit on what Dream has just admitted, because Dream’s face falls, apprehension marring his beautiful features.

“Say something,” Dream whispers, his brows going up.

Hob can’t say anything. His pulse is racing and his throat is clogged with emotion. So instead he leans forward, gets his hands– which shake slightly– on either side of Dream’s face, and kisses him.

Dream gasps loudly against Hob’s lips before kissing back, shooting electricity down Hob’s spine, all the way to his feet and back up, clinging now to Dream and pulling him closer.

Hob parts for air and kisses Dream again and again, lips-only, but he can somehow still taste the honey sweetness of him, can smell it on his breath and feel it under his touch. One of Dream’s hands knots in the front of Hob’s sweater, yanking him closer still, holding on as Hob’s lips trail up Dream’s jaw– softer than it looks– peppering kisses along the way.

Dream breathes harshly into his ear, wet and raw, tucking his head into the crook of Hob’s neck, and goes still. Hob holds him there, one hand going around the back of his head while the other finds his hand on his sweater and disentangles it to hold instead.

Hob listens as Dream breathes deeply, collecting himself, his other hand coming up around Hob’s shoulder and just… holding on.

Nothing needs to be said, though Hob’s mind is swimming with words, but he keeps them in, opting to shut his eyes and feel the warmth of Dream around him, caressing his pointy knuckles and combing his fingers through Dream’s hair. This is enough for now, holding on, knowing they have time after this.

And Hob has always enjoyed the silence they shared.

part 2!

[feyofmay]

The Oak Door

Laurie x March!Reader (aka "Ducky") Summary: At a gathering in london, hosted by Mister Laurence, Laurie gets drunk & the reader is forced to take care of him. While assisting him, Laurie attempts to propose, & the reader is everything but happy word count: 3.8k Warnings: ANGST, literally that's it just angst, also a lot of self doubt from reader

This story is a snippet from my longer Laurie x reader story, Foolish, Honest Love on ao3. If you want to know what happens next, you'll find out there ;P

Also, I am taking requests for Laurie x reader drabbles/minifics in my asks!!! :)

STORY STARTS UNDER THE PAGE BREAK

To say one’s heart & mind works separately is a lie because the heart is an organ that does not think, nor does it hold any greater understanding of what it is. It has no consciousness, yet is unrightfully given the capability to think & know. Nobody truly thinks with their heart or their throat or their liver or their pancreas. When someone says “thinking with their heart” or “thinking with their mind”, they mean thinking with their intuition or their rationality, or thinking with logic or emotion. They create a great divide in thought that, in all honesty, has & will never exist. A black & white. A right & wrong. A sky & sea. Existing between all of these concepts is a great trench, a lack of understanding, that was dug by the hands of men. 

In thinking with her heart, the middle March finds it best to avoid Laurie, &, in thinking with her head, she agrees with her heart. All of this to say, for the past couple of days, she’s both missed & feared the sight of his face. It’s easy to grow distant from someone when there’s no possible way to close said distance, but, when you’re staying in the same residence per the request of his grandfather, it’s much harder to remain distant, both in a literal & metaphysical sense.

Within the lounge, where she resides now, Miss March distances herself from the greater commotion of the gathering, in the dining hall, without being fully disconnected, like a hand is to the torso. The walls are dressed in a tender maroon wallpaper with an eloquent & detailed moulding of marble & gold, replicating greek columns, which act as a trim that runs across the ceilings. She shares the chaise lounge with other guests as they squeeze next to each other, and their skirts overlap like incoming tides crossing over one another. She’s unsure if she's become overwhelmed by all the stimulus or simply unable to sense anything. The air doesn’t carry any distinct scent. Oddly, the space around her smells of the sound of bustling people & drinks swishing in crystalline glasses. Around her is noise & people, & all of her senses confirm that truth in a monotone wave.  Nursing an empty glass, which she had thrown the contents of into a houseplant & plans to hold for the rest of the evening, she sits within conversation between several men & women, an intellectual hive of people that act more like displays for their attire then beings with bones & blood. For them, knowledge is a sport. It’s a trinket to place on your coffee table to try & impress your inlaws. It’s an accessory to tout & best acknowledge in thoughtful hums & inquisitive gasps. 

A man in a matching set of birdseye patterned, taupe slacks & waist drones on about the recent unification of Germany. While Miss March does find the subject, itself, interesting, she can’t seem to hold intrigue in the conversation. Something about the smoke & the long days warping together in England has led her to misplace the inquisitiveness of the young girl who dreamed of moving to Europe & leaving behind the dreariness of subordinate domesticity. While, with age, she’s gained the emotional intellect necessary to process her emotions beyond simply scraping the shallow tide with her toes, she’s also gained the awareness that, oftentimes, the act of digesting her emotions is tiring. She’s learned that the energy used toward emotions is better spent producing something tangible & of worth. 

Luckily for her, Laurie’s grandfather is a man in the know, which means he knew several associates with daughters of varying ages with varying tastes in clothes who were more than happy to lend a dress to a young lady. Over her crinoline skirt & bodice, a dress in a sweet champagne shade is draped across her. The lacy trim, not wanting to melt into the dress, itself, is a muted purple, almost a grey, that wraps around her puff sleeves & the edges of the champagne tier, with a silk white skirt with a lavender sheen peeks out from underneath. Nothing about the dress is loud. She feels much more at home in the fabric, especially after walking around in the daunting mauve dress like a living, breathing cake topper, a piece of decor for her employer to flaunt. For the first time since leaving New England & Meg & Hannah’s trusted fingers, she’d had her hair done by someone other than her family’s servant. The trusted maid of Mister Laurence had offered & promised to not pull too hard on the March’s hair. As the maid braided & pinned her hair, the middle March almost cried. However, it wasn’t due to any pain inflicted on her scalp, as the maid’s touch was tentative & gentle. It was the simple act of being touched & cared for, a touch Miss March had been subconsciously craving for since leaving her home. A touch she had forgotten until reuniting with Laurie in the crowded foyer. 

Touching her shoulder, a soft hand brushes her & whispers a polite ask for her attention. She flutters her eyelashes, shaking off the weight of the dust that had collected on them, &, with the help of the welcomed touch, swims out of the mental fog she had sunk herself into. Her eyes flitter up & meet with the warm sight of Mister Laurence gazing back at her. Whether the strong scent of candle wax, lingering dust on velvet carpets, & forest breeze eminates from him or the memories of his manor in New England that she spent odd mornings & afternoons in, she’s unsure of. However, it’s another reminder of the young girl she tried to comfort & wish goodbye to before leaving for Lancashire.

“Pardon my forwardness, but, Miss March, I must ask you to join me for a brief moment. I do hate to take away from such wonderful company,” Mister Laurence requests, playing the role of the man wise beyond his years more gracefully than anyone Miss March has ever seen. With a curt nod, not even bothering to bid adieu to the people in the room, she lets curiosity lead her as she rises to her feet & wraps her arms around Mister Laurence’s. Ushering her out of the room at the exact speed that is swift without being suspicious, Mister Laurence guides the young lady to a hallway with no prying eyes or wandering ears. His gaze does not hold the anger of a great man who is weighed down by the hubris of those around him, but in his eyes is something deeply paternal & saddened. Around him, an umber waistcoat & slacks with a herringbone pattern remind her more of a bear then a man of business & wealth. However, her judgement may be heavily clouded from growing up under his watchful eye. While his hair used to be a soft salt & pepper, it has faded to a faint white & grey like the shadow of a tree painted on fresh snow during a cloudy evening. For most, with age comes wrinkles that hide within them their growing envy for the youth that’s being wasted on careless & stupid adolescents. Mister Laurence’s wrinkles are like the rings of a tree, lines that prove that he has lived & seen. They’re a promise that, if one is to ask, he will tell the story preserved in every smile line & crow’s foot. Bending down so his lips hover around her ear, she’s immediately washed in the same sincerity that soaks his demeanour.

“Y/N,” he calls her by her first name, a telltale sign of loyalty & unease from the man, “I do hate to put this upon your shoulders, but my grandson is acting aloof-”.

“In what sense?” she interrupts in the classic March fashion, &, used to this speech pattern, he continues speaking over her. 

“And, while I don’t wish to make you pay for his poor decisions, I have an important associate that I do need to impress,” he explains to her as his hand returns to her shoulder, “And you and I are both well aware that no servant is paid well enough to have to deal with my grandson’s… ”

“Stubbornness?”

“...Tenacity.”

Both finish his sentence at the same time & share a gaze that communicates that neither are completely wrong with their wording. Nodding his head to agree with her, he looks away at the hall ahead. No paternal figure wants to admit their children’s faults. To say a truth is to make it known, but to admit a truth makes it tangible. She can feel the glass ball that rolls up & down his throat, ever so often bobbing at the opening to his stomach. Hiding beneath his heavy wool morning coat, his shoulders tense while trying to protect the rest of his body.

“A servant caught him with several other young women & clearly inebriated,” he reveals to her, & the edges of his lips quiver & twitch as they are tugged by invisible strings into a frown. His words dig a hole into her chest. All that remains is her skin, which caves in & sags where her sternum once was. It leaves a tingling sensation where her muscles & bones used to rest. She feels that Mister Laurence is speaking of a different grandson, which she has never met. What happened to the young boy who would treat her childish fears with utmost sincerity? What happened to the boy who made pinky promises seem like the most honourable pacts a man could make? What monster, what man had stolen the skin from him & now wears it as a costume? 

“I’ll confess. I’m unsure of where I went wrong with him,” Mister Laurence slips out between hushed lips, telling his secret to the wind & Miss March. Pausing to swallow his words, she furrows her brows & purses her lips. Swimming in her mind, she can’t think of any words that can comfort him in this moment of vulnerability. So, rather than speaking, she wraps her arms around the older man & hugs him tightly. Surprise washes him over as she squeezes his ribcage tightly, &, for a moment, he freezes as his eyes dart around to try & catch leering gazes peaking around the corner. But they are hidden in the inky shadows of the hallway. With a long exhale, Mister Laurence allows his tension to escape, & he swallows her in his embrace.. 

“You worry about business, and I’ll worry about Laurie,” she comforts him while pulling away, pausing to fix his bowtie, “He’s very lucky to have a grandfather that’s as kind and loving as you.” Mister Laurence smiles at her reminder as the rosy glow on his cheeks alights the hallway for a moment. Each breath they take in the space that they share feels like it fills each corner of their lungs. Nodding to her, a silent show of gratitude, he leads her to an oak door which lays slightly ajar. Holding the nob, he turns back to her before speaking.

“Thank you for your assistance. He’s in here,” Mister Laurence informs her, & he slowly swings the door open. Immediately, the souring scent of wine hits her face, &, as an instinct, her nose scrunches up & a grimace stains her lips. Splayed out on a couch, dishevelled & basking in his own ruin, she sees more of a strange, unfamiliar man than the boy that she knew. She sees a man that will grow to be discontent with his wife, yet who stays for the kids. A man who never really loved his children but is patiently waiting for the fulfilment that comes from acting in the role that society has told him to. A man who will never be fulfilled. A man that has learned that he must settle for what he has, quietly & miserably. A miniscule part of Miss March relishes at the idea that he’d have to learn how cruel the impartial hand of life can be, but the rest of her is well aware that Laurie will never know “enough”. He’d love his wife, even if she loved another man. He’d work to provide for his kids, &, if the wife was never around, he’d raise them all on his own. He’d move mountains to try to find the better side of “enough”. Laurie will love & love because that is Laurie’s nature. He loves wine & women. He loves trekking through forests & acting a fool, even in public spaces. He loves to engage in conversation while in the company of the March sisters, where no sentence is ever finished & nothing is ever truly said but the quiet “I love you” that rattles around in the pauses between words for a quick draw of breath. Laurie loves Jo. Laurie will continue to love, & love will truly be the cause of his death. Yet, Laurie will find a way to love the silent & cold hand of what lies beyond in a way that no person has ever done before. Miss March cannot even entertain the idea of Laurie living a life that is just “enough” because, to her, his company is more than enough. It is good. It is plenty.

That same man has tossed away his vermillion silk tie & waistcoat, leaving him in a starch white shirt that’s a third of the way unbuttoned & hastily tucked into raven black slacks. Closing the door behind her, the click of the door knob alerts him to her presence. However, his verdant eyes don’t move to meet her as he stares through strands of his messy chocolate hair & up at the silver ring that he often displays on his pointer finger. 

“Are you here to scold me, oh my dear mother?” He asks to the wind, acknowledging her existence. Miss March inhales deeply as the beating of her heart starts to drown out the sound of her breath. Clasping her hands together, she tentatively begins to make her way over to the cobalt ottoman that rests near the matching couch. The room is a demure periwinkle with small etchings of leaves adding a splash of muted emerald to the room.

“No, Laurie. Your grandfather asked me to keep you company,” she tries to ease his nerves as she inches closer.

“No, he told you to keep me away from the guests as I am his greatest failure,” Laurie shoots up at her words, sitting up far too fast for his drunken mind to handle. A warbling groan of pain slips out of his mouth as he rakes his fingers through his hair & clutches his throbbing head. At the sight of his agony, Miss March rushes to him &, readjusting his legs, sits on the edge of the couch cushion, right in front of him. With a tender touch, she gently wraps her fingers around his wrists & rubs small circles with her thumb.

“Oh, shush, you’re as much of a failure as I am a dancer,” She teases him with a sympathetic smile. At her words, a small & raspy chuckle escapes his lips &, tilting his head, his celadon eyes, in which the fields of Elysium hide, gaze up at her. Hiding beneath a smoke of anger, she’s able to see the young boy that she grew up with. The young boy that she once fell in love with. He’s scared & small & all the things a child is never allowed to be. 

In this moment, as much as she despises it, she knows she must admit her faults to him & ask for forgiveness. She was cruel & unjust for bringing up Jo with the intent of spitting in his face. She hurt him with the intention of leaving a mark, & she succeeded in doing so. If he doesn’t ever forgive her, she’ll grow to understand. It won’t be an easy process, but loving Laurie has never been anything close to easy. Taking a deep breath, she shoves the racing thoughts out of her vision & looks him in the eyes.

“I apologise for what I said in the alley, concerning your feelings for Jo. I shouldn’t’ve ever used them to hurt you,” she apologises quickly, &, after speaking, immediately purses her lips together & stares at him. She waits for him to scream. To yell at her to get out. To say he hates her & never wants to see her again. To tell her he always hated her. That he only tolerated her for Jo. To say she’s stupid. She’s vile. She’s not worth Jo or Meg or Beth or Amy’s time. She waits for him to tell her the truth she’s been too scared to say to herself aloud. She waits & waits until, finally, his lips part, & he draws a quick breath.

“It’s alright. I was being mean too, and I, truly, do owe you many apologies, as well, ” he replies with a thin smile, replaying the events in his head. Ducky’s stomach squeezes as relief floods her system, & she sharply inhales while attempting to keep some kind of composure. A tight smile graces her features, slipping past her facade of propriety & decorum. 

“I’ve been spending this past year, & some odd months, wallowing in my own melancholy, but,” Laurie pauses for a moment, slouching forward so his eyes are level with Ducky’s, “but I cannot waste away my life being miserable. If money is truly of the highest concern, then marry me.” His words grab her by the neck, shove their long, spindly fingers down her throat, wrench the breath from her lungs, & pry the air out of her. Her mouth falls agape as she struggles to comb through & fully understand what he’s said.

“Laurie, I refuse-”

“You won’t have to work, nor do you have to love me, & your family will be provided for: Beth, Amy, Marmee, everyone,” he prattles on, afraid of the nearing rejection that comes when he stops to breathe. Ducky can’t hear anything other than her own heartbeat & what, to her, sounds like the faint whisper of Laurie’s voice. She can’t even hear herself think.

“You’ll be happy, I promise. Everyday I will spend in honest devotion to your happiness,” he’s breathless as he finishes his speech, &, feeling the walls begin to collapse in on her, Ducky jumps to her feet. Rushing back & forth, in front of her very eyes, are countless memories of Jo & Laurie, of the way it’s always been. Jo loves her work. Laurie loves Jo. Ducky was left to love the footprints Laurie had left while chasing after Jo. 

“Laurie, I, as a woman, must either enter a marriage for security or for love,” she whispers out as her arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her sides tightly, “while you can marry for any reason under the sun, and I will not be an accomplice in allowing you to waste that privilege.” The room grows smaller, the air between them thinner. It’s hard to breathe & her vision becomes a swirl of blues & greens with a spotty pillar of white & black wiggling around in the centre. Laurie stops, & Ducky stops. Neither move. Neither speak. Neither breathe. The walls stop moving, & everything around them fades into their shadows. They are a boy & a girl. A lady & a man, all grown up & yet the exact same as they were the day that they met. While his previous proclamations were loud & steady, the words he speaks next are a promise meant only for his lips & the spirits that hide in peoples’ breaths. 

“But I can give you both, love and security, if you’d allow me. I’ll inherit my grandfather’s wealth, and we could be happy, all of us.”

Clear on his face is the same sincerity that he’s gifted to her in every moment of embarrassment & shame. His eyes stay glued to hers. After waiting for years for him to say these words to her, she can’t help but feel his admittance is fake. That maybe his words are meant for someone smarter, braver, older, & better then she is. His words are meant for Jo.

“No, no, you don’t get to, this isn’t right,” she bites back, walking backwards & grasping for the door knob yet only finding the air between her fingers, “Stop it, Laurie, please.”. He follows her, &, in his drunken state, collides with the furniture, sending his body awry. 

“Yes, yes I can, and we both know it to be true,” he tries to correct her as he raises his hands to grip her forearms. Her shoulders immediately tense at his touch. His fingers crinkle the poofy champagne fabric that delicately floats around her skin.

“You’re acting a fool, Laurie-”

“I can, I swear on my life Y/N, I am able and I am willing and, and content to do so.”

 “-I won’t allow it, I simply cannot,” she continues to ramble on, & her finger tips brush against the cool metal of the doorknob. Laurie opens his mouth to rebuke her statement, but, before he can, her palm flies up & presses against his lips. Covering his mouth with her hand, she shakes her head as her eyes gleam with tears.

“Please, stop. It hurts, Laurie. Please, Laurie, you’re hurting me,” she pleads to him as her fingers curl around the door knob, “I cannot do it. You broke my heart once already. Is that not enough for you?” 

To watch the boy she admires fall in love with her sister, who she’s loved since the dawn of time, was a constant, real ache that left her sobbing into Beth’s chest as she begged Meg to help her & relieve her of the pain, which was an impossible task. After the middle March had left for Europe & caught word of Jo’s rejection in a letter from Beth, she had a heavy heart knowing that the two people who were connected at the hip for all of her adolescence had now grown cold & distant. It was as if she’d heard that the moon no longer followed the sun, leaving the night cold & bleak. All she has done her entire life is labour & hurt for those she loves without question or complaint. However, she cannot look Laurie in the eyes as he slurs out ideas that would’ve sent her younger self spinning & giggling with a maddening joy. She cannot withstand that pain for him. She doesn’t feel happy or sad. Nor is she angry or scared. All that she can feel is the heavy pounding of her heart & a dull ache emanating through her. The pain swallows her mind, &, while her body still remains, Ducky has clearly fled far from the room. She’s racing down the streets in her dress, seeing how far her legs will take her. 

She yanks the door open just before he can reply & heaves her body through, slamming the door shut after her. Leaning her weight against the slab of carved & varnished oak, a few tears trickle down her cheek as she chokes back a sob, not wanting to alert any guests nearby. In her mind, she’s already ran all the way back to New England. There, back in her home, she lies, hiding her tears in Beth’s dress, as her sisters practically cocoon her, protecting her & the fire from the harsh reality of the world that waits outside their loving embrace & on the other side of the oak door. 

i told you it's literally & only just angst... sorry. please like & repost :)

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | August 19th-25th 2024

Have a wonderful week! I hope you enjoy this rec!

Complete

don't let go by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Getting Together | <1K | Teen): Buck and Eddie get home after a long shift and decide to take a nap. for the prompt: accidental pet names

in the crystalline knowledge of you by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Post-BuckTommy Break-Up, Love Confessions | 1,5K | Teen): Eddie barges in and tells Buck how he feels and they cry about it. That's it, that's the fic.

Come on Sweetheart, Let's Adore One Another by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Established Buddie, Fluff | 1,6K | Mature): When Buck and Eddie start dating Buck finds out a surprise about Eddie that delights the hell out of him. (or the one where Eddie’s soft, romantic little heart loves being called pet names.)

Shouting Under My Breath by carpediaz/ @sofa-king-lame (Jealous Eddie, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): The one where a guy hits on Buck in a bar and Eddie gets jealous. Turns out, Buck really likes it when Eddie is jealous.

call your girlfriend by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (S5, Love Confessions | 2,6K | Teen): Buck is at a loss, so he calls Maddie. “Eddie… told me we were getting married.” The silence is damning. “…You wanna run that by me again?" - Or: When Taylor tells Buck she loves him, Buck tells Eddie about it. And Eddie? Well, he goes right for the jugular.

leave it out there, no regrets by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Post-S7, Love Confessions | 3K | Teen): Or, the one where Buck is completely oblivious to Eddie declaring his love, and Eddie (briefly) contemplates leaving the country forever because of it.

we'll try and we'll succeed by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Post-S7, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Buck comes out to Chris and it helps him realize who he wants to be with.

we should make a verbal agreement to only kiss each other by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Secret Marriage | 4K | Teen): “Who the hell did he marry? Everyone he knows works here! He’d have to marry one of us!” The whole room goes still as they process that. “God, could you imagine?” - Five times a member of the 118 imagines being married to Buck, plus one time one of them lives it. (sequel to call your girlfriend)

I Am What I Am Cause You Trained Me by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Post-S7 | 5K | Mature): "So it's all my fault Christopher’s first instinct is to run?" Eddie protests. “And Shannon's?” "Eddie, you enlisted," Helena says gently, but there's nothing gentle about it. "And Shannon ran off to LA," Ramon adds, oh so helpfully. "And I was ten years old when you told me to step up and be the man of the house because you weren't around," Eddie says, jabbing a finger towards Ramon. Ramon does at least look a little guilty about it. Helena, as always, is undeterred. "He was angry at you, Eddie. He needed his space." "Which I was giving him," Eddie hisses. "You didn't have to take him away for him to get a little space or time or whatever he needed." "He asked us to come get him," Helena reasons. Buck, who'd been quiet so far, steps beside Eddie and speaks, his shoulder brushing Eddie's in silent reassurance. "And you didn't think to at least consider trying to mediate first?"

No Regrets by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together, PWP | 5K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie’s relationship changes with an impulsive kiss during a rerun of Chopped. It’s now a few hours later, and Buck wants to make sure that Eddie doesn’t have any regrets.

love is stored in the picnic basket by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Getting Together | 5K | Teen): Buck participates in the 118’s basket bidding on Valentine’s Day and things go exactly as (Bobby) planned. When Eddie is done standing on the sidelines, he makes the grand gesture Buck has been dreaming of. or: buck’s heart (um, picnic basket) is up for auction and eddie is ready to pay

The Way to a Man’s Heart by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): When Eddie texts Buck to ask him over for dinner, Buck thinks something odd is going on, but nothing prepares him for what Eddie has planned.

the best of me (are just the pieces of the best of you) by justhockey (Post-S7, Getting Together | 6K | General): It was a slow, aching, gruelling process, like re-breaking every one of your bones just to set them back in the right place. But Buck got to watch as Eddie slowly came back to life. There’d still been the whole moustache debacle, though. Which, thankfully, hadn’t lasted beyond the first facetime call with Chris, where he’d actually hung up in disgust and texted Eddie a single sentence: get rid of it. They don’t talk about that brief lapse in judgment anymore.

wanna do a bad thing twice by coldbam/ @coldbam (Cheating Buck, Buddie Endgame | 7K | Explicit): Eddie gets another new friend. History repeats itself.

this could be the year for the real thing by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Maddie/Chimney | 8K | Teen): It's December, 2016 and Chimney is a bit down on his luck. But a chance meeting with Beverly Hills heiress Maddie Buckley, right before her parents' big annual New Year's party, might be just what he's looking for. OR a Madney Cinderella AU.

the kiss that lingers by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): 5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

🔥the best endeavor waiting by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Amputee!Buck | 12K | Mature): When quarantine puts the 118 on the front lines of the pandemic, Eddie asks Buck and his service dog, Cranberry, to stay with Christopher. (Part 2 of Buck & Cranberry)

Vary My Days by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-S7 | 12K | Teen): After Christopher leaves, Frank tells Eddie to get a hobby. Eddie picks Legos, Buck picks crochet, and they both wait for Chris to talk to them again.

Can You Open Up The Door? by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting | 15K | Teen): Or, five times Abuela and Pepa try to matchmake probationary firefighter Buck with freshly single dad Eddie moving to Los Angeles, and the one time they don't need to do anything at all.

🔥I'm Hearing Secret Harmonies by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Witch Eddie, Coffeshop AU | 18K | Teen): When the firefighter walks into Eddie's coffeeshop, Eddie immediately knows two things about him: he's not human, and he's the love of Eddie's life. Oh, he knows a bunch of other things too, obviously. He's about thirty, a few months younger than Eddie himself. He has a scar on his throat, like he got stabbed there, and one of his legs has some metal rods in it that must have come from a bad injury. The guy doesn't know he's not human, which is a tricky thing to figure out, but Eddie's almost positive. Most of the non-humans he knows have always known they aren't people, but there are exceptions, and they tend to carry themselves differently. The firefighter moves like he knows he doesn't belong, but not like he knows why. Like he's afraid of taking up space, afraid of being noticed. As if Eddie is even capable of not noticing him.

🔥 you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post-S5, Canon Divergent - Roommates, Getting Together | 34K | Mature): Buck moves in. Eddie comes out. Things get a little messy.

🔥I used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Ghost Whisperer Buck | 43K | Teen): Here's what Evan believes: if someone can do something that other people can't, if they offer some unique and special service to the world, they should do that. They have an obligation to use whatever skills they have, ideally to help people. It's just the right thing to do. And the one thing that Evan can do that almost no one else can is see ghosts. (The 118 are on a ghost-hunting TV show. Buck's the only one who knows ghosts are real.)

WIP

🔥Where there's smoke by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Multiverses | 25/31 | 30K | Teen): His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 17/21 | 84K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 14/15 | 68K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 3/14 | 12K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 134/? | 425K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Weary Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Buck&Bobby, Post-S7 | 3/4 | 9K | Teen): After an argument about the circumstances of Bobby's sudden retirement, Buck and Bobby each find themselves inexplicably experiencing one of the other's difficult childhood memories.

Podfic

🔥[podfic] i'm not good with names (and you don't feel the same) by be_brave13/ @djemsowhat // fic by benwvatt/ @benwvatt (S7E7: Ghost of a Second Chance | 10-20min | Teen): Whatever you do, don’t think about her, Shannon, six feet under, carnations at her grave. And don’t think about Buck, ever-changing, sleeping on your couch at home, hands folding over faded towels ‘cause he’s doing your laundry without you asking and fingers tracing down your books, copies left over from high school; eyes roving over your body in locked-away dreams that you don’t discuss, not even at therapy; lips that haven’t ever touched you but lips that know the touch of another ー another man ー just don’t think about it. Or: Eddie goes on his date with Kim and totally, absolutely, does not pine after Shannon or Buck the entire time. (Mission failed.)

[babybluebex]

Hi!! this is my first ask so sorry if its bad! I was wondering if you could do either Robert Fischer or Raymond leon with somno??if your uncomfortable with that you don't have too, sorry😭

oooh yes i can *rubs little devious hands together* warnings for somonophilia/dubcon content, mentions of pregnancy, creampie, this is sorta dark you've been warned

When you looked at him, his face glowed. Golden sunlight glinted off of his high cheekbones, dewy with perspiration, his black hair falling into his crystalline eyes as he hovered over you. His lips were touching yours, but not kissing you, letting you take in every single one of his breaths as he hissed them in and sighed them out. Every time you had sex, Robert acted like it was the first damn time, and you raked your fingers back through his hair. 

“Oh, shit,” he whispered as you gently tugged on the ends of his hair. His hips stuttered as he struggled to control himself, his arms wavering a bit, and you smiled at him. He couldn’t help but smile back, and he said, “M’not gonna last much longer.” 

“That’s okay,” you told him. “I don’t care.” 

Robert chuckled, and he readjusted his hands by your head before pushing inside you again, his cock throbbing against your velvet walls. “My good girl,” he whispered, capturing your bottom lip between his and kissing it softly. “God, fuck, what a good pussy. Gonna make me cum so quick. You want it, baby?” 

“Yes!” you whimpered. Your legs went tight around his hips, and you tugged him closer to you, and Robert moaned again, broken from his chest like he couldn’t stop it. “Fuck, Rob, want it so bad.”

“Where do you want it?” Robert asked. “You want it inside? Want me to knock you up?” 

You didn’t even hesitate before you said, “Please!” 

Robert hummed as he fucked you hard, hearing you moan and cry as he pushed you to your limit. “Fuck,” he whispered, finally sealing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, and you felt warmth grow in your belly. You were going to cum quickly, and you grabbed your lover’s shoulders, digging in your fingernails to try to ground yourself. Despite that, though, you felt weightless, unable to keep yourself on earth, and Robert said, “C’mon, baby, just a little more… Wish I could see your eyes.” 

Confusion struck you. “What?” you asked. “M-My eyes are open.”

“So fucking wet,” Robert continued as if he didn’t hear you, mumbling under his breath, but you could hear it. “Jesus, you’ve never felt like this before… Oughta do this more often.” 

“Do what?” you asked. “Robbie? What’re you talking about?” 

Robert shushed you gently, kissing your lips again, and he said, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’m just taking care of you.” His words echoed off the walls, burying into your skin, and you whimpered as his grip tightened on your hips, pinning you down into the bed. Behind him, you could see the window, and you gritted your teeth when you realized that the sunshine that had been turning Robert into a golden god had disappeared. Instead, it was replaced with rain; heavy, windy, loud. 

“I’m dreaming,” you realized gently. You looked at your lover, watching his face soften above you, and you asked, “Robert, am I dreaming?” 

“Oh, baby,” Robert whispered. “You were.” 

Suddenly, the world skewed. You felt a change in your chest as the rain outside scattered sideways, and the glass of water on your side table slid onto the floor. In fact, everything was turning to one side, as if the gravity in the room had suddenly changed, and you clutched Robert. “Baby,” you mumbled into his neck. Nothing deterred him, and he kept fucking into you, faster and harder than before, chasing his finish. “Baby!” 

And then, a snap, and your eyes flew open. The bedroom was dark, the city outside asleep with the late time, but your focus was on Robert. He was panting above you, still wearing his day clothes— his braces were pulled from his shoulders and his pants were shoved down his thighs, like he had been in an awful hurry to get inside you. His cock was in his hand, gripping it tightly but not moving, and his chest heaved as his eyes slipped open. “Fuck,” he whispered, and he licked his lips. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Wh-What…?” you mumbled, confused and disoriented. A dream. You had been dreaming of Robert fucking you but, by all accounts, the wetness between your legs and Robert’s unkempt appearance, he actually had been. You looked down at yourself and found yourself leaking his cum, a little smeared over your clit, and your legs instinctually closed. “Were you…? But I was asleep.”

“Yeah,” Robert said, loosening his tie as he tucked himself back into his pants. “You said you’d wait up for me, but I got home and you were asleep. And a man has needs, sweetheart.” 

[dearestspirit]

a note heard in heaven - 01

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 3,388 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health. series masterlist | previous part | next part

“Fuck!” Mizu grunts, knocking her head into the ceiling of her little room after hearing your scream.

Hissing, she hurriedly flails up and out of bed, Madame Kaji’s words on her mind. The older woman had told Mizu about your nightmares– she was no stranger to them herself. If she were back in that dingy village she called home right now, she would’ve gone right back to sleep. It’d be a lie if she said she wasn’t thinking about ignoring you, even now. Taigen would have her head if she didn’t follow through with the plan, though… The thought of losing out on the money is enough to make her quicken her pace through your door, nearly tripping over herself.

Your voice is torn between muttering and full-blown shrieking– crying for your mother. Your mother, who, as far as Mizu knew, was long gone. Once she reaches your bed, she’s out of breath and already has her arms at, what she assumes is, your shoulders to hold you in place. Buried under your blanket and absolutely thrashing around, Mizu can barely get a word out to calm you down. Eventually, she can tell you’ve become more conscious when you start calling out for the name of your old handmaiden.

“No, no, I’m the new one,” Mizu hushes you, your wild movements slowly ceasing. “You had a bad dream, go back to sleep.” Her tone is rough, hoping you’re through the worst of it.

Finally, you take hold of the blanket, easing the hem of it down to your midsection. Mizu, for a moment, gulps as you’re revealed to her. In the glint of the moonlight, your eyes were almost crystalline. Tear tracks stain your cheeks, complexion ruddy with grief. Her eyes trail down to your lips, trembling. Grasped tightly in your arms was a doll. You looked… fragile. Fragile in an all too familiar way. Fragile in the way that she knew she once was too– a child, having a bad dream, calling for their mother. No mother would come for either of you.

She watches you raise your arm, finger pointing out into the gardens your room faces. “Do you see the cherry tree? My aunt… she passed. There’s nights where I see her out there.” Your rasping barely breaks through the quiet, hoarse and shaky.

Mizu’s attention is turned towards the large window, squinting out of it. Watching you from the corner of her eye, she can’t shake the thought of how eerie you are. Neither Taigen nor Madame Kaji had even hinted at the notion of you seeing ghosts to her. She wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but she felt the weight of her responsibility for you become heavier. Melancholy like yours was easy to sense, deeply buried as it may be. This job was going to be the end of her. She sighed, hoping to turn around and find you peacefully sleeping.

“For fuck’s sake!” Mizu grits her teeth, finding you not even in the room at all once she turns back.

She’s quick to chase after you, finding you huddled in a swathe of your own blankets at the top of the stairs. You’re sniffling into them, knees pressed tightly to your chest. When you peer up at her, a zing of guilt courses up her spine. Maybe you didn’t just look fragile.

“Come to your senses yet?” She asks, tilting her head with her arms crossed. Reaching a foot out, she nudges at your legs.

You give her a sluggish nod in response, having exerted all your energy. Between the scrambling in bed and the mad dashing to the staircase, you felt well and truly exhausted. Part of you felt remorse; for looking at Mizu, even in the dim light, you could see the weariness under her eyes. In the gauntness of her cheekbones, too. Despite feeling despair holding you down, you reach your arms out, gesturing for her help. Mizu drags a hand over her face, grumbling. Squatting down, she’s somehow able to enclose her arms around the mass of blankets covering you, lifting you easily. It barely takes her any time to lug you back into bed.

Her awkward nature is obvious as she stands once more at your side. “Okay, well… goodnight?”

Sitting up, you don’t hesitate to take Mizu’s sleeve into your hand and pull. In response, she tugs herself away from you, scoffing.

“Don’t grab me like that,” Mizu seethes. “Ever. Just call for me.”

Your mouth runs dry. Whether that’s due to the harshness of her tone or the fact you upset her, you aren’t entirely sure. “I apologize… Could you stay with me until I fall asleep again?”

Her face scrunches. “Don’t you have a husband? Call him in here.”

You squirm, clearly uncomfortable. “We aren’t actually married yet. Calling each other husband and wife… it’s for appearances,” Your head lolls back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. That doll you had– it’s returned to its position of being clutched tightly in your arms. “Men like him are only gentle with women when others are watching.”

Mizu’s chest heaves, a strong exhale leaving her as she contemplates her next move. “Fine, just for tonight.”

Your eyes light up almost instantaneously. The sight makes her swallow, stiffly. Had… anyone ever looked at her like that? Those sparks of joy, finally overtaking that shadowy gloom in your irises; it captivated her. Briefly, at least.

“Ugh,” she shook her head, taking little care to climb into the spot next to you. “Look, if I’m staying here until you fall asleep, you’re facing the other way.”

“Your eyes are blue. I couldn’t see them that well before.”

“Yes, they are. Just another good reason for you to turn around, right?” she sneers. “Or better yet, go ahead and fire me.”

You frown, holding her gaze. “I wouldn’t fire you for something like that,” you’re mumbling as you bring a hand up to her cheek, caressing it with the back of your knuckle. “For what it’s worth, I think they’re beautiful. Someone would’ve been very happy to have you as a wife someday, I’m sure.”

Mizu snorts at that, carefully edging her face away from your touch. “I’ll pass, but… thanks. Even if it’s empty flattery.”

She can see your lips form into a pout. “It’s not!”

You’re playful, all of a sudden. She figures that this is it. Your loneliness bubbling to the surface. An undrownable creature made of desires and aches. Mizu knew your old handmaidens were mostly a lot older than you– elderly women vastly more experienced than the other youthful servant girls. It’s been very, very long since you’ve had a friend, if you’ve ever had one to begin with. It was only slightly unfortunate to her that she’d have to be the one to prey upon your vulnerabilities.

“Do brats like you whine all the time?” She huffs, taking your arms within her hands and turning you around herself. “You must be worn out by now, so go to bed. I’ll… be here.”

You chuckle at her, the grimace she must be sporting is obvious even though you’re not looking anymore. You can’t help but think that your mattress felt a bit softer tonight.

It was a long few minutes that passed by, Mizu’s eyes trained on the motions of your breathing. When your body rose, fell. The slight shivers that would run through you when your blanket slipped lower than wanted. Clearing her throat, she eased herself off of your bed. With her first night as your handmaiden over, she questioned just how sane she’d be after the end of all this. At least she’d be rich, she supposed, slipping back into her bedroll with a smirk.

Mizu awoke to a bleary morning and the sound of Madame Kaji’s grating nags in her ear. Something about even the handmaiden eating in the servant’s quarters– she didn’t care all that much, barely half conscious to hear it. It took her a few groggy minutes to make her way outside and get her hands on a bowl of rice and some sort of… porridge, she assumed.

The hall was filled with the gossip of the other young girls serving here. Together they squealed about The Count; he was due to make an appearance today. Supposedly they saw a light ghosting through the hallway, speculating it was him meeting you in your bedroom. She almost laughed at that, knowing the reality is that it was her going after you during your nightmare. Fiddling with her chopsticks, she felt little appetite knowing Taigen would be here today. Everything in this plan had to go perfectly, there was no room for her to be suspicious or lack confidence in her abilities. Perhaps the seemingly endless downpour of rain was also putting a damper on her? Taking only a few more bites, she pushed her bowls away from her. Padding over to where she left her shoes, she felt a bristle of anger. One of her shoes was gone, with a crowd of other servant girls giggling. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for them, Madame Kaji was approaching her with a parasol held over her head.

“Is that how you intend on going to meet with the Lady?” Her eyebrow raises, gesturing to Mizu’s feet.

“I didn’t exactly plan on having my shoe taken.” Mizu fumes.

Madame Kaji sighs, massaging her temple. “Ah… Very well.”

A sense of unease settled in Mizu’s chest. This would be her first official meeting with you. It’d be up to you whether you’d take her on as handmaiden or not… and it was looking grim for her, right now. As if she isn’t on enough people’s hit list, she’d have to go and be added to Taigen’s for screwing up. She follows closely behind Madame Kaji as she leads her to your room, trying her best to ignore the sogginess of her footwear. It takes everything in her to not grumble with every step, keeping up a polite disposition. Even if you were willing to put up with her irritable nature, Madame Kaji certainly wasn’t.

Before long, she stood in front of you in a deep bow, hands folded at her waist.

“This is Mizu.” Madame Kaji spoke.

You felt a prickle of heat trail up your neck, a twinge of embarrassment at realizing that through the entire night, you hadn’t asked for her name once.

“I’m at your service, my Lady.” She straightens herself out, eyes now set on you.

You’re much more put together today. That hair of yours is pinned up neatly, off your shoulders. And your eyes, today, aren’t sullied by the red tint of sorrow. Your choice of dress guides the eyes– from nose to lips to neck to the faint hint of exposed collarbones. Delicate; the word that comes to mind when Mizu collects her thoughts. Madame Kaji leaves a less than pleasant swat on her back.

“Right, a letter from my last mistress.” Mizu stands before you, holding out the paper.

You don’t open it yet, instead choosing to focus your sight on Mizu. “Did you enjoy your first night here? It’s rare for the sun to come out. My husband prefers it that way, otherwise his extensive library would be at risk. To take joy in a place like this… it’s difficult, no?”

Mizu’s eyesight flickers between you and Madame Kaji, wondering how to answer. “I don’t mind it.”

“Hm,” You hum inquisitively. “You don’t have to lie when I question you. I want your honesty. Do you have parents?”

“What?” Mizu asks, somewhere between anger and surprise.

“I’ll be going now.” Madame Kaji shakes her head, sighing.

“I don’t have any either, so don’t feel bad. I had my aunt and Madame Kaji, so how much can the love of a mother really be worth?” For a second, she hears the twist of something bitter in you. You look back down at the letter Mizu handed you. “Read this to me, if you will.”

“You’re spoiled, aren’t you?” She grunts, taking the parchment out of your hands.

“It’s only because my head hurts before every reading session with my husband. Though your honesty is refreshing.” You’re grinning, unused to someone like her. Your previous handmaidens were at your beck and call– annoyingly so.

It’s odd, but in her mind she’s quick to consider you… charming. You’ve been spoon-fed and privileged your whole life, yet here you are conversing with her without taking any offense. Delight has always been scarce for her; still, she reminds herself whatever she feels now will and must be short lived.

“Dear Lady of the House… The Count said you needed a new maid…” Mizu starts, reading off the neat handwriting which she knows is Taigen’s, but you're oblivious to.

“Ah, enough,” You wave a hand at her, taking the letter back. “You’ll be my handmaid. I know Madame Kaji forbids it, but I don’t particularly care if you curse or steal. It’s my word that decides whether you stay or not.”

“You speak like you have a condition for my staying?” Mizu questions.

“I do. Don’t ever lie to me.” You smile, though your words are cold. It’s a chilling ultimatum that rings in the back of her mind for a while.

She freezes as you put her hands on her– resting them on the outside of her arms, slowly trailing to her wrists. There’s a second where she can pinpoint the exact change in your expression. Where it morphs from man-eating to genuine. She thinks that through all the rain, the sun might be shining a little brighter through the gray now.

“And, another question,” You’re scanning her appearance, zeroing in on the frames sitting on her nose. “Did Madame Kaji ask you to wear those- your glasses?”

“Yes, for my eyes.” She mumbles, finding the topic easily aggravating her.

“You don’t have to wear them if you'd rather not, and…” A finger of yours comes up, untucking a curl of her locks from their neat place. “You can wear your hair like this. It’s how you had it last night, too. You seemed more comfortable.”

Since when has anyone like you ever cared about the comfort of someone below you? She opens her mouth to speak, maybe even say some sort of gratitude, but you’re already flitting away from her. You’re eager, waving her to and fro every corner of your room. Trinkets on display are taken out of their designated place and into her palms, each one connected to a story. You talk.

You talk, and that loneliness once again bubbles, showing it’s soft underbelly to the skies.

“This is my mother.” You open up a locket to reveal an old photo.

To Mizu, the two of you have an uncanny resemblance. It’s almost bizarre, the way each of you is the picture of a man’s ideal wife. Again, the word delicate springs to mind. “She’s stunning.”

You tilt your head, eyes squinting. “And me? My husband says I don’t compare to my mother.” You turn, mimicking your mother’s pose. There’s nerves in your tone, a shadow looming over you as you wait in suspense for her answer.

Fuck. Your own despair would betray you. You’ve unknowingly gotten yourself ensnared in the perfect moment to sink her teeth into you. Your softness would be met only with blades. With her as his wing-woman, you’d be eating out of Taigen’s hand in no time.

Her stare lingers on you. “The Count says–”

“You’ve met him?”

“What?” She stutters, blinking rapidly. “I mean, my… aunt met him. She used to nanny him, so I’ve just heard things from her.”

“So, what did he say about me then?” Your eyes hold an expression of curiosity, maybe even a tinge of hope.

“He lays awake at night thinking of you. In bed.” She tacks on the last part of her sentence as an extra measure.

There’s a brief flash of a smirk upon your face before you speak. “In bed…” You trail off, gaze landing on her one shoeless foot. “And what happened there?”

When she recalls the events to you of her losing her shoe, you click your tongue, sighing. You reach out a hand to take her by the arm, but remember her warning about never grabbing her. Instead, she herself holds out her arm for you, rolling her eyes. Guiding her over to a large closet, you open the two doors, displaying your wide collection of shoes.

“Take a pair, please.” You indicate which ones would fit her. “It’s not like I’m allowed to go anywhere, so someone should get some use out of them.”

Mizu, uncertain, takes the plainest pair out of the ones you’ve shown her. They’re simple and black, seemingly comfortable enough to do her handmaiden work in.

You seem to be happy with her choice, the way your lips upturn. “You didn’t want any of the flashy expensive pairs?”

She shakes her head, shrugging. “Not my style.”

“Hm,” You look out the window, then shift your gaze to the room’s clock. “I have to go for my husband’s reading. You can stay put, I’ll go alone.”

“It’s pouring out there.” Mizu says, as if you can’t see the state of the weather.

“Come get me at noon, okay?” There’s that smile of yours again– do you have to smile so much?

The door is closed behind you before Mizu gets any sort of goodbye out. Adjusting her glasses, she snorted as her eyes landed on the clock you were looking at before. You’re rich, of course you have the latest inventions at your disposal. It was a handcrafted Western clock made of brass. She wondered who had gifted it to you, were they too trying to get in your good graces? Seduce you? She’s not sure if it mattered, since she– The Count, she corrects herself– would be the one to succeed. Letting out a moan of boredom, she decides to pass her time by looking through your belongings.

The overindulgence of wealth nearly sickens her. Your extravagant kimono collection, sorted by color, the best season to wear them, what obi pairs well with them. She thought that was nauseating until she plucked through the cases of jewelry. Gold, silver, every gem you could imagine existed right here in front of her very eyes. It’s not impossible for her to picture you bathed in their opulence, as the kind of woman that such a fortune suits. Would you ask her to put your earrings on for you? Moreover, would she be tame, tender? Snapping the jewelry box shut, she checks your foreign clock once more.

Noon. With clouds still darkening the sky, she grabbed one of your umbrellas, heading out the door to follow the path you had taken to your husband’s library. Stepping carefully to avoid scuffing her shoes– or, your shoes– in case you’d ask for them back. There was a thin layer of trust she was willing to grant you, but she of all people knew how quickly one could turn. When she makes it to the door of the library, she sits at the entrance.

You’re kneeled on the floor, your husband sitting at the table. He shoots you a questioning glare once his eyes land on Mizu.

“This is my new handmaiden, Mizu.” You’re talking to him, but your eyes stay on the floor, hands neatly in your lap.

Mizu goes to walk inside, before your husband shouts, pointing at a golden snake decoration. It gives her a shock, stepping backwards. She sees you pull a lever in the corner of the room, bringing down a grated gate.

“You may not cross that barrier!” He sounds fucking deranged, Mizu notes. She also makes the observation of his black tongue. Ink?

Trying to peer through the gaps of the metal, she searches for you. At the lever she saw before, you’re rooted in place. Trembling, in the face of an unhinged man you were forced to call ‘husband’, you looked scared. Fragile. Delicate.

Mizu wondered just how long she could pretend to be picking up the pieces of you until she would have to let them fall and shatter– to dust, to infinitesimal shards no one could see anymore.

a/n: the official chapter 1!! i hope people enjoy and can see where i'm going with mizu's characterization. there's a lot of shuffling i have to do of the plot to make sure i feel it's accurate to mizu. or at least as accurate as it can be in an au. so i hope that it's worth it and people enjoy!! i can't guarantee the quickest publishing rate with chapters, as i'm still figuring out how i want to structure them and they'll probably vary here and there in length. anyway thank you for reading!!

[cybrsan]

Treasure — J.WY [Pt. 1]

STORY SUMMARY: Wooyoung is moon-blessed, a waterbender born under the Siren Moon that rises once every 88 years. His blessing is believed to be his unique and powerful healing abilities that he has coined “Wavesong.” However, his true gift is that of his prophetic dreams, glimpses of futures yet to unfold—and you just happen to be the subject of his recent visions.

PAIRING: Waterbender Jung Wooyoung x Non-Bender F!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, eventual smut ; ATLA au, enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNINGS: Minor POV switches

A/N: This story has been a long time coming. It is the second addition to my "Ode To ATEEZ" series and the first to my "Together in Harmony" series. I decided to split it into chapters because I believe it will flow better that way. I hope you enjoy!

LINKS: Ode To ATEEZ Masterlist | Together in Harmony Masterlist | Cross-posted on AO3

Masterlist | Next ↠

Crossing the Desert of Eden is not for the faint of heart. It is one of the world’s greatest paradoxes, a place where nature's most wonderful and most dangerous creatures coexist in a delicate balance. Even the sand itself is an example of this—crystalline and beautiful, ever sparkling under the light of the sun, yet each granule is as jagged as splinters of glass. Without proper foot bindings, your journey cannot even begin.

Amidst the harsh landscape, pockets of life burst forth in brilliant defiance. Rare desert blooms dot the barren terrain with bursts of color. Some hold the power to heal, their petals emitting a fragrance that soothes both body and soul. Others are laced with deadly venom, capable of stopping a heart with but a single touch.

Sand serpents slither through the dunes, their scales nearly translucent, giving them the ability to blend in seamlessly with the landscape. One bite is all it takes for total paralysis to overtake you, rendering you incapacitated for mere minutes to hours at a time. Celestial birds soar overhead, searching for prey, their wings casting shadows on the ground below.

And even if you’re able to avoid those threats, blinding winds carry grains of sand like lashes, stinging skin, obliterating landmarks, and disorienting even the most skilled navigators. The desert swallows the unwary, erasing their footprints from existence.

It is in this very place that Wooyoung finds himself, accompanied by seven of his fellow benders. In normal circumstances, he would avoid a place like this at all costs, his sense of self-preservation persevering over the curiosity of what secrets the desert holds. But things haven’t been normal for a long, long time. 

He feels like he’s been walking for days, his legs heavy and leaden. Despite his protective robes, the wind and sand have whipped at his skin, leaving it battered and raw. Just one look at the faces of his companions is enough to prove he isn’t the only one feeling this way. The only one who seems miraculously energized is their de-facto leader, Hongjoong. He moves forward with ferocity, a tinge of madness in his eyes.

To his left, Yeosang stumbles, nearly falling onto the sand below. Wooyoung reaches out for him, a second too slow, but luckily San reacts quicker, catching him by the arm. The exhaustion has begun to take its toll. Everyone comes to a stop, nervous energy flowing between them. Everyone except Hongjoong, that is. Seonghwa, the eldest of the group and the one with the most power after their leader, places a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to rest, Joong. Look at the kids—they’re exhausted. Yeosang almost collapsed.”

‘The kids.’ Wooyoung frowns, the endearment not sparking the same joy that it used to. Seonghwa and Hongjoong may only be a year older than the rest of them—two in Jongho’s case—but they’ve always referred to them that way. Wooyoung used to find it cute, often teasing them about how they acted like an old married couple. He supposes that the recent distaste for the nickname comes from the fact that Hongjoong hasn’t been the same ever since he told him about his dream.

It takes a moment for Hongjoong to comprehend what Seonghwa said, thoughts still elsewhere. Yet once his eyes find Yeosang, he immediately acquiesces, apologizing for not stopping sooner. His entire demeanor seems to soften, making him seem more like himself. Wooyoung already feels like he can breathe better because of it. 

“Hopefully we aren’t too far from a Dweller community,” Hongjoong says, taking out his compass. “Let’s go.”

The Dune Dwellers are natives of Eden, having found ways to thrive in even the most unfavorable conditions. They aren’t particularly fond of outsiders, regarding any so-called adventurers as naive and stupid more than anything else. They often find the remains of the less fortunate, bodies lost to the sand. Dwellers are some of the only people who know how to navigate the desert and survive, but even they won’t wander into it aimlessly, searching for a treasure that may or may not exist.

Luckily, it isn’t long until they find one of their communities with Hongjoong’s guidance. Tracking their location becomes easier when you familiarize yourself with the signs the locals leave for one another, like a carving in a rock or some shimmering paint on a cactus. Things that are easy to miss when you don’t know what you’re looking for. 

The town is small, cut through the middle by a bustling market area teeming with vendors trying to pawn off their goods. Wooyoung immediately feels some of his tension fade away, the lively environment making him feel more at home. You wouldn’t expect any place in such a barren landscape to be so full of life, but the Dwellers have a thriving community of their own despite their living conditions.

The sounds of haggling and bartering are music to his ears, and he quickly finds himself imbued with newfound energy, eager to start talking to people and fishing for information. Maybe he’ll be able to find some clues as to Pandora’s location, and Hongjoong can finally be appeased. He makes a quick plan with the others to meet at the town’s small inn at sunset before wandering off on his own. 

The scent of spices, freshly baked bread, and cooking meat mingle in the air as he walks, making his mouth water. He stops at a stall selling juice made from prickly pears, kept cool by the waterbender who continuously refreezes the ice it sits upon. In exchange for a few copper coins, he buys a glass and greedily gulps it down.

He shivers, the cold drink a shock to his system in the hot, dry climate. It is both tangy and sweet and he hums, pleased, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and returns the glass to the merchant. Just as he goes to pull his hand back, the man grabs his wrist. Wooyoung's heart jumps in his chest and, though he tries to keep his composure, he is sure the shock shows on his face. Dwellers may not greet outsiders with open arms, but they’ve never shown any outward acts of aggression toward them before.  

“What are you doing here, nakuto? You’re a long way from the Water Tribe.”

Wooyoung gently removes his arm from the man’s grasp, though he is no longer fearful. The term nakuto, a respectable term for ‘young one,’ brings back memories of his home and instantly puts him at ease. “How did you know I was a waterbender?” 

“I don’t see many of my own kind out here; most are exiles from the Fire Nation or native sandbenders. Your necklace gives you away.”

Instinctively, Wooyoung reaches up, fingers caressing the delicate shells around his neck. He supposes it is reminiscent of the Water Tribe, but he’s worn it for years and barely remembers that it’s there. It was a gift from his brother, a good luck charm given to him when he left for the Fire Nation seven years ago. 

The man continues, “Did something happen to your Tribe, boy? It’s not safe out here.”

“No, it’s not like that. I’m here with a group of other benders—we’re looking for the eternal library, Pandora.”

“Pandora,” the man scoffs. “A myth. You should turn back while you still can.”

“I’m afraid turning back isn’t an option. Come on, pakana. Surely you must know something.” 

The man harrumphs, though Wooyoung can tell the use of the honorific pleases him by the slight smile that tugs at his lips. “You can call me Marok.”

“I’m Wooyoung.”

“Well, Wooyoung, there really isn’t that much information out there about Pandora; I probably don’t know much more than you do.” Marok creates a small stream of water from the melting ice, absent-mindedly spinning it around his fingers as he talks. “I’ll tell you what—go talk to ol’ Nadira. She’s a sandbender, and been here almost all her life. If anyone were to know something, it’d be her. Go west of town and look for a purple tent with yellow flags.”

“Thank you, Marok—I appreciate your help. Yui remoi.”

“Bayui jilok.”

Wooyoung nods, acknowledging Marok’s blessing, and starts to head west. The sun has begun to set, and he suspects he has less than an hour before he has to meet the others at the inn. Hopefully, whoever Nadira is, she’ll be cooperative. With the town being as small as it is, it doesn’t take him long to reach the outskirts, and the bright purple tent is easy to spot, a beacon of color amongst the sand. Just as he reaches the entrance, a girl pushes the flap aside, nearly bumping into him as she exits in a hurry. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, barely acknowledging him as she rushes back to town. 

The hair on the back of Wooyoung’s neck stands up. He doesn’t get a good look at her face, but her voice and white robes… He stops himself, shaking away the uncomfortable feeling of familiarity. Her eerie similarity to the girl he’s been seeing in his dreams for the past few nights is of little importance. He’s not trusting his visions ever again and will do whatever he can to avoid those uncertain futures. He quickly enters the tent, ready to get some answers so that he and the others can leave this town and the girl behind come morning.

You rush past the boy entering the tent, barely sparing him a glance as you hurry back toward town. Your conversation with Nadira was unsatisfactory, to say the least. She couldn’t tell you much more than you already knew, which is that Pandora is near impossible to find and even harder to get into, especially as a non-bender. It’s rumored to be buried far under the sand, sealed shut by an elemental lock. However, she was surprised by the map you carried with you, saying she hadn’t ever known there to be someone who successfully cataloged all of Eden. She couldn’t confirm whether or not the entirety of it was correct, though she did verify that certain locations lined up with her own knowledge of the desert.

You relax your steps, an exasperated laugh slipping from your lips as you realize you were practically stomping out of frustration. You take a moment to center yourself; as tempting as it may be to sell the map to the nearest street vendor, you’ve traveled too long and too far to give up now. Freedom is nearly in your grasp—you can feel it. You will claw your way to it if you must.      

Double-checking that the map is secure inside your sling bag, you tighten the strap around your torso and head through the doors of the inn. The atmosphere is much livelier now that it’s late afternoon, with talking and laughter nearly drowning out the small band playing in the corner. The bar area seems to be where most people are congregating, chugging down mead and ale. The one serving maid is busy juggling orders from all directions, delivering filled mugs to rowdy drinkers who seem to enjoy cheering each other on for every sip taken. 

As you weave through the crowded tables in search of a seat, you can’t help but notice a group of travelers that stand out from the crowd. You could sense their disharmony from a mile away—two members seem to be locked in a heated argument, heads close together as they speak in hushed voices. A few of the others seem to be playing a drinking game that involves making silly gestures and mimicking one another while one boy gazes off into the distance, lost in thought. Your interest peaked, you take a seat at the bar, right next to a man who has several empty tankards in front of him. He doesn’t seem too inebriated, but surely he’s drunk enough that his lips will be loose. 

You place a few coins on the counter, ordering two drinks. You slide one to the man to capture his attention and nod in the group's direction, asking, “So, what do you know about the new guys in town?” 

The man eyes you, scrutinizing your appearance. He must see something that he likes because he decides to indulge you, taking the ale in hand and relaxing further into his seat. “Heard from the barkeep that they’re some adventurers tryna find the library of Pandora.” He huffs and takes a long drink before adding, “A buncha fools.” 

You bristle, wanting to defend them as their goal seems to be the same as yours, but you stop yourself, not wanting to discourage the man from sharing more information. “I see. Are they benders?” 

He nods. “Yeah, far as I know. One of ‘em is apparently tryna get some information outta Nadira.” 

You think back to the boy you saw entering the tent and curse yourself for not paying more attention. You could have talked to him, asked him why he was seeing Nadira, and proposed some sort of alliance. Winning one man over would be easier than winning over seven all at once. But alas, that seems to be your only option. Taking one last swig of your ale, you hop off the bar stool and give the man a two-finger salute.

“Thanks for your time—enjoy the rest of your night.” 

He raises his mug and bids you farewell as you turn around, steeling your nerves as you march right up to the group of benders. One of the quarreling men who dons a head of striking red hair notices you first, his eyes instantly narrowing upon your approach. He slides closer to the others, almost protective in his movements, seemingly forgetting his previous argument. 

“Can I help you?” 

His voice is steady, laced with none of the heat you had expected. Instead, his words are cold, punctuated in a way that cuts you like a knife. However, you refuse to let him intimidate you.

“Yes, actually. I heard you were looking for Pandora.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Why is that of any interest to you?”

“I’m looking for it too.”

“And?”

You grit your teeth, his standoffish attitude grating on your nerves. The man he was fighting with places a hand on his arm and steps slightly in front of him, greeting you with a smile. You can immediately feel the difference in his aura, the gentleness radiating off of him. He is the water to the red-headed man’s fire. Perhaps literally.

“Sorry, Hongjoong is just a bit… on edge lately. I’m Seonghwa.” 

He takes a moment to introduce each of the others before asking for your name in return. You’re surprised to find that they’re a pretty well-balanced group, with at least one bender for each element. That will definitely come in handy when it comes to the elemental lock. You almost can’t believe your luck; after all this time, maybe things are finally turning around in your favor.

Yunho, an airbender who was a part of the group playing the drinking game earlier, chimes in. “So, you’re looking for Pandora too?” 

You nod. “That’s right. I think we can help each other.” You reach into your bag and wrap your fingers around the map. “You see, I—”

“Wooyoung!” 

You’re interrupted by San, a dimpled firebender, who gets up to excitedly greet the missing member of their party; Wooyoung must be the boy you bumped into earlier. Now that you have a moment to actually look at him, you suppose that he’s quite beautiful, with a sharp nose and full lips. His hair is like nothing you have ever seen before—silver on top with blue ends, comparable only to how it looks when the light of the moon meets the sea. 

Your lips barely part to greet him when he turns to you, eyes ablaze with hatred. “What is she doing here?”

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @nebulousbookshelf @ad0rechuu @seonghwaddict @sanniesbunnie @wooya1224 @tournesol155 @ja3hwa @pocketjoong-reads @lovandr

[zablife]

Pretty When You Cry

Summary: Tommy likes to give you pleasure to the point of pain for one specific goal, to watch you cry.

Author's Note: For @jomarch-wannabe 350 follower celebration. Inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Pretty When You Cry." Congrats, darl!

Warnings: 🔞, dom Tommy, bondage, overstimulation, crying kink

Outside your window, all the pretty stars were shining in the sky. Inside, there was a darkness in Tommy's crystalline blue eyes as he teased and tortured little whimpers and moans from your exhausted body. "How much more can you take, love?” he whispered at your ear, but you couldn’t answer too far gone to tell. 

Your full lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten your parched mouth as your chest heaved for breath. You tugged slightly against the silk ties at your wrists, Tommy watching you carefully from above, enchanting you with promises of more. Whether or not you could withstand it was the question. Would you call out your safe word to him or allow him to continue to the point you knew he loved most? Give him the ultimate pleasure he desired?

He ran the back of his hand along your ribs, feeling your breath rise and fall against his knuckles before turning his palm against your hip and forcing you back down to the mattress. “You can take it,” he coaxed, but the sweetness had gone from his voice, raw need replacing his earlier gentleness. 

His large fingers slipped between your slick folds as you gasped, “I can’t do it…I can’t.” Your head lolled from side to side on the soft pillow Tommy had placed beneath your delicate neck at the start of the evening, locks splayed out beneath you. The tendrils were now stuck to your forehead and neck with sweat after hours of him sending you over the edge of bliss, asking for just one more little death...and that's what each felt like, a tiny piece of you leaving with every quaking breath. He was the greediest lover you’d ever had, demanding to see your toes curl and your thighs quiver until you were reduced to tears. 

It was one night three years ago when he realized he held this power over you. Forcing your legs open and lapping at your swollen clit for more, he’d become so intoxicated at the view of you shaking and crying with your final release, it had sent him into his own powerful orgasm without so much as a touch from you. “You’re the girl of my dreams,” he proclaimed, watching the salty tears bathe your cheeks as you writhed on the bed, completely overstimulated.

He knew how to achieve it with perfect precision now... if you were willing. Some nights you called out and he was forced to stop, but tonight you bit down hard on your lip, enduring the bombardment of overwhelming pleasure just for him. “You alright sweetheart?” he teased in a low rumble that made your insides turn to jelly.

“Mmm-hmm,” you managed in a pathetic mewl, lifting your head, eyelids fluttering to barely contain what he knew would surely break free in seconds. 

As the pad of his thumb traced tight circles over your clit he watched your blown out pupils. “Going to give me everyhing I want? Will you be my good girl?” he begged. And you gulped as you tried to hold it in.

“Yes, Tommy, I’m you’re girl...always your good girl,” you mumbled as pleasure fogged your brain. Finally you gave yourself over to the sensation, rocking your hips against his palm. 

“That's it, darling. Take what you need," he goaded you, watching your face contort in pleasure bordering on pain. He was the devil, tempting you to push yourself beyond what you were capable of. The vibrations of his voice hummed within you and your body tensed suddenly. Your back arched and Tommy leaned in to taste you, sucking your little bud to make the feeling even more intense. “No, no, no” you whimpered, but it was too late as the damn broke within you. You were cumming in waves that made you hot then cold, body practically convulsing under his touch. Crossing the line into torture, it was too much. Hot tears flowed from your eyes and trickled down the apples of your rosy cheeks, flushed a bright pink from overexertion. 

Tommy looked up at you, mouth agape in silent appreciation. “F-fuck” he stuttered at your beauty, before coming to untie you and collect you in his arms. He pressed kisses to your temple and down to the corners of your mouth as you collapsed against him, praising you. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

---------------

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[phramboise]

— gold dust woman :: lieutenantjohnpricexfemalereader

heart’s blood in ink piece, part II

tags and warnings: heavy substance use; blood, scars, death. this is more of an addiction piece than it is cod fan work, this is vivid imagery. none of this is romanticising.

wordcount: 1.1k

There’s a biro on the bedside table, and some napkin that she found that he put in her pocket, with nothing to write down in her language of inarticulate phrases. Should she wake him? What would she say if she does so? What would a dying person say? Would an apology of someone who kills herself deliberately be accepted? She should just let him sleep, that’s the better thing to do. There’s no fixing it anyway. Maybe she’ll writhe and hiss and that’ll be ugly. She doesn’t want him to remember her like that, she doesn’t want him to remember her at all. He’ll blame himself; he’ll make a mess out of it. Death feels futile until it comes. Somebody should’ve slapped the fact to her face, when dead there’s no him. Or it would be better if she were to be intoxicated now, it hurts to feel yourself dying.

Feels different. Feels heavier than grave. She should clean off her filth, she figures as much. Gets up and picks dusty ziplocks that she swiped in haste under their bed, wipes the glass table clean. Useless prospectuses and an ashtray turned upside down for her bedside carafe. Ash in the bottom of the bottle. Crystalline, her sybarite hair in morphs he loves best. Demure, a defatigable ennui. Puts on his favourite dress. She apologises, she cries silently. Then she washes her face, puts a bit makeup on. Forces herself to throw it all up so maybe she’d have another day without thinking of death, nothing comes out. Health is a hefty burden in her heart tonight. Has he ever seen a dead girl lying on his side?.. she puts on some more colour. They were supposed to go on a winter holiday this season. The dog has her vet appointment tomorrow.

He’s sleeping, she heads downstairs.

Swallow it down, there’s a clot down at her throat and it’s not of guilt this time. This one is physical, copper and iron, cocaethylene and dried blood, hints of cologne and sweat. Caramelised tobacco, blood scabs. They mix, scented lotion itches on her track marks, pooling some ill-warmth on red splotches of her wilting skin. She doesn’t remember the last time she had a dream. She doesn’t recall a REM sleep. She doesn’t remember the last time her hands were steady enough to hold the needle up to the insides of her elbow to inject it proper. She tries to settle with the veins of her hands, misses once, wastes one; pokes the vein through, wastes another. It melts in everywhere but the right places, it boils inside. Feels it swell, sees the thinned blood pooling under her skin instantly. She can’t be slow enough; she can’t be precise. Steady. Keep her hand still. She can’t find her clean straw, and saline spray is out. Her peripheral is blurry, and her skin is prickling hot, whisper-thin warm linen clings to her and she’s conscious of her breathing as it wheezes through snivels. She’s far too gone to cook and draw it anymore, -the latter try surely went straight to her brain- and everything in her tells her to just lay down, go back to his side to shake him to hold her through withdrawals. It’s not some impulsive want anymore; it’s a strangling need. A call, which she has no freedom to deny, a pull towards the ugliests of deaths. Fingertips grow colder as pearls clog veins, and some thunderclaps at the side of her brain. Nsaids were always a bad idea; now she literally feels the blood in her skull as it tingles her nape.

She sits at the base of the stairs. Knowing that the sun won’t shine this bright in one instant, it’s her eyes that are this sharp, stark white. It’s so white it almost buzzes at her ears; she won’t hear if she’s to make a sound. It’s funny how she prays. She thinks she wants to pray; she thinks she wants to redo it over. Relive it all from the start, and not do anything. Nothing to herself, nothing for herself. She wishes the thorny roses would caress, not wound his tender hands, she wishes that he would not drown in melancholy that is her. She wishes that a rain would wash away what she has rotted inside of him, that the flowers she could not bloom in would sprout within inside. She wishes so much for him that she forgets herself. She wishes he would always laugh. She wishes so much for him that she forgets herself; she loves herself when she wants him.

Hugs her knees to her chest. She thinks her mouth is making whispers up to the ceiling, her mind choosing words to make her seem faithful somehow. All that goes is a whine, and a hiss that living don’t speak.

It starts in her stomach, up to her heart. Nadir of her life, the tingling on her nape ivies around her arm, not letting go as she shakes it off. The horror and the wonder, yet she waits calmly for it to vanish for only a minute.

It will be over soon.

—

The flame of the candle had reached the end of the wick and began to drift like a drunkard struggling to stand. The last glow before it went out was a weak flutter. The candle goes out and the smell of paraffin reaches her nose for the last time with the rising smoke. She wiped her tears, sent a postponing mail to the vet, filled the dog’s food bowl for the morning, turned to head for the stairs to lie down next to him again.

No one slaps the death to her face; it’s herself that does it. Few steps intertwining, a limp body that thuds onto the parquet. A silent plea, one single tear, not a last breath but ragged gasps and her kind of snaste. She wanted it to be him, to decide for her, leave her no freedom. He’s the kind to lose the bets, bets on losing hands. One tight grip on her heart is what robs her the last bit of freedom to decide when and where to die. Harsher than a slap, hurts more than a needle through infected wounds. At least backlofen soothes the muscle. Each inch of her is burning, but at least he’s not here to see it. She couldn’t make it upstairs, laid on a proper position, ready. Now her mascara is ruined too.

;

Tomorrow morning, he’ll wake and find her on the ground. Solid and steady, not warm anymore. He won’t be angry for she didn’t keep her pinky promise, didn’t call him when she needed; he’ll feel he should’ve come over somehow. Her thought is the thorn that burgeons and rends, and her face is the very essence of the rose in his restless dreams.

Tonight, she spares him a sleep.

;;

I was about to give to ends for you to pick, the other was slightly happier. Then this happened. Thank you to you two anonymous angels who commented on heart’s blood in ink, and one other when I posted it for the first time- for this is just for you. I hope you’ll reach to me again to tell me what you think of this, if this is as expected, or if it’s moving if not. Lots of love 🤍

[theminecraftbox]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Sam can't get to sleep in the prison

—

This is such a waste of time.

—

Sam likes Pandora’s Vault.

It’s a simple thought. It’s a more simple thought than it ever had any right to be in the months, now more than a year, since its conception.

In some of those months, that concept—the liking—was too difficult to look at head-on. Maybe Sam lacked conviction. But no, he’s sure that was never the problem. There was something else, some different tremble to his limbs and shiver in his gut, something else that twisted his stomach into knots, something that made Sam wish he’d believed otherwise. But he knows he never did, just like he knows that every day he looked forward to Quackity’s visits. Perhaps it’s because he’s a harder man now that he’s facing down the real possibility of his own death.

Sam stares at the obsidian. When he’s finished with his books, with his pointless notes, and when the sound of his own voice has petered out, there is little else to do. In some ways, it’s fascinating. Harder than iron, harder than diamond. He built this cell: he did that. Every inch in here, wrought by him, for its all-consuming purpose. Every imperfection has been varnished to an unyielding finish. Every chip where a pickaxe or sword was wielded with imprecision is just another a facet in a jewel. The cauldron is clean, but Sam can see the shadow of the stains, like an opalescent sheen.

He leans against the corner of the cell and tries to sleep. In this spot, Dream is nearly, achingly, tangible.

There is no routine to chain him to his purpose. He is without purpose, within purpose, buried in the belly of his own beast.

He is hungry. His own beast has come to gnaw at him.

—

I am not an idiot.

——

Sam has sharpened his regrets into a crystalline clarity. Dream is not among them. What lies he has told and what acts he has permitted, in these walls and beyond them, has sent a message and has been in the service of a purpose Sam can never regret.

What had Dream felt, in that moment of betrayal? What had Dream felt when he was led into the prison, Punz at his back, Sam at his front? It’s dizzying to consider. Sam's never thought of it before.

Today, Sam reached for Dream and Dream stepped back. It only took a moment. What was so close at hand is impossibly far. What was impossible is within his grasp. Dream has struck him, exactly once, like a chastisement, but to Sam it felt like a vindication.

——

I am not the bad guy. Dream is the bad guy.

————

Sam wishes that Dream’s visits were announced by more than the pop of a pearl. He’s just as grateful that they aren’t, though, that the mechanisms of his machine have not been suborned, that at least one thing remains loyal to him. No bargains there.

He wishes he could see the bed beyond the lava. He thinks he could actually get some sleep there. Something about the sounds from that side always calmed him. It was solitude and reassurance all at once. He couldn’t hear Dream over the lava—not when he wasn’t screaming or hysterical—but the knowledge was enough.

————

I’m gonna die.

—————

Dream has gained weight.

It’s the first thing Sam noticed: the spare lines of him filled out, the gaunt angles in his face blunted. Not a bad look, though the sharpness of him, like a wolf, was always something Sam appreciated.

Sam can still see the marks on Dream, in the unevenness of his gait, the missing fingers, the scars on his skin. He can still see the wolf under the surface, animal in its hunger. Sam can still see what the Warden has wrought of him, the sculpted shapes underpinning the image of a man who is now free.

He never would have left Dream to starve. He never would have left Dream to Quackity. He didn’t, did he? He’s saved Dream. Every day in this place, over and over, he saved Dream. Dream didn't need to ask. Plenty of times, he spurned Sam, spat at him, threw his food and his comforts into the lava, squirmed away from his hands, his potions.

And the cell has been kept ready for him, and Dream has returned to it. It's almost enough to make Sam not feel lost. Dream is here. Dream is fine. Sam is fine too.

It’s coming towards a conclusion. Hurtling. Sam can feel it, maybe Dream can feel it too. The clock is inexorable. It’s his last night here: tomorrow this place will be Dream’s.

It’ll still be his, theirs.

—————

It’s almost time.

——————

[childofsardior]

✨ Estrela's only "Vacantion" ⭐

For my "Summertime Series", this time featuring my beloved OC Estrela and her... well, summer days off.

[Click the images for better quality/visibility!]

And if you're wondering, yes, Estrela's room is full of cute furniture and plushies ;3c

First time Ludwig saw it went like this:

Ludwig: *giggles looking at the plushies* Is... is this your room? How-how old are you again, Estrela?"

Estrela: "5 years older than you, Mr. Seriousness" *she boops his nose* "but if you don't like my Super Star bed, you can still sleep on my sofa. Oh, but look! My sofa is themed after our beautiful Mushroom plains, and also got some Fire Flower cushions! They could be too *silly* and *colorful* for you! But don't worry, there's still the floor, unless my Cloudy Carpet is bothering you, y'know, shaped like the pure white clouds from the Sky Kingdom, the very clouds you CAN'T SEE from your very dark and sad and smoggy Dark Lands...

Lud: "Okay, okay, it's enou-"

Estrela: "BUT! You could sleep under the stars in my garden! You know, there is REAL lawn made of real and fresh green grass, something you probably never saw in your Kingdom full of lava and desperation! And do not worry, no bandit nor magma monster will jump out of the real lake made of crystalline water we have near the house to attack you in your dreams :3 unless you think that Toad Town's countryside is too *soft* and *chill* for a dragon-turtle Prince..."

Ludwig: "OKAY I GOT THE POINT!"

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

So, I have a glow in the dark blanket that is very soft and fuzzy. Since FL is a moth boy that likes cozy things, I think this is, like, his dream blanket. You come home from shopping, and hand FL a bag. Inside is a blanket, warm from being in the sun. Then you turn out the lights, and he goes from happy to ecstatic.

As with all my asks, I'm just brain dumping in here. Feel free to do as you wish with this idea.

-Awkward Anon

*looks left, looks right* anon do you happen to have any photos i would love to see such a blanket :)

Foul Legacy sniffs the bag you push towards him curiously, tilting his head and dipping his claws inside. carefully he pulls out a soft blanket, wings flittering in delight- another blanket for his nest! it's warm and fuzzy and covered in little star patterns, the very stars he can look up at and see in the night sky. he kneads his claws against it to test out the texture and strength, nudging his head underneath the fabric and curling up with a happy, content chirp, gesturing for you to join him. you just smile and shut the blinds, Legacy watching curiously as you cross the room and, with a single finger, turn out the lights

the stars on the blanket glow softly in the darkness, and Foul Legacy gasps in awe, crystalline eye glittering brightly

only then do you join him under the covers, a pair of arms immediately wrapping around your waist and pulling you close, pressed against a warm, rumbling chest. Legacy nuzzles the top of your head, nudging insistently into your hands until you scritch under his chin and behind his horns. he rolls over with a deep, warm purr, burying under the blanket and staring up at the faintly shining fabric, gently poking each star with his claws. you settle beside him, carefully grasping his wrist and bringing his talons to brush against a certain, familiar cluster of stars, and Legacy chitters delightedly as he traces the outline of a celestial narwhal onto the dark backdrop of the blanket