#saved posts 【memories are made to be looked back upon】

[vixlenxe]

Thanks @petiteamores for commissioning! And for being my first commission ever! 😄 She requested two wives getting some deserved vacation time.

Yua may not be the most fond of the beach & the sun, but exceptions can be made for Ivy 🥰

[tokkiwrites]

Hi happy holidays! Can you please do a Sergei kravinoff smut x innocent female virgin reader “babe in the woods” trope. Sergei is immediately fixated on reader and wants her to be his grude & mother of his children. He immediately marries and later takes her virginity. He hopes to impregnate her from their first time together. Ty!

thank you for this request, anon! and sorry it took so long to post. I've had it written, but it just took a while for me to get the smut part going. i hope you like it!

Sergei Kravinoff × F!Reader ♰ themes of stalking, obsessive Sergei, kidnapping, Kraven is a weirdo and needs to be locked up, i would say innocent reader but more so an unbothered reader kind of, she is just confused, forced marriage, themes of Stockholm syndrome, loss of virginity, fingering (reader receiving), afab reader, unprotected p in v, Sergei wants to get the reader pregnant.

The woods were quiet, save for the whisper of wind threading through the branches above. You loved this time of day when the sun filtered gold and green through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the earth. It was your sanctuary, far from the clamor of town and the heavy, watchful eyes of others. Here, no one could accuse you of being strange, or sheltered, or too naive. You simply were.

The faint crack of a branch made you stop mid-step, your basket of wildflowers swinging lightly at your hip. “Hello?” You called, voice soft, hesitant. The forest had always been safe— or so it felt. until now, you had never had the need to question it.

He emerged from the shadows, and your breath caught. The man was massive. A towering figure, his broad shoulders draped in animal pelts and his chest bare save for the crisscrossing scars that marked him as something primal, dangerous. His face was angular, carved from stone, with piercing eyes that pinned you where you stood.

Sergei Kravinoff. The name would mean nothing to you, but to others, it struck fear—a hunter of men and beasts, a predator who bent the wilderness to his will. He did not speak at first. He only looked at you, as if you were some rare, delicate creature he had stumbled upon. The longer his eyes lingered, the hotter your cheeks burned.

“Who are you?” you asked, clutching the basket to your chest. His lips curved into a smile, though there was nothing warm in it. “I am Sergei,” he said, his voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “And you" he paused for a bit. " Should not wander alone in places like this. The world is not kind to lambs.” You blinked at him, confused. “Lambs?”

“You,” he clarified, taking a step closer. His sheer presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. “Soft. Untouched. So trusting.” You took an instinctive step back, and his smile widened, as if he enjoyed your unease. “I—I’ve never seen you here before. Are you lost?”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “But perhaps I have found something worth staying for.”

It reeked of dangerㅡ death. yet you still came back.

Over the next week, you saw him again and again. Always in the woods, always watching. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. this strange man simply shared your love for the forest. But his presence became impossible to ignore. He never tried to speak much, yet his eyes seemed to devour you every time, as though he were committing every detail of your face to memory. You should have been afraid. You should have stopped going to the woods entirely. But something about him fascinated you. He was so unlike the boys in town, who stammered and avoided your gaze, intimidated by your quietness. Sergei was bold, unflinching. He seemed to look right through you, to the parts of yourself you didn’t even understand.

you little lamb.

“Why do you keep following me?” He tilted his head, his gaze softening though not entirely. “Because you are mine.” The bluntness of his words made your breath hitch. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will,” he said, stepping closer. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and though you should have flinched away, you didn’t. His touch was surprisingly gentle, reverent even, even if his rough fingers scratched your skin. “I have decided. You will be my bride.”

“Bride?” You echoed the word foreign and strange on your tongue. “But we’ve only just—” you laughed. surely it must be a joke. “You are meant for me, little lamb” he interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “I have hunted all my life, little one. I know when I have found my prize.” Suddenly, the world went dark.

maybe it was all just a bad and confusing dream. though his touch still lingered.

You woke in the morning to find yourself not in your small, familiar room. outside the window that overlooked the bed you were in, the forest. The air smelled of pine and smoke, and outside, the trees loomed tall and unyielding. Panic gripped you as you sat up, heart racing. “Where—” The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the frame with his imposing presence. “You are awake,” Sergei said, his tone calm, almost pleasedㅡ excited. He carried a tray with food: fresh berries, bread, and cheese. “Eat. Now."

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why did you—” He set the tray down, cutting you off with a look. “You are safe. That is all you need to know.”

“I am not! This isn’t right,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said sharply, though his expression softened as he stepped closer. “I have waited long enough. You do not understand, but you will. I will take care of you. Protect you. You will want for nothing, my little one.”

You shook your head, backing away from him, but he caught your wrist with startling ease. His touch was firm, yet not cruel. “Do not fear me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “I would never hurt you. You are too precious.”

Sergei did not wait long to make you his.

The days in the cabin blurred together, each one steeped in an odd rhythm. Sergei’s presence was constant, protective, and overwhelming. He would watch you eat, his sharp eyes softening whenever you complied. He brought you small gifts: wildflowers, trinkets carved from wood, pelts to keep you warm. He never let you wander far, always ensuring you were within sight. And though he never forced his touch upon you, you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

In the evening, as the fire crackled and cast flickering shadows on the walls, Sergei sat across from you. He leaned forward, large hands resting on his knees. “It is time,” he said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Time?” you echoed, your throat dry. “For us to marry.” You stared at him, heart pounding. “I… I can’t. I don’t even know what you want from me. I—I never— You kidnapped me!”

“You were made for this,” he said, cutting you off. his eyes were setting you a-light, it made your skin prickle. “You think I do not see it? Your purity. Your innocence. You were meant to be a wife. My wife.” Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “But I’m not— I need to marry someone I love!"

“You are ready,” he insisted, his tone softening only slightly. “I have waited long enough. It will be done."

And it was.

The ceremony was simple, ritualistic. Sergei had prepared everything. rings made from woven silver, a bearskin cloak to drape over your shoulders as a symbol of protection. There was no priest, no people, only the two of you and the forest as your witness. He spoke vows in a language you did not understand, his voice deep and reverent, as though he were offering you up to some ancient force. When it was your turn, your voice faltered, but under his watchful gaze, you repeated the words he taught you.

“You are mine,” he said at the end, taking your face in his hands. His eyes burned with possessive fire. “And I am yours.”

but every wolf gets hungry eventually.

When night fell, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the thick wool blanket. Sergei entered the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He had shed his usual pelts, his bare chest glowing in the firelight.

“You are trembling,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. He knelt in front of you, his massive frame now not so intimidating. “Are you afraid of me?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. "I don’t know... what you expect from me? What you w-want...”

“I expect you to trust me,” he said simply, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are my wife now. It is my duty to show you what that means.” Your breath stopped as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But you are mine, little lamb. Every part of you.”

His lips met yours— soft at first, testing, as though he feared you might shatter like porcelain. But when you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His hands cradled your face, his touch reverent, almost worshipful.

“I have waited for this,” he said against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Waited to claim what is mine.” You didn’t resist as he laid you down, his hands tracing over your trembling form. He was patient, guiding you gently, his touch surprisingly tender for someone so fierce. But his intent was clear.

oh, little lamb.

rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his bearded face stays flush against your tender neck. he was ready to devour you. Sergei looked up into your eyes and for the first time you've seen him smile. and as if all of the things you felt caused you fears melted away, so did you into his embrace.

his lips meet yours, and it all finally made sense. you could feel the hunger, the will in him to give his all right here, right now. you wrapped around him like vines on a tree, his low growl of approval making you clench around nothing. it all felt so new, yet familiar, as if somehow, this wasn't the first time. the forest outside sung as your quiet moans filled the cabin. Sergei discards all of your clothes with ease, leaving you in nothing as you stayed splayed on the bed. the fur coverings under, pooled around your body, the moonlight dripped on you like dew in spring and you looked like a precious painting.

with no time to wait, sergei quickly gets naked. it wasn't the first time you saw him like this, but it was the first time you saw it. to say all that fear bubbled up into your stomach was an understatement. you gulped down as your glossy eyes looked at him up and down. "Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obey. spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and sergei throws his head back with a low groan. you finally speak up. "IㅡI am a...a virgin." it all seemed so silly to say now. "I know." he smiles in the corner of his mouth. "Smelled it on you the first time we met." and you whimper. "I will get you ready now." somehow, you knew what it meant. He kneels in front of you on the bed, pulling you so that you thighs are right over his, your puffy lips on full display. two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.

after that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. You whimpered softly and Sergei shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plushy thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers inside, and you can feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. the second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping them, swirling them around as his lips made contact with your swollen bud. Your eyes jot open as this feeling washes over you, and you can't help but let your legs shake uncontrollably. The fire wave envelopes you whole before it comes to an agonizing stop. You open your eyes again and above you is Sergei, his shaft in his hand as he aligns it with your asking entrance. "If it hurts...yell. Scream as much as you want. Hurt me back. I am here to teach you."

and teach you he does. he pushes in slowly and the stretch is agonizing, the pain making all of your muscles tense. "It's alright, I'm here, little girl." you let out a sigh, the tears slipping past your lids when you open your eyes. the moon engulfed Sergei in It's beautiful light, his silhouette looking as if it was carved out perfectly. a couple of inches, then some more, and some moreㅡ until he is fully inside. you bite down on your tongue, but Sergei preps soft kisses along your jaw and you seem to forget about the pain. "You're doing so, so good. So good for me." he hums, taking in a big breath of your smell before he snaps his hips slowly. In a few seconds, the burn turned into a delicious feeling you couldn’t quite describe. And though it felt so new, your body fell in place right into Sergei’s touch, as if it were meant to be.

When he finally started to move faster, his groan was one of triumph, a sound that you know will echo in your ears long after. “You will give me childrenㅡ" he said, voice low and ragged as he moved inside of you. “Strong sons and daughters. Our legacy will begin tonight.”

your legs quiver around him, but he leaves no room for mercy. Above you, he looked just as a predator ready to swallow his pray whole. you weren't one to fight back, and you really didn't want to. you back stayed arched against the coverings of the bed, fingers clawing at his broad shoulders as he pumped into you. your tummy was churning, and your head was dizzyㅡ you were far gone, too drunk on the way he perfectly hit that spot with each thrust. "You were made for me, made to take meㅡ fuck, you are so beautiful." you whimper, feeling that fire wave starting to take over again. your velvet walls squeeze around him, causing him to growl. Sergei leans forward, propping one of your legs above his shoulder, the angle making you gasp for air. you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears. An animal. His eyes grew darker, lips crooked in a smile before he delivered his final blow.

you come undone right under his fingertips, writhing and shaking as small pleads fall from your lips. You can feel his seed deep within you, threatening to slip out around his cock that was still inside of you, pulsing. "Good girl."

he prays it sticks.

Sergei’s obsession with you only deepened—he barely let you out of his sight, his touch lingering whenever he could. Yet there was a softness in him, a desire to make you happy, even as he bent you to his will.

He began teaching you small things. how to tend the fire, how to skin an animal, how to defend yourself should a predator come. But you were never allowed to go far. “Why can’t I leave?” you asked one afternoon, your frustration bubbling over. Sergei turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Because the world is cruel, little one. It will devour you. You are too soft, too trusting. Here, you are safe.”

“Safe,” you repeated bitterly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his gaze softening. “I would rather you hate me than lose you.” you were beginning to see the truth of it. his love for you was consumin and obsessive, but it was real. He worshipped you, protected you, but at the cost of your freedom. And yet, part of you began to adapt. To find comfort in his arms, in the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps you were.

[qardenofeden]

what’s left of you, wherein you confront the life nanami kento has left behind for you to navigate through.

a/n : i was going to post this in parts but i didn’t want to compromise anything so here you guys go!!! one of the scenes was posted a bit earlier as a sneak peek so you might recognize that!

word count : 1.6k

prompt : finally getting everything you ever wanted only for it to be taken right from your grasp. angst with a happy ending.

disclaimer : english is not my first nor second language so please be patient! if you spot errors or typos, feel free to comment :) thank you!

the summer breeze passes you by as you stand, your hair dancing with the wind you overlook your alma mater’s campus behind you. nostalgia washes over you, memories of your youth that you so desperately tried to bury coming back.

approximately a decade ago, you stood in this exact spot with nanami kento, who, at the time, served as the light in your life.

you experienced all the horrors the world had to offer, but kento never once faltered. despite facing all those said horrors head-on, he remained kind-hearted, carrying out his tasks with a smile.

and you don’t know when you first started loving him, but it must be around your third year of junior high school when your love for nanami kento truly blossomed, manifesting in ways that, in retrospect, were not so subtle.

but kento was taught to be a gentleman through and through, and so his modesty translated into a sense of denseness.

everyone knew it except for him. your upperclassmen especially, noticed your favoritism and even made teasing remarks about it, but with nanami, it all went through one ear and out the other. he brushed it all off, claiming that your special treatment came from a place of familiarity, because you’d known each other for far longer.

and so began your little game of cat and mouse.

“kento, i got you your favorite bread!” your classes hadn’t even started yet, and you were already greeting him with a smile and an outstretched arm, offering him a sandwich from his favorite bakery.

“HAH?! it’s 8:12 in the mornin’! you mean to tell me you deliberately went outta your way to pick up a sandwich for nanami and nothin’ for anyone else?!” gojo interrupted, approaching you and swinging an arm around your shoulder as shoko and geto, your other upperclassmen, trail behind him.

the latter chuckles in amusement, eyes forming two thin lines as he smiles, “ah, young love.”

“that’s how my grandparents started off, too.” shoko joins in on the teasing, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

thankfully, nanami saves you from humiliation when he speaks up, sighing as he shakes his head. “don’t mind them. thank you, i really appreciate this.”

kento takes the sandwich and unwraps it, then splits it in half before handing the bigger slice to you, making the others gasp and woo. gojo pushes you towards kento with the arm he had previously wrapped around you, making you falter as you fall in the blonde’s arms. their teasing shrieks only get louder, with geto muttering a little “i was unfamiliar with your game.”

kento lets go of you once you find your footing, and he scolds the white haired man, furrowing his brows as he does so.

he looks back again at you, face softening as he offers you a small smile. his brown eyes find yours as he apologizes, extending his arms for the second time as he gives you your half of the sandwich.

suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze and the added presence of the others, you look down as you clear your throat, having no choice but to take the food, fearing that their teasing would only worsen if you refused.

times were much simpler then. you can’t help but wonder how different things could have turned out had you all been born as non sorcerers, away from the responsibilities forced upon you, the responsibilities you inherited, and the weight placed upon your shoulders since your birth.

but then you remember how everything, even the bad aspects of your upbringing, only made you and kento closer, and suddenly you don’t mind so much. because for kento, you’d take all the pain if it meant being able to keep his love.

like that time when you and kento were walking home after a duo mission when the sky suddenly started pouring. without an umbrella or even a jacket to keep either of you dry, you head to the nearest convenience store together and shake off the droplets of rain caught within your clothes.

taking a seat, you watch the world through the glass walls of the store. kento follows your gaze, before he fishes a handkerchief out his pocket. it’s surprisingly dry when he offers it to you without a word.

looking up at him in confusion, you take it from his hands. you’re about to speak when he beats you to it, muttering a quick and simple, “i’ll get us some ramen,” before he disappears into one of the aisles.

you’re left in confusion, feeling stunned before you clear your throat and pull yourself together. that’s just how kento is, you think, shrugging it off as you pat yourself dry.

minutes later, he returns with two cups of noodles and gently places your favorite flavor in front of you, then a wooden pair of chopsticks on top. taking a seat next to yours, he begins eating as you two watch the rain.

silence fills the room, save for the sounds of slurping and the harsh drops of rain outside. the tranquility provides a sense of comfort to the both of you, wrapping you up like a blanket after the harsh mission you’d just returned from.

the atmosphere is light and peaceful, much like how kento’s always made you feel. offering his seats, holding your bags when you feel tired, and even keeping an eye on you during missions. you don’t know how he does it. be perfect, you mean, because there is not a single flawed bone in nanami’s body.

it’s evident, especially in that one memory you hold so dearly in your heart.

after being separated for years after high school, you all went to your respective colleges. you thought it’d be the end of your little high school crush story, but little did you know what the future held in store for you.

years after, you and kento are in a french café, a pain au chocolat and a croissant resting on your respective plates. he had come across one of your social media accounts on accident, stumbling upon it when he was looking for… honestly, he doesn’t know what he was looking for. all he remembers is seeing your name and picture, and, as if a moth to a flame, clicking the message option to shoot you a text.

“that day is engraved into my brain,” light breaths of air escape his lips as he talks about the 7/11 ramen run, and you wonder how he can make even the slightest noises like that sound perfect, “i think about it a lot. you know, that was probably the first time i’d ever seen you in that sense.”

“you still think about that?”

…

“you don’t?”

———

kento nanami was a man of unwavering patience and little indulgence. every decision, no matter how small, was carefully well thought out, so you were surprised when he proposed to you after only 3 years and 7 months.

as waves of sunlight illuminated your face, kento sat up in bed with a pen and a newspaper, his bare back against the headboard as he pushed up his glasses. he clears his throat when he feels you shuffle awake, one of his hands snaking its way into your hair.

“good morning, sweetheart.” his voice is husky, clearly just having come from slumber.

you groan against him, nuzzling into the sides of his torso, your cheeks resting against his abs, “good morning, handsome.”

“you flatter me, my love.” he chuckles against you, and if it were up to nanami, he’d stay in this moment forever, the snug fit of your body against his aiding the sun in warming him up. he snaps the newspaper straight, catching your attention.

“what’s that?” you ask, closing your eyes and pressing yourself further, as if magnetized.

“today’s word search. would you like to help me?”

you groan, sighing as you pull yourself together and force your eyelids open. you rub your eyes and yawn, mirroring his posture as you sit up and rest your head against his shoulder.

that’s when you see it.

the encircled words: me, my, marry, will, love.

“my love, will you marry me?”

and as the sweet answer of “yes” escapes your lips, nanami sees it clearly now. how he’s always been yours. even if he didn’t know it. even if you didn’t know it.

but now you both do. and he realizes, that day when he found your account.

he’s always been looking for you.

———

your wedding ring fits snugly on your finger as you fidget, rolling it around.

it’s been a year since kento’s departure. a year since shibuya. a year since your life turned upside down and you’d lost all you ever had.

you remember a time when you thought you held the world in your hands. because with kento, he never made you feel any less, always at your disposal.

so now you keep his last name, and although you and kento never really had kids, you find yourself with three of his.

nobara, yuuji, and megumi all pool around you as you visit his grave. they’re laughing, conversing happily as they tell him stories of how good you’ve been to them.

“yuuji keeps eating away all of the food mrs. nanami makes!”

“nanamin, that’s not true! shut up nobara, i have to eat a lot because i work out!”

“both of you, shut up. this is so embarassing…”

despite not being able to physically share these memories with your husband, you’re not worried. you know he’s looking down on you, maybe even guiding you like the angel he is. knowing him, he’d probably argue with even the highest of beings if it meant being able to watch over you once more.

and maybe you lost all you ever had, but now you’ve gained a whole new world.

because no amount of sorrow or grief or heartache could compare to even a fraction to the miracle that is kento’s love. because regardless of the short time you’ve shared together, nanami’s love was enough to last you a lifetime.

a/n : thank you for making it this far! i hope you enjoyed it. likes & reblogs are appreciated but i rly rly rly love when you guys comment! :,) makes me feel like i’m not talking to a brick wall :p

[aeyumicore]

exclusive tutorial

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

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

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 7.6k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, pure pure filth, public sex, fingering with gloves, sex on a pool table, unprotected sex, creampie, cervix fucking, cum as lube, choking, rough sex, dom!zayne, kinda power play? not really zayne is just a daddy, teasing with a cue stick idk, lots and lots of dirty talking, just filth idk what else

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hiiii guys <3 this is my continuation on the new ‘exclusive’ tutorial memory with my fav zayneeee. i hope you guys enjoy, i miss feeding y’all with delulu thoughts. i wouldn’t say i’m back though, i haven’t wanted to write as of late, it was honestly hard to push myself to finish this one. i feel like because i write in such detail, it starts to feel really repetitive, like i’m just writing the same things from my other fics over and over.

i’ll try to write when i have inspiration! i love u guys pls enjoy <3

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

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

The sound of billiard balls colliding with one another pierces the brisk air of the empty billiard hall, save for you and the dashing surgeon eyeing you from across the table. You do your best to watch the colored balls scatter, and not the way Zayne’s gloved hands grip his cue stick, or how his muscles ripple under the blue tie he wears so devilishly handsomely. 

You were a bit tipsy from the small bits of wine you’d drank at his alumni get-together, mostly to take the edge off from being in a room full of surgeons and doctors, all who knew Zayne in some capacity. It wasn’t surprising how well-liked, respected, and admired Zayne was amongst his peers, but it was a bit intimidating. Though Zayne never made you feel like it, sometimes it was hard not to feel small in his presence, and the presence of all his peers. 

But he always took it upon himself to make sure you never felt out of place amongst all his med school friends and acquaintances, introducing you to everyone who approached him looking for a morsel of his time.

And there were a lot of people looking to be graced with even a second of Zayne’s time. 

Even so, Zayne always made you feel like the center of his world. Always side glancing at you with a small, almost imperceptible, quirk to the corner of his lips when he spoke to his colleagues. Or his broad palm, ghosting the small of your lower back as he nodded along to their ramblings of surgeries you couldn’t fathom understanding. Sometimes, even taking it a step further, whispering huskily against your ear amongst the commotion of the reserved club, letting his breath tickle your exposed neck, as he tucked your hair behind your ear. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure if he’d been purposely teasing you all night. But either way, combined with the wine, you were feeling tipsy, bold, and pent up.

And what better way to relieve that tension than a friendly game of pool?

At his silent observation of you and the scattered balls, you tease, "Did I do something wrong, sir?” You purposely drawl out the last word, knowing how much it affects him when you let him take a position of authority and power over you. It was the perfect opportunity to tease him back, if even just a little. 

If Zayne is affected by your words, he doesn’t let it show, much to your dismay. "You have more than enough strength. If you adjust your posture you’ll see better results.” You almost want to roll your eyes at how professional and proper he’s being, even in the emptiness of the billiards room. 

Feeling emboldened at his attempts at stoicness, you only grin at him, "I need you to help me identify my weak spots via "Hands-on” learning, sir.” You giggle as Zayne clears his throat, rubbing the exposed side of his wrist in his billiard gloves. 

"We’ll work on your posture, then.” He makes it over to your side, leaning over the edge of the table to show you how it’s done. "Like this. Place your right foot back…” even in his demonstration, he looks so handsome and graceful in his black suit vest and dark blue tie. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to remind yourself that you’re the one teasing him. Attempting to, anyways. 

You shake your head, doing your best to focus on the task at hand. You try to emulate his pose, but even without seeing yourself you can tell it’s not right. 

Suddenly, his deep voice is right by your ear, "Relax. You’re too tense.” You force yourself not to yelp as the feel of his warm breath tickles the area under your ear. You don’t turn to face him, but you can tell he’s smirking faintly. You flinch when his fingers tap your lower back twice. Your body responds immediately, your back arching instinctively, almost provocatively. 

Zayne’s grateful your back is turned to him, because his ears tinge at the sight of you bent over before him, your perfect back arching so sweetly. He holds back a groan at the sight, "Now you’re too relaxed.”

You’re acutely aware of his cool hand still resting on your waist, “...It tickles.” You try to deflect from the irritating way your body responds to even his most gentle and innocent touches. 

"Relax your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally,” he uses his knuckle to tap your forearm, "Your head, right arm, and the cue stick should form a straight line.” You follow his instructions, tilting your head to the left to align your posture. 

"How is it?”

"It…hurts a little.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, "That means it's correct.”

You turn your head so you can see him, giving him a questioning pout, "You’re so harsh, sir.”

Zayne looks undeniably amused, "Don’t tilt your head, you messed up your posture again.” 

You sigh in defeat, "Is there an easier way? Like something I can do without much trouble?”

Zayne smiles smugly at you, "Yes. But are you sure you want to do it?” You fight the shiver that threatens to overtake you. You honestly wonder where the professional and stoic Zayne went, as the undertone of his words fills you with an anxious anticipation. 

But you steel your voice, hoping you won’t regret your next words, "Bring it on.”

"Don’t move for now,” Zayne’s voice is husky as he repositions himself right behind you against the edge of the felt table, his hand coming down to cup yours. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, as he presses his hard chest into your back, skin exposed by the backless dress you wore for the occasion. Your breath hitches as Zayne once again regains the upper hand against your attempts at teasing him.

His breath is on your ear again, "Your rhythm with the cue stick isn’t quite there yet. You need more "Hands-on” training.” This time you actually shiver, as the double meaning of his words dawns on you. His crotch is pressed right up against your rear, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle. You’re sure Zayne is doing this on purpose, as he uses your joined hands to thrust the cue back and forth.

"Move the cue stick three or four times, then stop at the point closest to the ball.” You have a difficult time following his instructions as his gruff voice caresses your ear, his pelvis firm against your rear. Really, you can only concentrate on not folding completely underneath him, otherwise you might notice the hard bulge pressed snugly against you. 

His gentle lips ghosting a kiss against the shell of your ear snaps you out of your reverie, "Did you get that, sweetheart?”

“...yeah,” you whisper underneath him, doing your best to imitate the thrusting motion with your hands. But as Zayne shifts slightly, you finally feel his erection behind you, and your mind goes blank.

"Snap out of it. Are you even listening to me?” You can hear the smug amusement in his voice.

"Um, yes…pull back the stick…”

"Very good,” his voice is smooth, almost a purr, above you, "Just like that. Now strike.” Your body trembles, basking in his praise, but you pull back your cue stick and let it fly. The clinking of balls colliding sounds as you watch the striped red ball sink into one of the pockets.

"It’s in!” You cheer, forgetting briefly about the compromising position Zayne had put you in as you both straighten up, "Did you see that? It was a great shot! I’m so cool.”

"I did. Your pool skills aren’t so much about technique, but rather, passion,” he teases, finding your excitement utterly adorable. He leans against the pool table, turning to face you, "All you need for pool is… a steady hand, precision, and a calm attitude.”

His hand reaches for your face, fingers grazing your reddening cheeks as he moves to tuck the hair that had fallen into your face when you were concentrating on the balls, tucking it neatly behind your ear and holding your jaw in his practiced fingers. The material of his gloves is smooth but deliciously rough against your burning skin, "Once you’ve locked onto your target, don’t let go.”

You quiver at his words, and can’t help but wonder if he’s possibly talking about something else. Your gaze wanders south when Zayne briefly glances away, and you eye the bulge that is barely noticeable through the dark fabric of his dress pants. Mischief and lust simultaneously overtake you.

"If a student does a good job, shouldn’t they get a reward?” You purr, gently batting your eyelashes as fiddle with the sleek wood of your cue stick. 

You don’t miss the way Zayne’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, "And what exactly does my student want?”

You grin up at him, gently tapping the tip of your stick against his broad chest, "It might be difficult to hit this next ball. Help me.”

Zayne seems almost taken aback, but chuckles as he raises his eyebrows doubtfully at you, "Is that all?”

You take a step closer, only your arms wrapped around your cue stick separating your bodies, "What’s wrong, dr. Zayne? Are you scared?” You giggle internally watching Zayne scramble to maintain his careful composure.

"Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

You bite back your scoff, wanting to see him lose the slightest grasp on his calculated control. You walk to the other side of the table, where the white cue ball awaits, "Then come here.”

Zayne follows you cautiously, until he stands a foot to your right. You turn to him expectantly, reaching out to brush your fingertips along the exposed skin of his left hand, still clad in his leather billiard gloves, "Closer. Or else I can’t reach it.”

Despite Zayne’s sigh, you can see the way his green eyes gleam with amusement as his adoring smile reaches up towards them. He inches closer to you, "What exactly…” you use that moment to gently push Zayne backwards onto the billiards table. He catches himself easily, but allows you to push him backwards, until his back is practically resting on the felt table top. You step forward until you’re resting in between his thighs, standing over his hard body. He sits up, using his elbows to prop himself up against the table. 

"Look, the ball’s so far away. I think it’s time to use a cue rest,” you giggle, bringing up your cue stick to playfully tap them on either side of his shoulder, making a dramatic show of deciding which of his shoulders to use as a rest.

Zayne’s voice is husky as he chuckles, "Using a cue rest would be overkill.” He sits up against your stick to stare at you with hooded eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a faint smirk. You smile innocently back, tracing the stick down to the middle of his chest, hooking it under his blue silk tie and pulling upwards, loosening it.

The man beneath you clears his throat, "And this is inappropriate.” But his words don’t quite match the timbre of his voice, eyes still twinkling with amusement under the dim fluorescent lights of the bar. 

"But I think…you’re enjoying it, too,” you murmur softly, leaning forward until your body is flush against his crotch, your heat pressed right against his. You can feel him twitch underneath the restraint of his slacks, which subsequently causes your core to throb with an all-too familiar dampness.

Zayne chuckles, a rich and deep sound that rings in your ears, averting his heated gaze, "I shouldn’t have taught you so much.” You only grin at him, setting down your stick against the table, pressing your hands against his hard abdomen. You can feel his muscles flex under the material of his suit vest as he tries to sit up further. But you only push him down more firmly, with your hand on his naval right above where his erection sat, proud and wanting to be let out. 

You glance up to be met with the rare sight of an absolutely flustered and reddened Zayne. His lips are parted, slightly damp as he pants against your touch, a noticeable blush painting his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His breath is bated, eyes dark and hooded as they track your hands carefully. You reach up to grab his tie, tugging, but not hard enough to undo the soft knot. You use it to pull him towards him, shifting in between his legs and letting your body rub tortuously against his erection.

Zayne looks almost pained as he grunts out, "Who taught you to use your teacher as a cue rest?” His eyes are locked onto yours, dark, hazy, and demanding. 

"Well, this cue rest’s heartbeat is going to affect my accuracy,” you tease matter-of-factly. Zayne arches his eyebrow.

"Is it my heartbeat that’s affecting your accuracy or yours?” You ignore him, slightly embarrassed that he knows your heart is pounding wildly, choosing to inch your hand down further in retaliation. It doesn’t take long for your fingers to reach Zayne’s erection, as its length stands incredibly tall against his abs. 

Zayne sucks in his breath when your fingers wrap around him through his pants, "If you actually want to learn, I can teach you another way…” he trails off as he leans in closer to you, his breath fanning across your lips. As he closes the distance between your lips, you use your left palm to push him back by his shoulders, using all the willpower you have to deny his kiss.

Grinning cheekily at his dissatisfied grimace, "Sir, this…seems to be lacking ‘professionalism’.”

Zayne chuckles, "This is lacking professionalism?” He shifts, his dick twitching in your hands, as if reminding you who exactly was the unprofessional one between the two of you. It’s then Zayne decides he’s given you enough time to delude yourself into believing you have the upperhand. Before you can even blink, his gloved hand wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you down on top of him. Your feet dangle in the air as he holds you securely against his body. You yelp as your dress rides up and Zayne grips your bare thigh with his forceful fingers.

He chuckles huskily in your ear, your body resting atop his, "It’s a bit too late to back out now.” With that, he deftly flips both of you so that you find your bare back pressed against the soft felt of the billiards table, your knees propped up with Zayne standing smugly between them.

He smirks triumphantly, "Why don’t you let me show you?” He picks up his cue stick that had long been forgotten on the side of the table, expertly twirling it in his fingers so that it grazes your chest as he brings it up to rest against your exposed shoulder. You’re rendered a blushing speechless mess at the sight of him between your legs, towering imposingly above you. 

His hand brushes against your bare thigh as he pulls back his hand to steady the end of the stick, "Watch closely. I’m only going to do it once.” You shiver as he bends down, so that your chests press together, his jaw clenched as he trains his eyes on the white cue ball. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his handsome face concentrate, pull back the stick, and unleash his move. 

You crane your neck awkwardly to see that he easily sunk two solid balls, leaving him just the black eight-ball and one other solid left. He smiles smugly at your dumbfounded expression, but remains between your parted thighs. 

"No fair,” you whine, "You’re a surgeon so both your hands are sturdier.”

His eyebrows raise in amusement, "Do you really think I need both hands?” Something about the way he asks you makes you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer before shifting his cue stick, trailing it down your shoulder to your chest, skillfully grazing your nipples that had hardened in all of Zayne’s relentless teasing. The stick trails down to the hem of your dress, and then up your bare inner thighs.

You shiver uncontrollably at the foreign stimulation, "Z-Zayne, what are you – we shouldn’t…”

"Hah…all of a sudden you care about what we should and shouldn’t be doing?” He chuckles. "Besides, no one will interrupt us,” he murmurs as he finally ceases stroking your thighs with his cue stick, leaving behind a trail of blue powder residue. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, his gloved hand snakes under your dress, gripping your thigh with his large outstretched fingers. The leather feels amazing against the sensitive plush of your inner legs, almost making you forget how very in public you were. 

"Wh-what do you mean? How do you know?” You whimper almost pathetically as his cold fingers play with the lining of your panties, threatening to slip under and touch you where you want him most. You’re sitting up on your elbows, unable to shake his heated stare as he teases your body painfully slowly. 

"I reserved this entire hall, in case you were feeling overwhelmed with meeting all my old classmates and you needed some time alone,” he murmurs, reaching his fingers under the flimsy material of your panties. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness, always looking out for your well being, even when you yourself don’t think to. You’re snapped out of your adoration for the man before you when his fingers get dangerously closer to the wet mess you’ve been trying to ignore. 

"But still, we shouldn’t – not on this table…” but your body betrays your words as you can’t stop from bucking into his fingers when they graze your weeping slit, eager to be filled by him, again and again. He’s careful to only touch you with the fingers not fitted into his gloves — just his thumb, pinky, and ring finger grazing your sensitive region. Even though you want more, Zayne wields his limited digits adeptly, already bringing you pleasure that you couldn’t even fathom. And with just 3 fingers, none of them even inside you. 

"Why are you saying one thing, when she–” he dips his lengthy ring finger into your swollen lips, ghosting along your throbbing hole as his thumb presses at your clit. The sound of your arousal squelching against his hand is loud as it cuts through the thick sexual tension in the air. "Clearly wants something else?”

Your moans are unabashed as he expertly toys with you, but never quite entering you. Even so, you can feel Zayne’s fingers working magic on your clit, having you seeing stars as he rubs inexplicable shapes around it, thumb lubed from your copious slick. You find yourself desperate to be filled by him, spurred on by the excitement that just down the hall are dozens of people just waiting for your boyfriend’s return. 

"Z-Zayne…” you plead, grinding yourself against the length of his finger.

"What is it, my love?” His alluring voice teases as his fingers continue on their tortuous journey, "Do you need something from your teacher?”

"You know what I w-want!” You whine like a brat, trying to angle your pelvis so his finger slips in. He only halts his movements, instead bringing down one of his gloved fingers to squeeze your clit against his thumb. You yelp at the feel of the foreign fabric against the sensitive bundle of nerves, the feeling of it a conflicting mix of pleasure and hypersensitivity, bordering on pain. You could feel yourself quickly becoming addicted to the feel of his gloves against your more sensitive regions. 

"A good student should be able to tell her teacher,” he muses, the mischief and arousal evident in his own features. He’s hell bent on focussing his teasing on you, ignoring his thick erection that is still pressed into you, painfully restraining against his slacks and desperate to be inside you. Zayne bends down to ghost a kiss along the shell of your ear, "You’re a good student right baby?”

You shiver at the filthy implications of his words, hooking your arms around his neck as he breathes against your sensitive ear. Doing your best to form coherent thoughts in your brain, you mumble, "Y-yes I'm a g-good student. I’m a good girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, Zayne bites his cheek at your words, his erection twitching eagerly at them. You most certainly were a good girl, his good girl. You knew that fact to be true, he knew it, and his cock definitely knew it. 

"Yes, you are,” he affirms huskily into your ear, his warm breath making you shiver, "Let me show you that I only need one hand to get the job done.” The confidence in his voice turns you on unbelievably more as you attempt to piece together the meaning of his words. As he reaches to grab his cue stick again, his bare ring finger simultaneously slips into you, and you realize he was not only referring to the fact that he only needed one hand to play pool, but one hand for you.

You whine out at the welcomed intrusion, bucking against his leather clad hand between your trembling thighs. You fall back gently at the sudden ecstasy, back arching deeply as it rests on the table top with your legs settled against Zayne’s body. 

He hisses at the feel of your walls sucking his finger in at every pump, in awe of the way your body begs for him, "She’s so eager for me, look at her sucking me in. Does it feel good with just one finger angel?”

The slight condescension in his teasing words only turns you on more, your back arching deeper into his hand, "Zaaayne,” you pant, hands clawing at the felt, "Feels s-so good.” You’re hiccuping between your words, wanting more from him.

As always, Zayne knows your body even better than you do, because he slips his pinky in alongside his ring finger. His eyes never leave yours as he continues to pump himself into you. The stretch makes your eyes roll back, his thumb still pawing at your throbbing clit, threatening to burst from his expert touch. The sounds of his hands thudding against your wet skin cut lewdly into the limited space between you. 

Zayne deftly twirls the cue stick in his one hand so that he rests it on your breast, perfectly aimed at the white cue ball. His fingers inside you pumps in and out in perfect rhythm, the length of them able to stroke your spongy g-spot at every thrust. Your eyes are screwed shut, your body trying to accommodate the pleasure, arousal spurred on from the risk of anyone bursting through the billiard hall doors. 

You feel the tip of the stick tapping against your nipples, erect against the rough fabric of your cocktail dress. Your eyes fly open to find Zayne smirking down expectantly at you, his voice a deep seductive huff, "You need to keep your eyes on your teacher if you want to learn anything, Y/N.” 

You force your eyes to stay and focus on his, though you can feel your eyelids droop as your brain fights to focus on anything other than the ecstasy Zayne is imposing on your trembling body.

"That’s it, my love,” he coos at you, speeding up his fingers in the process. Your head falls back as you moan shamelessly, feeling your gut tighten in response to his movements. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you silently pray that it doesn’t drip onto the pool table.

Suddenly, Zayne’s thumb presses harshly onto your clit. Your squeal filling the air as you sit up sharply, the sensitive ache bleeding into the immeasurable pleasure, only serving to intensify it further.  

"What did I say?” He growls, "Eyes on me.” You nod obediently, desperate to please him. But you’re unsure if you’ll even be physically capable of following his demands. You watch the sharp jawed surgeon hovering over you, as he continues his assault on your core. 

He positions his cue stick over your shoulder again, his thrusts increasing in intensity as he concentrates on the balls behind you. The sight of him, so precise in the way he pleasures you without a single care to whose prying eyes could possibly see, while simultaneously so handsome in the way he handles his cue stick makes the coil in your gut tighten quicker than normal. 

"M-more, please,” you beg, feeling your release approaching and needing him to thrust you over the edge. 

"I can feel you tightening, love. Are you close already?” Zayne murmurs, still lining up his stick meticulously. You’re careful to keep your eyes on him as you nod fervently.

Zayne smirks, "So quick, huh baby?” You ignore his teasing, grinding into his hand, desperate to release. He only chuckles in response, but curls his fingers inside you as he relentlessly strokes your clit. You can vaguely see him aiming his stick at the white cue ball, somewhere on the table by your head. 

"Z-Zayne, m’so close,” you warn him, the friction between his hand and your core far too much for you to hold out any longer, "Gonna cum, gonna cummmm.” Your fingernails dig into his covered biceps as you grip his arms, aching to feel his skin under yours. 

"Yeah?” He briefly glances at you, shifting his gaze from the billiard balls, his pace on your cunt never faltering, "You gonna make a mess for me, all over the table, like a good girl?” Without warning, Zayne brings his leather clad index finger down to pinch your clit between it and his thumb. Almost immediately you come undone over his hand, your moans and cries for him filling the billiard hall. You can vaguely hear the sound of pool balls colliding, the satisfying clack briefly entering your ecstasy clouded mind as you gush all over Zayne’s gloves.

Zayne talks you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing but not stopping, "That’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, ruining my gloves, huh?” You can only whimper in response, your clit trembling in his careful grasp. "So beautiful on this table for me.”

You’re a wailing mess, tears streaming down your face from the hypersensitivity of your orgasm. Zayne watches your face contort in pleasure, in complete awe of how beautiful and unbelievably sexy you looked beneath him. His cock stirs uncomfortably, almost threatening to burst through the zipper of his pants. You don’t see the way his eyes light up in complete adoration of the woman he loves below him, making a mess all over his fingers, still inside you. He hadn’t planned to take you fully here. But the sight of you underneath him, in all your fucked out glory, slick dripping down your plush thighs, whimpering for him, he couldn’t hold himself back.

"I need to be inside you. You can take me right, my love?” 

Before you realize what’s happening, Zayne’s strong arms are wrapped around your waist, flipping you effortlessly so that your stomach is pressed into the table, your ass molded perfectly into his crotch, his leaking cock pressed right into you.

"Z-Zayne?” You yelp in surprise, wincing slightly at the way your spend smears against your inner thighs and cunt. When Zayne doesn’t respond, you crane your torso backwards to see him bringing up his gloved hand to his mouth, shiny with your slick presumably coating them. Using his teeth, he brings his middle finger to his teeth and yanks them off his pale and scarred hand. All the while his heated gaze captivates your own, hooded with a need so dangerous your core ignites with excitement. The sight before you makes your knees weak, buckling in anticipation.

The sound of Zayne’s zipper being undone snaps you out of your shameless thoughts, and you watch as he undoes his pants just enough to pull his cock out from them. You gulp, licking your lips at the sight of him before you. His veins bulge, almost pulsing with the need to be nestled inside of your cunt, as his swollen angry head leaks copious amounts of clear pre cum, enough that it almost looked like he’d finished inside his slacks when he got you off with his fingers. 

Zayne loosens his blue tie, tugging at it until you can see the gentle bobbing of his neck as his hungry eyes drink you in. You squeak when he taps his angry tip against your exposed pussy, smearing his slick against your own, the warm liquid making you shiver as it mixes.

You croak, using your last waning bit of rational thought, "W-what if someone comes looking for you?” You moan deeply when you feel Zayne move your wet panties to the side, exposing your dripping slit to his hungry eyes and the air conditioned draft of the billiard hall. 

He presses his bare tip against your soaked lips, and your knees buckle under the sensitivity of your fading orgasm. Luckily Zayne holds you steady, his large hand wrapped securely around your waist as he teases his engorged tip up and down your exposed cunt.

"Well then we’ll just have to be quick, can you do that for me love?” He lines up with your throbbing hole but waits for your consent before digging himself into you. The feel of his burning cock nestled in your core is enough to make you throw all inhibitions out the window, and instead of responding verbally, you grind yourself back onto him, trying to fucking yourself onto him. 

You revel in Zayne’s deep throaty moan, his voice hoarse with desire, "You drive me absolutely insane Y/N.” And with that, he presses his swollen tip into your waiting cunt. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grip the wooden edges of the table top as your cunt does its best to accommodate his never ending girth. Your teeth bite down on your lips to try and keep your moans at bay, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. 

"Good girl,” Zayne grunts out, his large hands massaging your hips soothingly, "Perfect little pussy is sucking me in so well.” You flutter around him excitedly at his praises, to which Zayne hisses, digging his fingers into the fat of your hips.

"Not so tight, please,” he grits, stilling his descent into your warm cunt, "Let me in, my love.” He twitches inside you, wanting nothing more than to be buried to the hilt.

"M’trying,” you pant, looking back to see his cock stuffed halfway inside of you, "M’trying Zayne.” Keeping one hand on your hip, grip so deliciously tight there’ll surely be hand shaped bruises the next day, he shifts his other hand to your front. His fingers snake up and under your dress, pushing your panties further to the side to flick against your clit.

You gasp out, the tension in your gut being forced to release. You feel the rest of Zayne’s cock sink into you, brushing against your g spot as he gently hits your cervix. The delicious curve of his manhood causes his heavy cockhead to drag against all your sweetest spots as he begins to slowly move in and out of you. Your cervix is no stranger to the feel of his tip brushing right up against it, your body growing to love the feeling of his bruising pace against your deepest parts.

"Gripping me so tight,” he seethes, his hands weaving into your hair and pushing your face into the table, the smooth felt material rubbing against your cheek as he pounded you into the table. "You like it that much? Like the idea of someone walking in and seeing this beautiful little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Your moans brokenly at his words, his pace intensifying. The threat of being caught coupled with the overwhelming way Zayne absolutely takes your quivering body is almost too much for you, definitely too much for you to form a response to his words. Your pussy can only tremble in response, as if not wanting to let him go each time he pulls out.

Zayne’s fingers grip your hair harder, but still gentle enough that it makes your eyes roll back at the addicting sensation, "Tell me baby.” His voice is low and demanding, making you want to please him at all costs.

"Want someone to see you fuckin’ me,” you whine, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, "See that m’all yours.”

Zayne groans at your words, driving himself harder and deeper into your womb, "They’d be disappointed to find out that this pussy already belongs to me, huh?” His fingers at your scalp grip your head as the intensity of his thrusts have your eyes leaking tears of utter fucked out pleasure. "Made only for me.” His words hold such a possessive tone, making your stomach stir with butterflies. 

"S-so big Zayne,” you ramble, your voice coming out as a mere whimper.

"Just take it f’me, yeah?” His voice is low, his hand inching down from your scalp to your bare back, pressing your arched spine further into the table. "Feels so fucking good when you wrap around me like this.”

You’re a moaning mess as he drills himself into you relentlessly, held up only by Zayne’s firm hand pressed against your clit. Your mind is consumed with only thoughts of him and the ecstasy he rains down upon your body.

Zayne’s groans are vaguely audible over the deafening sounds of your ass rippling against his exposed pelvis, "Can never get enough of you, my perfect girl.”

"Should see how well she takes me, love. Sucking me in like she can’t get enough,” he rasps, hand leaving your back to press on your tummy. "Feel me here, princess?”

"Y-yes!” You gasp, "Feel you s’deep, need m-more Zayne.”

Zayne chuckles, his laugh so beautifully rich against the erotic sounds of his skin against yours, "You really think you can handle more, angel?”

"I can! I can!” You chant hazily, wanting nothing more than to please him as he drives into you intensely, his cockhead dragging against your g spot repeatedly. Your eyes have a hard time staying open as Zayne pushes you closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

His vigor increases impossibly, his hand leaving your stomach to gently grasp your neck, pulling you up towards his hard abdomen. You gasp when your arched spine hits his chest, as he effortlessly manhandles you into his body.

"Will never get enough of you. Of this perfect little cunt,” he groans into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. His hand presses down on your throat, holding you securely against him like you might disappear at any moment. The smooth material of his suit vest soothes the singed skin of your back, absolutely zero space between the two of your bodies. Molded perfectly together into one. 

"She was made for me, huh? Made for me to stretch every fucking night,” Zayne grunts desperately as he thrusts up into you, your mind going numb from the pleasure of Zayne’s massive girth rearranging your guts, leaving you once again unable to form words. His hand against your throat tightens against your neck when you don’t respond, the fingers at your clit squeezing demandingly, "Answer me Y/N.” The leather brushing against your nerves forces your mind to clear. 

"Yes!” You gasp out, doing best to see through the fog of intense ecstasy and form coherent words, "M’all yours Z-Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

"Good fucking girl,” Zayne pants, softly digging his teeth into your neck, lips latching on and sucking for dear life. Your broken moans of pleasure fill the room when his teeth sink into your sensitive pulse point, and then his tongue lapping soothingly at the tender skin. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscenely loud and erotic, serving to push you closer to your impending climax. 

"I would spend my entire life buried inside you,” Zayne grits against your neck, absolutely drunk off you. "You can handle it right, my love? For me?”

His words drive you closer and closer to your release. His fingers are still wrapped deliciously against your neck, applying just enough pressure that you have to gasp for your breaths, "Y-yes! Yes!”

"Tell me what you want love,” Zayne demands in between sucking at your neck, leaving behind a string of hickeys and saliva. He glances down briefly to see the shiny slick pooling around the base of his length disappearing and reappearing inside your fluttering cunt. The sight of it makes him moan, gasping huskily into your ear. The sound of his desperation makes you clench around him, tip-toeing closer and closer to your release.

"Z-Zaayne,” you drawl, "M’so close. W-want to cum for you. Please let me cum f’you.” Zayne swears under his breath, grip releasing on your neck to hook around your waist. Zayne lifts you off his length and spins you around. You yelp, legs instinctively wrapping around his hard abdomen as he orients you to face him, ass resting on the edge of the pool table. Your elbows straighten behind you as your prop yourself up with your palms flat on the felt top. 

"Need to see your beautiful face,” Zayne demands, his fingers reaching up to grip your chin, craning your face to meet his and bringing your lips to his. His lips are delightfully demanding against yours, tongue forcing its way in to claim your entire being. 

To your dismay, he rips away, a string of saliva connecting your panting breaths. Zayne’s eyes pierce yours intensely, "Tell me how much you want it.” Your thighs clutch around him as his hand snakes down where your bodies are joined to rub at your clit again. 

"S-sooo much Zayne,” you cry pathetically, tears forming in the corner of your eyes, "Please let me cum for you, m’a good girl, d-deserve to cum.”

Your begging drives him insane, the vigor of his thrusts reaching an all time high. The way Zayne thrusts up into your body makes you drool, feeling like his personal pocket pussy, and you love it. His hot throbbing length reaches all the deepest parts of your cunt, making your eyes roll back, your hands wrapping around his neck as his strong hands hold your thighs up against him, leaving finger shaped bruises. The undoubtedly expensive pool table underneath you shakes under the intensity of Zayne’s thrusts, slightly scraping and sliding against the linoleum floor.

"Okay my love, anything for you,” he muses, leaning in to kiss down your collarbone, "Not too loud okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod fervently, though you’re not sure if you can keep your promise. His lips on your chest definitely make those words seem far fetched. 

"I-I have to cum,” you pant, unable to keep your orgasm at bay any longer, "M’cumming Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

Zayne’s lips abandon your neck, using the hand not on your thigh to cup your chin once more.

"I’m not gonna last much longer with you squeezing me like that,” he groans, "You gonna take it baby?” You do your best to nod, but that’s not enough for Zayne.

"Answer me, sweet girl,” he purrs, "Or do I have to teach you another lesson?”

"Y-yes, m’gonna take it all. Please Zayne,” you plead, needing to feel him fill you as you cum for him. 

Zayne smirks, so devilishly handsome as beads of sweat form on his temple, "So damn gorgeous when you beg for my cock.” His lips capture yours again, tongue tasting every inch of you. You kiss him back feverishly, wanting to be filled with nothing but him.

He pulls away, instead kissing the tears that had fallen down your cheeks, "Who does this pussy belong to, Y/N?”

"Y-you! Belongs to you Zayne!”

"Good fucking girl. Now cum for me.” 

The command in his words sends you toppling into the abyss as you cum all over him. Except this time it’s so much more moist than the orgasm you had when his fingers rearranged your guts. You can vaguely feel the gush of liquid against his expensive slacks as your mind goes blank, only able to accommodate the pleasure and no other senses.

Zayne’s eyes trail down to where your bodies connect, watching in awe as you squirt all over him. The feeling of your cunt pulsating so snugly around his length, almost too tight if not for your fluids coating every inch of him, drives him to his own orgasm. His cock trembles violently as he buries himself to the hilt, emptying inside of you, endless streams of cum coating your throbbing walls.  

Once the last of his essence has been absolutely drained from him, Zayne languidly thrusts up into you, obsessed with the feeling of your collective spend against his softening erection. You whimper at the feeling, gently tapping against this chest, "N-no more. S’too sensitive.”

Zayne chuckles, slowing in his movements and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, "Sorry love. Just wanted to make sure I got it as deep as possible.”

You sigh contently, tightening your arms across the back of his neck and burying your face into him, inhaling the sweet scent of him. The two of you bask in the moment, with him still nestled inside of you.

"We should head back to everyone else Zayne. They’ll be wondering where you are,” you mumble into his shoulder, fingers stroking his soft raven hair. "There’s always a bright eyed doctor looking for you, wanting to sing your praises,” you tease.

"And yet the only person I want looking for me, is you,” he smiles faintly, rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, his large hands never leaving your body for even a second.

You blush at his words, trying to deflect, "You’re a flatterer.” And yet there is a sincerity behind his words that makes your heart thrum erratically. He only smiles warmly at you, nothing but adoration, happiness, and utter satisfaction clouding his hazel irises. 

"For you, I'll be anything,” and with his glimmering eyes on yours, Zayne carries you off the table, gently setting you back on the floor after making sure you’re able to stand by yourself. 

He chuckles as your knees wobble, "Do you need me to carry you for the rest of the night?”

"Now, what would your colleagues think if they saw the esteemed dr. Zayne carrying his female companion around in such a formal setting?” You tease him, wincing as your panties settles onto your soaked cunt, absolutely dripping and spent.

"I don’t think anyone would question me carrying you, if they saw the state you’re currently in,” he grinned, smoothing some of your undoubtedly disheveled hair behind your ears.

You teasingly smack his shoulder, to which he heartily laughs, holding your waist with his outstretched hands "Is it that bad?” You whisper worriedly, doing your best to smooth out your dress. However, there was nothing you could do about the slick dripping down your thighs until you found a restroom.

"It just means I did my job right,” he smirks at you, eyeing the plethora of hickeys littered against your soft skin. There’s a thoroughly ravished glow about you that he doubted anyone would not be able to notice. Above all, the smell of him and sex is so deeply etched into your scent, there’s absolutely no way people wouldn’t know where you two had disappeared off to. The thought of that fills Zayne with a deep sense of satisfaction and arousal. 

You give him an unamused look in response. He chuckles lowly, holding his arm out for you to grab, ever the gentleman. It slightly irks you how annoyingly debonair, dashing, and collected he looks, not a hair out of place, even after your vigorous activities. 

"Ready to go?”

You latch onto his outstretched arm, feeling exhausted but unbelievably happy to be here with Zayne. Hand in hand, the two of you head out of the billiard hall you were sure you’d never forget.

"Wait! We have to finish our game!” You exclaim, halting and dragging him back towards your table, where your cue sticks still sat.

Zayne only raises his eyebrow at you, letting himself be dragged along by you, "We already finished. I won.”

"What do you mean–” it’s then you notice all his solid colored balls are gone, along with the black eight ball.

"Wh-when did you do that!? I call foul play!” You whine, "I want a rematch.”

"Though i’d be more than happy to teach you another lesson,” his eyes shine with amusement, clearly referring to something else, "We need to make a reappearence before someone finds us in here. We look quite incriminating in here.”

You pout, knowing he’s right. Despite your best efforts, there’s no doubt you look like you’ve just been dragged through a wind tunnel. But you were so incredibly competitive. And an even sorer loser. 

Zayne chuckles at your adorable grimace, your arms crossed over your chest. He gently pries your arms apart and holds your hands in his, "I’d be happy to take you home and give you a rematch of tonight. How does that sound?”

"Fine…” you sigh reluctantly, letting him guide you back to the main hall of the club, "Since when did you have a pool table at home?”

Zayne doesn’t turn to you, but you can see a slight upturn in the corner of his lip, "I don’t.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

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

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

[yuujispunches]

Ink and permanence ~ C.K.

Pairing: tattoo artist! Choso Kamo x Reader

Summary: when you went to get your first tattooo you didn’t expect that the ink on your arm wouldn’t be the only permanent thing you would leave the studio with.

CW (content warning): modern! AU (no curses), tattoo artist!Choso, mentions of needles (tattoos), mentions of loss and tooth rotting fluff.

AN: English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this from my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The soft chime of the studio doorbell almost made you turn around.

Your hand froze on the handle, breath hitching as the cool air from inside brushed against your cheeks. You were really doing this. After months of scrolling through references, bookmarking ideas, saving up every tip and leftover paycheck, you were about to get your first tattoo.

You stepped in cautiously, eyes sweeping the space like it might bite.

It didn’t.

Instead, you were met with warm lighting, mellow alt-rock humming from overhead speakers, and the rich, distinct scent of ink, disinfectant, and something faintly floral, maybe incense. The walls were covered in art: some traditional, some neo-Japanese, some experimental chaos that somehow worked. The floors were polished concrete, and plants hung lazily from the ceiling in mismatched pots. A huge, oil-rubbed copper sign near the back read KAMO INK in bold strokes.

“Hey there.” A blonde woman at the front desk greeted, popping up from behind a sleek monitor. “You’ve got that look. First timer?”

Your eyes widened, caught like a deer in headlights. “Is it that obvious?”

She grinned, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “You’re holding your phone like a rosary and your design like it’s a secret love letter. I’m Yuki. You here for Choso?”

You nodded and quietly offered the folded sketch you had guarded all morning.

Kana took it gently, glancing it over. “Jasmine vine?”

“My mom’s favorite.” You said softly. “I drew it a few months ago. Kind of… memorial, I guess.”

She smiled with a softness that reached her eyes. “Beautiful. He’s almost ready. Want some water while you wait?”

You nodded again, retreating to a black leather couch with a water bottle and your nerves bundled under your hoodie. The studio buzzed quietly with the familiar hum of tattoo machines like bees in the walls. A sound both terrifying and hypnotic.

Just as you’d calmed your racing heart to a dull gallop, a voice broke through.

“You’re my jasmine girl?”

You looked up and froze.

Standing a few feet away, framed by the hallway’s soft light like some kind of ink-stained saint, was a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Long, dark hair pulled into two buns that oddly worked on him, a few strands falling around his face that was adorned with a thick black line across the bridge of his nose. He wore a black sleeveless shirt that clung in just the right places and showcased arms carved with layer upon layer of tattoos, some sharp and geometric, others painterly and soft. His nose was pierced, a dark hoop in his septum. His lip as well. Even his ears bore delicate silver chains.

His eyes were what undid you. Deep, charcoal brown, and… still. Intense, but not threatening. Like he saw everything and reacted to nothing.

“Uh… yeah. That’s me.” You stood awkwardly, clutching your sketch like a talisman.

He stepped forward and took the page, scanning it with slow reverence.

“You drew this?”

You nodded, heat rushing to your ears.

“It’s really elegant.” He murmured. “Delicate, but confident line work. You ever tattoo?”

You blinked. “Me? Oh- no. God, no.”

He smiled, not big, but real. “Shame. You’ve got a good hand.”

You were too stunned to reply, so you followed silently as he gestured toward a backroom station. The walk felt longer than it was. You kept your eyes on the back of his neck, where a string of sakura petals trailed down the column of his spine, vanishing into his shirt.

“This okay?” He asked, pulling a curtain closed behind you.

You nodded, stepping into the small but organized space. Sterile tools neatly arranged. Warm lamp lighting. Another plant, this one hanging beside his seat.

“Go ahead and roll up your sleeve.” He said, already printing the stencil from a nearby tablet. “You wanted this on your forearm?”

“Yeah.” You said. “So I can see it.”

“Good spot.” He murmured. “Visible. Personal. And it’ll heal easy.”

You sat down and laid your arm on the padded rest, trying not to flinch as he cleaned the skin with practiced hands.

“You okay?”

You nodded, eyes locked on the floor. “Just nervous.”

He glanced up, and his voice softened. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. Slowly.

“You’re allowed to be nervous.” He said gently. “First tattoos are a big deal. But I’ll take care of you, alright?”

Something in you uncoiled. Maybe it was the steadiness in his voice. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were already safe.

“Okay.” You whispered.

He worked efficiently. The stencil felt cold against your skin, but his hands were warm, firm. He angled the mirror for you once he pressed it on.

“What do you think?”

You stared. The jasmine curved gracefully from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, just like you’d envisioned.

“It’s… perfect.” You murmured. “Better than perfect.”

He gave a small nod. “Give it a minute to set. Then we’ll start.”

You watched as he moved through his setup. Gloves, inks, needles, barriers. Everything methodical. Ritualistic. It was clear he cared. Not just about the art, but the process.

The buzzing started. Your heart jumped.

Choso looked up, eyes meeting yours again. “You ready?”

You took a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

He started at your wrist, wiping the skin one last time before the needle met flesh.

The sting was sharp. Immediate. But bearable. Like a thousand tiny paper cuts overlapping, but rhythmic.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively curled your fingers. His hand was there, grounding.

“You’re doing great.” He reassured. “Just breathe.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the hum of the machine and not the fire beneath your skin.

“Tell me about her.” He said.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Who?”

“Your mom.” He said. “Only if you want to of course.” His voice and eyes were so soft as he observed you that you found yourself nodding slowly.

You swallowed. “She… loved gardening. Jasmine especially. Said the smell reminded her of summers in Kyoto.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Kyoto?”

“Her family was from there.” You explained. “She used to tell me stories about temple gardens and rivers that sang.”

“That’s beautiful.”

You looked away, blinking. “I used to think tattoos were scary. Like… you had to be tough. But now I think it’s the soft things that deserve permanence the most.”

Choso paused. Not in the tattoo, his hand stayed steady, but in his breath.

“That… ”He said after a moment, almost still breathless “might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in this chair.”

You smiled. Just a little. But it stayed.

The hours passed in a blur of ink, warmth, and quiet conversations.

He told you about growing up with a dozen siblings, about painting graffiti before he found tattooing, about how he brewed his own herbal teas because the store-bought stuff tasted like sadness.

In turn, you told him about your art, your cat, the way you always started books and never finished them. He teased you gently for that, but his voice never lost its softness.

“Still with me?” He asked as he reached the final leaves.

“Mhm” you hummed in response, watching the curve of his wrist.

He finished with delicate shading, wiping the area gently.

“That’s it.” He said after a few more minutes. “You made it.”

You looked down, breath catching. It was stunning.

The jasmine vine looked alive, flowing, whispering, held in soft greys and gentle lines. A small detail he’d added: one lone flower near your wrist, full bloom.

“For her.” He said, tapping it gently. “That one’s the heart of the vine.”

You blinked, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Choso…” you whispered.

He looked up, and something tender flickered in his eyes as he smiles at you.

He cleaned and wrapped the area, talking you through aftercare like a practiced lullaby. You tried to focus, but your chest was tight in a way that wasn’t nerves anymore.

He handed you his card before you left. Not just the studio one but his.

“For touch-ups. Or if you wanna talk through another piece. Or, you know… coffee.”

You looked up. “Coffee?”

He shrugged. “Or tea. Or books you won’t finish. Or anything.”

You stared at the name on the card, fingers brushing the edge.

“You ask all your clients out?”

He smirked, just barely. “Only the ones who stare at me like I’m about to eat their soul and still call my work perfect.”

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days.

“Well…” You said, tucking the card in your sleeve. “I guess I’ll owe you coffee then.”

His smile was slow, but bright. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You walked out of the studio with a bandaged arm, a swelling heart, and something lighter in your chest than you’d felt in months.

Ink beneath your skin. His number in your hand.

Maybe softness wasn’t meant to be hidden. Maybe it was meant to be permanent.

——————————————————————————

The card sat on your nightstand for three days before you texted him.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did, so much it made your chest ache. But every time you picked up your phone, your fingers hovered over the screen like you needed permission. You kept wondering if the warmth he gave you was real, or just another fleeting moment you'd rewrite into something bigger.

Eventually, the ache to see him again outweighed the fear.

Hi. This is your jasmine girl. Still owe you coffee. :)

His reply came faster than you expected.

I was starting to think you ghosted me. You free Friday? There’s a place I like. Quiet. Good tea.

You stared at the screen, heart thumping loud in your ears.

Friday sounds perfect.

——————————————————————————

The café was tucked between a dusty old bookstore and a florist that smelled like lilies and clove.

Warm wood and brick lined the inside walls. The music was soft, barely there, an acoustic cover of a song you couldn’t place. Someone was knitting in the corner. The barista had silver ink up their neck. It was a space made for softness and staying.

Choso was already there.

He stood when he saw you, rising from a window seat with a half-finished mug in his hand. He wore a loose charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed past his elbows, revealing the inked patterns running down his arms fluid, bold, meticulous. His hair was down today, draped over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that made your breath stick for a second.

“You came.” He said, his voice quieter than you remembered. Almost cautious.

You smiled as you slid into the seat across from him. “I said I owed you coffee.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile bigger but wasn’t sure if he should.

“You still do.” He said, and gestured toward the counter. “Go ahead, I’ll keep the seat warm.”

You returned a few minutes later with a lavender chai, extra honey, and tucked yourself into the opposite cushion. He watched you for a beat.

“What?” You asked, already blushing.

“You suit this place.” He said.

You blinked. “How?”

He shrugged. “Gentle. But you notice everything.”

The heat in your cheeks didn’t fade. It bloomed.

Conversation flowed more easily than you expected. He asked about your job, your art, your favorite time of day. You told him you liked the hour just before dusk, when everything was soft and fading but not quite gone.

He told you his was just before dawn.

“I like the quiet.” He said. “The way the light crawls back in slow. Like the world’s deciding if it wants to wake up.”

You sipped your drink. “You’re more poetic than I expected.”

He gave you a look. “What did you expect?”

You grinned. “More brooding. Less… tea metaphors.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You think I’m brooding?”

You tilted your head. “You have a ring in your lip and an entire graveyard tattooed on your forearm.”

“It’s a tribute to my brother.” He said quietly.

Immediately, your smile dropped. “Shit- I didn’t mean- ”

Choso raised a hand gently. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

You hesitated. “What happened?”

His eyes drifted to the window for a moment. “Car crash. Few years ago.”

You waited.

“He was loud. Way louder than me. Used to rap into his cereal spoon and try to convince me to join his imaginary band.”

A small laugh escaped you. “What was the band called?”

“Concrete Lotus.” Choso deadpanned.

You laughed. “That’s… actually not terrible.”

He cracked a faint smile. “He’d be thrilled to hear that.”

You held his gaze for a long moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thanks for asking.”

——————————————————————————

When the sky outside had darkened into navy and the lights in the café had grown dimmer, you lingered at the door with him.

“So…” You said.

“So…” He echoed, stepping closer.

You looked up at him, unsure if the pounding in your chest was nerves or the weight of wanting something.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

Your breath caught and stayed frozen for a moment. You nodded, too stunned and nervous to trust your voice now.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t tentative. His lips met yours like he’d been waiting, not just today, but longer. Like something inside him had been reaching out for someone else’s softness and found it.

Your hand curled into the front of his sweater without thinking. His fingers brushed your jaw, then the side of your neck, and for a second, the world stilled.

He pulled back slowly, forehead resting against yours.

“You taste like honey.” He murmured.

“You taste like trouble.” You whispered back.

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Maybe. But the good kind.”

——————————————————————————

Things unfolded slowly after that.

You started texting every day. Then voice notes. Then late-night calls when neither of you could sleep. He sent you photos of work in progress, close-ups of inked skin and faded sketches and you sent him your latest pencil drawings and in-progress watercolors.

By the second week, you knew the names of all seven of his plants and most of his siblings. By the third, he knew the name of the perfume you wore and which tea you liked best depending on the weather.

He took you to ramen spots, bookstores, record shops. You took him to quiet parks, art galleries, street fairs. He never rushed you. Never crossed a line. But his touch always lingered, fingertips against your wrist, palm on the small of your back, a kiss pressed to your temple when he dropped you off.

And when you finally visited his apartment?

It surprised you.

Minimalist. Neat. Lots of art. A couch you could melt into. A cat named Peaches who didn’t like anyone but instantly curled into your lap. You stayed on that couch for hours. Talking, sketching, legs tangled together like it had always been that way.

——————————————————————————

“I want another tattoo.” You said one evening, curled under one of his throw blankets, your head on his shoulder.

Choso turned slightly. “Already?”

You looked up at him. “Too soon?”

“No.” He said. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small folded sketch. It was more abstract this time, your own design. Delicate curves, this time it was a shark, interwoven with stars and linework shaped like heartbeat waves.

He stared at it in silence.

“This one’s about healing.” You said quietly. “For what comes after.”

Choso’s hand brushed your thigh. “You want me to do it?”

You nodded.

He looked at you for a long moment. “I’d be honored.”

——————————————————————————

The second session was different.

You weren’t nervous. No hoodie wrapped around your body like armor. Just a simple cotton shirt, your hair pulled back, and a small smile on your face as you walked into the same studio room where you first met.

Choso prepped like always. Gloves, sterilization, careful precision. But now his touches lingered. His fingers brushed your shoulder before he applied the stencil, and when he asked if you were ready, he leaned down and kissed your temple first.

The tattoo was quiet. Not in sound, but in feeling.

You sat with your eyes closed as he worked, and for a long stretch, neither of you spoke. Just the hum of the machine and the warmth of his presence.

When he finished, he wrapped your arm, then bent to press a kiss to your bandage.

“What’s this one mean?” He asked.

You met his eyes.

“That I’m not afraid anymore.”

His hands settled on your waist, his lips on your jaw.

He held you for a long time that night.

——————————————————————————

Months passed.

You watched spring bloom, then shift into the wet heat of early summer. You fell asleep in his bed, woke up to his raspy voice saying your name like it was a prayer. You met his friends. Loud, chaotic, messy, beautiful people who all hugged like they hadn’t seen you in years.

You introduced him to your sketchbook. Let him see pages no one else had seen. Designs unfinished. Feelings unfiltered. He looked at them like they were a gallery.

He asked you one night, while you were sketching on his couch. “Ever thought about apprenticing?”

You looked up. “What?”

“With me.” He said. “Tattooing.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

You shook your head, heart fluttering. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled. “When you are, I’ll teach you.”

——————————————————————————

That summer, he gave you your third tattoo.

A tiny one. Hidden behind your ear. A single heart, no bigger than a grain of rice.

“Protection.” He said, pressing his lips there afterward. “For all the parts of you you’re still finding.”

You kissed him slow that night, hands in his hair, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his back like Braille. Like stories.

——————————————————————————You knew something was different when Choso cleaned his apartment three times in one morning.

It started with him vacuuming the entire place twice while you sipped your tea from his kitchen counter, watching the usually-unbothered tattoo artist mutter about “streaks on the glass” and “cat hair in the couch seams.” Peaches watched him with disdain from her perch by the window, tail twitching like even she thought he was being dramatic.

“Everything okay?” You asked finally, when he scrubbed the coffee table for the third time.

Choso didn’t look at you at first. Just wiped harder.

“Choso.”

He exhaled through his nose and straightened up, cloth in hand. “Yuji’s coming over.”

You blinked. “Yuji?”

“My little brother.”

Your heart skipped. “You never said I’d be meeting him today.”

“I didn’t know until last night.” He admitted. “He’s usually busy with school. And sports. And saving stray dogs. He’s basically a golden retriever in human form.”

You smiled. “Sounds adorable.”

“He is. He’s also…” Choso hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the cloth. “Important to me.”

You softened. “I know.”

“I just don’t- ” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not easy bringing people into that part of my life.”

You crossed the room, wrapped your arms around his waist, and leaned into his chest.

“I’m honored.” You said into the cotton of his T-shirt. “And nervous. But mostly honored.” That earned you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

His arms came around you slowly, like he needed to be sure this was real. “You don’t have to say anything special. Just be yourself.”

You tilted your head. “What if myself is awkward and says something like ‘sports are neat’?”

Choso smiled against your hair. “Then Yuji will probably ask you to come to his next game.”

You pulled back, searching his face. “Are you sure you want me to meet him?”

He nodded. And in that simple movement, you felt something deeper, something heavier, settle between you. He wasn’t just introducing you to his brother.

He was letting you into the last piece of his heart.

——————————————————————————

Yuji arrived an hour later, knocking twice before opening the door with a grin that could’ve powered a small city.

“Yo!” He called, stepping inside in a hoodie three sizes too big and a skateboard tucked under one arm. His hair was bubblegum pink today, wild and soft, and his sneakers squeaked against the floor as he kicked them off.

Then he saw you and his grin widened.

“Hi!” He greeted enthusiastically, walking straight over and offering a hand. “You must be the jasmine girl!”

Your eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“Choso didn’t shut up about you for two weeks.” Yuji said cheerfully. “It was kind of adorable.”

You glanced at Choso, who was now silently contemplating his life choices by the kitchen counter.

“I’m Yuji.” He said. “Obviously. And you are way cuter than the doodles Choso keeps in his sketchbook.”

“Yuji.” Choso growled.

You blushed. “He has doodles of me?”

Yuji looked proud. “Like, a hundred.”

You turned to Choso, who looked like he was about to evaporate.

“They’re just... studies.” he mumbled avoiding your gaze as a rosy dust started to form under the ink on his face.

You stepped closer, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I want to see them later.”

Yuji let out a victorious whoop.

“Damn!” He said, flopping onto the couch. “No wonder he’s been in a good mood lately.”

——————————————————————————

The afternoon passed in laughter.

Yuji was everything Choso had said and more. Bright, open-hearted, funny without trying. He talked about his classes, his friends, his terrible cooking attempts. You found yourself easing into the conversation faster than you expected.

At one point, you and Yuji were talking about your favorite animated movies when you felt Choso’s arm slide around your waist, his fingers slipping into the space between your ribs and hip like they belonged there.

You glanced at him. He didn’t say anything, just watched you and Yuji with a look so soft, so full of quiet awe, that your heart twisted.

Later, while Yuji played with Peaches on the rug, you found yourself alone with Choso in the kitchen.

He was stirring a pot of soup, something simple and warm but his eyes kept drifting to the living room.

“You okay?” You asked, leaning beside him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You look like you’re thinking.”

He was quiet for a long beat. “I never thought I’d have this.”

You turned toward him. “Have what?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Something stable. Safe. Family that doesn’t feel… broken.”

Your heart clenched. You reached for his hand, fingers threading through his.

“You do.” You whispered. “You have it now.”

He looked down at your joined hands. “I know.”

Then he lifted them, kissed the back of your knuckles, and held them against his cheek.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He said. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to bring home.”

——————————————————————————

Yuji left just after sunset, giving you a long hug and promising to send you the “worst memes in existence” as a thank-you for being cool.

“Take care of him.” He said quietly, when Choso stepped away to grab his jacket.

You blinked. “I’m trying.”

Yuji smiled, softer this time. “He doesn’t let people in easy. But he’s all heart. All the way down.”

You nodded. “I know.” And you did.

——————————————————————————

That night, after the dishes were done and the city lights flickered outside the windows, you curled into Choso’s lap on the couch. You were quiet for a long time, your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm without really thinking.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked up. “For what?”

“For not running.” He said simply.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of your head. “Still. Thank you.”

You shifted slightly, enough to look up into his eyes. They were dark, soft, unguarded.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t a dramatic build-up. It just… came. Quiet and real, like everything between you always had.

Choso didn’t answer right away. Instead, he touched your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like it was the most important moment of his life.

“I love you too.” He said finally. “I think I’ve known since I saw the jasmine sketch.” You leaned into his palm. His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.”

You kissed him like a promise. Like home.

You spent that night tangled together under the blankets, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, his breath warm against your forehead. Outside, the city moved, the wind whispered, the stars blinked quietly behind clouds.

But inside, everything was still. Safe.

Yours.

——————————————————————————

Weeks later, you were curled on the tattoo studio couch during Choso’s break, sketching flowers in a new notebook.

He looked up from the front desk and smiled. “What are you working on?”

“Designs.” You said, showing him the pages. “For practice.”

He crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to be brilliant.” He said.

You smiled. “Only because I have the best teacher.”

He traced a jasmine bloom on your sketchpad. “And I have the best muse.”

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[sleepingdayaway]

just read your majoras mask post and i wish i could hug young link so bad😭 I then thought of what would happen if its LU and reader stumbles upon Time, who hasn't seen them since Majoras Mask. The reunion would either be devastating or really cute since hes old and seeing a parental(ish) figure again😭🩷

UR SO BIG BRAIN ANON. FUCK, I CAN NEVER MAKE HIM HAPPY

making a big strong leader be sad and cry for his parental figure fuels me with so much joy

It's a quiet night for the Chain as they all chatted amongst each other while setting up camp for the night. Wild is preparing a a fire, so he could make plans for dinner with Warriors helping him by going through the recipes that he saved on his slate. Wind, Legend and Hyrule are sitting together and speaking about their homes; Wind mostly talking about how he misses his younger sister and his grandma.

Twilight has left to keep an survey the surrounding area. Separate from the group so he could transform into his wolf form without the others knowing. Sky and Four are besides the cook and captain as they had a soft conversation about Sky's sword during his time in the Knight Academy, and when he was forging the Goddess Blade/Master Sword.

Meanwhile Time is sitting a bit farther away; not too far that he couldn't hear them but he's able to have his own space. He’s been feeling heavy these days as it takes a mental toll on him. Attempting to be the voice of reason isn’t easy even though he is in a body that now matches his mind.

Time doesn’t understand the heaviness that he has been feeling as their journey continues; the years long exhaustion seeping into his bones as he watches the rest interact with each other. A small nagging in his skull refuses to allow him a moment of relief. Urging him to get up and not stay idle which causes the older man to let out a sigh.

Which turned out to be a good idea when two sets of footsteps could be heard approaching the camp. Time turned to look at where the noise was approaching which in turned caused the rest of the hero’s to tense up slightly.

If old man Time notices something first, the others will follow suit. Instead of the noise of monsters which most of them can recognize; it was instead the voice of Twilight with a familiar one in tow. Everyone relaxed when they realized it was the Rancher, but were curious on who was he bringing. It was unusual for him to bring a civilian into their camp.

Except as soon as they were in view it made sense. The civilian was roughed up and had scratches and scrapes all over their body as if they had been running away from something. Although they acted as if they were fine, smiling and making exaggerated gestures for Twilight. A slight distraction one as would a parent would to distract a child from something

It seemed to work as Twilight was fully engaged in conversation and only broke out of it when Hyrule reacted first and approached them. They smile at Hyrule and began introducing themselves as the boy checks up on the civilian, upon seeing the injuries on them.

That voice. Time’s ear gave a slight twitch upon hearing them speak, as a sudden coldness enveloped his body. He knows that voice. Holy shit, Time fucking recognized who is speaking to Hyrule and Twilight.

Time needs to step away; as he felt his own body began to tremble at the memories of his past adventures with them. He can’t show weakness in front of the others. If he starts acting up then everyone will become suspicious of them even though they have done no wrong.

Quickly he gets up before approaching Warriors and muttered some excuse about him needing to take a walk. Warriors, who understands that Time had a lot on his plate recently, agreed and reassured that he and Twilight will keep watch over everyone.

In an instant, Time is walking away from the group as he felt someone’s gaze on his back.

The sun is gone by the time he returns to the camp.

Time curses himself for leaving for so long. He wasn’t supposed to be gone for a long time; he merely needed time to recollect his thoughts and get his act together before approaching them again.

The scarred man lets out as sigh once he catches sight of the campfire. His body slowly begins to relax once he spots the rolled out bedrolls that are occupied by the rest of the group.

As he nears closer he counts the ones who a sleeping, noticing that the only one that isn’t asleep is Wild. Said man is by the fire and already staring at the older hero and quietly goes up to him, “Time, you’re back.” He states softly, trying not the wake the others from their sleep.

Time nods and scans the younger man for anything that could be bothering him, “Yes, sorry for being gone until nightfall, it wasn’t my intention I just-“

“Needed to clear your head?” Wild interrupts with a small smile of understanding. In which Time lets out a small sigh before humming in agreement.

“Is everything alright? How was….the civilian that the Ranch hand brought?” He asked.

As if barely remembering about them Wild slightly shuffled on his feet, “They’re fine! It’s just that……”

The Hero of Time raises a brow at him, “Did something happened while I was gone?” He questioned as he placed his hands on his hips.

“No! Nothing bad happened it’s just, they were determined to repay us by keeping watch and letting us all rest,” Wild responds before turning away and looks behind him; Time follows his gaze. Sitting away from them on a log near the edge of camp is them; staring out into the woods and appears to be keeping watch as Wild says.

”Huh….. I would’ve assumed that one of you would be weary of letting a stranger be in charge of your safety.” Wild lets out a slight wince at his words, and a hand comes up behind his neck as he remembers what happened a few hours prior.

“You’re not wrong, in fact the Veteran was the first one to express his distaste at the idea who was then backed up by Wars.”

Wild explains how after the two voiced their opinions and how they’re greatful at the thought, but they didn’t trust them. The civilian nodded in understanding before they began interacting with the rest. Somehow as the sun was begun to set and everyone ate their meals; did they all began to grow tired as their journey from today hit them unusually hard.

Warriors pulled Wild to the side and explained how Time was still out there and how they might need to go search from him, but that was when the Civilian spoke up. Saying how they’re sure that he’ll arrive soon and to soothe their worries they’ll stay up to wait for his return.

Reluctantly, Warriors agreed as his exhaustion doubled before crawling into his bedroll and promptly passing out. Leaving Wild and them awake as Wild fights off sleep; keeping them company as they waited for Time to return.

“I know it’s ridiculous for a group of hero’s to lower their guard to someone unfamiliar, but for some reason…. I feel as if……”

“As if you know them from somewhere?” Said Time gently, now understanding where he was coming from. Wild nodded as he looked down, finally realizing how tired he was.

Time put his hands on Wild’s shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze, “I’m here now, go rest.” He says softly with a slight tone of appreciation, “Thank you, for waiting Wild.”

The young man nodded before walking limply to his own bedroll and collapsing as well.

He watched Wild fall asleep completely as an attempt to delay the inevitable, but Time knew it was futile and he knew that they would still be waiting. After a few moments passed did he begin to walk over to the edge of camp where they sat.

He sat down next to them without thinking twice, but didn’t look at their face. He had a feeling that string holding himself together would snap if he looked at them.

But it would be broken anyway since they made the first move.

“I’m sorry for leaving without goodbye.”

Time tenses before dropping his face into his hands, letting out a silent sob, in an attempt to hide himself from view.

A gentle hand lands in his hair as it begins to comb through it, and once more he’s pulled back into his memories during his journey through Termina. Of the same hand running through his hair in the aftermath of a battle that took a toll on him.

Losing all strength that is holding himself together; Time collapses on himself and curls up to them. Losing all rationality and just wants to be held by them again as he clings on their clothes.

“It’s okay, I’m here now Link.”

Their voice calls out to Time as their other arm wraps around his back to hold him closer. As he cries to himself as the memories of Termina returns full force, the amount of times he failed the people of the town. The moments where he messed up and had to start over again-

He failed to save that girl’s father.

He failed to reunite Kafei and Anju.

He failed to protect Romani from those monsters.

He failed-

Humming interrupts his train of thought as he opens his eyes in shock. The feeling of a hand rubbing his back and another in his hair brings him back to them, as he leans his head on their chest.

Relaxing into their hold as he listens to their heartbeat and to their humming of a familiar song.

Finally.

Someone else sings for his sorrows to heal.

[gentaro-kinniecom]

Jealous much?

Characters: Solivan Brugmansia/gn!reader

C/w: jealousy, friends to lovers troupe, reader helps Solivan with some bullies, Crowe and his feelings for the reader, Sol takes care of reader <3

A/n: I might make a sequel to this post cause..why not? I have at least 3 more works in progress of tkatb so stay tuned for more >:3. This was SUPPOSED to be more early but with graduation and my summer job its been hectic 😔 (not proofread)

Rain drops fell gently onto the surfaces that it could. The cloudy and cold atmosphere bringing back unwanted memories for me. It took me back to when I was a happy child running around the fields that my family owned. Why did fate had to be this way? I couldn't relish in the sad moment for long, my life had changed, some may think for the better, but in all honesty, I've lost myself in it.

The city life was not for the weak, especially in this society that judges you based on your backgrounds. Hallways and classrooms were empty as I walked by, meaning another day where I would stay behind until the sun rised up, studying in the library. It felt depressing, well, it was. Even with all my friends who share classes with me, I’ve never felt a sense of comfort around anymore. Upon arrival, I sighed gently while scanning my library card, heading towards my favorite spot and to hopefully meet him again: Solivan Brugmansia, the same man who I aided long ago.

Some bullies had cornered him, if it weren’t for me, he could’ve gotten bruised up badly(or so I thought). Sol’s strength was enough to not be messed around with yet, he was always careful with me. His long, black hair with green stripes was noticeable from afar, a smile subconsciously appeared across my features, walking towards him with my books in one arm and a cup of coffee in my hand.

“Hi” I spoke, my voice a mear whisper as he smiled, kissing my cheek while allowing me to sit beside him.

“Hey..thanks for the coffee, I saved your seat in hopes you’d be here” His gaze remained on the hoodie I wore, a purple-ish one with some designs around it, though I could tell something bothered him.

“Aw, that’s real sweet of you Sol..!” Taking the vacant seat by the window, Sol’s eyes returned to the book at hand, analyzing the text while taking a casual sip or two after some pages. I placed my books aside, taking out my computer and working on some last details for an upcoming presentation.

“Is that sweater you’re wearing someone else’s?” The question caught me off guard while Sol closed the book, his attention returning towards me as I continued to type away

“Crowe made me borrow it, he said it would get cold during the night, even if I insisted it was fine” A glint of jealousy made his eyes glimmer with a bit of rage, directed towards Crowe who had the audacity, in Sol’s words, to lend me something of his. After the small talk, we returned to our devices while Sol’s cup inched close to me. Which I thought nothing of it until the, now warm, liquid splashed against Crowe’s hoodie.

“Sol! Ah..what am I going to do now?” My eyes widened as the panic settled in. Pouted lips looking down at the mess that occurred while Sol spoke.

“I can wash it, and hand it over tomorrow..if you don’t mind?” The offer was tempting, and besides, the washing machine at my apartment had broken down. It was like an angel had been sent down from the heavens truly.

“Really? Well, if you’re offering..” With a smile, Sol helped me take the sweater off, folding it and placing it in his backpack. Was he really concerned or jealous by me wearing it? After an hour or so spent in the library, my sleepy eyes gazed over at Sol’s figure that had finished his book a few minutes prior 11:00pm.

His eyes turned to stare at me, as if, he knew I was staring beforehand. The library air making goosebumps arise on my skin as Sol noticed. A small warmth wrapped around my body, making me sigh while laying my hand down onto the table, resting for a bit as he smiled.

It was past noon when I woke up in a different place rather than the library. A soft, warm bed beneath me made contrast to the heavy rain pouring outside, making me groan and stretch my limbs, still remaining in the bed as the door suddenly opened. Solivan stood outside, entering shortly after while smiling, his body beside my own as I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Mn, how did I get here?” Too tired to even acknowledge the strength he had to take me here, in his home, I was glad he did. The moment didn’t last long as I was now wide awake, staring up at the crimson eyes that gently creased while smiling

“You were tired and..we couldn’t stay at the library for too long, I hope you don’t mind” Room infused by Sol’s cologne made my heart flutter, it seemed he recently got out of the shower. Soft damp hair met my face as I buried it on the crook of his neck. Our actions were far too intimate to call this as “only friends”. Every reasonable thought left me as Sol wrapped an arm around my back, lips caressing my forehead and cheeks while smiling.

“It’s okay, you know I trust you Sol..” More rain could be heard from his room, creating a cozy and cold atmosphere around us. There was no one else I’d rather be with during these moments, so close yet…

“Are you hungry? I made some soup earlier..perfect for this weather, isn’t it?” I nodded, watching as he parted away from my body. Planting a kiss on my neck while walking towards the kitchen. The fresh and soft aroma of the miso soup he prepared made my stomach rumble with hunger

“You always make the best food Sol” Now reachinh the kitchen area, I sat by one of the bar stools, admiring the pink apron he wore. A bowl was later on placed in front of me, its contains making me smile as Sol spoke

“Mn? You really think so?” He asked, grabbing a bowl for himself. Standing in front of me while meeting my gaze, smiling as he enjoyed eating with me.

“Mhm! There’s no one else’s food that I’d enjoy then yours..” A hand was placed on my cheek, staring at Sol who leaned towards me, our lips meeting briefly as he smiled.

“Then..I wouldn’t mind cooking meals for you, my darling.” We shared another short but sweet kiss while smiling. Sol quickly went to wash the dishes, later returning to his bedroom, hand in hand. Warm touches graces my skin as Sol filled my embrace, kissing my face while sighing in peace.

Sequel (coming soon)

[theliving-radio]

Heeeeeey, so you guys know how I basically made a post that’s just about shitting on Caleb right?

This one here.

Yeah, so- I don’t take any of that back. 100% believe in it still and I’m sticking by it. Why am I posting about this?

Well, before I made that post, I had a fantastic angst idea with a Non-Mc and Caleb involved~

So imagine this:

After the passing of Mc, Caleb refuses to ever love another. Though, due to his position as Colonel, and a test subject for the chip, he is forced into an arranged marriage with the reader.

(Add more context for later)

During an event, the house that both Caleb and the Reader live together in, catches on fire. Only Reader is inside at the time and Caleb is off at work. In the chaos of everything as Reader is trapped inside the house, they grab only one thing and protect it to the best of their ability.

It’s a box filled with love letters, and photos of Mc when she was still alive. Letters that were exchanged between her and Caleb.

Reader knows for a fact that Caleb doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even like her and acts indifferent towards her. But she can’t seem to hate him for all she sees is a man who lost someone who was everything to him.

Caleb doesn’t learn about the fire or the events that occurred until he’s driving up to the house and sees the aftermath of Firefighters fighting off the last of the flames.

Caleb doesn’t like you one bit, but upon seeing the state the house is in, he rushes out to see if you're ok. Even though the marriage was forced, and he might as well hate you, that didn’t mean you should have to go through something scary like this.

When Caleb tries to look for you in the crowd of people watching, and asking the paramedics where you were, someone shouts from inside the house that they found a body. Your body.

You're covered in soot, and ash. Part of the roof collapsed onto you, making you break a few bones, but thankfully nothing too extreme. You have to be taken to the hospital, and as paramedics are getting you to the ambulance, they have a hard time trying to take your arms away from the box that you're strongly holding against your chest.

When Caleb is able to see you, he feels his heart break just a bit. Out of everything in the household, you saved the one thing that meant so much to him?

In a short moment you're able to open your eyes and look up at Caleb, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Is it safe?” Your voice sounded so dry and raspy. The first thing you asked about was not “Is everything ok?” “How bad is it?” “I’m sorry.”

It’s “Is it safe?” And Caleb knew you were talking about the box.

Caleb nods his head and his heart shattered when all you did was give him that warm, gentle smile you’ve always given him. Even when he would brush you off and neglect you.

“Good… I- didn’t want you- you- to lose it.” And that’s when you finally loosen your grip on the box, where paramedics were finally able to take it from your grasp, and take you to the hospital.

Caleb waits in the waiting room holding the box of memories now.

Ta daaaaaa~

Caleb is just such good angst material to work with.

Ok I’m going back to work now, byeeeee~

[theproverbialpen]

Lesson 8: The Queen is Always Right

Summary: Poseidon returns home after his trip to Ithaca and finds his beloved Amphitrite waiting for him. Set directly after the events of -Hook, Line, & Sinker-

Pairings: Poseidon x Amphitrite, mentioned Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 811

Notes: Look who’s trying to learn how to make things look cool on this site lol. Quick little one-shot (drabble? I actually don’t know what the word count threshold is) for y’all because dammit I love how I wrote Amphy and want to put her in everything now. ((Edit: forgot to mention, but I’ll be posting the next installment later this evening :) click the link above to catch up now!))

Line divider by @vibeswithrenai found here

When Poseidon set foot back in Aegae, there was a notable bounce to each of his steps. His shoulders hung at ease below his ears, his back tall yet relaxed. He hummed quietly to himself as he made his way down the halls, a subdued yet jovial tune. When he arrived at the double doors of his quarters, he did so with a content smile that seemed to cast a soft glow over his whole face. A content smile which, upon seeing his wife beaming at him from their bed, fell into a thin, impartial line.

Amphitrite was dressed in her nightgown, the mint-tinted silk swaying back and forth like water as she languidly kicked her legs behind her. She lay on her stomach, head tilted and propped up by her bent elbows. Her long hair cascaded down around her, as blue and brilliant as the Aegean Sea, framing the smirk upon her plump lips and the glint in her aquamarine eyes. “Soooooooo,” she sang, smirk widening into a grin, “how did it go?”

Poseidon maintained his icy stare, his neutral expression morphing into a glower. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, stomping over to the corner of their room to shed his chiton for a simple silk loincloth. Amphitrite followed him with her eyes, shifting to rest her head on her arm as he rounded the bed.

“Don’t avoid my question,” she returned. Poseidon turned to glare at her over his shoulder and Amphitrite raised a playful brow in reply. He held her stare for sometime, but she narrowed her eyes at him in challenge and Poseidon finally broke.

“I have endured enough prodding for one day, woman,” he huffed, turning to walk toward her. “Let me rest.”

“I’m sorry-” Amphitrite scoffed, pushing herself off the bed to sit upright. “‘Woman’? You want to try that again, my love?”

Poseidon rolled his eyes with a heavy exhale and plopped down onto their mattress, swiveling at the waist to cup his wife’s cheeks. “Woman of the Golden Spindle, Queen of All Waters, My Wonderful, Eternal Partner-”

He peppered Amphitrite’s face with kisses in between each title, adding a few more in for good measure until her scowl was replaced with giggles. “Okay, okay,” she finally laughed, “you are forgiven. Save it for the girl, smooth talker.” Poseidon pulled away from his wife just in time to catch her smug expression, one which she accentuated with a wink. “Seeing as you’re still in the mood to joke around, I take it things went well?”

Poseidon let out a wistful, relieved sigh despite himself. “That would be a fair summary,” he confirmed. Amphitrite regarded him with affection, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and encouraging him to rest his head in her lap. He did as such, relaxing into the cool silk of her gown as she raked her fingers along his scalp.

“And you feel better now?” she further coaxed. “No more regrets?”

Poseidon hummed thoughtfully, reflecting on his evening. Memories of tender smiles and seductive songs flowed through his mind and he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “No, not one.”

Amphitrite snorted and gently maneuvered his head until he was looking straight up at her with his dark locks splayed over her thighs. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead and he shot her a puzzled look. “Goodness, that weaver really did a number on you,” she eventually mused. “Who is this cheery man resting in my lap? Where is the coldness? The brooding? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Poseidon drawled, eyebrows raised over his unamused stare. Amphitrite chuckled at him before bending over to press a kiss into his forehead.

“I’m happy for you, my stallion,” she beamed. “You deserve this.”

Poseidon caught her behind the neck as she retreated, pulling her back down to capture her lips in a loving kiss. “Thank you, my muse,” he cooed when they parted. “I have you to thank for giving me the push I needed.”

“You’re damn right you do,” she affirmed with a pinch to his cheek. Poseidon chuckled and rose from her lap, beckoning her over to lay with him at the head of their canopied bed. Amphitrite followed suit and rested her ear against his bare chest, letting him wrap his arms around her in a secure embrace.

“You know,” he began after a few shared moments of comfortable silence. “I think you’d like her.”

Amphitrite tilted her chin up to catch the corner of his gaze. “Oh yeah? Am I finally going to get the chance to meet a mortal paramour of yours?” she inquired.

Poseidon kissed the top of her head, hiding his smitten grin in the waves of her hair. “You just might, my love. You just might.”

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant text below the poll)

Inspired by this post by @roselightfairy and replies by @herrhasen, @enide-s-dear, @unnamedelement, @dragonfirez, and @carlandrea.

If you'd like to refresh your memory of the Fellowship at its bitchiest (and Boromir at his best), the relevant text is below the cut.

Excerpted from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter 3: The Ring Goes South

Gimli looked up and shook his head. 'Caradhras has not forgiven us.' he said. 'He has more snow yet to fling at us, if we go on. The sooner we go back and down the better.'

To this all agreed, but their retreat was now difficult. It might well prove impossible. Only a few paces from the ashes of their fire the snow lay many feet deep, higher than the heads of the hobbits; in places it had been scooped and piled by the wind into great drifts against the cliff.

'If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you,' said Legolas. The storm had troubled him little, and he alone of the Company remained still light of heart.

'If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us,' answered Gandalf. 'But I must have something to work on. I cannot burn snow.'

'Well,' said Boromir, 'when heads are at a loss bodies must serve, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder of rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.'

'Then let us force a path thither, you and I!' said Aragorn.

Aragorn was the tallest of the Company, but Boromir, little less in height, was broader and heavier in build. He led the way, and Aragorn followed him. Slowly they moved off, and were soon toiling heavily. In places the snow was breast-high, and often Boromir seemed to be swimming or burrowing with his great arms rather than walking.

Legolas watched them for a while with a smile upon his lips, and then he turned to the others. 'The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf or over snow-an Elf.'

With that he sprang forth nimbly, and then Frodo noticed as if for the first time, though he had long known it, that the Elf had no boots, but wore only light shoes, as he always did, and his feet made little imprint in the snow.

'Farewell!' he said to Gandalf. 'I go to find the Sun!' Then swift as a runner over firm sand he shot away, and quickly overtaking the toiling men, with a wave of his hand he passed them, and sped into the distance, and vanished round the rocky turn.

The others waited huddled together, watching until Boromir and Aragorn dwindled into black specks in the whiteness. At length they too passed from sight. The time dragged on. The clouds lowered, and now a few flakes of snow came curling down again.

An hour, maybe, went by, though it seemed far longer, and then at last they saw Legolas coming back. At the same time Boromir and Aragorn reappeared round the bend far behind him and came labouring up the slope.

'Well,' cried Legolas as he ran up, 'I have not brought the Sun. She is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a little wreath of snow on this Redhorn hillock troubles her not at all. But I have brought back a gleam of good hope for those who are doomed to go on feet. There is the greatest winddrift of all just beyond the turn, and there our Strong Men were almost buried. They despaired, until I returned and told them that the drift was little wider than a wall. And on the other side the snow suddenly grows less, while further down it is no more than a white coverlet to cool a hobbit's toes.'

'Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.'

'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. 'And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better. Still, we have thrust a lane through the drift; and for that all here may be grateful who cannot run as light as Elves.'

'But how are we to get down there, even if you have cut through the drift?' said Pippin, voicing the thought of all the hobbits.

'Have hope!' said Boromir. 'I am weary, but I still have some strength left, and Aragorn too. We will bear the little folk. The others no doubt will make shift to tread the path behind us. Come, Master Peregrin! I will begin with you.'

He lifted up the hobbit. 'Cling to my back! I shall need my arms' he said and strode forward. Aragorn with Merry came behind. Pippin marvelled at his strength, seeing the passage that he had already forced with no other tool than his great limbs. Even now, burdened as he was, he was widening the track for those who followed, thrusting the snow aside as he went.

They came at length to the great drift. It was flung across the mountainpath like a sheer and sudden wall, and its crest, sharp as if shaped with knives, reared up more than twice the height of Boromir; but through the middle a passage had been beaten, rising and falling like a bridge. On the far side Merry and Pippin were set down, and there they waited with Legolas for the rest of the Company to arrive.

After a while Boromir returned carrying Sam. Behind in the narrow but now well-trodden track came Gandalf, leading Bill with Gimli perched among the baggage. Last came Aragorn carrying Frodo. They passed through the lane; but hardly had Frodo touched the ground when with a deep rumble there rolled down a fall of stones and slithering snow. The spray of it half blinded the Company as they crouched against the cliff, and when the air cleared again they saw that the path was blocked behind them.

'Enough, enough!' cried Gimli. 'We are departing as quickly as we may!'

And indeed with that last stroke the malice of the mountain seemed to be expended, as if Caradhras was satisfied that the invaders had been beaten off and would not dare to return. The threat of snow lifted; the clouds began to break and the light grew broader.

As Legolas had reported, they found that the snow became steadily more shallow as they went down, so that even the hobbits could trudge along. Soon they all stood once more on the flat shelf at the head of the steep slope where they had felt the first flakes of snow the night before.

[frost-queen]

Bodyguarded // part 3 (Reader!Grimes x Daryl Dixon)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, Tag: @strangerthingslover69, @ankhmutes, @yoowhatthefuck, @sseleniaa, @deansapplepie, @abbiesxox

Summary: After your little fall-out with Shane, you start to distance yourself. Daryl gives zero f*cks about you distancing yourself as he keeps himself aroud. During a heart to heart with Daryl, you might discover more of the underlying tone of Shane's attitude towards you. [series]

Crickets cricked in the bushes around the fire. Rick sat by the fire with Lori and Carl. Carl was leaning against him staring at the mesmerizing flames. Lori was in deep thought. Some had joined them but mostly everyone had an agenda of their own. Daryl stood a bit further away, leaning against a tree. His gaze turned away from the fire, but rather turned towards you. You weren’t engaging with the crowd, but keeping your distance from them.

You felt humiliated. Like a spying glass had been cast upon you. Everywhere you went, a set of curious eyes followed. Trying to figure out what was going on between Shane and you. Frankly you hardly had a clue to his behaviour towards you. Perhaps you needed to dig deep. Go way back to old memories from before the fall. Before the world went to hell.

Looking over at your brother made you smile faintly. He looked so happy yet somehow you felt like an outsider. Adverting your gaze from him, you turned your posture to take your leave. Going further away from the others to find solitude. The moment you got in motion, went Daryl after you. Leaving the others for what they were to go with you.

Hearing a second pair of feet trail behind you, you exhaled deep. – “Daryl I want to be alone.” – you told him keeping your pace up. – “Fine. I’ll just keep my distance.” – he answered slowing a bit down. Looking up with a heavy sigh, you stopped. – “Daryl you don’t understand. I don’t want you here!” – you made clear having turned around to him. – “Too bad for I’m not going anywhere.” – he made clear. – “Daryl!” – you groaned out. – “What!” – he called back going in defence.

You groaned loud pressing your palms against your eyes, feeling yourself get worked up. – “Daryl please give me some space.” – you begged. – “I’ll give you space but at least let me be around.” – he asked in return. It made you furrow your brows. – “I don’t want to lose… I mean… if a walker appears…” – he spoke swallowing a lot of his words back in. – “Then what? I can shoot Daryl, remember!” – you made clear.

“I know but you…” – he exhaled loud walking up to you. – “You are not in the right headspace right now.” – he told you, touching your elbow. You turned your head bothered away. You hated how right he was. – “Just… just let me keep you save.” – he lowered his head a bit to catch your attention.

Untensing your muscles with a deep sigh, you surrendered to him. Daryl took you by the other elbow as well, pulling you closer to his body. Sensing just how much you needed it. He wrapped his arms one by one around you. Your arms remained at your side, not feeling it yet. – “Give it a few moments.” – Daryl teased half chuckling. You scrunched your nose, hating how right he was. Not a moment later you gave in, wrapping your arms around him too.

“Good girl.” – he said chuckling. You slapped him hard on the back. – “Don’t patronize me.” – you responded grumpy. Daryl removed his arms from around you, cupping your cheek as he tilted your head a bit back. – “Never.” – he whispered staring down at you. He left a quick kiss on your forehead as it didn’t feel satisfying to you.

He let go of you, spinning you around by your shoulders. He started pushing you through the woody parts of the camp. – “Where are we going?” – you questioned. – “To be alone, like you wanted.” – he simply said, continue to push you forwards. Using you like a compass, navigating his way through.

You came to a clearing in the woods. All the cars were parked over there. Daryl guided you towards the truck opening the door for you at the drivers seat. You got inside, watching him jog around to get in on the other side. He shut the door firm behind him. – “Solitude and silence.” – he joked. – “You are still here.” – you reminded him with a tease. Daryl leaned down in the seat, getting all comfy. – “No I’m not.” – he adjusted the seating lower, leaning back.

“Go ahead and mope or cry or shout, just wake me up when you see a walker.” – he said casually flopping his arm over his head. – “Daryl!” – you said laughingly nudging him hard. – “What?” – he responded unable to hide a smile. – “You’re an idiot.” – you nudged him again with a silly smile on your face. – “I know.” – he answered all smug. He shut his eyes, pretending to take a nap.

You exhaled soft looking out of the dusty window. – “It’s a bit too quiet.” – you said out loud. – “I’m not singing any songs.” – Daryl mumbled in response without moving a muscle. It made you laugh. Daryl set himself back up with a deep exhale. – “Alright fighter, let’s talk.” – he tapped his hand on your knee.

You grabbed the steering wheel staring in front of you. – “How are you feeling with your brother being back, Y/n?” – he asked. You breathed out a laugh, looking at him. – “What I can be serious.” – he let out making you laugh even more. You then calmed letting your hands rejoice at the top of the steering wheel. – “It still feels a bit weird seeing him alive. Don’t get me wrong I am overjoyed he is alive… it is just…” – you started. – “You thought he was dead for so long.” – Daryl finished as you hummed.

“Before… before it all went down my brother was shot.” – You told Daryl. – “They were armed and shot at my brother. Shane… my brother’s partner brought him to the hospital. He wasn’t waking up so they left him in a coma. It was already then a risk if he would make it out alive.” – taking a deep breath you let your forehead rest against your hands on the steering wheel. Suddenly you were pulled back in the memories of the first strike.

Shane drove his car aggressively onto the front lawn. He stepped out all worked up when Lori appeared in the door. – “Shane?” – she said. – “Lori get your bags!” – Shane ordered pointing firm at her. Carl squeezed himself between the opening and his mom, coming in front of her. – “Lori your bags!” – Shane shouted having opened the trunk. – “What for? What is going on Shane?” – She asked feeling herself go in a panic because of his behaviour.

A few houses away broke the window with a clashing sound. Screams filled the streets when a woman tripped. A person going up to her and dropped himself to the ground. A moment later his head lifted a bit of flesh between his teeth. Blood staining his chin as he munched on the flesh. Lori covered up Carl’s eyes, shakingly holding a hand before her mouth. – “Lori!” – Shane yelled startling her. – “The bags!” – Lori nodded shockingly letting go of Carl.

Shane rushed over to Carl, grabbing him roughly by the arm. – “What about dad?” – Carl asked when Shane opened the car door. Shane pushed Carl on the backseat, closing the door on him. Shane ran into the house to help out Lori. Carl looked out of the window, crying silently at what he saw. Flesh being ripped off and blood splattering all around.

You were running horrified by what was occurring. Utter panic in the streets. People eating people. Biting bits and pieces for their own hunger. You didn’t lived far so your first reaction was running over to Rick’s house. There you saw Shane’s car parked poorly on the grass. Upon seeing Carl in the car, you started running faster. – “Carl!” – you shouted loud. Carl heard some muffled sounds before his eyes fell upon you. – “Auntie Y/n!” – he called out, pushing the car door open.

He ran up to you, bumping hard against you. He was crying loud against your body as you shielded him from the horrors. Lori and Shane came out of the house with bags. – “Y/n!” – Lori said surprised. – “Get in the car!” – Shane ordered to Lori. Lori nodded going to the car, tossing the bags in the trunk. Shane walked up to Carl, pulling him off you. – “In the car!” – he shouted at Carl, tossing him towards the car. Lori took Carl, putting him in the car.

“Where is Rick?” – you asked confused. Shane remained silent. – “You were with him! You were at the hospital so where is he?” – you wanted to know. – “Where is he?” – you shouted punching Shane on the shoulder.  Shane grabbed you by the wrist. – “He’s gone!” – he shouted at you. – “No!” – you cried out.

“You are lying!” – you told him. Shane grabbed you by the arms. – “You want to go and see for yourself? Fine! It will be your dead. He is gone Y/n!” – Shane’s hands moved further around you towards your back as it made you step back before they could fully close around you. Shane’s expression hardened. – “Go chase a dead man than!” – he said rudely pushing you away.

You stumbled to the ground in shock. Shane stormed off towards his car. – “If you would just…” – he began, looking over his shoulder to you. Without another word he got in the car. Your eyes widened knowing what he was about to do. You got up to your feet running towards the car. The car got in motion as you missed it. It took a turn, driving off. – “Shane!” – you shouted running after the car.

“Shane!” – you screamed as the distance increased. You couldn’t keep up, you never could. Stopping you dropped to your knees crying and screaming. Carl on the backseat knocking against the glass and shouting was the last thing you saw.

Your head shot up making Daryl blink confused. – “Is…is everything alright?” – he asked after your long silence. – “He told me Rick was dead.” – you mumbled staring hard in front of you. Your hands tightening around the steering wheel. Knuckles turning white. – “He lied…” – you said a bit louder. – “Who?” – Daryl asked getting a bit cautious of how terrifying cold you were being. – “He lied!” – you called out.

Out of anger you started to slap your hand against the steering wheel. Hitting it repeatedly even when your hand felt sore. – “Y/n, Y/n.” – Daryl said trying to get you to stop. He grabbed your hands as you continued to slap, hitting Daryl in the process. He pulled them off the steering wheel pulling at your hands to turn your posture more towards him. He wrapped his arms around you tight as you cried your heart out against his chest.

Pressing his lips hard on top of your head. Daryl turned his head spotting a trailed off walker appear from between the trees. – “Y/n.” – he whispered. – “I’ll be right back… you stay here…” – he said as you felt his grip around you loosen. You lifted your head up as well, seeing the walker. Daryl moved his finger to his mouth, letting you know to remain silent. He then gestured for you to stay put. He was going to take care of it. Your gaze darted down to the crossbow on the floor. His arrows sticking up.

You grabbed an arrow, getting out of the car. – “Y/n!” – Daryl called out, hurrying out of the car. Clenching your grip around the arrow, you went up to the walker. – “Y/n!” – Daryl shouted as it caught the attention of the walker. The walker gaged making it’s way over to you. Daryl ran up to you trying to keep you out of harms way. You raised the arrow, jamming it into the walker’s eye. Pushing it further in, the walker fell backwards with you on top of it.

Pulling the arrow out of it, you jammed it again in it’s eye. Then again and again. Gory blood splashing up. You kept trusting it in the eye, creating a massive hole. – “Y/n! Y/n!” – Daryl called out grabbing your arm to stop you from hitting it once more. – “It’s dead.” – Daryl made clear. You gasped for air with a loud sob, lowering your arm. Daryl took the arrow from you.

You wiped some gore off your face with your arm. Getting up with a loud huff. You wanted to walk off as Daryl grabbed your wrist, keeping you in place. – “What the hell was that about?” – he wanted to know. You didn’t have to speak as he understood. Daryl searched his back pockets taking out a key with the most ridiculous keychains on them. He opened your hand slapping them in your hand.

It made you frown. – “You can drive if you like.” – he said. – “Daryl what… what do you…” – you began as he interrupted. – “I don’t need all of them! I don’t! Hell I can survive better on my own!” – he made clear with a loud tone. – “So f*ck them all and drive off!” – he continued finally making himself clear to you. He grabbed you by the shoulders with a deep exhale.

“All I care about is you Y/n. Let’s get in the car and go. Just go. Leave this pile of shit behind.” – he pulled you closer letting his forehead rest against yours. – “All I want is for you to be save Y/n. So say the word and we’ll leave.” – he finished. You closed your hand with the keys in it, smiling up to him. You kissed him tender on the lips.

Daryl held himself back knowing it was a bittersweet kiss. He knew you couldn’t leave Carl… or Rick. – “I’ll hold you to it.” – you told him not saying entirely no to his offering. Daryl cupped your cheeks, kissing you once more. Deepening his kiss. Lips brushing against one another. A promise made underneath the moonlight.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[jerzwriter]

Back to @creativepromptsforwriting's 30-Day Challenge - Day 18 took me a little longer than anticipated. The prompt was "Use the title of the last song you listened to. "My last song was Ed Sheeran's Old Phone, which gave me the opportunity to get my angst on again - and I have to admit - I enjoyed it!

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Kaycee MacClennan (F!MC) Featuring: Tobias Carrick Rating: Teen Words: ~3,000 (sorry!)

Summary: While rummaging through a junk drawer, Ethan stumbles upon an old phone. He decides to charge it and take a trip down memory lane - but are some memories best left in the past?

Also participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge's May Mayhem - prompts: Regret and Confession

30-Day Challenge Masterlist | Full Masterlist

It was already dark when Ethan closed his office door, that time of day when even Edenbrook's hectic halls settled into a quiet hum. It had been a long day, and as he stepped into the elevator with his coat slung over his arm, he was relieved to leave it behind him. But just as the doors began to slide shut, a familiar voice shattered the peace.

“Ethan!”

A hand slid between the doors, forcing them open, and Dr. Tobias Carrick stepped in. Ethan sighed, not with disdain, but unmistakable annoyance. If Tobias noticed, he didn't care, as he leaned against the elevator wall with his usual swagger and a curious grin on his lips.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to catch you all day. I wanted to see how the date went last night.”

Ethan pressed the button for the ground floor, eager to end this conversation as quickly as he could. “It was fine,” he muttered, hoping that would suffice, even though he knew better.

“Fine?” Tobias replied with a raised brow. “That’s it?”

“Yes, it was - fine.”

Tobias shook his head. “Trina is beautiful. She’s smart, charming, she loves opera for Christ's sake. I would have gone for it myself,” he smirked, as if that result would have been a foregone conclusion, “but I hooked you up instead, because you're a perfect match, and the best you can do is... fine?”

“She’s lovely,” Ethan admitted, slipping on his coat. “But no.”

“No?” Tobias repeated. “You're really using your words today, big guy. Why, no?”

A moment of silence passed as Ethan thought of a dozen excuses he could offer, but Tobias had been his friend long enough to know when he was lying, so he decided to go with the truth.

“Because I’m still in love with someone else.”

The low humming sound of the elevator suddenly felt much louder, and Tobias placed a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder.

“Buddy, you know that she’s gone, right?”

A lump formed in Ethan’s throat. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice tense. “I know.”

A bell rang before the doors slid open, and the old saying ‘saved by the bell’ took on a new meaning for Ethan. “Good night, Tobias,” he said as he rushed out, leaving his sullen friend behind.

~~~~~

Several hours later, Ethan was alone in his Back Bay condo, a single log crackling in the fireplace his sole companion. He tried to unwind with a glass of Macallan in his hand and a melodic jazz ensemble playing in the background. But the night moved on at a snail's pace, just like all the years that came before it. He reached for the bottle again, a curse falling from his lips when he found it empty.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the kitchen and opened a cabinet where he kept a few unopened bottles - an emergency supply for moments like this. He pulled a Glendronach he’d been saving and rifled through a nearby drawer looking for the foil cutter when his hand brushed something he couldn't place.

Curiously, he pulled the object out, then stood in silence: his old iPhone, scuffed around the edges. He hadn’t seen it in nearly a decade. He almost forgot that it existed, but apparently, he never let it go, just like so many things from his past.

He didn't know if he should do it— he knew some things were best left in the past—but compelled by something he couldn’t name, he found himself plugging in the phone and waiting patiently as the screen slowly came to life. Then, a standard-issue screensaver transported him back to another place and time.

He entered a passcode—fortunately, it was the same one he used today—and then decided to take the plunge, swiping up as old messages filled the screen like little ghosts visiting from his past.

The first one was from Naveen.

“Ethan, you’re the only one who understands how much this frightens me. Thank you for being there.”

His chest tightened, and tears prickled at his eyes despite his best efforts to stop them. But seeing their last conversations again proved to be more painful than he could have imagined. There were updates on his treatment plan, friendly advice, terrible jokes, and gratitude—so much unending, mutual gratitude. Then there was the selfie Naveen sent from his hospital bed, he was doing his best to make a silly face through the pain. His final message was just below it—a message Ethan had left unread until now.

“I’m proud of you, Ethan. I didn't say it often enough, but you brought joy to my life every day. Promise me you’ll keep moving forward. Be happy, son, because time passes faster than you think. Thank you for making my life a brighter place.”

Ethan shuddered, his eyes clenching shut, as the hollow space left in his heart after Naveen passed grew larger. There were days when Ethan truly wondered if there would be anything left but chambers left vacant by those in the past—spaces that no one else could ever fill.

He waited several moments before turning back. The following message was from his father, Alan.

Their messages were strained back then - kind, but lacking the warmth they share today. A smile spread on his face because he knew - he knew exactly who he had to thank for that. But these old messages were mostly about arguments over things that should have been long buried, with lengthy stretches of silence in between.

"So much wasted time..." he said aloud. He grabbed his current phone and sent a text at once:

“I miss you, Dad. Let’s make plans for the weekend.”

He knew Alan was already asleep, but that didn’t matter. It would be a pleasant surprise when he woke up. Then, it was back to his trip down memory lane - or self-imposed torture - it could have been either of the two.

He pulled up the next thread, and that's when his heart nearly stopped.

Kaycee.

So many years had passed since he last saw her, but time never changed how the mere sight of her name could stop his world from spinning on its axis. He scrolled up to the very first message she ever sent.

“Just testing the number. I promise I’ll only use it for emergencies. But I want you to know that I’m here if you need someone. I know tonight was hard.”

The memories flooded his mind. She sent that text the night his friend, Dolores, died at the hospital while under their care. Kaycee never left his side. He had never given his number to an intern before that, and, even then, he questioned his judgment, but Kaycee was right; it had been a hard night, and something inside him had shifted.

Only use this if you absolutely have to. He told her, but she sent that first message just a few hours later, because she knew he needed someone, even if he didn’t know it himself. Her heart was always much bigger than his rules.

He could have stopped there, but he couldn’t keep himself from reading more – all of their texts reading like a storybook of their time together. Messages from when they were clandestinely treating Naveen. His vitals, lab results, stupid jokes she sent as an attempt to cheer him up, and the embarrassing stories Naveen was all too eager to share.

“Naveen told me you fainted when you administered your first injection in med school. That can’t be true, can it?” “Remind me to talk to Naveen. He’ll need to sign an NDA if he expects me to continue treating him.” “Ha! I’d still get it out of him!”

And she’s right. She would have.

He pulled up the phone’s camera roll, knowing precisely what picture he longed to see – and there it was. Kaycee at the medical conference they attended in Miami - it seemed like a lifetime ago. He smiled as his fingers traced the image on the screen - that navy blue gown had nearly knocked him off his feet, and seeing it again brought him back.

Back to that balcony where the sound of crashing waves was so loud, you'd swear they were only a few feet away. He could taste the warm, salty air and see her emerald green eyes gazing at him with more love and adoration than he rightfully deserved.

He didn't want it to happen - but it was inevitable - and it took just one kiss for the rest of the world to fade away. It felt like every mismatched puzzle piece that made up his life was finally coming together –  a cosmic event when the planets finally aligned according to a master plan – but, as quickly as it surrendered, he pulled away.

He sent her a text message the next day as he sat in the hotel room, and she traipsed around Miami, going anywhere and everywhere to escape him.

“I’m so sorry, Kaycee. You’re beautiful...brilliant. You deserve the whole world. But I was wrong last night, and I won’t let that happen again.”

“Got it."

Was all she replied - then the silence stretched for weeks.

He tried to avoid her, but somehow, it never worked. There was the text he sent her the morning after he took her to the opera in a desperate attempt to lift her spirits. The night that ended with another searing kiss in his private box – a box he never stepped into without thinking of her again – even to this day.  

“Kaycee, we can’t keep doing this.”

“I know. But I don’t want to stop, Ethan, and I know you don't either. You mean so much to me... we have to find a way.”

There were dozens more texts –each more raw and honest than the next – well, at least the ones from Kaycee were. Then there was one from June that would change the trajectory of his life. Destroying him with just eight words:

“It’s confirmed. Kaycee’s in there. She was exposed.”

That night would haunt him forever. No matter how hard he tried, he could never erase the memory of kneeling awkwardly beside her, the hazmat suit crinkling with every move. He whispered the words he should have said long before, but sometimes the worst possible thing has to happen to render one's vision clear.

He told her he loved her and begged her to fight. For him-for them-she needed to stay and never leave his side again... and she listened. She survived, Ethan administering the life-saving injection the next morning, and their world changed for the better.

After, their messages were filled with all the love and passion expected from a secret love affair—a love that was beautiful, messy, and divine. It ushered in a light unlike any he had ever known.

“Have I told you how much I adore waking up in your arms?” She wrote.

“About as much as I adore having you there.”

“Promise me this will never end, " she begged. "Please, promise me this is only our beginning.”

He replied in an instant.

“Of course it is. Something this precious can never go away.”

It was real, and they were happy. So happy. They merely had to keep it quiet until her residency was over. A task that sounded far easier than it was, but they reminded each other it would be worth it... until something inside him began to change. i

“Just four more months! Then I can walk out of work with you, hand in hand, and plant the biggest kiss on your cheek!  I can’t wait to let the whole world know how much I love you, Ethan!”

He didn’t reply.

Why didn’t he reply?

After that, each message began to signal the end.

“Why did you cancel our dinner on Saturday?  We were supposed to talk. I really need you, Ethan. I have offers from Hopkins, UCSF, Cedars-Sinai…but they need answers soon. I want to talk to you before I decide.”

“You don’t need me to decide, Rookie. Follow your gut - it will tell you what the best move is. I’m so proud of you, Kaycee. I always knew you were going to change the world, and just look at you! You are.”

“I appreciate that, Ethan, but being proud of me isn't what I need right now."

“What do you need?”

“I need you to tell me to stay. Edenbrook gave me an offer, too. Tell me my future is here, in Boston, with YOU. I want a reason to stay.”

He shut his eyes, disgusted with himself.

Hours passed. Hours. He could just picture her, nervously biting her lip, her wavy, blonde hair tied into a messy bun above her furrowed brow as she checked her phone incessantly... waiting. How could he have let hours pass? Why would he do that to her?

Then – the worst decision he ever made – right there – saved to haunt him for all time and posterity.

“I can’t do that, Kaycee. Your future - your career needs to dictate your choice, not me. I care about you too much to stand in the way of that.”

He thought he was being noble. Putting her career and her needs before his own. At least that was the lie he repeated to himself like a mantra. But Kaycee cut through it, her reply instantaneous.

“You told me you loved me, Ethan. You said I was your world. Has that changed? Don’t you want me to stay? Please, tell me you haven't changed your mind."

He never answered.

Months passed before he received the last text she’d ever send. She was settling into her new place in LA – two thousand, five hundred miles away in an apartment he’d never see – beginning a life he’d never be part of. He was sitting in his office when it arrived – the very place they had shared so many conversations, spent late nights solving cases, and sometimes, doing much more. Now, he was by himself as he read:

“I wanted to let you know I arrived in LA and I’m settling into my new place. It’s really beautiful, but it’ll be a while before it feels like home – if it ever does at all. I’m going to do my best to move forward – it's not like I have a choice. I'll start fresh and embrace the next chapter, but it’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I wanted to thank you, Ethan, for everything you’ve ever done for me. You were my mentor, my sounding board, and so, so much more. You taught me to be brave and never back down from what I wanted most in life. I only wish you had been strong enough to take your own advice. I wish I could say we'll keep in touch, perhaps learn to be friends. But I can’t. Just seeing your name still breaks me inside, and the idea of hearing your voice with an entire country between us moves me to tears. You were the one for me, Ethan, I know that. And I truly believed I was the one for you. I'll never understand how we ended up here. I’m going to need space to heal, so please don’t reach out to me. Perhaps I’ll contact you one day, if I ever feel strong enough, but in case that day never comes, I need you to know that I loved you with all my heart, Ethan, and I always, always will. I wish you the best. Please remember me - Kaycee"

And he never heard from her again.

He sat in the dark for a long time, his hand shaking around the phone he clutched as if it were a lifeline. He thought about all the times he wanted to call her, and found every excuse not to.  

He remembered the pain of losing, the lonely nights when it became so unbearable that he tried to lose himself in others, but no one's touch would ever feel right, and his name only belonged on her lips.

He saw her name in medical journals on occasion, sometimes a photo from a conference where she gave a keynote speech, and he was amazed at how her smile could still melt his heart. He hoped – sometimes even prayed – that she had healed, because he already accepted that he never would.

Time marched on, and with each year that passed, breaking the silence seemed harder. He hadn’t even put her number in his new phone, but Kaycee MacClennan would never be a part of his past. She lived beside him every single day. A ghost who walked through the rooms of his mind, reminding him of what his life could have been if he hadn’t been such a coward.

He finally willed himself to stand. He extinguished the fire and headed to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. He stared at the space where she used to sleep - just like the space she had taken in his heart, it would never again be filled.

He tossed and turned for hours, then finally sat up and turned on the light. He grabbed his phone and entered her number – he didn’t need to look it up, it was committed to memory. And then, he wrote:

I  never wanted you to leave Boston. I just didn’t know how to say that without feeling like I was stealing your future. I wanted to follow you to LA, but back then, I didn’t believe I deserved you. I should have told you. I can't tell you how many messages I started over the years, but I deleted every single one. The truth is, you’re the only woman I've ever loved, Kaycee. You were the one for me: then, now, and forever. I'll never stop grieving the fact that I let you go.

You don't have to write back. I don’t expect a response. I just felt you were owed the truth, even if it’s coming years too late.

I hope you found happiness, because no one deserves it more than you. Just know, I never stopped loving you, and I never will. Ethan

He hit send quickly, before he lost his nerve. He slid the phone into the nightstand, shut off the light, and clutched the pillow that should’ve been hers. Then he cried—fully, freely - letting it all out. It was something he should’ve done years ago.

~~~~~

It was a little after midnight in Los Angeles. Kaycee’s nighttime routine hadn’t changed in all these years – shower, watch Jimmy Fallon, then off to bed.

The television was dark, and she had just slipped under the covers when her phone vibrated across the room. She let out a soft groan. She should check it—it could be important—but she was exhausted. If it's urgent, they'll reach out again, she reasoned as she shifted under the comforter and closed her eyes. Sleep was all that mattered now, and the message could wait until the morning.

[oceaneyesinla]

I just watched the demon slayer and I can't stop thinking about my favorite character. Sanemi, unfortunately, there are very few scenarios and posts about it. Please, it doesn't matter to me what you write, just write to me from him, please😭

Hi! Thank you for being my very first request! <3 Requests OPEN (see link for details)

I hope you've been enjoying Demon Slayer! My heart is breaking for Sanemi and Genya this season so lets call this fix it fic. If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know (i am always happy to write for Sanemi <3)

CW: implications of domestic violence (not between Sanemi and reader)

Spoilers for the new season of Demon Slayer, and for Sanemi and Genya's backstory

Divider by @/cafekitsune

You knew something had happened. Sanemi was making a valiant effort to hide the pain clawing at his heart, but you knew him too well for that. You could see the frown that slipped onto his face whenever he thought you weren't looking, and you never failed to notice when he slipped out of your shared futon in the middle of the night. He tried to slink away unnoticed, but you stirred every time the warmth of his body pulled away from yours.

For a few days, you allowed it - you continued your usual routine; sharing a tender kiss before he left for training as the sun rose, and welcoming him home with a freshly cooked meal once he finally returned from his extra training with Iguro and Tokito. You feigned sleep as he carefully extricated himself from your hold and left your side.

After a week, you couldn’t stand it any longer. Your husband was hurting, and you knew he would never willingly confide in you. Not because he didn’t trust you, never that, but because he would never think of burdening you with the monsters of his past and the darkness that came with life as a Demon Slayer. He treated you like the only star in a moonless sky and while you loved to be his guiding light, you wanted nothing more than to descend from the heavens he held you in and cradle his battered, bruised heart in your hands.

Which is why, on that seventh night, when you woke to him escaping your grasp, you reached out and wrapped a hand around his wrist, blinking sleep out of your eyes as you stared up at him. What you found there made you more alert in an instant - wetness, shimmering on his skin in the moonlight through the window. Your Sanemi, usually the picture of composure, was … crying.

He must have noted your concern, some shift in your expression, because he used the hand not grasped in yours to roughly wipe at his cheeks, as if he could wipe away your memory of this at the same time as the tears.

“Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.” His voice was rough, and even if you had been planning to do as he said before he opened his mouth, you would have changed your mind upon hearing him.

Instead, you sat up, gently tugging him closer to you, encouraging him to sit by your side. Slowly, he complied, never meeting your eye as he did so but also never pulling his hand out of your weak hold. You cradled his hand in both of yours, stroking gentle trails across his palm and down his thick forearm, taking extra care over the scars littering his skin. You didn’t ask - he would talk in time.

A deep sigh left him, as did another couple of tears making silent trails down his cheek. You just kept up your loving affection, and eventually, he spoke again, soft even in the quiet of the night, “I … had a nightmare.”

Your poor Sanemi. His life had been full of tragedy, and as much as he claimed that your love was his saving grace, you wished there was more you could do to soothe the deep scars in his heart and mind. You wondered what had haunted him tonight - was it the memory of pure terror as his mother mindlessly attacked her precious children, or was it the crippling grief of returning to an empty home, greeted only by the lifeless bodies of his beloved little siblings?

“There’s something I never told you, about my family.” He looked up to meet your eye, finally, and you hated the haunted look behind the deep purple you loved so much, “One of my siblings survived.”

What? He had revealed everything about the tragedy that tore his family apart and left him alone in the world to you. He stumbled over the words under the cover of darkness, on a night not unlike this one, not long after you began courting. He had told you all about the way he wrestled his mother away from his siblings, and the way he hit her with all his strength, focusing only on protecting his family. He broke down as he confessed that he felt just like his father as his hands connected with his mother’s body, knowing that he had no other choice.

In hindsight, you remembered how he hesitated to explain the moments between dragging his mother into the street and returning to his home once the sun rose and her body crumbled away. At the time, you never questioned it - he was just a child when all this happened, and he was recounting the most traumatic experience of his life. Now, you know that hesitation was because he was editing the story as he told it.

“Genya, the eldest. He was holding little Koto … Ma only managed to catch across his nose.” Your heart ached as you imagined that poor boy - left clutching his baby brother, surrounded by the corpses of the siblings he had made a pact to protect. What had happened between them, to lead to them being so distant that Sanemi never mentioned that he lived?

“This nightmare was about him?” You lifted Sanemi’s hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He looked far younger than his twenty one years as he stared at you, as if he had been expecting words of anger instead of your gentle gesture.

The innocent surprise quickly turned to something far darker as guilt lined his face. He tried to pull his hand out of your hold but you wouldn’t allow it, tangling your fingers together instead. A little huff escaped him at your stubborn act and it reassured you, if only a little. There was the Sanemi you recognised.

“He tried following me into the Corps, but he can’t even use a Breathing Style! The idiot will never stand a chance.” Sanemi sounded frustrated, but you knew him well enough to hear what he wasn’t saying.

“You’re scared you’ll lose him too. It doesn’t matter if he hates you, as long as he’s alive.” Your voice was soft, but Sanemi still looked at you like you slapped him. Another couple of tears welled up on his lash line and broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“I told him I don’t have a brother. I attacked him. I nearly -” His voice broke, and so did your heart. For both of them. For Sanemi, trying desperately to protect his little brother in the only way he knew, and for Genya, who you couldn’t help but imagine as a little boy with Sanemi’s eyes and a scar across his face.

You were putting the pieces together, and everything seemed clearer, “This happened last week, didn’t it? I knew something was wrong. I wish you said something sooner, love.” He just blinked at you, watching your face as if he thought you would suddenly turn on him and declare his actions unforgivable. You refused to play into his self loathing. The way he treated his brother, his only remaining family, was harsh, but you knew your husband. The front he showed the world was just that - a front. You knew the man underneath that harsh exterior. This was the man who helped you with chores even when he had been awake all night fighting demons, and this was the man who held you like the most delicate flower and looked at you like the finest artwork in the land.

“Did that work? Did he give up on being a Demon Slayer?”

Sanemi shook his head, scowl on his face, “Nah. He’s at Himejima’s now, for Hashira training.”

“You should bring him here.” At your suggestion, Sanemi went to shake his head but you carried on before he could shoot you down, “I want to meet him, and it might be time for a different approach.” You reached up to cradle Sanemi’s cheek, hoping to soften the blow of your next words, “Something big is coming, my love - even I can feel it, and I’m not a member of the Corps. You should make amends. You would never forgive yourself if he died thinking you hate him.”

Sanemi flinched at the mere mention of his brother dying, but his gaze never left yours. His expression was still guarded, as if waiting for your judgement. You brought your other hand up to hold his face between your palms as you spoke, “Stop looking at me like you expect me to berate you. You wanted to protect Genya. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

His face crumpled, “I laid hands on him. I nearly blinded him. I will never deserve his forgiveness.”

“Genya is the only one who can decide that, love.” Your thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin under his eyes, wiping away the remnants of his tears as a soft smile tugged at your lips, “You’re a good man, Sanemi.”

As soon as those words settled in his ears, he was moving - surging forwards to clutch you against him, face pressed into the juncture of your neck. With some effort, you manoeuvred you both into laying down - his hands never leaving you. You let him hold you close, running  a hand through his soft, white hair. The path to reconciliation between the two brothers would almost certainly be difficult, but you would be by his side through whatever may come. Your husband deserved to have peace, and he deserved to be a big brother again.

[arcane-vagabond]

Together, Transformed: Prologue

Together, Transformed: Prologue

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Witch!Reader

Summary: In turn of the century America, long before the Revolutionary War was even a thought in anyone’s mind, a small village was home to a most beloved and respected healer. When jealousy begets feelings of maliciousness, you are accused of witchcraft. Centuries later, you live your life as a normal, everyday witch, but even you have to admit that strange things tend to happen to you sometimes. It all comes to a head when you meet a strange man who seems to know all about you. (Witch!AU)

Content Warning: Betrayal, Mentions of Witchcraft, Trials, Death, Burning at the stake, Curses, Crying, General feelings of despair, Executions. I think that's everything, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

The wind whipped around you, biting into your skin and sending a shiver up your spine. Your dress did little to protect you from the elements, having put it on when the weather was still warm, but here you now stood, the cusp of autumn in front of you with a wooden pole to your back. Your hair had been shorn from your head, your lip split from where the guard had back handed you that morning.

Your cheek still throbbed at the memory of it.

The sun was hidden behind a wall of clouds above you, a rather fitting scene given where you found yourself now. The sky threatened rain at any moment, and for a moment you wondered if it would save you from your doom or prolong it.

Dirt caked your skin, causing an itchy sensation that somehow bothered you more than the predicament you currently found yourself in. It was a spot by your nose that bothered you in particular, but with your hands bound to the post behind you, there was little you could do but suffer in silence.

The wind blew once more, ruffling the skirts of your dress, and you gritted your teeth as you pressed your eyes together. You would not show these people weakness.

You opened your eyes once more to gaze upon the sea of faces that stared back. Some you knew well, their faces grim if they weren’t streaming with tears. Neighbors you had helped on more than one occasion with your healing knowledge. It wasn’t your born gift, but your family specialized in the practice, and you had shown an adept talent for it since a young age. Your family and other gifted folk had all marveled at your talents, calling you a prodigy.

Though you couldn’t see their faces, you knew they were there—hiding beneath the dark shadows of their cloaks. You knew none would come to your aid, it simply wasn’t the gifted folk’s way. Helping meant exposure for all, and exposure meant certain death—a death you were moments away from facing.

Amidst the familiar faces were those you had seen in passing if you had seen them at all. It wasn’t every day a witch was to be burned for her heresy, and several people—men, women, and children—had made the journey from neighboring towns and villages to watch the spectacle. Sneers of contempt and looks of derision were pointed your way, and you wondered briefly if they would still feel this way were they to learn about the good you had done, the healing and kindness you had brought to others.

Your name rang out amidst the silence, drawing your attention towards the stage where the magistrate and his lackeys sat, their black robes and ill-fitted wigs giving them an air of false superiority as they looked at you with their dark, beady eyes.

“You have been charged with the crime of witchcraft for which you have been found guilty,” continued the magistrate, his voice booming for all in the courtyard to hear. You fixed him with a cold stare, smirking slightly at the subtle twitch by his eye before he averted his gaze back down to the paper he held in his hand. You let out a quiet snort as he continued, a small tremor to his voice.

“You shall be burned at the stake until none of you remains, your ashes thrown in the river, your belongings seized by the government. Your belongings shall be donated to the church, the flames of the fire shall cleanse you of your sins and wrongdoings.”

He paused lowering the page to look at you once more, thin lips down-turned so that they pulled on his sagging skin.

“Have you anything to say?” He asked, lifting his chin at you. You fixed him with a glare, keeping your mouth clamped tightly. Nothing would free you from these binds, so nothing you would say. The magistrate took a deep breath before looking down at the executioner, a stout man who held a lit torch in one hand, and nodded. The executioner stepped forward slowly, a frown on his lips as he made his way through the parting crowd. He stopped at the base of your pyre, flames of the torch flickering in the wind as he stared at the ground. You had helped his wife deliver their firstborn child only the year before, both mother and babe alive with your help.

“It’s not right,” he muttered, fists clenching at his sides. “It’s not fair.”

You grimaced and blew out a breath slowly.

“I know,” you whispered back to him. “But you do what you must.”

He glanced up at you, a sheen to his eyes that wasn’t there before. You stared at each other for a long moment until finally, his lips pressing tight with a firm nod. He turned back towards the magistrate, waiting for his queue. The magistrate dipped his head, raising a hand in permission. The executioner squared his shoulders, turning to you once more, and with a slight tremor in his hands, he lowered the torch down to the bundle of sticks at your feet.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” the magistrate called, rolling the paper up in his withered grip. You sucked in a sharp breath, your heartbeat thundering away in your chest as the flames grew to surround you from all sides. You would not show fear. You would show your strength to these people who would see you die.

Smoke began to billow, and the embers burned at the back of your throat, causing a choking cough to spill out past your lips. The heat was already uncomfortable, and your head grew dizzy from the combination of licking flame and choking smog.

“No!”

You looked up, your heart sinking in your chest as a familiar flash of blond streaked through the crowd. He shouldn’t be there, it wasn’t safe. A sob escaped you unbidden, tears licking at your eyes as you watched him race towards you. Several guards stopped his path, pushing him back towards the crowd, and he stumbled for a moment before righting himself. He glared at the guards, stomping up towards them with malice clear in his eyes.

“Let me through,” he barked, fists clenched at his sides. “Let her go. She’s done nothing wrong!”

Another sob wracked through you, the magistrate’s voice an echo in your ears.

“She’s a witch, boy,” he snarled. “She’s bewitched you. Her death will free you, rest assured.”

“No!” He shouted, rushing forward, skin flushed with exertion. You felt despair rip through you, your arms aching to reach out to him, to tell him that everything would be okay. Green eyes met yours, emotions swirling in their depths as you offered him a weak smile.

Your head grew dizzy as you breathed in more of the smoke. You hissed as the flames made their rapid ascent up towards you, licking the tips of your toes. You closed your eyes, letting your head drift back to hit against the post. Your head lolled to one side, another sob tearing through you as the flames grew bigger, bolder.

A menacing sensation crawled through you, and you brought your head forward once more, peeling your eyes open to meet sinister blue from the depths of the crowd. Her golden hair was hidden beneath her cloak, a mocking smirk on her face as she stared at you. Anger replaced despair as you looked at her, your body lurching forward as you snarled in rage.

“You!” You shouted, murmurs of confusion following your outburst. It was her fault you were here. Her betrayal of her own kind. And for what? Her own envy? Her lust?

“May your hatred and envy be the makings of your undoing,” you spat, a familiar surge of power rising through you as you spoke. You could barely get the words out before the flames began to overtake you. You cried out at the excruciating pain, shuffling your feet back as far as you could in a bid to escape the roaring flames. Your eyes searched wildly, your vision blurring at the edges as the smoke grew thicker and thicker. Finally, you found what you were looking for, and your heart ached for him.

“I love you,” you sobbed, a scream tearing through your throat as the flames finally cornered you.

Screams were all you heard before succumbing to darkness.

A/N: And here it is! Just in time for spooky season!! I'm super excited to work on this one, and here's hoping I'll be able to work on it a fair amount over the next month. I'm not sure when I'll have Chapter One out, I'm still working some parts of the story out, but I'm excited still to share it with you all!! Let me know what you think!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[salbei-141]

My girl (Wanda x reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.2k

warnings: 18+, fluff, comfort, friends to lovers, trauma, death, love confession, etc.

a/n: woah, first post of the year...almost 5 months into the year...wbk a schedule doesn't exist here.

So, there were a few things that made me realise I was bi and Elizabeth Olsen was one of them - can you blame me? So I propose this!

Also, y'all please if I get any lore incorrect do not come for me, I haven't watched Marvel in a while, and nor can I be bothered to rewatch them either, SUE ME.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Wanda were best friends and had grown up together in Sokovia - your home country destroyed by the supposed American hero Tony Stark himself. You remember it as clear as day - being huddled between Wanda and Pietro. None of you moved, still as day, and terrified - it was a kind of fear you'd hope you'd never have to experience again. You remember the cries of Wanda as you held onto each other - you were just children at the time, it was a diabolical event to be forced to endure.

To this day you were unsure of what happened to your parents - you could only assume the same had happened to them as had happened to the Maximoff's parents, but you couldn't say for definite, and it weirdly gave you some sort of peace not knowing the brutality of how they had died - although you'd hoped it was quick and succinct in nature.

You were all in your 20s now, and yet not a year had gone by since that day where you'd forgotten the trauma of it all - it weighed upon your shoulders day in and day out like a parasite. What followed the bombing wasn't any better…you were mutants - or at least that's how some people had described you. You felt stronger now though - it felt freeing almost, there was little to fear now. However, nothing could save you from the memories…you, Wanda and Pietro still fell victim to your childhood trauma - especially Wanda.

"Wanda?" you walked into her room tentatively after hearing the soft sounds of her cries - it tore your heart into two, knowing the pain she was in, and more so that she was enduring it alone was hurting you in an indescribable manner that you always felt upon seeing her in any severity of distress.

She was led on her bed curled up like a child clutching onto a teddy you'd got for her Christmas several years ago - it warmed your heart that she still held it so closely and for comfort. You watched as her head turned slightly - her eyes were red and slightly puffy, but she said nothing to you as you stood at the door.

You closed her door silently and moved towards her tentatively as you sat on the side of her bed staring down at her with soft eyes. Moving your hand, you gently carded your fingers through her auburn locks, watching as tears silently rolled down her reddened cheeks.

You remained sat at the edge of her bed, and gently beckoned her into your arms, "Come here, I got you". Instead, she pulled you further onto her bed, so the both of you could get comfortable before she then sunk into the comfort of your arms as she continued to cry into your chest. You moved slightly to adjust to a more comfortable position with her in your arms, and felt as her grip tightened, "I'm not going anywhere…I'll never leave you Wanda". She looked up at you with desperate eyes, "Never?". "Never", you confirmed and kissed her on the forehead as you pulled her against your chest again, holding her with a conviction that you'd only ever designate to her.

You don't know how long had gone by, but Wanda still lay in your arms, having calmed down now. You had been gently running your fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, feeling as she'd occasionally shiver from your touch.

"Y/N?"

She looked up from your chest with those round, soft eyes that made you cave to her every request.

"Hm?"

You looked back down meeting her gaze, watching as she searched your eyes.

"Thank you."

Tucking a strand of her hair that had fallen across her face back behind her ear, you smiled softly, speaking in a whisper almost, "I'd do anything for you".

"I know", and she stared at you just adoringly as you had been staring at her - neither of you quite aware of the emotions that had transgressed the platonic relationship you both maintained - fearful of losing one another over the looming prospect of an unrequited love. How naive you both were.

You let your hand linger on the side of her face - never having drawn back once her hair had been tucked. Your fingers delicately caressed her cheek - feeling the way it warmed under your touch.

You watched intently as her eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. Should you? You didn't know, scared to ruin things and lose your best friend, but she was also the woman you'd grown to love - she was more than your friend, and she knew that too - you'd both been yearning for this for years – too naïve to notice one another’s loving gazes.

"please", her voice was quiet, meek almost, but you could hear the plead in her voice.

Her eyes looked into your own – begging for your attention, and that's when you'd had enough, you leaned forward – teasingly stopping just before her lips.

“Promise me…promise me we won’t go back to just friends after this…please Wanda”, you searched her eyes for any doubt, and you couldn’t identify anything – her pupils were dilated as she stared into your eyes.

Wanda closed the gap between the both of you, catching you off guard while you’d awaited an answer, but this was the best way she could’ve answered you. Her lips were soft and you were quick to respond to her. You could still taste the remnants of salt from her tears, which had been long forgotten as the both of you were entrenched in one another.

It was euphoric - the way her lips moved along with yours - it was better than any dream you'd ever had about her; the days you’d deafly listen to her as she’d speak in front of you, only for you to have been too busy watching the way her lips moved as she spoke, before turning into a grin as she’d realise you’d been in a word of your own.

You let your hand drift from her face down her arm – feeling the way her skin goose-bumped as your supple touch passed over the exposed skin of her arm until you rested it on her waist as she kept herself steady with her hands wrapped in your shirt.

A soft moan reverberated in her throat as you lightly gripped her waist more – a smirk plastering your face as you continued kissing her.

The both of you slowly pulled away fluttering yours open. Nothing was said as you both smiled at each other before falling into a fit of giggles as she buried her face in your chest and you in the nape of her neck.

“We’re idiots”, she mumbled against you, as she gently lifted her face to meet yours again – both laying against her pillows with little space separating you.

“I love you”, you couldn’t hold it in any longer as it blurted out of you. She knew you meant it – you’d never looked so serious about anything as you did now.

She leaned forward pressing her lips to yours again, “I love you too…I love you so much Y/N”.

You both stared into each other’s eyes – soft gazes lingering as you gently stroked her waist with your thumb.

“Now you can really never leave me”, she smiled at you – referencing your earlier comment back to you.

“I never planned on it anyway”, you pressed a kiss to her forehead, bringing her close to your chest as her arms wrapped around you. "My girl", you whispered into her ear hearing her hum in content as you proceeded to lay in each other’s hold in silence with the occasional kiss – the reality a surreal eutopia that you’d both thought unlikely.

[casino-lights]

I posted an excerpt a while back from a wip I titled "shameless illario apologism" and I think it's time I post the whole thing because this stupid man resurrected my urge to write. a drabble about the ending of A Murder of Crows is beneath the cut with some mentions of Illario x oc because he is unfortunately my pookie. enjoy!

He looked so pitiful on his knees, gasping for air, one eye red and swollen from a particularly swift blow to the face. A single tear streaked down his bruised cheek, leaving a shimmering trail that caught the light with every breath he heaved. His doublet was more crimson than blue now, each dark blotch blossoming further across his chest as the blood from his wounds soaked into the embroidered silk. 

It would never come out. Yet more stains to add to the ones quickly mounting on Illario Dellamorte’s reputation.

“What are you waiting for, cousin?” he panted, fully expecting Lucanis’ blade to sink into his flesh any second now. “Finish what you start.”

Though he cast his eyes downward, he refused to close them. He would not meet his end in the dark. But his grandmother’s voice made him raise his face, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he watched her make her way toward the stage he knelt upon.

“Get up, Illario,” she said flatly, as if she were simply asking him to take his feet off the coffee table. “No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

As Viago hoisted him roughly to his feet, he found himself wondering if his parents were forced to their knees as they died. Were Lucanis’ parents? Were their cousins? Were their cousins even old enough to stand?

Illario forced himself to meet Lucanis’ eyes. Defiant, even until the end. If he was going to die at his cousin’s hand, he would look him in the eyes first. He would look their grandmother in the eyes and hope, as he had hoped his whole life, that maybe she would see that her least favorite grandson was capable of more than she thought. 

Lucanis asked his companion what to do with him. Rook. The woman who saved him from the prison he was in by Illario’s hand.

She responded with a question in kind: “Didn’t you say he’s like a brother to you? That he is your brother?”

As if Illario needed to feel even more shame. It was hard enough to look Lucanis in the eyes without memories of their childhood flashing across his mind. Wyvern-hunting. Prickle-burrs. Canes across the back. Coffee in the kitchen. Too-hot cookies. Tying knots with bloody fingers. Sauce-covered faces. Tear-stained cheeks. Crying against each other in the dark.

Lucanis was all he had. The only person he could ever rely on. The last member of his family who didn’t hate him, didn’t hurt him, didn’t think he was worthless. And Illario betrayed him.

Of course, when Illario taunted him, told him he used to be somebody, Lucanis replied with a bitter, too-quick, “And you never were.” Maybe he was hiding the hatred all along. Maybe he never respected Illario at all. Maybe Zara was right. His family never loved him.

“He was my best friend,” Lucanis said, looking at Rook. “One of my only friends, before you.”

Zara’s voice rang in Illario’s ears. A touching lie.

In a voice thick with the blood that coated his throat, Illario rasped, “You think you can show me mercy? That is not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.”

And like clockwork, Caterina answered, “His decision stands. Lucanis is the new First Talon of the Antivan Crows.”

Lucanis looked more surprised than Illario. He couldn’t muster shock. With both of them alive and present, this was the only possible outcome. This was why Zara told him he had to get rid of them. This was what he had suffered Lucanis’ presumed death to prevent.

“Viago, keep him out of trouble,” Lucanis said with a weary sigh. “I’ll come by to discuss the details in a day or two.”

“I’m no miracle worker,” Viago replied dryly, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Illario the troublemaker. Dellamorte the Lesser. It was who he had always been. Sometimes, when he was in a more generous mood, he would joke about it. But it was always true, whether or not he gave himself the nickname in jest. Caterina saw him as an annoyance and a burden, and Lucanis… who knows how Lucanis really saw him? Right now, he was treating him like a little boy throwing a tantrum, not someone who had the throne of the most feared guild of assassins in Thedas within his grasp mere minutes ago. Was it brotherly love, or blatant disregard for everything Illario had accomplished?

All this for nothing. Worse than nothing. His grand prize was a crippling, mortifying defeat at the hands of the Demon of Vyrantium and an outsider, in front of every Talon, every House, every Crow with any kind of sway. The best he could hope for now was either a merciful death or a lot of short memories. His reward for his scheme, nearly two years in the making, was disgrace.

As Viago pulled him away, he looked only at his cousin. He mustered half a grin through the searing embarrassment. “Lucanis…”

“Don’t, Illario. Not now.” And he turned his head away.

Every step hurt worse than the last. His adrenaline wore off, leaving him tired and sore. He felt as pitiful as he looked. He felt like a child. His chest burned, his throat felt raw, and though his wounds stung and still seeped blood, it was his lungs that tightened, swelling with the urge to cry. 

He had not cried since Lucanis’ wake. Ironically enough, Viago had to escort him up the stairs then, too. Illario suddenly wished he was as drunk as he’d been that night, or that Viago would be merciful enough to knock him out again. Based on the sheer hatred in his eyes, though, that seemed like a faraway prospect. And his head would still hurt in the morning without any of the blissful forgetfulness a drunken stupor would bring.

The only thing missing from the next morning would be Lidia. She’d practically torn the Diamond’s guest wing apart looking for him after the wake. She hounded him until he ate, followed him through the city until he was weary enough to sleep, held his head in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair and soothed him until he could drag himself out of bed. She never knew how much of that paralysis, that deep depression he fell into was pure guilt. And still, all she ever did was defend him. After that depression was over, when Caterina and Viago questioned his ability to return to work; after Lucanis came back, when he tricked her into leaving the Diamond just in time for Zara’s people to take Caterina; after he killed Zara, when he held Lidia with scrubbed-raw hands and told her he didn’t want to fight anymore and that he could finally give her everything he promised if she could only just trust him a little while longer…

There would be no similar concern from her this time - not after what he put her through. He drained her blood in her sleep so he could find her if she ever left. He lied to her for over a year about where he was and with whom. He kissed her goodnight and held her until she was fast asleep before swapping his chest for a pillow and sneaking out their bedroom window so he could see Zara. 

He would return to Lidia before sunrise. That had been his promise to himself. Return to Lidia before sunrise, because she always looked her loveliest at dawn. He slipped back in through the window after a bath and crawled back into their bed, and she curled up against him and smiled and mumbled something drowsily about how he smelled nice. Every time, she asked if the job went well. Every time, he said yes. And every time, he felt that heavy ache like stones piled on top of his chest, another weight added with each contented sigh or nuzzle of her head.

He touched Zara with the same hands he touched her with only an hour before. He did it so many times he lost count. He always tried to make it up to her in the morning - a one-sided debt that kept growing and growing as he drew from her seemingly never-ending well of trust without ever replenishing it. Another betrayal to add to his list. Another person who actually loved him, lost to his own ambitions and Zara’s unfulfilled promises. He thought he would only lose Lucanis. He had prepared himself for that. He thought it would be quick and painless and Lucanis would never feel the sting of knowing his cousin - his brother - sold him out. 

And now he stood at the door of the smallest guest room in Villa Dellamorte, having cost himself Lucanis, Caterina, Zara, Teia, and everyone else who may have loved or even simply tolerated him once. He had no one and nothing to show for his efforts.

Not even Lidia. 

It would have been too much to hope that Viago would bring him to his own room. That would be much too comfortable for a traitor like him - and much too close to the new First Talon’s room. He stepped inside the guest room without a word to Viago, whose disapproving stare said more than enough to fill the silence.

As Illario sat weakly on the footstool at the end of the bed, Viago rolled his eyes and finally broke the quiet. “I’ll have a healer stop by. It’s more than you deserve, but I’m sure you know that. The First Talon wants you alive. Think on why.”

He locked the door behind him. And Illario was alone.