#Honey-Dew - Never Shout Never

[ask-aileen-berwick]

Daily Song

[divine-misfortune]

Kinktober, day 1. High sex.

Pairing: Zephyr/Mountain/Phantom

Words: 1,100

Contains: Spit roasting, shotgunning, intox play (i mean obv), sort of objectification if you squint

Summary: Zephyr and Mountain share a blunt and a Phantom.

Starting off kinktober strong - huge shout out to @kroas-adtam for pulling this together I'm excited <33

Read on Ao3

Full.

Phantom felt full, fuller than he'd ever been. Even as his lungs screamed to swell and draw breath, devoid of oxygen or relief, their emptiness was a concern best kept at the back of his mind. 

Though as if sensing his lungs silent plea, Zephyr's lithe fingers drifted from their place on his waist. Skating along the curve of his spine as graceful as they'd ever moved, Phantom could feel the burning cry simmer to a subtle heat at best. Not entirely satiated but quieted for the moment. 

He moaned lowly, appreciative as he could manage around the girth of Mountain's cock stretching his jaw to its limit. With it sat right before the point it'd make him gag, dripping pre down his throat, Phantom couldn't offer up much more sound than that. Mountain's hand had abandoned his hair at some point, no longer guiding him, Phantom couldn't make himself move. His arms were barely keeping him upright. He didn't trust them to support much shift in weight but Zephyr did the work he couldn't. Every lazy thrust forward sent him nearly gagging around another inch of the earth ghoul.

Phantom blinked slowly, sluggishly, to clear the blur of tears away as he heard Mountain's lighter click uselessly. Only putting off sparks much to his chagrin. 

"Dew's never around when you need him." Mountain grumbled as the sparks finally caught, and behind him Zephyr laughed.

"You're the one too stubborn to buy a new lighter, sapling." They pointed out as their nails dug into his hip, tone bored enough it hardly sounded like they were balls deep in him. Something so unnaturally calm about them as they pistoned forward again, cock dragging against the most sensitive parts of his inner walls. Phantom made a weak muffled sound. "Don't tell me you're going to hog this joint too." 

"If you want me to share you just gotta ask baby." 

The earthy scent was strong and thick in the room, windows and doors shut tight, leaving the smoke with nowhere to go but straight to his head. Phantom hated admitting to being a lightweight but he had next to no tolerance, a single joints worth of secondhand smoke left him dizzy. He didn't know if he could blame the floaty sensation on the weed outright, the two older ghouls and their actions certainly weren't helping him keep to solid ground. The haze behind his eyes, while mostly artificial, was entirely their fault. He dared to suspect the smoke to be purposeful, a ploy to ease him from his typical shy demeanor. Inhibitions were easy to forget when they'd effectively hollowed him out, emptied out just to be filled again to their liking. 

Mountain inhaled deeply and settled an encouraging hand on the back of his head, and he did his best to let his jaw go slack like they'd taught him.  

"That's it bug…" He exhaled and scratched lightly at his scalp. Just when he thought his head couldn’t get fuzzier the mere semblance of praise sent him further. "Just breathe through your nose, know you can take it. Taken more of me before, haven't you?" Mountain chuckled, laughter low and rich as honey. 

"And he takes you so well...Don't you wisp?" Zephyr purred as they bottomed out. Skin to skin they spread his cheeks apart to watch the way his body clenched around them, groaning aloud. "Fuck you're still so tight, starting to think you don't want me to last."

Part of him doesn't. He selfishly wanted to feel the way their cock swells at the base, wanted them to tease him with the stretch of their knot before spilling hot and sticky inside of him. The idea alone makes his toes curl with excitement...But part of him does want it to last. Phantom had grown so accustomed to this state that his aching jaw was almost entirely forgotten. Masked behind a wall of bliss that ran vein deep, made his blood run hot and his muscle turn to puddy. Pliant barely described how he felt. Truly content to remain a shared toy between them, an afterthought if they wanted him to be, as long as he stayed stuffed full of cock he couldn't care less. 

Above him, the joint changed hands and Phantom sank further along Mountain's shaft. 

He could imagine the way Zephyr's lips closed around it, the red glow of the cherry as it burned away for them, pinched carefully between their fingers. He could also imagine the ruby tinged stare Mountain fixes them with, soft and nothing short of pure adoration, as well as the smile that surely split his face. He'd spent so long watching them watch each other. Fallen in love with how they loved one another, and how beautiful it was to love something and have it love you in return. 

Fingers tangled through the back of his hair and he briefly debated how sweaty his curls must have felt before he's pulled. Phantom mewls sadly as he's tugged off Mountain's cock, eyes glued to it as the earth ghoul takes to stroking himself. 

When did they swap the joint back?

Zephyr's other hand rested loose around the base of his throat while the other remained twisted in his hair. Seeing them, they're not as composed as they sounded, lip bitten red in an attempt to remain stoic. 

The angle is different. New. And lets them fuck into the part of him they'd yet to seemingly mold around the shape of their dick. One thrust had his mouth falling open, his head tipping back to their shoulder, and they smiled coyly.

Smoke spilled out from between their teeth before they moved to catch his lips. It's hardly a kiss, but Phantom melts into it all the same, stomach swooping low with desire. Licking both the shallow moan and smoke from their mouth made his cock twitch. It kicks despite the hours of neglect. Still stood at attention and dripping onto the sheets, he almost reached for it until they abandoned his lips abruptly. 

They pressed a warm, sweet kiss to his temple before they forced him back down to the mattress by the back of the neck. His head spun as he caught himself on his elbows. Mountain laughed again and cupped his jaw, lifting his face up to rub the wet head of his cock to his pink and swollen lips. 

Phantom glanced up to his wide crooked smile as he pressed back into the heat of his mouth, smoke trickling out as Mountain moved to fill him once more.

[gakupo7]

The truth is there is a scary house. It is a big, red house, with wooden walls, but they're not really made of wood. I'm not quite sure what they are, to tell you the truth. It is really big, I can tell even from far away... I never get close. I know a man that guards it, and I envy him so terribly... But for what? For what? At night I can never sleep, I get nightmares.

I'm walking past the red house again. I don't move my head towards it, I could not do such a thing, I could not have anyone see me; but I also can't take my eyes off of it. They follow it steadily until it's out of my sight, and then I can't do anything else, besides quickly walk away.

I do not mind the way I live my life. It is not an uninteresting one; and I will admit, I do occasionally enjoy my fair share of fun. But I also envy quite a lot. Aside from the guard of the scary house, I also envy the golden people. They always laze about in the honeycombs, high up the vines and the trees, and they live off of dew and honey. And when I pass by beneath them, they're always far too occupied with themselves to even take a look at me, and it just drives me crazy with anger. Sometimes I just wish I could climb up the vines and give them a good scare; but they're too high up, I know it, and I'm all too heavy. The vines would break and it would result in a mess and it would all be my fault, wouldn't it? Not fair, is it? I could never blame them for anything. It would not make sense.

Last week, a friend of mine was executed.

Well, my tooth hurts, again, so I am going to the dentist, if you even care... He's a bad dentist, you know, and he won't help. I won't let him anywhere near my mouth, actually. But I made cakes, and had to share them with someone; the old hut just feels too empty nowadays. Sad, isn't it? He's just a terrible, terrible dentist.

I passed the red house, I passed the jungle with the honeycombs, and now I'm out in the open again, and it feels good. I hate how the jungle smells, it makes my head heavy. It makes my everything feel heavy, and so very small... My every step becomes so unbearably cumbersome in there, I find myself too big for my body, and I just end up seething with anger thinking of the golden people. Now that I'm out in the open again, my head is clearer, and I can think, I can really think. In the distance I can see a giant, but his back is turned on me. He's too far away, anyway... Bless my luck! I can scurry away, like one of those little gray mouses, and I'll find myself within the city in no-time.

The city is big and full of people. I pass by the square, I can't help it; parts of the cobblestone are still red. Really! How useless, those cleaners! I don't envy them one bit.

The dentist's office is full. I try to get in, but his secretary, a thin gray woman, won't let me in.

"I'm busy!" He shouts from the other room. "Try later!"

Along with his shouts I can hear his poor, poor patient, whining in pain and mumbling something, very pitifully.

"Sheesh! As if!" is my loud response. As-if! I would not visit this rathole twice in one day, and I would not stay in it any longer than ten minutes, and I would spend none of those ten minutes simply waiting for that crook to come out and do me the grand honor of eating my delicious cakes. I do have some dignity! So I hand one of the cakes to the secretary, Natalia, and once it's in her hands she grins at me, with all her crooked teeth, and I smile back and almost tip my hat at her, until I realize I am not wearing one, and so then I just leave.

I am still left with nine cakes.

I take one out of my basket and begin unwrapping it, because it is already noon, and I am hungry; and when I pass by the square again, I find there a bunch of children, playfully reenacting last week's event. I want to scold them, but I can't; it is my nerves, you see. My nerves...!

The square and the center of the city in general is always such a lively place, so full of noise and movement and all sorts of different people, including a fair bunch of constables on horses, and when you're right in the heart of it, it can feel impossible to escape. But it's not all that difficult; typically, I just walk in a straightforward manner, and soon enough as well as quite easily, I tend to find myself in streets narrower and narrower, with less and less people. They do begin to feel more and more sketchy, of course; or I, at the very least, find myself more and more anxious. But I prefer it over that colorful sea of noise; I do much prefer it. My nerves, you see! My nerves! I'll have to get used to such places, anyway. I'm thinking of moving.---

~

(I will... Continue this... Tomrorow. It is... Nearly... Three A.M!! (" - _ - ) GOODNIGHT!)

[thelampisaflashlight]

Can I have some Rain Headcanons after Dew please?

Got a couple ones for this...

-Rain is a quiet guy... Unless he’s defending/supporting his friends, then he is the loudest person imaginable. 

-He’s incredibly good at reading people, so if someone is being a jerk to him/people around him, he can give them a “dressing down” so humiliatingly accurate, that they’ll never live it down.

-He is absurdly light on his feet, even more so than Dew, so he’s one of the few people who can actually sneak up on him undetected.

-Doesn’t call people “baby”, but he will say “honey” or “darling” without it being creepy. 

-If someone is harassing one of the ghoulettes, unless he’s explicitly told not to intervene, Rain will insert himself into the conversation, much like how he’ll step in if people are intentionally provoking Dew.

With Cirrus, he stands beside her and calls the person out, with Cumulus, he puts himself between her and the person, and with Sunny, he’ll just straight up shout, like, “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO MY SISTER-”

Again, it’s not because he doesn’t think they can handle the situation themselves, but rather that they shouldn’t have to, and that the louder they are, the more people calling the person out, the better.

-Rain drops casual compliments all the time, but it isn’t just fluff, he means it. He’s called his friends pretty before, gasped and called them beautiful...

-He remembers EVERYTHING the other ghouls tell him about themselves, whether they do so intentionally or not.

He notes their little habits, their body language, how their speech patterns change depending on the mood and the people around them...

In part because he is, admittedly, quite nosy, but also because he wants to be aware of their feelings. 

Always.

And, lastly;

-He tends to keep a close eye on some of the ghouls more than others, if only because he knows their “patterns” better than the rest.

Cumulus and Dew are always in his peripherals.

[livycheshire]

❄️~°• Arctic's heart •°~❄️

❄️~part 4~❄️

Synopsis:

When Red thought her day couldn't get any better, she's faced with expulsion, until she finds out she has a package that's going to change her life.

Disclaimer: I do not own happy tree friends, I have made this au with the help of @thetravelerstale, I do not own Flippy, Flakey, Flipqy or Tiger general, I only gave them last names and first names for the storyline, everything else, plotline and other characters belong to me.

Warning: mild language, time skip and pov changes

~°no one's POV°~

A week later, it was a Tuesday. Red was walking towards the classroom buildings in the early hours of the morning, humming softly as she had her headphones in her ears, as she basked in the morning dew, and humidity. While the sun was slowly waking from the East. Red sighed to herself "thank God, I don't have to deal with her anymore… wait… did he even post it?" She thought aloud, before sighing and shaking her head.

"What does it even matter?" She said as she continued on her way, humming softly to a song stuck in her head.

She looks at the sky, watching as the birds fly overhead, chirping a morning tune as they sing together. Smiling softly as she saw one of the birds fly into a nest, as small chirps can be heard. As a mama bird, feeds her babies.

She smiles and walks by, holding her book bag And closing her eyes, lifting her head a bit, as the morning rays of light, brighten her skin, warming her in the cool fall air. She sighed happily as her short tail swayed slightly. Before she got to thinking.

'If it's true… What will happen when I leave? Of course the obvious thing is I'll be leaving behind Justin and a degree that I'll never be able to get, but it's all for the greater good.' she thought, sighing in a melancholy way. Before opening her eyes once more and freezing in her tracks as she saw Marie and her flock.

'ohhh boy… maybe I can avoid her if I just ignore her and move on.' she thought as she tried to quietly sneak past the group of girls. Keyword, tired.

"OMG! Red!" Red froze once more at Marie's voice, as said woman giggled sweetly and walked towards the girl, as she sighs internally in dismay.

'damn it…' Red thought before looking at the feline and gave her her best fake smile. "H-hi Marie." She said through gritted teeth, as Marie smiles.

"We're going to the club again, would you like to come? Maybe we can meet that hunk of a man you found last month" she smirks as her friends surround the poor girl.

"No, not this time… I'm staying away from that. I'm not going to make the same mistake again." Red said confidently, before it dwindled seeing Marie's face turn sour.

"Red~" Marie warned as she giggled "I'm not getting any younger honey, so here's what's going to happen~" she hummed, giggling more. Before her claws come out, causing Red to flinch back.

"You're going to tell me where that man is so I can get My fill. Besides, who would love a washed up bitch like you huh? A weak, useless whore like you." Marie growled out, as Red tried to back up, only to get pushed to the ground.

However, Red growled out "I'm the whore?" She said softly, disbelief and anger clouding her mind as her face scrunched fiercely. "I'M THE WHORE?! Well maybe you should look in a mirror for once!!" Red screamed out in a rage as she got up and made eye contact with Marie. Of course, attracting others' attention.

"Oh if I had a penny for every guy you'd slept with, I'd be rich! And the irony in the sentence you had just sprouted shows how much of a bitch you are!!" Red shouted, causing the people around them to 'oooh' at what Red said. Causing Marie to scowl, but before she could say anything, Red continued.

"Let's also not forget that you also slept with the entire freaking college football team!! And not only that but the entire college staff! If anything the list goes on and on! You, Marie, are the biggest whore out there!!" She growled out, her quills flared and her face red with anger. Shocking everyone, including Marie.

"I hope you get expelled, Marie, because you are using college to run Daddy's money to the ground…" Red growled, before walking away with her head down, as everyone quickly moved out of her way, as she headed to class.

It's then that she started texting Justin. Before she put her phone away, just as everyone's phones started going off.

When Red got into the classroom, she stopped to see Hana and the headmaster.

Both people stopped their conversation and looked at her. "Ah, Ms. Sinclair." The headmaster said to Red with his arms in front of him, as he looked down at his phone. "So nice of you to join us" he says before turning his attention towards Red, as she gulps and straightens up "h-hello s-sir… I'm so sorry I didn't realize-" "realize that me and your professor were in a meeting? Yes, I can clearly see why." He cuts her off as Red looks down, while he continues on.

"Ms. Sinclair, we have a very strict policy on this, that could lead to suspension or expulsion." He stated, but his words cut through Red like a knife, causing her eyes to widen, panic, settling in her stomach.

"But, from what happened just minutes ago… I came to a conclusion." The headmaster said, as Red gulped in fear "a-and th-that is?" She inquired softly, shaking lightly as she waited for his answer.

"Well, since Ms. Marie hasn't been improving in this class, I'd figure she's been causing trouble. But that display between you both leads to no resolution for Both of you. After this day, I suggest you both pack up and head back home" the headmaster says, causing Red to shake her head "but sir please! I-i need this degree! It's the only promise I made to my mother!" She said, Her voice raising unintentionally as her worry started getting to her.

"Then I suggest you show that, otherwise I'll expell you both!" The headmaster says harshly, causing Red to flinch backwards and her quills to lower as she looks down "yes, Sir." "And-" the headmaster continued "should any more problems arise, see yourself out of my college, understand?" He questioned as Red nodded, before giving him a small 'yes, Sir.'

With that he gave a curt dismissal nod, as Red, heads to her desk and sits down, just as every one of her classmates start to filter in. she sighs and looks down at her desk, avoiding any eye contact with anyone.

'Yep definitely the worst day…' she sighs softly, before paying attention to the class.

~•Time Skip•~

After class was over, Red sighs, rubbing her temple as she walks back to her dorm. Trying to dispel the growing headache she was experiencing. "God, did I not drink enough water yesterday?" She thought aloud.

"No, because I had a whole water bottle, and then another thing of water…" she stopped to think "now that I think about it I have been getting dehydrated a lot more lately… but it's probably because…" she paused "because…" she repeated, but her mind drew a blank.

"Why can't I think of anything? I mean sure it could have been because I've been sick, but even then, Justin always made sure I was fine and always drinking water…" Red sighs and looks down "plus I really don't want to go to the hospital…  not after…" a seldom fell over her face, as she shakes her head.

"No, no, no. Don't think about that." She slapped her cheeks a few times, before sighing. "Let's just get back and take a nap… I'm socially drained." She huffs as she continues walking.

After a while, when Red made it to her dorm, she was exhausted. Panting and puffing from the slight exhaustion, before shaking her head and opening the door, sluggishly walking in and shutting the door.

She sighed and flops on the couch groaning, "my feet hurt, head hurts, and everything hurts" she huffs and closes her eyes, her face scrunched into a light scowl. "Officially the worst day ever…" she sighs as her small ears flatten against her head.

Justin looks at her and tilts his head, "I'm telling you, it could have been a false negative. Plus we can head to the hospi-" he jumped as Red looked straight at him shouting "NO!" Before she flops her head back down.

"I hate hospitals, always have, always will" she huffs and sighs before flopping her head back onto the couch "i-i don't know… I'm sorry, Justin but hospitals scare me…"

"Well, I know a place that does ultrasounds, with accurate readings and stuff, but we can take another test, just to be sure." Justin smiles softly before getting up from his desk and going towards her, before crouching down beside her.

"I just want to make sure you're safe Red, college is a stressful place, and from reading up on pregnancies, stress is bad for the baby" he said as he laid his head on her arm "so come on, just this once."

Red sighs "fine, but still, I don't know if I'll keep it. I mean, I don't want to raise it alone but I don't want to put it up for adoption or worse…" she looks down.

Justin sighs before hugging her tightly "look, I'll help you through this. If you don't want to raise it, then I will… but it's all your decision." He says rubbing her back as she snuggles him. "Why does it feel like the world is out to get me?"

"Because, it happens at our lowest… when no one else is there to lift us up." He says before sighing and smiling, "but that's why I'm here Red, to help you." He says pulling away a bit and lifting her chin, as she smiles slightly.

"Thanks Justin." He smiles widely "no problem."

~•°time skip°•~

~°Red's POV°~

I sighed, fiddling with my hands as My nerves were through the roof. 'What if I really am pregnant? What if I'm not a good mother? What if-? what if-?!' "Red!" "Gah-!" I yelped as Justin called out my name, making my quills spring up in a panic as I breathed heavily, completely forgetting he came with me.

I looked at him as he crouched in front of me, staring back at me. "Hey, it's going to be ok." He said rubbing my knee in a comforting way as I sighed and nodded. "Ok" I say, as I lean back in my chair and look at the pale ceilings.

A few minutes go by, before we're finally called back, by his mother. A woman who treats me as her own. And my doctor at the moment.

"Alright, let's get this started." She said before instructing me on what to do, before she puts the gel on me, causing me to shiver slightly.

As I looked towards the screen, I was starting to get nervous, but then… we see it.

I gasped, as I stared at the screen with wide eyes.

"I-i'm…" I stutter in disbelief.

"Oh, Red…" Justin trails off, as he hugs me tightly. As I start to tear up.

[divinelikeflow]

wow I just had a honey dew melon. and why was it so absolutely amazing.

I’d gon so much of my life not liking them but i believe it’s because I’d never just had a fresh cut one. Only the ones in the pre cut fruit cups.

changed my life fr. shout out the honey dew.

cause I got that Honey. Dew. 🍈

[libidomechanica]

For years were her cheek

Dew-drops, a way have the  who were left that does the  earthly Lovers a noble  native shouts the Train, let  me sinful solemnly tairn Gorme, in  the husbands: or will  never my hand-and-twenty  stabs, waving him crippled 

by their flies for a quietly,  fear or be seeks a  salmond in wind, and  vast act by her lookd up herbs under,  is whooped, more poor, extender, 

who, mixing between your  eyes to the Million  to teach thing, as if  she mode the rods circumferent  her tenders to  die. Come those and by their reptile  shepherd beauty of life to  streas bear time! Lowers that were  there, virgins to pine, when  the come the  Sylphs the middling 

sounds the robe youth low  moved one he shepheard there of  that often he can  retired. A  few words shalt give my honey could fingers  sleep me no more did she then 

I heart wide scatter wanting.  And exalt; sometimes Coach 

the London night this to 

truest to doe raucous 

black, the Virgin joy. S  yonder his far courtiers h ad a touched leaue my bed: may still ’“tis 

playes, then the serious threats,  or a wind thy tempests  and on this desirable  know? And  bade the couple. As that 

lowly as if though somewhere 

is not till even the  other have than if I 

have away to sail wayward  the eloquent rainbow-larkspur  libration when whats  beside, you lost in  why lips have wrath in plenteous  peece of in evry Powr—Hail 

with a start; and  not unperceivd wi” Jean. Yet I chide 

in skilfu stript of our  cite that love! How on  a wilds, free; ill come night, but what  the fragrants, to 

beautiful, and loues praise thing knees.  Not quaint, and ore, but sprinkled on  the vanish, or fame,  the passion to justly  you too, of the poppies,  street, more sight like spirits  but they both comfortableau into 

a diamonds curse  change mad, o whisper in  the youthful Lord of Latmos  washd, with thee of  the blue dark trees them, and  light, and greatest Gods did  erre, if I and secret  predecessary, as Ioues  dear than music classic pas—sans  subtill I write above reflect,  where one voyce. Shedding Ignorant  profference, the phantasm,  come from our  feet as if it be 

not one to cross till blue  as filld opport. Did I expel  that bosom cold. And dwell;  a little, so play in pain  comes the jewel-print. When, 

sweet, Ill come to  subtle sport half-opens the 

empers; pours to consent, and  the female of it  cover. “What in our  long him the need  her sunny meadow as where  the secrets Motion: 

and full offence. Is thou  wilt least, and flower to  us: and glass. And too  shedding an end. And Charms, but  that bosom of the 

eagles was speech; and 

makes of either woman,  and for they were not  give a ghostes and near or  a Masquerades by a  cradlines the stedfast  where come, although the strive,  that never shall be forth, thou  iollity. Her the wist,  to be free false presently  bright; as obstinacity  listening as the  married an Angel of  a red, and only tent that  is thick synthetic phrase, but  is thus the Sprightest footsteps 

are it shorn is gone?”

[decaffeinatedconnoisseurninja]

Academia but you're in Cairo

staying up late looking up ancient jewllery, its symbolism and the stuff it was made from and the methods they used because that was some intricatte stuff you know

having an unhealthy addiction to tea. milk tea in the morning before stting off. plain tea in the afternoon when youre back. tea with mint in the chilly hours before sunset. tea with lemon when youre sick, with honey when youre sad...

listening to asmahan and laila mourad because their voices make flowers grow in your heart. you see abd el wahab or sayed darwish's names and you know youre about to heaar the most heavenly sounds you ever have.

constant debates about history (esp modern history! which is, regarless, my favourite to study!)

thrifting books from soor al azbakeyah and soor al sayeda zeinab and coming across literal gems that were sold for cheaper than dust

your uni is probably a historical site

just kidding your entire city probably is

long walks in old cairo's warm dusty mornings

constantnly stopping short to take in the glorious architecture you see before you. buildings brimming with equal parts menace and cordial affection that are simultaneously overwhelming and welcoming

does their age take your breath or does their sheer size? does their beauty make your heart flutter or is it the deep, undeniable knowledge that theres never going to be something quite like it ever again?

youre never really out of museums to visit. theres always going to be annother you just havent spotted yet

Did i tell what "cairo" means? It is derived from the arabic word "Al Qahira" meaning, She Who is Victorious. She Who Devastates. She Who is a Conqueress. She Who Is Meciless. a drop in the rich seaof her triumphant history

Visiting the ancient temples in upper egypt, the beauty of whom is so eternally breathtaking it makes you forget the tremendous amount of stairs you had to climb to get there.

Calling north Bahari (meaning "of the sea") even tho that could also be east. But you do it anyway.

The poeple going to and fro being endearing; shout/waving greatings to one another, so full of sincerity and hope in the early morning dew. It feels less lonely somehow

Romanticising everything about life as a form of conscious escapism, like all the poets and playwrights whose blood runs i your veins

there are translated works, and then there are arabic-ized wrorks of literature. its not hard to see that you prefer the latter.

also who came up with titles like "god of sword and quill" and "prince of poets"? we need to have a conversation. i love you and so does everyone else with a basic sense of art

visiting the old palaces and castles and always coming across abandoned ones. you wonder who would dare abpndon something so beautiful. you feel an immense sadness and and a crippling blow of yearning that do nothing to remove the dust coating everything or bring the music back to the pianoforte.

going to bazaars even if you knoe youre not going to buy anything. youre here for the copper, thr bass, the spices and occasional gleap of wine red jewllery. oh and the cat you befriended right outside the coffee shop!

buying jewllery and pottery from khan el khalili or el mo'ez streerts becaue everything is just so pretty and we shop local

going to century+ old cafes and sitting at a table that might have been naguib mahfouz's who knows

analizing the "foreign" words in your dialect and feeling an otherworldluy ense of knowing when you recognize wherethe come from! plage is french! shanta is turkish! em bu comes from coptic eb mu meaning water! nunu is ancient egyptian for fragile! and so much more!

[nelapanela94]

Hi Nela , i wanted to request a fic, an angsty one at that, where  it is set in cannonverse.  So, a colleegue of levi dies on a mission and she harbored strong feelings for him for a long time in secret, but she cant pass and her spirit keeps looming over him watching  until fate makes him   realize that she was deeply in love with him , and who knows maybe they'll be together in another lifetime. You're welcome to make changes or add anything . Get well soon 😊 🙏

😊Hi Anon! Thank you!!!! I'm feeling way better now, and than you so much for the request!!!

tw: Angsty, depiction of physical injuries and death.

wc: ~13k

Summary: Doomed to spend eternity in a wedge between heaven and hell, mourning a love that could not be, Y/N has only one way to escape her desolate fate. Will she find a way to make Levi aware of the feelings she has secretly harbored for him?

You were noise and silence muting my soul.

Fury and lull.

tears and laughter.

The promise and a perhaps

confusing my skin.

You were all and nothing.

You are what never was and will never be.

The storm and oblivion.

An hourglass upside down.

3

Gravel crunch under your feet. You’re running towards the light, but the line that divides brightness and darkness recedes with every step you take. No matter how fast you run, your feet never skim the glowing gold. The gleam warms your skin like a mother caress lulling you to sleep. Barren soil becomes grass, tall grass that gobbles up and pricks your ankles. Dew wicks your white, flowing skirts. You clutch the twill in your fists and lift so as not to trip and fall. Despite the voluminous dress, you feel light, weaving through with such litheness. Like a feather swirling in an airstream.

You enter the woods, sticks of light pour through the boughs and sprigs, hundreds-year-old trees stand there and proud like sentinels, flanking the way to the great beyond. Their entwined branches claw at the sky like pleading arms. The air holds the balmy aromas of honey and oak, mingled with the smell of petrichor. Your hair whips around your face, and the whisper of the gentle breeze soothes you, trimming away the suffering. The pain has waned. No more blood is gushing out. The wounds on your flesh sewn back as if seconds or minutes has spooled backwards. As if the reels were collected. But time is moving forward. The earth continues whirling around the sun. Your lips curve up into a smile of relief when you spot the last wall of trees.

You just have to follow the light to the world where souls wallow in ambrosial fragrance and revel in the divine twang of harps.

A frosty gale whirs with the intensity of a hurricane, prickling your arms and face with a thousand needles, and the lustre shrinks. The elation fades from your gaze, giving way to a grimace of dismay. Confusion, fear, chagrin sting your face. The darkness that enfolds you is so dense you can’t see your fingers wiggling before you. The sheer quietness is jarring, and you’re left alone with your unsettling thoughts. A throe of anguish whacks you right in the chest and bolts through your limbs. Blotches of your last moments snag your senses: the pungent stench of iron, wires buzzing, dismembered bodies, spatters of crimson, the ear-splitting shouts and pleas, the twinging pain surging through your leg and side and neck, the bark of a tree chaffing your back.

The little hairs behind your neck bristle in awareness. Chills bite you. Despair crawls under your skin like rolling-out barbed wire. A razor-sharp beat springs in your chest, and your heart leaps into your throat. Your mouth unhinges to scream, but nothing comes out.

You run, the fear of being trapped in that prison of murk is more harrowing than the fear of stumbling and smashing your face on the floor. What's the worst that could happen if you're already dead?Though, no matter where you go, there’s no sign or a sliver of light that gives you hope.

A dire laughter rises, and you stop in your tracks, turning your head in different directions with frenzy. Your breath comes out in a rush of panic, and your chest tightens into a knot. Something or someone rejoices in your plight. The laugh is like a throaty rasp scraping your ears with the most abrasive sandpaper.

You close your eyes shut, clamping them so tight you see stars sparkling behind your eyeballs, threatening to explode. You hunch. Your hands cover your ears, yet the dreadful sound seeps through. Your face is dampened and warm with tears. Chin wobbling. Your sobs and weeps tangle with the sardonic guffaw composing a brash tune that prickles your eardrums.

Is this how eternity will be? How bad have been your sins? Is this a fair sentence for stealing an eraser in first grade? Now you have no chance to apologize to Toby. Maybe for cheating in math? For the white little lies? For…

Whops bang with furor where your heart is supposed to be. You raise your head defiantly, and crack your eyes to the nothingness, mustering courage from who knows where, and open your mouth to shout ‘Whose there?’ ‘Who are you?’ ‘What are you?’ ‘Where am I?’ But your queries clog in your throat like a fireball. You try to stroke a syllable and coat it in your voice, but all you feel is lava trickling down to your chest. You give another try, stubborn as you are– that’s why you ended up here in first place. But this time shards of glass are forced down your throat.

You gag, your fingers curling around your neck as you tumble on your knees. A hiss dashes out through gritted teeth, tears piquing your eyes at the brazen pain of nails stabbing your calves.

Right when you’re about to give up and yield to your fate, looming in the infinite darkness, the gloom begins recoiling into a smoky shade of wispy edges. Black branches gnarl on white, slipping on the indefinite floor and walls, giving form to a soaring shape before you. It grows a bald head with ears, a torso with arms and legs and fingers and toes. No nose, no eyes, no mouth. Yet.

The cold dwindles. Your face rucks up, eyes shut tight, and you turn away from the blinding beam.  It expands to the infinite, to your right, left, front, and back. You take a peek through a slivered open eye and there’s no elongated shadow cast on the floor, as if the light is coming from nowhere, a beam without source.

“Make up your mind.” A sour scorn jabs your ears. “Darkness makes you weep, and light vexes you.”

You lurch back, wide eyes full of fright trembling at the figure standing in front of you. Its arms are folded over its chest, foot tapping on the floor, sketching rippling waves on the surface as if you were standing on a shallow lagoon. A wide toothy grin sprains up to where its eyes are supposed to be.

Your quivering lips part to speak, but this time, what’s holding you back is pure panic, seizing every inch of your body. Spreading from flesh to bones.

“Has the cat got your tongue?”

Your stomach churns, and words heap in your throat. Terror glides beneath your skin.

It sighs and shrugs, its palms facing up. “You must be wondering where are you? And why?”

You gulp, guzzling down the knot, and it takes it like a yes.

It conjures a scroll, unfurls it, and your eyes follow the paring roll until it brushes your feet. The shadow figure reads for itself the intricately engraved markings, whispering in an unrecognizable language, and you wonder how it can read without eyes. It rewinds the manuscript and slides it back into a pouch that slits in its belly. It brings a fist to its mouth, and harrumphs, tilting its head up.

You tip your head to the side, one eyebrow shot upward.

"After inventorying your sins and good deeds, we ruled out the underworld for you. Stealing an eraser from a six-year-old is not frowned upon by the higher ups, nor is lying to your parents.” It shakes its head accusatorily, then bursts into a flaming, whirling form, tittering, and swirling around you. Its voice leaves a somber echo. “Saying you'd stay over with your girlfriends to wantonly cede to the fangs of debauchery.” It reverts to its demi human form and brings its hands to under its chin, steepling its fingers, tips tapping. “What would your parents think if they found out you were sneaking out with the baker's son?” It scratches its head. “Anyway, according to the guidelines, that's not considered a felony. Squashing a cockroach doesn't count as murder. But as you may have noticed,”–it lifts a finger and whirls it in the air. Your eyes dart around, and it continues, “this isn't heaven either. Your application to paradise was rejected." It yawns. "So, you got caught in the middle. No agony, no bliss. Nothing. Just you and me."

You blink twice.

You lower your head, gazing up at it, lashes flitting. “Is there anything I can do to get out of here?” you ask coyly, swinging your head from side to side.

“I thought you were a mute.”

Your frown, folding your arms over your chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.” Irritation enfolds your voice. Your fingers drum over your upper arms as your eyes go blank.

“Try another one.”

“What are you?”

Its smile is sprightly this time.

"I am only a messenger and the one who takes you to your destination, but because of you, we are both trapped in here. We messengers are bound to the souls until we deliver this to gatekeepers of heaven or hell." He fumbles in its back pocket, draws a green gem and holds it in front of you between his thumb and forefinger. "If I don't hand it over, I won't untie myself from you. As simple as that."

"And what did I do? Why can't I get into paradise?" you scowl, jutting out your lower lip. Hands resting on your hips.

"To let shame and the fear of rejection consume you, to let the chances you had to tell him slip away." It raps its tapered fingers on your temple for every word as if he’s drilling a hole.

“Ouch!” Your face contorts as you rub the side of your head.

“You wasted all your chances, crumpled them and threw them in the bin.”

You know exactly that it means. You were brooding over that matter, but you were going to do it, you were determined to spill it out right after the expedition.

But fate dissented.

At least you would have someone to talk to. For ages.

Like a blown-up flame, it snaps away, and panic surges through you again. Lousy company was better than being alone in nothingness. At least it would keep you diverted from your thoughts.

Then, something brushes your nape from behind, grating you like a rough jute blanket, making shivers run down your spine.

It’s light and sturdy, the sensation on your shoulders. The hands squeeze you, and you freeze in the spot. Your body feels so heavy you can’t move, you can’t fight. Its teeth nip your neck, and you loll your head back. You swear you feel its breathing fanning over the thrumming spot beneath your jaw. But it doesn’t even have a nose.

Your muscles tense, and your breath comes out in muffled pants, your legs squirm at the tempting groping. Your eyes close, and you make a huge mistake.

Its palms march down, its mouth nibbles on your neck, and you hate it feels so good. A feeble moan leaps out of your lips.

You can feel the gibing smirk curving against your cheeks.

Your face slathers with deep red.

“Y/N, I love you, I love you.” It’s arms slither around you, holding you tight. That’s not its croaky voice; it’s husky, and soft, and deep, like a rasp of silk, laced with lust. A voice you know too well, a voice that make your knees wobble and your heart gallop.

But a tinge of mockery lingers at the end of each syllable. And you know it’s just teasing with you.

“Leave me alone!!!” you creak. Your hands anchor to its arms and hurl them off. Its obnoxious laughter gurgles out in a hoarse scour.

It lets go, and you spin around.

But it’s not a black human-shaped shadow with the acerbic grin and warped edges. No.

Dizzy with repulsion, you heave, air lodges in your throat, and even if you don’t need oxygen anymore, you feel you’re running out of breath. Your guts wrench.

Levi stands in front of you. Those are his features, those lips you dreamed to kiss, his nose, his expressive thin brows, because, what his heart tucks in, and his words can’t give form, his brows give away.

That silky hair you always wanted to smooth down, to entwined those locks between your fingers and let them slip through.

But there is something off.

The eyes. Not steel gray with a hue of blue, but green, bright green like the stone it showed you twiddling in its fingers. Pale smoke swirls through its gaze.

Scowling, you snarl, “I hate you!”

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted?” he inches closer, pointing forward his puckered lips into a kiss. “I love you Y/N. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Marry me. We’ll live in the outskirts of the city and bless our home with kids.” He holds his hands together, fingers intertwined, sighing dreamily. A cheap lampoon.

Your brows twitch, your cheeks flushed red. Hands fisting your white skirts. “SHUT UP!”

Your voice echoes, stretching to the endlessness.

“He’ll never say that!” You spit.

“Of course he won’t. You’re dead.” He rolls his eyes.

“Thanks for being so empathetic.” You huff. “I mean, he would’ve never said it that way.”

“Enlighten me then. So I can give you a perfect personification. I’d make your stay more… pleasant.”

No. You don’t want this shoddy illusion. It might look like him, but it’s not him.

“Is there anything I can do?”

The fake Levi pokes a finger in his nose. “For what?”

“To get out of here.”

“You had your chance, you missed it.” He sniffs the booger and flicks it away with his thumb.

“But–“

“It hurts my feelings you don’t want to stay with me.” He splays a hand on his chest and feigns cry. “I promise I’ll be a good partner to roam with in the eternity.”

“I don’t give a shit about your feelings!” You holler back. "I need to get out of here."

“You’re so mean Y/N.” His chin trembles. You loath the way he says your name. Stench coating every letter. “There’s something you can do”

Your eyes fill with hope.

“But I won’t tell.” He turns his face away gruffly.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s not ladylike, Y/N. I’ll lather your mouth with water and soap.”

You blow off a lock of hair from your eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Make me.”

“I’ll give you anything.”

The fake Levi smirks. “Anything?”

“I mean–” you quaver.

“There’s nothing you can give me, there’s nothing I want from you.” He grips your jaw, impelling you to look at him. You try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re a pretty one, but I don’t feel–what’s what you call it? Desire? That’s not something I was created for. And your soul? I’m already tethered to you.”

He releases you. A burn of ice scorches where his fingers had pressed.

“Please tell me.”

“I’m not a god, or a devil, or a genie in a bottle.” His lizard green eyes stain with mischief as an idea hatches in his head. What you don’t know is that he only wants to play. “Just so you can see that I’m not as hateful as you think I am, I’ll tell you. There’s only one way, Y/N. You have to shear the thread, the pending issue that keeps you stuck here. You have to tell him what you feel.”

Your eyes furrow. “And how do I do that?”

“I can’t solve everything in your life. Death.” He corrects himself. “Your soul will roam among the living, and you must find a way to deliver the message.”

“How long do I have?”

“Until he dies. If he dies and you can’t tell him, I’ll drag you back here.” He gives you a coy smile. “You have a lifetime, his lifetime.”

You clear your throat to speak, but his voice slices into peals of laughter.

Cracks splinter down its head, neck, and shoulders; black leaks through the crevices, like twisting loose black curls seeping out like water, pooling and spreading boundlessly. It fragmentizes. The shards of the Levi shell it wore disintegrate, melting as in acid. They hiss, and roiling threads of lawn-green smoke swirl above them, wisp edges blur in the nothingness. Your  fumbling legs don’t move, they don’t respond to your commands. You look down and spot the half dozen of snaky limbs trussing your limbs, seizing them, pulling you down. Your face is frozen in a snarl of panic. Your chest tightens, and your throat clogs, and you can’t make a sound.

There are no prankish smirk or green eyes. A menacing void daubs in your stomach, smearing to your chest and throat. A maw full of fangs cracks open beneath your feet.

Here you stand frozen, blackness consuming you; inch by inch, you drown in quicksand. The more you struggle the faster you sink. Pain lances up through your feet, sudden and sharp. You gaze down in search of a wound, but your ankles are already submerged under the blackness. Its laughter becomes a strident noise as pain climbs and infects your calves and shins and soon it’s twisting your knees, your thighs, your hips and on.

Your raucous weep encroaches the piercing chortle. Your throat flares up as you tug at the collar of your dress, trying to tear it apart, but it clings into your skin, cinching tighter. Tears wedge out through the line of your lashes, pampering your face, stinging your lips. The saltiness swabs your mouth.

“Those who risk nothing don’t deserve to go to hell or to the altars.” Its hoarse voice echoes, each syllable thrums in your ears.

A tinkling, and it all shatters.

Legs flutter, arms flounder.

You’re falling, falling, swallowed by the abyss.

I

Supple snores brush past his lightly parted lips. You watch his back rise and fall steadily. One arm stretched out. His cheek is sprawled on the last document he was reviewing last night before dozing off with the quill trapped in his fingers. The blotch of black expanded in a circle with warped edges until it ran out of ink.

He looks cute, you think. In your eyes he always looks adorable. Even with the creases sullying between his eyebrows, and his arms crossed over his chest.

Serenity envelops him, granting him a few hours of well-deserved peace.

Three hours.

He did well last night.

You poke him, try to, but the tip of your finger doesn’t dent his pillowy cheek. Instead, it goes through him. A reminder that you’re here, but not. Between cero and one there’s an infinity, just like between you and him. You strew your hand and bring it over his cheek, flimsily caressing, but you feel nothing under your phantom touch. There’s no warmth, nor the tenderness of his skin. You wonder whether he feels something when you’re looming around, a sudden cold or warmth, the air lighter or denser. You take every chance you get to tangle yourself in his hair, to breath down on his neck, supplicating that he can feel you.

But you had your time to gamble, and you missed your shot.

Feel me.

He’s slobbering, a cord of saliva dribbles out, spattering the letters in charcoal black. His khaki jacket is perched on the backrest. His cravat hooked loosen around his neck.  The firsts two buttons of his shirt undone.

Two years ago, heat would have grazed your core by a tiny bit of exposed skin. A simple glimpse of ripping collarbones, or broad shoulders, rippling muscles or a glance of his perfectly sculpted chest, or veiny arms, or…

You shake off the naughty thoughts.

Even two years after, a single peek of any inch of his flesh has the same effect on you.

You can’t help it. It’s always been like that, even a simple exchange of Hi’s had your legs shaking, and your cheeks broiling red as if his gaze and his voice have caught you in a spell. You are the sun that runs helplessly behind the moon.

But it’s not just the straightforward gravity of lust that had you spinning around his orbit. Yes, Levi got the looks–though others might demur–but it’s much more than carnal desire. You could always see through his façade, wondering how much energy and self-restrain it takes to keep it on all the time. But if you look heedfully, if you don’t succumb to the intensity of his gaze and the chastisement of his frown, you can see it. The Levi who feels to much, at a jarring intensity it lacerates his heart, and he doesn’t have enough time to patch it up when another stab wounds him. The dial of his heart is broken, most likely a manufacturing defect or a childhood trauma that left the volume all the way up.

There were so many blows that life threw at him, mercilessly, and the pain stretched long and unbearably sharp; thus, he learned to numb them off and protect himself. An insensitive lunatic, they say. And he couldn’t care less of what they think. It’s just a survival tactic.

That’s the Levi you fell in love with. The Levi who cares too much, who puts everyone else before him, who’ll never accept he’s good with kids and animals.

The tea lover and the clean freak.

The scared boy who used his strength to survive in a world that doesn’t  set limits to cruelty.

You love the Levi who is too sensitive to the sunlight.

The Levi who cocoons under his covers and quilt in winter, and files complaints to the sweltering summer for coating him in a nasty clammy layer.

The Levi he hides under the hull.

The Levi who doesn’t carry the boulder of being Humanity’s strongest soldier.

I love you. You hover over behind him, humming a lullaby he’ll never hear. Your ghostly fingers linger along the line of his chin and nose, draw his eyebrows, the line of his lashes. You try to flick a lock of hair, but it doesn’t flinch. Shove your hand between the disheveled strands, but you go through his skull.

Creepy.

A sigh whizzes out.

But you’re a persistent one, and just like every morning, you drag your lips to his in hope that this time it will be different.

The prince waking up the princess from the enchantment. But he’s not a princes and you’re not a prince, and this is not a kids tale.

You watch his reaction closely. Your mouth remains a millimeter away from his; you close the gap and steel gray eyes snap open wide. You don’t move, you don’t retreat. You wait; he’s staring aghast, and for a second you believe today is the day the planets align, but thin black eyebrows sink into a scowl and a ‘tch’ traipse out of his mouth.

The legs of his chair screech on the wooden floor, and he hauls up on his feet, wiping off his drool with the back of his hand, still unaware of the shapeless black blot on his cheek.

You step back, shooting a brow upward, tilting your head to the side, and swiftly spin around. You watch him stomp to the shelf jammed with hefty tomes of leather-bound encyclopedias and biographies, their spines adorned with curving gold letters and neat patterns. He stands before it, stretches up, putting his weight on his toes, and rubs off a speck of dust with a cloth he drew out from his pocket.

“Levi” You groan his name, pulling off your hair, fighting the urge to kick his desk.

You can walk past through people and animals, but not through objects. Though, you can’t really touch them. You can push them, but never grab them, they’d slip from your fingers. Once, desperate to get his attention from the engrossing paperwork, you drop a ceramic mug from his desk. The quill fell from his hand, and stunned, he stared at the shards scattered on the floor, swarmed in his precious tea. The flickering light of the candle danced coarsely on his dilated pupils; he slammed down the mesh in his throat, and shook his head in disbelief, smacking the heel of his hand on his forehead.

It must’ve been the lack of sleep, he convinced himself.

Besides, your task is to confess your feelings, not to scare the shit out of him or render him believe he’s gone mad.

Another tch spills out of him when he spots the black smudge of ink stretching from the heel of his hand to his pinkie finger. He struts back to the table and his eyes flicker to the print he left on the paper.

“Fuck.”

He’ll need a copy of the report.

Why not to write a message or a letter? The quill slithers. However, about a month after this all started, when the headquarters still perched close to Shiganshina, you tried to trap the pen clamped between your hands. That day, Levi attended a meeting with Shadis, Erwin, Hange and the other squad leaders to discuss arrangements for the following mission. Levi was still a low rank soldier, yet a promising one who had already become a key piece in the game. The rest of the cadets were hectic with muscle wrenching training.  You stayed in the boys' dorms, battling with defiance as the shadow twitted and scoffed on your back. With the quill teetering in your hands, you dipped it in the inkwell, but as soon as the nip scratched the paper, the ink was swallowed by the fiber. No matter how many times you tried, you could not write more than one stroke.

You couldn’t leave a message whittled on a tree bark or carved in soil; you couldn’t leave a print. Nothing.

Because you didn’t belong here.

You follow Levi to the adjacent room. A light blend of bergamot and lavender lingers in the air. The warm summer breeze caresses his face as the window swings open, particles of dust sway freely in the first morning glow. His bed is untouched, perfectly taut, no wrinkles etched in the sheets.

What a waste.

You rush to the bathroom door, and rest against the frame on your shoulder, arms folded over your chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

Your eyes are hooked to each of his movements. Opening his wardrobe door, he flicks his eyes along the row of light blue shirts and white pants. He takes his time as if he had a fan of options unfurled before him like a girl choosing a gown to a ball. He slides the hangers across the metal railing, one finger curled against his chin.

It’s not science, Levi. You roll the eyes.

And he emerges from the closet with a shirt and a pair of pants hooked on his arm, looking exactly at the clothes he fell asleep with. He hangs them on the backrest of his wing chair and sits on the edge of the bed, next to the nightstand. He pulls out the bottom drawer, delving into, and draws a pair of white briefs.

He thuds the drawer close with his leather-clad foot and heads to the bathroom, leaving the clean underwear perched too on the chair.

You stand there under the door frame, feet shoulder width apart, the back of your hands set on your hips. You slant forward, determination smeared across your eyes.

I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU, you shout, I LOVE YOU, LEVI.

Nothing.

Grumbling, you press the heels of your hands over your eyes and screak with hopelessness. You clout your temples, tears flooding in your eyes. Stupid, stupid, Y/N, why didn’t you knock on the door?

You look up and mumble, I love you, Levi. I love, you. Your voice breaks, and your chin trembles.

But nothing.

He ducks into the bathroom, walking past through you. The skirts of your dress billow as you turn around. You wipe your tears away, and you know what’s coming next. You are a bystander every morning, and his routine is almost unflappable.

You've seen him undress in front of you hundreds of times, and the desire never dissipates. A tingle crawls in your belly every time you look at him unseemly. The only perk of being invisible. An indecent show exclusive for you.

However, seeing and not touching is a curse.

His clothes pool at his feet and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip, relishing in the enthralling image. You close one eye and trace a svelte finger along the rebel locks of hair, pointing in every direction, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cupid bow, his chin, and jaw and Adam’s apple, his taut chest. You draw a circle around his tiny nipple. You continue downwards. The sun that pours through the small casement window catches the angles and planes of his perfectly chiseled torso, the V-cut abs, the ripped obliques, making him look like a statue carved by a master of the art. Your eyes meander along the line of hair marching down that disappears under his boxers. A dented line trails along his thick and flexed outer thighs.

His underwear is still in place, and you sulk. His booty is perky and round and bitable.

Distress surges through you, twisting your stomach. Like a gust of cool wind, it steps behind you. You and your sinful thoughts. Its voice is a ragged whisper that blisters your nape. Your knees go rubbery. He could’ve been yours.

The air is denser and torrid behind you.

You clear your throat and say without looking back, Rejection was a possibility too.

Levi spits out the toothpaste, and takes a sip of water from the cup, swishes, and spits again, and wipes his mouth on a washcloth. 

Dumb and dumber, perfect for each other. Its last words waft away. You nibble on your lower lip and look over your shoulder, but it’s already gone. Momentary alleviation swaddles you again, your hands, little by little, stop trembling. You never know when it’s going to show up again. It may show up the next minute, or you may not hear from it for a month.

You watch Levi lean over the sink, closer to the mirror, furrowing his brows at the stain on his cheek. He lifts his chin, one hand stroking his jawline, tilting his face to the sides.

Levi, you shaved two days ago.

Yet you know he can’t stand stubbles. He first wipes off the black smudge. Then slathers shaving oil on the target area and picks up the dark wood. From the handle, he unfolds it. The stainless-steel blade catches the sunlight in a bright gleam that flashes on the mirror. He holds the razor to his jaw, and the blade smoothly glides in short strokes. Water trickles from the faucet and he rinses the blade. Again, the sharp edge scrapes. He cleanses it, lifts his chin, pulls it back, and it slides again.

Once done, he cleans the blade and folds the razor, and places the mahogany handle on the countertop. You slip behind him, but there’s only one person looking back from the mirror. He washes his face and swabs a towel gently, pats his clean-shaven cheeks and lolls his head, flicking his hair to the side, running his fingers over his undercut. It’s soft and he briefly notes it’s gotten long.

Not today.

Soon Hange will be banging on his door.

His fingers anchor to the hem of his briefs, pull them down, and he kicks them off. Your eyes beam with tinge of lust, your cheeks scorching red. How bad you want to smack that booty. You shake your head, ‘sinful thoughts, sinful thoughts, don’t forget you can still go to hell.’

Levi gets into the shower and sweeps the curtain. Water whooshes down, and you strut back to his room. Groaning, you fall back on his bed, running down your palms over your face.

Day seven hundred and fifty two, and you’ve made no progress. This is not going anywhere. Why don’t you help me? You ask the shadow, you know he is listening, but you don’t get an answer.

If you help me, both of us will benefit, you know?

Screw you.

It doesn’t have a name, he said, and you don’t want to give it one. It’d strengthen your bond, and that’s the last you wish.

Water stops running, and a minute later, Levi steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, lucky drops of water trickle down the ridges of his abs. You’re jealous of them because they can caress his skin. You roll onto your side, head prop on your elbow, your hair spilling down over the sheets.

Several times has the wind accidentally knocked the towel off.

He wipes his hair dry with another towel and tosses it away as he makes his way to the chair where his clothes are piled on.

He briskly dons his clothes, slip into his boots, and straps on. He fixes his cravat, and smooths down his hair. Picks up his towels and hangs them on the hooks in the bathroom.

Levi sighs and toddles to his office, closing the door to his room with a soft thud.

Seven bells break through the window, and while the last chime still resounds, three bangs drag him to the door.

Levi slips aside, and Hange steps inside, but they don’t show up alone. A night-black ball of hair is cradled in their arms, puffing up and down soundly.

“Good mor—”

“Get that thing out of here,” he scoffs as a sour grimace creeps across his face.

“Bu—”

He clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes, “I don’t want cat hair in my office.”

You witness the scene, and one green eye peeks open, drifting to you, filled with haughtiness.

Kick that cat out of here, Hange.

 It casts a grim glance at you.

That’s not even a cat.

 It purrs against their chest.

“Isn’t it cute?”

“No.”

No.

You reply in unison, but of course they can’t hear you.

A scowl tugs your brows together, your fists are clenched by your sides, your jaw set forward, teeth gritting so tight they might crack. That’s not possible, though, but the pressure mars you.

Meow. It yawns and leaps off Hange, making them lurch back.  

Its tail curls inward as it prances with indifference, swaying with arrogance. It stretches its back and curls at your feet. Levi’s eyes go blank, and heads to the bookshelf. Hange sinks into the couch and turns sideways to watch Levi standing on his toes, reaching out for a mug, their knee hitched up onto the sofa. They let out a chuckle, coaxing a death-sentence glower from the ravenette.

They lift their hands in the air, palms out as a sign of peace. “So, you also heard about the new tea supplies.”

“Yeah,” one corner of his lips quirks up.

Murmurs from the hallway percolate into his bureau. He left the door open, and more and more soldiers plod by down the corridor, heading for the training camp.

Levi owns a fine 13-piece tea set in white china that rests symmetrically on the top shelf. Six flare-shape cups graced with golden rims and handle rest on their saucers. The guava shaped teapot, adorned with a pattern of graciously painted spring flowers is settled in the middle. A little further to the right lies a mug that does not fit the set. And that’s the one Levi goes for.

Your eyes light up as you let out a sigh that coalesces hope and melancholy. A feeble, meek smile curves in your lips as Levi runs his thumb over the hand-painted dahlias. It was delicately crafted by nimble hands, something Levi deeply appreciates. His shoulders sag lightly, and he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath.

“That’s a pretty one, Levi.”

Thanks Hange. It took me months, and tears of frustration to finish it before his birthday.

“It was a present,” he muses wistfully, raking his fingers through his hair, and pads toward Hange.

“From who?” Hange hauls onto their feet and slings an arm around Levi’s shoulders. “Don’t tell me it was from Y/N?” They wink and reel closer, waggling their eyebrows as Levi inches away, blushing and averting his eyes.

A pang of faith jabs within your chest, and you swallow the skein of despondency and misery, a drop of optimism fans out over your gaze. The cat’s ears twitch, and it gazes up, those penetrating green eyes meet yours and you can feel the dashes of scorn stabbing you, yet you won’t let him win this time. You cast a smug smile, then your eyes scoot to Levi and Hange as they strut together to the door.

“How do you know?” Levi stammers, and you raise a brow. His tapered fingers curl tight around the ceramic mug.

“Levi…” Hange sighs patting his back, their shoulders sag. “Sometimes it amazes me how thick you can be on certain issues.”

You rest against the desk, entwining your fingers and you bring your clasped hands to your chin, legs crossing and uncrossing. A deep red shade crawls across your cheeks. Today might be the day, the day you’ll break the curse. Come on, Hange, you whisper.

Levi halts in his tracks and flings Hange’s arm off him. His eyebrows plummet into a frown. “Explain yourself.”

Yes, Hange, explain yourself.

You watch with the suspense as when your team is about to score. You feel your hear thrumming recklessly, shivers dashing down your spine.

“Don't tell me you never noticed it.” The titan freak pinches the bridge of their nose, shaking their head, and drags out a long breath.

“Noticed what?” Levi bellows, creased lines marring his forehead and between his brows.

“The way she looked at you.” Hange exhales, a forlorn smile blooming in their lips. They squeezed Levi’s shoulder and mutters, “I’m sorry.”

One baby step.

Dumbfounded, Levi stares at them with wide open eyes that quail under the weight of their pensive gaze. His lips tremble too. He gulps, and lets his brows sink into a scowl. His heart kicks against his chest, and his face is mottled with redness, though Hange can’t tell whether it’s anger of embarrassment.

“Don’t talk trash.” He barks and storms out; Hange shrugs and follows him, closing the door behind them.

Your arms fall by your sides, your shoulders flump, and your head hangs forward as if it’s too heavy for your neck to support; your hair, jarred loose from the usual moorings, fling over your head. Your hands grip the wooden rim so hard color begins to drain from your fingers. Tears slide down your cheeks and fall, but they never touch the floor, they dissolve right before crashing on the polished wood, a chasm so thin and infinite that separates you from their world.

It’s not a cat anymore. A black shade stands next to you. A haughty smile spread across its somber face; its contemptuous laughter flays your skin. An arm swings around you, and you tip your head, your eyes crashing with the fake Levi’s. Smoke swishes in those disquieting pupils. Tears had stained your cheeks, minced your throat to a scalding soreness. You stare at him without rasping a word, trying to numb the pain away. It hurts too much.

Hopelessness infects you like a meat-eating bacterium. Time ticks, his time is ticking, and the fear of never seeing him again erodes every inch of your flesh.

This woe cut a hole right through you with a rusty knife.

Even dead, you’re not immune to pain.

You hurl him off.

“Oi! Y/N!”

You turn your head to him, swollen and glassy eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted, lips quavering. “Could you stop saying my name in his voice?” You plead in a wavering voice.

But he only snorts, a devilish smirk grazing those beautiful features. “It wouldn’t be fun, Y/N.” He grips your chin harshly, and you have no strength to fight him. “Love is your curse, sweetheart. Come with me. We´ll have each other for eternity.”

2

You drown a roaring yawn in the palm of your hand and wipe away the tear peeking at the corner of your eye. Disdain and disappointment suffuse the crowds’ faces. A cloud of pessimism and distrust hover over the streets of Shiganshina. The great bell chimes, and the chains rattle as the door to the outer world rises. Holding the reins in the curve between your thumbs and forefingers, you pat your face to wake you up. You suck in a long breath to steady the drumming beats of your heart. Even though it’s not your first expedition, apprehension fizzes through your veins, increasing the adrenaline in your system.

Shadis orders advance. Amid whistles and jeers, and the clopping of the hooves, you pass through the main gate, and the formation soon deploys.

No one had forecasted the ashy gray clouds rolling from the east.

Shouts ensnare with cries, and you can’t remember at what moment you fell from the horse. It must have slipped in the mud. Pain exploded in your face as you smacked against the ground. Splattered blood dappled your uniform, though you didn’t know if it belonged to your comrades or if it was your own. Your fingers burned, yet you managed to drag battered body to under a tree.

You slump against the trunk and a thick fog blurs your vision, and through the daze you glimpse bodies being tossed away by a savage giant. Wires buzz and click and snap. Wails of agony seem so distant. A short film in sepia flicker before your eyes, the story of your life. The door unfolds in front of you, and you try to lift your hand and rap your knuckles against the oak wood, like that day. That time, what got on your way was fear, the fear of rejection, the fear of not being good enough; now, what’s stopping you from knocking is life slipping away through your fingers like a river slithering through the rocks.

You can’t coax the earth to spin in reverse, you can’t go back in time. And now rue dashes through you like a vine of thistles scraping your chest. The sinners by omission are also reprimanded, and you learn that in the harshest way as Charon approaches, but panic surges through you because you don’t have a coin for the ferryman. Perhaps another divinity that doesn’t charge for its services will take pity on your soul.

Numbness starts to spread though your limbs. Crimson sprouts from your left thigh and your right side, and there’s a splinter too following the line of your collarbone. Little by little, the tingle from your hands and feet recedes as if they’re detaching from you.

Your breath shallows, and you shudder in pain, hissing. The affliction branches across your leg and torso and shoulder like lightning, red smears over your uniform. Your fumbling hands are not strong enough to clutch the wounds and deter the bleeding. The stains feel warm, and you fight to not close your eyes. But your eyelids feel leaden with weariness.

Through the haze, covered in soil and blood, your fingernails look a faint blue. Your body feels heavy, and it’s anchored to the ground as if made of solid rock, as if your eyes had mingled with Medusa’s.

You’re perspiring in delirium. Scrunching up your face, you bite your bottom lip until the taste of iron stings your mouth. Pain eases pain, you tell yourself. Your arms fall by your sides, the bark feels rough against your back, and a meek smile tugs at your lips. At least you’re feeling something, that means, you’re still tied up to this world. Maybe, maybe, he’ll come back on time.

You cry tears you hadn’t realized you had left. You’re ladling them out from the reserve, from the last wave of devastation. Tears that endorse the truth you’re still reluctant to accept.

You’re tired as though you’re swimming in a lake of molasses, desperately fluttering, but it keeps pulling you down.

An invisible wire of fear seizes your chest, and you cling to your last breath, waiting for him.

The chirp of the grasshoppers and the rustling of the leaves and branches fade away. The world slowly shuts down, and you gaze up, close your eyes and pray for any deity to have mercy on you.

So, this is the end?

Alone, sweaty, muddy.

Frightened, beaten, impotent.

And then, you see Levi.

The cause of your bliss and frustration. Of your songs and reticence.

Levi, Levi, Levi.

With your last breath you repeat his name, his name that slips from your lips like honey.

Y/N who was always late for any important event in her life but arrives early to her own death.

It’s alright.

You’re at peace.

You’re not afraid.

You’re ready.

And those frames, those moments that could’ve been, but will never be project like a motion picture before your eyes.

You and Levi, napping under the sun, belly’s brimming with cheese and wine and fruits.

You stroking Levi’s hair as he reads aloud for the two a verse that binds you together.

Levi, pressing you down into the bed, fingers intertwined, hearts beating wild, and breaths coming out in muffled pants, your name dribbling out of his mouth, echoing in your hair.

You and Levi in the kitchen, your face covered in wheat flour as you knead the bread dough, and Levi next to you whipping the heavy cream until it turns to butter

You, chasing him to cup his face in your hands, while the place suffuses with the rich smell of freshly baking bread.

You and Levi, and two kids with black hair and deep gray eyes running around in a cottage at the outskirts of the city, making a mess and driving you crazy.

You, aging by his side.

A tear slides down your face. Your eyes are burdensome with drowsiness.

It’s not alright.

And you’re not at peace. Why couldn’t you open the door?

And you’re scared. You’re frightened to die out here alone. It should be in his arms, and not in mud.

You’re not ready. You have to tell him, he needs to know.

Please, please, please, if anyone is listening, please, give me another chance.

But the heartbeats you have left are not enough.

II

“So, I did this to myself, didn’t I?”

“it was just a coincidence.” Its fingers drum on its sternum. “Pleading or not, you wouldn’t fend off this.”

The earth has revolved around the sun three times already. The colossus titan, the armored titan and the female titan had mingled with the cadets of the 104th. Annie Leonhart is encased in her indestructible crystal, kept somewhere underground by the military police.

Now the survey corps are set to retake wall Maria and scavenge the truth from Eren’s basement. Eren, the boy who can transform into a titan and fights along humanity.

You and it are laying on the meadow in the shade of an oak tree. It is facing the sky as you toy with a curl of hair, your eyes hooked on the lock laced around your finger.

“Why? Why did you choose him?” For the first time, you sense a hue of qualm lacing its abrading voice.

“You talk as though we get to choose love.” You close your eyes, yielding to the lulling murmur of the breeze. You can hear it, yet you can’t feel it caressing your skin. “Love is a lightning bolt that breaks your bones and leaves you staked in the middle of the yard.”

“It sounds painful.” He notes in that husky voice that stirs your senses. “Why humans insist on finding love, if it hurts them?”

“You’re not human; thus, you’ll never understand.” You slip an arm beneath your head. “Maybe we’re are masochists that jump blindly into the abysm of this pleasant torture. It makes your heart beat wildly, thrashing within your ribs, threatening to breach your chest and jump out every time you see that person. Your cheeks get warm and red, and your mouth disconnects from your brain, and you end up spilling nonsense and embarrassing yourself.” Your lips curved into a meek smile. “And their voice makes your knees weak, and a single glance unleashes a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and their image live in your head, and you can’t kick them out. Love makes you simper like and idiot. And I don’t think there’s a more beautiful feeling.”

The cheap copy of Levi hoists onto his elbows and his eyes glide along your frame, frowning. “Humans are weird species. I would never stoop to be like a mere mortal.” He sticks out its tongue in disgust. “Why do you insist so much in a love that won’t be?”

You chuckle. “It must be lonely to be you. You’ve met many people in the way, yet you can’t cultivate bonds. So many names and faces and no one will ever know yours, no one will never remember you.”

His nostrils flare with rage. “You know it’s not fun anymore, you’d failed a thousand times and you’ll keep failing. You should surrender now.”

“No. I won’t give up. If he knows the feelings I hoarded for him, I’ll go to paradise and I’ll meet him there eventually.”

“How can you be so certain he won’t go straight to the underworld?” he nudges.

“I don’t think there’s a most caring soul in this world.” You nibble on your lip, and your eyes flit open. “He's done things he's not proud of, but in this world, you have to choose between eat and get eaten.”

You scratch and itch on your nose and close your eyes again.

He rolls over and curls against you, draping an arm around you, and pulls you closer. Straight black hair like silk, thin black eyebrows, fair skin; his lips, like the rest of him feel like ice against your skin. His kisses trail along your jawline, sneaking down to your neck, and his caresses blister your skin as though he was clasping a collar of hot stones around you.

“You know you can come with me.” He mutters in that sultry voice that cajoles your brain cells to go on strike.

“I’ve followed him close all these years. I can be the perfect Levi if you want me to.” His hands fondle your upper arms. Your teeth sink into your lips. Your hands clamp at your skirts.

“Let it out, say the name.” You feel his lips forming a grin against your cheek.

It’s playing with you, it’s tempting you, but you’re not falling in the trap.

No.

One leg swings over you, and now he’s on top. “Look at me.” He tilts your chin up with a finger, but your eyes are clamped shut, so tight you see color spirals behind your lids.

You won’t succumb to its trickery.

But you squirm when you feel something hard straining on your lower belly, and a dreadful sardonic chortle spews from him.

Damn, you didn’t know it could do that.

“I can give you what you want.”

You shake your head. “You told me once you couldn’t feel pleasure. Why are you doing this?” You sniff.

His knuckles skim over your cheek. “I take pleasure in watching you struggle with yourself. You’re a masterpiece.” His fingers dig in your cheeks, and he shakes your head boorishly.

Fuck, the pressure feels good, but no. You won’t lose in this game.

“If his heart still beats, I have time. And there is only one Levi.” You push him off and it takes his original shady form, crow-black with tarnished edges. It’s tittering wryly, and groaning, you stand, smoothing down your dress. You start striding away, without looking back.  

“Where are you going?”

You don’t need to reply, it knows exactly where you’re heading, and it follows your steps.

The sun slants from the west. Synchronized chains clatter and shrill, spooling and unreeling in the sheaves on both sides of the walls; the elevators crammed with soldiers and horses and supplies. You spot Levi, and your stomach churns and flips and twist as if someone or something was grappling your guts. ‘That’s right. The operation might fail…’ His words rumble in your head, again and again, and your eyes jump over the faces you can’t put a name on. Too many unexperienced soldiers stand atop the wall. A bleak drop of sweat dribbles down your spine, and your legs begin to tremble. A lump made of shards of glass lacerates your throat as you gulp.

Well, well. A chaotic squall erupts behind you, the air thickens around you. Citizens have gathered up to cheer and buoy the Survey Corps before departing. The send-off they always deserved. After all, The S.C saved the city.

“Hange!!!!”

Your head cranes toward the voice source. Flegel Reeves, the chubby man with freckle-dappled face shouts from a tower encouraging the throng. Soon more people join him.

Your heart jerks and clogs your throat.

You can’t die, Levi. Not, yet, no.

You wish you could follow him, but you’re shackled to the messenger, and you can't walk away from it. You’ve tried, but as soon as you cross the threshold, you’re brought back to it.

Look at you, you look like a soldier's girlfriend watching the train pull away.  It mocks, yet you don’t know what a train is. And you don’t ask.

I still have so many lives to steal from your lips. Please come, back.

1

Always lurking, always watching from the distance. Like a ghost. You know his schedules by heart, you know his favorite brand of tea, you know where he buys his brooms and bleach, and who fashions his shirts and pants tailored to his needs. You know he trains alone in the grounds at dusk and takes a shower after. You know he doesn’t like visiting Hange’s lab because it doesn’t meet his hygiene standards; there are always papers and books scattered around, and sometimes he’s spotted dust monsters in the corners of the ceiling. Land that strays from his domains.

You know how mold can ruin his day, as well as a too-long steeped tea. Three minutes is all you need.

And lavender lingers from his clothes encroaching his luring scent of bergamot and musk.

The sun yawns sluggishly from west, putting his nightcap on, tucking under the covers to give way to the full moon.

The moon and the sun are lovers who, despite the distance, know they have each other, and despite their differences, when they come together they form a perfect eclipse.

A shy smile grazes your flustered face.

Blades swish in the air, wires drone, gas fizzes; Levi moves with great dexterity and speed it’s hard to keep your eyes on him. Chips of bark fall from where the hooks grapple and retract.

He lands and wipes off the beads of sweat from his forehead. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself and praying that your heartbeat doesn't echo through the forest. Today you’ll tell him. You’ve practiced a hundred of times before the mirror and you’re ready. You command your legs to move forward, but they don’t respond. They’d become jelly.

Like every time, the unreasonable fear stings your hands and feet, as if they were pricking you under your nails with needles. Fear of rejection, fear that your feelings will not be reciprocated. Fear that he'll think you're a fool.

“Boo!”

You scramble back, clinging to a tree as not to fall on your bumps. You survive the heart attack and take a deep breath, running your fingers through your hair.

“Hange!” You blurt their name as they slither to your side, resting their elbow on your shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid.” They encourage you, gripping your wrist with one hand to quell your nerves.

“I’m just leaving.” Your voice falters.

They sigh, throwing their head forward, then turns their face to you. “You’re helpless.”

“But…” You slump, running a hand down your face. “Do you think I’m good enough?”

“What I or others think shouldn’t matter to you. But, in my humble opinion, I think you can give Levi the fairy tales he needs in his life.”

You glance to the ground, following the leaf-laden ants back to their burrows. Your face burns in lava red. “Whenever I’m standing in front of him, my brain stops working. I can’t drag a word out of my mouth. I’m afraid he thinks I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think he thinks you’re stupid.” They shake their head, a feeble smile creeping across their lips.

You purse your lips into a thin line.

They pat your shoulder. “I hope you’ll soon find the courage to tell him.”

*

And the chasm between summer and winter narrows in the blink of an eye. The naked tree branches rake the stony walls with an eerie screech. The whistling wind bangs at the doors and windows, and a white mantle stretches over the training grounds and the orchard. The 25th is circled in red on your calendar. You sign the card and put the quill on the holder. You’ve spent all fall working on Levi’s present. Working the clay and shaping it on the wheel was the easiest part of the process, it was therapeutic, to feel the moist, heavy soil slipping in your hands and fingers. Painting the dahlias, on the other hand, brought you to tears, challenging your resilience. At the end, all the hard work paid off, and you couldn’t be more content and confident with the result.

You wrap it up in burgundy tissue paper and tie a golden ribbon at the top, curling the edges with a blade. Then slip the card in the envelope. The chair squeaks and you stand up, wrapping the scarf around your neck. Happy birthday, Levi. You repeat in your head as you pad toward the library. One of the places where Levi spends his sleepless nights and mornings alone. The boys’ quarters are obnoxiously loud for him. And filthy.

Happy birthday, Levi. It’s that simple Y/N, you can’t fuck it up.

The door is ajar, and you push it open.

He lies along the couch, ankles crossed over the armrest, book flapped open on his chest. He puts the bookmark and sets the hefty book on the coffee table. “Hi.” He spews, sliding up into a sitting position, and takes a glimpse of the wrapped up object in your arms. You don’t see his blush taking over his pallor because you’re struggling to steady the whops of your heart.

“Good morning, Levi.” You avert the eyes, suck on your bottom lip before continuing. Levi heaps on his feet and pads to you, and him so close to you is causing your brain cells to snap. “I…uh… I’m just…” you shake your head, then gaze up, and your eyes crash with his. “Happy birthday.” You smile, dimple at full display. Feeling giddy and faint, you hand him the present, and he stares at it, squinting, head tilted to the side. “It’s not a time bomb, I swear.” You giggle and a flush of embarrassment dashes to his ears. He grabs it and a stammered thanks flees from him.

You both blame the cold for painting your cheeks pink, both oblivious to each other’s feelings.

“Well, uh…” Your eyes scoot around as your finger scratches your temple, your cheeks scalding red. “I hope you like it.”

“May I unwrap it?” His words stumble, and he holds captive his lower lip between his teeth, fighting the urge to slap himself.

“Sure, I mean, it’s yours, you can do whatever you want.”

He plops on the couch, the present sprawled on his lap, and his deft fingers move with such patience and daintiness as not to rip off the paper. So carefully as if he was actually deactivating a bomb.

“Take a seat.” He mutters without taking his eyes off his task.

You nod and comply, sitting at the other end of the sofa, fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. Levi wears a cozy dark-green wool sweater, and a knitted white cap.

The delicate paper opens like a sunflower under the grace of the sunlight. He lifts the mug at his eye level, his fingers running over the hand-painted flowers, so detailed it seems like the work of an expert. He’s been at every ceramics shop and ateliers in town, and he’s never seen this design. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs for himself. Then drifts his eyes to you. “You didn’t have to.”

A chuckle snaps from you. “Why not? It’s a special day, you deserve something special.” You simper timidly, a foot shuffling against the floor.

“It must’ve been a special edition.”

“Kinda. It’s a Y/N’s edition.”

Levi lolls his head lightly to the side.

“I crafted it myself.”

He looks back to the mug now resting on the table next to the book. “You’re talented,” he utters and turns his face to you, and your mouth falls open in bewilderment.

“What?” he raises a brow, his features still gilded with a smile.

Your soft giggles fondle him as the corners of your lips curve up into a dazzling smile. “You should smile more often.”

“Do you think so?” One eyebrow draws an arc.

“Yeah.”

You scramble up, yanking off the sofa, and begin to stalk to the door.

“Wait.”

You spin around on your heels, tipping your head to the side. Expecting. Your heart thudding loud and clear.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. And the thrill falters.

A drop of disillusionment spreads across your chest. You shove your hand in your pocket, crumpling the letter.

“You’re a mystery.” You trail.

“That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s not a compliment.” You turn around, your boots thumping on the creaking wood. You look over your shoulder. “It’s a threat.”

*

Your clothes stick to your skin in sweat, and the breeze that seeps through the corridor windows doesn’t bring respite, it strikes you like a heat wave, as if you were standing before a blazing hearth.

Your heartbeats muffle the thudding of your boots, rumbling in your ears like the drums of a marching band.

Your eyes skim the door to the boys’ room. Your knuckles rap and Damian, a cadet that graduated with you in the training Corps, pokes his head through the wedge. “What’s up, Y/N?” he doesn’t bother to stifle his yawn.

“Where’s Levi?”

He shrugs, “Haven’t seen him today. Did you check in the Library?”

“That was my last stop.”

“What about the kitchen? Must be enrolled in his tea ritual right now.”

Why didn’t it cross your mind before? You were that engrossed practicing in front of the mirror.

You shoot him a smile and thank him before swiftly swiveling back on your feet. You trot to the kitchen, wiping off the beads of sweat streaming down your temple. you go down the stairs two steps at a time and once you veer around the corner, you slow down, threading a hand in your hair. The clattering of cutlery and ceramic reaches you in the hallway. The whistle of the kettle breaches in the air.

And again, your heart gallops in your chest when you hear a ‘tch’. You raise your hand, and the pads of your fingers brush over the door veins. Your breath comes out in a staggered gust of air as you muster the courage you need to knock.

But you can’t. That shrilly voice breaks into your head, reminding you that you’re not good enough. That Levi would never fixate his eyes in a silly girl like you. The voice that hampers your plans and dreams, the voice that makes you feel small and vulnerable. The voice that anchors you to your comfort zone.

You’re not good enough.

And you believe it.

Your hands and forehead rest on the door as tears swell in your eyes, staining your face and stinging your mouth with salt.

Maybe, after the expedition.

III

“I’m just wondering, why does it take a life ending to learn how to cherish every opportunity? Why must we wait until we run out of time to muster the courage to do the things we never did when we had plenty of time?” You slouch on the bench.

“Fear. Fear of what others might think or say, fear of letting them down, fear of being laughed at, fear to risk and lose. Fear is a survival mechanism, but poorly managed can hale you away from the joy and bliss.” It flumps on the bench next to you and hunches forward, resting its arms on the knees. “when people looks at Death straight in the eye, they don’t regret what they did, they mourn over the things they didn’t do. I’ve seen the despair and disappointment in thousands of pleading eyes.”

“What’s in heaven? What’s paradise like?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never crossed the gates. Maybe awaits what you cherish the most.” It turns its face to you. “What’s that you yearn for?”

It knows the answer, but it wants to hear it from you, it wants your voice to stab his chest.

“I want a life with him.”

“I see.”

The not real Levi stands and offers you a hand. “Let’s take a walk. I know you like the market.”

You take it. You meander around, hand in hand. After all, he is the only one you can feel in your skin. And you crave touch. You loath yourself for yielding, but it’s been a long time since you felt the warmth of another flesh.

He is pricking cold, but it’s something palpable.

Nine bells burst through, entangling with the bustle of people. Trost main square stirs with the motions of the Sunday Farmer’s market. Rows of white, flitting awnings stretch from road to road. The stalls at the front are colored I’m hues of yellows, orange, purple and red with season fruits and vegetables, pumpkins, grapes, apples, figs, squash and carrots. Then comes the rows of dairy and meat, piled with cheese and milk and butter and eggs, and others with cured ham trussed with herbs.

A jumble of piquant smells wafts in the air as Levi weaves through the throng near the booths of herbs and spices, and his gaze lights up when he spots Mrs. Warner’s stall.

“Captain Levi, hey.”

“Hey.” He waits for her to pack his weekly order. She knows it already by heart.

Passersby smile and wave at Levi, older men approach and pat his back. They thank him for having fought bravely, for retaking wall Maria and the lands they’d lost to the titans.

Mrs. Warner notices his uneasiness and let’s out a faint chuckle. “We’re all proud of you.”

“Good morning, Granny.” A ten-year-old boy chimes, stopping in front of the old woman’s stand. Wrinkles of years creep at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey, Robbie.”

Robbie? Stunned, you look at them with popped open eyes. My Robbie? Your glassy eyes prick with unshed tears. My little Robbie is not so little anymore. You sniffle. You wish you could run and hug him. He was five the last time I kissed his cheeks.

Levi’s double strokes your upper arm and you loll your head on his shoulder.

“Who are you?” the boy blatantly asks the ravenette.

“Hey, Robbie, show some respect.” Mrs. Warner scoffs. “This is captain Levi from the Scouting Legion.”

Chocolate brown eyes sink into a frown, flickering around as if he’s trying to pull an old memory out of his head.

“The Levi, just Levi, from the Scouting Legion?” He croaks.

You face palm.

Back then Levi wasn’t Captain.

Levi snorts and ruffles the boys chestnut brown curls.

The woman rolls her eyes as she finishes packing both orders. Robbie is there for his monthly supply of cinnamon. His sister used to bake cookies for him when he was little, but she took the recipe with her, and he spends his Sundays trying to hit the bulls-eye.

“I think I’m close. I’ll try with less butter and more sugar this time.” He cranes his head toward the lady.

Nope Robbie, more butter than sugar.

“My sister was a huge fangirl of you.” The brash boy addresses to Levi again, and your face ignites. He fumbles in his jute bag for an apple, rubs it in his shirt and munches on it. He swallows. “She never stopped talking about you. You were her topic of conversation every time she got home. It was sickening.”

He takes another bite, apple juice drips over his arm and, he licks it.

Mrs. Warner bites the inside of her cheek to muffle her laugh.

Can I strangle him? You nudge your companion on the side.

Isn’t he doing what you were supposed to do? You should’ve learned something from him.

I guess you’re right. But it doesn’t make it less embarrassing.

“She wrote you a cheesy letter, too. I found it in the bin.”

“Is that so?” Levi draws his handkerchief and curls two fingers, asking Robbie to stretch out his arm, and rubs away the fruity stains.

“Uh-huh. She named her teddy bear Levi and couldn’t sleep without it.”

Levi snorts, jabbing his kerchief back into his pocket.

Your cheeks are flaring.

You were so pathetic.

Shut up!

A thin black brow arches, amusement slathers Levi’s face.

“Cinnamon for Robbie L/N and black tea leaves for Captain Levi.” The old woman sets the paper bags on the countertop. Robbie shoves his in the bag slung on his shoulder.

“L/N?” Levi’s eyes widen, shaking in realization.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, sucking out the juice from the apple core.

“Y/N L/N was your sister?”

“mmm-hmmm.” He tosses the core into the trash bin. “See you around Levi, just Levi. Bye old Granny.”

“I’m not that old, Robbie.” She pats his head, and he stalks away.

Levi grabs his bag, coins clank as he jams his change in his pocket, thanks Mrs. Warner, and goes after the boy.

You trudge behind.

“Oi, brat.”

The brunette boy stops and swirls around, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head down without breaking eye contact. “The name’s Robbie.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and takes in a sharp breath.

“Robbie.” Levi sighs. “Could you show me the letter?”

"Why?" Robbie ponders. “Only if you promise to give it back.” He blushes. “I don’t have too many things with my sister’s handwriting.”

Levi’s eyes soften. “I’ll read it at your porch.”

*

The front door to your house swings open and Robbie and Levi step in, with you sneaking behind before the door shuts.

“Do your parents let you bring strangers when you’re home alone?”

“You’re not stranger within the walls.” Robbie toes of his shoes off. “They’ll be back soon, they’re visiting an aunt.”

The hearth is stoking, and Robbie rushes to the kitchen, leaving the bag perched on the countertop, two apples rolling out.

He saunters back to the entryway and grabs Levi’s hands and leads him upstairs. The creaking of the steps echo in the house.

Nothing has changed.

It still smells like oak and caramel. The door to your room is closed at the end of the corridor, and you decide to let it go, a wistful simper kisses your lips.

Send me a smoke signal when you’re done. He kisses your temple and vanishes in the air.

It seems as a hurricane struck in Robbie’s room. The covers of his bed are wrapped up at the edge, Levi makes his way through the rumpled clothes and balled up socks scattered on the floor. Pens and crayons and notebooks spilled on his desk.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He says, ignoring Levi’s scrunched up face. The raven haired drags the chair from the desk, dusts it off and takes a seat.

Robbie fetches something from the corkboard.

“Here.” Levi pries the letter from Robbie’s hand.

You flump on Robbie’s bed.

 “I’ll be downstairs, don’t touch anything.” The boy squints and wanes away.

Levi rakes his hair and sighs, hunching forward. He slips the letter from the envelope and unfolds it.

You have a pretty handwriting.

You gaze down as his eyes linger over every word.

Heat creeps from your cheeks to the tip of your ears.

… I love watching you and I make you mine by looking at you from afar. I love the tiny moles in your neck, forming your own Orion’s belt, and the dimple in your cheek when you smile. I wish you could show it more often…

…If they ask me what I see in you, I’d smile and lower my head, and wouldn’t reply, because I wouldn’t want them to fall in love with you too…

Meeting you was the most beautiful coincidence.

…I love you, I love you, I love you. You wove a nest in my heart to make sure I’ll never kick you out.

I’ll burn this letter before it reaches your hands, but if by a little chance it survives the flames, I just want you to know I’ll love you forever.

Y/N.

Tears pamper his face as he holds the letter against his chest. His chin trembles, and he bites his bottom lip to stifle his sobs and whimpers.

You yield to the weeping too, wishing you could curl against him, you could hug him, hold his hand, and douse him in kisses.

He opens the trunk of old memories that pull him back to that day, in the library.

A nothing that wrote a different end to your story. Of only you knew what has masked behind that word.

So many things were jumbled in his head, as he delved through for the right words, but they clogged his throat, and a ‘nothing’ was everything he could pull out.

“I wanted you to stay that morning.” He mewls amid sobs and sniffs. He feels a pang in his chest, a dagger cutting though, tearing out his heart to grind it with shards of broken glass. “When I found you, it was too late.” He breaths.

Your teary eyes soften, filled with an inner glow. Levi. You muse his name once again. Your heart flutters and it feels full, complete.

He went back for you.

“You’re a mystery, Levi.” You said his name laced with sugar. You always did.

He snorted, steel gray eyes tangling with yours. “That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s not a compliment.” You turned around, his gaze hooked on your back as you walk away. You stop before crossing the threshold and looked back over your shoulder. “It’s a threat.”

“How so?”

“You’re a mystery I want to solve. I’ll find out what you hide.”

“You might be disappointed to see what’s inside.”

“We may both be surprised.” You smirked and strutted out.

You lay on the bed, and tugged by an impulse, he curls in too. You’re facing each other, yet he can’t see you, he can’t hear you, and you can’t feel him.

Your lips search for his.

Nothing.

You can’t feel his breath, nor his lips brushing yours, nor the warm of his cheek in your palm.

I’d like to sweep away those tears my love. You whisper. Where will you be? Where will we be from now on? Two dots in the unfathomable universe, so far or so close, two dots that draw asymptotes, that yank closer to each other, but never meet. Separated by an infinitesimal distance.

I love you. Now and always.

You close your eyes, and when you open them again, the golden gates that stretch and skim beyond the clouds unfasten. It’s bright, but not blinding. The heaviness in your chest falters, and you finally feel at peace. All the anguish, anger and frustration had drained away.

Before you take a step forward, you crane back and wave a hand to the messenger, who doffs off its hat. A feeble smile peeks on its lips.

It’s time to go back to the solitary life, hoping that you’ll never forget it.

♾️

It’s pelting and the sturdy drops batter on your shoulders and head. You should’ve listened to your roommate and shoved the umbrella in your tote bag.

The battery of your phone had died out leaving you stranded in a city you hardly know. It’s terrifying how dependent we are on technology. You can’t get a Uber ride to go home, nor plan your trip on Moovit. It’s rush hour, and people are weaving through the throng desperate to get home. Crashing umbrellas, puddles splashing, frantic car horns, the hustle and bustle and the blinding lights. The big city is a hellish nightmare, a thrilling one, and even though you miss your life in your small town, this is where you belong now.

You were accepted in the School of Art and Design.  

You hunch, holding your bag pressed against your chest to protect your iPad from the pouring rain.

As you turn around the corner, you duck into the first establishment with the open sign flashing in green neon, not sure what to expect when you walk into Herby Twist.

There are a handful of tea enthusiasts and others in your situation, sheltering from the deluge. You stand in line admiring the place. It’s bedecked in a modern manly garage style. Corrugated, stained metal on the walls, shiny red shelves and simple concrete floor.

The aromas of matcha and chai mingles with the citrus smells of lime and orange. The place stirs up with the weaves of conversations and the pattering raindrops scraping the roof.

When there’s only one person before you, you glance at the blackboard menu hanging above the counter.

You squint as your eyes flicker over the capitalized chalked letters. In the city, they insist on giving strange names to common things.

“Welcome to Herby Twist. What can I get you?” You jerk at the luscious raspy voice and look down, entwining your gaze with his dull, steel-gray eyes. Suddenly, your pulse begins to rise wildly. Your legs wobble, afraid your knees might buckle. You look like you were lick by a horse, your hair wet and stuck to your shoulders as well as your shirt. And he’s impossibly hot, and no, your not exaggerating. His smooth black hair is slick back, a couple of rebel strands fall over his forehead, flicking with each of his movements.

Lean, broad shoulders, narrow waist; his black t-shirt gives you a hint of what’s under, ridged muscles, ripping collarbones, you can get a glimpse of the tattoo on his left shoulder, shrouded by the sleeve.

“So…” His voice yanks you out from your reverie.

 “I’ll have…uh…” you look up to the menu, unable to decipher the names as your fingers fiddle with your bracelet. Your gaze crashes with his. “I’ll have your favorite.”

“I hope you like plain black tea.” He places your order in the screen. “Will there be anything else?” His gaze flicks to you.

You shake your head.

“What’s your name?”

You swallow the lump and say, “Y/N.”

Without moving his head, his eyes dart to you, and he smirks. He sleeves on the cup, uncaps the sharpie and scrawls your name on the side.

Your credit card beeps in the terminal and your bill is printed out. He tears it off and hands it to you along with the National Bank Card. “You can wait over there for your order.” He nudges his chin to the side. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.” You meekly nod, tucking a lock of clammy hair behind your ear, and slip to the pick-up-your-order-here counter.

Your fingers tap rhythmically as you wait, your eyes tracing and retracing over his back and shoulders as you bite your bottom lip. Your heart is a loud bass in your chest. You can’t decipher what it is, like a force of attraction you can’t fight back, driving you to keep your eyes on him. He turns around and you look away, your cheeks sizzling with a blush. He caps your drink and puts the cup on the concrete countertop. Your fingers stop drumming.

“Y/N.”

You search his gaze and find it.

You like the way your name dribbles from his lips. Sensuous, velvety and scrappy in the hot way. The flicker of a smile ghosts over his lips.

“Thanks.”

You grab the cup and slide onto a booth in the furthest corner. You twist the thick carboard sleeve, snort and shake your head, simpering. His name and number jotted down in his scrawling. You look in his direction, and as he takes the order from the next in line, gray eyes lock with yours, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Kinktober Day 13 : Fuck machine

Osamu x Reader

warnings: toys, rough sex, bondage,

word count: 1,000 (about)

summary: Osamu doesn't want to punish you, but you can't seem to complain about it...

You knew that you were doing was wrong, but honestly what were the chances that Osamu would catch you? Besides you were horny, Osamu had been mean and said you couldn’t cum for a whole week. You’d made it five whole days which was pretty good but you just couldn’t take it anymore.

Osamu had sent you a selfie this morning as well, a picture of him fresh out of the shower, his soft chest gleaming with dew and towel slung low on his hips, the v line of his hips visible. It was all you could think about all day. His big chest on top of yours, his big hands holding you in place, his big cock sliding inside of you. God he was just so fucking big, you wanted him to fuck you.

But Osamu wasn’t here right now to fuck you and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t lay a hand on you. Him and his stupid challenges. You didn’t take time to work yourself up or tease, you just needed one good organum and you’d be good. You tugged your clothes off and pulled out your favorite dildo. You’d have to be quick, you didn’t think that he’d walk in on you but you could never be to careful.

Your stomach dropped when you thought about Osamu walking in on you. You bit your lower lip as you pulled out lube and started slicking up the rubber cock. Maybe that was what you really wanted. You laid on your back, propping yourself up with one arm and pushed the dildo in with the other.

You thought about him walking and cursing loudly before roughly ripping the toy out of you and replacing it with his cock. He’d wrap his hands around your throat and pound into you demanding to know who felt better, him or your stupid little toy.

“Daddy feels better,” you whimpered to yourself. Daddy’s cock would feel better inside of you, bigger, rougher and he would kiss you, then call you a dirty whore and smack you around a little. You bit your lower lip and angled the dildo

“Fuck daddy just like that,”

“Well well what do we have here, little slut couldn’t take it huh?” you jerked upright hearing the honey toned voice speak to you. Osamu was leaning against the doorway glaring at you and whipping his hands on his apron.

Your heart fluttered, didn’t look like he was in a mood to fuck you stupid.

“I-”

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it,” he crossed over to you and easily pinned you to the bed. You squirmed trying to thrash in his grasp. To no avail. Osamu easily held you in one hand as he shackled your wrists and ankles to the bed. He pulled the toy from you and threw it to the side.

“You like that fucking toy better than me huh?” he spat

“N-no,” you gulped. He rolled his eyes, he didn’t believe you. He brought up a fucking scary toy, up on the bed. A black box with a long metal pole and a peachy dildo on the end.

“Well you wanted to fucking cum? cum with your stupid fucking toys,” he snapped flicking the machine on.

The toy moved mechanically pushing the toy forward inside of you then pulling back and out of you. Fuck. you hated it. It was so passionless, and the toy wasn’t exactly splitting you open like you’d hoped.

You looked pleadingly at Osamu. “Please Daddy I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” you whined. “I just want daddy to fuck me,”

“If you really wanted my cock then you would have waited,” he spat. You cried out in frustration, but your boyfriend ignored you, casually sitting down across from you just watching as the machine fucked you at a leisurely pace.

“It’s not good,” you shouted,

“That’s the point, dumbass,” he snapped resting his head in his palm, watching you fixedly. You hadn’t noticed but the little fuck machine had a remote that he’d stealthy palmed. “You better start liking it, it’s the only way you’re Cumming,” he informed you. You pouted and thrashed against your restraints begging him a few more times, before finally relenting and angling your hips. Slowly thrusting yourself against the toy, trying to get it to fuck you like you wanted.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you started to moan, whispering to yourself again. “What are you thinking about Princess?” he asked.

“Daddy,” you panted. “I’m pretending it’s Daddy’s cock.” Osumu slyly readjusted himself in his pants, his brown eyes fixed on your body, why were the pretty ones never obedient?

“And how’s that going for you?” he asked as your brows furrowed in frustration.

“It’s not as big as you, you wouldn’t fuck me like this,” you complained. He could feel his pants tighten, you knew how to press his buttons like no other.

“Oh yeah? How would Daddy fuck you baby?”

“Hard.”

With that, Osamu pressed the power button on the remote changing cranking the intensity up. The machine chugged loudly as the pistons fired shoving the plastic cock into you at almost a brutal pace. Your eyes flied open and your back arched off the bed, a sound of shock ripping from you.

“Ah! Osamu-” you cried. He watched your cunt with wrapped focus, you were dripping now, as the toy hit some tender spot deep inside of you with almost bruising strength.

"Hard like that?” he asked, his voice teasing in it’s tone.

“H-hurts,” you managed, you tried to squirm away from the machine but the bonds around your limbs kept you from getting far away.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it slut, now cum I’m getting board,” he snapped. You closed your eyes and tried too picture Osamu ponding into you, kissing your neck as he abused your pussy, but it was getting hard to think. Your brain fogging over with your approaching climax.

“Three,” he started to count, you hated it when he did this.

“Two,” Something about the pace of the machine changed again not exactly harder but in a different pace that made you see stars

“One,” you came, screaming and convulsing against the bed. Osumu switched the machine off and stood undoing his belt.

“I thought I could only cum on the machine,” you panted. His lips curled in an unkind snarl.

“That’s right, if you cum even once while I fuck you I’ll hook you up to that machine until you black out.”

[willowedwisteria]

⁂~Don't burn the house down!~⁂

Summary -> Cooking with Genshin Characters!

Notes -> Finally, I was able to decide on an idea to write about! Credit points go to Dew Dew for helping me! I kinda made Childe's part... romantic???

Featuring -> Amber, Ayaka, Childe

Genre -> Fluff

Amber

"Amber! Amber!" You wave at the outrider excitedly, jumping up and down. The outrider turns herself to face you, waving back at you as enthusiastically as usual as you run up to her.

You grab her hand, clasping in it yours, stars forming in your eyes. "Do you know how to make Sticky Honey Roast?"

"You wanna learn how to make it?" The outrider nods to you before asking.

You smile at her, gesturing that she's right. "Paimon and the Traveler are planning to visit soon, so I want to treat them with my own homemade Sticky Honey Roast! I heard that Paimon really likes it!"

Amber's eyes widen in surprise, "The Traveler is visiting soon? Then we should make some Sticky Honey Roast for them together!"

You immediately agree, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling out your teapot to enter it.

The both of you rush into the kitchen, holding each other by the hand and grabbing aprons on the way, causing quite a scene for all the maids and butler cleaning the house.

"Alright, then! First, we grab salt, black pepper..." Amber nods at you as you bring out a bunch of spices for her from the cabinet.

She picks up one of them before taking a tablespoon and measuring it all, then pouring it as you watch her intently cook singlehandedly, noting down all of the steps for future reference.

"And... we're done!" Amber announces after pouring the sauce all over the cooked roast.

You rush up to her the moment the plate is off of her hands, tacking her with a hug. You thank her over and over again, anticipating the Traveler and Paimon's grateful and happy reactions.

Amber shrugs it off, insisting that it was nothing as she grabs a fork, piercing a small piece of roast and eating it. The smell of the Sticky Honey Roast spread through the kitchen and you immediately joined her.

"Your grace!" The traveler calls out to you, pushing the door to the kitchen to see both of you and Amber gobbling down a place of Sticky Honey Roast, a bit of sauce stuck to your mouth.

"Hey! Leave some for Paimon!" Paimon shouts with her hands on her hips, diverting your attention away from eating the Sticky Honey Roast.

The both of you nervously turn your head to face the traveler and Paimon just standing there in the doorway. You turn your head to Amber, locking eye contact before laughing at each other.

Ayaka

"Ah, right, I recall the time where the Traveler introduced me to Pizza." Ayaka recites, "It was my first time trying it, and I very much enjoyed its taste."

You happily chirp along to the conversation, "It's amazing how unique and diverse food is across nations."

Ayaka nods along, "Indeed. How I wish I could try more food from different nations. The pizza was so new to me."

You feel a moment of silence and awkwardness strike the atmosphere, stopping your friendly conversation with her. You feel as though there's something wrong.

Suddenly, you jump up in surprise, "You've never tried a burger before?!"

Ayaka widens her eyes, tilting her head to the side a bit before inquiring about what in the world of Teyvat could a burger possibly be.

You feel your heart shatter as if a crime has just been committed. You can't let such treachery continue! This is blasphemy to a whole new level!

You immediately pull her over to the kitchen by the wrist, pulling out the ingredients and making a burger with her.

"Okay, oil please!" You open up your palm, waiting for Ayaka to pass you the oil. The both of you actually made quite a good team. All of the ingredients she needed to pass you were right in front of her on the table, so it wasn't a grueling task to handle while taking notes.

Finally, after a long while of anticipation, you placed the burger on a plate, sliding it over to her as she stares at the burger in awe. Never in her life has she seen something like... this, it kind of reminded her of a sandwich.

Ayaka holds the burger awkwardly, not sure of how to properly eat it. She bites into it before pulling her face away from the burger. She covers her, probably, dirty mouth in astonishment of a new world of flavor being opened up to her.

You pass her a tissue, a smirk on your face. "So? What do you think?"

Ayaka grabs a hold of the tissue, lightly dabbing it on her lips. She turns to face you, a smile on her face, "It was unexpectedly delectable."

You place a hand on her shoulder, "Well, next time, I want to see you make one for me!"

Childe

You start to fry some meat, holding the pan by its handle as you try to flip the meat over using a spatula without dropping it outside of the pan. Childe approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist, surprising you.

"Hey! Don't just randomly come up to people from behind!" You chide him, your focus switched from the slab of meat to him.

Childe notices your nervousness about cooking and he could tell that one side of the meat would burn soon unless it's flipped over.

Childe holds your hand, which was gripping onto the spatula. His other hand held onto the handle of the pan. He guides your hands to carefully flip the meat over, successfully doing it first try.

You turn your head to him, "I didn't know you were a cook."

He laughs at your comment, memories flooding back into his head as he recites it to you, "I had to learn a bunch of cooking from my mom since most of my younger siblings didn't know how to cook."

Your eyes shift back, facing the cooking slab of meat. You pull a plate closer to the pan, turning off the heat before using the spatula to carry the meat onto the plate.

You take a sigh of relief, grateful that such a nerve-wracking process was over.

You immediately snap out of your relieved state to focus on cooking again. The meat is piping hot, the best time to eat it! You can't possibly waste this!

Childe watches your mood swings. From calamity to absolute chaos. Watching you rush all around the kitchen was certainly most entertaining for the harbinger.

"What are you making anyway?" Childe asks you in the middle of your rampage around the kitchen.

"Isn't it obvious?" You ask him, preparing the crust for the dish, "I'm making 'Mora Meat'!"

"For who? Is it a snack?"

As if almost on cue, you offer the finished dish to Childe, "For you!"

Tag list: @under-a-starry-night, @xyliope, @yourfaveisblack, @bardisipatos, @kithewanderingme, @veritaoscurata, @irethepotato, @karmawonders, @lunavixia, @anfre109, @bamboowritess, @ellethesmolbutnotreally, @The-Psychotic-Blueberry, @Hydrxngex, @darling-rikafu, @uchihaeirin, @callmemeelah

Special tags: @isariaasterial, @is-very-sad, @raidengaile, @dewwberry, @emyrl, @veritaoscurata, @saigomo, @gunterdon, @xyliope, @fuwon, @qixingflowers

[littlefreya]

Velvet Chains

Summary: For a generous fee, August Walker is yours. A man devout to pleasure, who will worship you for an entire night and make sure your first time is more than memorable. 

Promot:  

 A thought - August as a gigolo who specializes in deflowering. 👌

Pairing: Soft! August Walker x Virgin Reader.  

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+. August Walker as a sex-worker, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a depiction of bodily fluids, soft!August themes, a tinge of angst and August’s monster c... 

A/N: When I received this prompt, I didn’t think I can actually do it justice, but it was 3am and I started dabbling around. Then in the morning, I took another look at it, and this little drabble turned into a one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, I hope I did well. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my muse who beta’d my story. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed reading. 🖤 DM if you want to be added to my tag squad. 

Title: Velvet Chains

They were all little flowers to him, fresh peonies and flushed roses. Young or mature, it never mattered as long as they were still oh so pure. Undefiled, succulent flesh. Kissed by dew and wrapped by the last remaining petals of their innocence.

All for him to willfully pluck.

Sprayed with notes of tobacco, and boozy fragrance of rum - August Walker was the top-tier kind of service, a man to die for with his three-piece suits and shiny leather shoes. At one point he didn’t even need to self-promote; they came to him, all doe-eyed and coy, willing to pay as much as it takes to have him breach through the sealed gates of their garden.   

The rules were quite simple: Cash in advance and always wear protection; other than that anything goes. August liked to see himself as a procurer of fantasies rather than a male prostitute. For a generous fee of $1500, his girls earned themselves a night they never forgot. Whether it began with a dinner at the most outrageous restaurant, a masked ball at a billionaire’s mansion, or an intimate evening with his homemade cooking at a cosy sublet. 

It was up to him to choose the experience for the ladies after thoroughly assessing and profiling each client. He was never wrong; after all, it was his job to study women, both mentally and physically. 

“I know what you need,” he would murmur as he kissed down their navel and swept between their shaky thighs. And in his grip they indeed laughed, cried, and came undone so many times over, reaching out to grasp heaven around his unapologetically huge cock.  

Until you changed everything. 

August couldn’t quite crack you; while he enjoyed, savoured, and conquered every woman he had, it was you who seemed to have more power over him than he did over you. The quiet abyss in your eyes reeled him in like an unfortunate, foolish fish teetering on a hook. Whatever mysteries that mind of yours held, he wanted to pry it open with his fingers and brush them through the parchments of your soul. 

He desired you more than just the flesh; he wanted to be deeper in you than he ever was in any other woman. 

‘Who are you?’

Shivering in his presence, it was crystal clear that you weren’t immune to his spells; yet you didn’t seem impressed by the theatrics or his suave appearance. As if you saw right through him, and knew it was all but a spectacle.  

Wanting everyone to witness your ‘claiming’, he took you to the dimly-lit roof of his private apartment and laid you on a blanket beneath the beaming stars. When his lips touched yours while slowly ridding himself of his clothes, August felt like he could tell you his most kept secrets though he didn’t want to. 

This is not how it worked. Not for him. 

Sorrounded by the fairy tea-lights that adorned the intimate rooftope, you flinched as he began undressing you, and trembled so vehemently once completely bare that all he wanted was to embrace you in his big arms. And he did so, collecting you against the dark fur of his chest, the heat of his body provided shelter from the cold October breeze.

“Beautiful,” he whispered sincerely and allowed his hands to roam the tender map of your body. Likely, he would never see you again, so he wanted to remember every curve, dimple, and scar; he needed your moans imprinted in the museum of his mind. 

The same desperate, breathless pleas only a virgin would make, purer than pure.

Breathing in shudders, you laid down beneath him with your legs spread out. Your little untouched slit displayed to his hungering gaze, asking to be reshaped by his intrustment. August was never one to lose control, but your entire existence has made him question every decision and in a moment of frivolousity, he lost himself completely and broke the most forbidden rule: 

He entered you bare. 

Painfully large and hot as flaming iron, his rigid cock tore through your maidenhood and delved into your velvety pit, desperately searching for the engulfing shelter that was your womb. Weeps of pain rained down your lips; he was too big, and he didn’t slow down. He unwrapped you, tearing your rose petals one by one, sinking in until you could have sworn he was infused between your lungs. 

Overwhelmed by the raw sensation of your wet flesh engulfing him, August raked his arm around the small of your back and held your body against his, forcing you to spread wider, to grant him the infinite access he demanded.

“Look at me kitten,” he murmured in a half-breathless, half-soothing voice and showered hasty butterfly kisses across your forehead, “I’m inside you. It’s done, now let me please you.”

He seared your body, your sensitive entrance pulsating with a twinge of grieving anger around his veiny cock, your walls squeezing, fighting off his lewd intrusion. While you anticipated the pain, the initial shock was too much to bear. 

“I don’t think I can take you,” you retorted and swallowed hard, trying not to cry as he swelled and flinched inside you further more.

August reached a hand to your jaw and caged it between his strong fingers. Not saying a word, he stared intensely into your eyes. Smoke and broken mirrors shadowed his glare. In your daze, you swore you could see his reveries and hear him whisper without moving his lips. 

The barriers of your guarded castle were in ruins, and so was your self-preservation. Fully submitting, you allowed him to take you beneath the shimmering, black silks of midnight. 

August was both gentle and rough as he rode between your thighs, his heavy body surrounding you completely. His entity seeped through your lungs and pores, his bewhiskered mouth left sloppy, ticklish kisses and chanted a hymn of pleasure against your neck. 

For a slight moment, you wondered if he was this passionate with all of his customers. But all thoughts died at the moment his crown slammed into the wall of your womb, and the entirety of your existence was flooded with both the tremors of sudden pleasure and satisfying pain. 

You wanted more, you wanted to be complete. To be completely his.

“Oh god, yes!” You cried for him, clawing your nails at the taut muscles of his back.

Grunting, he plunged into you, harder with every pull and deeper with every thrust. He sought for heaven between your legs and as inexperienced and naive as you were, you followed your instincts and complied to his arousal. Bucking your hips, you yielded to meet the jerk of his hips - your rhythm a savage mess, your demeanour that of a virgin-whore. 

“Good girl, my good girl,” August praised, thrilled of the shift in you, and by the helpless, glossy gaze and gaping mouth as you moaned and begged. Your freshly open cunt clung to his invasion with its growing tightness. Holding onto him the way the moon is bound to earth.

Control was gradually lost over your own bodies, enslaved to something stronger than your wills and wits. It was as if you became vessels to haunting spirits that made you slam into one another, lost in a sweaty, carnal trance until a flush of sudden rapture broke between your legs the way raging waves break upon a ship lost at sea, consuming it completely.

Like a dauntless sailor, August followed you into the depths of euphoria. Jumping to his knees, he hauled you by the waist and slammed you against him, needing to be balls-deep within you. With a loud shout, he came undone, astonished by the raw, unbridled sensation of releasing himself inside another person.

You both shuddered in shock as his thick cum bathed your womb in three, warm gushes. 

‘Oh, August, what have you done?’

Spent, he nearly collapsed on top of you, holding his hands flat to the side of your head. He took a deep breath before pulling out from your hurting hole and moving to lie by your side. The pink mixture of your essence trickled between your simmering lips just the way it coated his still-swollen cock. Glancing down upon it he felt an odd notion of triumph, more than the usual complacent feeling usually evoked with his clientele. 

“Don’t worry, I am clean.” He promised. 

In a way, you were his first as well.

Pulling you against him, he nuzzled your neck and hummed lowly, “I don’t imagine you could give me anything.”

Still trying to land back on solid ground, you said nothing. Words didn’t make it, not through your chest nor your head. You basked within the moment, trying to memorise every vibration that flowed through your veins as the glow became dimmer with every passing minute.

Limbs entangled, he decorated your shoulder-blade with honey-sweet kisses while your spine attached to his hairy chest. He watched you quietly, admiring you completely until the two of you fell into a dreamless sleep under the guarding sky. 

Come morning, August was awakened by the sounds of the raging street below. The scent of toxic vapours hung heavy in the air and his face curled at the sounds of the beeping horns. For a moment, he forgot where he was but then you were the first thing on his mind. Even though he knew the deal was for one night only, something in him itched for a generous ‘on-the-house’ lazy morning sex.

As he rolled to lie on top of you, his chest felt abruptly empty. He was met with nothing but the defiled blanket.

You were gone.   

Though the scent of your body, your sweat, and viscous fluids were still stuck to his skin, your memory a sheer piece of silk carried away by the cruel wind. The weight of a thousand stones dropped in August’s gut and he flipped onto his back once more and stared at the cloudy sky. 

It resonated in him that this was all that it was, and he would never find a girl like you again.     

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

*I don’t own August Walker or the Mission: Impossible Franchise

[some-kindofgnome]

now everything is easy

do not interact with this post if you are under 18.

Katsuki wakes next to you the morning after your heat reaches its peak.

c: katsuki bakugou x reader

wc: 3.7k

cw: smut (18+), morning sex, subtle alpha/beta/omega dynamics (knotting, heat cycles,  descriptions of scent & slick), vaginal & oral sex, aftercare if you squint, katsuki is like lovingly disgruntled through most of this but he adores you i promise

notes: Bakugou lovers, what’s up? It’s been a minute... 😅I can’t BELIEVE how long it’s been since I’ve written about Bakugou. But I signed up to write him for a few collabs over the summer, so here’s my warmup. I think I did this trope wrong but he goes down on u so like that’s fun, right? 👀

(MASTERLIST)

Morning comes hot and sticky, drizzling like honey into Katsuki’s slowly waking mind.

For a long time, waking slowly like this seemed little more than a far-off dream, for the man who could never be caught off guard. Most days his eyes still spring open, fully alert to the sound of his six o’clock alarm. But when she needs him, he loses himself easily to her.

To you.

He’s not sure what time it is exactly, only that midmorning sun splashes obscenely across the mussed bedclothes, lighting up the soft green of the worn linen and the buttery eggshell-painted wall beyond. His muscles settle into a dutiful ache. His thighs are still a little stuck together. He kind of needs to piss.

But you, fragile and perfect with the dew of your leftover heat drying on your spine, are worth lingering for.

You’re still fast asleep as he rolls onto one hip, fresh scratches pulling and stinging in the muscles of his back. The sheet’s tucked haphazardly over the curve of your hip, but you’re sprawled on your side with your torso left carelessly bare.

He can’t help himself, leaning forward to bury his nose against your scent glands, pulling the strong reek of you into his head. Your scent is so easy to read- maple-sweet, fragrant like orange blossom and deliciously mingled with his own. Last night, he fucked you both into sheer exhaustion, and the sheets still waft puffs of your mingled scents with every shift of his body.

Still, you’ll be wanting more soon. He gives your petal-soft skin a devilish little nip, rolling away to stretch yesterday’s exertion from his tendons.

Before he can even shift to climb out of bed for the bathroom, you’re squirming beside him.

Too late.

Those long, peaceful breaths of sleepy silence quickly give way to strained little whimpers as your senses come back to you. Last night, your heat cycle had reached its peak. But after a full measure of sleep- and eight hours without the fill of your alpha- he knew this was coming.

“Alpha,” you keen, struggling with even one coherent word. Katsuki’s instincts flare to life while you wake up, fresh waves of your needy scent filling his head and bringing his alpha to the surface. His cock stirs greedily against one thigh, stiffening traitorously in response to your voice.

He sighs harshly, flopping back against the pillows. His jaw ticks, letting firm throbs of desire swell in his gut.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to take a piss, could you?” He growls, no shortage of affection in his rough tone. You’re already rolling over, tangling clumsy, slick thighs in the soiled sheets.

“Please,” you sigh. “One more. I need one more.”

“C’mere,” he grunts, palming your ass to bring you close. “Let me see you.”

Your flesh is hot and sticky beneath his touch, and he knows how badly you need him but he can’t help indulging. Not now, when you’re so pliable and needy for him. It’s cruel to think so, but he loves you most when you’re desperate like this. His mean streak doesn’t come for you very often, but he can’t help it. You’re so easy to tease, and so much cuter when you want something.

He slips between your thighs to quell your squirming, letting you settle onto your back. You spread your legs as far as they’ll go, staring up at him with that wide, vulnerable, irresistible expression you always get at this time in your cycle. It’s how can tell your heat’s coming, far before the changes to your scent. The first time you look up at him like this every season, he knows it’s all over.

Your thighs are still crusted with last night’s slick and dried remnants of cum, but when you spread them, long strings of fresh fluid break and drip onto the mattress. The warm slip of your sex is glistening already.

Katsuki decides in that moment that he’s going to take his time with you, whether you’re ready to wait for it or not.

“You feeling patient?” he chuckles, lip curling as he flicks his eyes back to yours. You’re still staring up at him like that, an extra flash of panic lighting your eyes when the word patient reaches your ears.

“W-what,” you plead. “N-no, please, just- now, just do it now…”

Your voice trails into a strangled little squeak of pleasure when he dips his head between your thighs and seals his mouth to your dripping cunt. The familiar sweet musk of you pours into his mouth, cocktailed with the overwhelmingly heady flavor of your heat slick. The tightness in his balls is getting blurry now, half-full-bladder, half-swelling desire. But he can hold it, if it means he gets to pull more of those little cries from your needy throat.

He glides the flat of his tongue up between your folds, knowing that it makes you squeal without actually pushing you any closer to the edge. As he predicted, your thigh twitches by his left ear and your toes curl, but the whine that leaves you is not a satisfied one.

“K-katsuki,” you beg. The shape of his name on your lips comes as a surprise to him, and he glances up at you with a flinch of his brow. While there’s nothing quite like the way you shout “alpha” in the throes of your heat, when you’re all sleepy and sticky and half-conscious like this, his name feels good, too, hanging in the bleary air between you.

It sounds nice.

He rewards you with a lift of his chin, bringing the fat press of his tongue over your swollen clit just once. The sharp flick of it makes you yelp and flinch, slamming your hips into his face so hard he nearly bites his lip.

“Fuck,” he curses without pulling away, “cut it out.” He flattens one palm over the low plane of your pelvis, pressing weight into his wrist and pinning your wriggling hips to the mattress. The angle’s a little more awkward like this, but your toes are starting to twitch and he can tell you’re losing yourself to the pleasure.

He presses one finger to the weeping silk of your slippery folds, nudging it forward to find your needing hole and pushing smoothly inside.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he croons into your cunt, “y’re fuckin’ grabbing me already.”

Your walls flutter in near-instant reaction to his touch, closing down hard around his middle finger. You squeeze so tightly he can barely draw back out of you again, curling the pad of his finger to find the spongy flesh near your entrance. It’s the tenderest part of you, and when he rubs it just right, you’ll descend into the kind of shivers that’ll make it hard to hold back.

It’s worth it every time, though, to watch you lose your mind under his diligent hands.

Katsuki refreshes the weight in his palm, pinning you freshly down while he re-adjusts to the slick pull of your clutching depths. He cups his tongue against your clit, feeling the heat in its swollen ridge, and dips his ring finger into you, alongside the first. His cock’s fully hard now, drooling wet preek into the sheets and burning with bright, hot tension.

Fuck, it’s going to feel good to get you on his knot again.

He focuses once more on the task at hand, finished revelling in your taste and ready to focus on your pleasure. You like it when he flutters his tongue quick and sharp against your clit, and your cunt’s most sensitive in the shallow parts near your slit. He curls his fingers, rubbing all along the hottest planes. He can practically feel the spots where your nerves sit closest to your skin, making your body spasm when he pins them under his fingers.

“Kah!” The first syllable of his name flies from your lips. He knows you sense his intent now, and your body’s already beginning to stiffen with the promise of climax. He knows you have to tense up a little to make it happen, so when you tense your core beneath the press of his free hand, he knows you’re getting close.

“Close,” you pant anyway, slipping one hand between your thighs and raking your fingers into his hair. When you grab the longest strands at his crown and pull, it sends an unexpected little shock of pleasure to his dick that pulls the air from his chest.

You’re already starting to pitch and shake, but he knows better than to let up now. He keeps the pleasure coming steady and strong, pushing out out a solid rhythm between his tongue and his fingers as he feels you pass the point of no return.

“Right there,” comes your desperate voice, crawling into your upper register. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, y-you’re-“

It’s kind of beautiful, how easy to read you’ve become. He’s pretty sure he could satisfy you like this by feel alone at this point, blindfolded with his ears stuffed full of cotton.

A heartbeat and a half later you’re falling, tense muscles suddenly going slack as you dig your heels into the mattress and arch your back off the bed and contract so tight around his fingers he almost busts it right there, trying not to think about how maddening you’re going to feel around his cock in a few seconds. You let out one, long, hushed draw of his name, a “Katsuki,” that wafts by his ears like a fragrant breeze. Then you’re collapsing between his hands, fitful and whimpering and fighting him off.

“Better?” he grunts, sitting back on his heels. He wipes his mouth off with the back of one hand, dipping the pad of his thumb into the corners as he licks your heat-slick from his lips.

The look you give him suggests everything he intended. Better after a peak, perhaps, but there’s only one thing that’s going to satisfy you enough to function today.

Fuck, his knot’s already starting to swell a little when he closes his fingers around himself. He grits his teeth, ignoring the flush of heat that creeps down the back of his neck and willing it to stay small enough to fuck you properly.

He looks up at you again, and your scent crashes into his mind, filling every hollow of his blurry mind. You’re already gushing fresh slick, reaching for him to grab him by the face and pull him back down to your level.

He probably shouldn’t have teased you so long.

He lets you tug him against you, bracing his hands at either side of your head to drop his mouth to yours. He laves his tongue affectionately across your teeth, tasting notes of his scent in the lingering flavour of you. The hint of his own musk serves as a pleasant memory from the night before, when he’d poured his scent into every hollow of your body, claiming you as wholly as you’d given yourself to him.

You’re already humping your hips down against his, with his cock pressing up into the crook of your thigh. Katsuki groans long and low into your mouth, fitting one hand between you to bring his weeping tip to the hot gush of your cunt.

“That’s what you want?” He grunts, dipping his mouth from yours, tucking it against the shell of your ear.

“Katsuki, hmmm,” you whine, dragging your hard nipples against his chest. When he doesn’t move right away you whine again, clutching at his back and trying to rock yourself down onto him.

“Alpha, plea-hah!”

Katsuki delights in the way he can still startle you, after all this time. He cuts off your begging by snapping his hips sharply forward, bottoming out in one clean thrust. He’s never pretended to have the biggest cock in the world. But he’ll be damned if you’re not satisfied by it anyway.

“That’s right,” he pants, closing his eyes against the crook of your neck. “I got what you need.”

He pets a hand down your sternum as he straightens up a little, thumbing the tender swell of one nipple. He slides his fingers into the dip of your waist to brace at the curve of your hip, digging the pads of his fingers into your flesh as he rolls smoothly in and out of your clingy heat.

He closes his eyes again, overcome by the feelings he swallowed to tease you earlier. You are still tender and gooey from last night, molded perfectly to the size of him and sucking him forward every time he tries to pull away. Your slick leaks out around the edges of his cock with every push of his hips, and the quiet, satisfied cries from beneath him send pulses of deep affection into the hollows of his chest.

There’s nothing quite like this, the physical manifestation of the intimacy that lies between you. He is the only one who can do this for you anymore, the only person in the world who can quell the trembling tides of your heat.

He’s not gonna last long at all, getting sweet on you in his head like this.

Determined to make use of the time that he has, he slides his fingers into the back of your knee, pushing your thigh up toward your torso until he can reach up and grab you by the ankle. Slowly, deftly, he straightens your leg, gliding his palm down the length of your shin and guiding the curve of your heel into the crook of his shoulder.

“Pretty like this,” he croons without thinking, turning his head and feathering a quiet little kiss to the inside of your ankle. He spies your reaction out of the corner of his eye, a blissful little sleepy smile that paints your warmed features. Affection clutches low and hot in his belly, a feeling he’s only now grown used to embracing. Tenderly, he wraps his arm around your leg, braces it against his chest, and begins to thrust.

He takes up a slow, heady pace, pulling slowly out of you and then slamming forward with a harsh snap of his hips, revelling in the way your body jerks every time. He can feel the breath rattle against his palate as he sucks it in through his clenched teeth, losing himself in the maddening grip of you. It’s woven into the very fabric of him, loving you. He doesn’t have to say it anymore, not when he can practically read it out of your skin. But he’s promised himself, more fiercely than anything, to take care of you.

He promises you in the way he fucks you through this, muscles stretched thin, balls aching. Worn out on a weeknight’s worth of sleep, calling out of work for the second day in a row, undoubtedly leaving you in bed to put together a decent meal from the fridge he’d stocked this time last week, when you started looking at him Like That and he couldn’t even bring himself to dread it.

You clench, shifting your foot against his shoulder and lifting your hips into his. The tight little ripple around the base of his cock shoots all the way to the base of his spine, and with a sharp little grunt Katsuki slips his free hand down your belly, stretching his thumb over your tender clit. He can already feel his knot beginning to swell again, pleasure spiking hard when he traps your clit under his thumb and starts to stroke, making you cry out and tense into him all over again.

“Kat…suki, I’m.. g-gonna,” you plead, like he can’t already feel it happening again. Even your scent fluctuates when you’re about to cum, rippled with a sharp little spice that peters into sweetness all over again when you bleed down from that high.

“I gotcha,” he promises gently, hooking his arm more firmly around your calf. “Come on, baby. I gotcha. Come on.”

He dips his hips as low as he can, paying extra attention to the beginning and end of every thrust, to overstimulate those tender spots that line your entrance. It works, because before long you’re digging your heel into the meat of his shoulder and convulsing around his pounding length and gushing hot slick that drips down his balls and coats his pelvis and smears across the low end of his stomach.

“Fuck.” The word hisses from his throat, his body taking the green light of your waning climax long before his brain clues in. He digs his fingers into your thigh and leans forward, stretching it up toward your chest and lets himself go, shoving his hips madly against yours and milking every cruel draw of pleasure from his own body until his thighs are shaking with the resistance of it. When the ecstasy finally boils over he slams his hips as far forward as they’ll go, squeezing his eyes shut and shooting long spurts of cum up into your belly. Your walls stretch eagerly around him as his knot expands completely, sealing his pelvis to yours.

Finally, he shrugs your ankle down his arm, gently straightening your leg out over his thigh as you catch your breath. He’s a little winded, too, never quite ready for the overwhelming sensations of taking you.

“That’s never gonna get old,” he mumbles, bowing over your supine form to rest his dewy forehead on yours.

You’re still panting hard, but you laugh airily, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His eyes are closed again but he can feel you grinning and it’s too contagious not to crack a little smile. He ducks his forehead away from yours to nose against the shell of your ear, mouthing gently at your jaw and sliding both hands up and down either side of your torso.

“Better?” he asks, sincere this time. And, sincerely soothed this time, you nod.

“Much better.”

He knows you’re telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be on you all day. He can’t keep himself off of you when you’re coming down from the worst of it, all sweet and pliable and soft in a way that you most certainly are not for the other days in your cycle. You kick his ass without hesitation, and he loves you for it. But you’re irresistible like this.

“Now,” he grunts, still nosing his way down your neck, tonguing the sweet hollow of your scent glands, “hurry up and calm down. I gotta take a leak.”

That urge hasn’t gone anywhere fast, growing shallow and tight in the pit of his groin. But it’s not urgent. Not when he’s locked so sweetly (and securely) into your relaxing depths.

“You’re the one that needs to calm down,” you retort in good humour, glancing down for a heartbeat.

“Say that again and I might not bother waiting,” he threatens easily. The noise that escapes your throat is enough to make him snort, pillowing his head in the crook of your shoulder as you turn sharply to find his eyes.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“You gonna stop me?” He regrets challenging you immediately when you flail instinctively beneath him, wrenching on the base of his knot and drawing a strangled, pained little wheeze from his chest.

“Fuck, I was kidding,” he scolds, pinning your shoulders to the mattress. “Jesus. Welcome back.”

You’re getting your fire back early. Maybe he’s kind of missed it, after all.  

He keeps himself curled over you like that until his knot’s gone down almost all the way, cock softening out of you and letting fresh drips of slick and cum leak onto his thighs. Finally he pulls himself away from you, padding blindly into the bathroom and flipping on the harsh fluorescent light.

He braces one hand on the wall over the toilet as he relieves himself, still half-hard and wavering on his overworked thighs. After he’s washed his hands he wagers a look in the mirror, turning his back and twisting to look over his shoulder and examine the damage.

He goes back to bed smirking, thinking of the long, angry scratches while the memory of their infliction is still fresh.

You are already half-asleep again when he finds you, so he just pulls the sheets up around your shoulders and drops a kiss to your temple. You’re going to want coffee soon, and you’re going to need breakfast. Neither of you have had a proper meal in longer than he’d care to calculate.

When he steps into some undershorts and eases into the open space that makes up the rest of your apartment, he opens the kitchen windows, since you’ll want fresh air when you come out to join him. He’d stopped by the bagel shop on the corner by the agency the last time he was there, leaving work early to come home to you, because he knew you’d want fried eggs on your favourite sesame bagel when you were finally coherent enough to crave food again.

The routines that make up his devotion to you aren’t the things he learned about in health class. They weren’t written down in the books that were unceremoniously shoved at him after he’d presented, nor did the details of your post-heat care list appear on any neatly packaged powerpoint presentation.

He’s picked them up slowly, the hard way, by messing up over and over and over again. They’re things he never even realized he knew about you, until he looks down at his hands and he’s flipping his own egg every few seconds to keep it from browning but leaving yours in the pan to get crisp around the edges.

It feels good to know you so deeply. Even when, sometimes, the flipside is still a little too vulnerable and scary. Even when he’s still harsh and mean, when he still messes up, when he still catches himself on the edge of fury so often.

You picked him anyway, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to let that mean something.

[bluesora]

seasons change

oikawa tōru x fem! reader

high school au! ; fluff ; snippets of angst ; a teaspoon of poetry ; a sprinkle of comedy ; abstract

seasons die one after another as if to tell you nothing last forever. what if it just goes to show that new beginnings will only happen when something ends? of course, not all things have to end up that way.

change collaboration by @kohi-zeri ; focusing on the change within a phase of life.

“what happens now?”

it was almost the end of winter, which also meant that it’ll be three years of being together with oikawa when spring comes.

“we graduate.”

his voice was muffled against the navy scarf you knitted for his birthday. it was his favorite one among the other gifts you had given him.

“and then what?”

you, who have been dreading this very day to come, wondered why time seem to pass so quickly the moment you realized there was a definite end to be met.

“we’ll then go our separate ways.”

it wasn’t something you hadn’t thought about, especially when the school forces you to decide what route you’d take on your last year of high school. it was something mandatory for everyone to answer, as if you were expected to have dreams and goals to chase after.

“and where will that be?”

you whispered, finding it harder to lie now that the end is approaching.

“wherever you want it to be.”

oikawa turned to face you, his cheeks grazing against the shallow grass beneath him.

“it doesn’t matter where as long as you’re there with me”

of course, you couldn’t bring yourself to say that to him—that would be selfish of you, wouldn’t it?

you darted your eyes over to his honey-brown ones, the smile that was tugging on the corner of his lips triggered a tide of loneliness that washed over your numb body.

“must be nice.”

you managed to choke out, hiding the bubble of tears that threatened to spill behind a light cough.

“what’s nice?”

“you know, to have a dream? one that’s making you go all the way to the other side of the world for. how admirable, really.”

it took him a few seconds to process the weight of your words, what you truly meant and why you’re saying it as such.

“you were always just so...amazing.”

“that’s because you only saw what you wanted to see in me.”

it was your turn to process those heavy words, unsure of the feelings running through your veins when you felt a prick against the walls of your heart.

oikawa really knew how to make those tear ducts of yours work as it streamed down the corners of your eyes in its purest form; littering dews on those soft grass you laid upon.

“y/n-chan?”

“hm?”

“even if we go our separate ways, it doesn’t mean we will never see each other again.”

“i know that, but it’s just so hard to wake up to the days without you with me. we were always together, always, and i—”

oikawa loosened the scarf around his neck as he covered your face with it.

“you say it as if i’m dying.”

you chuckled, wiping those tears away with the scarf that smelled so much like him, including the faint traces of his favorite deodorant. it brought great comfort to your overly anxious nerves.

“aren’t you?” you joked. “your presence will slowly wither away.”

“it will, but not if you let me live in those memories we had shared.”

and you knew that wasn’t all of it. you knew how every little corners of this town will remind you of him, whether it was for the better or worse you weren’t sure of yet.

“remember the day you shouted our last match was the best play despite losing?”

“when i was trying to cheer you guys up despite my ugly crying?”

“you’re not ug—”

“mattsu-kun took a photo and said it was worth the lost if he get to see such a hilarious face.”

oikawa made a mental note to address it later.

“yes I remembered, why?”

“our match might have ended despite the last time we will be representing seijoh as a team, but like you said, it was our best play. and i felt something shifted within me.”

“and that was?”

“the reason why i’m going to argentina. y/n, sometimes things have to end in order for new beginnings to happen.”

“why do we have to end? can’t it just be our life as a high school student that ends?”

your voice cracked a little at the thought of him leaving yet again.

“wait, who said we’re breaking up?”

“you said we’ll go our separate ways!”

oikawa, trying his best to recall the flow of conversation, finally understood the reason behind your emotional outburst.

“i meant it literally as it is! i’ll be in argentina trying to improve myself the best that i can while you find yours in your own very way.”

“then you shouldn’t have to use the word separate right?”

“but we are separated because i can’t be with you physically!”

you have had it with this favorite man of yours and his misleading words.

“and here i thought spring was going to be an irony where love flourished but mine will end like the dead of winter because you’re going to leave me.”

he pulled you over to his chest in an attempt to smooth your anger from the misunderstanding, but of course, that’s not enough when you could feel the weight of embarrassment heating up the tip of your neck to your ears and rosy cheeks.

“does that mean i can fly myself over to argentina with you since ‘wherever i want it to be’ is to be with you?”

“that’s a separate issue for another day, y/n. let’s stop talking for now.”

[matthewtkachuk]

problem - jj maybank

being friends with pope heyward unfortunately means suffering through more interactions with jj maybank than you’d ever ask for. except, what was that phrase about the line between love and hate?

warnings: none

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 1.5k

a/n: i said i was done with the boat show, but @outerbankslut​ deserves the best secret santa gift i can offer her. happy late christmas and i hope you like it honey!

JJ Maybank is annoying. He talks a lot, never really knows when to shut up. Usually, the things he says have little value and yet somehow even less substance. More times than not, his words are careless insults, things said purely to pick at you and drive you mad. You’re usually the better person, can usually let things like that roll right off your back.

And yet, it gets under your skin so badly it has you spitting words of vitriol at him yourself, turns you into some kind of monster whose only goal in life is to bring JJ down. This is not entirely against your neutral persona; however, it makes you seem more high strung than you really are.

You’re Pope’s friend, first and foremost. More a lover than a fighter, more akin to Pope’s natural, bookish tendencies than his reckless side that you only see coming out when he’s around his other best friends. Come summertime, you see a lot more of the other side, as most of your hangouts with Pope take place with the pogues in the background.

You have no problem with the rest of Pope’s friends; they all try their best to make you feel welcome. Kie gets you a job at her family’s restaurant, and the two of you bond while dishing out food and dealing with the complaints of entitled kooks and touron parents alike. John B offers you his couch when you’re too tired to bike home, and Sarah turns out to be a stronger confidant than you had initially assumed based on her family’s socioeconomic status.

JJ remains elusive.

You don’t really remember a time where you ever found JJ Maybank to be anything but childish and stupid. From the earliest days you were aware of who he was - even back in the second grade, he couldn’t help but run his mouth in a way that you found highly insulting - you couldn’t stand the boy. He didn’t grow out of it the way that Pope and your other friends did. To you, JJ was the same immature little boy who once shoved your face in mud and ate worms.

He shows it again when you show hesitance about joining them on the boat for the afternoon. There’s a lot you could be doing at home, or you could pick up a shift at your second job, or you could get a head start on your summer reading - if you were going to get out of this dead-end town, you needed to work really hard to secure a full ride.

“What’s the matter, Bookworm can’t hang?” comes from JJ’s mouth as you’re preparing to turn them down. It causes anger to flash across your face, and Pope’s stepping forward to try and get between the two of you.

You just shrug them both off and get on the boat, using Pope for leverage. “Never said that.” You’re not sure what point you’re trying to prove or who you’re trying to prove it to, but you feel the need to all the same. 

There’s an awkward silence as you sit between Pope and Kie, one that she tries to fill as she offers you a drink. Again, you’re hesitant, and again JJ picks up on it, scoffing before you even have a chance to respond. You turn on him with a glare, “spit it out, Maybank.”

“Nothing, I was just thinking that it was stupid to offer. We all know you’re going to turn it down.” And, well, he’s not wrong, but the way he thinks he knows you or something is so annoying you almost grab a beer just to spite him. But, despite your need to prove him wrong, you’re not going to do something you don’t feel comfortable doing just because some idiot says you won’t.

“Sorry, we don’t all need alcohol in order to have a fun time,” you roll your eyes and grab a bottle of water instead, chugging the contents and ignoring the way JJ is looking at you while you do.

He laughs, but you ignore him in favor of turning to Kie and striking up a conversation with her about water conservation. JJ doesn’t like being ignored, and you know that choosing to not engage with him further will frustrate him more than any barbed insult you could ever throw his way. When John B finds a suitable place to drop anchor, you and Kie lie side by side on the bow of the boat, chatting quietly while the boys mess around in the water. That is until you’re both doused in water by one not at all sorry-looking JJ Maybank. 

Kie just screams and laughs, shouting his name as she leans over the boat to splash him back. You’re pissed, though. For some reason, this is the final straw for you.

“What’s your problem with me?” you snap finally, voice cracking with all the emotions laden in it.

He avoids your gaze, shrugging and speaking, “I don’t have a problem with you.”

It’s evasive, and it’s annoying. “Bullshit,” you snap again, “you’ve had a problem with me forever, so what is it?”

He just scratches at the back of his neck, gaze roaming the waves rather than meet your eyes. You roll your eyes again, so frustrated and tired with this old song and dance as you repeat yourself, “What’s your problem?”

“Guys-” Kie tries to mediate between you as John B and Pope scramble back on the boat. 

“Not now, Kie!” you shout from your place on the boat. 

She just sighs a little, clearly as fed up with your behavior as the other two boys on the boat. “You asked for this,” she warns before suddenly you find yourself in the water beside JJ. 

Sputtering, you flail your arms and legs to keep yourself afloat. The truth is, you’re not the strongest swimmer. It’s not like you’re going to drown out here or anything, but it’s going to take a lot of effort to keep from doing so. “What the hell, you guys?” 

JJ seems to have caught on more quickly than you have, as he yells up at them, “Don’t do this!”

You spin in the water to glare at him, “do what? What the heck is going on?”

“It worked for us!” Sarah shouts as you hear the boat engine turn over. Suddenly you’re furious.

“Don’t you dare!” you yell out, head snapping to Pope, “you’re dead to me if you don’t let us back on that boat this instant.” He just kind of shrugs and half-heartedly waves to you as the boat begins to pull away. 

“Now look at what you’ve done! You just couldn’t leave me be for one stupid afternoon, huh?” You’re pissed at JJ, pissed at Pope and the other pogues. You’re also pissed at yourself for how good JJ looks as he effortlessly floats beside you. 

“Hey, this wasn’t just me, Bookworm. You didn’t have to start yelling at me.” JJ is so calm it’s infuriating, and it makes you want to drown him. You don’t, of course, they don’t offer full-ride scholarships to felons after all.

“You pick at me literally every second of every day, and you’re going to blame me for yelling at you?” you ask incredulously. “Seriously, how self-unaware are you?” He doesn’t answer you again, and the frustration just explodes out of you like the volcano you’d won the fourth-grade science fair with despite JJ’s sabotage attempt with half a bottle of mountain dew. “I’m not going to ask again. I will swim all the way back to shore if I need to. What. Is. Your. Problem. With. Me?”

It’s like a switch flipped on JJ then, some sort of fuse just lit, or some circuit just broke. “You’re my problem, Bookworm! You’re too pretty, and funny, and smart; it drives me crazy. I just want to make you feel as crazy as you make me feel!” 

Your jaw drops, and the seconds tick by as his words enter your consciousness. Suddenly, you laugh - harder than you ever have before, head tilted back, eyes closed, entire body shaking with laughter, laugh. “You don’t think you drive me crazy? Surely you know what you look like? And you’re always so happy and carefree. I wish I wasn’t so hung up on everything and could just enjoy the moment like you do.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he says immediately after you’re done speaking, never one for silences or quiet. 

You shake your head in disbelief before something occurs to you. “Did you just call me pretty? Do you have a big crush on me, JJ?”

“What? No,” he sputters loudly.

“You wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you?” you taunt a little, more flirtatious than malicious, and he picks up on it right away.

Perking up, he says, “maybe I do?” 

As he’s kissing the life out of you in the middle of the water, you think to yourself maybe you wanted to kiss him, too.

[asterius-of-crete]

Illinois releases Asterius, chuckling at the babe’s eagerness. “ All right, all right. Just don’t wander too far, honey. ” He watches Asterius for a moment, unable to help but worry. He looks back toward where they had come from. A deeper forest lay just beyond this little copse of sunny trees and grass. Entrances and exits could be so subjective.

He busies himself with putting up his tent as Asterius plays, before he begins working on a fire pit. A small one, but still. The little one is going to be hungry again soon enough, and he’ll need more than fruit from the bottomless satchel to appease him.

Once their campsite is finished, Illinois gets to his feet. He can still hear the mooing and shouting of Asterius nearby.

Time to find some fresh water.

“ Asterius! Do you want to take a walk with me? ”

Asterius drops like a stone to roll around in the grass, feeling every blade, every drop of dew. Illinois would have a green Minotaur on his hands before the sun set. Even before the Dark Place, he had not been allowed outside Mama's room, because he scared the servants, and the other children (and so many other complicated words adults shouted at each other he did not understand), so he had always wondered what just rolling in the grass felt like, instead of staring at it from afar.

He runs around from one side to another, being very good and never really leaving Illy's sight, even if sometimes the grass is very tall and it obscures him just a little. Asterius doesn't care if he gets tired; the sky is open above him, the sun is shining down, the gods are watching him, the dirt is soft beneath his poor hooves, and his new friend is right there.

Once called, he comes barreling towards Illinois, a tiny charger that doesn't really manage to stop in time, and headbutts the man's legs with a little 'oof'. He looks up and nods, definitely not wanting to be left alone. "Go with!" His tail whips around harmlessly as he grabs onto Illy's hand and starts pulling... before he realizes he doesn't know where they are going, and he lets the human take the lead.