#(IT'S COMPLETE AND UTTER CHAOS AND I'M HERE FOR IT)

[quinloki]

Okay, I have to say this, because I need someone to understand me.

I do not like the word "Cuckold".

I'm NOT saying the word is bad, or wrong or shouldn't be used. I'm saying I do not like the word in an aesthetic sense.

It's imbalanced, it clunky, it's completely inelegant, and it's not even pleasing to view from a visual standpoint. I'm not saying "don't use this word with me, or don't talk about this kink" I'm saying it's a butt ugly word.

FOR EXAMPLE:

Laconic.

Good balance of vowels and consonants. La-kon-ick - rolls off the tongue. Easy. To the point. (fitting, given the definition).

Abyssal.

Well, balanced allocation of a small vowel pool. Visually pleasing. Has a kind of a YA fantasy vibe to it. Evokes appropriate vibes of its intent structurally.

Flabbergasted \o/

An utter mess, complete chaos! Unnecessary letters (I'm eyeing unnecessary too, you have no idea), and barely balanced.

BUT - it's fun to say, so it gets a pass.

Cuckold.

Out dated. Hasn't had an update since the 16th century. No class. No pizazz. Terrible balance, and it's just such a fucking pain to pronounce.

CUCK-old. Kuhk-uld. Like you're trying to loosen something in your throat to get it out. Intent unclear. The pronunciation lingers on the skin like phlegm.

And please, let's just call it cockhold, cause honestly that's much more evocative of the event happening here.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSTURNIOLO SURPRISE TOUR DAY 1 * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　where during the first show of the Surprise Tour, a sign from a fan in the audience catches Chris's attention.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: Wrote this while waiting for the opening of the gates in Lollapalooza, so I'm sorry if it isn't good 😭

A/N³: I don't remember if there was a rule for signs, but I had this idea so pretend that it's allowed 🤓

Chris leaned back in the medium orange fluffy couch, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the microphone as he let his gaze drift across the seated crowd, Nick's voice sounding like a background sound.

The venue was filled with excitement - including his. Every seat was occupied, fans sitting with their hands clutched in their laps or resting on their knees, only able to express their enthusiasm through loud screams instead of frantic movement.

The no-recording rule meant no phones were raised, no glowing screens obstructing the view, just pure, undistracted attention on the triplets.

Chris adjusted his mic, about to move on to the next segment when his eyes snagged on something that made his lips twitch into a smirk.

"Wait." He cut in suddenly, interrupting whatever Matt was about to say. "Before we show them the surprise, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?"

A new wave of screams erupted. Fans, despite being seated, tilted their heads, trying to follow his line of sight. Hands clutched the edges of armrests in anticipation, and whispers skittered through the crowd.

Matt glanced at Nick, who shrugged and gave a quick go-ahead gesture.

Chris grinned, leaning forward slightly.

"Hi! Can I read your sign?" He asked, pointing to a specific girl in the crowd. The girl’s eyes went wide, her entire face lighting up in disbelief. For a moment, she sat completely frozen, her hands trembling as she gripped the paper. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she nodded rapidly, her expression torn between excitement and utter shock.

Chris cleared his throat, exaggerating the motion as he held the mic close.

"Alright, let’s see." He mused, squinting dramatically. "Your sign says, 'I’m only here for Y/N-'"

Chaos.

Pure, unfiltered chaos.

The fans couldn’t jump, couldn’t wave their arms, but their screams alone shook the walls. Some clutched their chests, and others turned their heads frantically, scanning the audience in search of her.

I mean, they didn't even know that she would be there.

Chris pulled the mic away, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh as he instinctively turned toward the section where he knew she was sitting.

And there she was.

Y/N sat comfortably, her legs crossed, shiny clothes curving around her body, hands resting on her lap. Her smile was radiant, pure amusement dancing in her eyes that watched him like he was the only person in the entire room.

Chris exhaled a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to point at her.

"Unbelievable." He muttered into the mic, shaking his head playfully. Then, turning back to the audience, he smirked. "Well, I can’t even judge you. Everywhere I go, I’m only there for Y/N, too."

Another round of screams exploded through the venue, fans absolutely losing their minds. Chris, adoring the reaction, leaned back into his chair, eyes still locked on Y/N as if she were the only thing that mattered.

And to him, she was.

Her fingers decorated by black nails lifted to her red tinted lips, blowing him an air kiss before mouthing a slow "I love you".

Chris’s heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest as he smiled, cheeks heating - probably because of the yellow lights, of course.

"I love you more." He mouthed the words back, blue eyes shining. "Alright, attention back to me now."

© vanteguccir

[httpvomitello]

Don't Trust Sirius Black *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: Sirius Black was given one simple task: keep an eye on his friend's daughter. Easy, right? Wrong. Because Sirius, being Sirius, completely ignored the part where you told him you were taking her to visit Lily. So when he and Remus go to check on the baby and find the crib empty, pure chaos ensues.

dad!remus lupin x f!mom reader

It all started because Sirius Black and your husband Remus Lupin had the attention span of a goldfish.

"I'm taking her to visit Lily today," you had told them that morning while adjusting your daughter’s tiny socks. "I'll be back before dinner."

Sirius, however, was deeply engaged in a passionate debate with Remus about the correct way to make tea.

"Milk first is barbaric, Moony," he declared, waving his arms around like a madman.

Remus rolled his eyes. "It’s science, Padfoot. The hot tea scalds the milk otherwise."

"And I refuse to drink anything that sounds like a crime scene."

You had just sighed. “Okay, well, I’m leaving now.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever,” Sirius mumbled, not even glancing at you.

Remus at least had the decency to kiss you goodbye, but clearly, Sirius had absorbed none of the conversation.

Which led to the disaster a few hours later.

Remus stretched from his seat, glancing at the clock. “It’s about time to feed her.”

Sirius, now lounging upside-down on the couch like some sort of oversized bat, flipped through a Quidditch magazine. "Yeah, I’ll grab her."

He rolled off the couch (gracefully, of course—definitely not with an embarrassing thud) and strolled toward the nursery.

He opened the door.

He blinked.

He rubbed his eyes.

He looked again.

The crib was empty.

Sirius Black, infamous Marauder, Animagus, and all-around chaos gremlin, screamed like a dying banshee.

"REMUS!!!"

Remus shot to his feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table. “What? What?”

"THE BABY!" Sirius shrieked, hair now sticking up like a mad scientist’s. "THE BABY IS GONE!"

Remus paled instantly. “What do you mean gone?!”

“I MEAN SHE WAS HERE AND NOW SHE’S NOT,” Sirius wailed, already sprinting around the house like a headless chicken.

Cue complete and utter chaos.

Remus tore through the house, checking every room with military precision.

Sirius?

Sirius was on another level.

He flung open the pantry. “Maybe she learned how to crawl super fast and is hiding with the snacks?!”

Remus did not dignify that with a response.

Sirius lifted the couch cushions. “WHAT IF SHE SHRUNK HERSELF?”

“She’s not a teacup, Sirius!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT, MOONY!”

They were seconds away from performing a full-scale international manhunt when Sirius dramatically collapsed onto the floor.

“She’s gone,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “I lost her. I LOST THE BABY. Y/N IS GOING TO MURDER ME. AND THEN SHE WILL REVIVE ME JUST TO MURDER ME AGAIN.”

Sirius groaned, gripping the sides of his head. “Oh my Merlin, James is never going to let me babysit Harry again—”

“James?” Remus’s voice cracked. “I’m never going to let you babysit anyone again!”

Remus took a deep breath, trying to gather some calm, running his hands through his hair. “Okay. Okay. We need to stay calm—”

"CALM?!" Sirius shrieked, flailing like a distressed seagull. "REMUS, I HAVE NEVER BEEN CALM IN MY LIFE!"

And just as Remus was about to completely lose his mind—

The front door opened.

“Merlin, what a day,” you sighed, stepping inside.

Both men froze.

You blinked at them. They looked down at your daughter, who was perfectly happy in your arms, chewing on her tiny fingers.

“…Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Sirius made a strangled sound, clutching his chest like he had just fought death itself.

Remus, still processing the trauma he had just endured, exhaled sharply. “Where—where were you?”

You frowned. "With Lily. I told Sirius this morning."

Slowly, very slowly, Remus turned to Sirius, his eye twitching. "You knew?"

Sirius blinked. Then blinked again. Then—

“OH FOR MERLIN’S SAKE,” he wailed, flopping onto the couch in agony. “I DIDN’T KNOW—I MEAN I KNEW, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW I KNEW!”

You crossed your arms. "I told you both, but you were too busy arguing about tea."

Remus groaned, rubbing his temples like he had the world's worst headache.

Sirius flailed dramatically. “I FELT MY SOUL LEAVE MY BODY.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to kiss Remus on the cheek before sitting beside him. “Well, now you know how I feel every time I leave her alone with you.”

Sirius grumbled something unintelligible.

Remus finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair before leaning down to press a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “I think I lost ten years off my life just now,” he mumbled.

The baby just giggled again, completely oblivious to her father’s near-death experience.

Sirius groaned from the floor. “Can we all just agree that we never tell James about this?”

You and Remus exchanged a look.

“Oh, absolutely telling James,” you said in unison.

Sirius whined dramatically, but despite his theatrics, his heart was still hammering in his chest.

[mrsshabana]

um...

would you mind..continuing the werewolf gyutaro story?

i loved it a lot.

-liv

𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅!����𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary After getting you pregnant Gyutaro refused to leave your side. So you happily invited him to live with you. However, living with a werewolf is more chaotic than you thought. But you'll have to get used to it as soon you'll have a little pack of your own running around. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, size difference, forbidden romance, pregnancy ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.2k words. Thank you for requesting this! I had a lot of fun revisiting this story from kinktober ♡

༺ Art ༻

⇢ Chapter one ⇢ Chapter two ⇢ Chapter three ⇢ Chapter five

"What are you doing?!" you gasp in utter horror to see the mess that your werewolf boyfriend has made in your home.

"I'm building us a nest!" He claims happily, his tail wagging behind him as he tugs on a pillow. Ripping the stuffing out.

"A nest?! You're a wolf, not a bird!"

"Trust me, my love - this will be perfect for you to rest in while you carry my young!"

You sigh, giving up as you know he means well. After that full moon Gyutaro refused to leave your side so you invited him to live with you in your small home. And ever since he's been here he's turned the place upside down.

Tracking in dirt from outside, tearing up your furniture, and even trying to bring whole carcasses inside - claiming that he wants to save them for later. To say the least, your life has been nothing but chaos.

"Come here and try it out with me!" He barks, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looks so happy and unbothered by the mess he's made. His enthusiasm is more than enough for you to forget about it for now.

"Alright," you smile and step into the makeshift nest with him. It's surprisingly comfortable for what it is - a strange mass of sticks, leaves, pelts, and torn cushions. You have no idea how he managed to make it so comfortable but this thing feels better than your bed.

"Nice right? I worked on it all afternoon," he licks your face affectionately. You can't help but giggle from the sensation.

"So that's what you were doing this whole time? You did a good job, Gyu," you praise him and scratch behind his ears just like he likes it.

You don't understand why he did this in the first place. As far as you know wolves don't make nests. Did he learn this from someone else? Or is he just weird? You don't know, but the thought is what counts.

Gyutaro leans into your touch, enjoying the sensation of your fingers scratching his scalp. As he gets closer, his nose starts twitching curiously. Inhaling deeply until he's dragging his nose all over your torso, sniffing so hard that you swear he could suck up your shirt into his nostrils.

"What is it?" you say between laughs.

"My children," he smirks, "I can smell them inside you!"

"What?!" you're taken aback by his statement, "It's only been a few days, there's no way-"

"My seed is potent!!" He interrupts you, shouting triumphantly, "They said I was not fit to reproduce! That I'd never have pups of my own! But look at me now!!"

He grabs you by the waist and pulls you close, leaning down to nuzzle his face into your stomach where supposedly his babies are growing.

You can't help but smile seeing him this way. So proud of his new family, and so proud of himself for accomplishing something he never thought possible.

"Gyu," you hum as you continue rolling your fingers through his hair, "How many do you think we'll have?"

"Hm... my kind usually has three to five. But my mother only had me and my sister so two is also possible," he says excitedly, "But don't worry, I'll help you take care of them."

"I never doubted that you would," you smile, "I know you'll be a great father."

"I-I hope so," he blushes, suddenly becoming shy. It's cute how shy and adorable he is right now considering he was the complete opposite the night of the full moon.

It's strange how much Gyutaro has changed since that night. Before he was always brooding and on edge. He'd be happy when you were around but there was a dark aura around him. Whether that was caused by his pack, his family, or maybe something else - you aren't sure. But whatever it was it's not of a concern to him anymore. Because ever since he moved in with you he's been nothing but happy and optimistic. And seeing him this way warms your heart, making you more than excited for the future.

"Do you think they'll be like you? Or could they be human like me?" You ask a genuine question that has been on your mind ever since you realized you could be pregnant.

His eyes widen and his ears flatten, he scratches the back of his neck as if this is something he's never thought about. "Huh... I uh... I actually don't know. I think they will be werewolves but I'm not sure."

"Maybe they'll be half human half werewolf?"

"Maybe! I'd be happy no matter how they came out. Even if they were all human I'd still love them just the same! And I'd still teach them to hunt and play in the forest too!"

When you close your eyes you can imagine Gyutaro running through the forest with a group of toddlers. Carrying them on his shoulders when they get tired, and stopping to chase butterflies or look at pretty flowers. And in the afternoon they all come home covered in mud because dad thought it would be fun.

You couldn't ask for anything better than that. Sure it would be chaotic and messy, but being with Gyutaro has taught you that it's worth it. Dating a werewolf was never normal, clean, or organized. It's the complete opposite, but that's why you love him. And you can't wait for your children to be just the same way.

"I'd love that. I want them to be just like their dad," you whisper as you gently kiss the top of his head.

"I hope they're gentle and caring like you..." he blushes, "And pretty too."

"Aww, I hope they inherit your birthmarks so they'll be just as pretty as you."

"Wh-what did you say?" he looks up at you with wild eyes.

"I um... I said I hope they have your birthmarks," you hesitate, afraid that something you said may have angered him.

His eyes soften as they begin to well up with tears. His birthmarks were the one reason he could never find a mate. The one reason he was constantly rejected. Always told that his genes were unfavorable because of the hideous marks on his face. But you, you actually want him to pass on his birthmarks to your children? He can't believe his ears. Breaking into tears as he realizes that you aren't playing a cruel joke on him.

When you see him break down you begin to panic, "Wait, I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you upset," you frantically apologize as you hold him close and try to comfort him.

"No Y/N... I'm not upset," he whimpers, "I'm the happiest I've ever been. No one's ever accepted me and all of my flaws..."

"Honey, they aren't flaws. They're what make you who you are, and I think you're perfect this way," you smile and kiss all over his face.

He wants to thank you a thousand times over. Say it so many times until his voice is raw. Instead, he holds you close and gently licks your cheek as if saying "Thank you" in his own unique way. Because saying out loud could never be enough.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 32

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Character List

Authors Note: There are a couple of time skips in the one... and it's a short one. I'm sorry this took so long. I'm not really feeling this story anymore but, I still want to have it completed. The next chapter picks right up after Chapter 31... Enjoy 💙

August 23rd 2021

Christopher hated Pensacola… Mainly because Airielle was in this stupid ass city right under his nose. He frowned as he looked at the apartment building before him, it was… nice but it wasn’t as nice as the townhouse he had brought her, the one she had left behind.

He took a deep breath before entering the lobby and making his way up the stairs to her floor. The frown was still on his face as he thought about how easy it was to gain access to her. 

“Still fucking stupid” He muttered as he picked the lock and no alarm sounded as he made his way in. He set the bouquet of pink roses and white lilies down on the counter as he moved through the space, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She was still a neat freak, nothing was out of place. He made his way through the apartment making a mental note of where everything was… just in case. 

He let out a soft chuckle as he made his way into her room, it was a carbon copy of the one back at their townhouse. He made his way over to her dresser and opened the jewelry box she had on there. He frowned as he saw her engagement ring was not in there. Taking a deep breath as he closed the lid of the jewelry box.

He eyed the dresser drawers. He opened the top one and let out a frown at what he saw. With a look mixed with disgust and fury, he angrily reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of freshly washed boxer briefs. Christopher knew who they belonged to, that tattooed, freak that she was currently on vacation with. He clenched his jaw as he tried to keep his anger in check but as he stared down at the underwear in his hands, all he saw was red. Christopher blacked out and destroyed Airielle’s apartment. 

When he came to, he found himself standing amid utter chaos. The once pristine apartment was now a war zone. Shattered glass crunched beneath his feet as he surveyed the damage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The dresser lay on its side, drawers spilled across the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some torn to shreds.

He calmly made his way into the living room and looked at the damage he had done there in his rage.  The coffee table was overturned, and books and magazines were scattered. The TV screen was smashed, a fist-sized hole in its center. He walked over to the flowers he left on the counter and walked back into her bedroom, scattering them all over her bed. He pulled the note out of his pocket and left it on her pillow.  With one last look, he left the apartment altogether, locking and shutting the door behind him. 

September 2nd 2021

Janelle Roy stared at her mother as she watched her sister and that man leave the Waffle House. “Mom?” Janelle called out. “What do you mean that’s your daughter? I thought you said we only had brothers.” 

Abigail ignored her youngest daughter and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She hurriedly sent the text and put her phone away.  “Mom!” Janelle called out again, growing agitated with Abigail. “What is going on!” 

Abigail grabbed Janelle’s hand and pulled her outside the restaurant. Abigail let out a curse as she saw the Ford peel out of the parking lot. “Listen.. I’ll tell you everything later, just let me –” 

“No!” Janelle cut her mother off. “Tell me now! Why have you never mentioned this other child? You told us about Isaiah and Josiah… why never her?” 

“Cause I hate her!” Abigal exploded and Janelle’s eyes widened. “That girl has caused me nothing but pain and misery since I found out I was pregnant with her!” Janelle stood there in shock listening to her mom talk about her sister. The sister she never knew she had. As Abigail sat there spewing hateful shit about Airielle, Janelle felt herself grow disgusted with her mother, If she could say these things about Airielle, then Abigail could most definitely say the same thing about her. 

“That’s your daughter!” Janelle cut her mother off. “How could you say that about her?” 

Abigail started shaking her head. “No sweetie, you don’t understand. I’m not the problem she is and by the end of this month she will be dealt with.” 

Janelle stared at her with pure disgust. She took a step back from her mother. “I can’t even look at you right now.” She muttered, pulling her phone out of her pocket and opening the Uber app. She was thanking her lucky stars that she had the address to the hotel.  “Have you been taking your medication?” Janelle asked after she put her phone away, eyeing her mother. 

Abigail scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Janelle. You’re my daughter. And you will help me take down your sister.” 

“Take her down... Do you hear yourself right now?! I know you haven’t been taking your medication I’m calling Dad.” 

Abigail snapped and reached for Janelle’s phone, snatching it out of her hand and tossing it into her purse. “You ain't calling nobody!” she yelled, and Janelle took a step back from her mother. For the first time in 25 years, she was afraid of her mom. Janelle watched as Abigail put her phone to her ear and started talking in a low tone. Janelle knew she had to find a way to contact Airielle and warn her about their mother. 

September, 2019

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The doctor told Airielle softly before turning on his heels and walking out of the room. Airielle shakily placed both hands over her stomach. Three months… she had been three months pregnant and she lost it. 

She didn’t know why she was so upset, she didn’t even know she was pregnant. She hadn’t been prepared for this moment. She hadn’t been expecting a child. She hadn’t had time to feel the joy or the excitement or the fear that so many women spoke about when they learned they were pregnant.

“Solèy” Her dad whispered, his voice sounded just about as broken as she felt.  “Why didn’t you come to me and your mom? Why..” Issac paused as he tried to gather his emotions but looking at his babygirl in a hospital bed, her face all brused and swollen made him sick to his stomach. 

“I’m sorry.” Airielle cried. She was sorry for a multitude of things, sorry for not telling her parents what Christopher was doing, sorry for being so weak for not fighting back and sorry that she lost her child. 

“Airielle, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Issac said, his voice firm despite the tears welling in his eyes. He moved closer to the bed, gently taking his daughter's hand in his own. "This isn't your fault. You are not to blame. It him. You’re gonna press charges right.” 

Airielle froze. She was scared. Christopher was going to do worse once he found out she went to the police. 

“Dad I-” 

“Airielle. You’re not going back there. When you get discharged you’re coming to Pensacola. I be dammed if I let you go back.”  Issac gripped Airelle’s hand in a comforting manner. “You’re not alone in this Solèy, I will be there with you every step of the way.  I won’t let him hurt you again. Not ever.” 

“I don’t want to go back to him, Dad,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to go back to any of it.”

Her father’s hand, still warm and steady in hers, gave a gentle squeeze. “You won’t. We’ll make sure of it.”

Authors Note: Christopher is BANANAS! Abigail is BANANAS! Airielle needs to keep her head on a swivel when it comes to those two.

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[leclerc-hs]

after hours - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: based upon ��After Hours’ by the Weeknd….kinda? Warnings: angst? bad writing lmao, some smut Word Count: 1,955 Author's Note: Feel free to send in requests. I know I'm not the best writer but I have fun doing it anyways lmao kk love u all!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN'T ALWAYS like this. This mess of a situation that had caused utter chaos and pain that now lays awake inside the both of you. You used to be happy.

“Without you I can’t sleep,”

In the midst of a restless night, you couldn’t help but toss and turn. You were thrashing around and the sheets were at complete disarray from your constant kicking and rolling around. The oppressive summer heat was merciless as it couldn’t help but creep in through your windows and into your apartment. You had stripped down into a mere spaghetti strapped tank top with the most diminutive semblance piece of underwear. One would question the classification of such a minuscule garment. Sleep, in these circumstances, appeared to be pointless.

You spent, what felt like hours, relentlessly scrolling on your phone in hopes you would eventually grow tiresome. And it was working at first. That is, until you saw the Instagram story of him. Him at the club with friends. While you lie here completely alone and restless. 

The initial reaction to seeing this story was to roll your eyes. By the time 5 minutes had passed and you were still staring at it, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. It just doesn’t make sense. How is it that he can be out partying while you’re in bed incapable of sleep. Did he not care? Did he ever even love you?

You began to laugh at yourself. Of course, he didn’t love you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl. He would’ve fought for you more.

“Girl, I felt so alone inside of this crowded room,”

The swarm of heat surrounded him. But not from the humid summer air like you. No, his form of insufferable heat was from the crowd of drunken bodies that filled the club. His friends had dragged him out. Told him he needed to ‘stop moping around’. Told him that he ‘needs time with his boys’ to cheer up.

The irony of this all weighed heavily upon him. A relentless reminder of the gaping void you have left behind. It was as if you had woven yourself into the very fabric of his consciousness. A presence that refused to be ignored.

It had only been a few weeks since he saw you last. But still, you would never leave his mind.

But who is he to complain? Who is he to even care about how he feels when its him who had destroyed one of the only good things in his life. It was all a mistake. One he would absolutely take back and delete its existence if he had that kind of power. 

“I know I made you fall,”

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me,” Your voice trembled with each shout of a word that you let out. The very walls that surrounded you felt as if they were caving in. It was unbearable. The act of betrayal was too blatant to ignore.

Your boyfriend in tabloids kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Publicly. 

The words repeated in your head like a broken record.

“Mon amour,” he started. You cut him off almost instantly. You could not be silenced. 

It was too quick. So quick, you couldn’t even process the rage that was igniting within you. One second, you held his phone in your hand. The next second, it was shattered all over the floor beside him. Smashed from impact of hitting the wall. A mirror of what your trust for him looked like.

“Don’t call me that,” you seethed. You ached. “I’m not your anything.” 

His mouth opened ready to fight back. Ready to do anything for your forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t handle it. He needed you. 

“Not anymore,” you continued before grabbing your purse. “Don’t contact me. I can’t look at you.” You couldn’t even cry. Your eyes were red, puffy, and completely dry. Your body couldn’t even handle making more tears.

The worst part about this entire fight? Did you really want no contact, or did you just yearn for him to fight for you? The question loomed over you. 

Honestly, it’s a fine line. Deciding if the no contact really is the best option or if all you wanted was for him to show more effort for you. To try harder. Would you forgive him? Would you move on? 

“It was simply a blessing waking beside you,”

He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mornings you spent together. Even at the club. He was shameless. 

The morning sun slowly began peeking through the cream-colored curtains of your bedroom. It was one of your favorite times. The time where you’re on the cusp of being lucid but not completely there yet. This time full of raw love and passion.

His fingers slowly trailed up your ribcage and to your nipples before giving them a slight pinch. Goosebumps arose wherever his fingers trailed.

“Mon amour,” his hips started rolling slowly into you.  Your nipple still pinched in between the rolling of his two fingers. “Give it to me” he said.

You were a moaning mess. “Please,” you were begging. Begging to reach that peak you oh so needed. 

“Tell me what you need,” The pace of his hips increased. The sound of skin to skin slapping mixed with the sounds of both of your moans filled the room and only pushed you towards the edge more. 

“Is it me, amour?” He started. “You always take me so well. So, fucking tight mon amour,” Charles was relentless now. His hips picked up pace urgently. He was feverishly reaching for that peak as well. He fucked himself into you so hard it was as if he was trying to burn the memory of you here with him for forever. 

“What a fucking salope,” He edged you further. “My fucking salope.”

“Come on, mon amour. Make a fucking mess of me,” It was right then. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. Your own thighs squeezed tighter together as you pulsed around him. His orgasm following soon after.

Charles breathed heavily behind you and placed gentle kisses along the backside of your shoulder blade. 

“You did so well, mon amour,” He pecked more kisses. “I never want to wake up without you.”

“Sorry that I broke your heart,”

It was well late into the night. In the dimly lit room, you found yourself wrapped in an emotional embrace. Hard knocks were heard on the front door of your apartment causing you to jump up in surprise. 

“Mon amour,” you heard him speak first on the other side of the door. You immediately stopped in your tracks. Your throat felt constricted. Those two words burned in your memory. It was as if mon amour had become your name. You couldn’t even remember the last time Charles used your real name. 

The tumultuous mixture of anger, betrayal, and love clawed at you. Making it difficult to discern your true feelings.

You hesitated. Whether you should open the door or not. His knocking became insistent. Loud. Each moment that passed his fist against the door went harder. 

Out of respect for your neighbors, you let him in. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel better. 

Charles was leaned against the door frame for support. He looked tired. A look of anger was in his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He knew he had no right to be mad at you. But he was. He was being completely irrational as he marched his way over here.

“You are going to sit. You are going to listen to me,” He demanded as he pushed into your apartment. He gripped your wrist as he pulled you into the apartment and to the couch. You accept it anyways. Not because he deserved it, but because you need closure.

“The picture looks wrong,” he began. “I just need to explain this to you. Even if it doesn’t change anything.” He kneeled before you, in between your legs as he explained himself. His green eyes, a tad darker with a reddish tint lined around them, were staring solely into yours.

With a slight nod of your head, you let him continue.

“It’s all wrong. It’s not an excuse, but I did not kiss her back.” His words were sharp. As if he wanted to burn those words into your brain. 

“Pictures say otherwise, Cha,” you felt like you were going to throw up. This conversation burned tears into your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back. 

“She was a fan. She came up to me and grabbed me,” his hands slipped onto your knees and squeezed them tightly. “She grabbed me and kissed me.” His voice was cracking slightly as he let his head drop and rest on your legs.

You knew this information wouldn’t change much. It was still a kiss. One that shouldn’t have happened. 

“Whether she kissed you or you kissed her. It doesn’t change. Don’t you see?” You moved your knee so he would lift his head up. “It’s not going to change anything.” You said. You weren't even positive if it wouldn't change anything. But it was all that could come to mind. “It shouldn’t have even happened.”

“Mon,” 

You cut him off by standing up. “Would you stop calling me that!” You were shouting now. Walking from the confines of his presence. It was too much. He was too close. You couldn’t think properly. 

“I can’t,” He arose from his knees and stood beside the coffee table. “I will do anything.” It was then. His voice finally cracked, and you could sense that tears have started falling from his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them as he sat down on the couch. Exactly where you were last seated. 

In a moment that could only be described as naïve or perhaps even foolish, the depth of your love for him exceeded all rationality. You couldn’t even stand to see him crying, even if he was the one who ignited these issues into your relationship. You still wanted to comfort him regardless. He didn’t deserve it and you knew that. But in this moment, you couldn’t even care if it made you weak. Because you wanted to feel his embrace too. 

You trailed back across the room to sit beside him to wrap your arms around him. The two of you entangled on the couch seeking some form of comfort. He didn’t deserve it – the comfort. Most importantly, didn’t deserve you. 

“I need you to leave,” you began. His arms wrapped tighter around you. He didn’t want to let go. It was as if his grip onto you as if he was physically holding onto what remained of your tattering connection. “Please.” You were begging as your head rested in the crook of his neck. 

You only felt him shake more. Undoubtedly, crying. But he understood.

“I just need space,” your voice was a fragile whisper. “I still love you. I miss you. I wish this never happened to us.” His lips pressed to any inch of skin that was within proximity. You felt his hot tears slip onto your skin with each kiss he pressed. 

The plea for space, while still expressing love and longing, demonstrates the need for personal boundaries and self-care.

“I will keep fighting for you,” He pulled away before standing up from the couch. “I will do anything. I promise you that. You are the love of my life.”

It wasn’t until then, that you felt your tears spill out of your eyes. With a small nod of your head, he walked out of the apartment with his heart still latched onto you. Yours with his. It was a tapestry of emotions left in wake.

[snwusberry]

pairing: dad! seonghwa x mom! black reader

warning(s): food and eating

genre: fluff

wc: 1181

merry christmas to everyone who celebrates (it's almost 10pm here rn)

reader pov

the sound of overlapping voices fills the room. plates are being passed around, utensils clank against bowls and the smell of the variety of food invades my senses in the best way. the kids have been called back from whers they were playing to join us for the grand dinner we were all anticipating the whole year. christmas dinner with my husband's family and it's our 4th time attending, this time with yet another new born along with our four year old. now i know what people say about the father/husband's side of the family but i adore each and every one of these people.

however, i have learnt over the years seonghwa and i have been together that his family knows how to do chaos. they do it too well, if you ask me.

“pass the japchae, would you?” seonghwa's cousin calls out from the far end of the table, leaning forward and almost knocking over a glass of water in the process, making mr park let out an exasperated breath.

“relax ara, it’s coming. you act like you haven’t eaten all year.” he says, shaking his head.

“she eats every two hours like clockwork.” seonghwa jokes, dodging the chopsticks ara half-heartedly aims at him.

i can’t help but laugh as i scoop some onto my plate. his family is loud, hilarious, and utterly shameless when it comes to teasing each other,but its how they show love.

at the other end of the table is our 4 year old daughter who's sitting on a booster seat along with her cousins without a care in the world. she's having so much fun over there, i might just leave her here. she's busy chatting away with her uncle about lord knows what.

"uncle junho is eating so fast!" she exclaims almost too loud. she fits right in, i could tear up.

"i'm hungry. look at you, you're eating like a bird." he tries defending himself which offends her.

"no i'm not. daddy, uncle junho say i eat like a bird."

"she does not eat like a bird." seonghwa says, coming to the defense of the little girl which brings laughter to everyone around the table.

seonghwa's aunt—we call her aunt vera because she said to calm her that—clears her throat, drawing everyone's attention as she picks up the untouched dish from the table. everyone quiets down and eyes the dish. not a word being uttered in disbelief. good or bad, it's up to you to decide.

"what is it?" her son asks what i think were all wondering.

"its my famous brussels sprouts gratin." she declairs brightly as if she just stated the obvious amd the room falls awkward silent with a strained "oh" here and there.

"is that what it is?" i hear someone feintly ask and i'm almost certain its seonghwa's sister, seonghee.

9"famous where?" junho asks under his breath, earning him a nudge from seonghee.

i turn and glance at seonghwa who's biting his lip to keep from laughing, but the look we exchange says everything.

"well... thanks for bringing it." my mother in law says to her still enthusiastic older sister.

"oh of course. i thought i'd add a little something different to the table. a little western touch for our dearest daughter in law's sake." she enthuses, oblivious to the looks of everyone around the table. even the kids are quiet.

"wow... thank you aunt. that's very thoughtful of you." i respond politely and junho stifles a laugh which spreads to ara.

"you don't have to eat it." seonghwa whispers and i nudge him with my elbow.

"looks funny." seonghee's son says, breaking the silence and seonghee looks at him completely defeated.

"sweetheart." she breathes out and everyone laughs, including aunt vera.

"eunbyeol, dear. eat your carrots." my mother in law says to our daughter but miss girl hates vegetables. no matter how i cook them, she hates them. only way to make her eat is if i make a full vegetarian meal. then she doesn't have a choice.

the little girl just shakes her head vigorously.

it was worth a shot. seonghwa and i just give his mother an apologetic look.

as the meal continues, the gratin remains mostly untouched, sitting forlornly in its dish as everyone conveniently “forgets” to pass it around. and by the time desert rolls around, we're all pretty much stuffed. i stepped out to breastfeed the littke monster who woke up screaming her little lungs out. seonghwa ran in panicking before he realized it was time to feed her.

"ready to go see everyone again my baby? wanna be held by big sister byeollie?" i coo at the baby who has a vice grip on my breast and is drinking for today and tomorrow.

"you two still good in here?" seonghwa asks, walking into the room and i nod at him.

"say we're fine papa." i prompt the little girl who is absolutely silent. the way we talk to babies needs to be investigated. "will you burp her?"

seonghwa nods and i hand him the baby who finally let go and he puts her on his shoulder and gently pats her back. once he's done with that we both walk out and eunbyeol is already in front of us.

"mommy, dadfu, is she awake?" she asks, her voice full of excitement. we already know she wants to play with her.

"wide awake." her eyes light up and seonghwa goes to sot down sk that eunbyeol can see her sister properly and her cousin joins in. seonghwa is smiling from ear to ear seeing how much eunbyeol adores her sister. nothing makes him happier than his daughters.

except me, of course.

a little while later, seonghwa joins me at the table where his mother, father, aunt vera, seonghee and ara are still sitting to have dessert.

as the night winds down, eunbyeol climbs into my lap, her energy finally starting to wane and seonghwa is in the other room with eunha and the guys. the room is still filled with the hum of conversation and laughter, and i feel a warm contentment settle over me.

“did you have fun tonight?” i ask her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

she nods sleepily, resting her head against my chest. “best christmas ever,” she murmurs.

yeah i know she's lying, she says this every year, but okay.

at the end of the night it's that bittersweet time to say goodbye to everyone.

i hug everyone, my mother in law giving me an especially long one, refusing to let go.

"mother, hugging her any longer, won't make them stay the night." junho jokes and seonghee flicks his head, causing him to whine. how this man has a whole kid is beyond me.

"drive safely, okay?" my mother in law says sadly and we nod.

"we will. bye everyone." seonghwa, who's carrying a sleeping eunbyeol says and we go to his car, settling the kids before getting in the car and driving away. another family christmas, successful.

[quidell-fics]

I'm thinking about writing a fanfic for Black Myth: Wukong where someone from our world (a girl, but will probably make her a "reader" with a nickname but still written in 1st person [no y/n, etc]) winds up in the world the game takes place in. She "follows" (with a lot of help from the monks in each chapter, lol) The Destined One on his journey while along the way, The Destined One "helps" her find her way back home to her own reality.

The first six chapters will follow the game's 6-chapter storyline, but after that, it will spiral into complete and utter chaos—because, well, the Monkey King is being...himself.

Don't know if anyone would be interested in reading it, but I figured I'd put it out here and see.

(EDIT: Might make her an OC as she might have too much personality to be a proper "reader". Thoughts?)

[noxturnalmoth]

Repentance

Summary: Repentance: n. the action of repenting, sincere regret or remorse.

Hurt, overworking and miserable, two souls find one another and fates intertwine even when they are worlds apart. How can one deal with the guilt of wanting something they cannot have? And why does going against the very principles you have imposed upon yourself feel so good?

Warnings: violence, crude language, themes of guilt, suicidal ideation, depression

Word Count: 6, 501

Masterlist: here

Chapter 2 - The House that Janna Built

Your body feels light, weightless in the dark red tinted abyss. You don't feel anything but complete utter oblivion, pure nothingness. Yet slowly, feeling comes back to you. You r skin burns, your lungs and throat as well. And from a foggy red, the world shifts to bright orange. Smoke fills your lungs, tears eat through the blood caking your face like the waves licking away at footsteps in the sand of the shores of Ionia. You taste metal, and you feel nothing but seering hot pain.

"It's okay, kiddo. I'm getting you out of here." A low voice belonging to a woman softly calls out to you as you are lifted in what seems to be their arms.

Kha nas xera.

I hate them.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

Kha nas-ren xera.

I hate this pain.

An-kha ana-yafeal qufa.

Make it stop.

Ni'i samahta.

Please.

Then the sounds rush in. But within the loud chaos, you cannot scream and beg for them to stop.

____

"Fuck!"

You wake up with a start, back firing up waves of pain through your body as you sit up straight, hand finding your phone to snooze the alarm.

Sunday.

Yesterday you did nothing but stay in bed, stewing some more over your friends' words. And although every fiber in your body protested, although every part of your soul hissed at you not to, you were getting up to go to church.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

It's all that was repeated your mind on Saturday while you forced yourself to come to terms with the fact that you needed to try. You had to. For Sevika and Violet, you needed to get better.

Because no matter what they said, you feared they'd leave you before you're fully swallowed within your personal hell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to hate them for it, it'd be deserved after they dealt with the burden of your existence within theirs for so long. The thought of disappointing them, hurting them and them leaving you for your own incompetence at saving yourself were driving forces for you, albeit waning since some time.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

Kha alalha xera.

I hate the gods.

Kha Jan'ahremas xera.

I hate Jan'ahrem.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

So you do.

You push yourself from your mattress, the sheets stained in your nightly cold sweat before you take them from the bed, limping your way to the bathroom for a shower and throwing the filthy sheets in the washing machine.

The shower is hot, long in duration to relax your tense muscles and wash away the last of your nightmare before you resign yourself to leave it, unwilling to let your water bill climb higher than it already is.

You rummage in your closet for something "church-like". Unlike other cults from topside, Jan'ahremite beliefs didn't impose modesty in the same way, nor for the same reasons. Your people hail from Shurima where the deserts are so warm that wearing too much would make you die from overheating yet the nights would be as cold as the Freljord.

You remember your parents always owning shawls for when they'd pray, covering head, shoulders and parts of their chest when they talk to Janna. The Blue Bird. The Storm's fury. The Winds. Or whatever the believers would call her.

Not that it matters to you.

Your clothes are the classic Zaunite style, albeit better due to the blooming economy, of leather jackets, harnesses, simple shirts and cargo pants. Yet a skirt holds your attention, something more formal than your usual attire, yet still holding slits on both sides for ease of movement.

You groan as you pick it up, remembering the birthday Vi had gifted you the piece. Giggling when looking at your face as Caitlyn explained how it'd fit you.

"You would turn heads like this, Maestro."

"I don't want to." You had answered. "Love isn't the first, or second, or third thing on my list."

"It could do you good."

"Thanks, but I'll pass, Caitlyn. I'm grateful for the gift."

The skirt slides on with a shirt, buckles of harnesses are fastened and your corset is back around your middle, holding your back up as you adjust how it looks with the rest of what you put on. Your boots soon follow, a shawl put over your head and wrapped around your arms and shoulders before you take your phone and head outside.

Music blasts in your ears as you walk, walking towards the looming stone building. Carved in the material that so many Zaunites died for in the fissures. Figures, arches and columns filling the walls with intricate traditional designs you've grown accustomed to seeing in the books of the section you overlook at the library you work at.

Funny for someone as stuck in the past as you to hold archaeology so dear. Ironic too, for all the rituals and religions you've dived in you still hated the mere thought of believing and practicing.

Which made approaching the church all the more grueling. Not only are you about to step a food in a god's "home", but also bring your cynical atheism in a place of worship. It feels bitter, just because of your utter hatred for the one thing thos people believe in. To disturb those seeking comfort in the embrace of faith although you're doing a similar thing.

"Welcome to the Windswept Church of Jan'ahrem."

A voice calls out, a man maybe not much older than you greets and you see him step back at your stare, the ever present glare probably fueled with so much of your inner turmoil that he knew better than to remain close though his face stays gentle. His hair is long, pulled back in a ponytail, brown streaked with some blonde and his eyes a limpid blue. "We hope you find what you're searching for."

I doubt I will.

You nearly say, but hold your tongue as you step through the stone arch, passing mahogany doors to enter the large vaulted chapel.

Columns hold the ceiling, reaching towards the heavens with dark brown stone pillars. The walls are filled with grandiose stained glass sceneries depicting the history of Zaun. Beginning from the great Shuriman Empire, followed by its fall, sailors following the Blue Bird, Shuriman immigrants stepping foot on the shores of Kha'Zhun, the beginning of Osha Va'Zaun, its evolution, and the ever present goddess Janna protecting and watching over it.

You scoff.

For all its beauty, the church was still a place of belief for a god that had abandoned its own people, and it made you sick.

So you turn your head to the center of the room, pews lining both sides of the nave, creating a path towards the dark green draped dais and altar which are overlooked by the most beautiful representation of Janna you've ever seen. You step forward, the brilliant blue carpet softening each of your movements while the morning light bounces from the intricately tiled floor, stone lace shining with beautiful colors while you're pulled ahead.

The deity is represented floating in the air, her clothes and hair fluttering in the wind she summons, your people reaching out to her and grabbing her legs as they pray for mercy and salvation. The pedestal looking like grass and sand gently moving around them all, shifting with the gale.

What good is such artistry if it's made for someone who will never listen?

Once more you hold your tongue, the magnificence of the place dissolved by the bile climbing at your throat as you sit down in the far right of the pews, wanting anything but to be perceived while you take your earphones off.

Silence accompanied by the small talk of church goers, then their steps as they move to sit. Luckily no one comes close to you and some of the tension leaves your body.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

I'm trying.

Yet all you want is to get up and leave, get back to the comfort of your own home and sleep the day away. But that would be the easy way out, no sleep would come to you anyways and way too much attention would suddenly be directed towards you in such a moment. So you stay.

Moments pass, you grow more restless at the wait as people trickle in, someone sitting on the same pew as you and making you regret the decision of getting up and not rotting in your brain. A cordial nod is extend your way and you extend the same respect, noting that the greeter is the man now sitting next to you before quickly looking back to the front, hoping that mass would start soon so you could get on with it then leave.

"I've never seen you here before, did you come to find guidance from Jan'ahrem?"

An-kha ana-yafeal qufa.

Make it stop.

"Something like that."

"Welcome to our community then, we hope you find what you seek. You'll see that we're close knit, I can even extend to you an invitation for our meetups!"

You hum, nails softly clawing at the pew as anxiety bubbles within you at the sudden attention, people from other pews looking at you now.

Kha kha-anas'yatahadatha qufa.

Stop talking to me.

"I'm Huck, by the way. Nice to meet you."

You softly offer your name to him and he smiles, pulling one of your hands in a handshake that had your skin crawling at the sincere kindness the man is showing you.

This is too much, I need to lea-

Everybody stands and your hand falls back to the wooden bench as Huck drops it, following along with his peers. You stand too, pain shooting from your back and branching to your entire body at the sudden movement. Yet you trail your eyes to the front of the nave, to what everyone was so reverent towards.

A man was walking to the altar with a cane in hand. Cassock tinted almost black, a tinge of something else mixed within the fabric, brown hair long and falling to his shoulders.

The priest.

"Greeting my friends. I hope life has treated you fairly since last Sunday."

His voice is accented in a familiar way, certain communities from from the Entresol holding a strong Va'Nox tint to their speech. And while he may have not been talking loudly, the man's voice was projected in the vaulted room, almost ethereal in quality as it commands attention.

"We all know of the darkness within our souls. The one that drags you down a spiral so profound that you lose yourself in a labyrinth of self-hatred, doubt and pain. Yet we know, we believe, deep down that this is not all that we are. We are more powerful than our demons, and Jan'ahrem, our shepherd, guides us to light with her breeze. The soft, cool of her touch on our broken selves heals us. Like wind brushing footsteps from the shifting sands. Let us begin to praise her for her love and kindness towards our people, her determination fueling us. Making us stronger with each day that passes under her protection."

Everyone sits again, your body hitting the pew with a soft thud and a sigh as you're hidden by the veiled backs of the churchgoers again.

What a load of bullshit.

You nearly scoff as everyone begins chanting, the priest's voice somehow always stronger. Never wavering once in his praise of the goddess watching over him. It's low, yet breathy, the accent rolling his R's, pushing his consonants and sighing his H's.

And it's unbearably beautiful.

For all you have against the church, you can't say that you despise this part like you do the rest. The lyrics make you feel sick, yet the man's voice is warm, welcoming, playing the part of the guide he is supposed to be even to someone as empty and destitute as you.

Next to you, Huck sings along. Face bright and filled with hope while you feel like decomposing in place. You know of myths where sinners burn in places of worship and for all it's worth, you feel like it's about to happen to you. Bubbling with rage as you glare at Janna's statue, looking to you almost mockingly when she's supposed to be kind, gentle, a guiding gale to those from Zaun. And with disgust at yourself, feeling undeserving of being next to believers while you silently hate their god, wishing nothing more than to melt in the pew and disappear.

You're even more lost in this crowd than you've been in years, you feel profoundly alone even when you're supposed to feel surrounded. They're all singing in Valorian, as opposed to your parents who used to pray in Shuriman. The lyrics to every chant escaping you and fusing your lips together like a hot knife cauterizing a wound.

You wouldn't have sung along anyway.

But a little bit of familiarity wouldn't hurt when you're like a fish out of the water, ready to be chopped at the fishmonger's stall.

The believers sit and the priest's soft voice grows lower as he speaks, the breathy quality of his voice still very present yet much more subdued as he preaches.

"May the gales guide us to a better place. We have already achieved so much, brothers, sisters. And our sails are leading us to a brighter future. It may get hard, but we're headed the right way, I can feel it and I know all of you do too. Janna has granted us her will so we could move forward even when life gets grueling, cruel and miserable. She is the way, she is the mother of our nation who brought us to this safe haven. And although we've had to fight for it tooth and nail, we're finally headed towards the vision she had of Zaun. A free, thriving and steadfast community."

Huck sometimes slides his gaze to you, a small gentle smile on his lips to coax you out of your shell. Yet all it does is make you more uncomfortable, feeling all too undeserving of the gentleness he treats you with, your skin feeling too tight on your muscles. Like old wallpaper falling off, cracking due to humidity and age.

So you spend however much time, sat even when believer stand to sing, fidgeting with your hands when they sit back down.

Then, one by one people start to get up, making a queue to the dais where the priest was now standing.

"Come, it's custom to receive the ichor. Just follow me, you'll know what to do there."

Huck extends his hand towards you and your aching back thanks him as you nod, letting him help you up and pull you to the end of the line. The wait is somewhat uncomfortable, standing while people consume the Jan'ahrem's "blood" and bless themselves with incense.

You knew of the blood and spirit from old tales your parents told you as a child, which eventually appeared before you once more with the books you read at the library. Your second job offering much downtime, to your relief, which meant many hours by yourself, reading and cataloging books on archaeology and rituals.

As the line dwindles you realize that albeit you know of the old practices, you know nothing of the new ones. Anxiety once more bubbling within the depths of your stomach.

Am I going to make a fool of myself?

No, people trickle out once this is done.

But then again..

While people trickle out after this last part of the mass, you would be left still making a fool of yourself in front of Father "what's his face". So you discreetly try to observe from behind Huck.

People kneel, which already makes you groan at the pain you'll be in after such an action. Then they bring their hands up, quite probably in the usual prayer motion.

Arms positioned horizontally, palms against one another while the middle and ring fingers are placed on the inner wrists of the other arm.

A gesture predating even the fall of the Shuriman Empire.

You can't see the rest, only able to complete the ritual in your head with the old practices. The believer would open their mouths and the priest would dip his thumb in the ichor concoction from his chalice, marking the tongue with its blood red tint, before the believer would go on to get the blessing of the spirit. A simple action of taking two sticks of incense upside down between two crossed fingers, the index and the middle, moving them around you so the smoke moves around the believer like a soft breeze. Ending the movement by placing the sticks right side up in the sensor and dipping one's thumb in the ashes filling it, blowing the remnants like the gale of the Blue Bird blew the sails of your ancestors.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize it's your turn, Huck already getting to the incense as you stand before the priest face to face.

From up close you can see the intricacies of his cassock much better. Cinched at the waist with a bright blue fabric belt, the same color as the rosary decorating his chest and neck,his robes catching light in what you could now notice is the color of your people. The Zaunite color representing your nation, a dark forest green that looked nearly velvety on the cloth of the man standing before you. His hair was not just brown, no, it was graying in streaks from under the soft, wavy curls adorning his head like a halo. Around his neck was a copper colored stole, embroidered with the organic shapes your people have always used, showing life even within the most unwelcoming territories. From the desert to the fissures. He looked young, near your age, face gaunt and cheekbones high, his pale skin dotted with two moles. One on his upper left lip and one on his right cheekbone, right under the outer side of his eye.

Amber.

The familiar color of many a Zaunite's eyes, the color attributed to the heat of your homeland, was also his. Looking nearly golden in the rays filtered through the stained glass, outer iris a kaleidoscope formed of their reflection.

"With the powers bestowed upon me, I shall bless thee with the ichor, the blood of our goddess which blessed our soils."

You kneel with difficulty and position your hands accordingly, yet the priest looks almost shocked when his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse softly. His thumb is dipped in the chalice, coming out dripping the red liquid symbolizing the ichor, and before he can move again you open your mouth. Eyes trained on his as saliva begins to build at the wait, his movements slow and nearly tense as he grips your chin and places his thumb on your warm tongue. Barely seconds pass yet it feels like an eternity as you feel his skin on yours, his digit in your mouth, his eyes observing you as if he is picking you apart and building you back up.

"With this blessing of life, of hope and of will, you shall build yourself back up. Like Osha Va'Zaun has many a time. May the Winds blow your way, my child."

His eyes widen and his body tenses once more, jaw setting and face twitching, while your lips wrap around his thumb. His gaze veiled with something unknown before you pull away.

"Kod'suhbi al ni-makhaka naa."

May the Blue Bird be with you.

You sigh while trying to push yourself up, groaning in pain before the priest's soft yet scarred hand appears in your vision, his face now gentle with a soft smile adorning his lips as he helps you up.

He is much stronger than he seems.

You nod your head in thanks, rushing to the incense so you can be done with it all. Huck already done yet waiting at the pews, calling out for you.

"I wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for coming to mass today. I hope to see you next time!"

Tough chance.

You think, before sighing.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

You have to come here at least twice before finally throwing in the towel and ridding yourself of the horrible presence of religion in your life. Your lips smack as you finally savor the ichor, the red liquid tart and sweet, made of fruit, yet thick and sticky in your mouth. Like blood.

Good marketing.

You nearly laugh but choose to reign your cynicism in.

"Yeah, see you next Sunday Huck." The man looks happy with your response and leaves.

"Goodbye Father Valášek."

Your ears tune out afterwards as you proceed to follow through with the spirit ritual, the smell of incense soothing the disgust you feel beneath Janna's gaze. Your eyes shifting to the altar from time to time as you feel the weight of a gaze on you, yet every time you look the priest only seems to be preoccupied with clearing away the last of the ritual.

The deity's gaze judges you as you walk back, setting yourself on a pew, back too pained after kneeling that you have to take a moment to relax before going back home. Yet your eyes are not "kind" like the goddess's, hers almost mocking you as you glare back.

Ni khe'inn.

You traitor.

You fucking traitor.

Was it funny? To live up above, safe and flowing with your meaningless winds while your people suffer, beg, plead and pray for you?

The thought nearly makes you want to puke and set the whole place on fire. Your breaths grow heavier as you try to calm down, feeling all too restless in this place of "peace", yet unable to leave just yet. It feels like every stained glass portrait, like the statue itself, are judging you.

What are you doing here, non-believer?

You should have died long ago.

You are undeserving of guidance and healing.

You monster.

You filthy, foolish, rotten girl.

"Glare at Jan'ahrem any longer and you'll set her on fire."

You startle, looking to your right where the priest is now sitting, chuckling yet his eyes full of curiosity.

"Can't say it's not what I'm trying to do."

"Oh really, now? In a holy place?"

"Holy or not, if I'm going down I'm taking her with me. And it's not a man in a dress using a cane that will be able to catch me after I'm done."

His laugh grows louder, from a low throaty chuckle to an open mouthed, breathy giggle and you raise an eyebrow at the man.

"If you hate her so much, I wonder what your story is for you to drag yourself to such a place."

Story.

You scoff.

It certainly isn't a fucking fairy tale.

"Please, don't put her on a pedestal. She's not special, I hate all of her kind."

"Wow, talk about god-hating."

"I fear I'm their biggest opp, Father Valášek." You spit out, yet your lips stretch into a smirk while a wheeze escapes him, his eyes sharpening towards you, nearly cutting you with their intensity.

"Aren't you a funny one?"

"I'm a hater, didn't say I'm also unfunny. I can only have so many flaws, priest."

Self-deprecating, self-hating, monstrous, empty, depressed, hopeless and broken beyond fixing are pretty good ones too.

"I don't find it a flaw within you."

"Wow, thank you oh-so-loving man of god. I am suddenly healed from all of my self doubts and pain, I could dance the prisyadka. Do you need a demonstration?"

"I'd pay to see that."

"And I'd pay to see you run a marathon."

Your eyes point to his cane and he scoffs, slumping backwards on the pew's backrest. He calls out your name and you turn to him with narrowed eyes before you remember he had been here when Huck wished you goodbye.

"What?"

"What brings you here?"

"What brings a pretty boy like yourself to become a priest when you could be doing cooler shit?"

He clicks his tongue with his eyes gazing back to Janna's statue, muttering "touché" to himself before looking at you again. Mischief fills his gaze.

"So you think, I'm pretty."

"Don't talk as if you didn't know, Father. And don't try me."

"I'll have you know that I vowed celibacy. We're not meant to be, fledgling."

Your eye twitches as you hold back a chuckle.

"I know, not like I'd want a fucking twink."

"Such language, within the house of a god! How preposterous."

"Yack yack."

"Great deflection skills, though."

"Thanks, I spent years honing them so men in dresses could praise me for them." And a pause rings between you two, the man smirking once more while your eyes gaze at him in defiance.

"You gotta admit though." He pauses, his lips curling up further as you wait for the end of his statement, his dark green cassock shifting like sands with the breeze under the stained glass' filtered light. The beads of his rosary seemingly shining and the copper of his stole almost glowing.

"I look damn good in it." And with that you crack.

Laughter bubbling in your throat and escaping your mouth as your body relaxes. The banter enough to alleviate some of the discomfort you feel while inside such a place, surrounded by imagery of things you'd rather die than worship. The priest joins you as "sure, whatever man" escapes you between giggles.

"Is your back alright?"

"Is yours?" You defend and the man sigh, you're torn between saying he looks like his priestly patience is waning or like he's holding back another bout of laughter. "Come on, you knew what you were getting into the second you started talking to me."

"Yeah, I did."

"You can only chastise yourself for it, now go and confess or whatever it is that believers do."

"Do you truly want me to go?"

"I don't know, do I?" And when he starts to leave you cackle at the groan he lets out before slumping back next to you. "Looks like you can't even if you wanted to leave my horrible presence."

"Oh yes, a woman with a sharp tongue, such a curse. Whatever shall I do?" He sarcastically bites back as his eyes roll.

"Careful there priest, wouldn't want you to see how empty that brain is."

His gaze snaps back to yours with an incredulous look, a hand over his heart in mock offense. Your arms drape over the back of the wooden bench as you lean your head back, a heavy chuckled breath escaping your lips before you close your eyes, the ambiance in the church less threatening and bile inducing to you after the friendly banter.

"You're funny for a priest."

"I'm a priest, didn't say I'm also unfunny. I can only have so many flaws, fledgling."

You show your middle finger to the man who softly slaps it away with a sigh of his own. "No, but you're very uncreative. Gotta step up your game, pretty boy. And I'd advise you against calling me a fledgling."

"Or what, fledgling? What will you do?"

"Or I'll really burn your Janna statue down."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Bite me." He chuckles once more.

Silence sets between the both of you, your own mind shockingly at ease in the man's presence even with his job description and your presence judged by the figures in the carved stone and gilded, tinted windows. The soft, colored rays dance behind your lids as you take a moment to breathe.

Men of the cloth were human, yet due to your own avoidance and aversion to all that is linked to faith you seem to have forgotten such a fact. The person besides you much less pedantic than you've expected him to be, even with his height, his role and his beauty. But wasn't that the nature of a priest? To guide, to love, to forgive?

It doesn't matter, he still is what he is and believes what he believes.

Says the ugly part of you, corroded by bitterness and hatred, hissing in your ears like a pit of vipers starved and ready to strike at anything and anyone, using you as a vessel for their torturous venom.

I should leave this place, I don't deserve this. I'm wasting his time. I shouldn't be here.

Says the other more pathetic part of you, friable and eroded by sadness and misery, crumbling at the thought of any change, of anything good being given to you, wailing like a pit to hell opened within your heart just to torment you.

Your eyes open to look at the vaulted ceiling, high above you and stretching towards the heavens, your right hand lifting to protect your face from the bright, tinted light of the stained glass lining every wall.

I'm doing this for Vi and Sev.

You tell yourself, when the rays begin to feel all too hot as if to burn you alive, like the filthy monster you know you are.

It's the last time I try.

Tears well up in your eyes but you hold strong, unwilling to show vulnerability in a place such as this, guarded and overlooked by a god that preferred mocking you rather than help.

Your face stings as it scrunches, a frown setting itself on your face. Doubts sprouting in your mind like flowers in spring. A spiral beginning once more within the deep, worn recesses of your mind.

Can I even be helped? For all I know I'm a lost case.

Can this place truly offer me what I need?

Questions that are not uncommon in your head. Vision blurry, you drop your arm over your face, trying to hold yourself together. You're already doing this, showing any more weakness could very well make you a puppet within the hands of fate, within the Father's grasp.

You're an empty, hopeless shell, beaten and bruised from a life of fighting tooth and nail for just a crumb of fulfillment that you've never felt. And probably would never feel. You're like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, your own weight a burden for yourself and anyone that dares come close. The willpower you take from your rage has waned years ago, yet you push yourself, you dare to hope things could get better even if they never do.

So you work.

Day and night to not feel the ever growing emptiness within yourself, aided by your isolation and misery. Nothing ever working towards making you feel any better and your guilt taking more and more space within your life with each day that passes. The exhaustion making the abyss take a stronger hold on you yet emptying your brain for just long enough that you can feel numb instead of miserable. A need for approval always quenched yet growing hungrier as days pass, comfort rarely given. Sleep seldom reaching you unless you pass out in your bed still dressed from the day and always interrupted by nightmares that now carry onto he waking world.

You feel an unbearable amount of guilt from burdening your friends, from never feeling right, from getting worse, from wasting your life feeling the way you do, for not being fixable, for never meeting your expectations that you know are beyond unfair. From pushing everyone away, whether you want to or not, to avoid any more pain. From not trying any harder to hold your brother back that day although you know very well that in every way possible you would have lost him all the same. Guilt at the feeling of not having cherished your loved ones enough in the past and present.

Everything you own, everyone you love, slips between your fingers like sand until all that is left is the void that life has created within you. Deepening, growing larger, no matter how much you patch yourself up, no matter how much you try to fill it.

You're like a pierced vessel, your contents forever pouring out uncontrollably until all that is left is nothing. Your heart like shattered glass, cutting, dangerous, dirtied and bloodied from how much you've tried to piece it back together with your scarred hands.

And then there's Piltover, opening its borders and helping Zaun yet making everything in its confines impossible for any Zaunite to afford. Raising the bar so high that most can never hope to reach it.

The gods, especially Jan'ahrem whose home you are currently invading, never helping. Never moving a finger to help those deserving when the ones who use their powers to further their despicable agendas as getting out scot free as if blessed by the lords above.

Even when you cried and begged as a child.

Even when your people prayed to them, to her, every day.

Finding your suffering and grovelling entertaining enough to help you as you try to claw your way out of hell. Your inner thoughts scarlet and burning like the scenery of the bridge you lost the last of yourself in. At least the last part holding any hope for yourself and the world you live in.

Kha h'asiras yakuna.

I am tired.

Your sleeve absorbs the tears escaping your eyes like a sudden downpour, leaving the dam of your eyelids no matter how hard you shut them. Sobs bubbling from within you swiftly locked away deep within the recesses of yourself that you've locked away to everyone, even yourself.

I need to be stronger, I need to hold out. But I can't anymore.

And you think of it more and more as time passes, your fight leaving you and only the young, scared girl that you try so hard not to be remains.

I need to be stronger.

Your nails scratch against woods, all sounds drowned within the cacophony of your mind, the hissing vipers and wailing spirits growing louder as time passes.

I'm tired of making it by the skin of my teeth.

I'm tired of pouring from an empty cup that I don't even own anymore.

I'm tired of being tired.

I'm tired of trying so hard only for nothing to work.

Something resounds within the impossible noise in your heart, yet it's hard to discern it from the rest. Probably another demon, rising from hell to torment you. Your hand grips the wood tighter as you try to keep your breathing constant in its depth and cadence.

I can't be weak.

I can't show it all.

It's ugly, it's monstrous and rotten. An all consuming darkness that taints all I touch, all those I meet. Marking them with the curse of my existence within theirs.

No one deserves to see. To hear. To feel just how pathetic I am.

Even less them.

Your teeth grit at the thought of the statue observing your distressed state with glee, at the priest next to you, at anyone that could pass by you at this instant. Your nails carving harder into the pew, pain piercing your fingertips before you ball your fist and hit the wood.

The new sound echoes once more, louder this time, yet still ignored. Your jaw setting at the inner turmoil, the searing pain flowing from your heart and through every cell in your body, hot and cold, fire and ice, the sands of Shurima and the Freljord's everlasting tundra.

I am undeserving of patience and care.

No one should have to be there for me, of all people.

You taste blood from within your mouth, the church's calm atmosphere after your banter with the priest long forgotten as your rage bubbles once more, this time pointed like war pikes towards yourself.

But from the prison of your mind, through worn and tight shackles, you feel hand touches your shoulder and your arm leaves your face, grabbing whoever touched you in a bruising grip. Your eyes glare at the man, his concerned face coming into view before a wince escapes him, your hand leaving him as if you have been burned. Your body sliding as far away from Father Valášek's as possible.

"What?"

"Are you okay? You've been like this for the past twenty or so minutes."

His eyes, always kind trail over your face before you turn it away from him. Refusing to show vulnerability as you wipe away at the remnants of tears left beneath your eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Stop deflecting."

"What can I say? It's my strongest attribute, so I use it."

"I actually very much would like to know." He gently calls out from behind you, his accented voice softly pulling you away from your thoughts. "I am here to help, not to harm. Whatever you have against Janna or anyone else cannot apply to me. It's my life's work to simply open my eyes, my ears, my heart and my arms to those who need it."

Silence rings once more as you shuffle around, turning back to the priest with tired eyes, stinging from tears yet to be shed. Tears that would not escape you this time.

"I don't want any bullshit about gods, gospel or fucking whatever you do with believers."

"I can't promise anything, it is in my job description after all." He jokes, a welcoming smile stretching on his lips and you sigh, air escaping you as if getting away from you is all it could ever dream of.

"If your only advice is to tell me to turn to religion, I really will beat you with your cane."

"And I'd like to see you try, although you do have a strong grip I'll give you that." He flexes his left hand, wincing at the remnants of pain you have caused and your eyes trail to his. Gazing with restraint into the pools of celestial gold.

"Friends told me to come here because I'm lost." He hums. "This is my last resort." He nods along to your words, time passing as he takes in your words before he speaks again.

"Tell me, only if you wish, what are you seeking here? What do you want me to provide?" His brown hair catches the light in a way that makes him look as if he hailed from Mount Targon, the grey strands nearly looking like Lunarian silver. His patience and kindness nearly making your skin crawl and your throat burn with bile in self-disgust.

You claw at the pews once more, your eyes trailed on your left hand where your fingernails were broken and slightly bloodied from your previous ministrations. Then your eyes return to Father Valášek's with resignation tainting their depths, the look making the priest's eyebrows furrow in worry.

"Something worth living for. Something that can fix me. Because as it is? I'd rather die than go through another day."

And silence rings loud through the chapel.

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[vermilionsun]

It's today, once again! 37 *ahem* countries send their finest onto the stage

Ais x Finland - "Ich Komme"

✩ PURE CHAOS

✩ "I'm coming" ME TOO

✩ Defiant and lonely—perfect!

✩ Flamboyantly anti-authority

✩ It's Ais in the best way, and words kinda fail me here

✩ Is it the dominance with undertones of desperation?

✩ Is it the big dick energy?

✩ Is it both?

✩ Probably both

✩ A FLYING MIC - WHO DOESN'T LOVE THAT?!

✩ Runner up is Norway, “Lighter” - For his softer moments behind the cocky grin

Kuras x Austria - "Wasted Love"

✞ JJ got us a mix of classicals with pop

✞ Just how Kuras got us celestial nobility and mortal suffering

✞ You'd think the two would clash dramatically, right?

✞ But the way the emotional pain combines the two is chef's kiss

✞ "Emotional exhaustion, deep regret, and yearning for a love that couldn’t be salvaged"

✞ SOUND FAMILIAR?

✞ The song in itself left me sHoKeTh.

✞ I'm so glad JJ's performing at the final

✞ Runner up is Montenegro, “Dobrodošli” - Darkwave meets Balkan mysticism. In my ears, it fits Kuras's whole "caught between forms" thing beautifully.

Leander x Armenia - "Survivor"

🗡 It's literally his whole arc in one title

🗡 The song itself is inspirational without being naive

🗡 Just like Leander who offers warmth while hiding the toll it takes to maintain that strength ...and all the rest that comes with

🗡 "A slow burn into catharsis"

🗡 "Do or die, in my prime, I'm a fighter" - I don't feel the need to defend my case more, it speaks for itself

🗡Runner up is Cyprus, "Shh" - Keeping in mind he's lying bout his real name. Captivating + "I lost my heartbeat" + pretty boy denied of a high position.

🗡 Should I also mention the "Follow the bloodstream" = "Follow the Bloodhoud posters"? EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THEM ISTG

Mhin x Lithuania - "Tavo Akys"

🕊 Melancholy, minimalism and oh the intimacy

🕊 It's, like, when you look first into Mhin's eyes and can't look away

🕊 Like that unsaid, but deeply implied and trembling "stay" they wouldn't dare utter

🕊 Like they're just out of reach—

🕊 It's more of the quietness amidst the storm because that stilness speaks louder

🕊 Real

🕊 I didn't expect the song to hit that deep, and I was pleasently surprised.

🕊 Runner up is Portugal, "Deslocado" - It translates to “displaced” and that’s exactly what Mhin feels like in the world, body and mind.

Vere x Malta - "Serving"

✦ Do I even need to explain? ICONIC.

✦ Diva NOT down

✦ Miriana came, served and ATE

✦ Glam, sass, control—spiritually accurate

✦ Completely unapologetic, built on clever lyrics and seductive delivery

✦ There's some of that “perform or perish” energy that I feel mirrors Vere’s gilded cage

✦ Vere thrives on attention and illusion, and “Serving” is all about weaponized charm

✦ Icons, legends, THE MOMENT and they know it

✦ Did I mention it's my second favourite song this year?

✦ Runner up is Croatia, "Poison cake" - Flair and dark romanticism, luring pray in and masking the bitterness with undeniable "sweetness"

The MC x United Kingdom - "What the Hell Just Happened?"

♙ Self explanatory

[angst-and-fajitas]

Sorry if ur not doing request anymore but can you please write something for Maddie and caspian and their son I beg of you. There’s no fanfiction in this fandom 🥺 and ur writing is so good

I should probably make it clear real quick that I don't do writing requests, BUT anon you are in LUCK, because I will gladly use this as an opportunity to PLUG MY LONGFIC WIP!!

May I introduce you to...."The Miracle of Backups"!!!

It has exactly what you're asking for: lots of Maddie and Caspian and Dave!! Lots of Maddspian, Kim-Keyes family fluff, and...some crushing angst too. Because that's how I roll 💖

Here's the summary:

"Unbeknownst to Caspian, Maddie makes a backup of his upload just before his fight with Holstrom. After he dies in the battle, she resurrects him. This does not solve their problems." "A chronicling of twenty years of love and loss shared by one small, damaged family amid a changing world."

So basically, this is a canon-divergence plot where nothing changes aside from the fact that Caspian gets resurrected from backup immediately following the end of episode 6. This immediately sparks another massive existential crisis for our boy, but ultimately means that he gets to live through that whole 20 years he would've otherwise missed. The fic will follow the entire 20 years of this AU, and will probably be around 45 chapters long. I have the whole thing outlined!

Features: digital first dates! the utter chaos of surprise teen pregnancy! A more focused and thorough exploration of human-UI politics! Maddie and Caspian being loving parents!! No one going to therapy even though they really need it! (eventually) Maddspian Marriage! Cool aunt Justine!

Anyways, I'm being silly here, but I'm intending this to be a very serious fic, and my approach to it is staunchly to keep it grounded in Pantheon's themes and Ken Liu's ideas, and in how the characters would realistically handle such a situation, with all the messiness that entails. Lots of love, lots of loss, and lots of messy relationships. It's pretty important that people be aware that this is not a fix-it fic at all.

Anyways again! Dave himself doesn't show up for several chapters, but what I have here for YOU, anon, who is so very kind, is an excerpt from a chapter in the middle of the fic, at around the 10 year mark.

Context: Maddie and her engineering team have just completed the first full version of the upload androids we see in s2 ep7 and 8. Now that they have to beta test it, Caspian is, inevitably, her first choice for this. The Kim family heads to the Logorythms HQ to go see Caspian in the flesh for the first time in 10 years.

Final disclaimer: things will be edited as I start posting the story (SOON...), and the final version may end up different from this one! this is just a fun sneak peak :)

[this-sucks-sm]

I was wondering if you could write a fic with Shawn Spencer from Psych? Something where Shawn has a girlfriend or boyfriend who’s like goth? Dresses in all black, has a lot of piercings some on their lips, nose, ect. And lassie and Juliet somehow meet them and are all kinds of shocked because they didn’t expect Shawn to date someone like that.

You weren't nosy, nor were you controlling. When Shawn went off on a case and didn't call or text, leaving you to find out about it on the news, it made you a bit anxious. Hearing how he took down a cartel or caught the latest serial killer. While you were sitting in your apartment, he was out there flipping cars or something. Come to find out gus completely agreed with you. Shawn's non-eccentric best friend was the one to keep you in the loop. Except for the time he was busy. You hoped he was busy, and not kidnapped, or deep fried and cut into little tiny pieces to be fed to the public- maybe you need to calm down. Maybe it's nothing. You grab your bag and load into your car. No one stopped you from entering, pairing with all the chaos. "What're you doing here? No, how'd you get in?" Gus asked with his eyebrows approaching his hairline. "Some cop let me in. Mc- jab? Nab? Something like that. But forget that. I should be the one asking the questions here. Why weren't you responding to my texts?" Despite the fact you sounded like a nagging girlfriend to your boyfriend's boyfriend, you frown at him and shift your stance. "Shawn threw my phone off the harbour." The expression on your face softened when the mentioned spoke. "Wow! You've came to see me working. I have to say you didn't catch me at my best moment." He joked, remaining frozen as you got a look of his appearance. His clothes were shredded, like he'd been put through a garbage disposal. "What the hell, Shawn!" You exclaim, trying not to laugh, as you could see his nipple through the shreds. You pull off your jacket and push it at him. "Have a little modesty, Shawn. This is a workplace." Before a response from the psychic could even pop into his fast mind, a female voice spoke up, only capable of uttering the word, "Wow.." Your eyes bounce from each individual, trying to locate the voice, eventually landing on a blonde cop. "You must be Juliet. Shawn talks about you nonstop. I'm his.. well, we're dating." O'Hara was still in shock, perhaps your appearance contributed to her paralyzed state. "You're the one he was talking about?" The nod of your head was all she needed. "Not what you expected?" She shook her head. "Sorry uh- no. I didn't." At least she was honest. "Who's this?" Lassiter asked. "Don't care, back to work p-" Juliet cut him off. "They're dating Shawn." Jaw on the floor, looking you up and down, Lassiter was in shock. "I feel like I'm a museum exhibit." You laughed out. "I think you're gorgeous." Juliet smiled. "Not what I was expecting. What do you see in him, exactly?" Lassiter questioned. You had to answer a lot of questions. Good thing you weren't busy.

(this was rushed. Hope u like it though!)

[ravenna-reid]

Admirer from the past... (Pt. 3)

TW: blood and extreme stalking/obsessive behaviour

Part Two here

You stood amongst the chaos; arms crossed and an expression that read complete and utter disbelief on your face. The stench of roses blood was imbedded into your nose, and the sickly feeling stirring in your stomach wasn't leaving any time soon.

"Fuck sake." Harry had been murmuring curses for the past 15 minutes as he continued looking around your once clean and untouched apartment. But now it looked like a snapshot of hell.

Red Robin had moved from beside you to collect evidence and clues, and Harry continued analysing the scene. But you were still stuck in the entry way of your apartment.

Your name was everywhere. Inky explosions all over your white walls, the style and size of handwriting changing as you went along. Most of the ink was black, but some of it was red and dripping...you didn't even want to know.

More black roses that were halfway to death were scattered across the floor, along with all of your paperwork. The worst thing by far though were the photos he'd left behind.

Photos of you at your usual cafe. In your office. On the pavement waiting for a cab. It made your stomach churn. And it made Tim blind with rage.

Tim, after placing a withered black rose and one of the pictures of you into an envelope, glanced in your direction. You had finally moved, gingerly making your way through the mess. Your gaze was trained on all of your hard work torn up and disregarded on the floor. You ran a finger along your couch before moving it to the walls were your name sat. Eventually, you lowered your head before shaking it.

"I can't fucking believe this." Your unease and disgust was soon replaced with resentment. You turned on your heel; your glare vicious and demanding. "This can't keep going any longer. I can't move again-"

"You won't have to." Tim was across the room and before you in seconds, his words spoken like an oath. "I'll make sure of it., I promise"

"But how? What do I do with this now?"

You gestured to your poor apartment, looking around at the countless strangers that were now in your home running their own tests and theories. Tim's white casing gaze remained on you, reading the frustration and fear on your face.

"I'll just have to clean it up. Organise it myself." You murmured.

It was all you could think to do. It was what you always did. When things went south, you would plan, re-organise, think and clean. Or drive yourself insane with so much work that you'd end up earning yet another certificate.

"No can do y/n." Harry stepped over a plethora of folders before reaching you and Red Robin. "This is a crime scene now. You're going to have to leave it to us for the time being."

You drew in a sharp breath as you turned to look back at it all.

Helpless. Tim felt completely helpless and he hated it.

"Do you have anywhere else to stay?" Tim asked.

You shrugged. "My friends are out of town, so I guess a hotel will do."

"You need money?" Harry asked.

You shot a deadened glare at Harry, forcing Tim to suppress a smirk.

"Sorry, right, I know." Harry quickly backtracked. "Just don't know what else to say."

"Yeah," You sighed, "Me either."

Tim immediately thought about his apartment. Immediately wanted to offer it to you. But he feared that he'd be coming across as too eager. Overbearing even, especially since you were dealing with this maniac.

You interrupted his thoughts. "I'm gonna go pack some things then. Can I go into my bedroom and bathroom Harry?"

"Yeah, he didn't do anything back there so it's all clear."

"Nothing in my bedroom...odd, but I'm grateful."

You moved past them both to go to your bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the once serene feel to it gone. And obviously, Harry wasn't as switched on as he used to be, because the photo of you and your friends that was stuck to your mirror was gone, along with your favourite silk dress and one of your pillows.

Rage simmered in your bones, but you kept yourself contained, only cursing under your breath as you moved around your room.

Your head snapped up once you heard the soft footsteps.

There Red Robin stood at the foot of your bed. He leant against the post, imitating someone who was confident and sure, but his body language said otherwise.

"You ok?" His voice was soft, and suddenly you were abundantly glad he was here.

"No. I can't believe how this has escalated. He disappeared for months and now this." You threw a pair of pajamas into your suitcase.

Tim battled with his nerves as he neared you. "Listen, I know you might not want to be around anyone right now, but...I have somewhere you can go."

You stopped what you were doing to settle your gaze onto him.

"Somewhere to go?"

He forced himself not to scratch the back of his neck, remembering that you would pick up on it instantly. "Yeah, an apartment. Don't worry, it'd be just you. But you could stay there as long as you like, and I could keep an eye on you."

He realised how it had sounded as the words left his mouth. Tim shook his head. "Not like that, obviously. I wouldn't be stalking you, but we don't know what this guy is gonna do next, and it's best I know where you-, you'll be safe."

The faintest of smiles tugged at your lips.

And holy shit, if only you could always look at him like that. Just you, forever.

Shit, what was he thinking?

"The elusive Red Robin isn't taking me back to his own apartment is he?"

Tim fumbled for a second too long. "It's safer than a hotel." He reasoned. "And like I said, I wouldn't be staying there...just you."

"But where will you go?" You came closer, folding a shirt in your hands as you waited for his response. "I don't want to put you out."

He had his little nook back at Wayne Enterprises and his bedroom at the Wayne Manor. He'd be fine.

Tim shook his head again. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

And you did. As crazy as it was, especially given the circumstances, you did trust Red Robin. More than you trusted the police even.

"Ok, let me finish packing first. I just need to get my make-up and-"

Tim had you by your arms in the blink of an eye. Pulling you with him, he swiftly pushed you against the wall, his body shielding your own before placing his gloved index finger on your lips. You were seconds away from back handing him with all of the rings on your fingers, but the simple notion of his finger to your lips kept you quiet.

You both stilled, his hold on you gentle yet firm. His breath was warm against your skin and your heart began hammering in your chest. But not as fast as Tim's. He thought he'd pass out being so close to you. But he knew what he heard. Was sure that it was your stalker. And he was eager to get rid of him.

Tim turned his head towards the door to your bathroom.

That was where the noise came from.

Your eyes followed his gaze before snapping back to him. Tim looked back at you, expression a mixed mess of determination and concern, to which you responded with a raised brow. Then you gestured towards your bathroom.

Go.

Tim nodded in agreement. Slowly moving his hands from your arms, he quietly motioned for you to stay put. And you nodded, even if you knew you were lying.

Tim didn't know whether he should kick the door down or try to sneak into the darkened room, but he went with the latter, gently opening the door before slipping into the bathroom. And that's when he saw it. The figure outside your bathroom window on the fire escape.

Tim sprinted through the bathroom towards the hunched silhouette and ripped the window open.

It was him. Just as Tim expected.

Anger coursed through Red Robin's veins as he launched at the man. Tim got a good hit to his face, a stream of crimson flowing from the corner of your stalkers mouth, but he used Tim's momentum to throw him off balance. Tim fell on his back hard, and the man took his chance to run down the fire escape.

"Y/n, one of my guys were just looking through your CCTV. Your crazy stalker only just found out where you live last night-" You hastily yanked at the sleeve of Harry's coat, dragging him out of your apartment.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Regardless of your lack of a response, Harry broke out into a sprint right behind you without hesitating.

"He's here!" You yelled out. "Come on Harry!"

Red Robin slammed into him, the pair falling down the last flight of iron stairs onto the cement. Tim got back on his feet again, but so did your stalker, and Tim soon realised he was a lot stronger and swifter then either of you had realised.

As the man went to escape, he brought down stacks of crates to block Tim's path. A rookie move, because Tim easily evaded it with his grapple before he was on foot again, chasing the man down the alleyway.

"Fuck you! You can't have her!" His voice was hoarse and his demand haunting, making Tim all the more motivated. Tim threw small metal balls towards him, thick smoke releasing on impact.

You and Harry were out of the apartment building and scouring the streets of Gotham in no time. The club music next door pounded in your head, along with the rush of your blood as you tried to make out where your stalker could have possibly gone. Where Red Robin could have gone.

"I think they're back here y/n!" Harry shouted from behind.

You whipped your head around and followed Harry down the alley way, your heels trudging through puddles and grime when suddenly, smoke appeared. Thick, grey smoke.

You and Harry slowed down and approach with caution before you watched as he ran out of it.

Him.

Your psychotic stalker. The man who has been giving you hell for so long. Your eyes met and instantly a chill ran down your spine.

He looked animalistic. Insane. A sickening smirk on his face as he looked back at you. But it fell short once Red Robin emerged from the smoke. Just as he did, two oblivious and intoxicated girls came into view, presumably from the club next door.

They were giggling and swaying, and your stalker wasted no time; slipping behind one of them, causing both girls to scream before he had a blade against oen of their throats.

Your hand launched for the gun hidden in Harry's holster, but his hand quickly grabbed yours to stop you. "No y/n!"

Everyone stilled, the sound of music, cars and stifled cries wandering through the night.

Your stalker leered at you, and you could read that terrifying face. That unnerving expression. Eyes darting between you and the gun, he almost dared you to do it. But then his eyes glanced over your form before he tilted his head, subtly gesturing to the weeping girl in his arms.

It'd be your fault. That's what he was saying. Her death would be on your hands.

You clenched your jaw, watching on in anticipation.

Red Robin's chest heaved with anger, his hand secured around his bō. "Let her go!"

"Let me go then..." He dragged out, his eyes flickering down to the handcuffs in Red Robin's free hand. "If anyone's gonna shackle me up, it's you pretty girl."

You grimaced, your hand tightening on the gun as Harry's tightened around yours.

"Ok, just let her go." Harry quickly reasoned, justifying his action with the fact that he was sure your stalker wasn't going to hurt you anytime soon. But the girl in his arms? The one that had a machete to her throat? Harry couldn't let her get hurt. He couldn't fail another person. The girl continued crying, her weeps ringing through the air. "Just let the girl go."

Tim looked over to you. Took in the hate in your eyes. And so did your stalker as he slowly backed away, the young girl still in his hold. "Tell boy wonder to stand down." He snapped.

Harry didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Tim was one of Gotham's protectors, it was his job to protect all of the civilians. So he stood down. And just like that, the man of your nightmares disappeared amongst the crowd behind the club, his victim now sobbing in her friends arms.

Tim wanted to go after him, no matter how frivolous it would be now that he was mixed amongst a mass of people, but his attention turned to you.

You let go of Harry's gun and placed your hands atop of your head, breathing heavily from the rush and anxiety of it all.

Red Robin made his way over to you. "What were you thinking?"

You assumed he was referring to you grabbing Harry's gun and went to respond until he cut you off again.

"I told you to stay inside y/n. He could have grabbed you!"

"Red Robin, he didn't-"

"But he could have. He was armed!"

You fell quiet, slightly taken aback with how much he truly cared. Tim was just mad he couldn't grab you and hold you so this freak couldn't go near you again.

Harry checked if the girls were ok, calling some of his men to come out and meet them at the club, just to make sure everything was ok. But his attention wavered to where you and Tim stood, tension simmering in the air as you both looked back at each other.

Harry let out a long sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's been a long night. You should go rest." Harry directed his tired gaze to Red Robin. "I can get someone from the station to escort her to your apartment."

Tim wanted to scoff. "Not likely. I can take her myself."

The drive back on the back of his motorbike was morbidly quiet. Your arms remained wrapped around him, your head resting on his muscled back. You could feel Red Robin's heart thumping, but kept it to yourself.

Tim's muscles grew rigid as he continuously thought back to what had just unfolded. He knew he was just angry at that guy. He knew he couldn't remain angry with you. Not even if he tried. All he could do from here on out was keep you safe and keep his promise. He let out a tired sigh before the tires on his motorbike came to a screeching halt outside a building. As you looked at the place you'd be staying at for the next couple of days, your jaw dropped.

Red Robin seemed to have forgotten to mention that his place wasn't some ordinary apartment. No, he owned a suite in one of the most prestigious hotels in Gotham.

"This is where you live?" You asked, slipping off his motorbike before he could offer his hand.

"Yeah," he pulled up his seat and grabbed your suitcase from the inside. "Come on, let's head in."

Before you entered the glass double doors and stepped upon the marble floors, you came to a halt, turning your head over your shoulder to look back at the street. To look at the alleyways looming before you, waiting to see his sickly face staring back at you.

"Hey," Tim grabbed your elbow, softly gesturing for you to relax. "It's ok, you're safe here."

"What if he comes?" You asked, and you couldn't hide the fear in your eyes anymore.

It made Tim's heart snap in half, but it also did something else. Some fervent need to protect you. To bring this stalker to justice. Deadly determination weighed down on him as he looked at you.

"He can sure try."

Part 4 soon ya'll, lmk what you think :)

[xxlady-lunaxx]

hsjsjsjdhdhd love your sanegiyuu+ kamado siblings notes omg pls write it if you want!!! i would love to see it fully fleshed out.

and pls take your time w my requests!!! i am always willing to wait 💜

i mean technically it was your idea so lots of props to you<3 also i'm glad you don't mind bc fuck i've been taking so long 😭

For a while now, Sanemi's had his eyes set on Giyuu. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint a specific time when stirrings began to make their appearances. But did it really matter?

After a couple sessions of ranting about Giyuu and a couple more lectures by Obanai to just ask the fucking man out, he steeled himself to the task, asking his crow for directions and marching towards Giyuu's estate. As it turned out, fate seemed to have other things in mind.

Tanjiro and Nezuko were at Giyuu's house that evening, crowding around him and overwhelming him with lively chatter—though it was mostly Tanjiro. As they spoke, a sudden aroma of ohagi and tea hit Tanjiro and he froze, an almost frown threatening to wilt his smile. Sanemi was here, and he was coming. He turned to Nezuko, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Nezuko, we have to protect Giyuu-san now, okay? Shinazugawa-san's coming here and he's mean—he's the one who stabbed you, remember?"

Nezuko gave a quick nod, still clinging onto Giyuu's arm.

Giyuu noticed the new presence a second later and Sanemi's appearance became visible as he started down the path towards Giyuu's house and the trio.

"Shinazugawa...? Why is he here?" Giyuu muttered, mostly to himself.

His words brought an instantaneous result and Tanjiro and Nezuko latched onto him, swarming him with distractions. He stumbled slightly at the sudden amount of complete and utter attention, blinking quickly and trying to keep up with their conversations.

Sanemi, who was only a couple yards away now, was scowling. Because of course the Kamado's were here. Of course. But they annoyed him so much and he really wanted to scream now. But he kept going because no doubt Obanai would berate him if he came back and reported that he hadn't even tried.

As he gained closer ground, Tanjiro peeked back and glared furiously at him, his usually soft and smile-graced face now contorted in a stupid, petty frown. Honestly, Sanemi wanted to laugh. And run away. Because Hashira or not he understood perfectly well the overprotectiveness siblings could hold and Giyuu and the Kamados were basically family at this point so he was sure this wouldn't end well.

Nevertheless, he approached Giyuu whose head tilted so adorably in question. As Sanemi went to speak, Nezuko pulled on Giyuu's haori sleeve, mumbling something unintelligible. Apparently, Giyuu understood because he picked her up, bouncing her gently on his hip. Tanjiro skirted in front of Giyuu, creating some sort of human blockade which seemed to be to stop Sanemi from talking. Irritating, but he would have to make do.

"Hey, uh, Tomioka?" Sanemi started. His words were drowned out by a sudden stream of mostly incoherent sentences that Tanjiro shouted, pushing tons of enthusiasm into, shooting Sanemi another glower before going back to Giyuu.

Sanemi let out a breath and said, louder this time, "Tomioka! Tomioka- Uh, God, can you hear me...?"

Giyuu seemed unable to make sense of anything now as Nezuko joined in, huffing and mumbling, adding to the chaos of sound. Tanjiro turned slightly to Sanemi, just enough so he could see the grin that accompanied his chorus of words.

"Shit- Can you guys just shut the fuck up?!" Sanemi snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Nezuko made a sound equivelant to a gasp and gave Sanemi an accusing look, crossing her arms. Tanjiro, delivering a similar reaction, reached up to cover Nezuko's ears.

Giyuu frowned. "Don't swear in front of innocent children, Shinazugawa... It's not very moral."

Sanemi scoffed. "Innocent? They're children of the fucking devil, for god's sake!"

Tanjiro waved his hand at Sanemi as if he were a fly as Giyuu held Nezuko closer to himself protectively. "No, they're not..." he mumbled, looking like he wanted to swat at Sanemi himself now.

Nezuko, noticing an opportunity, promptly burst into tears. Giyuu shot Sanemi a look, muttering, "Look what you've done!" before he attended to the little girl, whispering soft reassurances and patting her head. He carried her into his house, Tanjiro close at his heels.

Sanemi simply stared for a long moment as the door closed behind them. Then he grumbled, turning and stalking back home.

The next day, he stole some of the Sakura Mochi that Obanai had bought for Mitsuri and went back to Giyuu's house. He found Tanjiro and Nezuko there yet again, although luckily Giyuu seemed to be out somewhere at the moment. He approached them more cautiously this time. They both stared up at them from their seats on the ground, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Uh... Here," he said, holding out the Sakura Mochi he had taken. They promptly refused it. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a string of obscenities. "You can have this... It's sweet? You'll like it, I swear."

They didn't budge. He let out a frustrated groan.

"Take it!! Oh, gods, just take it!!" he snapped, barely resisting the urge to crush the mochi and throw it at their faces.

Nezuko crossed her arms and turned her face up, eyes closed indignantly. Tanjiro copied her, mimicking the petty pose. They stayed like that no matter how much Sanemi begged for them to just take the fucking mochi until Giyuu appeared, looking slightly worn out (supposedly, he had been training).

"Huh...? Shinazugawa?" he said, uncertainty lacing his tone.

Sanemi instantly changed his expression, giving him the best smile he could muster through all his frustration and turning away from the Kamados. "Heyy... Tomioka... Hey, uh, can we talk? Preferably somewhere priva-" Sanemi started, cutting himself off with a yelp as Nezuko ambushed him, jumping onto his back.

For a moment, Sanemi was very tempted to grab her leg and throw her into the furthest country from here. But as her arms latched onto his shoulder, holding tightly as to not fall, memories stirred in his mind and he got a different idea. He still did hold onto her legs, but instead wrapped them around his waist, hoisting her up so she would stay, and turning back to Giyuu as if he wasn't just giving a piggy-back ride to the devil of a little girl who had just jumped on him.

"So?... Can we talk?" Sanemi asked, ignoring Giyuu's half bemused, half amused expression.

On Sanemi's back, Nezuko appeared confused because she didn't do anything at first. Then, apparently deciding it wasn't that bad, leaned onto Sanemi, laughter bubbling in her chest.

Of course, Tanjiro quickly decided this wasn't a good thing and snatched Nezuko back, hugging her tightly to his chest.

"He doesn't want to talk, Shinazugawa-san," he said firmly, as if Giyuu had somehow confirmed this.

Meanwhile, Giyuu was just staring at them with an expression that spoke clearly for itself. He really didn't know what to do anymore.

"He never said that," Sanemi argued, glaring at Tanjiro.

"His silence was answer enough!" Tanjiro shot back.

As they bickered back and forth, Giyuu finally spoke up, causing a pause in their conversation.

"Why do you want to talk...? And why do you keep coming to my house?" he asked, frowning. "Are you stalking me?"

Tanjiro looked on the verge of laughter but stopped Sanemi before he could speak, apparently wanting to embarrass him as much as he could. "He wants to ask you out, Giyuu-san."

Giyuu was only more confused. "Ask me... out? We're outside now, though."

Tanjiro shook his head and not for the first time, Sanemi resisted the urge to punch the boy in the face.

"Not literally outside. Shinazugawa-san likes you, I mean. He wants you to be his boyfriend, I think." Tanjiro crossed his arms, turning to glare at Sanemi before freezing when he saw the obvious flush that was spreading on Giyuu's face.

"What?" Giyuu asked. Possibly, he was on fire. Just his face.

Tanjiro sighed. "Nevermind... Please ignore everything I said."

Giyuu, however, did not ignore it. He turned to Sanemi, eyes wide. "You like me? I thought you hated me?"

Sanemi let out a breath, wishing he could crawl into a hole and die—because honestly this was so much worse than he'd imagined. Giyuu deciding he hated him and stabbing him was really a much better result.

"Yeah, well, I don't. Surprise!" Sanemi said, voice taking a sarcastic at the end. He was so ready to just completely drop the whole notion of dating Giyuu if all these difficulties became normality.

Giyuu opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke. "You want to date me...?"

"Is that not obvious?"

Considering this, Giyuu said, "Are you sure?"

"What, do you need me to spell it out for you? Yes, I want to date you. Will you just respond or something?? Do you wanna go out or not?" Sanemi asked, a bit too harshly.

"I-" Giyuu started.

Tanjiro cut him off. "I don't want you dating him."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. Big surprise there. "Okay? Why?"

"Because you're mean! And you stabbed Nezuko! If you apologize, then maybe..." Tanjiro said, crossing his arms. It was obvious he expected Sanemi not to apologize.

But at this point, Sanemi felt that if he just left all his effort and suffering would be wasted. So, instead, he caved, bending down to talk to Nezuko who was still in Tanjiro's arms.

"Uh... Hey, kid," he said awkwardly. "Sorry...? For hurting you. And breaking your box."

Nezuko considered this, then nodded approvingly. It didn't take much to please her, Sanemi guessed with a triumphant glance at Tanjiro who was not very happy.

"You also have to promise to devote your life to Giyuu-san and never make him sad and-" Tanjiro tried, but Giyuu interrupted.

"Tanjiro... That's too much. He doesn't have to do anything for me," Giyuu said.

"But-" Tanjiro protested, only for Giyuu to cut him off again.

"No, Tanjiro, it's-"

This time, Sanemi butt in, saying, "Yeah, okay, I promise to do my best. Can we get back to the topic??"

Tanjiro sighed. "Fine."

Satisfied, Sanemi turned back to Giyuu. "So?" he prompted.

"I... Yeah, I want to date..." Giyuu mumbled, averting his eyes.

Tanjiro looked very, very irritated but Nezuko had already moved one, playing with Tanjiro's haori sleeve.

Sanemi flashed a smile. "Great."

Ok also have a doodle of Sanemi winning over Nezuko's heart bc why not:

i wrote this in an hour i'm sorry its bad- :'> btw what this is based off of: here

[powerful-niya]

— (írrєsístíвlє.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎, 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

Link to One-shot Below ↴ Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina 

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡Naruto wasn't much of a fragrance guy. He didn't care about designer colognes or fancy scents—as long as he didn't smell like a woman, he was good to go.

But when Shikamaru mentions a cologne that can make women—particularly his wife, Hinata—obsessed with him after just one whiff, it catches his attention. Curious about the possibility, Naruto starts to rethink his stance on cologne, particularly on the recommendation, wondering if it could take his marriage to a whole new level.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Alcoholic Drinks • Body Worship • Bold!Hinata • Boob Job • Casual Intimacy • Cock Worship • Cologne • Cologne Arousal •  Cum-Marking • Cumplay • Deep Throating • Dirty Talk • Domestic Fluff • Domesticity • Fantasies & Fantasizing • Fellatio • Fluff • Food Play • Free Use • Frottage • Hand Job • Handsy Behavior • Heat Kink • HEAVY Scent Kink • Husband/Wife • Innocent Teasing • Loss of Control • Love Affirmations • Marriage • Masculinity • Men Being Men • Modern AU • Multiple Orgasms • Mutual Arousal • Obsession • Oral Fixation • Oral Sex • Overstimulation • Praise Kink • Power Play • Sensory Intimacy • Sensory Overload • Sex Pollen • Simple Pleasures • Size Difference Kink • Slice of Life • Slow Burn • Soft Dom/Sub Undertones • Strip Tease • Teasing • Titty Fuck • 2025

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚20K

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚6.7K

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Total bullshit," Kiba grumbled, stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth, "His foot was clearly inbounds."

Here we go again.

Naruto kicked back in his seat, an ever-present grin stretched across his whiskered face. A half-full glass of cold beer dangled loosely between his fingers, his grip lazy, thanks to the pleasant buzz already coursing through his veins. 

He wasn't completely blacked out, but he was just about there. The warmth in his chest, the lightness in his limbs—yeah, he was good and tipsy.

He was definitely feeling it now. 

His hooded blue eyes flicked between the football game on the mounted screen and the usual rowdy banter among his friends.

Another game night.

And that could only mean one thing, and one thing only.

Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos. 

All around him, glasses clinked and clanked in the bar, the sounds mingling with the cheers and groans of the crowd, everyone's eyes glued to the flashing TVs. The sports commentators kept up their endless chatter, their voices droning on and on over the speakers, breaking down every play, every move, dissecting every little detail they could.

Their thoughts echoing through the already hella noisy room.

But Naruto didn't mind—not one bit. 

Lee shook his head dramatically, setting his drink down with a force that made the ice clink, "Come on, Kiba. The referee's judgment must be respected! A true athlete—"

"—gets screwed over by a blind ref," Sasuke cut in smoothly, swirling his iced whiskey with a lazy shake of his hand, his gaze still glued to the screen.

"Typical."

Sai, ever unfazed, took a slow sip of his gin and tonic, his expression unchanged, "It's amusing how emotionally invested you all get into this."

"Man, I'm just here for the beer." Shikamaru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Naruto snickered.

Ahh, yeah.

The Kuroyama Bar—his regular stomping ground, his go-to joint…

His home away from home.

Like every weekend, after planting a quick goodbye kiss on his sweet wifey back home, Naruto followed through with his usual routine—swinging by the bar to catch up with the fellas.

Same old, same old.

Nothing really new. 

After all, they had been hitting bars together since high school, and at Kuroyama, they might as well have been part of the damn furniture. For years, they hadn't just frequented the place—they'd practically haunted it, a long train of bodies at the bar, always taking up the seats, always holding court like they owned the joint.

They were the kind of crew the staff both loved and dreaded. 

The kind of guys who knew every bartender by name, who had their usual orders ready before they even sat down. The ones who could turn just a quiet little night at the bar into absolute chaos.

Yeah, they'd racked up their fair share of eye-rolls, caught a few stern looks, maybe even a couple of warnings from the customers, but hell—when you're drunk, having a good damn time, you don't tend to give a shit.

The men had a reputation, not always a good one, for being the drunk dumbasses who could make any night unforgettable, for better or for worse.

And in recent times, nothing's really changed.

They were still the same rowdy crew—the kind of guys who could always be counted on to fill a room with laughter, toeing that fine line between charming regulars and absolute menaces.

And honestly?

Naruto wouldn't have it any other way.

The Kuroyama Bar in the heart of sweet ole Tokyo was just that place, the spot where he and the guys could unwind after a long week. A place where the burdens of life—jobs, relationships, marriages, responsibilities, and all the bullshit that came with being an adult—could be forgotten, even if only for a couple of hours.

Naruto wasn't gonna lie.

He always feels it the second he walks through the door—the weight of his troubles instantly lifts, the way his shoulders drop, and his thoughts just…clear.  

Like clockwork, he would call out to the bartender up front, order a beer or two, before settling into his usual spot with his fellow comrades. 

Here, he could just be another guy—not the provider, not the problem-solver, not the breadwinner. Not the husband, not the employee, not the man with a million expectations hanging over his head.

No, no, no. 

This was his reset button, the place where he could let loose, where the world outside felt a little less heavy, and where the only thing that mattered was the next round of drinks and the game on the screen.

Here, he was in his element. 

And he was enjoying every second of it. 

Naruto shifted toward Shikamaru, giving his shoulder a quick brush, "Speaking of beer," He smirked, tilting his own glass toward the stack of empty ones crowding around the ponytail-haired man's side of the bar table.

"What's up with you? You've been throwing those shits back like nobody's business." The blonde pouted mockingly, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What? Temari-san's making you sleep on the couch again?"

Shikamaru huffed, shaking his head, "Not even close. If anything, she's been all over me lately."

Naruto raised a brow, "Huh?"

"Yeah, doubt it." Kiba snorted, eyes still glued to the TV as he stuffed more fries into his face. 

Shikamaru leaned over and shot a bored look down at him before crossing his arms over his chest, "Don't be a drag, moron."

Kiba just shrugged, unbothered, "Hey, I'm just sayin' what everyone's thinking—sounds too good to be true, that's all."

Shikamaru let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I swear… all I did was change one thing—my damn cologne—and suddenly, Temari’s acting like a whole new woman."

Now that got everyone's attention.

All the men at the bar snapped to life, heads turning in unison as their eyes ripped away from the TVs—now locked entirely on Shikamaru.

Naruto nearly choked on his drink, "Wait, did you just say cologne?"

"Hm, I'm not buying it," Neji groaned, crossing his arms over the table. 

"I agree, sounds sketchy as hell," Sasuke shook his head, clearly skeptical.

"Just let him explain, guys," Lee spoke up, ever the diplomat, always the one trying to keep the peace.

Shikamaru took a casual sip of his beer, letting the silence hang for a moment as the rowdy crew shifted in their seats—rocking, fidgeting, practically burning holes through his skull, just waiting for him to speak.

The wait?

Oh, that was completely intentional.

A petty little move on Shikamaru's part—but he didn't give two fucks. They'd clowned him earlier, cracked their jokes, brushed off his words. He wanted their undivided attention from the start, and now that he had it? 

He was gonna make 'em wait.

Make 'em squirm a little.

So, only once he'd had his fill of dragging it out, he set his beer down with a satisfying thud, the thick glass landing solid against the bar.

"Alright," Shikamaru began, his tone as nonchalant as ever, "So a few weeks back, I grabbed this cologne from a shop in Kyoto—real lowkey place, kinda tucked away, but definitely high-end." He said it like it was no big deal, just another day, just another purchase.

Like it wasn't the catalyst for his entire love life doing a 180.

"It's called 'Imperium Noir.'"

And just like that—the colgune's name was revealed. 

Shikamaru shrugged lazily, "Saw an ad for it. Turns out, it's pretty popular with men here in Japan. Supposedly, it works like some kind of 'sex pollen' for women—whatever the hell that means."

A few of the guys exchanged glances, some interested, others skeptical.

"Figured I'd give it a shot, but…if I had to be honest?" Shikamaru continued, clicking his tongue, "Didn't think it'll actually work…but," He paused, letting the words hang for effect before finally speaking again. 

"Let's just say Temari proved me wrong."

Kiba raised a brow, his expression flat, clearly unimpressed, "Sounds like some boujee-ass shit."

Shikamaru hummed, "Maybe, but I swear on my life, I tried a few spritz of that stuff, and now I've got Temari damn near hooked. She keeps sniffing my neck every chance she gets, asking me all these questions about my day, why I smell so good—then she's grabbing my dick up whenever she gets close—" He took another sip of his beer, looking completely troubled now, "—damn near wouldn't let me leave the house today."

Naruto's eyebrows shot up, "For real?" He gave his head a small shake, trying to piece it together with what little brainpower his buzzed brain had left, "A cologne that works like a damn aphrodisiac?" He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Man, the world's getting wild."

Shikamaru shook his head, tapping the table, "For real, man. I mean, it's like I'm living with someone else. Temari's way more into me now, like she can't get enough."

Sasuke smirked, "Tsk, and you're complaining?"

"I'm just saying," The ponytail haired-man muttered, raising his hands in defense, "if you ever want your girl obsessed with you, Imperium Noir is the way to go."

Naruto's smirk faltered, his thigh hopping underneath the table. The gears in his head was already turning. 

He couldn't help it. 

He'd never heard of anything like that before. A cologne with that kind of power.

Sex…pollen?

Naruto's face scrunched up. 

Is that even legal? 

That sounded dangerous.

And…kinda tempting.

He snorted. 

….nah.

He deserted his beer to lean back in his seat, throwing his arms casually behind his head,  "Man, I don't need no cologne to impress Hinata-chan. I get pussy just fine." A grin stretched across his whiskered face, and with a lazy tilt of his head, he shot a pointed glance at Sasuke.

"Can't say the same for some people."

Kiba burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink, catching onto exactly what Naruto was throwing.

And so did Sasuke.

The dark-haired Uchiha didn't so much as flinch, leveling Naruto with a flat, unimpressed stare.

"You really wanna start that conversation?"

"Ahhh shit, here we go." Kiba barked out a laugh. 

"Nah, nah," Naruto chuckled, waving him off. "Just checkin' in, man. Heard things aren't exactly smooth between you and Sakura-chan—especially after that big argument you two had."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed, but he didn't take the bait.

Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, keeping his voice even, controlled.

"Tch. You have a funny way of 'checking in.'" He huffed, setting his glass down with a dull clink, "Besides, I'm fine. It's really none of your damn business anyway, dobe."

Naruto grinned, leaning over and nudging Kiba's shoulder.

"Tough guy doesn't wanna talk about it, huh?"

Kiba snickered.

Sai simply blinked, his voice dry, "Ah, yes. The desperate mating displays of men." He shook his head, the motion causing his dull black hair to fall slightly over his equally dull eyes, "We're using cologne to turn our women into rabid animals now?"

"Yeah, that sounds dangerous. I'll pass on that." Neji sighed deeply, rolling his pale eyes in exasperation, 

"It sounds… like cheating," Lee muttered, giving his bushy head a firm shake. His cheeks were bright red, and though he tried to keep a straight face, his embarrassment was obvious—this kind of talk was miles outside his comfort zone.

Naruto, on the other hand, merely scoffed, throwing a teasing glance at Sasuke, "Cheat or not, that sounds like something right up Sasuke's alley." He hummed playfully, feigning thought, "Yeah, maybe he needs some of that cologne too. Who knows, it might patch things up with Sakura-chan—get 'em back in the sheets again." 

"Shut the hell up, dobe."

"Nah, you shut up and be a man." Naruto snickered, "Get your cock out of your hand, get that cologne, and reclaim your woman's pussy, teme!" He laughed, unable to hold back his amusement.

"I said shut the hell up."

Shikamaru smirked, shaking his head, clearly entertained, "Tch. You act cocky now, Naruto, but when you're on the train to Kyoto tomorrow, dropping hella cash on a bottle of Imperium Noir, I don't wanna hear it."

Those words stopped Naruto's laugh dead in its tracks. 

The weight of Shikamaru's words sank in deep, and the playfulness that had been coursing through him moments before vanished in an instant.

"Nah, bet your ass I won't." Naruto shot back, trying to shrug it off.

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Shikamaru rolled his eyes, finally drifting his attention back to his beer. 

Naruto scoffed, trying to dismiss the thought—but damn it, the idea had already wormed its way into his head. He couldn't shake what Shikamaru had said. Couldn't shake the way he described Temari's transformation—how one bottle of cologne had supposedly changed everything for him.

And Temari?

She wasn't just any woman.

She was fierce, independent, and, above all else, stubborn as hell. When it came to anything even remotely emotional or affectionate, Temari wasn't exactly the go-to girl.

That just wasn't her thing.

Hell, if you asked Shikamaru—and he's certainly bitched and moaned about it enough—she was about as affectionate as a damn cactus. Tough on the outside, spiky all over, and just enough warmth buried deep down that you would have to be incredibly brave or just straight up stupid to go digging for it.

So the very thought of Temari—the same woman who once gave Shikamaru the cold shoulder for forgetting to take out the trash—suddenly getting touchy, clingy, and openly soft with him?

All because of a bottle of cologne?

Now, that was wild.

Damn near unbelievable.

And yet…

Naruto couldn't help but think about Hinata.

His eyes drifted to the side, the constant hum of conversation around him fading into a dull blur—voices blending together, indistinct, background noise.

He was there physically—but his mind?

It was somewhere else entirely.

Lost in thoughts of…her.

His wife.

For as long as he could remember, Hinata had always been timid.

From the very first moment he met her to now—married and all—she had always remained the same. It was simply who she was, a trait so deeply ingrained into her being that he doubted it would ever change—especially when it came to expressing herself.

Hinata was… for lack of a better word, just too careful.

In their relationship, he noticed she always played it safe—never stepping beyond her comfort zone. And by that, he meant she never truly let herself open up.

Now, don't get him wrong—Hinata checked off a hell of a lot of boxes. She was sweet, gentle, and soft—always there when he needed her, ready with a comforting smile, the warmest hugs, and the kind of support that never needed words.

She was, in every way, the perfect wife.

Some would even say the definition of one. 

Always thoughtful, always attentive—like how she'd press his suits and button-downs to perfection, every crease smooth and ready before he ever had to ask. Or the way she'd have his favorite meal waiting on the nights he came home late from work, or always keeping his shoes polished and neatly lined up by the door. 

She paid attention to the small things, the kind of details that most people overlooked.

She made his life easier.

Made it better. 

But still...

Something was missing.

As incredible as Hinata was—as much as she gave—there was always a part of her that still…held back.

Hinata never asked for much.

She was never demanding or bold—always reserved, always considerate of him and what he needed, what he wanted. In fact, she often put his needs before her own, always focusing on his comfort rather than pursuing what she truly desired. 

And now that he really thought about it, she never actually…did that before. 

Chased her own desires. 

Naruto thought about the moments they shared—those intimate nights.

He remembered how she would get so shy when he'd touch her, how her words were always soft and hesitant. Even when he could see the flicker of desire in her eyes, she was always careful with it, as though she wasn't sure if she was allowed to want, allowed to ask for more. 

He loved her deeply, he did—there was no doubt about that.

But that frustrated the hell out of him.

In bed, it was never wild, never over-the-top, never that flash of heat that took them both by storm.

It was just…Hinata holding herself back.

Most of the time. 

Hell, all of the time. 

There were times when he'd try to draw it out of her—gently coax it, ease her into opening up. But damn, it was like pulling teeth just to get her to admit what she really wanted. Even when she did say something, admitted just a grain of her desires, it was hard to tell if she was being completely honest or if she was simply trying to make him happy.

He was never quite sure if he was actually scratching her itch, or just getting played by that cute smile of hers—mainulpated ever so sweetly into believing that she was satisfied when deep down…

…she really wasn't.

"Am I… doing this right?"

"I—I don't know if this is okay, Naruto-kun." 

"No, no, Naruto-kun, that's embarrassing!"

Naruto could hear her now—that soft voice of hers. 

Questioning him. Chickening out on him. Swatting him away. 

It had taken everything in him to keep his patience, to fight the urge to grab her, give her a good shake, and tell her that it was fine—that she didn't need to be so unsure. But it was moments like that—when she questioned her own desires—that made him wonder if he was truly connecting with her in those moments in bed, or if he was just making her feel even more subconscious. 

His thigh started its bouncing again.

The crazy part was, he could sense it in her—Hinata wanted more. She did. 

It was clear in the way she'd look at him, the way she'd melt when he was buried between her thighs, when he held her wrists above her head and gave it to her slow and deep—just enough to hear the faintest tremor in that sweet voice of hers.

But she never said a word.

Maybe… it was an insecurity thing. 

Or maybe ignorance.

Or… fear?

Was she just scared to ask for more? Did she feel like it wasn't something she deserved? Or did she just not know where to even begin to ask?

His fingers dug into his face, his palms pressing hard against his eyes, frustration rolling off him in waves.

Damn it.

He didn't want to sound like a douche, but damn, it was getting harder to ignore. He wanted to give his wife everything—he wanted to be the one who made her feel like she could truly be herself, unafraid to ask for what she wanted, no matter what it was.

He wanted her to be selfish with him, to let herself take without hesitation.

But how could he, when she wouldn't let him in?

Naruto bit his lip, lowering his hands from his face. 

Maybe, just maybe…

His thoughts wandered again, drifting back to the conversation from before, to the idea that had started to take root in his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe something like this—this cologne—could be the thing that finally changed everything.

Could this be the key to make Hinata feel more comfortable? To dissolve that lingering cloud of hesitation—to gently pull back the curtain and finally get her to open up more? To make her feel like she could truly ask him for what she wanted, without fear, without doubt—without holding herself back?

Could something as simple as a bottle of cologne really change everything between them?

Naruto's mind raced. 

Maybe a little nudge, a little help from something like this, could finally let her embrace her own desires, instead of always worrying about his.

He smirked. 

Kyoto, huh?

Naruto's grip tightened around his beer glass as he leaned back in his chair, the thought lingering in his mind, the seed now planted. 

Maybe, that's not a bad idea, after all.

He actually did it.

He's actually… here.

With a shaky grin tugging at his lips, Naruto stood outside a small, upscale boutique, his blue eyes flicking nervously between the minimalist sign above the door and the glowing screen of his phone in his hand.

The shop was exactly where Shikamaru said it'd be—tucked in a quiet little corner of Kyoto's bustling district. And yeah—this place was definitely fancy. The kind of fancy that made you feel underdressed just by breathing near the entrance. From the polished black glass doors, to the matte finishes, to the complete absence of any flashy signage—everything about this place screamed one thing: exclusive.

Even down to the clientele. 

Sharp-dressed, sleek, and clearly loaded—the kind of men whose wallets were probably thicker than Naruto's forearm, who wore custom-tailored suits, drove imported cars, and likely never touched instant ramen a day in their lives. 

The bougie aura rolling off every man who walked in and out of the entrance made one thing painfully clear—this place wasn't built for the everyday man. Definitely wasn't built for 'commonor's.' This was one of those "you touch it, you buy it" establishments. 

But that wasn't enough to scare Naruto off. 

Because no matter how out of place he felt…if this cologne could really do what Shikamaru claimed?

Then…it'd be worth it. 

With a wider and far more confident smirk, Naruto glanced back down at his phone, staring at the text thread with Shikamaru.

Naruto: Yo, what was the name of that store again? You know, the one with the fancy cologne you were raving about. 

Shikamaru: Haha, I knew you'd cave. You had that look on your face the second I mentioned it. 

Shikamaru: You just couldn't resist, could you?

Naruto rolled his eyes.

He wasn't sure what bothered him more—the fact that he'd spent over two hours on a train just to stand in front of this uppity store, all for a damn bottle of cologne, or the fact that Shikamaru was being so damn smug about it.

He shook his head, reading on. 

Naruto: Shut up, man. Just give me the goods.

Shikamaru: Alright, alright. 

Shikamaru: Like I said, it's in Kyoto. The store's called Scented Dreams. Pretty easy to find once you're there. 

Naruto stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

Kyoto. 

Damn. 

It felt almost surreal that he was even here. He hardly ever visited this side of Japan—never really had a reason to.

But it was worth it…right?

He was honestly hoping so. 

He stared at the storefront again, and there it was, the name glowing on the sign: Scented Dreams.

He was really here.

His gaze shifted back to his phone as he scrolled through the last few texts, refreshing his memory of what he'd sent and received while riding on the train earlier. 

Naruto: Sweet. 

Naruto: And the cologne's name again?

Shikamaru: Imperium Noir.

Naruto clicked his tongue as he stared at the final text.

"This better be worth it, Shika," He muttered under his breath, pocketing his phone. With a deep breath, he finally turned his full attention to the shop in front of him.

Well, it's now or never.

Taking yet another deep breath, he took the first step forward. 

The door seemed to loom larger as he walked toward it, the soft chime of the bell above ringing out as he finally pushed it open.

"Hello! Welcome to Scented Dreams!" A feminine voice greeted warmly as Naruto stepped through the door.

But he barely heard her. 

His attention was immediately grabbed by the overwhelming sight in front of him.

 Colognes. 

So many colognes. 

Rows upon rows of elegant bottles. 

Gleaming glass shelves stretched wall to wall, stacked high with fragrances in every shape, size, and color imaginable. To the left, to the right, and all around him—bottles everywhere.

Scents for days.

Naruto's left eye twitched.

How the hell was he supposed to find Imperia-whatever in all this?

He barely acknowledged the woman at the counter, giving her a half-hearted nod without even glancing her way as he stepped deeper inside.

Just take one aisle at a time.

With that thought in mind, he began at the first row, taking a slow, steady approach—section by section. It seemed like the best strategy to navigate the place. Just work his way through until he found what he was looking for. 

Should be simple enough. 

He gave the first sign above a brief glance.

"Floral & Fresh Scents."

The first row he passed was filled with light floral, delicate, soft scents. Like lush gardens or the crisp, refreshing breeze of spring.

There were lavender and rose-based colognes, their bottles so carefully designed they looked like they belonged in a perfume ad.

He read the gold lettering on the labels as he moved past them:

Lavender Whispers.

Pure Bloom.

Soft Reverie.

Naruto couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.

Hell nah. 

These scents felt a bit too…feminine for his taste.

He shook his head and moved on.

"Earthy & Woody Scents"

The next row was filled with exactly what the sign above promised—deep, dark bottles that gave off the rich, grounding scents of pine trees, oak, and sandalwood. 

Now, this was more his speed. 

A few of the labels caught his eye as he walked down the row. 

Deep Oak.

Sandalwood Silence.

Oak Ember.

The names were simple, but they spoke to him. Perfect fit for his style. For a brief moment, he had the urge to pick up a few bottles, the temptation almost too much to resist. 

But then his eyes drifted to the prices underneath the labels.

Deep Oak – ¥15,000

Sandalwood Silence – ¥18,500

Oak Ember – ¥20,000

He put his hand right back down. 

Double hell nah. 

He didn't come here for any of these overpriced bottles. He only came here for one cologne, and one cologne only. He wasn't about to drop half his paycheck on a bottle just because it smelt good.

Maybe some other time. 

So, he moved on again. 

He took a few more steps and passed by a section filled with spicy, citrusy colognes, the kind that smelled sharp and refreshing, like orange zest and cinnamon. 

"Spicy & Citrusy Scents"

The bottles were vibrant and bold, a few of them in fancy little vials, elegant flacons, and sleek black bottles. They looked more like decorative pieces of art than mere cologne containers.

Citrus Blaze.

Spiced Ember.

Naruto clicked his tongue, shoving a hand in the pocket of his white slacks. 

Damn. 

There were so many—amber, patchouli, vanilla, earthy—the list felt endless. 

Naruto's blue eyes flicked from one row to the next, each scent more overwhelming than the last.

But no sign of Imperidum Nort anywhere.

He ran a hand through his spiky blonde hair in frustration, his mind spinning. It felt like a game of chance now, a search for a needle in a haystack of scents.

Where the fuck is it?

Naruto finally reached the far end of the aisle and paused, exhaling a small sigh of relief when his eyes landed on a staff member—a tall man, carefully stocking rows of sleek bottles onto the shelf.

Without hesitation, he made a beeline straight for him.

"Sumimasen!" He called out, nearly breathless, "Mind if I steal a minute of your time, sir?" 

The attendant straightened at the sound of Naruto's voice, turning in his direction. The spiky-haired blonde stepped in front of him, drawing in a deep breath as his eyes flicked down to the neatly pinned name tag on his chest.

Hiroshi.

"Of course! How can I help you, sir?" Hiroshi asked, offering a polite smile, "Is there anything I can help you locate today?"

Naruto hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "Actually, there's something I was hoping you could help me with," He glanced at his name tag again, "Hiroshi-san."

The ginger-haired man nodded, clearly eager to assist.

"This is actually my first time here," Naruto said. "A friend recommended the place to me—"

Hiroshi's face lit up with enthusiasm.

"Excellent! You're certainly in for a treat!" He said brightly, "We've got a huge selection here—amber, sandalwood, fresh citrus blends, spicy musks, and don't even get me started on the florals!" He briefly glanced down, his eyes catching the ring on Naruto's finger.

"Ahh, yes, I'm sure you and your significant other will love—"

"No, no, I'm looking for something very specific," Naruto interjected, feeling his impatience grow. He noticed the male attendant's enthusiasm waver just a bit, and a small pang of guilt hit him.

"No, no, I'm actually looking for something pretty specific,"  Naruto interrupted, his tone firmer than intended as a flicker of impatience crept in. He caught the way the male attendant’s smile dimmed just slightly—and fuck, that made him feel a little bad. 

He couldn't deny that it did. 

"Gomen," He said with a slight bow of his head before straightening up. Maybe he should just to get straight to the point then.

"I'm actually looking for Imperia Norm—"

Hiroshi blinked, a bit confused, "Imperia norm? I don't think—"

"No, no," Naruto said, shaking his head, "It's Imperidum Norma or… maybe Imperium Norp?" He muttered to himself, trying to get the name right.

Hiroshi's brows furrowed, clearly confused, and Naruto could feel himself getting more tangled up in the name.

"Imper... Imperidum... Imperia—fuck." Naruto cursed under his breath. 

He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching into his pocket, "Hold on, hold on, just give me a sec."

He pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through the texts from Shikamaru. When he found the message he needed, he turned the screen toward Hiroshi, pointing at the name with his index finger.

"That one right there," Naruto said, pointing. "That's the one I've been looking for."

Hiroshi's eyes widened the moment he caught sight of the cologne name on the phone screen.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, his expression lighting up, "I knew it! I wasn't totally sure, but I had a feeling that's what you were asking for." He nodded, excitement in his voice, "Imperium Noir, that's one of our best sellers!"

Naruto's face brightened with relief, "Hah, yes! That's the one." 

Hiroshi smiled, his excitement evident as he stepped forward, "Follow me, I'll take you right to it."

Naruto bowed respectfully, lower than before, "Arigato gozaimasu." 

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and stepped onward, following Hiroshi as he led him deeper into the store.

"Thank you for shopping at Scented Dreams! Come back again sometime!"

Naruto barely heard the cashier's cheerful words as he stepped out of the store, the bag containing his new cologne now dangling in his hand.

He had it. He really had it. 

The Imperium Noir.

Naruto moved quickly through the crowded streets of Kyoto, the bag in his hand feeling heavier than expected. He actually felt…excited, but there was also an undeniable sense of disbelief gnawing at him too. 

Of course there was. 

The cost of that damn cologne was now a permanent stain in his mind—the image of the moment he brought it to the counter, watched the cashier scan the barcode, and then saw that godforsaken price flash up on the register screen. The price had been astronomical—he could hardly wrap his head around how much he'd just spent.

A hefty ¥30,000.

Nearly two hundred damn dollars. 

Yeah, that fucking stung.

And now, he was just eager to hop on the train and get his ass home. He'd already blown enough cash for the weekend. 

With a few swift strides and the help of his long legs, it didn't take long for Naruto to have his wish granted.. Grinning, he stepped through the familiar entrance of the Shinkansen—the sleek bullet train prepped and ready to depart for Tokyo.

His last stop. 

Naruto quickly slid into one of the empty seats—by the window, of course. Hands down the best seat in the entire train, no question. He sank into the cushioned chair with a long, relieved sigh, the tension of the day slowly unraveling as the padding welcomed him with the kind of comfort only a tired body could appreciate.

Two more hours, then he'd be home.

Once the train doors slid shut and the last passenger settled into their seat, Naruto didn't waste a single second. He barely spared a glance at the woman and child seated beside him—his attention was zeroed in on one thing and one thing only.

His new purchase. 

With barely contained excitement, he reached for his bag and placed it onto his lap. His fingers traced the smooth surface, gliding slowly back and forth, as if savoring the anticipation. Slowly but surely, it all began to sink in—the reality of what sat inside this very bag was finally hitting him.

And it was finally his—all his.

And now that it was, he had to see it again. Touch it. Maybe even get a little whiff. 

So, without hesitation, his fingers worked at the ribbon's knot, tugging it loose. The wrapping sighed as it parted—a whisper of sound that seemed too loud in the quiet of the train. His breath caught, ribs pressing tight against his lungs as he leaned closer, gaze dropping into the darkness yawning within the bag. 

And there it was—right there.

Waiting for him.

His hands trembled slightly as he slid the cologne out of the bag and carefully removed it from its sleek black case, his eyes finally getting a good look at the bottle.

The cologne container was completely blue—a color so rich, it reminded him of the ocean at night. If he were being honest, it was actually pretty damn beautiful. 

The surface of the bottle had a subtle shimmer, catching the bright light in the rocking train like a glint of ice. The label was sleek and elegant, with the name "Imperium Noir" etched in gold lettering, boldly standing out against the deep blue of the bottle, right across the center.

Naruto turned the bottle over in his hands, blue eyes narrowing as he gave it a thorough once-over.

At first glance, it didn't look like anything out of the ordinary.

Just fancy.

Expensive as hell.

The kind of bottle you'd see sitting on some billionaire's vanity—not something you'd expect to be a certified woman magnet though. 

Still, he took his time, studying it, the weight, the feel, the high-end finish of the glass. And as he did, Hiroshi's words—the store clerk from Scented Dreams—came echoing back to him.

"Imperium Noir is a signature scent..." Hiroshi's voice played again in his mind, crisp and smooth.

"Deep, icy notes... a spicy undercurrent... and just a touch of woodsy spazzazz."

Naruto hummed under his breath, tilting the bottle slightly. 

Sounded simple enough. 

Nothing too crazy. Nothing over-the-top.

But then—his brows furrowed.

Because the rest of Hiroshi's words came rushing back as well. 

The warning.

The part that didn't feel quite so… simple.

"Just a heads-up—Imperium Noir comes with a bit of a…disclaimer," Hiroshi had said, his voice dipping into something a little more serious.

"If I were you, I'd go light with it—just a couple of sprays. Trust me, a little's all you need."

Naruto remembered how the guy had paused then—leaned in close too, which honestly creeped him the hell out at the time.

"Because if you're not careful? It doesn't creep up. It hits. Fast. Hard. And then? Things get… intense."

Another pause.

"Not for you, necessarily—"

"—but for the woman waiting for you at home."

Naruto smirked, running the tip of his tongue quickly across his lips.

Intense, huh?

The cologne sounded so perfect in the store—right up his alley, in fact. But now, with the bottle in his hands and the reality of his purchase settling in, Naruto couldn't help but wonder if it could really live up to all the hype.

By hype, he meant Shikamaru, and how much he'd been gassing it up.

Naruto gave the bottle a gentle shake, listening to the faint swish of the liquid inside, "Alright… what's so special about you, huh?" He murmured to himself, more out of curiosity than any real expectation.

With a quick flick, he twisted off the cap. The soft click of it coming loose cut clean through the quiet hum of the train. He hesitated for a moment, bottle hovering near his face, then brought it closer to his nose…

….and finally took an inhale.

Instantly, the first whiff hit him like a wall—bold, rich, almost overwhelming. 

Indeed, it was woodsy, with a subtle icy spice that instantly gripped his senses, pulling him in completely. He took another sniff, this time catching a citrusy note, light and refreshing, cutting through the deep richness of the scent.

He pulled the bottle away from his face, his mind racing as he gave it another once-over, the scent still lingering in his senses.

That… wasn't so bad.

Naruto couldn't stop himself.

He brought the bottle back for another sniff. 

Then another. 

And another.

With each inhalation, the layers of the fragrance seemed to reveal something new—deeper, more enticing. It drew him in—layer by layer, more intense with every breath.

And then, it happened.

He felt his body…relax.

The initial sharpness of the scent, which had completely blindsided him at first, gradually began to mellow, easing into something…more. The icy bite faded into a warm, spicy undertone like the cologne was opening up to him, to his senses—adapting to him.

It was strange… soothing, even. 

His shoulders, tight since the moment he'd stepped foot into Scented Dreams, finally began to loosen, the tension bleeding out of him as he sank further into the plush train seat. He could feel it—his body melting, his thoughts softening at the edges, the scent wrapping around him like a silk noose he didn't want to escape.

…like a spell. 

He tried—fuck, he tried—not to moan.

There was just…something about it—something almost addictive. Like no matter how many times he breathed it in—once, twice, three times—it still wasn't enough.

He needed more.

A craving he couldn't satisfy.

"Damn.." Naruto muttered to himself, almost in awe. 

This… was more than he expected.

With a slight shiver running through him, he lifted the bottle to the light once more, watching the liquid shimmer inside it. 

He shook his head in disbelief, "This... this is fucking good."

Just as he was about to take another sniff, a soft clearing of the throat snapped him out of his trance. He quickly turned his head to the right, where the woman and child had been sitting before. But now, the woman was staring, no, glaring at him, her expression tight and disapproving—most likely because of his language.

Naruto sweat droppped, and he let out a nervous laugh, realizing he might've gotten a little too carried away. 

He quickly bowed his head, apologizing, "Gomenasai, miss."

The woman's eyes softened slightly, though the protective edge remained, especially with her child nearby, "You're fine... just please watch the language."

Naruto straightened up, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, "Right. My bad."

The woman nodded curtly, her eyes briefly glancing at the cologne in his hand before she turned away, returning to tend to her child.

Minding her own business once more.

Naruto did the same. 

He straightened back up in his seat, feeling the tension melt away just as quickly as it had come. Inevitably, his attention shifted right back to the cologne in his hand. His fingers traced the smooth glass of the bottle, marveling at its sleek design.

Yeah, it's official.

His decision to buy the cologne—despite the jaw-dropping price tag—actually felt worth it. Yeah, it had cost him a lot. A whole lot. But now, sitting there with the sleek bottle cradled in his hands, after just experiencing that scent, he didn't regret a thing.

Shikamaru was right—this stuff was the real deal. 

Naruto's fingers curled a little tighter around the bottle as he leaned back into the plush seat, the smooth hum of the train fading into the background. 

For the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he'd made the right choice.

Now, the only thing left is to give it a try. 

With a smirk creeping across his whiskered face, he pulled the bottle up to his neck and gave himself a spritz.

Continue Reading on Wattpad Or AO3.

||🖤𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓜𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓜𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷🖤||

[betweenbreaths]

86. Does it make you nervous when I stare?

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Characters: Xavier x Reader

Rating: E / 18+

A/N: Prompt List

++++++

The partner sytem in the Hunter's Watch has gotten you out a pinch a few times now. Just recently, when you found yourself dealing with an impossible horde of wanderers, your partner had received a red alert on his watch and came to your rescue, teleporting you out of the way in the nick of time. If not for him, you may well have died that day.

Then again, it may have been better to die with some dignity while carrying out your duties as a hunter, than to die from embarrassment like this.

And by 'this', you mean caught with your pants down (literally) and a dildo shoved halfway up your pussy, and a certain partner teleporting into your bedroom mid-orgasm, staring at you with utter bewilderment when he realises you’re not screaming for help.

Oh, and how could you forget to mention? He'd walked in right when you were screaming his name in ecstasy.

What happens in the next few seconds is complete chaos. You scream, chucking the nearest pillow at his head, which Xavier expertly dodges as he bolts out the door after mumbling a red-faced apology over his shoulder.

The rest of that afternoon is spent searching for apartments in Linkon City that are available for rent; the sooner you move away the better, lest you run into your partner by chance in this apartment building. Goodness knows how devastatingly awkward it will be to ever face him again. You’re not sure if you can even look him in the eye anymore.

For now, you'll just have to avoid him for as long as you can.

Unfortunately, that only lasts for a matter of hours.

Later that night, you hear your doorbell ring. Afraid that it might be Xavier, you ignore it, but when the doorbell ringing continues after 10 minutes, you give up and head over to get rid of your visitor. Much to your dismay and no surprise, you find Xavier standing at your door, meeting your gaze only for a second before dropping them to his feet and shifting his weight restlessly.

"I brought food. To... apologise... for this afternoon."

You look down at the plastic bag in his hands, and you catch a whiff of what smells like egg tarts.

"You made this?"

"No, I bought it. I was afraid it wouldn't turn out right.”

The tension is so thick you could suffocate. With a resigned sigh, you accept the bag from him. "Thanks. Let's... just forget about everything. Nothing happened today.”

"I can't do that." Xavier's abrupt reply has you blinking twice and doing a double-take.

"What- What do you mean, you 'can't'?"

"Because I heard you... saying my name back there."

Trying to feign ignorance is a herculean task in front of sweet, innocent Xavier. Not to mention, you’re not exactly a seasoned liar.

You clear your throat awkwardly and in the most convincing voice you can muster, you tell him, "You must have heard wrong."

Xavier stares at you, unfazed.

"...You're not a very good liar."

Damn it.

"Sorry. It doesn't mean anything, so don't... think too much about it. Let's just call it a night, okay? I'm tired, and—"

You move to close the door, but he immediately holds it open, swiftly sidestepping you and worming his way into your apartment before you can stop him. What would be the point, anyway? He could teleport in here if he so wished.

"I think we should talk about it," Xavier insists. It's rare for him to be so stubborn, and you find your resolve softening when you meet his piercing, determined gaze.

Your head falls, eyes resting on your feet. "I'm sorry for what happened this afternoon.”

"I'm not here to ask for an apology." He steps closer, figure approaching you. You instinctively step back, withdrawing farther and farther until your back hits the wall and you realise that you've been cornered.

"Then," you ask after some hesitation, voice trembling slightly, "what… are you here for?"

Xavier leans in, closing the gap between you until your noses are nearly touching. His eyes bore deeply into yours, as if searching them for an inkling of the thoughts running through your head at that moment, and you're thankful then and there that Xavier is not actually telepathic because all you can think of is how pink and kissable those lips are, how soft they would feel against yours and how hot and heavy his tongue would be running across your lips—

"I wanted to know if you... Do you..." Xavier ears have turned a dark shade of red now, and despite the trouble he's having with finishing his sentences, you can guess what he wants to ask.

That alone is enough to send your heart into overdrive once more.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

Your mind goes blank, like a hard drive that got wiped clean in an instant. You have no idea what to say to your partner who has that earnest, sincere look in his eyes. He's seriously wondering what you feel about him, while you are suddenly reminded about your unfinished business in the afternoon before you got interrupted. With him leaning in this close, his scent permeating your senses, your fingers are itching to just grab him by the collar and crash your lips to his, feel his hands on your hips and dig your fingers into his soft, silver hair...

It's then that you realise that this is no longer just your imagination. Suddenly it's real: the feel of his lips on yours, kissing you, and you're kissing back, parting your lips for your tongue to sweep across his lower lip, and then catching it between your teeth in a light nip. His hands are roaming, up and down your back, down your waist and hovering close to your ass. Yours are in his hair, pulling him closer to you and hugging him tightly, as if he'll disappear any second.

Did you make the first move? Or did he do it?

The questions fade away into nothing, melting along with your body as he kisses you with the passion of a starved beast. He’s bolder than usual, hands exploring your body with an urgency that was strange but oddly exciting, coming from him. He steps closer, positioning his thigh between your legs and pressing against your aching center. The pressure against you has you moaning softly into his lips, and you can't help but rock your hips, seeking the sweet friction that you had been denied of this afternoon.

The rest goes by in a blur, quite literally. One second you're your doorway, and in the next, you feel the wind enveloping your tightly connected bodies and when you open your eyes again, you're in your bedroom. All it takes is one step for him to push you down onto the sheets with a bounce, and then he's on top of you, lips crashing back to yours as if pained to have been parted from yours for even a moment.

"W-Wait," you say, when you finally break apart for want of air, and Xavier acquiesces, stopping himself from dipping in again for another taste of you. You find yourself nose to nose with a heavily breathing Xavier — a rare sight for a hunter who fights off wanderers without even breaking a sweat.

"This– So— It's happening so fast—"

"You want me," Xavier says matter-of-factly, husky voice sending delightful shivers down your spine. There's no trace of a question in that statement.

"You... but..."

"But, what?"

"We're partners. Isn't this weird?"

"You were touching yourself while thinking of me first—"

"Oh my god, can we stop talking about that? I died so many times from shame today."

"It doesn't have to be a bad memory, you know,” Xavier says with a sweet smile. You would have thought he was talking about going to the convenience store for a snack or something normal, if not for the position you're both in and the undeniable undertones of something naughtier that he has in mind.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

His smile widens, and you hold your breath as he leans in to whisper something you’d never ever thought you’d hear from him.

“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

He… He can’t be serious.

Your unspoken question must have been written all over your stunned face, because Xavier reaches down to hook his fingers under the hem of your shorts, and yanks it down to expose you to him.

“I want to see it. So I can do the same for you.”

Blood rushes to your face and your already wet cunt clenches at those words. You want to say no, but how can you, when he’s looking at you with such a sincere, pleading gaze? Saying no to him would be the equivalent of kicking a puppy; you just can't.

But your fingers are also hesitant, and when you waver for too long, Xavier decides to take your wrist in his warm hand, and guide them to your center, brushing your fingers over your wet slit.

"This... is too embarrassing," you tell him, biting down on your lip as he sinks your fingers into your slick folds. Your fingers aren't moving, paralysed by his heated, intense gaze.

Xavier's darkened eyes meet yours once more, and you want to look away, but his other hand catches your chin between his thumb and index finger, holding you in place.

"Does it make you nervous when I stare?" he asks, voice lowered to a deep whisper. He leans in closer and you find yourself unable to shift back. All you can do is hold your breath as his nose finds yours and you feel his warm breath fanning over your parted lips.

Your eyes dip down for a brief moment to his lips, and in that moment you hear him chuckle. His hand, formerly on your wrist, slides down to rest over your index and middle fingers, and he pushes them into your folds, rubbing gently over your clit.

The shock of pleasure shoots through you and you let out a gasp, which is immediately muffled when his lips captures yours in an eager kiss.

The kiss is better than how you imagined it would be; it's warm and gentle like the rays of the morning sun, melting all your nerves and worries away.

His hand moves from your chin to your cup your cheek, thumb swiping delicately over your cheekbone, before sliding to the back of your neck to tug you closer to him. In response, your arms wrap around his back, hugging him tightly. Moans of his name slip out every so often when you break apart for air, and when you can't hold back when he continues moving your fingers against your sensitive clit.

"Is this better?" he asks, lightly panting as well when you pause to rest your forehead against his, focusing on the pleasure that he's giving to you. His eyes are closed, as they have been for a while now.

"Are you going to keep your eyes closed?" you ask back, raising one hand to trace the curve of his eyebrow.

His lips spread into a smile, free hand taking your wrist and holding it against his cheek. His face turns towards it, lips pressing a kiss to your palm.

"I don't necessarily have to look to learn."

It's then that you feel two fingers sinking into you, stretching your walls with the sweet friction that you've been craving all afternoon. Unable to stop yourself, your hips buck into his hands as your back arches, head thrown back with a loud gasp.

"You can show me in other ways," Xavier whispers, and you don't need to look to know that this night is going to be a long one.