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azullumi · 8 months ago

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"honey in your mouth when you say my name" ; aventurine

premise— happiest birthday to the man who had stardust on his wake and the sun for a soul; he was warm and he was everything you have ever dreamed for. this is a gift to the man who knew cruelty all his life but remained kind despite the cracks and blood on his skin.

content tags — 2.1 QUEST SPOILER, established relationship, soft aventurine (WE SAY IN UNISON), angst and fluff, a few metaphors, mentions of death and blood, birthday sadness (idk what u call that), NOT PROOFREAD I DID THIS ON A RUSH, 1.4K ; one-shot (bullet-form)

note — i have exams tomorrow and a lot of things due but the moment i heard it was his birthday, i wrote this for him AAAAAAAAAAAAA

AVENTURINE can still remember the smell of rain the day blood filled the line of his vision. It’s horrifying, haunting, sharp in all of its corners as it finds him in a sunny morning when he tries to look for the pieces of himself scattered on his floor, hidden beneath the carpet (and when he lifts the pattern, he’ll find torn and broken memories of when he was still young and loved). For this reason, he is not really into the prospect of celebrating his birthday, not when the day is intertwined with grief.

He avoids telling people of his day, avoids thinking of it by burying himself in hundreds of paperworks and cases to handle. He can’t think of that day without thinking of death, without thinking of his sister who laid lifeless in the golden sands (she probably thought of him in his last moments), without thinking of his mother who prayed even when her knees and hands are bleeding (the rain came to her as a blessing, but for him it has become a curse), and without thinking of his father who never got to hold his son (he never knew what he sounds like).

He’ll remember everything, that was his curse.

He never celebrated that day, not anymore, not even once. Perhaps he tried, perhaps he went into the bakery with the thought of getting himself a cake and lighting a candle, perhaps he tries to seek beauty on the day that he was born, especially when it coincides with the day of rebirth of his goddess. Perhaps he did and perhaps the cake was left rotting in his fridge because he can’t seem to enjoy the taste of it when its reminiscence of the bitter rain and fresh blood.

(He can’t bear the thought that silence was his only companion either) He’d like to think that the meows of the critters as they approach him translate to words that greets him a happy birthday, but how could they? It’s a silly thought, it’s not like they can understand him nor any of these stupid traditions, and it’s not like he can understand them either. So he still remains alone.

But there, you came—unexpected, unwavering. When you learnt of his birthday, when he told you of his past and every line that exists in his being, a shell of determination washes on the shore of your thoughts. It didn’t have to be grand, it didn’t have to be extravagant; you only wish to make the day memorable for him, even just for once. You wanted him to let go of the thorns and feel how nice it is to have nothing that makes your hand bleed.

Although, you must admit, you were anxious, scared, nervous, everything while you were preparing for it. I mean, sure, it’s just going to be something simple with you and him only, and you made sure that in some aspects of it, he’ll enjoy it. You know that the burden he carries is heavy on his shoulders, and letting go is never easy nor simple, but for once, you wanted to do something for him to ease the tension that lies in his thoughts and bones.

Imagine the surprise and confusion on his face when he comes home to his apartment smelling like freshly-baked bread, tangled with the scent of lit candles and flowers, and the aroma of food. Surely, this wasn’t a burglary, right? What type of burglar would leave rose petals on the path of his doorway leading to wherever? What type of burglar would spend the time to bake a cake and even cook dinner? And what type of burglar would dress up so pretty and smile at him while their hands are trembling behind their back?

There’s the sound of his voice calling out to your name and soon, he heard something cluttering followed by rushed footfalls, and there you were, peeking behind the wall with a nervous grin plastered on your lips. You greet, “You’re home early, I thought you were going to be late?”

“I was going to be but I decided to bring some of the leftover papers home instead. I didn’t know you were going to come by, you should have told me.” He answers, taking off his dress shoes and placing it on the rack, “I could have come home much earlier if I knew.”

You laugh, emerging from behind the wall, “It’s fine, it’s fine.” You try to find the words to say in your trembling palms and fidgeting fingers. If he knew of what you were planning, surely, he would stop you and you didn’t want that. Albeit you don’t recall him saying he didn’t want nor like celebrating his day, but he did mention that he simply avoids it—does avoidance equate to dislikeness or hatred? It was plaguing your mind.

He hums, ushering you to come close to him so he can wrap his arms around your figure, engulfing you in a hug as he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder. “Why are you so dressed up? What’s the occasion? I don’t recall setting a date for the both of us tonight.”

“Do you not remember?”

Panic quickly shot over him like a bullet as he stood up straight from his position, “We have plans tonight?! There’s nothing on my schedule for today so I thought.” He’s quick to utter apologies, anxiety seen on his face as he spoke. It breaks your heart a little hearing what he’s saying—he doesn’t even remember.

“‘Rine, it’s your birthday.”

Silence.

Disbelief outlines the line on his lips, “What?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling like there is something that wraps and binds around your chest which suffocates you; It was your turn to panic, feeling it overwhelm the nerves of your body, “You mentioned it once, perhaps a few months ago. I wanted to make it a little special for you so I prepared something for us, for you. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I mean I can just—”

You were interrupted by him, your sentence cutting short, “Oh, love, you didn’t have to.” He cups your cheek, warmth seeping into your skin. You didn’t listen to his voice for so long to not be familiar with how it cracks and breaks when the words fall from his lips.

“But I did and I wanted to.” You answer, softly, reassuring him as you lean into his touch.

“Having you beside me already makes it all special.”

You laugh, eyes forming into a small crescent that reminds him of the moon, “And I want it to be more than just that kind of special.” And he sighs upon hearing your answer, it’s not one of frustration but it still has worry forming on your stomach as you swallow, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, how could I ever be mad at you? I’m just surprised.” He brushes the pad of his thumb across your cheek, gazing into your eyes with such affection and adoration as if the stars were born from his eyes. He presses a kiss on your forehead, whispering to your skin as if a small confession, “Thank you.”

How could he ever be worthy of you?

You hum, "I love you, Kakavasha."

Aventurine is grateful—it fills every gap and crack on his skin, soothing the scars of his flaws, and everything that sets him apart from his humanity. He never knew that cakes could taste this sweet, so kind and gentle as it melts on his tongue.

Slowly but surely, he soon let the warmth settle in his skin. The gray walls that surround that day are soon painted and drawn with different colors, with doodles that were made by your hands mixed with a few of his works. Perhaps the ocean of his grief will still haunt him but he won’t drown in it, nor will he find comfort in the cold embrace of nothing and everything that rejects him.

(Kakavasha, your sister would be so happy for you.)

And when the day comes once more, he’ll see and dream of the rain but not how bitter and heavy it was, but how it soon became warm and sweet, washing away the blood on his feet.

special mention to @toorurs, thanks for always being there for me even when i say the most nonsense of things or when my sheep genes are acting up 😔 i hope everything is going well for you and will go well for youuu!! sorry for being inactive AND NOT REPLYING TO YOUR TIKTOKS AAAA I SWEAR ILL BE MORE ACTIVE SOON I WILL REPLY EVEN WHEN YOU STILL HAVEN'T MESSAGED 👆 anyways this is a very short dedication note because gosh i still have to study hejsad ilyyyyy a lotttt please always remember that !!

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 24 days ago

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Free VCHA TW: Mentions of Suicide, Eating Disorders, Unconsentual Surveilence and Self-Harm

I don't even know where to start...

My heart absolutely breaks for VCHA right now.

Hearing about everything they’ve been through- the self-harm, the gained ED's, the surveillance, the suicide attempts- it’s devastating.

Especially when those girls minors as well.

No one, especially young girls, should ever have to endure this kind of pain just to chase their dreams.

The fact that KG is filing a lawsuit to terminate her contract says so much about the conditions she’s been facing.

This isn’t just about one group or one company- it’s an industry-wide problem.

And let me preface-

before anyone starts directing all their anger at J.Y. Park, it’s crucial to understand that he isn’t the one pulling the strings- especially in the subsidaries.

Yes, he’s the face of JYP Entertainment and a prominent figure in the industry, but he’s not micromanaging every decision or daily operation involving artists like VCHA. Decisions about trainee management, promotional schedules, or group dynamics are typically made by a network of executives, managers, and staff within the company. J.Y. Park might set the tone as a founder, but the way the system functions extends far beyond him.

Instead of focusing on hating or blaming one person, we should direct our energy toward challenging the larger system. This isn’t just a “JYP problem”- it’s an issue ingrained in the ENTIRE entertainment industry, where idols are often seen as products rather than people.

Real change requires dismantling the exploitative practices and structures that allow mistreatment to happen, no matter which company is involved. Let’s shift the conversation to fight the system that perpetuates this harm, rather than focusing on an individual who is only a visible part of it.

These are kids debuting in hyper-competitive, high-pressure environments, with their lives micromanaged for profit. The secrecy VCHA endured pre-debut only adds to the emotional strain. I hope this lawsuit opens more eyes to the toll this industry takes on these artists.

This year alone has been a disaster for the industry. There have been countless reports of idol abuse, mistreatment, and even deaths linked to the extreme pressures idols face. The tragic situation with VCHA is just another example in a long line of issues that need to be addressed. The exploitation of minors and idols in general in the K-pop industry is a problem that can’t be ignored any longer. It’s beyond time for a widespread reckoning, where the industry shifts its focus from maximizing profits to truly caring for the well-being of its artists.

I hope KG’s lawsuit, along with the attention that this case is receiving, opens more eyes to the toll the industry takes on its artists- especially those who are still so young.

These idols deserve more than just our admiration; they deserve our empathy, our support, and a system that treats them as people, not products. My heart goes out to KG and the rest of VCHA, and I pray they find the healing and support they so desperately need.

They are worth so much more than the system that’s failed them.

#FreeVCHA #ProtectOurIdols

(tags are to spread views quicker)

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nausicaaandhermouth · 2 months ago

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The Healer

masterlist

viktor x anhedonic!reader [1.4k][AO3]

cw: implied/referenced depression, suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm

summary: Anhedonia set in and the idea of exiting life's stage became all the more appealing. But you've heard about The Healer and perhaps he can save you.

tags: gn reader, S2 Viktor, post-Act 1, anhedonia, angst, depression, suicide, SI, SH, viktor gardening?, reader's just admiring him atp, not betad, not encouraging anybody to join any cult

a/n: idk if vik's abilities extends to making plants appear but for this pretend it does

if you're unfamiliar with what anhedonia is, it's a symptom of a larger condition (can be depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, more), characterised by the inability to experience physical and/or social pleasure. makes existing difficult, like you're dragging so much pointless weight and everything feels high effort, so what's the point.

just a brief description (based on what i've learnt from it in research and experience), so i encourage learning more to get it more in depth if it interests you or sounds too familiar.

You prayed for an easy coax out of the darkness.

The little home of scrap fabric and heartbroken brick you built throughout the years was becoming more and more dilapidated, though its original state had never been of full health to begin with. And like it, your body’s ridges became prominent, visited by unexplained bruises, warmed by the thickened hair on your skin, and yet living on had always been the only option you saw—no, the only option you allowed.

You’d breathed long enough to outlive many of those around you. Whether it was becoming grey-lunged corpses, enforcer punching bags, or a Promenade diver, everybody knew somebody who, sooner rather than later, knelt to kiss Death’s feet. Surrendered. Be it by their own or another’s will.

Then it fell upon you: the swole blanket of indifference, of apathy. It cloaked your mind, buried your defences that was defiance, which had been the only source of survival you’d had left. But snuffed out now.

And how easy it is to think of self-inflicted inexistence when it seems nothing else matters.

Oblivion would whisper in the corner, a demented, deformed dog snarling yet begging your hand’s comfort. Come to me. And you can’t find good reason as to why you shouldn’t.

This… healer—a man whose touch could gild any man’s sick and bestow him a new life, a new body, a new mind—you’re not sure when he arrived. But the whispers morphed to murmurs which morphed to rumours and unfolded itself into your side of the city’s underbelly.

Was he the answer to your prayer?

You made journey to the place you’d heard he’d made camp, and it unfurled before you and stole all expectation and put them to rest. Because for once, the Sumps had colour, had life.

At the centre stood a strange, globular… building? Just like stained glass, its surface was of mute Spring colours, translucent, swirling lattice-work reminiscent of butterfly wing patterns.

He’s a tall thing. A beautiful thing. His metal body cloaked, careful, and coded with grace. Each movement was deliberate, no gaze shared unintentional. How had he come to exist? How had this world birthed your people’s suffering but, as well, him?

You want to laugh at the sick irony. Whoever’s dealing the cards need their hands cut off.

“What ails you?” he asks, giving you such soft regarding you can’t help but be rendered speechless.

In truth, you’re not sure. Physically, you know you’re lacking, but so was everyone so why are you different? In your head there sits a temptress, attempting to lure you to the edge of buildings or blades, but she had no name. No one speaks of her.

The healer tilts his head, seeming to take a better look at you. He looks so kind. Such eyes, opalescent, have seen suffering, and you know it.

“Life,” you give a one-shouldered shrug, smiling. “I… I’m not actually… uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you take a step back.

What had been the point of this? Attempt what? Healing? What’s this man to do?

“No,” he steps closer, his voice swathed in a strange mechanical whir. “Stay,”

You’re sure that by the furrowed desperation on you, it convinces something inside him, as he turns and beckons you with a nudge of his head. So you follow.

Each step he makes creates a heavy thunk beneath him, and though you don’t feel its impact, merely by sound you feel the weight of him. How had he acquired such a body? Modded fingers, let alone limbs, cost years of your wages—you can’t imagine how much his entire body might have cost.

“I can feel something plaguing you,” he begins, shifting slightly to catch a look of you.

You scoff but it doesn’t quite match your face.

“Then what brought you to me?” he shrugs and looks away, leading you to the side of the Sumps where a clear plain rolled out.

You watch as he kneels and reaches for the soil, taking it between metal fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you kneel beside him, shoulders bunching up. “What are you doing?”

He hums, smoothing the ground and creating indents, “I’m assessing,”

You lean forward, folding your arms and hanging your head to look at him.

The metal frames his face, just barely hidden by chestnut waves, curling beneath the jaw and around the ear.

He’s got a rather angular beauty to him, something belonging to scrutiny and studiosity. Even his strong brows follow theme, arched forward in a focused furrow, over narrowed eyes homing iridescent irises. You’re not sure if he’s from this world. Or if the world was gifted him.

Your attention trails back to his hand, and he digs his fingers beneath the soil. Then, hand glowing beneath the metallic muscles, the ground is imbued with a light, where then verdant stems spring alive.

You choke back a gasp, glancing about as the spindly bodies uncurl and reveal yellow petals. Roses?

Whipping back to him, you take note of the glow leaving his eyes, shock threading through your system.

When you glance back at the flowers, now surrounding the both of you, you can’t help but think: logically, how you might have reacted would be with pleasant surprise, glee, even.

Such occurrences, the arcane or a mere flower field, was a coveted sight, and without a doubt you would have felt the surge of optimism. But instead nothing happens. Instead it’s unmet anticipation and expectation sitting at your belly, pooling into grey disappointment.

It’s when you look back to the healer that you realise this disappointment must have shown on your face. He inclines his head so slightly, blinks, as if saying I understand. And he smiles. He smiles and it’s the gentlest thing ever given to you to hold and witness.

You want to crumple, to lay graves for your limbs and disassemble each part that ever dared to exist only to suffer. There used to be anger, and at the very least there was indignation. At topside for their neglect, your parents or finding each other, for finding something beyond the misery and creating you. Where had all such righteous resentment gone?

“Viktor,”

You look up to see the healer’s hand stretched out, asking for yours in return. And you oblige, shaking it gently, before pulling away only to be held with soft restraint.

“You are welcome to stay,” his voice becomes tender, becomes more human almost, aimed purely for your audience. “Even if what torments is not outright seen. I welcome all,”

Your breath comes out long, carrying with it the tired days in the dark. The healer… Viktor makes no acknowledgement of this but just another observant blink, the corners of his mouth slightly tightening.

“Wasn’t gonna die or anything,” you joke, flattening your lips and hoping it registers as a smile, however trying it may appear.

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs, turning his attention to your hand and turning it about as if trying to see new angles. “A slow death is still a death,”

This makes you frown. Why has he assumed? But why is he right?

“The slower it is, the more painful, I think,” he remarks, but he seems almost far away. “As you watch what is left of you wither, and all you can do is… hm, watch,”

Then you understand. Something in your chest tightens as you take in once again all this stranger is. “You’re well-acquainted,” you note, coming out barely as breath and observation, spoken clearer by the narrowing of your eyes than your own voice.

He looks at you again, and something’s changed. His eyes? It seems. There’s something more amber about them, more grounded in this singular hue. “My longest companion,”

You hum, nodding.

There’s a safety in knowing you’re understood, even if they’re not able to fix you. It cloaks you warmer than summer, than any consolation offered in pity—he understands. And perhaps not the very same that brandishes you, but in some aspect he knows.

Which is what makes you ask, “Can you fix me?”

His eyes resume that pearl sheen once again and you’re mesmerised, gaze flitting between each eye in deep investigation—tell me who you are, how you are; tell me how you’ll fix me. Like the field around, the sweet sunshine hues of the roses, to make your land more than just barren.

And he does. He raises his other hand, uncurling, coming to hover by your face. “May I?”

You breath sweeps back in and you nod, leaning forward and connecting his cold fingers to your cheek.

He notes you for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing. It’s his gaze that makes you feel naked, removed of any pretence crafted carefully. But he shifts his attention and his fingers connected with your forehead, eyes overtaken by a white glow.

Your vision drowns in the white.

a/n anhedonia's been hitting me and this is the only thing i could muster to make so here we gooo. not my favourite, feel like i could've done it better but oh well, least i made something wahooyaaa writing is coping after all 🫵🏼��🗣️

requests + taglist open!

[this is a reupload, i have no idea why the original post disappeared :''')]

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane viktor #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #vitya arcane #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #gn!reader #nausicaas fics

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lilac-5ky · 2 years ago

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Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Date with a ghost

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Summary: Being at the bottom of the ladder in your class with a non-combat oriented technique, you are prompted by Gojo to summon a dead sorcerer as a learning experience. However, when none other than Fushiguro Toji appears in your room, you find yourself practicing more than just your cursed technique.

Tags: Student!reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18, Toji early 30s), Oral Sex (both f. and m. receiving), Manipulation, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Pet Names (princess, baby, etc), Cowgirl, Toji being a horny asshole that gets redeemed at the end? Sort of.

Word Count: less than 6k.

“But, sensei, is this really necessary?”

You tilted the sphere between your fingers, sizing it up. It weighed no more than a baseball ball did, yet its price must be comparable to that of an entire stadium. A cursed item among cursed items given to a mere grade 3 sorcerer who barely stood out amidst the renowned prodigies of Tokyo Jujutsu High. This was a waste of both time and effort and yet the white-haired man before you begged to differ, eyes glinting a vibrant sky-blue hue from underneath his dark shades.

“Doubting your favorite teacher, Y/N?” he chuckled only to sulk a second later when you asked him what deluded him into thinking he was your favorite.

Undeterred, he continued “I feel like a broken record here, but do yourself a favor and have a bit more confidence. Graduation is two months away, don’t you wanna prove your worth till then? It’s not too late to climb a couple of steps up the ladder. You could easily shoot up to Grade 2. Look at the rest of your class—”

A firm albeit reassuring grip latched itself onto your shoulder, gently twisting you in the direction of your classmates.

The heatwave must have gotten to them for good, blood boiling under the vicious sun rays. Their sleeves and pants were rolled high above their elbows and knees respectively, foreheads glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat that dribbled down their necks.

Just looking at them made your skin crawl with uneasiness.

You didn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would willingly trade the shade of these blessed pine trees for the scorching furnace that the schoolyard was, but when you stopped paying attention to their clothes and took in their blissful expression, you felt a lump swell in your throat.

The two of them were practically beaming, giggling, and prancing around the water fountains without a care in the world— and why should they have anything to worry about when they were Grade 1 at seventeen? A Kamo and a distant cousin to the Zen’ins, both guaranteed to walk a path strewn with rose petals since birth. No trial or tribulation whatsoever.

Your teacher’s voice was muffled into white noise while you were busy shooting daggers at the duo, part of you wishing to join them in their harmless idiocy, and another silently praying that in your next life, you’d be lucky enough to be born into one of their clans. No one questioned the value of a Kamo. No one went against a Zen’in with an inherited technique.

“So, we good? Tell me I didn’t waste 15 minutes of my precious time for nothing.” His fingers squeezed at your shoulder, causing your attention to shift.

You had no idea what he’d been saying, though you’d sat through plenty of pep talks already to guess the gist of it. “You have potential, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down like this. You can do it!” All empty words without real meaning. Worthless. Not everyone had what it takes to become the next Gojo Satoru. Some people were born to be stepping stones for others, and you were perfectly fine with it. No half-assed aspiration would spur you on.

“If I do this… will you leave me alone?”

A Cheshire cat grin spanned from one corner of his mouth to the other. If one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake Gojo for an overzealous teacher whose earnest goal was to see his students succeed. Not you. You’d spent enough time in his presence to know that his whole “Teacher of the Year” shtick hid an agenda of its own. It was a matter of time to find out what his true motive was.

“What’s the plan?”

“Now we are talking,” he sang in glee. “Very simple, really. You just hold this between your palms and channel as much cursed energy as possible to its center. The ball will absorb it like a magnet and continue drawing from you until you have a clear picture of your target. Then, assuming all goes well and you don’t pass out,” a quiet “What?!” was overwritten by his voice, “you’ll get your very own date with a spirit. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nothing about your expression screamed excitement, eyes squinting in slits and bottom lip quivering into a frown. “And who’s my target, exactly?”

“A Zen’in sorcerer,” he said.

“A Zen’in sorcerer you say,” your eyes wandered again to that soaked blockhead in the distance, the black mop he had for hair flapping left and right. “Ain’t the one over there good enough?”

Shaping a cone around his mouth, Gojo yelled at the top of his lungs for the kids to wait up so they could play together. The duo cheered excitedly, shouting some sort of inside joke you knew nothing about right back at him. Wasn’t the first time you were excluded, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you questioned how this man came to be the world’s most talented sorcerer, either.

“If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” his smile softened as he lowered his voice. “The Zen’in I’m talking about has been dead for a little more than a hundred years now. Unfortunately, his name is erased from our logs,” of course it is “but that shouldn’t hinder you too much. He was an immensely powerful sorcerer with a great amount of cursed energy to back his technique up. An anomaly, if you like.”

“What kind of technique?” “The ten shadows technique,” he answered. “Out of all the Shikigami users, he is perhaps the strongest there’s ever been.”

“Stronger than you, sensei?”

The way his nose scrunched made you regret asking, knowing that a haughty declaration was dangling from the tip of his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a never-ending spiel of self-praise.

“And why should I invoke him in particular?” you quickly changed the subject. “I thought our goal was to hone my spirit-channeling technique and increase my cursed energy flow while we’re at it.”

“That we are doin’, but why not kill two birds with one stone? A new ten-shadow user has risen. I’m sure whatever trick that old dog has up his sleeve will be useful to our little Meg—” He feigned a smile of innocence at his slip. “All you gotta do is chit-chat him into giving you some info. Toss in a few compliments, butter him up. Shouldn’t take more than a few words to convince him, spirits are dying to be summoned— Oh well, unfortunate choice of words. What do you say? You’re in?”

Your groan was all the answer he required to beeline straight to the water fountains, his chirpy laugh echoing from afar. This guy, you huffed, examining the crystal ball anew. There was no way out of this. Either you did his bidding or you’d be forced to endure the obnoxious sound of his voice all summer long.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anything more cliche than a crystal ball?” you snarled, convinced he hadn’t heard you.

“Ouija board was already taken,” he warbled unexpectedly, voice meshing with that of your peers as they ran around in circles, dark-colored uniforms turning darker with every splash of water. “Besides, this has a bit of pink in it,” he referred to the rosy shaded base. “Much cuter than a bunch of rusty letters, right?”

You groaned as you shoved the item into your tote bag, making no mistake to talk out loud again as you turned on your heel. A pinch of jealousy punctured your chest, relieved by every step you took away from the scene and away from the fun the three of them were having.

“Looks like we’re having a date with a ghost tonight.”

It was a quarter past twelve when you decided to put that little experiment to work, the coast clear of overbearing parents and annoying little brothers who wanted nothing more than to disrupt your so-called “studying session”. As far as your family was concerned, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (Tokyo Jujutsu High for short) was your average educational institution that had somehow recognized the value of your mediocre grades and scouted you when you were still in middle school— no questions asked from either side.

You wouldn’t go as far as to call your own family a bunch of dimwits, but the signs were all there. A teacher merely four years older than you were, his odd sartorial decisions only second to his eccentric personality. A class made up of four students dramatically and suddenly decreasing to a party of three. An unknown man in a suit and tie driving you back and forth between “emergency study dates” in the dead of night. The lack of studying material in your backpack as opposed to the exams you constantly stressed over. Your unreasonable reaction when your mother stored a cursed tool in with the silver cutlery.

Even if you straight up walked to them with a banner that read “I exorcise curses”, you doubted they’d have anything more to say than a plain “Good for you”, not because they were stupid, but because they simply didn’t care at all.

They didn’t care enough to bat an eye when seven-year-old you tugged at daddy’s trousers, whimpering about a squid-like creature sneaking in your closet, and didn’t care enough to try and justify the stream of water flooding down the corridor. They didn’t care that your imaginary friends were more akin to monsters, and they didn’t care about you being away from home 350 days a year. It was convenient not to. That’s how they were able to drink their woes away at the local bar on a Thursday night with a clear conscience, having offloaded that pest of a brother at your grandparents’ for the fifth consecutive night.

Poor kid. If he wasn’t so despicable, your big sister instincts might have kicked in and raised an objection, though as things currently were suited you best. Rituals required focus, and you needed to make sure no one would bust through the door and interrupt your conversation with Mister Whatever-his-name-was.

You’d taken care of all your basic needs —eating a reheated portion of lasagna, cleansing your body of the worldly filth that stained it, catching a rerun of your favorite show’s latest episode, and cursing Gojo for making you miss it in the first place— and were now seated on your room’s floor with the crystal ball nesting between your bare thighs, the cold sensation much welcome on this excruciatingly warm evening where sitting on the fuzzy carpet seemed like the greatest torture imaginable.

It was only March and you were already in your skimpiest outfit of all; a frilly pair of dusty-pink shorts and a matching low-cut tank top dressing your sweat-beaded body. Dark spots saturated the fabric, demanding your fingers fanned it every two seconds. The worst had yet to come. By the time summer arrived, the final thing for you to crawl out of would be your own skin.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you returned to the item at hand. It’d been fairly long since you’d last performed a seance. Your role in the recent assignments was to support your classmates from the sidelines, exorcising whatever lower-grade curse got in their way with the aid of various cursed tools.

The white-haired nuisance could claim your technique was useful all he wanted, but at the end of the day, yours were simply not meant for combat. Best case scenario, after graduation, the higher-ups would put you on a 9 to 5 job, where you could dig whatever intel they wanted from the comfort of your cramped-up desk; away from your haughty classmates, and away from Gojo Satoru.

You rolled your fingers around the globe’s surface, pads tingling with waves of cursed energy as they seeped into the crystal. Slowly, a dark purple aura came to distort its translucence with colors and shapes of various magnitudes. Shadow-like forms gathered at the seams, remnants of pent-up energy colliding and converging with one another at one focal point. All ready to go!

You began mentally chanting the surname of your target, over and over again until the slideshow of foggy faces diminished to that of a select few candidates from the same bloodline. Some, you would imagine had died when they were still in their prime, measly fledglings of sorcerers with eyes retaining that youthful glossiness, while others seemed to have lived enough to see themselves turn into dehydrated raisins with next to zero cursed energy left.

Once you’d gone through your classmate’s entire family tree at least three times, you caught yourself admitting that despite their faults and innate air of pretension, the Zen’ins weren’t particularly hard on the eyes. Especially that one guy whose mug kept reappearing at random intervals, the slanted scar of his lips lingering in your mind well after the next contender’s appearance. There was something about him, be it the lack of aura he emitted or the viridescent hue of his eyes that had you replaying the frame at the expense of your own energy.

You were drawn to him in an inexplicable way that, at the time, you attributed to fate. It had to be him, right? That must have been why the dope you had for a mentor insisted on calling this a date. Even if he didn’t know the sorcerer’s name, he must have known how insanely attractive the guy was, right?

And suddenly, you felt a sliver of gratitude overcome you, eyelids snapping shut with the Zen’in sorcerer’s face as clear as day behind them, while you chanted the incantation Gojo himself had taught you.

“From the murky shroud of oblivion, I invoke thou out the shadows and blight to bask in heavenly light. Through me gain life, and through life gain thine blessed power.”

No more than a few seconds had passed when you heard a thud, your gaze meeting with that of the very man you’d summoned.

The orb barely did him any justice. Not as if crystal balls were ideal measuring instruments, but you’d need about ten more of those to depict his height as he towered over you, the bulky frame of his shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall behind your head. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than one would expect of someone who’d been dead for over a century, with corded veins and taut muscles peaking underneath a black compression shirt, waist accentuated where his hips met with a pair of baggy pants. And once you got to his face— you must have lost track of time staring into the gem-like green orbs of his eyes, considering you didn’t notice the scowl his lips wore until his tone pointed it out.

“The hell is this?” He sounded just like he looked, the bass of his timbre ringing most pleasantly in your ears.

You wouldn’t know what being dead felt like, but if it was anything remotely close to sitting on a dead leg for hours on end, you guessed he’d rather take a moment to adjust over an answer.

His soles circled the tiny space, eyes dancing between the fairy lights on the wall, the moonless sky —and by extension the empty driveway outside your window—, the three Polaroids on your desk that depicted an old family trip to Seoul (your mother silently accusing him from the frame for the crime of wearing his shoes inside the house), and lastly, you. His gaze feasted on your body as if he’d been starved for ages and you were the first oasis in the desert, his expression gradually easing into a lopsided smile as he cocked his head to the side.

“Got a name, sweetheart?” he asked in a syrupy sweet tone, the nickname he’d come up with making you doubt he’d use your actual name even if you shared it.

You set the ball aside and hopped on your feet, standing on somewhat more equal ground, though not equal enough to completely diminish the difference in height. He was massive, and you were still processing the kind of person that possessed the power to end this man’s life.

“Name’s Y/N,” you extended your hand. “You must be master Zen’in, nice to meet you!”

He merely glanced at your gesture, leaving you to embarrass yourself without a single qualm. “No one’s called me that in some time,” he expressed wryly. “You know about me?”

You nodded, wiping your palm against your shorts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a spirit act all high and mighty, a Zen’in at that. “Who hasn’t heard of the greatest sorcerer there’s ever been?” you chuckled, Gojo’s bootlicking advice coming in for the clutch. “You are somewhat of a legend in the Jujutsu world. The one who mastered the ten shadows technique like no other.”

“Is that who I am now,” he pondered out loud, his index briefly scratching his jaw. “I guess I am,” he grinned with confidence. “That why you summoned me? Wanted to meet with great ol’ me in person?”

“Something like it,” you admitted, finding it hard not to smile back. “I just so happen to be acquainted with this idiot who’s a big fan of yours. Had me use my technique for a passing grade.”

A low hum prompted you to continue. “He’s a real pain in the ass,” you groaned. “Calls himself ‘the strongest’ and acts as if he’s ‘teacher of the year’ when he forces me to fish out intel like some lackey— Actually, you might have heard of his family name before, they’ve been around for ages. Gojo,” quickly adding “Satoru.”

At the sound of your teacher’s name, the man’s eyes widened, his darkened pupils blown with an emotion akin to rage. You weren’t sure what great calamity the Gojos had brought upon him in his previous life, but being familiar with their descendant you doubted they put much effort into it.

“The six eyes is your teacher?” he asked, not giving you enough time to question how on earth he knew that title before he pitched in another question. “So, ya just a kid, huh?”

“I’m not!” you objected. “Turned 18 a while ago.”

“A while, you say?” he arched a brow.

“I’m closer to 19 if anything,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“19,” he mocked, his droopy eyelids incapable of hiding the way he sized your figure up.

You didn’t even think to put on a bra before the ritual started. Just like you could vividly picture what his pecs looked like under his clothes, your flimsy outfit left little to the imagination, the sweat that’d shimmered across your collarbones and cleavage working in your favor.

“Nah, you are right. No kid could ever have a body like that. Plump and ripe in all the right places,” his tongue lapped over his bottom lip, salacious stare prodding at what your arms kept hidden. “That’s a woman’s body, no doubt.”

Heat spread from your chest all the way to your cheeks, and for once, it wasn’t because of the room’s overbearing heat. Your toes sunk inside the carpet, thighs awkwardly rubbing together. You’d found yourself in such a position before, yet never with a boy like him— never with a man like him.

“Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your fingers hesitantly sliding down your elbows.

He took a step closer, lacking hesitation as he lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb gently caressing it.

“Gonna let me look at the rest, baby?” his other hand encompassed your hip, the size of his palm alone making you feel oh-so small and fragile before him. “I’ll make ya a deal if you lemme. Tell ya anything you wanna know and more— heh, I’ll make sure ya pass with flying colors.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

Depriving you of the chance to deny his advances, the man slotted his lips between yours and pulled back almost instantaneously, overjoyed to catch you leaning into his touch for more.

You weren’t sure why this was happening— why you were letting this happen. He was a stranger who barely qualified as being alive, and at the time of his death, he was closer to your father’s age than yours. But he was there, and he was paying you attention, and the way he spoke to you as if he already knew your answer ahead of your mouth had warmth spiraling to the lower parts of your body.

Rather than giving in to your pouty lips, the man whose name you didn’t even know cupped your breasts in both his hands, calloused thumbs making quick work of your nipples as they peaked below the drenched fabric, rolling the sensitive buds into full hardness.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he praised, kneading at your supple skin almost adoringly.

The straps of your top slid down your shoulders, and you felt the ghost of a smile press onto your neck, his warm mouth smearing wet kisses right to where your neck and shoulders connected. You bit back a sigh, your breath audibly strained.

“Bet you wanna be touched, hmm?” he continued, finding the sweet spot you didn’t know you had, and pressed on, his sharp teeth digging into your flesh coaxing a purr from deep within your throat. He chuckled, the vibrations making you shudder. “That why you’re dressed like a slut? Wanna be treated like one, mm?” his lips parted again, tongue lapping over the delicate bruise his teeth left as he pinched your nipples harshly. A moan was ripped from your slack jaw, the insult he carelessly threw adding to the slick between your thighs.

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. “Well, I’m not complaining. You’re a sight for sore eyes, kitten.”

He didn’t ask for permission before he tugged at your shirt, your breasts spilling out with a single bounce. You saw him wet his lips once more, fingers seizing your now-exposed nipples and lustful eyes admiring them up close. You hadn’t noticed how close he was standing until his hips bucked against yours, alerting you to how painfully hard he’d gotten underneath his pants. The six-year-long refractory period his body was subjected to was far too cruel— though you wouldn’t know about that until much later.

“Tell me,” he requested, pausing just so he could look you dead in the eye. “Have you ever done this before?”

His lips traversed the valley of your breasts, rough palms sliding languidly across your ribs and waist. You could see him hold you like that while being inches deep in you. Slamming your frail little set of bones against your desk’s wooden surface. Pounding your hole for your parents to return to their precious daughter bent in half by some stranger. Bruising Gojo’s star student until the smug smile was wiped from his obnoxious mouth for good.

All those reasons made you nod at his question, not caring that he’d be ten times rougher because of your white lie. If anything, you looked forward to that.

“Sure you’re not lying to me?” he read your mind like an open book, the elastic of your shorts being torn away from your body. “Won’t be mad if y’are. I love myself a sweet little virgin. Love how whiny their voices get. How,” he lowered himself onto his knees, palm pushing you to sit on your bed “cute their little tight cunts look all stretched around me.”

His hot breath fanned over your soaked panties, index lazily rubbing back and forth between your clothed slit, the added friction sending a pleasurable tingle up your spine.

“You really aren’t one, are ya?”

You shook your head repeatedly like a bobblehead doll, propping your weight onto your elbows as he lifted your legs on his shoulders, the reality of his choppy raven hair nuzzling to your thighs finally hitting you.

“You said all you wanted to do was look, right?” the finger that was hooked around your underwear stopped. “That was the deal…”

For a brief yet conscious second, his eyes bore into yours with such spite that you thought you’d completely messed up. Only a virgin would dare say something this stupid. If he wasn’t bound to you by the ritual, he’d be out the door the moment you spat those words, you knew it, but then his knuckles brushed over your abdomen to find the hand that clenched onto the sheets, and you realized that wasn’t the case.

“Deals get altered and terms renewed all the time,” he mumbled distractedly, deeply inhaling your scent on his nose, while your fingers unfolded between his lips. You gasped, the sight of him fucking them in and out his mouth —tongue slithering right in the middle and saliva dribbling down his chin as he popped them out— enough to hypnotize whatever sense out of your brain.

“I’ll make ya a new deal,” he hummed, gently directing them to your mouth as if he beckoned you to do the same. A smirk tugged at his scar as he watched your pink lips obediently part and round around your own fingers. He didn’t let go until he heard you choke, secretly plotting to replace them with something else—sooner, than later.

“My technique is what interests you, right? How about instead of telling you, I show you?”

You tried to remove your hand, but he shoved it back in, his true colors pouring into a devilish smile. “I’ve had enough of your voice. All you gotta do is sit back like the good little girl I know you are and keep your legs nice and spread for me. How’s that?”

The only thing your head could manage was pathetically bob up and down in agreement, your fingers stuck in your mouth like a damn pacifier, while your cunt pulsed at every single word he uttered; derogatory or not. Were it any other guy talking down to you like that, your knuckles would be leaving an impermanent imprint on his cheek. Were it any other guy treating you as if you had no volition of your own as if you were just a toy for him to break, and you—

There wouldn’t be any other guy for you ever again. He’d make sure of it.

He ripped the fabric into a single shred and tossed it over his shoulder without caring where it landed- your bedside lamp. He looked down at your pussy, debating to himself whether to start with his tongue or fingers first, calculating the time it’d take for him to prep you for his cock down to the last second. He might’ve been a lot less nice than he pretended to be, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

“Let’s see,” he tipped forward, the way his forefinger slipped between your folds without any resistance whatsoever bringing you shame. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, his digit triumphantly pulling out and smearing your slick all over your puffy lips. “Is that all for me, sweetheart? So fucking wet just for me?”

Your hips bucked forward as an answer to his question and he thought he wouldn’t mind taking things slow for once— see how much you could take before you came completely undone.

“Girls like you make the best fuck,” he cooed, voice echoing right through your core. “Surrendering to the first sweet word they hear.” His thumb circled your clit, flicking at the little bundle of nerves. “Leaking at the slightest of touch.” His middle and ring fingers joined in the action, burying themselves as far inside walls as your tight hole let him push. “Breaking so easily.” He drooled, coating your entire pussy in his thick saliva before allowing himself a taste, tongue lapping at the mix of juices straight from the source.

Your thighs clenched around him, muffling the lewdness of a whimper as he looked up at you, his smirk loosening with every kitten lick across your flesh. You wanted to say something, to call out his name and moan for him, but it all felt so unpracticed— similarly to how unpracticed your cunt was when it came to the girth of his fingers; much bigger than yours, more experienced too. He reached depths you didn’t know existed, bringing your body such pleasure that had you writhing for more, hips slamming against his face.

He groaned, his own arousal throbbing against his lower abdomen, begging him to get this over with. “Wanna fuck my face, baby?”

You felt your cheeks ignite anew, the eyes you’d fallen for at first sight overflowing with lust, convincing you it felt as good for him as it felt for you.

“Can’t let ya do that,” he parted your folds, fingers spreading your thighs apart while his tongue darted between your lips, his nose intentionally nudging the pink nub with each deep stroke against your spongy spot. “Gotta earn it first.”

You stared at him like an idiot, wondering to yourself if somewhere between his refusal to shake your hand and his eagerness to quench his thirst with your body you’d passed away because that was what heaven ought to feel like. That was what angels ought to look like.

“Got something to say, princess?” his eyes shot up and he gestured for you to unlatch your mouth.

“S-so pretty,” you whispered.

“What was that?” his ears perked up, not because he hadn’t heard you the first time, but because he could do with some affirmation himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this… f-fuck—” a yelp punched its way out of your lungs as he folded you in half, pinning your thighs onto your stomach, and crawling onto the bed right after them.

He’d had enough of this little game.

“Good girls shouldn’t cuss like that. Six eyes didn’t teach ya that?”

Holding you down with one hand, he dived back into your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace that had your upper body tossing and turning, the first unregulated moans ushering him to keep going. His tongue toyed with your swollen bud, the squelching of your cunt growing significantly louder from this angle, reverberating throughout the four walls of your bedroom. You were close, and so was he to getting his dick wet with all the mess he’d helped create.

His mouth watered just at the thought of his seed being the one to dribble down your thighs instead of his spit. He could picture you in one of those cute blue-navy skirts hanging from your closet and hoped you weren’t a tights person. He wanted to see you off to school every morning with your thighs sticking together so deliciously that anyone smart enough would understand how meticulously he’d fucked the brat out of you—

If only there was a mirror for you to see how stunning you looked. All fucked out and writhing, disheveled hair stuck on your tits and forehead while you nuzzled to the pillows, your shaky voice calling out to the surname he’d left behind. Would you still do that if you knew he played you like a fiddle? If you knew he was no esteemed Zen’in or sorcerer, for that matter, but a man hell-bent on ruining you for his own sick satisfaction?

Your body reciprocated his vile thoughts, your pussy fluttering around his digits. “Gonna cum for me?” he panted, forcing your legs to the side lest he missed a reaction.

Neither of you realized how his one hand had sneaked into his pants, stroking his veiny cock closer to the ecstasy he craved. Precum leaked hot out of the reddened tip, his thumb frantically swiping it over his length in sync with his thrusts. He’d stopped listening to your pleas and instructions. He fucked his fingers in you as he pleased, slowing down only when his balls began to dangerously tighten. Only then did he tear his fingers away ‘cause God forbid he busts his load in his palm like some fucking untouched teenager— regardless of how obscenely pretty you appeared for him or not.

Once he regained his composure, words made sense again. Harder. Faster. More. He hated being told what to do but absolutely loved how pliant you were. A people-pleaser, he bet. Going above and beyond what was asked of you, bending and breaking into whatever molds others force you to fit. He could work with that. Shape you into a mold only he could fit in.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how much prettier y’ can get.”

His cock twitched as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, your sweet face contorting with pleasure, lips swollen with how hard they’d tried to contain the last bits of debouched decency.

How cute.

He set your legs down and moved up to meet your face with his, a wave of genuine softness rushing over him as he thought to kiss your lips tenderly, hushing whatever emotion had you spasming. You were so sensitive. Even if you’d been with another guy before him, he doubted they knew what they were doing— not like he did, anyway. He’d make you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear what a dirty slut lived just next door from them.

After a short while of his stroking your hair and whispering filth into your ears, he decided he’d been good enough to get his trick. He took your hand in his and guided it to his cock, grinning like a little kid as your smaller palm traced the outline over his pants, knowing full well both hands would do nothing to cover his girth.

He’d really missed this— so much that he didn’t mind letting a grunt out in appreciation, certain that more would follow.

Your eyes met, the spark in them telling him you understood what he expected you to do, and even if you didn’t, he’d teach you. He’d teach you everything, snatch you from that piece of shit and make you into his star student, so long as you kept touching him and let him do all the things he’d spent the last thirty minutes fantasizing about.

Everything and anything, all for you to take—

The thoughts that failed to reach your ears along with all traces of the man whose weight alone -up until a moment ago- threatened to crush your body into a fine powder evaporated, the smooth sound of his voice replaced by the crude breaks of your father’s car as he pulled into the driveway— your mother’s kitten heels soon clicking atop every step they climbed.

Shit.

A/N: I actually intended for this to be a one-shot, but I guess it sort of ended on a cliffhanger so, oops. Lemme know if I should write a second and final part, or if you have any Toji ideas/requests ♡

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biibini · 1 year ago

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okay so not many people explore this often but i think so hard about the softer side of mizu like when she was married to m*kio (🤢). Yes, we get a lot of the butch lesbian mizu content where shes the tough gf and all, but what about with a gf just calling mizu pretty!!! calling her beautiful and holding her face!!! telling her that shes the most gorgeous woman!!! MIZU DESERVES SOME SOFT COMPLIMENTS TOO ABOUT HER BEAUTY BC SHE IS GORGEOUS ! ! ! 😭❤️

fluff modern!mizu x reader headcannons

tags: fluff, mizu x reader, modern au, cute moments, pretty mizu, compliments, kissing, kisses on the cheek, gifting, flower bouquets, safe relationship, mizu deserves this :(

a/n: FUCK M*K*O !! she is my gorgeous beautiful girl!! ok school isn’t that bad but i do have a weekend trip so i'll be lowk MIA :(

modern!mizu tries to put up a tough front

but with you, the barrier breaks down and she feels comfortable exploring new aspects of herself

she's never felt that kind of safety

she barely felt it with m*k*o after learning his true nature

as time passes by with u, she begins to bring her guard down

compliment modern!mizu and she immediately doesn't know what to do or what to believe

earlier on in ur relationship, u helped her get dressed for a sports-day after party held by the school

in celebration of a well balanced and eventful day, there was a formal event for athletes and their plus ones

and mizu didn't know how to present herself

yeah she had the clothes

but she had trouble styling it

u came over to fix her clothes in ur beautiful blue dress that totally didn't compliment her eyes

mizu showered u with compliments, saying how her "pretty girl was so dressed up beautifully"

or calling u a "beautiful sight"

without thinking, u called her "my beautiful girl" as u fixed her hair

she immediately went quiet

"Mizu?", you questioned. She had gone silent after your compliment. "Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry, I'll just-"

You look up to find her, her mouth agape. Not out of disgust. Instead, Mizu whiplashed by your words, her face flaring red. Only three words and she's suddenly out of commission.

yeah, mizu would def short circuit

and she did for a brief moment

until she snapped and kissed u

and totally not ruin ur makeup

modern!mizu loves it when u cup her face while y'all kissing or make out

mizu mainly is the one talking and touching during heated moments but even the soft feeling of her significant other’s touch makes her stomach fill with butterflies

or if ur just chilling in bed and u start tracing her face

externally, she’s relaxing

internally, she’s mesmerized by ur touch

when u trace around her eyes and lips and play w her hair, she has never felt such softness and safety

or even if u cup her face to give her a kiss on the cheek before u leave for work or class

it makes her feel secure and happy

modern!mizu loves being called pretty

she still likes dressing more masc but that doesnt mean she isnt pretty

especially if u compliment her eyes

or her strangely healthy hair

the fact that its long and still shiny

sometimes u pray u had her hair genes bc wtf this isnt fair

“Your hair is so pretty, it’s not fair.”, you say as you play with Mizu’s hair. It was late at night and while she was busy figuring out calculations for a project, you were busy relaxing.

She hummed in acknowledgement. With her back still turned, you ran your hair through her scalp, feeling the silky texture of her raven hair.

Normally, Mizu would just tie her hair up to focus late at night. Tonight would be a little different since you were still up.

As your hands sectioned continued to run through her hair, Mizu relaxed. In a calm state, she solved the equations with ease, listening to the faint lofi studying music guide her thoughts into the night.

Time passed yet Mizu never felt it until she realized your hands had slowed down. She turned back to see you, eyes heavy and ready to doze off.

She looked back at her nearly completed homework. One problem couldn’t hurt in the morning.

Mizu shut off the desk lamp and silently collected her things in a neat pile. She rests your head on your pillows and pull the covers on top of you. With one foot into dreamland, Mizu gives you a kiss on your forehead.

modern!mizu’s favorite places to get kissed are her cheeks

she loves any kisses from u tbh

whenever u would give a goodbye kiss, she always forgets ab the “final” kiss

it’s so simple yet so endearing

when u guys first started dating, u were a little hesitant on ending the first few dates with a kiss

so u choose a simple peck on her cheek instead

u could see blush form on her cheeks afterwards

and they still flush to this day

after mizu went back to her place after the date, she would not stop smiling

it lowkey threw off ringo for a while

modern!mizu enjoys fresh flowers

it seems small but it’s a pretty reminder of ur love

she never got flowers as a gift in her previous relationship so she wasn’t use to these gifts

(yeah fuck u m*k*o)

it makes her heart warm every time she sees the vase on her desk

preferably, she likes peonies bc of how fluffy and full they bloom

but if u bring a new bouquet, she’ll gladly clean and take care of it

u insist that u will do it

but once u saw her carefully pluck and cut the bouquet, u let mizu have her way

she just looks so joyful getting new flowers to take care of

when the flowers start to fully bloom, mizu likes to check and make sure they have enough water

basically she gives them the love and care they need

(im crying sobbing while writing this)

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orshii · 9 months ago

Text

Guilty Pleasure

✟ Author: orshii

✟ Pairing: Choi San x female reader

✟ Word count: 4,6 k

✟ Warnings: cursing, suggestive

✟ Summary: You go back to your hometown for the summer vacation, not expecting the small town's priest to be a total eye candy. But he seems to be hiding dark secrets underneath his holy façade.

Will you find out the truth?

✟ A/N: *coughs in embarrassment* Uh so...I think I really went insane if I wrote this, there's no way back anymore haha. I really do feel guilty, but then I'm not, cause you'll see. *wink* To be honest I don't know what is this, I just got inspired in the church bruh-- I can't with myself, I'mma just go dig myself haha let's go. Anyways, enjoy I guess. Actually part 2 is out

My day started off boring, as usual. It was a holiday, so I went back home to the town I grew up in to visit my parents and relatives. I really needed a little break from work and from the adult life, which came out of the blue. I didn't really have time to ponder in my life choices as I finished University. I moved away to a big city to start working as an English teacher. It was very new for me, and very tiring, so, I deserved a little break as the summer vacation finally came and I could come home to rest a little before returning to my chaotic, big city life.

We were sitting in church with my parents and my brother, Wooyoung, as it was Sunday. My parents were mostly religious, and so, I had no other choice but to tag along with them. I can’t say I'm not religious myself, it’s just that I tend to give in a lot of times to the vicious temptations, to the guilty pleasure that consumes me like venom. My brain gets consumed by vices, and it takes a lot of time to find the cure to treat myself with. I learned to believe in myself, instead of God, after I had too many disappointments in life. I prayed for help, but it never came my way. So, I have decided that I'm better off on my own, believing in my own strength and whatever hardships life throws at me I will be able to overcome on my own, instead of believing in a God and waiting for guidance and to be saved.

People started filling inside the church as silence settled upon the hall, the priest coming out to stand in front of the altar. It was the moment I suddenly forgot how to breathe. My mouth fell open as slowly I leaned towards Wooyoung.

"Okay, since when did our old and dusty priest become a young and handsome one?" I whispered to my brother, surprised. The last thing I could remember, as I came here ages ago, was our priest looking like a cute grandpa. This priest on the other hand, was the complete opposite of the lovely old man.

He was tall with his body hidden underneath his black long vestment, but even that couldn't hide his broad shoulders, which could be compared to mountains. Wait a minute…since when were priests buff?

Am I in another universe, suddenly? What am I seeing? Why is he so handsome with his black framed glass?

His black hair was whipped back carefully, little strands falling to his forehead. And his face?! Oh my God, literally, I have never seen more beautiful features likes his before. His jawline was as sharp as a knife, his cat-like eyes watching the people whom came here to hear his wise words, that came from his pretty, almost cherry red, lips. I was very enraptured by this man and I felt very guilty for checking him out for thousands of reasons; one, I was sitting in church and these thoughts were very inappropriate; second…he was a freaking priest, which implied that he was the most innocent human being on earth, he can't even look at girls, let alone do even as much as touch them. My eyes fell on his hands, which were holding the Bible, his palm spreading out underneath it with the veins on his hands showing. I couldn’t control my thoughts as I imagined his long fingers tracing down my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Wooyoung chuckled quietly, "He’s a newbie. Just got here a month ago, but everyone is all over him already." My brother's voice brought me back to reality as I shook my head to clear my mind of the embarrassing thoughts.

"My dearest brothers and sisters…" The priest started speaking, his low voice sending shivers through my body. The white rosary around his neck was on full display.

From then on, all I could see were his beautiful face and lips, which moved with each smoothly spoken word. I couldn't take my eyes off him; he was like a magnet and I was the iron being attracted to it. It was silent around me; all I could hear was my own quick heartbeat. Just until he started preaching. Suddenly, his soft voice reached my ears and everything just made sense.

"God is here to help you, even in times when you turn your back on him. He watches you still; he protects you still. But he can't protect you from everything. Bad things need to happen in your life so you learn from them, squeezing every lesson out of it so that you can stand up again with your head held high. People make mistakes, and that is what makes us human. Just imagine if God protected you from all bad things, not letting you make any mistake. You’d think that your life was perfect…" He paused so the people would consume what he’s said as he looked around, watching the people in front of him, who were looking up at him like he was God himself. As he was looking around, his eyes suddenly locked onto mine and watched me sharply. I couldn't breathe, "…but the reality is, no one can be perfect, because nothing is perfect. If everything were, life would be boring…we learn from the mistakes we make, because sometimes there's no one behind our back, just ourselves, to keep us going. This is the purpose of God. He gives you lectures in these alone times, so that you can learn how to be your own best friend, so you can love yourself before you love someone else. This is the reason we shall never turn our back to God, he gives us hope and brings us the light. Amen." His eyes were on mine all the while he spoke, and I was stunned. My heart raced like hell; those words felt like they were aimed right at my heart. It reminded me of my old self, who never loved herself, not even for a short period.

I was still mulling over the priest’s speech in my mind as we stood outside the church, when suddenly I saw him standing in front of my family, still holding the Holy Bible. He was smiling at my mother as if they knew each for ages, his dimples showing on both of his cheeks, his eyes turning into crescents. I seriously needed to get my shit together.

"Is she your daughter, who moved away, Mrs. Jung?" He looked at me curiously.

"Yes, she is. Come here." My mother motioned for me to get closer as if I was still twelve years old.

The priest came closer to shake my hand, "I don’t think we’ve met before; my name is Choi San. I'm the new priest." He said with a soft tone as his face beamed with nothing but kindness.

I shook his hand, "Nice to meet you, I'm Jung Y/N." I slightly smiled at him, feeling a little embarrassed due to the thoughts that went through my mind during his service.

We were staring at each other; his hands still haven’t released mine as if the both of us were stunned into sculptures. My mother's voice pulled us back to reality, and San nervously coughed into his palm. What was that?

"My daughter teaches English to little kids in the nearby big town, she just graduated a year ago." My mother said proudly, her palm patting my back with a smile.

"Oh, that is a very great job. It needs a lot of patience, I assume." He seemed genuinely interested.

"Ah, yes, it's a miracle when the kids sit in one place. It's demanding and tiring, but I like it." I smiled at him, trying to seem mature.

"Hang in there, you’ve got this. I can imagine you as a teacher, it fits you well, and I'm sure you are good at it." I didn’t know if I was simply imagining it, but his smile dissapeared for a second as he was glared at me with sharp eyes. I swear to God, he looked like an animal full of desire. And for priests, desire was the last thing they were allowed to feel.

Days later I found myself sitting in a pub, next to San. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the night lead us somehow here, sitting at the bar and talking about anything and everything.

The night started off with me going out with my childhood friends to drink something, because we have missed seeing each other. We went to a pub called Silver. The bar could be linked back to our childhood as a playground lay in its place instead back then, when we were mere kids. How fun life was, a place where we used to play as kids now was a place where we got drunk until we blacked out. At least my friends managed to do that, I was still hanging on. My friends had drunkenly rested their heads on the table where we initially sat at.

So, I had texted their husbands to ‘come collect their women’. They had come after them as all of my childhood friends had someone, except me. One of my friend’s told me that they were going to take me home. The night was wild, I could barely see, but somehow as I was looking around the bar, my jaw fell open as I saw someone. That someone being Choi San, the priest himself. He was sitting on a barstool, his back facing me. He was wearing a black turtleneck, broad shoulders on full display, which curved into a tiny waist. I was shocked over the fact that he was hiding a body like that under the black vestments. So, I told my friend that I would be staying for a little longer.

I had stumbled next to him as he sat by the bar, "Since when do priests drink alone in a pub?" I asked frowning, the words coming out of my mouth a bit slow. Giving him a closer look, the black turtleneck was tight against his thick neck, a silver necklace with a big cross reached between the middle of his pectorals, which were big. The black turtleneck he wore was tucked inside his elegant black pants. He looked like a God, but not a good one.

He looked at me a little surprised, his lips curving into a smile when he saw it was me,

"Is it set in stone that priests can't drink alone in a pub now?" One glass of whiskey was casually sitting between his fingers.

I frowned at that, feeling a little dizzy, "I mean…I guess not?"

He chuckled watching my face as I pouted at the realization, "You are cute." His smile never dissapeared.

I frowned again, analyzing his face, "Can priests say such things as well?" It was just weird; I spoke without thinking first.

San started to laugh at that loudly, his laugh was so soft it melted my heart. As he laughed, he raised his open palm up to his mouth, a golden ring decorating his index finger, his eyes formed into crescents as he looked like a cute cat, "So, do you think priests can't say anything at all? That they can't even look at cute girls like yourself?" He stopped laughing and leaned a little closer to my face, his voice low with bass.

My cheeks heat up from his closeness. What was he doing again? The man sitting in front of me was the world's biggest question mark, he acted very suspiciously. I leaned backwards, away from him as he looked at me with his sharp eyes, eyeing me up and down.

"Are you really a priest?" I folded my arms over my chest, looking at him suspiciously.

"Of course, I am." He smiled at me again with that adorable smile, which wasn't on his face mere seconds ago.

"You don’t act like it." I said leaning towards the counter to ask for some water from the barista.

"You didn't like my service on Sunday?" He asked, analyzing my face.

"I did, you said some wise words, I must admit." I said as I opened the water bottle to drink. As I drank, I felt his gaze fell on my neck, watching me as I gulped the water down. Chills ran through my body.

"C'mon, I'll take you home." He said, standing up.

"You were sipping whiskey minutes ago, are you crazy?" I said while looking up at him, as he stood next to me.

"Priests can drive while drinking, so come on, you are a bit drunk. I have to take care of the locals, as a priest." He said with a smile, his voice soft as a light breeze while he offered his hand for me to take.

I just looked at it, and after a few seconds of pondering, took it. He grabbed my hand firmly, and lead me out of the pub.

The summer night was a little cold, as clouds hid the stars above us, and the breeze sent shivers down my body.

"Are you cold?" San stopped, putting his hand on my back to caress it.

Okay, this was starting to get very weird. I just wanted to go home.

"I'm okay, just want to go home." I replied, trying to distance myself from him.

He silently led the way towards his car, which was an old black Dodge with some silver framing on the windows. Okay, he was a rich priest then, I guess.

The way towards my home was silent and a little uncomfortable. I just wanted to get away from this weird situation, away from him, because the longer I was with him, the stronger I wanted to give into the biggest sin trap. That being the realization that I started feeling attracted to a fucking priest.

When he stopped the car, I was ready to get out, but when I reached for the handle, it did not open. I looked at San frowning.

"Oh, sorry, it needs more pressure to open, this thing is as old as my grandpa." He slowly leaned towards me, reaching his hand out towards the handle. His face was close to my own, there wasn't even an inch between us. He cracked the door open, but his face remained close, and I was so stunned I couldn't move my limbs to get away from him. My heart was racing, I was terrified he might hear it. Then all I could see was him leaning closer, towards my cheeks, and he pecked it softly, like a feather.

"Good night, darling." He whispered into my ear. I could feel his hot breath against my cheek, which melted into my skin, not even letting my body process it. He leaned back in his seat and pretended like nothing had happened. I swear to God, I believed I imagined the whole scene.

When I came to my senses, I quickly scrambled out of the car and speed-walked towards my house, leaving him there without a word.

I might be going insane, but I just couldn't process what happened. This man was a whole mystery, there was no way a priest would act like this, at least not a real one.

My suspicions started getting valid as on some days, when I was walking home from the summer school I was teaching at, I accidentally saw our precious priest in casual clothes, which was opposite of what a priest would wear. For example, I saw him one time in ripped jeans and leather jacket, was it what priests wore these days? He was always with some guys as they seemed to be doing some business. The first time I saw him, I wasn't sure if it was really San, but when I spotted him the second time as well, I was sure it was him. And I couldn't believe he fooled a whole fucking town with his sweet and innocent act of a priest, one everyone adored. But the truth was that he was a fucking menace, lying left and right, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. I didn't know what was going on, but I wanted to find out. There was no way I was going to let him continue fool the whole town. I wanted to get some evidence so that he would be kicked out and punished, so that he wouldn’t get any more innocent people into trouble.

So, I started following him around. I saw him on days when he completed his priest duties, visiting families, going to church, holding services. He did his job well, his acting was very convincing, everyone believed it. But during the night? He disguised himself very well, so that I wouldn’t really understand what was happening, but I knew he was meeting with some sort of gang on some nights, giving money over to them for something in exchange.

One evening, as I was following San through an alley, he had reached the end of it. He had just turned left, so I followed after him. But when I turned left as well, I couldn’t see him. I looked around, frowning as I wondered where he could have gone so fast, when suddenly, all I could feel was being pushed against the cold brick wall, fingers crawling around my neck, holding me still. I opened my eyes, which I had closed from the sudden impact. I came face to face with San's furious expression as he looked down at me. His hair fell into his eyes and they looked deadly, sharp.

"Had a good time following me, darling?" His voice was low, like a furious thunder. When he tilted his head, he looked like a psycho. His leather jacket had tightened around his biceps as he squeezed my throat. The same cross was still around his neck, just like at the pub.

"Who the fuck are you?!" I looked up at him, words hardly coming out of my mouth as his hand was still around my throat.

"Stop sticking your nose into everything, and just go home!" He raised his voice a little and loosened his hand just barely around my neck.

I took that as an opportunity, and grabbed his hand, just to tear it off my neck, "What the fuck San? Are you insane? Stop fucking fooling everyone, and get the fuck out of here!" I shouted at him; I was shacking from anger that boiled inside me.

"You have no idea what is going on, so please, just go home!" He started calming down a little as he looked behind his back from time to time. He was acting even more suspicious.

"Then tell me what this is. Cause I'm so fucking conf—" I was interrupted by an ear cracking breaking sound, followed by a loud engine.

"Fuck, they are here." San quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me along, running out of the alley to his black Dodge, that was parked on the sidewalk, waiting for us patiently.

"What the fuck is happening?" I said as he opened the passenger seat's door, and pushed me down into the seat.

"Just sit in the car, Y/N, there's no time for questions. We have to get away from here." He closed the door with a loud thump and ran towards the other side of the car, just to sit behind the wheel and ignite the engine to life.

My heart thumped like crazy, I didn't understand what was happening. All I could see was San driving like a maniac, checking the side mirrors all the time as I saw a big black Jeep following after us madly. San geared up and pushed the gas pedal to the hilt, we were almost flying. The engine threatened to jump out of the bumper from the sudden speed. We were on the highway, a lot of cars around us, but San very quickly dodged all of them. We sped past them like lightning, just for San to suddenly swerve right and get us onto a lane leading away from the highway, then he swerved right again, then left. I lost the direction we were going in, all I could see was the black Jeep that chased us now having disappeared into the cold, and scary, night. San hadn’t stopped yet, he was driving us far away from our little town. I was terrified to speak up, I just knew this was going to be the end of me. All because I'm stupid and I can't sit on my ass and mind my own business. All because I just had to follow a fucking priest, who wasn't even a priest.

After having driven for half an hour in deafening silence, we finally stopped in front of a big mansion. I looked up at it through the windshield. So, this was going to be the location of my murder? I guess it would be fine, right? At least it's a nicer place to be killed at.

I couldn't look into San's eyes, but I felt him staring at me. My body was still a little shaky from the sudden adrenaline, I tried to calm down myself and accept my ridiculous fate.

"Hey, Y/N?" San spoke up after minutes of being in the silent and dark car. I guess he was waiting for me to calm down, and for himself as well.

I still couldn't look into his eyes as tears flooded in my eyes, the adrenaline was gone and its demise left nothing behind but fear. I don’t know if I was ever this scared in my whole life before.

I felt San's hand touching mine, very carefully. He might’ve realized that I was terrified, so he didn’t want to scare me anymore, "Hey, look at me." His voice was sweet again, like candies.

I breathed in and out, closing my eyes, to somehow fight against my fear, and then slowly turned towards him. As I looked at him and he saw my teary eyes and terrified expression, his features softened into a worried expression.

"Fuck, Y/N, I won't hurt you! I'm so sorry, darling." He cupped my cheeks, tears appearing in his eyes as well. Upon seeing his worried expression, I somehow felt kind of relieved.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" I asked in a whisper looking, down at my hands in fear.

"Look at me, Y/N!" His fingers curled around my chin to lift my head up. I somehow managed to look into his eyes again, and the softness I saw in them made me relax a bit more, "Of course, I won't kill you, don't say foolish things. I could never hurt you."

He cupped my face again, caressing my cheeks, "I'm sorry if I scared you, darling."

"What is going on?" I whispered again as the words hardly came out of my mouth, having gone dry like a desert.

"C'm here." He took my hand and pulled me towards himself, making me crawl over the center console and straddle his lap. His hands immediately held onto my waist and pulled me closer to himself. I circled my arms around his neck carefully as he pulled me down to his chest and hugged me tightly. I took a deep breath of his sweet candy-like cologne, the skin of his neck warm.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. I just…there is a lot going on, and I lost my head for a second. Please, forgive me…" His hands ran up and down my spine, caressing it, leaving nothing but shivers in its wake. His body was a like a magnet, I couldn't detach myself from it, it felt impossible.

"Tell me what’s going on." I whispered into his neck weakly, closing my eyes.

"Well, I'm not a priest." He said, still caressing my back.

I scoffed, "Wow, shocking news."

"How did you figure it out?" His hand slowly traveled up to the hair on my nape, massaging my scalp as I felt my body temperature rise, comically thinking that I was going to slip right through his fingers from the warm touch.

"I saw you a few times with those people…" The way he started massaging my scalp became a little firmer, and a moan almost slipped through my lips "…doing some business, I assumed. So, I started following you."

"My darling couldn't stay away from me, huh?" His hand resting on my waist slowly slipped under my blouse, his hot fingers starting to trace my warm skin up and down. Suddenly, the fantasy I had in mind while watching him in church, during the service, fought its way to the forefront of my mind, it being his hands slowly tracing down the curves of my body. I would’ve never thought that it was really going to happen.

I slowly lifted my head up from his chest to look into his eyes, which left a fire in its wake. The chill I felt an hour ago was gone in seconds, and I have never felt hotter in my life before seeing the heated desire in his eyes, it could’ve burned me up whole.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him, trying to get rid of the tension between us.

"That’s a very long story, darling." He leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. He pulling me impossibly close to himself as he held my waist with both hands.

"The night is long now that you have kidnapped me." I whispered barely inches away from his lips as they were almost touching mine.

"Yeah?" He whispered back, his lips hovering over mine, ghosting against them. His hands ran up my warm body passionately, his nails digging into my skin roughly.

I hummed at that, as words couldn't escape my lips, his hands on my skin making my stomach drop. He breathed shakily against my lips and I felt his body getting hotter as he finally pressed his lips against mine hungrily. I kissed him back with greed, our lips moving in sync against each other, my dry lips now fully wetted with his saliva, which tasted like sweet candies. His right hand tangled into my hair, running his fingers through it and it made me moan against his lips. San took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth, discovering every inch of it as my tongue danced along his passionately. I grinded down against his crotch, and he let out a guttural groan at the stimulation. His hand on my waist slipped down to my ass, and he grabbed it harshly just to push me down against himself harder. We both let out a moan at the feeling, and we separated to get some air as I slowly started feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen. His forehead pressed against mine as we both breathed heavily against each other's mouths.

"We should stop…" San whispered against my mouth, his lips touching mine as he kissed me again, now a little slower. He sucked on my lower lip to take it between his teeth, and bit it so hard that blood started to drop down my chin, seeping into the collar of my blouse. I winced from the sudden pain, making me grind down harder against him. I have long lost my sanity; I have lost against the sins that caged me in until I wasn't aware of anything at all around me.

"Why?" I asked weakly as we separated again.

"Because I want to fuck you properly, on a bed." He told me, sharp eyes boring into my own, almost as if I had no other choice but to obey him. My body shook from the desire I felt for San, and I really had no other choice but to obey his wishes and let him fuck me senseless, giving in to the guilty pleasures.

Part 2->

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coline7373 · 12 days ago

Note

hi, so I kinda fell out of the codywan fandom for a while but I really like your taste based on your fic rec lists I've found. Is there any chance you'd share a couple of fics you liked from last year? Maybe ones that aren't so obvious (like the ones with thousands of kudos are pretty easy to find). If not sorry for bothering you it's not a must of course!

Missile Toes and White Banthas by Ace Raven of Clan Chaos (Music_is_life_2788) (1K)

Lifeday comes once a year, but the trauma of family gatherings is eternal.

A holiday gift exchange written for a holiday gift exchange - it's exchange inception XD

Light-hearted lifeday gift exchange. Rex is out of ideas. Codywan is around the corner and at the end. Sweet and fun!

You be my detonator by Saerus2665 (1K)

“I see they’re just letting anyone on rescue missions these days.” Ben says this as if he’s not currently lying crumpled on his side in a pool of blood in a cold, damp basement. Cody rolls his eyes and does one last quick scan of the room, before stepping around the two bodies on the floor. Or: Agent Ben Kenobi winds up in a sticky situation after a mission gone wrong. Luckily, Cody's there for the rescue.

Spies Modern AU Codywan!!! Not Mr & Mr SMith, they are working for the same side ;) Funny, witty and filled with action. The author makes the most of those 1K

Father War by prouvairablehulk (2K)

We’re damned, after all, through fortune and flame we fall - and if you can stay, then I’ll show you the way (In which 2224 is Cody is Kote is Kote, but more emphatically; or, the Cody-is-Mithras fic that came from being obsessed with my Masters Thesis and Clone Wars at the same time)

Funny. Lovely. And a companion in my mind of that fic in reverse, where it happens to Obi-Wan. But here, it is Kote who gets a little godhood. As a treat.

most things may never happen: this one will by jaigeye (2K)

Cody looks at the bombs bursting overhead. It's friendly fire, and he's beneath it. The heat spewing from it is swift and lacks remorse. It'll melt metal through your hands. Meat doesn't mean anything to light. It goes right through.

This one isn’t codywan but, by God, if I’m recc-ing any fic, then I’m putting down this one as well. Cody-centric. Fantastic. And I do mean fantastic. About the clones and the droids in Star Wars, and the war and Cody and…

It made me crazy. Crazy.

Must . Read.

half-octopus stewjoni biology no-longer-WIP-now-published-HERE-on-AO3! by passeridae (4.9K)

"Say that again?" Cody pauses, halfway to armouring himself after his checkup, and looks over at Helix. Surely he'd misheard. Helix, eyes rolled towards the off-white ceiling of the medbay as if praying for patience, repeats, "I said, unless you've been having some exceptionally weird sex I don't know about, you've got a prostate tumour." "Weird sex," Cody parrots, his mind helpfully replaying the most debauched trysts he'd had with his General in the past few months.

The fandom’s usual take for Stewjon is that it’s a hybrid of space!Scotland-Japan and its people are dualsex (even though it’s more often wrongly tagged intersex, which is not the same thing). Not here. Here, stewjoni are half-octopi. They aren’t(?) were-octopi, but half-octopi. Read to find out how. I promise it works. Don’t be frightened by the tags.

What I really liked (other than this little pearl of worldbuilding), is the change to the usual mpreg trope. It’s not Obi-Wan, it’s Cody who carries. It’s not a secret, the main parties involved know about it straight away. Cody is not having A Crisis, the idea makes him happy. Just very refreshing all around.

Medical practices done right. “Normal” pregnancy happening off-screen for a value of normal. “Normal” birth. Started as crack taken seriously then somehow veers sharply off course toward the last part as it becomes bittersweet and happy and joyful and philosophical. Reflection on attachment, the circle of life and all that. Future unknown but ends on a positive note. Loved it.

Dawn by Serie11 (7K)

Obi-Wan had thought of many possibilities, of what his and Cody's life after the war would look like. A child hadn't been among them.

Trans Obi-Wan. Unplanned Pregnancy. Tatooine AU. Heartbreaking. Good ending, though. You don’t stay heartbroken, even if you keep on crying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian (8k)

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early? There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee. Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

Clones overthrow the Empire and then… Well.

New Republic and all that. Sure. They are free, which is nothing to scoff at. But the Senate still voted for the end of the Republic and the jedi are still dead. Aren’t they?

The end… My heart, oh, my heart. Prepare handkerchiefs. By the buckload.

bell tower by smoosey (smooseys) (12K)

In gesture and word and deed, Obi-Wan had made it clear that he saw, in Cody, the same inpollutable, infinite thing that lit the stars. The same Force that had Obi-Wan supplicant his whole life long, luminous under daylight, luminous in the dark, luminous candle-lit, kneeling into the song of the Light. And Cody thinks a part of him has spent the long years since, too, on his knees – in grief, in penance, in duty, in love, and in his memory. But Obi-Wan is alive.

WIP, just once chapter, but what a chapter.

Between hallucinations and dreams, a real communication through the stars with the ghost of his former general or what the spirit of Cody, the purge soldier, concocted to protect himself, a poem, a delirium, a mea cupla screamed at the stars, a fantasy dreamed by a soldier eaten away by the horrors committed by his hands, the State he represents and the atrocities we undertake by ourselves, reality or imagination, metaphor of guilt and forgiveness or real and visceral torture.

PT-2224 made a mistake. Vader makes him pay. Cody is there and not there at the same time. An escape and a voluntary march of his executioner's body towards the final destination.

Incredible. Fantastic. A trip like no other.

Facile Felicity by br1ghtmouth (14K)

Primary functions are supposed to be useful: survive against all odds; shield one’s battalion; fight until the very last breath. Cody would prefer anything besides the bleeding heart he’s been dealt. Or: the General makes plans. Cody follows.

Very fun concept! Lovely characterisation! And, of course, my favorite No-O 66 AU!

True Plain Hearts do in the Faces Rest

by SpaceWall (21.9K)

“We won’t enforce whatever they put forward,” Adi said, “In fact, we won’t fight at all unless they guarantee the clones the right to pursue and refuse soulmate bonds as every citizen of the Republic may. (...)” “You could lose us the war.” “Or we could win it,” Obi-Wan pointed out, “and win it by deserving to, rather than by giving in to that which this order stands against.” Adi’s proposal to offer the senate a bald refusal passed unanimously.

I really liked this one and it’s partly because the codywan is not necessarily romantic. It’s not tagged as such and the connection only happens at the end so I think it’s up to the reader whether they imagine it happening later on or not. It wasn’t necessary for me.

Cody and Obi-Wan connected on the level of their souls. Nothing, not even romance, can be more meaningful than that.

It was heart wrenching at times and it made me reflect a lot. Not everyone get their happy ending. It’s also a great new take on the soulmate trope and what The Sign is (colorblind vs colored vision, tattooed first/last words, dream/pain/sexual fantasy sharing, ect. And now, A True Smile!!! Because you smile with your eyes, which are the window to the soul. Get it?)

Turn it on to a new kind of bright by rolo_rulu, Saerus2665 (41K)

Someone rolls him over onto his back. “Hnnngh…” Ben blinks his eyes open. There’s a man looking down at him, haloed in the bright light of the sun. (...) “Are—are you an angel?” Ben finds himself saying. He doesn't know if it's the heat or his poor instinctive attempt at flirting that makes him say it. The man squints at him, brow furrowing, clearly caught off guard. “Uh—are you a banana?” OR: The one in which Cody is a hot surfer and Ben’s a biologist who just so happens to be filling in for his brother at his summer job at a perfectly normal, definitely not shady, beachside banana-stand.

Some levity in this recc list!!!! There is no great plot with the Fate of the Universe at stake. This is one of these delightful type of fic that are just… fanfic-y. I don’t know how else to describe it XD

The premise is crackish. The execution is hilarious. The author and artist who work on this (check their accounts out!) were obviously having a hell of a time on this LSD trip together. It also has its sweet moments, its aching moments, moments serious or sad.

Fox is there and amazing. Vos too, stealthily. Obi-Wan is A Nerd and so loveable for it. Cody is so freaking cool. The story keeps throwing you off and making you laugh. The art blows. Uncomplicated and yet rich and varied. Have a grand old time, without becoming anxious about the Meaning of Life Itself.

Just… a cute, funny love story. Happening in a Modern Setting. This is the king of stuff I’m on ao3 for. Gold stars.

Six Months In A Leaky Boat by passeridae (47K)

The year is 1998. Australia is fucked to hell and back, but its neighbour New Zealand is doing surprisingly alright. Well, if it wasn't for the supply shortages, persistent earthquakes, and the government's increasing heavy handed attempts at censorship. Cody, a presenter at Radio Hauraki, is particularly pissed about that last thing. And he knows just what to do about it, too — all they need is a boat. Radio Hauraki started life as pirate radio back in the sixties, what's stopping them from going back on the waves? Also, if his coworker, Obi-Wan, could stop making his life a living hell that'd be great, but Cody is pretty sure the world will end for real before that happens.

Modern Dystopia happening in a 90’s Alternative Universe. Activism. Civil disobedience. The author must be from NZ itself because how else would they have so much knowledge about the slang, the culture, the places? Historical accuracy used like a punch to punctuate the story’s point. Fail gay men. Gay love.

I love the idea of a couple uniting while they are constructing something. This story, though, is less about the boat itself, but the journey they take toward that point. It’s mostly from Cody’s POV while the world, society and democracy is slowly imploding around him.

At first, he tries to obey the law because he doesn’t want to suffer from discrimination. But as the story goes on, he just can’t follow it anymore because to do so would be to let people die when he could have helped save them. And so he fights.

Various characters take this journey too, along-side him, in the background.

In an extremely vivid New-Zealand setting, with an original format (written, audio, pictures, links to songs…), a story all the more impactful by what we’re currently all living through, two men falling in love and many people rallying for Fairness and Justice.

Amazing.

|vidur viduvasario| by littlekaracan (76K)

There, peeking out from between the grasses, was the glittering and unmistakable head of a grass snake. Cody blinked. Twice. “I – “ he began, and realized he didn’t quite know what to say. “Forgive me, are you – the grass snake, there?” The grass snake’s head twitched – as if reacting to his voice. He saw a flash of its forked tongue, and – “That would be me, yes.”

Between fairytale, folks tale Shakespearean-flavored, and TCW medieval AU. Obi-Wan is not a were-snake or cursed or about to give Cody an apple. He’s just… a snake. And not. I cannot explain too much away without spoiling the story but it was great.

No big, galactic stakes. Just Cody living in a village with his many, many brothers and meeting a snake. That’s it.

Done so well I kept thinking about it for weeks afterwards. Lovely.

|slâfst du, friedel ziere| by littlekaracan (64K)

“Help me,” he whispered, desperate for something he could not understand, and could feel the dirt slowly trickling into the emptiness of his eyes.

A moment of silence, and the voice relented.

“Come to me,” it whispered, and he wanted nothing more. “Come to me, darling, and I will do my best.”

That author decided to slay their readers without mercy and I am here for it. Willing head on the chopping block. Chopchopchop.

2224 is starting to reach the end of his shelf life. Amidst a fevered dream (or a vision?), he embarks on a final mission. That he fails, of course, just like he failed at dying.

Past the reunion of two battered traumatized men, between a journey toward self-forgiveness and the acceptance of the horror of their past and present, a healing of the minds, while Cody’s body is hurling toward death.

Happy ending, of course. I couldn’t stand it otherwise. But boy, there was a knot in my throat the whole while. And that passage where Obi-Wan [insert spolier]... I had to stop to straight up cry.

|keep the wolves away| by littlekaracan (59K, so far)

They saw her around Mos Eisley, sometimes, lingering by the repair shop where her father worked or sitting atop the crates strewn about the street. She had strange eyes - aged and watchful and inquisitive, even more so perhaps than the other children around her, although all of them had grown up too early all the same. (...) There was something important that Reva Sevander had learned throughout the last hours she spent in what once had been a safe haven, lying atop her murdered clanmates and trying not to make a sound as the stench of their deaths grew more and more oppressive - nothing, least of all tomorrow, was ensured.

I have recc-ed this author and I will recc them again! This one is a WIP and it is announced codywan, which is why I gave myself permission to cheat by putting it there since where it stopped, it hasn’t happened yet. But, if it ever becomes finished, I know it will be as brilliant as the rest.

For someone who had many, many, many, many critics about the Kenobi Show, how they created the character of Reva (who, by all right, should have been awesome) and that hasn’t found a fic where I was able to enjoy her, I was absolutely bowled over by how much it made me root for her.

Yoda and Obi-Wan go to the Temple, before they decide to split to fight Sidious and Anakin respectively. They find Reva. They pick her up. And then, of course, someone has to take her with them when they decide to hide. Spoiler alert: it’s not Yoda.

It’s told from the POV of Reva and Obi-Wan broke my heart as well as made me want to shake him until his teeth rattle. I would be hard pressed to find a child in a fanfic described and characterized so authentically. Obi-Wan goes straight on the Depression Train, like in the show, but he can’t just lie down and let himself starve and stew in his nightmares, because there’s a child who depends on him. Two jedi in a post-jedi world. One who should be starting their journey, but didn’t, and one who should be passing the flame to the next generation, but can’t. Jfc.

The End!

That’s it folks.

When I received the ask for a codywan recc list, I was in a waning enthusiasm period for codywan fics (not the ship itself!).

Because I’m very picky and I have dozens upon dozens of criterias for codywan “fics I loved so much I bookmark them and recommend them to everyone”. I could read literally all week sometimes and not find one fic that meet all these (very subjective and personal, mind you!) criterias.

It’s not ungratefulness for people writing fics (are you kidding?), it’s a matter of taste. Without new canon being produced, fandom/ship tend to stagnate a bit in terms of narrative after a while. It happens to literally every fandom I have been a part of and is no critic of anyone or anything. That’s just the nature of things.

But, well. Then, the number of fics that scratch all my itches and that I haven’t read yet start to get smaller and smaller until, to find new gems, I have to plow through hundreds of fics first.

But I considered it a challenge to myself and my habits and accepted it gladly! To shake things up and find actual new stuff, I put the restriction on myself to look only for fics last updated between 2023 and 2024.

Because I already made a recc list in 2022 and I wanted to give what I hadn’t seen yet a chance.

As you can see, some truly amazing stuff came out of this! If with this list I manage to make you discover new fics, I will consider it worth it!

At the time I am writing this, there’s still plenty of fics downloaded and waiting to be read on my e-reader. But we’re reaching the end of the year so I’m stopping it there so that people can enjoy the fics over the holidays.

If I find new things, I will edit it ;) As always, suggestions are always welcome too!

Meanwhile, enjoy, leave kudos for the authors, and happy reading!!!!

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yandere-sins · 4 months ago

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So, uh, this is actually the Sintember story I did... last year :’D It’s a year and four days old, but I had it rotting for so long. Not gonna tag it because the poor mod on Sintember doesn’t need to see something so long off, but I hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless!

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Implied Abuse, Implied Murder), Stalking, Obsessiveness, Posessiveness

Prompt: @/sintember Not again - You thought it was done, it was over. You survived, you moved on. And yet the horror continues. [Part 1]

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

It took the last of your strength to push the door back into its lock, your whole body leaning into the wood to fight off the raging winds outside.

Heaving a deep breath, you leaned against your only defense against the blizzard, chuckling and shaking your head at your own thoughts. Turning around, you faced the firepit in the middle of your cabin, red and orange flames crackling and dancing, the heat licking at your exposed cheeks, the only skin visible beneath the wool and fur keeping you warm outside.

It felt welcoming and inviting, and you sighed. Putting down the firewood you gathered from outside, you hoped it would dry before the flames died. It was a pain to rekindle a lost fire, but you'd manage. You had always managed; neither a blizzard nor an unlit fireplace would bring you down after everything you've been through. In fact, you much preferred it to the challenges of the past. You'd take the raging blizzard and being snowed in all the time over what you experienced at the hands of the madman you had fallen victim to.

Your memories had kept you awake for most of your life, but they saved you more often than you had thought them capable of. They had always kept you alert and careful, gentle but wary. It was sad that none of them could bring a smile to your face, and you envied innocent children and happy villagers alike for their countless, precious memories. But you had none. If they existed, they were horrifying reminders to be cautious. Maybe that was just how your life would always be.

Peeling off the layers of clothing, you sighed at the relief of warmth driving into your shakey bones and icy skin. It had been worth it, in the end, going through all the pain, the misery. Even though the snow reminded you of the cold winter nights spent in prison with your enemy, huddled together out of necessity, you were thankful for the blizzard as it kept you hidden. The feeling of his hands on your body would probably never wash off, but at least now you were alone. Alone and free.

The next village was so far down the mountain that they couldn't even see your little hut. You'd walk two days to reach it, and two to get back, so you kept your visits sparse, the conversations even shorter. The fewer people knew about the ominous person living on the mountain, the better, and you didn't really need them, only occasionally venturing down for a new sewing kit or fruit you've been craving.

Spring and summer were easy to handle, with a stream nearby for water, birds to shoot, and the occasional goat passing by to milk. Since you were all by yourself, you didn't need much, your garden keeping you fed most of the year. But winter was different. In autumn, foraging and harvesting was still easy. However, you'd never get used to the harsh winters alone, praying every day you wouldn't hurt yourself or you'd run out of luck up here.

But regardless, it was safe. That was your main priority. Some may call traversing through three countries before deciding to settle on a lonesome mountain over the top, but you knew better. You knew that if there was even the slightest bit of chance that your enemy could find out where you were, he would. So, you took the challenges of survival every day in return for your freedom. At least, it had worked. You'd been rid of him for years now, and you doubted that would change any time soon.

Poking the fire, the sparks flying through the air elated you.

You had found solace in the little things, like a burning fire, a hearty stew, plucking the first carrots you grew in your garden and eating the masses of pickled vegetables you cultivated. While you were busy, you didn't think of the past, didn't agitate the wounds it left. Perhaps it was too optimistic to say you were healing from the trauma and the misery, but at least you weren't confronted by it every day. Sometimes, ignorance truly was bliss.

And you deserved peace, until the last second.

After stretching your arms over your head, you leaned down to place the firewood near the pit, hoping it would be dry by the time you'd wake up to stoke the flames again. You looked forward to sleeping in your bundle of blankets, most of them knitted by you and warm as an oven when you slipped beneath them. Maybe tomorrow, the blizzard would have lifted, and you could see if there was any damage to your cabin that needed your attention as long as the good weather lasted before returning to the warmth and safety inside. Every day you got to plan it all by yourself for yourself, but you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

That's why you jumped at the loud bang against the wood, halting in your tracks, wondering if you misheard. Maybe the blizzard had thrown a branch against your door? It couldn't be possible for anyone to come to visit in this weather, and wanderers would have to get far off the main trail across the mountain to reach your hut as well.

Bang, bang, bang!

This time, you were sure what you heard wasn't a coincidence. No branch or storm would make three consequent drums, with noticeable space in between. You felt your breath hitch as you stood there, motionlessly. Part of you wanted to inquire who it might be, but a bigger part just wanted to stand in silence, hoping they'd leave. There were many dangers when living alone, even if only a single one truly scared you.

"H-Hello?" someone called out from outside. The voice was shivering but youthful, and you felt a knot tie in your stomach at the thought it might be a lost child caught in the blizzard. You took a few cautious steps forward, listening, hoping for a sign that it was safe to open the door.

"Hello? I- I am lost... is there a place to rest tonight? Please, it's so very cold!"

Gnawing on your lip, you made a decision. Anyone daring to thread on a mountain in a snowstorm was foolish and weary of life. Still, they didn't deserve the freezing cold misery that would be dying in the blizzard. You unlocked the door, mourning the loss of warmth you'd experience any second now as you invited the cold and the stranger in, but you couldn't be responsible for their death either.

To your surprise, when you swung the door open, it wasn't the frame of a young teenager or that of a child that awaited you. The figure was lanky but hulking, covered in more clothes than even you had worn. The fur covered all of their body, face hiding behind a mask and under a hat, and the darkness made it hard to see their eyes. They didn't wait for you to invite them in, their body shaking as they took a deep, cold breath before they stomped their snow-covered boots into your wooden cabin.

You let them pass you, too surprised by their appearance to react. You honestly had expected someone younger, more fragile. Not someone seemingly in good health and strong. And thus the stranger stood, thickly veiled in fur and clothes that should have kept them warm but were now dripping as the snow clinging to them melted in the middle of your home, positioned like a statue.

"I-I'll get you a towel and a blanket," you mumbled, shaking out of the confusion and surprise. They still needed help, and though they appeared fine, you knew how tricky snow-related illnesses could be unless you prevented them at the earliest possibility.

Walking to your closet to grab what you needed, you listened to the shuffle of clothes behind you, not minding the stranger stripping out of their snow gear now that they were in the warm safety of your home. You were looking through your options, the presence of another person in your lonely life feeling strange, yet you were too focused on providing help to them to notice the floorboards behind you creaking.

"Found you~"

You yelped as ice-cold hands wrapped over your eyes, letting go of the blanket over your arm as you clawed at the stranger. Suddenly, the voice was much clearer and less youthful, and you were pulled back into a body that felt oddly familiar against yours.

"What are you--" you hissed angrily, prying the hands off your face and falling forward into your closet, hitting your temple against the wooden shelving inside. However, your body knew better, from years of experience, than to falter under the sharp pain, and you twisted around, looking into a scarily familiar face.

"Long time no see, my darling."

Your mouth felt like it had been filled with sand. You couldn't even gulp as you stared wide-eyed at your enemy, the very same one you ran from years ago. The exact same one you never wanted to see again.

"It was kind of cruel to leave me hanging, back at the prison, you know? It was so cold and so lonely without you, so I came looking for you the moment I was free. Ehh~? Did I make you speechless? Are you that happy to see me?"

"No..." you muttered, shaking your head. That couldn't be happening. No. No, no, no.

"You shouldn't be here... you can't be here! I left you... I left you there to rot! I traveled so far, how... How is this possible?!"

Even as your voice bordered on hysteric screeching, you felt the tears of frustration and defeat burn in your eyes. Your whole world shattered as you watched your enemy heave a sigh, his expression turning gentle, empathetic. Reaching out his hands he brushed them along your arm, your cheek, the cold prickling where your skin met. You flinched, jerking back, and he followed, always one step behind you. He was a liar, a complete and absolute liar, and you knew it from the moment he placed his thumb on your cheekbone, wiping away the tears. There was no bone in him that pitied you; his body and mind were filled with glee as he watched your misery bloom.

"Oh, dear."

Closing in, he trapped you between him and the closet, his cold hands cupping your face gently, but his nails dug into the back of your neck possessively. He won, and you both knew it.

"I told you I'll always find you. Took me a while this time, but you can't run from me. You're mine, remember?"

Oh, you remembered. You remembered too well the days lived in fear and the nights spent huddled together on the prison ground, forced into his arms out of need of warmth. The day the guards released you was the one where you swore you'd change your life around. That you'd no longer live in the perpetual horror this man installed.

But here you were as if nothing had changed at all. As if the years running had lost all their meaning.

"I'm so cold, darling," he whispered, even his breath was icy as he leaned in for a kiss. You knew exactly what he longed for, even if you didn't want to give it to him. He wanted the same submission, the same relenting as you had given him in prison, where you allowed him his freedom to assault you with his love. Where you couldn't have fought him even if you wanted to. And now that he had found you, you realized he hadn't changed at all. All he ever wanted was to change your life into the life he always envisioned for you two, where you were his slave, and he had free reign over you, finally getting what he had always wanted.

Your eyes darted to your bedside table.

"It's warmer under the covers," you mumbled against his lips, and he chuckled, rubbing his chapped skin against yours playfully.

"I didn't think you'd be this direct. I like it. Come, darling."

You allowed your enemy to lead you to the bed before climbing on his lap and gripping his hair to force his head back. "Where's this coming from?" he chuckled, and you felt sick just hearing his licentious voice. "No worries, I'll let you hold the reigns if it's what you want. At least for a while."

You'd hear no more words from his filthy mouth or stare any longer into the darkness swirling in his eyes. This had to come to an end, one way or another, but true to his word, he allowed you to guide him to lay down in your bed, hands falling to your thighs and grabbing at your ass. You felt the excitement tenting his pants beneath you, and you knew that in his delusion, he truly thought this was the moment you were caving to his desires, his demands of love that never existed between you two.

But instead, you slipped your hand into the drawer of your bedside table, feeling the cold steel of the knife you kept there for protection. Your past self had been so afraid of him showing up that you couldn't sleep without feeling it. Finally, your anxiety paid off.

You had learned your lesson; the fear would never stop as long as either of you were alive. You'd never be far enough away, never safe, never heal, and never truly be free unless one of you was dead. No one would find his corpse hidden on this mountain; no one would come looking for him, you were sure. And neither would they for you.

You thought you had done a great job getting away; had started to move on and get over what happened to you. But you hadn't. You couldn't do it again. Couldn't endure the horror to continue all your life and couldn't run away far enough to escape it.

You couldn't do it. Not again.

Never again.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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sorrowsofsilence · 1 year ago

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Louder • Sebastian

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x FemReader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: Smut (18+), unprotected PnV (pls wrap it before you tap it), swearing, slight choking, fem fingering, eye contact. (even if you squint hard enough there is like, no plot, oops)

Prompt: You know what they say, vocalists do it louder.

Authors note: 1/4 of the prompt: “vocalists do it louder, bassists do it deeper, guitarists finger faster, drummers do it harder.” Which member do you want next? ;)

THIS IS A FIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SITUATIONS! I AM NOT IMPLYING THEY WOULD DO THIS / DID THIS / WOULD ACT LIKE THIS IRL. THIS FIC IS JUST FOR FUN, AND DOES NOT INTERPRET THE MEMBER IRL IN ANY WAY. ITS FICTION! THINK OF THEM LIKE AN ACTOR! lol

Tags: @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @th4t-em0-k1d

Well, you know what they say, vocalists do it louder.

“I got the mirror so you can watch yourself while I’m fucking you.”

Noah whispered in your ear as you stood in front of your reflections. He stood behind you, his tall figure looming over you as his chest pressed into your back. You watched as Noah’s eyes traced every curve of your body, absorbing your image with so much desire. Noah’s hands trailed up and down your body delicately, the tips of his inked fingers grazing across the bare skin of your torso, goosebumps rising across your arms with every lingering moment.

Trailing down to your waistband Noah’s fingers tugged at your thong, running his finger suggestively between the hem, watching your body shudder with anticipation, and you felt your abdomen clench through the rush of lust he inflicted upon you. His lips found their way behind your ear. As he kissed his way down, Noah’s hand slid across your abdomen, his long fingers dipping into your lace panties.

You wore them just for him, hoping that when he came home from rehearsal he would notice how your oversized t-shirt would ride up, exposing your lower half that beckoned for his attention.

“You’re not wearing shorts underneath?” He had said, noticing how you sat suggestively on the couch, resting on your side, ass facing the doorway.

“It’s too warm,” you had shrugged, your lip finding its way between your teeth as you bit back a smile, watching Noah’s eyes flicker between your body and eyes. His hair was messy from exhaustion, but his eyes turned dark with admiration. You couldn’t help but notice the way his white t-shirt hung loosely on his perfect body, his short black shorts covering his already hardening self he held you in a chokehold, just by how good he looked.

“You’re so fucking wet, already?” Noah let out a low groan as he stiffened against you, pressing into your body as his free hand crossed over your body, holding your hips into him with his one arm. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

Noah’s fingers ran teasingly through your arousal, slipping the tip of his finger before pulling them back up, barely brushing over the spot you needed most. Your stomach clenched even more in hope, praying he would touch you where you wanted him most.

“Please Noah,” you whispered in desperation, it was almost embarrassing how much control he held over you. “I need you to touch me, please.”

Noah loved hearing you plead for him. He was such a whore for begging and praises from you that he couldn’t contain the moan that escaped his lips as you mumbled his name, soft exhales being taken from your mouth. Noah loved being wanted, he loved being desired, and he knew that he would get that by teasing you.

“What do you want from me?” Noah’s teeth grazed along your collarbone. Your hands travelled to push his further into you, desperate for any amount of friction.

“Your fingers, fucking me, please,” you began to squirm from the torment, his fingers once again teasing. “Noah please.”

His lips parted into a satisfied smile, his face resting between the crook of your neck as you leaned back into him, letting go. Noah finally pushed his fingers into you, curling them as his palm rubbed against your desire.

You closed your eyes in relief, your body becoming limp from the release of tension.

“Eyes open,” Noah said, and you obeyed, attempting to maintain eye contact with the deep brown eyes through the mirror in front of you.

His absolute favourite was when you watched him worship you. He loved as your eyes became lidded from ecstasy, but you tried your best to fight the urge to close them and succumb to his fingers. Noah loved the way your lips parted gently, eyebrows furrowing.

He played with your body, hands grazing over your stomach and chest, allowing himself to explore what was his; but his arousal got the best of him as he rolled his hips behind you, desperate for friction himself.

Noah rested on his knees, holding you down onto his lap. You knew both your thighs would burn from this position, but this was how he could hit the spot you needed. He slipped his fingers out from you, before pulling his shorts down, barely enough to expose himself.

He was so desperate to be inside your body he couldn’t take the three seconds to remove his clothes.

“Do you want me to take these off-“ you began, ready to pull your underwear down your hips but Noah’s hand pulled yours away.

“On,” he said hastily, tugging the lace to the side, holding it in place between his three fingers, before positioning himself below you.

“Noah I-“ but he was already thrusting into you, your arousal guiding him with ease.

Moans escaped Noah’s lips, his body shuddering underneath you as he began to pant.

You always thought you’d be the vocal one, considering how well Noah has always treated you; but the amount of lust Noah felt as he fucked you left him a complete vocal mess. Nothing turned you on more than Noah’s pornographic moans, knowing that it was your body wrapped around him that made him crumble beneath you.

Your knees and thighs ached as he pounded into you from behind, but the sexual desire of Noah’s body taking over your left you unable to comprehend what was going on.

“Oh fuck Noah,” you cried, and his free hand ran up your chest, wrapping around your throat, his fingers gently squeezing your skin. Noah’s other hand left your underwear, his forearm crossing your stomach as he held you firmly against his body, his pace never ceasing. You watched as he pounded into you, your eyes meeting his in the reflection. The sight was beautiful.

“Oh my god Y/N you feel so fucking good,” Noah’s deep groans vibrated against the back of your head as he caged your body onto his. Noah’s hips thrust upwards, causing your limbs to shake as your body began to warm, climbing towards your release.

“I- Noah,” words were barely able to leave your lips before a loud whale left you collapsing.

Noah grunted loudly with every thrust, pushing into you with his sounds as he released, allowing himself to freely control your body, “fuck Y/N, I love it when you moan. Let the entire neighbourhood know you’re mine.”

Noah’s voice rang through your ears as he rode out his high, gripping your hips, his hair cascading over his face.

You were both left panting, chests heaving as you watched each other in the mirror again, sharing a smile. You loved how even after giving himself completely to you, Noah’s soft side always shone through. He adored you, and everything you offered.

“I fucking love you.” Noah’s face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, face flushing as he wrapped his arms around you, embracing you.

You let your arm fall back and run your fingers through his hair, smiling, “I love how vocal you are.”

*********

1/4 ;) who’s next?

Ps. sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written since I Was Always Yours. Writers block is a bitch. BUT I have a mini story that was requested in the works (hoping it’ll work out!) but I thought these would be quick and easy, AND I could do one for each member! :p

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #metalcore #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian hands #bad omens smut #smut #metalcore smut #singer

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 1 month ago

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I’m a transfem Christian, and sometimes I worry that I’m twisting Christianity to suit my politics and views rather than the reverse. I was raised as a Southern Baptist and left for the Episcopal Church, with the conservatism of the former church being a large reason for my departure. I really don’t want to have to chose between either being able to transition and being a good Christian, but I’m so worried that I’ll have to make that choice.

Hey there, I am so sorry for the delay in responding to this. I don't for a second believe you are "twisting" Christianity to suit your views by living into your true self:

Jesus tells us that we can know a thing by its fruit — if the fruit is good, the tree is good; if the fruit is bad, the tree is bad (Luke 6:43-45; Matthew 7:15-20).

What are the fruits of transition? Joy, community, reconnection with your own body? Life?

What are the fruits of the things preached by ultra conservative churches? Hatred, fear of difference, violence? Deportation instead of love of stranger, judgment instead of mercy, control via terror instead of liberation through God's love?

Near the end of this webpage of mine about a liberatory framework for reading scripture, I address the accusation that queer Christians are just "reading into" the Bible what we want to see. To sum it up, I agree that all people bring our biases to the text — heck, the biblical authors brought their own biases to the text!

“The truth is, you can bend Scripture to say just about anything you want it to say. You can bend it until it breaks. For those who count the Bible as sacred, interpretation is not a matter of whether to pick and choose, but how to pick and choose. We’re all selective. We all wrestle with how to interpret and apply the Bible in our lives. We all go to the text looking for something, and we all have a tendency to find it." - Rachel Held Evans

Many theologians say that when we accept both our own biases and the biases of the people who wrote, edited, and compiled the books of the Bible, the best way to determine what is Divine in scripture is to follow The Rule of Love:

"Any interpretation of scripture is wrong that shows indifference or contempt for any individual or group inside or outside the church. All right interpretations reflect the love of God...for all kinds of people everywhere, everyone included and no one excluded.”

- Shirley Guthrie

The webpage offers more details about this way of reading the Bible, if you are interested. But at the end of the day, the main thing I hope you can come to believe not only in your head but in your heart and your body is that you are beloved. That God created you exactly as you are with purpose and delight. That you have vital gifts to share with the world that the Body of Christ is not whole without.

If you need further assurance through theology, I invite you to check out Austen Hartke's Transgender and Christian YouTube series.

You may also find Rev. Nicole Garcia's story encouraging; she's a trans pastor who once said that she has experienced two vocations in life: one to ordained ministry, and one to being a woman.

God is calling you, too. I pray that you can feel Their presence and love in your life -- even when it's hard to believe in it yourself. <3

(For more, I have a trans tag and an affirmation tag and trans women tag and also an FAQ you might like to peruse through)

#affirmation #exvangelical #trans stuff

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holylulusworld · 2 years ago

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Little Red Riding hood lost in the woods

Summary: You knew it was a mistake to go into the woods at night.

Written for: This is my dark and mordern interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood for @boxofbonesfic 𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒰𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝒜 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒…challenge. Congratulations on your milestone again.

Square G2 filled for @allcapsbingo: Claim fuck

Ship: (Alpha) Werewolf!Bucky Barnes x Omega!(LittleRedRidingHood) Reader

Tags/Warnings: angst, chasing, fear, dark!fic, werewolf trope, a/b/o, scenting, marking, mating, huge cock, dub-con, non-con due to monster fucking (yes, you heard right; we will get the big bad wolf this time), smut, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, biting, blood, transformation, manipulation, implied kidnapping, the reader is an adult and at age, this story is 18+

Words: 1,8+

A/N: Please consider I stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote something dark this time. Head the warnings and read at your own risk. Don’t like, don’t read.

Little Red Riding Hood.

That’s what people call you. You found it cute when you were younger, adorable even. Now that you are a grown woman, a feisty and stubborn one, it’s not adorable anymore, it’s an offense.

You’re still wearing a red hooded cloak in honor of your grandmother. She passed away some years ago, and you just can’t forget about her, or the fairytales she told you.

About wolves lurking in the dark. Finding their mates by watching, searching, and sniffing around humans. She warned you not to go into the woods after dark. You could only visit her cabin nestled deep in the woods during the daytime.

All your life you listened to her warnings. Never enter the woods after dark. All your life, until tonight.

Grief held your heart in such a tight grip that you had to visit her cabin.

It’s not too far from your home, and you believe nothing will happen to you if you follow the path you know by heart. The one framed with wildflowers and the sigils your grandmother carved into the trees. For protection – she always said, while mumbling words you didn’t understand.

If only you listened to her.

Now you are on the run, chased by a man-sized beast. You only got glimpses of the beast hunting you, but it was enough to know it would kill you if you let it get closer.

“Omega,” it snarls in your direction, knowing that you are hiding behind another tree. “Come to me.”

You gasp as the large wolf-like creature stops in front of the tree. It looks directly at you for a moment. The wolf throws its head back and howls loudly.

“Go away,” you whisper more to yourself than the creature. You place your hand on the tree trunk, praying that the sigils your grandmother carved deep into the tree will protect you from the beast.

The sigils are faded, but the beast won’t get close.

“Omega.”

The wolf snarls at you. It waits and waits as you remain behind the tree. You hold your breath as it steps toward the tree.

It whines, and you swear its features are twisted in pain for a second before the wolf steps back again.

“No.”

“You’re mine,” it says. Or at least you believe the wolf speaks to you as it moves back. The wolf sits down, waiting patiently for you to come closer. “Come here.”

You violently shake your head. “Go away, beast,” you reply. You’re still out of breath from all the running and try to find a way to escape the wolf without running again. If there is a way.

“You’re scared,” a deep guttural noise leaves the beast’s throat. You still have no idea how you can understand its words. “Good.”

Your eyes widen as the beast stares back at you. Up close it looks even taller than before, and you know you won't stand a chance.

“Come here,” it insists.

When you don’t move a muscle, the beast stomps its forepaws on the ground. The ground shakes violently. You scream in terror as the tree protecting you from the beast splits into two halves.

All you can do is jump out of the way to avoid being hit by the tree’s branches. You land on your back, crying out in pain as the beast purrs in your direction. “I will tame you, feisty omega.”

You’re shaking in fear. Whatever the beast is after, it’s not its next snack. That wolf wants something else, so you fear.

“Go away.”

You stare at the beast, watching it tilt its head. It listens to your ragged breathing and silent whimpers. Whatever the beast in front of you is, it knows you already lost this fight.

“Go away…just go away,” you chant. “Please let this be a nightmare.”

The wolf watches you for a heartbeat, and another before howling again. This time, the beast straightens its back. It keeps its eyes on you.

It rolls his shoulders back, whining low as you hear bones crack, and muscles tear. You can’t look away, you can't run as the wolf turns into a human-like beast.

The beast stands on its hind feet and clenches its fists. Even though it looks more human now, it’s still a beast ready to devour you.

“No.”

You stand up and go for a sprint. Panic rises in your chest as you hear the beast follow you close behind. You look over your shoulder, screaming in terror as the wolf chases you again.

Its speed is inhuman. You can’t compare. While you aimlessly run through the woods, praying you’ll find one of the trees your grandmother marked, the beast is right behind you.

“Stop now," it calls for you. “I’ll be kind to you. I won’t hurt you.”

You keep running, but the beast won’t have it. It stomps his left hind foot again, shaking the ground. You fall to your knees and crawl away.

“These woods belong to me and my kind. Our ancients walked these grounds ages before your kind was born. Soon you will be one of us, my omega and mate.”

“Leave me alone. Please just go away,” you sniffle as you scramble to your feet. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

"I smelled you from a mile away."

He stalks toward you, chuckling darkly. “I like the cloak, take it off and put it aside. We don’t want it to get dirty when you are on your hands and knees for me. Be good, and I won't hurt you.”

You’re frozen to the spot. It feels like your body obeys the beast’s orders. “Do it now, omega.” You unclasp your cloak with stiff fingers. “Good girl. Now put it aside and come here.”

It’s a struggle not to scream as the beast pounces on you. You end up underneath the enormous beast, trembling as it's nose buries into your neck. It inhales your scent, snarling and purring as its claw-like hands rip your clothes to shreds.

“You’re mine.”

You sniffle silently as the beast manipulates your body. It runs his furry hands all over your body, as you try to let your mind wander. One of its claws pushes your upper body down and holds you to the muddy ground.

You struggle to not lose your mind. The last thing you want is to feel the beast spread your legs or his face buried in your cunt. Its long tongue teases your folds, making you whimper at the odd sensation. This monster forces you into submission with every swirl of its tongue.

“No,” you whine and scream, hoping someone stops the beast. It’s no use. The wolf slips its long tongue into your cunt, slowly fucking you with the skilled muscle. “Oh god, no. This can’t be…no.”

Its hot breath fans over your exposed ass while his tongue slides in and out of you. You have never felt so helpless before. A beast pushes its tongue inside of you, and all you can do is drool and moan.

You writhe on its tongue, hips rolling on their own as you chase a high you didn’t ask for. The beast growls against you, greedily drinking your juices when you gush over its snout.

“Good omega,” the beast purrs as you feel like in limbo. A boneless body, getting lifted by the beast. You feel it shift behind you. With its enormous, dense body, it covers your trembling form. Its fur tickles your skin as the wolf wiggles its hips. “Have all of me now.”

Your eyes snap open the moment you feel something bigger prob at your entrance. You took a big cock before, even a knot. But the thing slowly pressing into you is far from normal. “No…too much…stop.”

“You can take it, omega,” it purrs in your ear. “Take me. All of me.”

The fight is over. You must surrender.

The beast slowly inches its way inside your body. You cry as the wide stretch is painful. It's too much of the beast, and it still pushes further in. “Almost.”

Tears spill from your eyes as the beast snaps its hips into your ass. You are entirely at the beast’s mercy. It covers your body and presses you into the ground. Its huge cock is nestled inside your body, and all you can do is let it have whatever it wants from you.

“So good.”

The beast starts to move, and it feels like it tries to be careful. It doesn’t make sense. The wolf was chasing you, and now it forced its cock inside of your body. “Relax, ‘mega,” you hear his voice turn softer. “You are doing so well for me, Y/N.”

You gasp. How can the beast rutting into you know your name?

“How…?” you choke out a moan as the beast angles his hips, now hitting that spot making you see stars. Your vision becomes blurry as the beast on top of you starts to slam into you in abandon.

“You’re mine.”

Your body surrenders first. Your walls tighten around his thick cock, and you feel slick run down your thighs. It’s over. The beast got what it wanted and will kill you after it’s done with you. You’re sure of it.

“Mine.”

A scream tears from your throat when the beast’s teeth sink into your neck. It breaks your mating gland, growling against you as you pass out.

The last thing you feel is the blood running down your neck and its cum filling your abused cunt. “Mine…”

You wake. It’s odd, but you wake.

After what happened last night you didn’t expect to breathe another day. But here you are sleeping on a soft mattress.

“You’re awake, good.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You recognize the voice from last night, but it's not the wolf standing in front of you. It’s one of your regulars from your library.

He often comes to town to borrow books. His name is James or Bucky.

“What?”

“You must be very confused,” he bares his pearl-white teeth while speaking to show off dominance. “You will adapt soon, doll. I had to mark you before anyone else got the chance. You were ripe for harvest and I’m alpha prime, the one who can choose his mate first.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you whisper as you touch your neck. There is a scar in form of human teeth, but nothing else. “What happened…it must’ve been a dream.”

“Not a dream.”

Bucky morphs his face.

“No! No!” you scream as the beast looks back at you. “This can’t be…why?”

“Because you are mine and this is your new life. You never have to go back to town ever again. Soon my pups will grow in your belly. We are going to be a big happy family.”

Your blood runs cold as you press your hand to your belly. “No…no…”

“If we didn’t make it this time,” he grins wolfishly, “I love trying…”

Part 2

I won’t do tags for this story because it’s a dark story. I don’t want anyone to read a story which isn’t their cup of tea.

#bucky barnes x reader #werewolf!Bucky Barnes #allcapsbingo #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: a/b/o #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!alpha Bucky

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softpascalito · 23 days ago

Text

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter V

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

here we are again! i don't have anything to say except thank you for the love on this fic so far and i'm so excited to continue ♡

stola & toga - traditional clothing infula - headdress, similar to a veil paludamentum - cloak worn by high-ranking military

Chapter V

You aren’t surprised that he has not come back.

On every shift you have fulfilled since Acacius came into the temple, you’ve turned your head almost hopefully every time you heard the oak doors open. Glanced over to the person joining you to pray, only to feel a sinking disappointment in your chest with every citizen that was not the General. But after everything–the way you reacted to his words, the fact that he had to save you from the soldiers, the touches that you keep replaying in your mind–you are not surprised he is gone.

There is one question that keeps forcing itself to the forefront of your mind though. Why was he there to save you?

While a General may move as he pleases, at day or at night, you can't help but wonder why he'd be roaming the lower parts of the town and halting next to dark alleys. What are the chances? That he stumbled upon the scene innocently, unaware of who the men were leering after?

You haven't figured out the reason for his being there. The only conclusion you've come to is that the chances of him crossing your paths so often in less than a moon's time are low.

It is a day with few clouds in the sky. This, combined with the warmth of the sun breaking through the cold of the winter, makes it one of the few nice days to run your errands outside. A slightly thicker stola is enough to keep you comfortable in this weather. White, of course, the same smooth fabric shared by the infula covering your head, loosely framing your face like a veil. The white, for Vestas purity. The red, for the flame.

The streets of Rome are as busy as ever, the crowd an everchanging painting of beggars, citizens and travelers. People rushing in and out of the shops that line the streets, carriages trying to push their way through, their drivers shouting.

The chief vestal informed you that the potter finished the new jug and you politely offered yourself up to collect it, eager to correct your mistake of breaking it. Now, on the way back to the Forum, you absent-mindedly let your fingertips smooth over its surface, holding it tucked neatly against your chest. If you break this one too, you are certain there is a punishment awaiting you.

As the street becomes less and less crowded, your gaze is focused on the stones of the path below you, half in thought and half watching where you step. It is precisely why you don’t hear him the first time he calls out to you. It's only when his voice comes closer that you raise your head, searching for the source of it.

“I thought that was you.”

Acacius strides up to the half open gate you were just passing, a gentle smile on his face. That damn smile.

“General?” One of the two soldiers guarding the entrance to his house gives a small bow, though his face looks displeased. Questioning, almost. “The Emperors have asked for you not to receive … guests for leisure.”

You come to a halt as you watch the exchange and you see Acacius’s face harden in response. He steps past the gate, squaring his shoulders slightly. “I have business with this Vestal. If that bothers the Emperors, they are welcome to discuss it with me. But you are not. Is that understood?”

“Yes, General,” the soldier quickly adds, standing straight. “Apologies, General.”

Acacius makes a forgiving gesture before turning his attention back towards you. “Please, join me for a walk around the grounds.” You’re not sure why you don’t question it, but it doesn't appear to you that you could. Denying him doesn't feel like an option–or a want. Instead, you follow his invitation, letting him lead you past the soldiers and up the small path that leads to the house.

When you have almost reached the front entrance and are outside of earshot of the gate and the soldiers guarding it, you finally find your words. “General Acacius?”

He turns, his eyes briefly wandering over your form. “Yes?”

“We do not have business. Not today, I mean. Or did I forget–” You shake your head, racking your brain. “Was I supposed to come and see you?”

He laughs softly at that. “No, no, my apologies. We do not have business, strictly speaking.” His eyes dart back and forth between both of yours. “If you would like to leave, you may. I do not mean to keep you prisoner.”

“No,” you blurt out a little too quickly, a blush spreading over your cheeks. “I mean, I have no duties today. Except–” You gently nudge the jug still in your arms. “I had to collect this.”

“You’ve found a replacement then,” Acacius says gently. He pauses for a moment and you can practically see him gathering his thoughts as he looks around the garden. “Would you like to leave it here for a moment? I think you would enjoy seeing our gardens.” A hint of mischief twinkles in his eyes. “From up close, I mean.”

You nod, watching as he carefully takes the jug from you and places it beside the front door before turning and leading you onto one of the smaller paths that weave around the house, the weathered stones almost covered by the plants growing around them. “This way, please.”

You tread lightly, enjoying the breeze that blows around the two of you. Acacius is not in his armour today, instead wearing a white toga paired with his red paludamentum. It moves softly in the wind, the fabric of his clothes seeming much lighter than you'd expect of a General’s clothing. Then again, he is much softer than you would have expected too.

“It is a rather nice view from up here,” you sigh as you reach the edge of the garden, overlooking the Forum Romanum.

“Truthfully, it is,” Acacius agrees. You're not sure if you imagine his gaze being set on the house of the Vestals below as he speaks his words. Still, your eyes follow the line of his, past the house and to the temple tucked away behind it. And there, steady as always, is a small column of smoke rising into the air and disappearing into the blue above.

“I love looking at it,” you whisper. “The smoke. It is such safety.”

“Safety for Rome as long as it burns,” Acacius agrees quietly, though he doesn't sound convinced. You both stay silent for a few moments. Then, he turns toward you, his gaze once again flickering over your form. But this time, it is filled with something else. Concern.

“How is your hand?”

You raise the hand in question, now unbandaged. Nothing remaining of the wound other than a thin, pink line where the shard cut you open. Newly grown skin. Your body fixing itself.

For a split moment, you think Acacius will use the hand as excuse to touch you again. But he doesn't. Instead, he just gives his gentle smile and suddenly, you can feel the warmth of Vesta's fire burning in the temple even out here on the hill.

“You did not come back to pray,” you say quietly as you drop your hand, trying hard not to make it sound like an accusation when it somehow feels so much like one. “It is no good to only pray once.”

Acacius gestures to the path and you begin walking side by side again as he speaks, his eyes lingering on the trees in front of you. Still, as you turn your head you see a tiny smile playing around his lips. “I did not want to risk more accidents.”

You can neither hide the small laughter that falls from your throat nor the blush that spreads around it.

“I believe I have never heard a Vestal laugh before,” he muses quietly and you shake your head in joking disbelief.

“It is not a profession that comes with much to laugh about,” you hum, passing by the lavender fields. Even in the winter, the smell fills your nostrils and you sigh quietly. “I suppose neither is the army.”

“No. No, it is not.” Acacius mumbles, leading you deeper into the gardens. You can still see the horizon shimmering through the scarcely decorated trees around you but being above the city means you are well hidden from Rome.

“This feels like the lands beyond the walls,” you say softly, your gaze landing on a small stone pavilion towards the edge of the garden. Eight columns holding up a small, domed roof, no doubt a work of some well-known architect. Two benches line the sides and a statue towers in the middle. Acacius gestures you toward the area, allowing you to ascend the steps before him.

“Have you traveled?” He asks, patiently following you as you raise your stola enough to not trip over it. You shake your head as you take a seat on the stone bench, the smooth material cold under your touch.

“I have rarely been outside of Rome's walls. My duty is in the very heart of it. I have no reason to leave.”

“But you are allowed to?” Acacius hums as he takes a seat beside you, stretching his back with a small groan that gives away his age.

“I am. But it does not make any difference.” You let your eyes wander over the statue in front of you, taking in the fine details carved into the stone. It's a work that has always fascinated you. Being able to take a block of stone and extract the image of a god from it. “I imagine you have seen many corners of the world.”

“I have indeed.” Acacius gives a small smile, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. “One travels far as a General. Many places in the south are quite beautiful.”

It sounds like the talk you often overhear at the stores. Polite, shallow. Well-rehearsed.

His eyes don't quite meet yours and for the first time, you are close enough to really take in the details of his face. The crinkles around his eyes, the thin lines tracing his face. A missing patch of his greying beard on the side facing you. A small scar atop his curved nose. Details, chiselled from the stone, carefully worked to shape his face.

It's not so much that he looks old. It's that he looks tired.

“You do not enjoy it.”

The words are only a whisper, your voice so low that he could easily let the statement float away if he wanted to. Change the conversations flow into a different direction. But he doesn't.

Instead, Acacius nods softly, bowing his head, closing his eyes for a split moment. ��No man or woman in their right mind would enjoy it. There is so much blood–” His voice catches in his throat and he falls silent.

You shift on the bench, turning your body more toward him. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard before continuing. “Where did you learn to read people like this?”

“Many people come to pray for one thing when in truth they want something entirely different,” you say softly. “Working the temple has taught me much about people.”

“May I ask you something, my lady?” Acacius suddenly shifts, turning back toward you. You give a small nod to signal your agreement. “Does it bother you to wear the veil? To be hidden?”

Now it is your turn to avert your eyes and you find yourself looking at the statue in front of you again, pondering your words as you do. “Being hidden does not bother me.”

You can feel the General's eyes on you. He doesn't merely listen. He understands the words you have not said. “Then what does?”

“Seperation,” you respond quietly. Because you’re not sure how well you can explain it and because you're not sure if you want to. You both fall into a thick silence for a few minutes, undisturbed in a corner of Rome you did not know to exist.

It is the statue that provides an excuse for you to speak again. “Which god is this? The spear looks like–”

“Mars.” Acacius confirms quietly. “The god of war.”

“The father to Romulus and Remus,” you whisper. “The statue was a gift,” Acacius explains as he makes to stand, running a hand over the smooth marble. “I do not like it very much.”

“It is beautiful work,” you compliment nevertheless. Then, you understand his restlessness as your cue to leave. “I should head back to the temple.” You are already at the edge of the pavilion and about to leave when you glance over your shoulder, expecting Acacius to follow. But he is still standing next to the statue, leaning against it with one arm raised as if in deep thought. His eyes are on you and this time, you hold his gaze. “My General?”

“The gods have a funny way of bringing us together,” he says quietly and your gaze briefly flickers between him and Mars. Two men of war, decorated with shiny armor and no doubt far too much money and whores. But while the god made of marble stands proudly in his armor, Acacius looks as gentle as he has been every time your paths have crossed.

“I suppose they have,” you whisper before turning back to descend the stairs.

notes: thanks for reading. please consider reblogging to support me ♡

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