#WHAT is my commissions tag i never remember

[metranart]

Acting like a bird in heat, Hawks ends up fulfilling his mating cycles with you… but now that his mind isn’t a pool of hormones… why does he keep looking for you?

Hawks x Student! Reader (Part 2)

- Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove with you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut. -

“May-may I give you a kiss?” You asked, timidly and noticing his bemused expression, corrected. “...As a way of thanking you.... for saving me....” 

Your timid request took him by surprise momentarily, but soon his features regain his cool, and was quick to nod to then leant down. A kiss on the cheek, Keigo thought it to be innocent enough, not a usual request, nevertheless, a simple one. If this put you to rest, he'll humor you.    Keigo was cocking his head for you to place your sweet lips.... it's now or never, you breathed deeply.... if you were going to use your quirk, now was the moment. 

Two slender hands perched in each side of the Hero´s face and in a firm, straight movement, you cocked his face in your direction, surprise registered in his face, and his golden orbs popped open at the feeling of your lips locking with his. 

  Bold, The Winged Hero thought pleasantly amused, this girl had a savage side to her… the timid, quivering student was gone for sure, and a determined one took its place. Hawks felt a light wave of energy spread inside him, as sudden as the kiss itself realized was taking him more than it should to hold himself back.    Doubtfully, snaking your arms around his neck, the hero closed the distance for your warm body to hang easily from him, when two strong arms help you by holding your waist, Keigo didn’t dare to break the kiss even when his mind screamed for him to do it. The commission is going to be pissed. 

The little lip lock began to grow intimate and you were out in the open, not that he actually cared about those things, even so, a red alert fired up inside his head when you moaned into his eager lips, the exact moment his advantageous hand slipped just a thad under your UA school uniform skirt, as in trouble ahead.... you are fondling an underage school girl in a hidden alleyway like a common PERVERT.    Stop! his mind nagged at him, and you felt him disentangle his hand, but quickly, you prevented it. 

Shocked, groaned at your refusal to then settle back into a cool demeanor. Hawks hummed softly with a hint of a smile; his good sense precariously bruised. 

“...Let´s stop, little one...” Keigo chuckled in between kisses, unconsciously massaging your hips with his thumbs. “I’m gonna get...in so, so much trouble–” he huffed a laugh. You were so tiny compare to him, but, then again, most people were small compare to him.    

“I´m- I'm trying to help.” You attempted to apologize, but he merely snorted. “–By taking off my hands my hero license?” He attempted a joke; your reply wasn’t what he expected. 

“S-sorry about this-”  

You mumbled, and groaned, remembering that the touch needed to be more intimate for your quirk to work properly, and let your lips devour his desperately, but the touch was so inexpert that your quirk seemed still ineffective, all your efforts only flushing your skin and cheeks making it burn bright like the setting sun. Or perhaps it was the embarrassing knowledge that you were going to have to basically sexually assault the hero number two for this to actually work... 

Be brave and do it already! You chastised, and in an act that not even you thought would be capable of doing, you pushed your breast into his hand, easing his strong fingers around your own to help him have a nice handful, his hand instinctively squeezed the plump flesh, and then you felt the unmistakable pull he did trying to gently scramble away, but you refused to let him go.   

His golden eyes opened wide, astonished by your unmeasured actions and the very welcoming way his body was reacting, this was not usual for him...he had control...except when... 

“Surrender, Hawks–” You begged, reaching down a hand to without his permission, began to pull at his belt. 

The power of your quirk started to take effect the closer you got, and for the first time Keigo began to feel disoriented, sickly warm and dangerously possessive.... fear enveloped the young Hero....this was too similar to his rut, but it was weeks away for that to happen. 

"What are… what are you doing-...to me...." he stressed, biting down a moan, and finally finding enough strength, broke the sloppy kiss by taking a step away. A string of saliva the only thing left connecting each other. 

“Helping you.” You promised, one hand searched for his arm, clawing, trying to pull him back to you. "The discomfort will vanish when you surrender...." 

A painful throbbing inside his head began to blind him almost becoming numbing, the more he tried to stay away from you. “Surrender~” Your tender voice, suggested again and huskily groaning, the Hero ended up allowing you to draw him back into your welcome embrace. 

Immediately, you shushed him, balancing on your tip toes to cradle his head to your neck despite the difference in heights. Hawks made himself comfortable in matter of seconds, curling against you, body suffering from incontrollable fits of goosebumps as he straightened again, for his eyes to lock on yours.  

Those two pools of liquid honey shone like molten gold. Round orbs igniting at finding not an ounce of resistance from you, instead, you openly desired him–according to him.  

The lack of control from your quirk can have adverse results on the wounded, especially on persons who have animal traits ... don't use it at that level until you are one hundred percent sure you can master it... You heard Recovery girl's warning in your mind once again, and soon your whole attention shifted to the feeling of Hawks splaying a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then, the hero hauled you into the darkest part of the alley. 

You let him, leant against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close by someone you admired so much. The thrill of feeling wanted by him was somehow intoxicating, not to mention, superbly new to you.   

Golden locks fell over his eyes, jacket unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that made him look devilish. Not wasting another second, he aimed for your lips, yet his lips only brushed your temple since you cocked your head away. The Hero hesitated with a low chuckle, keeping his proximity.   

It had been a moment of weakness on your part, nevertheless, you knew that once you had started the process, you must finish it. This was too new for you; you've never had a boyfriend before but that didn't mean you've never kissed or touched a guy, while enjoying of a drunken stupor. After all, you were already in second year at UA Academy, a year away from becoming a full-fledged professional. 

You were the most belated in your entire class, since you had a complicated quirk, but the support of your friends was so unconditional that you had never felt judged. You had frozen against that Nomus but now it was different, this time, you would act accordingly and fulfill your mission. Hawks was going to leave that alley without a single injury to his body. 

“Hawks–” You didn't have to tell him or even finish the request, when he rushed over you to diligently press his lips with yours, and holy shit! This must be how it feels to be with someone experienced. This was completely different from what you were doing minutes ago, this time you felt yourself melt into his warm and strong body while he softly brushed your lips against his, breathing reverence into your lungs like you were his person, his girl, his ultimate and most sacred individual in the entire universe. Now, his wandering touch seemed to be cupping your breast by his own will, tongue lapping at the trails of your cherry lipstick like a mad man. 

Letting him do with you whatever the fuck he wanted and how he wanted, while you indiscriminately released more of your energy for his wounds to absorb like a dry sponge. 

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” The winged hero cooed, hearing you moan, and he grinned wickedly caressing your waist to pull you closer against him, no gaps this time. He wanted you to feel him above the clothes, his dick was hard. Painfully, fucking hard against you. 

“I think you’re so pretty.” He blurted out, looking straight into your half-lidded orbs. Your eyes widened and you felt your throat dry. 

How you hated this part... the ovations of your beauty, unsolicited declarations of love, the intensity in the victim's gaze while your quirk made them believe you were a real life, Angel. It was all very uncomfortable for you, not knowing if these words hid a bit of truth or were just a byproduct of the situation. 

“I think-….I.....” Part of you wanted to swallow the plain lie coming out of his shiny lips, but you knew the nature of your quirk, all too well, and letting yourself be fooled would be stupid. “I think you’re being highly influenced by my quirk.” You quipped back, making emphasis in the word highly.  

Clinging to his solid figure, your feet left the ground, and his feathers sharpened. Like a predator ready to attack its prey. A subconscious, trained part of him, kept resisting, stabbing himself in the back to gain some control back, but it was so fucking hard. 

After a couple of groaning swears, and him smearing against you more like a cat than a Hawk, the blonde managed to unwrap himself from you a few centimeters, like he couldn't stand to be away for even a second and breathed his next words against the edge of your jaw. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on... but I nee-d....I need–I need you to RUN...” Keigo swallowed hard, breathing through his nose to keep composed. Even your natural smell was affecting him, you could literally feel the shape and girth of his cock as it jumped in his pants, firmly pressed against your tummy. 

“No need,” You breathed out, giving him a tight smile, “I can handle you.” You promised, leaning forward, only for him to lean back.  

A condescending chuckle followed. “You have no idea how to handle a predator, kid... So, do as I fucking say...” The way his gaze sharpened, actually send goosebumps down your legs, even so, you knew you needed to finish the loop, or everything would be in vain. 

So, instead of hearing his helpful advice, you draw near. 

“God fucking damn it.” His voice sounded strain; lips set in a tight line. What the hell!? Didn't you see the danger you were in?! His wings were standing on end and menacing, shuddering with a rush of adrenaline from just imagining pushing you against the wall and having his way with you. 

Tears would fall down your face, yet he would not care because would be driven by instinct, raw and basic, predatory instinct. He would tear your AU uniform with his sharp feathers and sully your soft skin with hickeys and bites, making sure you came at least twice to make you slippery and ready to sheath him, properly, he didn’t want to break you, not yet he liked to play with his prey before putting it on his knees and wreck its world apart. Hawks was sure you were a virgin, so it wouldn't be hard. 

Once he had you trembling and begging, would fuck you with all his might and continue until you passed out, cumming inside you over and over again until you overflowed with his essence, and then would take you to his penthouse where he would keep you, marking you as his precious mate, for life.  

“Kid, I won't be able to ask you again...” he said, flushed cheeks making him look almost feverish “but if you don't leave now... you will never be able to do so again...." He made a meaningful pause, “...that I swear." 

Hawks' breathing came heavy, it felt awfully hot against your sweaty skin. The ragging spring wasn’t making any of this easier.  

“Don´t worry...-it´s my...my quirk speaking....” You mewled, way too sure of your words, “we can-we can...continue until you are fully...fully healed–….” there was no response from him, only the sound of heavy breathing hitting against your warm cheek, “...Hawks?”  

At what point did the hero stopped understanding what you were saying? He wasn’t sure, or maybe, just stop caring? At some level, Hawks just stopped fighting the nagging inside his brain and let his instinct take the wheel. Just for a minute, he wanted to let the animal out. Just a few seconds before taming it back into its cage. So, he let his rut take over him. You said you could handle him, right? 

“Tell me,” Hawks’ voice sounded deeper, raspier almost feral, as it you were facing a darker self of the same man, and the next words that came out of his mouth made you realize how affected he was, for you have never EVER, had such a raw response. “...May I fuck you as your way of thanking me for saving you?”  

COMING SOON PART 3....

⬇⬇ NSFW ART of this story and more MHA NSFW artwork: ⬇⬇

[ryonello]

HI is ur fav character missing from my print wall . let me draw u a guy (or a duo maybe) for my next con and mail it to u :] ✦ 20% off - starting from 80usd ✦ not fcfs, limited slots - will see how many i can do before ozcc next month 🙏 ✦ if ur aussie lmk (can do aud/cheaper bc shipping 💕) ✦ tos/more info here !

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[finelythreadedsky]

6th century bce archaic greece dashboard simulator

📜 oracles-onomakritos Follow

guys you have GOT to stop sticking in extra aristeias for your faves, the iliad is getting TOO LONG

⚔️ argivehero1184 Follow

nope lmao check out my guy diomedes he stabbed aphrodite!!!

📜 oracles-onomakritos Follow

look do you want anyone to even be able to perform this whole thing bc i know rhapsodes are impressive but their memories can only go so far

#parahomerica #i spend so much time on this and is anyone remotely grateful?

76 notes

🌠 thalesmilesios Follow

it’s going to be so crazy next month when it gets dark in the middle of the day, the medes are going to have no idea what hit them

🏛️ anaxagoraintheagora Follow

lol like that would ever happen! you’d have to piss off apollo even more than agamemnon did

🏛️ anaxagoraintheagora Follow

i stand corrected.

#ok headed down to didyma to make some offerings now #ngl this has me pretty freaked out

7,264 notes

🌸 iokolpos Follow

poem for atthis 💔

like a hyacinth on the mountains the shepherds tread upon her underfoot and on the ground a purple flower

Keep reading

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

sappho dm me please i won't leave you like she did

247,383 notes

💩 iambicpharmakos Follow

wealth is such a dick, he never comes to my place to go hey hipponax here’s thirty minas of silver, and some extra too! what, is he scared?

11 notes

🏺 exekias-epoiese Follow

sneak peek of my new work! process video will be up soon, and remember I am currently open for commissions!

#ajax 😭😭😭#wanted to challenge myself with the hands and i think they turned out ok #the armor was much more fun though #art tag

693,554 notes

👹 assemblerofchoruses Follow

when you think about it... maybe helen's right when she blames herself for the trojan war? she chose to run away with paris and then so many people died because of it, she even says herself that she was a shameless dog

👹 assemblerofchoruses Follow

helen if your reading this i didmt meanit im so sorry

#i cant see anythignwhat is going on

187 notes

🍃 nikostratethepythagorean Follow

that hippokleides guy is such an icon. siege of tyre? hippokleides don't care! persian invasion? hippokleides don't care! fall of babylon? hippokleides don't care! peisistratus back in athens? hippokleides don't care!

#trying to bring this energy to the new olympiad #niko speaks

326 notes

🫒 notthatmegacles Follow

and don't just automatically vote for your tribe!

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

um who even are any of these guys

🫒 notthatmegacles Follow

dude they're the patron heroes for the ten new tribes, have you been living under a rock????

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

believe it or not i’m one of the dozens of people worldwide that live in a polis that’s not athens

#smh #lesbian problems

28,724 notes

[mcytblrsexymen]

thanks for playing!

(an image ID is under the cut, as well as in the image description. the artists credits and their social media links are also listed under the cut - go check them out!)

hey y'all. we've been quiet a bit. that being said, we have one last thing before we get this event behind us.

this was a really special thing to be a part of. what started as a silly joke we didn't think would get very far ended up being a cultural event within the fandom. thousands of votes, participation from everyone, a thing we'll never forget. we can't express enough how exciting it was to be a part of everything. we, the mods, had a fantastic time with everything. a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience, you know?

but it wasn't us that made this what it was. it was you all.

we just want to say, from the bottoms of our hearts: thank you. thank you for all the campaigning - for a while, it was practically all we could see. thank you for all the fic - we have a canonized ao3 tag, that's wild. thank you for all the art - several fandoms were practically revitalized by this and it was beautiful to watch. thank you to the ccs who went along with the bit - it was a delight to have you playing in here with us. thank you for the stories you told with this. for the narratives you created. for alliances we would have never seen coming, for betrayals, and most of all for being here, together, doing this. thank you all so much for making this what it was.

anyway, so this art is my thanks to everyone. i commissioned a number of artists from as many different fandoms involved as i could find in hopes of capturing some of the chaotic energy of what might be some of the single most insane two weeks of my life. (and click on the piece so tumblr compression doesn't ruin it - there are SO MANY FANTASTIC DETAILS to look at!)

cheers, everyone. thanks for playing. you've made something special that i don't think we could ever create again, and it was a moment to remember.

<3, second and the sexyman mod team.

ART CREDITS:

confetti @bdoubleowo: goodtimeswithscar, technoblade, ldshadowlady, scott smajor

genesis frog @aroaceacacia: joe hills, saintstarling, itssubz, rtgame, composition, lighting/shading adjustments

siren @chronophobica: zombiecleo, grian, ranboo, tubbo

fluffy @fluffy-papaya: pixlriffs, vikingpilot, zloyxp, rythian

colten @malewifeph1lza: slimecicle, captainsparklez, jschlatt, dream, illumina

kish @kishdoodles and brynn @brynnticus: docm77, aimsey, mythicalsausage, orionsound, clownpierce, eddie the rabbit, owenjuicetv, seapeekay, ashswag, lighting/shading adjustments

td @paradoxalriven: quackity, ethoslab, stage

thank you <3

image ID: a portrayal of the mcytblr sexyman competition, as done by seven different artists, each with their own artstyle. it portrays many mcyters crowded around a stage, onto which a spotlight shines on the finalists. scar and joe are posing at each other in competition. to the right, quackity is climbing onto the stage, boosted by etho. around the stage there are a number of additional mcyters; technoblade, ldshadowlady, scott smajor, saintstarling, itssubz, rtgame, zombiecleo, grian, ranboo, tubbo, pixlriffs, vikingpilot, zloyxp, rythian, slimecicle, captainsparklez, jschlatt, dream, illumina, docm77, aimsey, mythicalsausage, orionsound, clownpierce, eddie the rabbit, owenjuicetv, seapeekay, and ashswag can all be seen cheering on contestants, talking to each other, and watching the competition. there are additional nondescript shadows around the stage in the background, implying an even larger crowd. the image also has the logo for the competition on it.

[slttygeto]

don't be so reckless, don't break my heart —MITSUYA T.

synopsis: an argument with your childhood best friend leads to sweet confessions in the middle of the night.

tags: fluff, confessions, childhood best friend! mitsuya, fem!reader, arguments (so, angst if you squint a little), mentions of the reader being in a panicked state, mentions of mitsuya having injuries and bl00d all over him.

word count: 4,2k

note: thank you to the amazing @jean-kirsteins-real-gf for commissioning me! I enjoyed writing this piece a lot :) what a way to start the year! happy 2024 <3!!

Your first meeting with Mitsuya is a memory that is always present in the forefront of your head. It isn’t something that you could easily ignore or brush off, how such a sweet boy who was about your age had a baby to his chest and a kid younger than you both holding his hand so tightly you could see their knuckles turning white. What a rare sight it was, for a boy so young to guide his sister (after you heard her address him as big brother), the gentle tone to his voice, the carefulness when holding the baby to his chest—his kind gesture seals the deal for you.

Shy and scared as a shrinking violet, your teary eyes face away from the two boys who had pushed you off the swing. Young you was never able to speak her mind so bravely, so freely—yet you watch as Mitsuya—(a total stranger at the time), come to your rescue with a baby wrapped closely to him. It is ridiculous the way he fights and scares them off so easily. At first, they mock him for his soft features, for his lavender eyes and for the tiny human being latching onto him. Yet a single kick to one of the boys’ stomach is enough to send chills down your spine. That looks painful, you think.

As you wipe your eyes, you are finally able to look away from the bullies scurrying away with their tails tucked between their legs, facing your knight in shining armor. Your savior. What do you say in such situations? What do you do? You forget to stand up and dust yourself, only realizing your position when your neck starts to hurt from craning it to look up at your hero.

“Are you okay?” he presents a warm hand which you gladly hold, and he pulls you up with so much ease as you wipe away the excess tears on your cheeks. “I’ve seen them around here, never been nice to anyone.” He continues to talk and you continue to give silent nods as a response. At one point, he questions your ability to speak and your face heats up.

“I’m just…”

“Shy?” The slight to his head, the sweet smile—the crush you developed for the boy was all too expected with how nice he was to you.

As the years pass by, the friendship the two of you have developed turned into something that none of you could quite decipher—not that you wanted to. Strangely, you enjoyed the confusion that paints his friends’ faces as you walk up to him, scold him for missing lunch, for not answering your calls—and he doesn’t blush nor does he shy away from returning your hugs, even more passionately than the way you almost tackle him to the ground. His arms have grown stronger than when you were kids, and the way he smells has become so sweet…so intoxicating—you feel dizzy when you pull away from him, unable to look him in the eye for the next 30 seconds as you listen to whatever lame joke Draken has to say about the two of you.

Unbeknownst to you, the boy remembers the day he saw you as though it was yesterday as well. Pretty girl crying on the playground, heart thrumming in his chest when he saw the tears painting your face—he wasn’t in Toman at the time, wasn’t even a thing to begin with. He lies to himself and says that his brotherly instincts kick in when he saw you, that the protectiveness stems from the fact that he would’ve done the same if it were one of his two little sisters. Nevertheless, whatever he was telling his stubborn brain would not go through. He hears you sniffle and helps you up, gives you a tissue to clean yourself and even questions your ability to speak—when you part your lips, your soft voice is what seals the deal for him at the time.

At the time, developing a crush could be from something as simple as saying hi a bit too excitedly or in Mitsuya’s case, the way you had always been nice to other kids on the playground. You weren’t that talkative, but you played with kids on the swing, built sandcastles with them—until those two boys bullied you and the lavender boy knew he had to do something about it.

Watching you grow was a privilege. In Mitsuya’s eyes, having you was perfect. Knowing you, growing with you, embracing you in his arms—you’ve become more beautiful, your eyelashes brush over your cheeks when you blink and your lips pout instead of wobbling when you get sad. Your eyes still hold the same amount of warmth in them as that summer day he met you. You smell as sweet as a jasmine, handle his little sisters as though they are your own, delicate fingers brushing their hair, fixing their bangs, prepping their meals—you treat him and his family with something that feels so special but he would hate to be falsely reading between the lines.

Empathy and kindness have always been one of your traits, you put other people first and although Mitsuya loved it when someone realized just how much of an amazing human being you were, he hated seeing you get taken advantage of. So nice, so sweet—an angel.

You are present when Toman becomes a thing, celebrate alongside the first few members of the biker gang the birth of something so small yet so significant (with a future so big, nobody could ever foresee it). However, violence was never your thing. And so a frown sits heavy on your face whenever you see small scratches on Mitsuya’s face, remind yourself to scold him later for the bruise on his jaw—how would he explain it to his sisters? They’re probably worried sick about him!

“It’s me, can you open up?” it is a rainy summer night, your favorites. You are wearing light pajama pants and a tank top as you approach the entrance door with your heart beating in your throat. At around 11:32PM, soft knocks come to your door. You don’t move from the couch at first. Maybe they’ve mistaken the property for theirs.

Until a second round of knocks come in, and you hear the muffled voice and—wait, you know that voice! As you rush to undo the locks, nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the scene awaiting you.

Mitsuya Takashi was everything yet nothing—a leader, an older brother and a best friend, but when he comes to you so late at night with bruises and cuts all over his face—purple and red knuckles, the bones almost visible, he hisses at the feeling of the alcohol against his wounds. Tears welling up in his eyes, the sniffles--you realize how utterly small and vulnerable he is, sitting on your red couch with legs that would not rest. His limbs shake and his head hurts, you doubt that he has eaten anything all day and he watches as you sigh and rearrange the first aid kit before making your way to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” his voice sounds harsh, the softness to it no longer there after having yelled so much during yet another one of Toman’s fights. You give no response. You don’t need his apologies, you do not need words right now—however, starting a fight was the last thing on your mind, and clearly not what Mitsuya was able to handle in such state.

“It’s alright,” you say as you make your way back to where he was and place food in front of him. Hot and delicious, the smell alone is enough to make his mouth water and he digs in with no regard to his wounds—you hear him hiss as he pulls the chopsticks away from his lips and for the first time ever, you give a small chuckle.

Mitsuya smiles at this, a little relieved that you weren’t that mad at him. However, he sees the way you sit and face away from him, how your eyes trail longer on the uninteresting, empty road out there rather than his face. This was unlike you. You were never one to avoid eye contact with him, having openly admitted that you find solace in his lavender eyes and his gentle stare. Clearly, something was wrong.

“Are you angry with me?” It is not a surprise that the emotionally intelligent man was able to pick up on the subtle hints you’ve thrown his way about your sour mood, and you suck in your lips for a bit before finally mustering up the courage to face him. Your eyes are tired, a deep frown sitting heavy on your face and painting your features in a darker light than usual. One that has the wounded man’s heart breaking for a bit.

“Only worried,” you want to say more, Mitsuya fixing his posture to look at you encourages you to do so. “Do you have to do this?” you whisper the question so softly, so afraid that someone in the empty apartment beside Mitsuya would hear. You don’t know why you are so afraid of being heard, perhaps because you know you are overstepping into a territory that wasn’t yours—something you’ve never had the chance to experience—Toman, the community, the people in it. They all meant so much to the guy sitting next to you, wouldn’t it be insulting to ask him if he has to put his life on the line for them every time?

Upon hearing those words, a sigh leaves the guy’s lips and you feel like sinking into the couch. Conversing with Mitsuya was easy, it felt natural and smooth—why was this topic so anxiety inducing then?

“You’ve been there… you know, when it all started.” His words serve as a reminder of the day it all started, the joy on everyone’s faces when Mitsuya handed them the old Toman uniforms. You’ve seen it, how dedicated all of them were. You were understanding—but this was too much.

“I have but—Takashi, this is ridiculous,” you turn to face him and Mitsuya’s eyes flicker down to your pouty lips before staring back at your eyes. He hates seeing you so upset.

“I know, I know…” his hand slides towards your own and you feel electricity through your body when you feel his touch, the way his fingers interlace with yours and his thumb brushes over the skin of the back of your hand. “I just have to and plus, kinda needed that beating as warm up.”

“Huh?” you stare at him confused, pushing him to continue.

“Toman’s been involved in something a bit nasty,”

“But you guys are used to nasty, right?” there’s nervousness in your voice.

“Yeah but this is… This is next level,” when Mitsuya leans forward with his elbows on his knees, the serious look on his face almost sends you spiraling.

“Who?”

“Hm?”

“Who are you fighting?” You’re fighting off high levels of anxiety as he keeps you waiting for a few seconds before replying.

“Tenjiku.”

“Tenji—“ you choke on your spit, unable to finish your sentence out of pure shock. “Tenjiku! You are fighting Tenjiku? No, no no no—you’re not,” you’ve grown agitated at the mention of the name of the gang, and Mitsuya suddenly finds himself unable to calm you down as he normally can.

“Hey, it’s okay we’ve got this, we always do—“

“You always do?!” You repeat, before pointing at his state. “Look at you! You’re barely coming back in one piece, think you can fight Tenjiku?”

“Well excuse you, Toman is also very strong.” Takashi also gets up from the couch, your words having too much of an effect on the usually calm and collected man. As he watches you pace around the living room of your apartment, his hands find themselves in front of his body, reaching towards you in a futile attempt of getting you to calm or sit down. But to no avail. It seems as though the mention of such dangerously reputable biker gang sets you off, and the possibility of what might happen to the man if not careful enough sends you spiraling down faster with each short inhale you take.

“That’s—what? A thousand men against a hundred? Don’t be ridiculous Takashi.”

“How am I being ridiculous? You know Toman,” his eyebrows are furrowed and his body stops moving, indicating that your words were starting to get to him personally. “We are strong, we got this.”

“You always come back beaten up and bloody!” you half yell out exasperated. “You don’t got this if most of your body is black and blue by the time a fight is over!”

The tension in the room has grown so thick. It’s unusual given your somewhat stable friendship with the man. Slight disagreements happened here and there over things that you could easily brush off and say ‘yes, I was wrong and you were right,’ or simply ignore it and pretend it never happened. But as your voice gets louder, and you show more and more evidence of how upset you are, it’s clear as day that ‘slight’ wouldn’t describe the situation accurately. You were having a full blown argument with Mitsuya, and it still hasn’t sunk in yet.

Mitsuya can hear his heart beat in his chest, he feels his ears heating up with the amount of negative feelings he was experiencing towards this—towards you being so against Toman winning. Did you really not believe in him? Were you faking being supportive this entire time?

“You know I’m still going to go and fight alongside them, right?” The tone Takashi uses with you is so unusual that you feel your eyes brimming with tears straight away. Cold and indifferent, two things you never thought you could associate with how the man felt for you.

“Well don’t come to my place for me to clean you up. Find someone else.”

“I will.” He doesn’t wait for you to open the door for him, doesn’t say goodnight as he usually does. He doesn’t even slam the door as he leaves. He is cold and distant as he walks further and further away from you, from the argument. Reality sets in and the heavy weight of your words and reactions to his announcement come flashing back like a short movie made to embarrass you, make you feel guilty.

“Fuck.”

--

“Mitsuya! You’re distracted!” Another punch lands on the lavender hair’s jaw, sending him flying into the ground with a loud thud. Although his injuries aren’t as bad as half of Toman’s, his disorganized state is sending most of his division members into a panicked state. He was never like this.

“Ugh--!” Before he can stand up, he is being kicked repeatedly in the guts until blood spills out of his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to roll over and away from whoever’s attacking him to avoid another harsh blow to his body. He gets on one knee with an arm around his middle, protecting his injuries and he coughs out blood before letting his wobbly legs help him stand up straight.

“Shit—sorry,” his hand wipes at the blood on his lips. He gets into a fighting stance and immediately, the look in his eyes changes into something fiercer, more passionate. He hates that the argument with you is the only thing on his mind. Your words, your tone, even the way you haven’t reached out to him in a couple of days. He hates fighting with you, despises the fact that maybe you were right, and that Tenjiku are beating them up. But one glance at his division members—at Toman, it reminds him that the roars of victory when the fight ends, the tears of joy. The pain in his body could never compare to the happiness and satisfaction of being in this gang, his second family. However, he cannot wait for everything to be over, and for you two to make up.

--

The universe has a strange way of showing that two people are meant to be. As Mitsuya makes his way back to his apartment, several groans escape his lips as he drags his bloodied and beaten up body up the stairs. He preferred going to yours because there were less stairs but…It looks like it wasn’t an option now. As his hand twists the knob of his door, he is fully prepared to see a mortified baby sitter asking him what exactly had happened—but instead, he sees something else. Or rather someone.

Earlier that night, things were a bit messy for you. Feeling as though you have been punched repeatedly in the guts wasn’t an enjoyable feeling—the nausea amplified by your shallow breathing, your nostrils hurting from the harsh cold air and your throat dry as a desert as your body refuses to swallow, instead sending you into an anxious state as it forgets to let the oxygen into your lungs. You choke as you get away from the window and run to the kitchen to grab some water, you open the tap and let the cold liquid hit your wrists, calm your nerves. You lean against the sink with your elbows propped against the surface and your lips pathetically wobble as tears threaten to spill. You couldn’t handle this anymore.

You were glad that Luna and Mana had gone down to sleep easily, a short story about a princess that wandered around the forest, slipping down a mystery hole into a magical world which she ended up ruling had the girls’ eyes sparkle, yet the tiredness was visible as their under eyes darkened, eyelids heavy and before you knew it—tiny snores resonated through their shared room. You checked on them a couple of times throughout the night, and although the sight of them sleeping so soundly had you place a hand on your chest as muscle memory, your body wanting to show its relief—your brain was running a thousand miles per hour. Takashi—how was he? Would he even make it back? You feel as though you were a bit harsh with him when telling him that you wouldn’t treat his wounds—but his stubbornness, you couldn’t handle it anymore.

There is a crackling noise coming from the fireplace, and you know that the coldness of your body calls for warming up but—but not now, not when Mitsuya wasn’t back home yet, and it was already approaching three in the morning.

As strange as it may seem, the invisible thread connecting the two of you was tugging from both sides and you find yourself staring at the door knob before it starts twisting. When the door swings open and a bloody Mitsuya comes in sight, the first thing that leaves your lips is a defeated “oh” before your feet rush you to the first aid kit you had brought with you from your place.

“What…are you doing here?” Takashi is the first to break the silence as he limps towards the couch. You don’t answer, you gently place him on the cushions before cradling his face in your hands. He doesn’t like the look on your face, how your eyes are brimming with tears and your bottom lip wobbles before you look away to hide the fact that you were very close to bursting into tears.

“I was never going to come.” You admit, but it was obviously a lie. Not with the way you carefully unbutton his uniform top and hand him a bottle of water to keep him hydrated.

“I know,” his voice had gone low, almost ashamed to be in such position.

“Did you at least win?” You whisper as you open the kit and pull out cotton and some disinfectant for his wounds, a bandage for his for his arms and legs. His uniform was ripped, destroyed from being tossed to the ground repeatedly, but the proud smile on his face eases your worries a bit. You miss seeing his lips curl up like that.

“Toman never loses.”

The next few minutes go by in complete silence, with the occasional hiss and groans from the man being treated and your soft apologies. The living room is filled with something so intense, ready to snap at any given moment. When Takashi groans as you press at a certain spot between his ribs, you freeze and look up at him.

“You broke a bone?”

“I figured with how hard I was getting beaten,” he holds his side with a slight wince.

“Takashi…” said man looks down at you, and his eyes soften when he sees that the tears you once held in were finally spilling out. “You’re so reckless, I—you stress me out,” you try to wipe your tears away, but it seems useless. The more tears fall down, the less control you have over your sobs. You are on the verge of a full breakdown and the man sitting before you on the couch can’t help but reach his hands towards you to smooth your hair, push it out of your wet face.

“Hey…hey I’m fine, I’m sorry that I caused you this much stress I just—“

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you cut him off abruptly, moving your hands away from your face and letting him fully cradle your face. “I can’t imagine living without you, Taka,” before your lip could start wobbling again, Takashi’s thumb gently brushes over it and pulls it down.

“You won’t lose me,” he whispers, leaning down to your level. “Ever. I know I get beaten up very often, but I always come back in one piece, don’t I?”

“But what if something happens?” you’re finally letting your worries float to the surface openly. Rather than telling him not to fight like last time, you are now fully admitting that you were anxious about his absence, how much he means to you and how his well being affects your life. “What if—what if you lose, you die and I don’t have you in my life?”

“That wouldn’t be so horrible, hm? I do cause you a lot of stress apparently,” he tries to joke, lift up your mood but you shake your head almost harshly, hands grabbing his wrists.

“I need you with me, in my life. I need you next to me, I wanna be selfish and keep you all to myself, Taka,”

“All to yourself?” His thumb then brushes your cheek, up to your eyebrows before pushing your sweaty strands out of your face. “Sounds like you got something else to say, don’t you?”

His voice isn’t playful, but rather encouraging. His lavender eyes are filled with something so comforting yet so intense. For the first time ever, you feel nervous in his presence.

“That I love you. I’m in love with you, you don’t even know how horrible it feels when I have to treat your cuts and wounds and have to watch you be so careless about something that is so precious to me,” your hands let go of his wrists to cradle his face, mirroring his actions. He melts under your touch, nuzzling into the palm of your hands like a feline craving heat during winter.

“Lucky you, I’d love to have you all to myself too,”

“You do?”

“I do,” he nods and tilts your head up to stare at him. “I have wanted you all to myself for so long, it’s kind of ridiculous. That warm smile,” his other hand traces your lips. “Those gorgeous eyes,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your eyelids. “This pure soul,” his lips then press against your forehead, between your eyebrows. “I’ve wanted you to be all mine for so long, watched myself fall in love with you harder with every moment we spent together. My heart, my soul—they yearned for yours. For your eyes to only stare at me, for those lips to only smile at me—I love you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up with every word, every honeyed sentence leaving his lips like a sweet melody. You can’t bring yourself to say anything in return, not when looking at him seems so difficult, your eyes, chest and whole body feeling hot at the realization that he feels the same.

Takashi was in love with you.

“You made my confession seem so lame,” you break the silence with a sniffle, and your face heats up even more when he starts laughing at your embarrassed state.

“It wasn’t lame at all, my love, my heart is about to burst at your words,”

“Don’t—you’re so comfortable already!” You try to pull away from him when he uses such sweet pet names on you.

“I am the luckiest to be with my best friend, my baby,” he presses his lips against your cheeks with a grin, going in for another kiss when he feels your hot cheeks. “Of course I’d be comfortable.”

Falling for your best friend seemed like the worst possible outcome when you realized you were developing feelings for him, but when he was holding you with so much care and staring at you with such warm eyes—all those worries melted away against the palm of his hand, accepting the love he had for you with open arms and an open heart.

2024: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[nyoomiin]

roommates: part three.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Me?” the boy asks hesitantly, glancing toward his companion for help.

Niwa — right, that was his name — laughs, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and pushing him forward. “You're scaring him, my dear.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, then give the boy another cursory once-over. You were right. He'd be perfect for the garment you were designing. Beckoning him over, you grin at him as you lead him into your fitting room. “I have just the thing for you! Let me take your measurements first, then I'll tailor the clothes to fit. Niwa, I'll give you a discount only because you brought this angel here.”

“Hah! You're the best.”

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you turn toward the boy. He looked nervous, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves, but no matter — it was time to get to work.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to clear your mind, trying to recall the dream you just had. Yet try as you might, it slips from your grasp, the faint trace of nostalgia slipping away with the breeze.

It was blue, you think.

And that's when inspiration struck.

"It's perfect,” you murmur, holding up the finished product in your hands.

A soft, silky shawl of blues and teals, dusted with a faint shimmer — an olive branch for your roommate, so to speak. Honestly, you were getting pretty tired of him wearing the same outfit almost daily, and what better gift than one handmade?

He'd look positively angelic in it, you think. You only hope he doesn't slam the door in your face before you could give it to him. You huff. He had better like it. You hadn't rushed your commission and put all that effort into the shawl for nothing. Not to mention, the materials you used were nothing but the highest of quality. Hmph.

“What do you want?” comes his gruff response to your knock on his door.

At the very least, he wasn't outright ignoring you like he used to do a week ago. You grin, even if he can't see it. "I have something for you! It's handmade. Come and take a look at it at least. Pretty please?”

It's silent.

A minute passes, then two.

You sigh, turning away in defeat. Another day, then. Though at this rate, that day might never come at all… Well, you hadn't put in all that effort just to give up now.

"I'll leave it here by the door,” you call. Just for good measure, you give the door another rap to be sure you still had his attention. "I don't care what you do with it as long as it's not still here by tomorrow morning. Have a good night!”

You turn away to leave, but this time, it's with a petty, stubborn resolve. One way or another, he would be your friend. He had to.

(His hands ghost over the shawl, fingers trembling.

It's soft, he notes, and every thread carefully woven. The design embroidered on its edges is undeniably Sumerian, but he can tell its maker is undeniably you.

And his heart thrums, loud in his ears and suffocating in his chest. It's infuriating.

This version of you is not the same as the version of the past he had known — that he cannot refute. Yet from your smile to your needlework, down to the way you'd leave him a warm bowl of soup — how could you not be one and the same?

He sets the shawl back down into the box it had come in, only to notice a piece of paper at its bottom.

This is for you, it reads. I think we got off on the wrong start that day, so I made this for you to make up for it. I hope you like it.

He scoffs, amused at your attempts to befriend him. It had worked on him then, when he had been clueless and naive and far too trusting, but fat chance it would work on him now. You don’t even remember him, for fuck's sake.

Still, he thinks, perhaps he should indulge you just the once. For old time's sake.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi

[hermitadaymay]

-Removed double name tagging. This year, all submissions for each day's Hermit will only be tagged with the shorter version of their name (where applicable). For example, fanworks for Stress will be tagged "#stress," not "#stressmonster101, #stress." Notably, fanworks featuring Joel SmallishBeans will be tagged #joel.

=Updated desktop blog theme. (please look at it I did actual coding for this)

=Changed Bonus Days to Sundays.

=Time of rollover between dates will now be 12:00am US Central time (6:00am GMT).

+Added credits page.

+Added people to credit! HADM24 comes to you with the help of boatloads of my friends both online and irl and even some names you might know (keep reading).

+THE BIG ONE: Added a secondary goal for the Hermit-a-Day May event: a complete fundraiser for Gamers Outreach.

The way this community comes together to celebrate the Hermits and each other is incredible. There are something like 1,800 fanworks on this blog from last May and early June! And that's not counting what was posted on other social media platforms as the prompt calendar spread.

I wanted to do something with that momentum - something with a little more substance behind it than last year's spontaneous "hey we should all donate $14!" So I've partnered with two amazing fandom artists you may remember from their daily posts last year - @belmarzi and @rendiggitydog - so that as a community, we could make even more awesomeness come from this event.

I have created a Tiltify campaign so that donations can be made directly to GO - I will never touch the money - and tracked for our incentives:

GRAND TOTAL INCENTIVE: For every $150 we raise for Gamers Outreach (to a minimum of $300, and a maximum that is yet to be determined, but we currently have support for up to $2,100), belmarzi will make 10 seconds' worth of animatic, featuring as many Hermits as she can fit into the time frame. You can expect to see the animatic published in early July.

INDIVIDUAL DONATION INCENTIVE: For every $65 you personally donate to the fundraiser, Rae rendiggitydog will draw you a shaded flats commission of a Hermit of your choice. These will be finished in the order in which the donations are received, and may be sent to you in May or early June.

I've put a lot of work into making this happen, and I cannot tell you how excited I am for May to arrive! The campaign will be opened in mid to late April together with the posting of this year's prompt calendar.

We've got some great stuff cooking up for y'all this year, between the whole month of fanart and the fundraising incentives! Thank you all for being a part of it! The askbox is open for questions, if you have them.

Next time: the official release of the prompt calendar!

-Mod Luna

[mooshywrites]

Bloodied Stars - Part 1 - To be loved

Fem!Reader x Ascended Astarion

Masterlist

Art commissions

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─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N - I’m hesitantly excited for this series. My brain overfloweth with plot ideas and I hope you like this one as much as I do

Comment here if you’d like to be tagged in chapter updates

Word count - 4.7K

Warnings - Kidnapping, drugging, being tied up, loneliness, biting, blood (Series contains - Angst, “enemies” to lovers, pregnancy, disagreements, slow character growth, smut, typical asshole ascended astarion behavior, cliffhangers, murder, death - This takes place after the events in BG3, the ‘reader’ (you) is not Tav. Just a Baldur’s Gate resident.)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“If you don’t leave, I wont be able to help myself from taking you as mine completely.”

─── ⋆⋅☼��⋆ ───

With a final brush of lip oil, you took a breath. The mirror in front of you did little to distract from the growing nervousness in your chest.

Everything was perfect, your hair delicately brushed away from your face, highlighting the softness of your features. You looked confident, looked beautiful.

If only you felt half that.

You had been on dates before, but something about tonight felt different. The woman you were meeting for dinner was different.

She was ethereal in her beauty, her white hair seeming to glow in the candlelight of your favorite haunt. You had never seen her in that bar before, but she looked at you like you were someone she had known for years. More than that, she looked at you like you were someone important. You couldn’t help the attraction you felt towards her, it was almost as if she were otherworldly.

When she asked to meet for dinner the next night, you almost couldn’t believe her words. Something about it felt too good to be true. Someone that enchanting couldn’t want anything to do with you, could they? But the way her fingers grazed your arms, the coy smile across her lips, you couldn’t help but believe she was truly attracted to you.

You couldn’t remember half of what you had talked about the day before, sure you had probably come across as a dimwit with all of your stuttering. The woman took it all in stride, even having the decency to laugh louder at your jokes than they deserved.

You hoped she would be just as alluring tonight. More than that, this time you just hoped you’d remember to ask for her name.

With a final sigh, you turned away from the mirror. Staring at it any longer wasn’t going to somehow make you feel any more confident than you felt now.

You didn’t take much with you as you exited your small home, just a clutch filled with essentials. A comb, a few vials of potions, and a tiny dagger as someone who knew you couldn’t be too careful. Even on a date with someone who may as well be an angel.

The evening air was cool as you stepped out onto the dimly lit street, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm ambience over the cobblestones. You couldn’t shake the nerves that fluttered in your stomach, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you.

As you made your way to the familiar inn where you were meeting her, your mind raced with thoughts of what the night might hold. Would she be there waiting for you, as captivating and mysterious as she had been that night before? Would she give you that smile that could enchant the entire room and send shivers down your spine knowing it was directed at you?

The sound of laughter spilled out onto the street as you approached the entrance, drawing closer to the source of your anxiety. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, you stepped inside, your eyes quickly scanning the room in search of her.

And there she was, seated at a secluded table in the corner, bathed in the soft flickering candlelight.

As you made your way towards her, you couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes lit up at the sight of you. It was as if the world around you faded into the background, leaving the two of you in a bubble of shared anticipation.

With each step you took, your heartbeat quickened. When you finally stood before her, she rose from her seat gracefully, a smile playing on her lips that sent a wave of warmth through you.

“Hello,” she greeted in a melodic voice. “I’m glad you came.”

You returned her smile, feeling your nerves settle a bit at her genuinely happy reaction.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” you replied, surprising yourself with the confidence in your tone.

She gestured to the seat opposite hers, smiling all the way.

“You know,” she started, settling in to her own chair. “Amidst the magic of last night, I don’t think I managed to get your name.”

“Oh,” you replied, trying to shake off your embarrassment as you told her. You hadn’t meant to leave her without a name. The entire night was a blur.

“A lovely name,” she cooed. “Mine’s Amastacia.”

“Right, Amastacia,” you tried the name out, wrapping your tongue around the syllables. “Is that elivish?”

“For night flower,” she nodded, giving a small shrug. “Anyways, tell me what you do for a living.”

You paused for a moment, slightly taken aback from how quickly she seemed to change the subject from her name.

“Oh, well. Im a tailor,” you offered.

As you continued to talk about your work as a seamstress, Amastacia listened with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving your face. You found yourself opening up to her in a way you never had before. Gone was your shyness, the conversation flowing effortlessly between you. The initial nervousness you felt had completely melted away.

As the evening progressed, you discovered Amastacia had a fascination with magical arts, particularly potion making. She didn’t dwell on the subject for long, it seemed she’d much rather hear about your interests. You didn’t mind much. After all, it had been a very long time since anyone had showed you this much dedicated attention.

As the night wore on, the other patrons in the inn began to trickle out, leaving the two of you in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. A tiny part of the world carved out for just you and her in the corner of your pub.

“I’ll have to leave you for a moment,” you apologized, standing up and brushing yourself off. Amastacia only smiled back at you, softly ushering you off.

You made your way to the ladies room, relieving yourself and then moving to freshen up. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the dingy mirror, caught aback by your appearance.

You looked genuinely happy. Practically glowing.

As you walked back to the table, you couldn’t help but grin. You sat down and eyed the new ale in front of you. You may have had a little to drink tonight, but not enough to forget that you hadn’t ordered another glass.

“I ordered us both another round,” Amastacia grinned knowingly.

“Ah,” you said with a smile, bringing the glass to your lips. You couldn’t help but wince slightly at the taste, overly sweet and a hint of sour washing over your tongue. What had she ordered you?

Amastacia continued talking, oblivious to your reaction to the drink. You tried to follow along with the conversation, afraid to be rude. It must have been one of her favorite drinks if she had ordered it out of the blue. You could see the same honey colored ale swirling in her own glass. You took another sip, trying to bite back the aftertaste.

As the conversation droned on, you found yourself increasingly lightheaded. The room seemed to spin around you, the edges of your vision blurring.

Did you already have too much to drink? The ale couldn’t have been that strong.

You tried to focus on Amastacia’s words, but they seemed to meld together in an incomprehensible murmur. Panic began to rise within you as you realized something was very wrong.

Struggling to maintain your composure, you managed to stand up from your chair, swaying slightly as you did so. Amastacia’s expression became concerned, her hands coming up to steady you.

“I-… I’m not feeling well,” you stammered, your words slurring together in a jumble.

Amastacia stood with you, offering out an arm to hold you up. You could have sworn you saw a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but anything could be a mistake with how hazy your gaze was becoming.

“Oh, my poor dear,” She purred, “Let me help you home, you look positively pale.”

“Y-yes. I think that would be good,” you muttered slowly, trying to hold onto the shreds of logic you were working with.

Amastacia guided you out of the inn, her grip firm on your arm as she steered you through the quiet streets. Your mind was foggy, thoughts disjointed as you struggled to focus on your surroundings. Through the haze, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at you, a sense of dread creeping into your heart.

As you stumbled along beside her, a wave of dizziness swept over you, distracting you from the realization you were in fact not heading in the direction of your home. You clung to Amastacia for support, her presence becoming increasingly sinister in your addled state.

Finally, you arrived at a curved wall, Amastacia ushering you to a ladder inside the watchman’s tower.

“What is this place?” you slurred, peering up the high ceiling.

“Shht shh, just climb up.” Amastacia demanded, the soft affection in her voice utterly absent.

“I’m too dizzy to use a ladder,” you whispered, darkness starting to creep on the edges of your vision.

You felt so sleepy. So incredibly sleepy.

Vaguely, you heard Amastacia curse, the walls around you seemed to shift.

It was right before you hit the ground that you realized you were the one moving, losing grips on your balance.

Thankfull, your vision went dark before you made contact with the weathered stone below

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

When you woke up, it was to the muddled sound of dripping water. You tried to move, but found your hands and feet bound tightly. Panic surged through you as you frantically looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. You were in a dimly lit room, the walls made of rough stone. You smelled mildew and blood, the scent acrid in your filling your nose as the world became clearer.

The memories came flooding back — Amastacia, the drinks, the dizziness. You had been drugged and kidnapped. The realization made your heart race wildly with fear.

A creaking sound drew your attention to the side of the room, a figure becoming clearer in the shadows. It was Amastacia, but gone was the warm smile and gentle demeanor.

Gone was everything, in fact.

She seemed utterly numb, devoid of any emotion as she regarded you cooly. It was as if she were looking at a vaguely interesting stone instead of a tied and bound woman.

“Why have you done this?” You managed to choke out, your voice raw and barely above a whisper.

Amastacia’s laughter was hollow, still playing a part that her eyes hadn’t quite caught up with.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Another wave of nausea hit you and you retched, only managing to spit out a mouthful of bile. You strained against the knots of the ropes, letting out a whimper as you realized you were completely helpless.

Amastacia just watched you calmly, her once bright eyes now cold and calculating. She moved closer, her steps deliberate and measured, the silence in the room oppressive. When she finally spoke, her voice was like ice, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You were simply at the wrong place during the wrong time, my dear,” her words floated through you. “Or rather you were too alone.”

The last part was tinged with a bit of sadness. Or perhaps pity. Something that was barely perceptible to your addled mind.

“Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone,” you cried.

You were telling the complete truth. If she untied the ropes here and now, you’d leave without a word to a soul. There was something so humiliating in the realization of where you found yourself.

The night replayed in your mind and you couldn’t help but feel pathetic. You didn’t even know this woman before you were at her beck and call. Hell, you didn’t even know her name before you were falling over yourself for a chance at her affections.

For a chance at love.

Your chest clenched painfully. How stupid could you possibly be.

“I can’t” she spit out harshly, the venom back in her words.

“Why not?” you gritted.

“Because I won’t let her.” A quiet voice reverberated off the walls. You spun your head, heart pounding as you looked for the source of the sound. Was it your imagination, or could you see Amastacia flinch at the voice?

A figure emerged from the shadows, their presence suffocating and dangerous. With each step closer, your fear grew until you worried it may consume you entirely. Your heart beat violently in your chest. In the back of your mind, you wondered if the other two could hear it in the all too quiet room.

The figure stepped forward into the dim light, revealing a horrifically beautiful man. His features were sharp, pointed. His crimson irises glinted in the firelight as he gazed at you, sizing you up as if you were his next meal. His white hair curled delicately around his ears, almost perfectly placed to accentuate his aura of affluence.

You looked between the two people, numbly wondering if the two were related. The pale shade of their skin, their stark white hair, down to the shade of their eyes. The man had a much more menacing presence, sending a chill down your spine as he surveyed the scene before him with a cold detachment that mirrored Amastacia. If not laced with a slight air of sick and demented playfulness.

“Who are you?” Your voice sounded foreign. One that belonged to a much braver woman.

The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I suppose you could say that I’m her employer,” he sneered, gesturing towards Amastacia.

Employer? Your mind raced, trying desperately to make sense of the situation. You thought back to every interaction you’d ever had. Did you say the wrong thing to someone with dangerous friends? Learn something you shouldn’t have? Sew a button on the wrong pocket of a monster?

Surely not, as painful as it was to admit, your life was exceedingly boring. Nothing you could’ve done should’ve brought the attention of kidnappers.

Before you could utter another word, the man stepped closer, looking over you with a grimace.

“You gave her too much of the sedative,” he muttered with a look of disdain.

Amastacia didn’t bat an eye before casting her head down, giving the man a small bow.

“I’m sorry, Master. I don’t think she would’ve left with me,” she explained.

The man didn’t have a visible reaction, only kneeling to reach out, tilting your chin with his thumb.

“Ah I see. A prude are we?” he added.

In any other circumstance, you may have been offended. But right now, his cold hand raising your head up had you frozen in fear.

“Leave us.” The pale elf demanded.

Amastacia dipped her head again, leaving the room quickly. Strangely, you felt yourself even more scared as she left. Yes she drugged you and then brought you here. But she was a familiar face. One much less terrifying than the one in front of you.

“What are you going to do to me?” you whispered, unable to to look away from the white haired man.

“You really don’t know?” he murmured, his gaze flitting across your features before giving you a sly smile.

Your attention shot to his teeth, long and pointed canines gently digging into his bottom lip.

Your blood drained cold. You wracked your memory, trying to remember if Amastacia had fangs as well. You couldn’t get a clear memory of tonight, but you knew that she didn’t have them when you had met the night before. You were sure of it. Was she using some sort of glamour spell?

The man’s smile grew wider as he watched your breath quicken, observing your mind catching up to where you found yourself.

In the den of a vampire.

“No,” you whimpered, tears starting to well in the corner of your eyes. You knew in your heart you weren’t walking out of here. Not without being turned into a spawn or being drained of your blood. You weren’t leaving alive in any sense.

The vampire’s smile only deepened at the sight of your terror, relishing in the fear that emanated from you. His crimson eyes glinted with hunger as he slowly stood up and circled you, his movements almost predatory in nature. Each step he took reverberated through the room, the silence amplifying the sound to a deafening degree. Your mind raced with the thoughts of escape, of survival, but deep down you knew the grim reality of your situation. Trapped in a room with a creature of the night, with no one around to hear your scream or come to save you.

Whatever fate that lay before you now, you just hoped your death would be quick and painless.

As he stopped to kneel down in front of you once more, mere inches away, his breath was cold against your skin.

“Don’t be so afraid, pet. I’m told being bit by an ascended Vampire feels quite nice. An aphrodisiac of sorts,” he purred.

“Doubtful,” you spit back, unable to keep the aggression out of your tone.

“Oh how I love the feisty ones,” he mused with a glance at your lips. “They always taste like heaven’s most delicately spiced rum.”

“I’m sure I wont taste as nice as you might believe.” Your voice was hoarse, exposing your fear through your brazen words.

The vampire took it in stride, having the audacity to chuckle. “That’s to be determined, my sweet.”

He leaned further in, causing you to recoil. He was too close, too bold, too alluring.

Alluring? Where in the hells did that come from? Your eyes snapped back to him, trying to figure out where in the pits of your brain that intrusive thought had originated. Yes, the pale elf in front of you was devastatingly handsome. But surely, the fear for your life should hold a little more grip of your thoughts.

The thought of his words brought you hurtling back to earth. Did he say ascended vampire?

Suddenly, it was all too much. You were in the clutches of a monster. More than that, the crushing weight of how you would probably die down here in this musty cell with a complete stranger dug into your chest. The idea that you got yourself into this mess because you were so desperate for someone to love you. The knowledge that there would be no one to mourn your memory. Would anyone even know you were missing? The memory of Amastacia’s words poked needles in your heart.

‘You were too alone’

A sob wracked your body and you closed your eyes tightly, trying to will away the sting of tears threatening to escape.

When you finally met the pale elf with your watery gaze, your voice was pathetic, pleading.

“Please let me live. I can’t die like this. I don’t want to die this alone.”

The elf’s expression changed in an instant, a storm of emotion flashing across his face as he leaned back suddenly. His eyes bore into yours, the glint of hunger replaced with a flicker of something else entirely. Regret? Sympathy? It was hard to tell, but you found a sliver of curiosity in the shift of his demeanor. He straightened slightly, his shoulders lowering. The predatory aura seemed to dissipate entirely as he regarded you with a newfound contemplation.

“Alone,” he repeated softly, almost to himself. There was a pause as he seemed to mull over your words, his gaze unfocused as he peered around the room before snapping back to you.

“You truly fear being alone as much as you fear death,” he stated more than asked, a hint of confusion lacing his words.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you cautiously nodded, unsure of where this sudden change in conversation would lead. You were loath to talk about your feelings around loneliness, but you much preferred it over being sucked dry of blood.

The vampire let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his pale curls in frustration.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“You’re not?” you replied numbly, the words not truly settling in.

“No,” he answered decisively. “No, I’m not,” you weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or himself.

You tried your best to sit further up, slightly uncomfortable at how at peace you felt leaning in the pale elf’s arms. Like a lamb content in the mouth of a wolf.

“Why not?” you asked, regarding him as one would regard a venomous snake.

The vampire’s gaze softened before reverting back, an exasperated tut passing his lips. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I know what it’s like to be alone. Truly alone. And I see that emptiness in you.” he confessed.

You fought down a scoff at his words, completely taken aback that this Vampire had oddly grown a conscience. The back of your mind itched with nervousness. Could he just be toying with you? Playing a game with his food before he finally pounced?

Despite the lingering fear in the pit of your stomach, a glimmer of hope began to bloom within you.

“Then… what will you do with me?” you inquired cautiously, daring to meet his gaze.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he reached out a hand to gently cup your cheek. His touch was cool against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me taste you. I’ll only drink enough to leave you a little weak the next couple of days,” he offered. “Mostly just to see if you really are as spicy as I thought”

“And then you’ll let me go?” you asked incredulously.

A conflicted feeling flickered in his eyes, almost imperceptible as he nodded. “And then I’ll let you go.”

Confused emotions swirled within you - relief at the prospect of surviving this encounter, wariness at the vampire’s sudden change of heart, and an inexplicable curiosity about this enigmatic creature. Slowly, you nodded in agreement, a sense of resignation settling over you. He did say earlier that it wouldn’t hurt. In fact, that it would be pleasurable.

After everything that had happened tonight, surely you deserved a bit of pleasure.

The pale elf leaned closer, close enough for you to see the faint lines in the corners of his eyes, the flecks of gold in his ruby irises.

“I will not bite you unless that is what you want,” he murmured.

His breath was a mere whisper against your lips, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You wondered silently what had caused the change in the air. What had made the menacing man suddenly so gentle with his gaze. You could feel the tension crackling between you, a palpable energy that seemed to draw you closer to him, despite the danger he represented.

As his face hovered inches away from yours, you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him, a strange pull that defied all logic and reasoning.

Here you are again. Walking head first into danger with a smile.

You nodded, giving the pale elf all the confirmation he needed that you wanted this.

Wanted his bite. Wanted him.

The vampire’s gaze darkened with hunger as he leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t distinguish between being predatory or aroused. His breath was feather light against your neck, the sensitivity of your skin making you want to hide. You stayed as still as you could, letting the elf hold your head to the side. His teeth grazed your neck, sending a jolt of anticipation through your chest.

His hand found its way to your side before his fangs sunk down. The initial pain was sharp and intense, a white hot ache spreading through your shoulder. As soon as the pain had started, it was gone.

Replaced by something much, much different.

Pleasure began to run through your veins, desperate and heated. It was as if every pull of his mouth was connected to your core, pulsing through your body and turning you to liquid. You strained against your ties, helplessly craving the contact of the elf.

He took another draw and you whimpered, your hips beginning to shake with the potent aphrodisiac moving through your system. You couldn’t help but moan as you squirmed under him, your nerves alight with need.

Finally, to your disappointment and relief, the vampire pulled away, licking at the blood dripping from his chin. You stared at him breathlessly, your cheeks blushing red from the exchange.

“You taste heavenly,” he murmured.

You shifted again under his stare, all too aware at the growing wetness between your legs. You flushed with shame. How on earth could you have liked something that much? Like having his arms around you, his teeth against your neck, the feeling of him so close.

How could you want more?

The man regarded you with fascination for a moment, still mere inches away.

“What made me feel that way?” you asked, not being able to help looking at your blood smeared across his lips.

“It’s something in the bite, a venom of sorts that makes it easier to control prey,” he answered in a matter-of-fact manner. His expression grew guarded. Like he was too afraid of you seeing his true thoughts on what you had just shared. His hands reached down to undo your bindings, leaving goosebumps along your skin the entire way.

Once he was done, he looked back at you, the same unreadable expression still etched across his face.

“I must say, I commend you on your bravery,” the vampire spoke softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Not many make it out of this place as… whole as you do.” His eyes never left yours, a mix of hunger and curiosity swirling in their depths.

You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his own, feeling like you were falling into an endless abyss. The intensity of his stare made your heart race with a dangerous excitement, a thrill coursing through your veins.

As he reached out a hand to gently caress your cheek, you bit your tongue, unsure of his intentions. And yet, you craved more of his chilling presence. The pale elf’s touch was still so gentle, his fingers trailing along your skin with a light as air touch that left a trail of tinging sensations in its wake.

“You can leave now,” he whispered, his voice guarded and weakly trying to hold on to the intimidating aura he exuded moments ago.

Deep down, you knew you didn’t want to leave. You should want to run out of this place and never look back. Try to put this all behind you as some sort of crazed nightmare. Especially after being tricked by someone you had fallen for, what right did you have to want to stay? To lean into this man’s touch?

“And if I don’t?” you questioned, your voice soft and betraying every feeling of need coursing through your body.

The vampire’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eyes darkening with desire as he leaned in closer, dangerously close.

“If you don’t leave, I won’t be able to help myself from taking you as mine completely. When the sun rises, you’ll leave this place. But while the moon is in the sky,” he growled, his eyes glinting, “you would belong to me, pet.”

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions flood your senses yet again - fear mingled with an undeniable desire towards the dangerous creature before you. His fingertips traced down your arm, leaving a river of fire. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as you struggled to resist the magnetic pull drawing you towards him.

A part of you screamed to flee, the logical part of your brain demanding you escape this night that could only lead to ruin.

But your heart. Your poor, naive heart.

All it wanted was to surrender to him. To explore the depths of lust and darkness that awaited in his embrace. You looked back at him, steeling your heart. In the morning, you would be alone again. But for tonight, he would be yours.

Tonight, maybe he’d even look at you the same way he did now. Gazing at you like you meant something to him.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the dimly lit room.

The vampire’s eyes glowed with a mixture of triumph and desire as he pulled you closer, his grip steady. As his lips met yours in a fervent kiss, you knew in that moment.

Just for tonight, this pale elf was yours.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Next chapter

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─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Bondage | Boo Seungkwan

Pairing: Camboy!Boo Seungkwan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), roommates to lovers, Camboy AU

Summary: Seungkwan is a camboy and after months of trying, he invites you, his best friend, to help him spice up one of his streams

WC: 5.8k

Warnings: Pet names (pretty girl, pretty, baby), fingering, unprotected sex (be smart), light bondage, some voyeurism and exhibitionism aspects, prominent sub space, spanking, multiple orgasms (fem receiving), Seungkwan is such a soft dom in this but he doesn't take any shit

A/N: Yall I know it's been a long time but I refuse to give up and honestly?? I kinda ate with this one. If you like it, please check out my commission and donation links, drop a comment or a reblog, it would be appreciated!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Living with Seungkwan was nice. He had friends over sometimes, and they could get a little loud sometimes, but they were always polite towards you, and they really did try not to cause problems for you. Seungkwan himself was a good friend, someone you knew you could rely on to handle the grocery trips when you were busy, or to keep the dishes done up. He was a shoulder you could lean on, which might have something to do with the two of you meeting during what was, objectively speaking, your worst year of college.

Maybe the best thing about Seungkwan was that no matter how much he would tease you, he never judged your decisions, and you never judged his. It was easy for the two of you to mind your own business. So it was a bit of a surprise when he came bursting into your room after a couple sharp knocks. He didn’t wait for an answer, and you were grateful that you were actually wearing pants this time.

“Hey, quick question. Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asked. You looked up at where he was standing just inside your doorway.

“Hello to you too, Kwannie,” You said, sitting up in bed and stretching your arms over your head. You didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked down to the sliver of your stomach that exposed itself. “You should really learn to knock. I could have been busy. Or, like, changing or something.”

“Y/N,” He whined, jutting out his bottom lip into a dramatic pout. You whined back before huffing.

“Relax, relax. I’m sorry. No, I’m not doing anything tomorrow night. Why?”

He moved to flop onto the end of your bed.

“Okay, so you know how I do streams, right?” He asked. You nodded, remembering how awkward the conversation had been when he’d explained it, how nervous he was to tell you that he had a side hustle as a camboy. You, however, hadn’t thought anything much about it, which you could tell helped ease his mind. It never mattered to you what he did in his free time, especially when his pocket money bought you little treats from everywhere he went. Besides, anyone as hot as Seungkwan would be a fool not to profit off of their looks in one way or another.

“Mhm,” You hardly looked up from your phone, just enough to urge him to continue talking.

“So…I had an idea for how to change it up this week but I need help.” He said. That had you putting your phone down. What exactly was he asking of you?

“Look, if we’re going to a sex store, you’re paying.” You said. You watched a faded pink crawl up his neck, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I wasn’t gonna suggest that. I think I have everything I need for now. It’s just a weird request, so you can’t freak out on me. I’m warning you!”

“Consider me warned,” You motioned for him to carry on.

“Would you want to join me for the stream? Like…let me touch you or whatever?”

You lost any semblance of coherent thoughts at his question. Sure, you knew that Seungkwan masturbated for strangers on the internet, and you knew he’d offhandedly mentioned how people would be interested in seeing him with a partner, but you knew he’d never wanted to share something like that with anyone he didn’t trust inside and out. More than freaking you out, the invitation flattered you (and maybe sparked a heat low in your stomach). He trusted you enough to invite you into his most vulnerable space.

Unfortunately, your silence on the matter did nothing but make him nervous.

“You can just say no, I’m not gonna be mad.” He said, moving to get up. You frowned, reaching to catch his hand and stop him before he got too far.

“I wasn’t gonna say no. I was just thinking is all.” You said with a shrug. “I know you wanna make your undying fans happy, but I don’t want you to bring me into this unless it’s something you’re absolutely sure about.”

Your sincerity seemed to catch him off guard, but he shook it quickly except for the curling warmth rising in his chest.

‘I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a couple months. Didn’t know how to without making it…weird.”

“It’s us, Kwan, aren’t things always weird?” You teased him. You watched the way the tension washed out of him, the way his shoulders relaxed, and you found yourself relaxing with him.

A little over twenty-four hours had passed when you found yourself stepping into Seungkwan’s bedroom. It was odd, and the nerves were beginning to settle in your stomach. It’s not like you were some fresh and pure virgin, and if there was anyone that you trusted to fuck you on camera in front of dozens - if not hundreds - of people, it was Seungkwan. But now you were about to have your entire body on display, about to hand over the reins and let him do as he saw fit for the people watching him. The people watching you.

“You can make yourself comfortable,” He said, motioning towards his bed. You’d been inside his room plenty of times, and maybe you’d taken a peek at his streams once or twice, just to see what exactly it was he did, but this felt different. You knew what this room looked like from almost every angle, but seeing it like this in person and not through the tiny screen of your phone was new. The purple LED lights set the mood, washing his room in a cool glow that made the entire place feel like it was moving in slow motion.

You perched on the end of his bed, watching the ease with which he moved around, the confidence in his stride. It wasn’t unfamiliar, this version of him where he took up space and commanded a room, but the context added something in it that sent ripples through the pool of arousal settling into your stomach. He sat in his desk chair, adjusting his set up and bobbing his head to the quiet music that he had playing in the background. You admired the way that the dim lighting washed over him, casting shadows against his already stunning features and making him that much harder to look away from.

“Did you hear me?” He asked. You blinked the lust out of your eyes and gave him an apologetic smile instead of an answer. “If you’re nervous you can say so. We don’t have to do this.”

He could see through you without even trying. Damn him and his observant nature.

“I’m fine, seriously. I want to do this with you. New experiences or whatever, right?” You rolled your neck in a slow circle, letting your shoulders lift up and drop back, stretching the nerves out of your muscles and forcing yourself to relax. This wasn’t you, you weren’t generally so uptight. “What was it you were saying?”

“The set up over here will have the stream on it. If you’re worried about what people will see, you can check it on this one.” He nodded towards one of the screens in question, then pointed to the next one. “That one will have the chat on it.”

You nodded along, listening to him explain the set up and showing you what the viewers would see, it was exactly what you’d expected it to be, nothing too intimidating. Still, you were grateful for his explanations and reassurance.

“And you’re just gonna…fuck me?” You asked, not entirely sure what to expect. You’d discussed your limits, established a safeword for if you needed out. You’d talked about what you were into, what you’d never tried before, going to extents that made you squirm. By this point, you were pretty sure that Seungkwan knew your sexual preferences better than any partner you’d ever had in the past.

Seungkwan laughed, and the sound seemed into your bones, washing away the last of your worries. That was your Seungkwan, you were safe in his hands.

“Not right away. Gonna talk to the chat, touch you, get everyone all worked up. You don’t have to say anything, just follow my lead. Listen to my voice. Let me make you feel good. The teasing is half the fun, it’s the part they always like the most.”

He was speaking so casually, but the certainty in his voice was doing something to you. You nodded, trying to picture how things were going to happen. Where would he touch you? Would he be able to find all the places that made you squirm or would he be too preoccupied with his chit-chat?

“Then I’ll do what we talked about. Play with you, make sure you feel good. It really is about you this time around.”

This time around. It implied he’d bring you back, put on another show with you, maybe a bit more selfishly. One that was about him next time. You remembered how he’d explained that his fans wanted to see how he’d take care of a partner, presumably to imagine it was them. That was fine by you, and if you held a little piece of something special with Seungkwan, well, that was nobody’s business but your own.

He went through the process of getting the stream ready, and you say quietly, watching him slip into his element. It reminded you of when he’d host get-togethers for your friends, how careful he was to make sure that everything was perfect so nobody had to worry about a thing. You wondered if he’d do the same thing when he was playing with you.

“Camera on in one minute.” He said, moving so he was propped against his pillows, guiding you to sit between his legs. You did as he said, pressing your back to his front and leaning your head back into his shoulder, nervous eyes trained on the screen where the two of you were sitting. It gave a perfect view of the two of you, his arms wrapped around you, hands settling against your lower stomach, and his fingers tracing against the waistband of your pants.

The viewers started rolling in just after the stream started, dedicated viewers who expected him just like clockwork. They greeted him with nothing but adoration and excitement, and Seungkwan greeted them back, calling some of them by name and thanking them for their tips on the last steam, insisting that he’d put on a good show again, that he’d work hard to meet their standards.

You really weren’t paying too much attention to what he was saying, just listening to that smooth cadence of his voice and feeling the way his hands brushed down over your exposed thighs, thumbs tracing the line of the shorts you’d put on for this. His hands were warm and smooth, kneading at the flesh of your thighs and dragging his dull nails against the insides of them. You wondered if he noticed the way your body was melting into him with each pass of his palms against your skin.

After several minutes of focusing on nothing but the heat thrumming in your stomach, you found yourself fighting the urge to wiggle, and then he was riding his hands higher, stroking up your sies and pushing your shirt out of the way so that he could slip underneath, caressing your sids, along your stomach, swirling shapes that blended in with the dips of his voice as he spoke to the camera.

You’d very nearly forgotten the viewers, so focused in on the way that Seungkwan was familiarizing himself with your body. Nobody had ever taken this much time to touch you without even taking off your shirt. You had a fleeting thought that maybe you’d have to worry about that eventually, about him being able to take you apart and put you back together better than anyone else you knew. That thought, however, slipped through your fingers when his hands moved up to cup your breasts over your bra. The touch made your back arch involuntarily, chasing more pressure, more skin on skin contact, more anything because that simply wasn’t cutting it.

He laughed, voice swirling in your head and fogging it up enough that you didn’t even have time to be insecure when he pulled your shirt off and cast it aside. You opened your eyes, the glaring image of the two of you catching your attention, and the red light staring back at your nearly bare torso. You chewed on your lip, and Seungkwan dipped closer so that the mic wouldn’t pick up his voice.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You nodded slowly, and his lips ghosted over the weak spot just below your ear. Your breath hitched when he flicked his tongue over it, waiting until your muscles gave out on you to suckle on it, drawing the tiniest whine from you. Then he huffed out a chuckle against the shell of your ear. “Good. I’m not done with you yet.”

His voice was dark, heady, and you were spinning in the abyss of it. The room felt like it was tilting at an odd angle, your stomach flip flopping and your body being held up only by the arm he had wrapped around you again, keeping you steady against him while he teased the curve of your cleavage above your bra.

“Yeah, she’s never been on camera before,” He said, voice no longer aimed towards you, but back at the audience that was becoming more and more antsy to have his attention back. You remembered then that people were watching you, watching the way that the slightest touch from him had you pressing your thighs together for a sliver of friction. “I know, she’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

A warmth crept into your cheeks at the easy praise, words spilling out as if you weren’t even there. It shouldn’t have turned you on the way that it did, but you couldn’t deny the wetness dampening your panties as his fingers dipped under the cups of your bra, tugging them down slowly enough for you to stop him if you wanted. You didn’t want to. So he pulled the fabric down under your breasts and let his hands idly knead at them. He wasn’t chasing your pleasure the way that you were, just taking his time touching you as his eyes scanned the chat screen. The praise, the requests for him to strip with you, the ones asking to see more of you.

You didn't notice it in your state, so focused on his touch that you weren’t even looking at him on the screen, but a sort of heated jealousy flickered across his face. He didn’t mind sharing you with his audience, that’s what had gotten you into his bed in the first place, but he didn’t like the idea of letting them take over, letting them make you feel good instead while he just followed their orders.

His fingers got harsher, brushing against your nipples before pinching them between his fingertips and rolling them. You whined, back arching to ease some of the sharp pain, and he bit back a devastated sound at how pretty you sounded. For him.

His eyes returned to the screen, reading the comments as they rushed by, thanking people for the tips rolling in as he continued to pinch and tweak your sensitive buds. He tugged and twisted, flicked at them until you were nearly panting, legs desperately pressing together as if that would make you less of a worked up mess.

“Stay still,” He mumbled sharply, easing up on his torment and instead kneading your breasts in large, warm palms as if to soothe the sting of arousal that he’d caused.

He continued like that, hands suddenly gentle and much more patient than you could stand. You whimpered after a few moments of his attention straying front ou, your hand finding his wrist and guiding it with feather light touches towards the waistband of your shorts. He laughed.

“Need something, baby?” He asked. The name was new, and it only sent your mind spiraling further into depraved desperation.

“Need you. Please?” You said, and it was quiet enough that you weren’t even sure if it could be heard through the stream. The only reassurance that your begging was noticed was the influx of pinging as more and more money rolled in.

“Need me? Im right here, pretty girl. What could you need?” He taunted, and you huffed.

“Need you to touch me. Wanna cum,” You said, the world around you fading out completely as you gave him exactly what he was looking for. He seemed satisfied, nudging you to sit up straighter so that he could pull his shirt off and discard it. Then he was pulling you back, pressing your bare skin to his, radiating warmth that had you melting, your skin burning with want, and need, and pure molten lava at that point.

Once you were settled back, he pushed your shorts out of his way, guiding them down your soft thighs so you could kick them off, leaving you just in the flimsiest, cutest pair of panties that you owned. The scrap of fabric barely covered you to begin with, and it was nearly transparent with your wetness, stuck to your folds. Seungkwan reached down, hooking your legs over his so he could hold you open for everyone to see, his fingers tracing your exposed thighs and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You tried not to fold the moment you got his attention, you really did, but it was easier said than down when his touch skirted along the edge of your panties, so horribly close to your pussy that it made your hips back and your voice come out as a trembling whimper.

“Can you guys see how wet she is?” He asked, his voice dripping pure charm that only served to make your hold leak a little more. Then his fingers were pressing your panties against you, dragging them against your slicked clit in slow, torturous circles. You nearly sobbed, eyes opening to look up at him. The face that he looked breathtaking even from this angle was cruel, downright killer.

“She’s soaked already. You know, I knew she’d like being watched but I think she likes it almost as much as I do,” He laughed, and you huffed in protest, but he didn’t stop his touch regardless. “How many times do you think we can make her cum? Two? Three?”

You couldn’t bite your tongue this time, a scoff slipping out as your frustration built enough to sting between your thighs.

“Haven’t even proved you could make me cum once. How could they know how many times? Maybe one of them should just fuck me instead. Bet they’d be nice to me.” You snapped. You realized your mistake the moment you spoke. Seungkwan’s fingers stilled, his other hand coming up to grasp at your waist, tugging you hard enough that you couldn’t even consider not giving in. He guided you to flip over, settling you over his lap.

“Is that how you talk to me?” He asked, tugging your panties down to expose the curve of your ass to the cool air of his room. You shook your head harshly, trying to mumble out apologies, but only managing a series of pouty whines and please that he didn’t seem interested in listening to. “I didn’t fucking think so. I know you have manners, let’s make sure you use them next time.”

His hand came down, harsh and stinging against one side of your ass, your hips jolting and scrambling to escape the pain. He pulled them back into place, kneading your ass cheek beneath his palm.

“What do you say?” He asked. You buried your face in your arm, turning just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m sorry, baby, please,” You whimpered. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Oh, you promise?” He taunted. You didn’t have a chance to answer before he was spanking you again. This time it was less hard, but followed by two more just as quickly. You yelped, kicking your feet up helplessly to try and protect your backside. He just pushed them down, taking a moment to rub at the abused flesh before giving you one more. You sniffled, though there weren’t any tears, just a pathetic thrum of humiliation and arousal washing over you.

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, nuzzling into his thigh and leaving a soft kiss there as if it would take away from your misbehavior.

“Thank you pretty girl. Did so well for me.” He praised, tipping your head up and leaning down to kiss you. The feeling took you by surprise, the softness of his lips against yours wasn’t something that had gone unimagined, but it was better in real life, and so vastly opposite his harsh discipline from moments before. Nevertheless, it was chaste, and his eyes were still dark when he pulled away.

“I think you deserve a reward for being so good. Used your manners and everything.” He brushed his fingers down the curve of your jaw, gentle and adoring, then his eyes flicked up towards the camera. “What do you think? Is it time for a reward?”

His voice was sweet, and you wiggled your hips, half hoping that it would sway the viewers to your side and coax him into making you cum. Your pussy was throbbing with the need to be touched, to be spread open and stretched out, and the feeling was beginning to become uncomfortable.

He hummed, not speaking as he read the comments, just carefully focusing on the scroll of words that you weren’t in the headspace to make out. Then he was knocking your thighs apart, keeping you laid out there over his lap, and sliding his fingers down to your needy cunt. He spread your wetness along your lower lips, coating his skin in it before stopping to flick them harshly along your clit, back and forth at such a pace that you wanted to close your thighs. The only thing keeping them open was his forearm laid against one of them and the awkward position that he had you laid in.

You bit back a desperate whine as your orgasm crashed into you surprisingly fast, your body writhing in his lap as he continued to work you through it, rubbing fast circles against your clit and leaving your walls to clench and flutter, unsatisfyingly empty. The orgasm did nothing but make you more desperate for him.

“Please,” You whined as you came down from it, need burning hot and heavy in your lower stomach. He smiled, using his clean hand to stroke your hair away from your face. “Wanna feel you inside,”

He groaned, although it was nearly closer to a whine, wordlessly complaining about your impatience, and the effect it was having on him, and how it was no doubt ruining his carefully thought out plans for the stream. He pouted, bottom lip jutting out at the camera as he read the influx of comments.

“Aish,” He hissed under his breath. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

You processed that he was talking to his viewers as he maneuvered you off of his lap so he could stand up. The bulge in his pants was obvious, the outline of his cock showing against the soft fabric. He didn’t do anything about it though, pulling you carefully to sit up instead, your back turned to the camera and you perched up on your knees. He pulled a spool of dark blue rope from his bedside drawer, moving your arms behind your back and carefully wrapping your wrists, trying your forearms together and giving them a tug. You hummed out a sound at the feeling, the slightest strain tugging in your shoulders and the rope rubbing against your arms leaving you with even more lava rushing through your veins.

He tipped your head up, making you look at him and silently questioning if you were comfortable enough. You nodded ever so slightly, looking up at your roommate with the widest lust blown eyes as if that would make him speed this whole ordeal up. You knew better though, knew he wouldn’t go easy on you. Especially not when you had an entire crowd to entertain.

“Needy little whore. Cute,” He hummed, pulling you around so that your back was facing him, your profiles to the camera. He pulled you back by your upper arm, catching you steadily against his chest when your balance gave way to his force. He reached around you, turning your chin up to catch your lips in a fast, messy kiss. It was all tongue, and saliva, and the taste of him as he practically devoured your mouth.

His hands roamed down your front, tracing your curves, down your stomach, before finally finding their way to your dripping core. He pulled your legs open wider, not caring about the little whimper that you let out in response to losing your balance again. After all, he had no intentions of letting you fall, and maybe you had a habit of forgetting how strong he was until he was keeping you upright with a single arm around you.

Two of his fingers slid through your folds, spreading them open for a third to tease against your hungry hole, sliding in slowly before sliding right back out and continuing to tease you. You were too breathless to complain, his lips leaving yours and dripping wet kisses down your neck and shoulder, then back up again, nipping at your earlobe before sucking what you were sure would be a very bold mark at the crook of your neck.

Then two of his fingers were filling you up, and your body threatened to fall forward, your legs trying to snap shut around his hand but in no position to do so. So instead he continued working you open, fingers fucking into you with the lewdest sound, pushing your wetness out and letting it run down his hand as he worked you open for him. You could feel his impatience in the way that he worked a third finger inside along with the first two, the sting earning a broken moan from you. It didn’t last, turning into a burning need for more, more, more. That’s all you could think about, greedy little whore. Just for him.

It took you a considerable moment to realize that he was the one whispering those words to you as he stuffed you full of his fingers, your mind getting lost somewhere along the way and focusing entirely on the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his bare chest pressed to your back, and your arms trapped between the two of you, and the beads of sweat slipping down your collarbone. You swore you could feel everything all at once and process none of it at all.

When he pulled his fingers out of you, you let out what could only be called a sob of devastation, and he laughed, easing you down so your weight was resting on your front, balanced carefully on your shoulder with your cheek pressed into the bed. You looked over at him as best as you could, watching him shuck off his pants and underwear so the both of you were completely naked. You could only just see the way his hand wrapped around his cock, fingers smearing your slick arousal onto his length as he tugged it slowly. He looked so pretty, the softly sculpted muscles of his stomach tensing, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he tried to get himself impossibly harder. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel his eyes fixated on the clenching of your pussy, the way you were leaking all over your thighs for him.

“Baby, please fuck me. Been waiting for so long, just…please.” You huffed, wiggling your hips back towards him, and you caught a momentary glimpse of his eyes clouding over as he watched you. His free hand came to knead one of your ass cheeks, spreading you open and taking in the way your hole was begging for him. He cursed under his breath, muttering something to the camera that you didn’t hear – and, quite frankly, didn’t give a shit about.

“Alright, pretty, just hold tight.”

Seungkwan guided his cock to tap against your folds a few times, then pressing into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He wasn’t terribly long, but he was thick enough that it brought the sting of tears as he filled you up. Your hands grasped at the air, not entirely able to grab anything but each other, which you did. Your back ached, burying your face deeper into his bedding to try and muffle the fucked out cry that left your lips as his cock dragged the length of your g-spot. Your stomach flipped and tightened as his hips stilled, pressed harshly against your ass. His hands were gripping your hips like a lifeline, surely leaving bruises in the shape of his fingertips, pulling you back into him so he could hit just a little deeper inside of you.

You weren’t given an opportunity to find words before he was puling out of you and sliding home again, harder this time, a little faster, until his pace was set and his hips were meeting yours hard enough that you just knew your ass was turning pink. The only sounds in the room were the slick slide of his cock inside of you, the skin on skin of his hips meeting your backside, and the downright shattered moans that you were letting out with each of his thrusts, the sound stunted and jumpy as he fucked you dumb.

Seungkwan grabbed your bound arms, pulling you up onto your knees and using your shoulder as leverage to drag you back into him. Your entire body shuddered at the new angle, head dropping forward and mouth hanging open as drool pooled at the corner of your lips. Somehow, despite knowing what it was he did, it had never occurred to you that maybe Seungkwan was an absolute sex god.

The hand on your shoulder slipped around, fingers splaying prettily against your throat, not choking you but simply letting you know that he was there, that he could, and you groaned a string of curses as you lost all sense of space and time. The only thing that existed was him, his body, the way it was connecting with yours. Just the two of you and the breathless grunts that he let out against your neck.

“Gonna cum,” You warned him, your fingers managing to drag against his stomach as he fucked into you, and the next thing you knew your vision was bursting with white, and Seungkwan was growling as you came around him, squeezing him so tight that he could hardly even fuck you through it.

Your ears were ringing, and it felt a little like you were on a boat when he laid you down on your front again, pulling out to shoot his load onto the insides of your thighs, marking your skin with his seed and stroking himself through it. He was panting then, the first thing that you could process, and you listened to that sound alone, ignoring the slightly off putting feeling of his cum running down your legs. You just nuzzled deeper into his blankets, finally processing that he’d laid you down.

You faintly heard him say his goodbyes, thanking everyone for their gifts and promising to bring you back again soon if you were interested. It registered slowly that you’d been streaming with him that entire time, that you’d experienced the most earth shattering orgasm of your life in front of who knows how many people. But it didn’t matter, you couldn’t care. Not when he sat down beside you, the camera off, and reached down to stroke your hair away from your sweat-dampened face. You blinked up at him, a sleepy smile curling onto your face.

“How do you feel, pretty thing?” He asked, carefully freeing your arms and rolling you to lay on his back. He took his time to massage each arm from wrist to shoulder and back again, making sure that your circulation was okay, mostly since he was pretty well convinced that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you lost feeling in them completely.

“Good. Really good,” You told him, eyes heavy again, so you gave in and closed them.

“Good, I’m glad. You did so well, let me take such good care of you. But you gotta stay with me while I get you cleaned up, okay? You can do that right? Just stay with Kwannie,”

You hummed, your heart skipping in your chest. Kwannie, your Kwannie. You curled closer to him, cheek pressed against his still bare thigh, and he chuckled, reaching down to brush your cheek.

“Can you stay here while I go get a towel to clean you up? Then you can nap and we’ll shower later.”

You nodded thoughtlessly, and he took that as his sign to get up. When he did, however, you reached out to grab his wrist, and he turned as fast as humanly possible to look at you, eyes clouded over with worry.

“Are you gonna nap with me?” You asked, voice so tiny and heavy with sleep that he swore his heart might melt.

“Yeah pretty, I’ll sleep too. Just let me clean us up, okay?” He asked, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you nodded obediently, not even trying to move a muscle and settle under the blankets. He disappeared from his room for a moment, grabbing a wet cloth and cleaning himself. A few minutes later he returned, finding you sound asleep, his pillow pulled up against your chest and your face squished into it.

Seungkwan looked at you, naked and surely chilly in his bed, but so entirely relaxed after sleeping with him, and the warmth that bloomed in his chest made him question if the two of you were ever really just friends to begin with.

copyright 2024 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[slytherizz]

In The Shadow of Us - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

a/n Scene from Chapter 11 of 'ItSoU' commissioned from the incredibly talented @diligentcranberry as a Christmas present to myself - It's so pretty I still cannot stop staring at my traumatised darlings. I never really shared much of my long fics on Tumblr besides the first chapters so here's some smut.

Chapter 11 Tags: Smut | Angst | Post-Azkaban!Seb | Enemies to Lovers | explicit sexual content | explicit language | forced proximity | Only One Bed (life sentence in Azkaban for me and my tropes)

You can read the complete fic on Ao3.

Chapter 11 under the cut...

The streets of Hogsmeade were deserted besides a small grey cat that scurried along the chimney stacks. Perhaps the return of Ashwinders to the area had scared most reasonable people to their beds. But neither she nor Sebastian had ever been reasonable people and they stood oddly calm in the night air outside the familiar tavern she'd apparated them to. 

“I don’t want to go back to Poppy’s - too dangerous. Harlow may be bold but even he’d think twice before darkening Sirona’s door,” she said with a tight smile. Sebastian recalled that first trip to Hogsmead and was pleased to know some things hadn't changed.   

She pushed through the heavy doors of the ancient pub. It was quiet. Where one would usually find patrons huddled in corners, playing cards over stiff drinks there were empty chairs. Where you'd see student that had sneaked out of the castle to drink and sing crude songs of their rival Quidditch teams until Sirona would shoo them out in the wee hours of the morning, there was silence. There would be no stumbling drunken feet of friends and young lovers up the long path to the castle castle tonight.

“Sirona?” she called and her voice echoed through the emptiness. The older witch appeared from behind the bar, her wand in hand as if she expected trouble to come knocking more than revelers these days.

“Oh, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while. Hello, love-” her eyes landed on Sebastian with a look of surprise, but her eyes softened as she took him in. 

“Hello son, you look like you could use a drink,” she smiled. Sirona looked older, her hair peppered with grey around her temples the creases around her eyes more defined but her manner was familiar and Sebastian felt the tension leave his shoulders. 

Sirona like any good innkeeper, had that innate ability to sense your needs before you had a chance to voice them. With a flick of her wand two glasses of firewhiskey settled on the bar in front of her. Sebastian took a seat on the high stool and took a deep gulp from the glass relishing the burn as the amber liquid slipped down his throat. 

The witch slid into the space seat beside him and took a tentative sip from her own glass with a wince. She never had been able to handle her drink and he laughed slightly at her sour expression. 

"It's good to see you, Sirona," Sebastian said honestly. Sirona had always been kind to him. An aunt like figure to Sebastian and a shoulder to lean on more times than he’d care to remember. She'd seen him grow from a mischievous boy into a troubled young man, but unlike other she had never drawn back from Sebastian. Much like the pub itself Sirona was a constant pillar of support, always open when someone needed it most. 

Sirona poured herself her own glass, and topped up Sebastian's. She leaned back on against the counter on the opposite side of the bar her eye flicked between the two of them. 

"I won't ask exactly what event have led to you both being here tonight," she gestured between them amused "I know you can't tell me about your work dear, as much as I'd love to know the details - my guess it has something to do with Harlow."

"You're too perceptive for your own good, Sirona," the auror chuckled. "I promise, you'll be the first to know when this is all over."

"I hope so. Business has been dreadful, the inn is doing well but my bar sales..." she grimaced "Hogwarts is practically under lock down and even I'm beginning to miss the Gryffindor Quidditch team's terrible singing." 

"No one wants to be on the streets these days so most of my rooms are full. Unfortunatly, you'll have to share." The witch sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Sebastian nervously through her lashes. It wasn't like they had never slept together before. They had infact done a lot more together than sleep, it was almost amusing how this woman who had fought fully grown trolls at the tender age of fifteen, who had spent the last five years fighting dark wizards; yet Sebastian made her nervous and he luxuriated in the knowlege. He shrugged at her, as he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. Sirona's eyes flicked between them. 

The witch beside him stretched her arms as she yawned and wrinkled her nose at the dirt crusted under her fingernails. 

“It’s the usual place in the attic, dear. The bathrooms just down the hall,” Sirona smiled warmly at her. The witch finished the last dregs from the bottom of her glass, stifled a cough on her sleeve from the burn and slid off the stool to make her way upstairs. 

Sebastian tracked her movements across the bar before she slipped up the stairs. A knowing smiled tugged at the corner of Sirona’s mouth, her eyebrows quirked and he drowned the lump that formed in his throat with a deep swig from his glass.

“I must admit despite the circumstances - it's nice to see you both together again. You two were inseparable as teenagers and both so serious too. I guess with hindsight, I know why…" a sad smile deepened the creases around her eyes. 

"We bring out the worst in each other," he sighed with a shake of his head.

"I'm not so sure. Unfortunately, I think you both would be who you are no matter what. You both had to grow up far too fast, but I think you understand each other in a way others can't."

“Maybe we didn’t understand each other as well as you thought,” he grumbled. If she truly understood Sebastian wouldn't she have stood by his side after everything that happened but her words still rung in his mind -

I would care.

Sirona fixed him with an assessing eye, as if she was peeling him back. As if she could sense every hateful, lusty and confusing thought he’d had of the witch upstairs. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and she softened. 

"Not everyone gets a second chance at happiness, Sebastian. Don't waste yours."

Sirona said it like it was so simple. Like he could erase the last five years if he let himself. Coming from anyone else he would have hexed them. Sirona she met the world through the doors of this old pub, listened to everything from the lamenting of love sick teenager and world weary travelers who'd seen the darkest crevices of this world. He didn't know where his own problems fit in to that scale but he rolled it over in his mind.

A second chance. The words soothed his soul.

***

The summer at Poppy’s had done him good. Sebastian stared at his face no longer gaunt and hollow through the steamed up mirror of the small bathroom in the Three Broomsticks. If it wasn’t for the tattoos that covered his torso and crept up his neck he would barely think he’d been in Azkaban at all.

His clothes no longer hung off of him as he’d regained the strength and despite the nightmares that still haunted him nightly his eyes were no longer framed by dark bruises. The constellations of freckles that peppered his face and shoulder had returned in earnest, dark across his nose and cheeks. He adjusted his towel around his neck to cover the tattoo on his chest and placed his hand over the one on his neck.

This is who he would have been, if he’d never been to Azkaban.

He muttered a scourgify on his trousers before he pulled them on. Spells never made his clothes fully clean and not wanting to dirty himself further he left his dusty shirt in a the wicker laundry basket. Sebastian padded across the hall and hesitated in front of the door. He couldn't hear anything from beyond the door. 

With a long exhale he stilled his breath and rapped once on the door to announce his entrance.

She leaned against the windowsill her arms crossed over her thin nightdress. Her hair was loose from its braids and it fluttered in the warm summer breeze from the window. She watched the streets with a feline stillness, like an assassin on the roof alert and vigilant. Her eyes flicked up to meet his own as the door creaked, announcing his arrival. 

He clicked the door behind him but he could feel her eyes on him. Sebastian raised his eyebrows at her a small smile tugged at his lips at the way her eyes roamed over the bare expanse of his chest. The room seemed stiflingly small, the low vaulted ceiling left little space for more than the bed and a small nightstand. She was propped up on the windowsill, Sebastian leaned beside her and felt the warm air lick over his skin. 

She swallowed audibly and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. He see her from the corner of his eyes scan the bare expanse of his skin. 

"What do they mean?"

"You're an auror, I thought they would teach you this kind of thing?" Sebastian frowned. 

"No."

Sebastian moved in front of her her and caught her hand in his, admiring the way her chest swelled as she held in a tight breath. He brought her fingers to press into neck, his skin tingled under the featherlight touch.

“This is me. Prisoner identification number,” he supplied, as he turned so her fingers could glide down his spine "These mark each unforgivable curse, they found when the Wizengamot surveyed my wand."

Her nimble fingers traced each ugly black stain on his skin in turn. 

Crucio. Imperio. Avada Kadavra.

She lingered over each one, as if they were familiar like she knew they should decorate her own skin. 

Sebastian turned slowly back to face her and took her hand in his once again. Finally, he pressed her palm flat over the one on his chest. Directly over his heart. He knew she could feel how hard it pounded in his chest. Sebastian's face so close to hers, he could feel her stuttered breaths against his freckled cheeks.

"This is my sentence. Life In Azkaban." She sucked in a breath through her teeth. 

Sebastian didn’t want to explain the one on his wrist. The one he scratched at more fervently than the others. A particularly cruel form of punishment designed especially for him. When they peered into my mind, saw what tortured him most; It was always her. They’d inked her name in their ancient texts.

They stared into each other for what felt like an eternity. He waited for her to pull back, to recoil from him. Waited for his own body to do the same; to remember every aching moment of the past five years. But with her hand still pressed against his skin, her eyes boring into his own every rational thought burned away.

Sebastian wanted to be the version of him that stared back at him from the mirror. The one that did not bear the weight of the last five years. 

He let his lips ghost across hers.

Sebastian wondered if this was some new form of torture and this was some feverish fantasy of a man slowly dying in Azkaban. Or if they'd chained him to her on purpose, the only one who made him feel blood boiling hatred and blinding desire. A kaleidoscope of feelings, brutal, dirty and wonderful. To make him lose every rational thought in his body as her mere existence overwhelmed him before they ripped it away. 

She whimpered into the hairbreadth distance between his lips and hers. A pleasureful little sound that made some primal part of Sebastian practically purr with need. With one hand still pressed to his chest her other to wrapped around his neck to roughly pull his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

Sebastian’s hands fisted into her hair, drawing her into him. The taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him made him feel like the world tipped on its axis. He nipped needily at her bottom lip and she gasped, granting him access to flick his tongue between her now parted lips.

She kissed him back feverishly, her own tongue collided with his own. He knew no one had touched her like this and it was like they’d both been starving. Her lips hungry against his own.

But he needed more.

In his desperation to feel as much of her as he could, hold her to him so she couldn't be stolen from his grasp Sebastian maneuverer her back until she collided with the wall. He pressed the entirety of himself against her, shamelessly dragging his hands along her curves.

He knew he was being rougher than he’d ever been as his hands groped every inch of her. But he was a man starved of touch for so long and he clung to her as if his very life depended on it. She seemed to crave that hardness as much as he did, as she ground her core against him where his leg had nestled between her thighs. Her fingers clung to his shoulders; her nails decorated half-moons amongst the splattered freckles. He hissed with delight at the pleasureful pain, as it broke through the numbness he’d felt for so long.

He grasped her chin to access her neck, to trail fire down her skin as he nipped at her thundering pulse. His teeth grazing every inch of her throat.

Sebastian snaked down the dips of her curves, to pinch and knead at her sides through the fabric as he worked his way to the hem of her nightdress. He slipped under her skirt to squeeze her backside and he savoured the vibrations in her throat against his lips from the groan that escaped her lips.

With how soft her skin was against his calloused hands he wanted – no needed to feel more of it.

She groaned in protest at the loss of his lips as he pulled the offending garment over her head. As if to stop their passions for even for a second would stifle the flames.

Sebastian stopped his assault on her skin to drink her in. His hands swept over the curves, fuller than he remembered, over the puckered skin of faded battle scars. In the soft lamp light, her hair unbound and wild, her lips swollen and her chest heaving she looked fucking exquisite.

She pulled him back into her roughly, her teeth knocked against his as her tongue delved into his mouth once more. Her fingers entwined in his chestnut hair, he shuddered as her nails scratched against his scalp. Sebastian hands resumed their assault, exploring ever dip and curve of her exposed flesh he’d devoured with his eyes. Intoxicated by the way her nipples pebbled as he grasped her breasts in his calloused hands. He captured the needy mewls that escaped her as he rolled them between his fingertips.

Sebastian trailed his hand between the peaks and down her stomach. His fingers grazed the sensitive spot between her thighs through the lace of her knickers. He chuckled against her lips as he slid his hand beneath the already damp material. Her folds were already slick and needy. Her lips didn’t say it, but her wetness told him she craved him as much as he did her. He stroked tantalising circles the small bundle of nerves, savouring every moan and whimper against his lips. He could feel her heart hammer in her chest. She ground her hips against his fingers as her eyes fluttered closed as a waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes snapped open to meet his own, she looked at him through hooded eyes “I want you to know it’s me - Who does this to you. Makes you feel like this.”

Her lips were parted as if she was going to respond but any words died on her lips as he slid a finger inside of her. Sebastian crooked his finger to find that spot inside of her that made her knees buckle. Her head lolled back against the wall with a throaty cry, barely held up by her weaked legs but her eyes never left his. He nipped at her throat approvingly.

Sebastian was achingly hard and strained against his trousers. He relished the friction of where his cock was rutted against her thigh. The scent of her own arousal coupled with the feel of his own was a heady concoction. He wanted to feel her climax under the entirety of him not just his fingers.

He withdrew sharply from her; a groan escaped her at the loss but Sebastian was quick. He unbuckled his belt and tore the leather from around his hips. His hands groped her perfect backside, as he lifted her up. She yelped in surprise, but her thighs instinctively squeezed round his middle. She kissed across his freckled face, and nipped at his earlobe as he carried her.  

Sebastian flung her onto the mattress and it creaked under her weight. He shoved off his trousers and underwear in one swift motion. His hard cock arching proudly, relieved to finally be released from the confines of his trousers. He prowled up the bed towards her and she lifted her hips so he could peel her knickers down her legs.

He ran his hands along her shapely calves and trailed his mouth along her stomach. He took her nipple in his mouth; he flicked his tongue over the bud whilst his hand re-found the bundle of nerves at her core. He circled it twice before teased two fingers into her entrance, she groaned and rutted her hips shamelessly against his fingers. She wanted him, her kiss swollen lips wouldn’t say it, but her body couldn’t lie.

She clasped at his freckled cheeks and pulled his lips to hers again. He growled with satisfaction as moved her legs apart expectantly. Caged under the full weight of him she wanted to feel all of him, between her legs.  

Sebastian aligned himself with her entrance and paused to savour the lusty look in her eyes. Sprawled out below him, bare and wild like a nymph from some Greek tragedy that would surely be his undoing. They would be each others undoing. 

She wouldn’t say it, but he knew he needed to hear it from her swollen lips. 

“Beg me for it,” he growled low in her ear, his nose burrowed into her tangled hair.

“W-What?” she stammered. Her pupils were blown wide, and he savoured the mix of confusion and lust that swam in her eyes. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it between her thighs. But he wanted her to proclaim it, to know he wasn’t mad to think this was something she didn't just want but needed; just desperately as he did. 

“I said - Beg. Me.”

“Please-” she murmured as her hips inched towards him.   

“You can do better than that,” he purred, as he teased his hardened length across her folds once more making her groan.

They both knew this was insane. But if he was going to succumb to complete blinding madness, throw all rationale away; then she was coming down with him.

“I want you- I need you inside me. Sebastian, please,” her fingers scratched across his freckled shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him inside of her.

Sebastian practically purred with delight to hear her beg for the man she’d condemned. Satisfied he sheathed the entirety of himself inside of her with one strong thrust. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelashes fluttered as she arched her back as he filled her. The feel of her pulsing heat around him almost sent him immediately over the edge. He released a groan of his own, low, and deep.

This was not the tender explorative touches of teenagers it had once been.

With every deliberate thrust into her, he drew incomprehensible moans and pleas to deities from her lips. Her hips bucked to meet each stroke as she writhed under him. Her calloused fingers mapped his skin, over each tattoo along his spine. Each one a mark of the sordid past they shared. She traced every freckle in every impossible spot no one had seen but her. The sensation of each featherlight touch and rough scratch sent shivers cascading through him.

Sebastian’s mouth fixed on her neck, leaving red welts where he sucked at the skin like he could replicate the branding of her that marked his own skin. To claim what had always been his.

As he ground his hips against her and she arched her back in approval, Sebastian wrapped his arm through the vacant space below her. He hauled her up to leave more bites along her chest. His other hand fisted possessively into her hair as if he despite the impossibility he could be closer to her. Each frantic thrust brought incoherent curses and praise from her lips. He felt dizzy with how her hips jerked demanding as much of him as she could, with how perfectly he fit inside her even after all this time.

Her nimble fingers pushed his still wet hair from where it had dropped into his eyes. She pressed her lips to his to absorb the curses and moans he hadn’t even realised were spilling out of his own mouth.  

Sebastian caught her trembling leg behind her knee in a bruising grip to hitch it up. To roughly plunge himself deeper inside of her, she released a strangled cry of approval. Her legs were strong from years of fighting, but he admired the valleys and dips he created in the soft skin of her thighs with his fingers. Her breathing hitched becoming more frantic as the angle pushed her to new heights of bliss. Every rasped moan spurred the motion of his hips as he eagerly chased the sounds only he could draw from her.

He could feel her body begin to tighten and pulse around him in a way that was maddening. Sebastian was desperate to feel her peak, but his body had a mind of its own as he thrust into her desperately, he knew his own release build deep in his gut. The last coherent part of his brain not overtaken by an animalistic need guided his hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. The overwhelming sensation of his cock and his fingers had her keening and stuttering as she began to crest her peak.  

“Say my name,” his voice no more than growl, as he struggled to hold back his own release.

Amongst the other senseless words that escaped her she cried his name. Loud and desperate from her swollen lips; an intoxicating sirens call, he would follow willingly to a watery grave. She hauled him down to bring his full weight on top of her as she climaxed. The way she said his name, even when she was near delirious, practically vibrating as she rode her orgasm.

To know he was the one who made he feel like this. The only one who could make her skin feel like it was on fire. The only mans name she’d ever cried when her earth shattered.

He slammed into her hard and fast prolonging that feeling of ecstasy for as long as long as his own frenzy would allow. But the feeling of her trembling release, and the continued raspy gasps of his name made his hips faulter. His teeth bit into her shoulder to muffle her own name that slipped from his lips in a guttural moan as he released inside her.

Sebastian’s chest heaved as his heart rattled against his ribcage, as he came down from his own earth-shattering bliss. They stayed like that for a while, his head pressed into the crook of her neck, still inside her to the hilt. Every inch of his skin where they were connected felt like it was on fire.

He didn’t kiss her again.

Sebastian rolled off of her, and she whimpered slightly at the loss of him inside her. They lay there together, sheets tangled around their limbs their minds fogged from their shared ecstasy.

Her mallowsweet scent was on the sheets, on his skin; it soaked into Sebastian’s mind. It silenced intrusive questions that simmered in his mind about what they’d just done. He knew they would come; he’d have to face them eventually but for now he wanted to pretend things were different.

So, for the first time in years - Sebastian slept and didn’t dream.

***

Sebastian woke as the dawn light streamed through the curtains. Golden hues illuminated the witch still curled beside him. The sheets tangled around her doing little to hide the curve of her hips, her hair fanned out around her like a halo.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His brain felt loud as too many questions bubbled to the surface and made his head spin.

She stirred slightly when the mattress dipped as he climbed out of bed, but she buried her head back into the pillow. Sebastian released a relieved breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He needed to clear his head before he was ready to face her. He pulled on spare clothes from the nightstand Sirona had left out for him and slipped out the door.

It was the crack of dawn and Hogsmead was still very much asleep. He walked the empty cobble streets and tried to make sense of the complicated cocktail of emotions that bubbled in his chest. Sebastian seemed to be existing in a plane somewhere between self-loathing and infuriating yearning. 

Sebastian didn’t know what this meant for him, let alone for her. For them.

Could a version of them even exist anymore? Sebastian wondered if he even wanted it to. As much as he wanted to pretend the past five years hadn't happened they had and like a self fulfilling prophecy she had gotten under his skin, clouded all rational thoughts and distracted him from his mission once more. 

He’d began his slow plod back to the Three Broomsticks, resigned to the fact that he must face her eventually. He hadn't quite decided whether he wanted to pretend it had never happened or make her scream his name a hundred more times when a figure stepped into his path.

Sebastian froze, his hand instinctively reached for his wand. He cursed himself for being so wrapped up in thoughts of her that he’d left it in his old clothes. He squared his shoulders and met the amused stare of the stocky man in front of him.

“No need for dramatics, Sallow. I’m not here to hurt you,” chuckled Harlow. Sebastian should be shocked a wanted man like Harlow would appear so brazenly in the streets of Hogsmead. Maybe his own actions had last night had tapped him out and nothing could suprise him more than himself.

Much like Sebastian, months on the outside had brought a fullness back to Harlow’s face. Although no longer hollow cheeked his fine clothes did little to hide the ancient letters branded across his neck. But perhaps Harlow wasn’t trying to hide them, didn’t feel them burn into his skin as Sebastian did.

“Some how I find that hard to believe,” Sebastian ground out through clenched teeth. If it wasn’t for the knowledge that the auror would probably have to scrape what was left of Sebastian off the cobbled streets he would have launched himself at Harlow and tried to rip him apart with his bare hands.

“Come on now mate, we’re friends, aren’t we? Besides - I owe you, Sallow. With all our little chats, you’re the one who gave me my grand idea,” Harlow said with palms to the sky. His open face and arms mimicked the posture of a pious man of the cloth so at odds with the man Sebastian knew him to be.  

Sebastian’s felt the bile rise in his throat. What idea had he given him?

“I was thinking too small. Blackmail, bribery - why do all of that when I could be Minister of Magic? Wielder of dark ancient powers. Get revenge on the girl who locked us both away. Who could stand in my way? You understand don’t you, what it’s like to have that kind of power at your fingertips. What it would feel like to make them pay. Clever I admit, earning her trust before stabbing her in the back,” Harlow cast a wry eye over the collection of bruises that had formed below Sebastian’s jaw, and he chuckled. “She is a pretty little thing I admit. Don’t blame you for wanting to fuck her first.”

“You can’t get to the repositories. The goblins tried, it’s pointless-” Sebastian began. 

“I don’t need those repositories; I already have enough from what the goblins took to fix this,” his yellowed teeth broke into a wide smile, as he presented the pieces of the broken relic from the catacomb. That’s what Bettie had been desperately clutching to her chest “Then I can take her power for myself.”

The relic.

The one that could control the dead, dark magic and grant you any impossible desire if you paid it in blood. A man like Harlow would not be far pressed to provide it with a dark sacrifice it demanded. 

Sebastian felt a blood grow cold in his veins. Sebastian had spilled his secrets to the man beyond the wall and now they were all going to pay for it.

“I’ll see you round mate. Give her one for me will you,” Harlow winked. He whistled as he strode off through the vacant streets leaving Sebastian alone.

***

Sebastian stumbled back to the pub in a daze. His mind raced so fast he felt like it couldn’t remember how to breath and choked the air out of his lungs. Sebastian pushed into the attic room, desperate to feel his wand between his fingers, find the safety in his own magic.

The witch lifted her head woken from her slumber by his heavy footsteps. She greeted him with a sleepy smile.

No soft smiles could shake the panic from Sebastian’s bones. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff and his knuckles white where the ligaments in his hand strained against the door handle.

How can he tell her he’s the reason Harlow was after her ancient power. That he, however unwillingly, had given the man who’d designed his sisters pain all the tools he needed to spread it like a unstoppable poison.

This was his fault. He wondered if the world had always been right and Sebastian Sallow truly was cursed.  

She looked wounded at the frown that twisted his face and she drew the sheets tighter around herself protectively. Sebastian knows what this must look like. Like he must regret their night together. That last night was just one moment of madness.

She’ll think last night was a mistake eventually so why not cut to the chase. Save himself the pain of thinking he could be anything but cursed.

[chilumi-shipper]

Ever thought of making a story about.. ‘character’ x s/o, about.. the two gets in an argument and ‘character’ said “I wish I never met you..”.. after the argument, ‘Character’ got into an accident, who seemed fine afterwards. But when their s/o goes visits them, ‘Character’ said “Who are you?”. Their s/o shocked, when they were about to say what they were, s/o remembered ‘Character’s words before, and just said acquaintances. The doctor said it'll take time few days, months, years.. or never... Ever made a story goes like that??-

Okay I know it's more of a request.. I'm sorry if you don't take those anymore! Ignore if you need to (it's my first time requesting). I've been reading your writing style, and I really like 'em a lot.. ending up for me to follow you. I just really wanna see this plot in your style.. Anyways, I enjoy your stories! Hope to see them more soon!

Forget and Regret

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Reader

Summary: In the heat of an argument, something had been said that shouldn't have been said. "I wish I never met you." Maybe if you just make his wish come true... He'd be so much happier without you.

Tags: Argument, Cursing, Slight Pining, Lying.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Why do you have to be so careless?!" Ayato scolded you, you see the maids and Thoma quickly rushing out of the room, and you honestly wish you could do the same.

You had just ruined an entire month's work of Ayato and the Shuumatsuban to ambush the Fatui. You had a special delivery coming from Snezhnaya, and unbeknownst to you, the Fatui managed to get a hold of your package, giving them a perfect way of hiding a surprise attack to the Yashiro Commission and disguising it as a package delivery. The ordeal manage to set back Ayato'd plans of getting the Fatui out of Inazuma.

"All of this happened because of a stupid fucking package, huh?" You flinched a bit when he cursed, feeling even more pathetic than you were a few minutes ago. It's even worse because it's true, all this did happened because of your package.

"I... I didn't k-know-" Your voice was soft and gentle, yet still full of shame. You sat on the couch with your head hung low.

"Yeah, a package from an invading organization that you wanted to be sent directly into our home.... How stupid can you be?!" He was right again, as he always is.

Ayato grabbed the somewhat damaged box beside you, making you avert your eyes towards him. "What the fuck is so important in this box, huh?"

"What is so fucking important that you had to ruin so much of our work?!" You couldn't answer, you just kept quiet, because to be honest, it wasn't anything important, and you were stupid for ordering it in the first place.

"Do you have a fucking answer?!" The longer you kept silent, the more he felt his annoyance grow. His hand clenched, before throwing the box full force at a wall, it made you jump, you were almost scared.

You couldn't hold the tears contained in your eyes anymore, you just sat their and let them drip to your cheeks.

Why were you crying? It was all your fault. You had no right to be upset, but you're still crying. Why were you so stupid?

Your husband wiped his face with his hand in frustration, mumbling a bunch of other curse words. You stood up, walking closer to him and reaching your hand out to comfort him.

His hand caught yours, his eyes had finally bore into yours. His teeth almost seem to grind against each other, "You know... sometimes, I just wish...."

"Sometimes I wish I never met you."

A confused Ayato sat on a bed in front of you, his eyes reading your shocked expression. He just asked who you were....

Thoma cleared his throat, gaining your attention. "Mi'lady, the doctor said that Lord Kamisato had suffered a temporary memory loss after the accident, it might take a while for his memories to recover, but he will more or less be fine." The pyro user reads the lonely expression on your face, feeling bad for you as he recalls that your last meeing with Ayato was... tragic.

After your fight, he left the Estate for a few days, not being able to be seen by anyone, not even his sister. As the days pass by, your worry starts to grow more and more, until eventually, you set out to find him, only to see him passed out on the side of a hill, many bruises and cuts covering his body. You brought him back home, and now... you're here.

"I-I see." You managed to stutter out, trying to process the information.

"...May I know who you are, Mi'lady?" Ayato asked again, speaking to you in such a gentle voice, as if he still loves you. After the fight, you were pretty sure he doesn't feel that anymore.

You missed that gentleness, even though a part of you felt like you didn't deserve it.

So he lost his memory, isn't that just convenient for him. He wished that he never met you, and now, he got his wish.

It was as if you've never met before.

His wish...

You gave him a small smile. "I'm nobody..." As expected, Thoma immediately freezes up in shock. "I just found you unconscious and brought you here, Lord Kamisato." You bowed to truly sell your words.

Thoma approached you, his eyes looking at you disapprovingly. He didn't get a chance to say anything as Ayato already started speaking.

"Thank you..." He trailed off, quietly asking for your name.

"My name isn't important. I-I should get going now." You immediately turned around for the door, hoping that he didn't notice the slight crack of your voice and the tear that fell to your cheek.

You opened the door as quick as you could, wanting to get away immediately because you're scared. You're scared that you would go back, that you would tell him you were spitting out bullshit and you're actually his wife and you'd hug him and comfort him in the state that he's in.

But... this is what he wants...

...right?

Yeah... he said he wishes that he hadn't met you.

But, you weren't gonna walk out without an explanation. Thoma stood in front of you not letting you take another step to the front door. "You have to be kidding me right now, Y/N." Thoma looked like he was gonna scold you, and you knew you wouldn't be able to take it.

You just shook your head at him. "P-Please, just..." A sob managed to slip from your mouth. "H-He doesn't need me right now, I'd just m-mess things up again."

Thoma crossed his arms at you, not agreeing with you at all. "I know you, Y/N. What happened was just an accident, you would never do anything bad on purpose." He still felt bad for you, but he didn't want you to this to yourself. "I know what happened between you two a few days ago. But believe me when I say that he loves you, Y/N."

"Really?" You said, unconvinced of his statement. You saw on your peripheral a familiar destroyed box, before picking it off the ground and handing it over to Thoma. "I really don't think he does anymore, especially not now."

You walked passed him, through the door, out to Chinju Forest... until you're all the way back to your old house that you hadn't manage to sell yet, onto your unused bed, and until you're crying into your pillow.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Ayato's gaze was fixed on where you stood...

Why... did it feel like the room lit up when you were in there?

Why did the small smile you gave him warmed his confused demeanor?

Why did he feel his heart ache when you told him you were a nobody?

Why... did the room suddenly turn gloom as soon as you left him?

Y/N... Y/N, the name swirled around his brain when he heard Thoma call out to you after you left the room.

"Thoma..." He called for his retainer. "Is it possible for me to see Miss Y/N again?"

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Yes, this is a cliffhanger... I'll probably make a part 2, but IDK.

Also, tnx for requesting anon, I hope you like your first ever requested fic. (・∀・)

Edit: There's a part 2 now here

[virgincels]

SUBSTITUTE LOVER !

ft. jack krauser x fem!reader, jack krauser x leon s. kennedy

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, internalised homophobia, referenced domestic abuse, use of the f slur im so sorry, some kreon, smut, a little voyeurism, blood at the end

note. commission for @d10nyx !!!! feeding people what they want :3 nyxie wyxie i hope this is good n i hope u enjoy it!!!!’ LUV U MWAH.. ignore any mistakes… my editing sucks 😓 goes back n forth between krauser n reader pov pretty fast n the smut is a little boring 😓 pretend bootcamp is like not super top secret !!! also idk how american military works so ignore my attempt at that

As a young girl, you understand love to be an unconditional, non-negotiable and non-refundable thing. It’s human nature to love, it is your god given right to love and for your father to deny you of the only thing your heart knows to do—It’s downright cruel.

He’s a military man and that comes with perks. You get to visit his platoon and get an eyeful of bulging quads and strong jaws and sweaty abs— That is the only perk now that you think about it. Oh, and that cute blond dude who still has all his hair. Duh. Otherwise he wouldn’t be blond. He’s a total babe and when he smiles, blinking at you with feline eyes as he watches quietly from behind his bangs, you find yourself keeling over to support the weight of your aching heart.

(Pussyache, heartache, it’s all the same to you.)

Whenever you ask your dad what’s so special about him, why’s he got such shiny hair? What shampoo does he use? Is it a medical condition, does he have to keep the hair? Does his head get cold or something? He goes all stiff like you’ve asked too much of him, which you never have, you ask for nothing but love.

Ever since your mother left—Well, no it’s not even that. He didn’t change when she left. Dad is the same ol’ dad you’ve had for years. Jack is Jack and your mother isn’t going to change that, she didn’t change that, so she left and never looked back. She left you ‘cause you’re Jack’s girl and nothing is going to change that. You carry a part of your father wherever you go and that would be unwelcome in her house. She told you over the phone that she no longer needed all that medication - it was just your father.

Oh, he’s not so bad. Jack keeps you fed and clothed and what else are you meant to expect from a dad? No dads love is adequate to the way you love them. Never has and never will be.

Still, he’s changed and that you’re sure of.

His temper is short, you’re well aware. You live with the guy, of course you know all about it. He flips out when the toilet lid isn’t closed, and when you give him a gentle reminder that you don’t carry the same junk he does down there, Jack gives you the cold shoulder. It’s all about gentle parenting with your dad, but the sulking has escalated into full blown temper tantrums and you don’t know where you’ve gone wrong.

Dad’s never gotten physical. Until he does. And now you don’t remember a time where he was ever kind. You’re beaten into a pulp by the hand that feeds you and you’re not quite sure where it all went wrong, what you’ve done to be on the receiving end of such intense resentment.

All you’ve ever known is a man devoted to anger, but he’s not violent. Your dad is not violent. He’s the one who picked you up when you toppled over, he taught you how to ride a bike and he put you on his shoulders to see the world from his point of view— And that is it really. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t have daddy issues so to say, more so it’s your father that has issues in general, and those issues are untouched by any flame, they burn brighter than tiger eyes. It seems that they’ve started to fracture, and now the only thing that brings him relief is his fist on your supple skin, a cathartic end to a hard fucking day.

Let’s get one thing straight - Jack Krauser is not a faggot. Jack had a wife and he fucked that wife in the marriage bed once and they never fucked again. You were conceived on the first try.

A faggot couldn’t do that.

It starts with Leon S. Kennedy. He’s wet behind the ears and wet in his pink mouth and pink hole. He stares at Jack like he’s seen something nice, then he looks away a moment later, unable to hold his gaze.

Jack Krauser isn’t gay. It just gets lonely out here. It gets hard to keep his men in line and nothing scares them more than dick. Jack Krauser is not gay—And when Kennedy’s tight little hole cranks him in like a wine cork, it means nothing. This is how you get through to insolent brats, it’s the only way, no other method has worked as well as this.

If Jack Krauser was gay he would lounge in the bunk with Kennedy, he would tenderly wipe the sweat from his blond brows and kiss him stupid. But he does none of that. Kennedy is sent to shower, limping as he goes.

(Not before Jack gives him a nice hard smack on his backside and tells him to Pack it up, Boy Scout. Not before Leon presses his nose into the hollows of his neck, his boyish beam is that of a cat that got the cream, sweat gleaming to highlight the shape of his collarbones.)

So yeah. Jack is straight, and he can prove it. He would be able to prove it but the only bitch for miles left him. There’s you. But that’s fucked up. Jack wouldn’t go there.

Then you start to ask questions about Kennedy. And of course it’s him, with the petal lips and tawny lashes that remind Jack of toffee drizzled on coffee cake, of course he caught your attention— Of course he did.

(Like father, like daughter.)

You prod and he snaps, icy eyes a frigid landscape as his gaze pierces you with bone-chilling intensity. You shift from foot to foot, toying with loose threads at the hemline of your frayed nightdress.

“Sorry, dad.” You look down at your feet, wiggle your toes against the kitchen tiles and get sent into the edge of the counter when Jack lands a solid hit on your cheek.

Why, he oughta use some of that military training on you. Not the dick. Not ‘cause he’s gay, but because you’re his daughter. Obviously.

Definitely not ‘cause he’s gay.

Jack could fuck you if he really wanted. You have some, uh, assets. Yeah, you have tits, those are interesting. You have an ass, that’s nice. Got a pussy, an extra bonus. All of those are things that Jack loves. Really, he does, and he doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Jack takes your chin in his crushing grip, tilts your head to the left and then to the right, you tremble and make yourself small, clutching at the counter behind like you intend to saw yourself in half so your top half can make a quick escape.

“Dad…” Your little hand wraps around his wrist, fingers barely touching as you try to get him off, shaken up by his sudden burst of violence. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, releasing you from his hold and watching your body crumple in on itself. You cup your cheek to check for damage, pressing the pads of your fingers into your jaw with a groan.

It throbs with each pulse of Jack’s heart.

You think your dad has a crush on the rookie. It might be a stretch, but he never looked at your mom that way. It transcends love and turns into hatred and heat ‘cause your dad is incapable of producing any positive feelings towards anyone ever. You would know that better than anyone, you know him better than anyone, better than he knows himself.

His tongue runs along his white canines as he watches Kennedy hold a plank and man, he’s got it bad for the rookie. You don’t blame him - look at that form, at that ass. Dad has good taste, he gets it! Now that the two of you have found some common ground, maybe he’ll stop backhanding you into next year.

Kennedy’s given mercy by your oh-so gracious father and his body caves in, hitting the mud with a soft thump—He gets up ass first and you suck in a breath at the same time your dad lets one out. His hips raise and his hands find grip in the ground before he plants his feet, lifting his body despite the discomfort that tinges his muscles. Kennedy hobbles away and you love watching him leave. Dad must think the same ‘cause he reaches down to adjust his cargos. Gross.

You catch them in the showers a week later.

You got bored waiting around for him, okay? The showers were your main priority—Not to see this, but to catch some hunks mid scrub down and turn the place into a porn set. Life has a funny way of taking all your wants and twisting them into half-wants. Seeing Leon naked? Great, amazing, no notes. Seeing your father naked? Dear fucking lord, you need a bullet put through your brain stat.

They're giving each other a muscle massage or whatever. Code for the most tender groping you have ever seen in your life. Dad cradles the back of Leon’s head sweetly. Jesus, you don’t think you’ve ever used that word to describe him. Their lips brush and Kennedy is the one that pulls back, Jack’s head moves forward to chase them, settling with ghosting kisses along the soft skin of Leon’s neck, dotted in cocoa dust moles and a protruding Adam’s apple that gets the same delicate treatment. Along with a quick lick that draws a moan from the base of Leon’s throat.

You think you might be intruding on something more personal than sex. Holy fuck, you didn’t know your dad could do personal, you didn’t know he had the ability to love so ardently. To love at all. What a dick. You don’t know whether to look away or not.

Like, Leon is—He’s cute. You like when his feathery lashes dust his cheeks each time he closes his eyes, you like how his body, soft with baby fat, gives away to the roughness of your father’s touch. The flesh of his hips divots when Jack grips them. Your father presses his back to the cool shower wall, the buttery flesh of Leon’s ass moulds to the shape of his fingers when he tugs him close to his broad chest— Cute, he has back dimples. Jack slots his thumbs in them, and then he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes from Leon’s angel face.

The running water is not enough to stop him from spotting you, head poked into the shower room as you gape. For your sake, you dip out the door to make your exit and head back to the car, not sure on whether you should be traumatised or enlightened by the possibly harrowing image that’s burned into your retinas like the worst form of LASIK.

The ride home is silent. Dad is silent most of the time, he talks but not to you. There’s one thing to talk about, but you doubt either of you want to touch on that.

Jack lets you in first. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re both alone. He’s always alone with you. He’s never missed his wife until this very moment. Not out of love for her, but out of pure convenience. She would break up the silence, she would remind him that he is in fact attracted to women and what you saw back there was nothing. Hell, he could give you another sibling if you asked—He could do that.

In one try, like a real man.

He could get it up, he can get it up, he only gets it up for women. Kennedy is the closest thing to a girl, alright? That’s all there is. Wait till you find out about what they do in prison. Every guy at camp has had a turn with Kennedy—That’s just how it works. It’s not about being gay, it’s not— It’s just tradition, isn’t it? Picking on pretty boys like that, it’s the only way to get rid of all that pent up testosterone or whatever it is that swelters within Jack.

When you turn on your heels to leave for your bedroom, Jack calls your name. You freeze so fast it’s almost comical. Like you’re playing musical chairs.

“Yes, dad?” Your gaze is stuck to your white socks, the print of the floorboards is mighty interesting.

His brow dips and his scowl morphs into a pained smile that brings you more fear than comfort, his hand is heavy on your shoulder and Jack thinks this expression suits you well.

“You think you're smart?” Barging in like that, making assumptions that only women would make—You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.

“No, sir.” The chill that runs down your spine straightens it.

“On your knees, girl.” The way you’re looking at him—He hates it. You think you got him all figured out, putting him together like a puzzle, but you’re missing one piece—He’s not gay.

“No,” you say while doing as he says.

(Kennedy does that, cries out No! as the plush of his ass meets Jack’s thighs, as he fucks himself like a faggot on a dick that belongs to a man who once had a wife, a man with a daughter.)

“Dad, no—Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see anything.” You hang your head, pleading with the ground as Jack fishes his soft cock from his cargos, refusing to meet the tip with your eyes.

Your apology is lost to the softness of his dick, hanging huge and limp against his thigh like a deflated balloon. Fuck—No, no, it’s not because Jack is gay, it’s the daughter thing. You’re his daughter, and to get hard at the sight of your daughter would only ever elicit a prison sentence.

“Daddy,” you try again, cradling what you have with him close to your chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Please, daddy, I don’t—Dad.” You fail to plead your case, you fail to garner any interest from his cock. “If it’s about—I don’t like him, I don’t like Leon, dad, you can have him, he’s all yours I swear—Just don’t do this to me, daddy, please.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the mere mention of his name.

“What did I tell you ‘bout running that stupid mouth of yours, girl? Where are your fuckin’ manners?” He rubs the ruddy tip along the crease of your jutting lips, the bottom one trembles. “Thought I taught you well.”

“No… No, don’t do that, dad—God, no.” Your complaints are snuffed out by the fat dick that stuffs itself down your throat, half-hard and thick enough to be a choking hazard.

(It poses a threat to you, but not to Kennedy. Man can that kid suck cock, with a face like that he’s lucky he’s not begging for his life.)

You gag and Jack pinches your nose. If he had a son, he would’ve taught him to play ball. But he’s stuck with a daughter, and the most you can do is dig your nails into his thighs, mucusy spit hanging from your chin in stringy strands.

“You’re made for this,” Jack tells you, and he’s right. Biologically, those lips of yours have evolved to maximum pout to suck cock. They bear resemblance to Leon’s—The vein on the underside of his dick throbs. Jack’s jaw is offset as his teeth grind together, splintering into thin shards of bone. Not the fucking time to be thinking of the rookie and his floppy hair, softer than cotton beneath Jack’s fingers, the rookie who is shaven clean save the shadow that lines his lips, the rookie that sports hardened lines on his otherwise plush abdomen, pink skin leading to an even pinker dick—Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?

At this pace, Jack’s going to contact a fucking therapist—Have it out with his bitch wife. That’s exactly what it is. Sexual frustration he's not been able to take out on your mother.

His cock slips from your mouth, it rests heavy on your face, casts a shadow as you cower at the sheer size. “Dad…” You cough wetly, hacking up bile that you push back down with a pained gulp. “Daddy… Don’t do it to me, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to look, dad, I’m not—I’m not mad at you.”

He scoffs, lifting you by the Peter Pan collar of your floral blouse—You look like a fucking Mormon. That pisses him off. Jack’s not a Mormon or a faggot, there are so many accusations in the air and it all rises to crescendo. You’re bent over the dining table, the fullness of your skirt is hoisted up to ruche around your waist in makeshift pleats and your white cotton panties are dangling around your ankles.

The lips of your puffy cunt cushion his dick and Jack starts to feel a little queasy. Not because—Not ‘cause of the pussy. It’s not that. It’s the daughter thing. Seriously—There’s no time to waste, Jack forces himself into your pussy before his dick folds in on itself. As he pistons himself in and out of your only partially wet cunt, it feels like nothing. Jack is numb.

Feels nothing, hears nothing—Sees nothing but him. The anger inside of him rises like a devastating wave, ready to engulf every skyscraper in its path. You end up being on the receiving end as you have been for as long as you’ve been alive—His very own punching bag. What else are kids for, huh?

Your stubborn pussy pushes him out, you dig your nails into the glazed wood of the table, clawing like they might find purchase in the grooves. Dad, dad, daddy, dad—It doesn’t work on him, you do nothing for him. When you cry, he doesn’t feel sad, and when your cunt clamps down on him, it brings him no pleasure.

A hand comes to rest on your back, forcing you into a sharp arch as Jack’s hips smack into yours at a bruising pace. Somewhere along the line, a very thin line that Jack snorts, it blurs—Your salty tears become the tang of Leon’s sweat, your hips become buttercream smooth in his grip, and your pussy—Your hole milks Jack for all he’s worth. The shroud has lifted from his shoulders and Jack feels weightless.

You lift your head, blood leaking from your nose, it congeals in fat lumps on your skin. “Daddy…” You sniffle, having had your head held down, grinding your bloody nose to a pulp against the smooth of the dinner table.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Jack rolls his shoulders back, fists tightly balled by his side as he has proved nothing. Nothing at all. He’ll have to try again. No father of yours is a faggot. Can’t do that to his little girl.

(Excuse after fucking excuse.)

[kasdeyalilith]

Midnight Rain (Part II)

Warning/s: Angst and Fluff

Character/s: Scaramouche x Reader

Synopsis: Scaramouche finds himself traveling with the traveler following his defeat in the Sumeru war. He hopes to meet you along during the journey and earn your trust again.

Note: I didn't follow some canon scenes from the battle between the Balladeer and Traveler from the first part so some things are changed. As requested I sprinkled some fluff in here but there's some angst ofc. I managed to squeeze every sweetness in my bones just to come up with the ending. Hope yall enjoy and forgive me with the angsts.

"Ah you've seen my affection for her. If you were in my position, I think you'd feel the same way"

He frowns as he recalls what he said to you, shaking his head at the emerging memory. What a fool he is to treat you that way, knowing you're the only one who actually cares about him. He becomes so blinded by your constant love for him that he thinks dismissing your feelings will not cause you to leave, because you'll still fall for him and stay, only this time you're already falling before he can even catch you.

Scaramouche, who now calls himself "the Wanderer," journeys Teyvat with the traveler in the hopes of meeting you along the way. He offers to tag along on their adventures after the war in Sumeru, promising to make amends for his past actions even if they are forgotten by most. The traveler was hesitant at first, but Nahida convinces him to do it. He warns him that if he does something bad, he won't hesitate to feed him to Paimon.

The Wanderer spends his days doing meaningless things, like working on different commissions with the Traveler. Even though it's tiring and boring, he's never felt so at peace, which is something he can only feel with you.

He pushed those thoughts away as he cast a glimpse at the rising statue of Barbatos, which was gleaming beneath the sun's blaze. The last thing he needs to find you is for that piercing sting inside him where his heart is supposed to be.

The nation of the Anemo Archon proved to be a safe haven for explorers like him as all are welcome within its walled borders. A foreign feeling churns inside him; a sincere reception from strangers who do not immediately condemn him is an unusual occurrence for the Wanderer. After years of only you accepting and treating him as a normal being, it's a strange emotion to feel when a bard hands him an apple as a welcome gesture.

He imagines every situation and every word he'll say once he finds you, but all preparations are tossed out the window the moment he sees you. You who’s as perfect and beautiful as he remembered, even the grease that stains your skin from repairing a machine can’t lessen your beauty as you laughed at him, him who’s hair white as chalk and posture still as a doll. The Wanderer refuses himself the sudden surge of jealousy, he doesn’t have the right now as he stares at you longingly.

He felt his entire body freeze the minute your eyes locked on him, waiting with bated breath for the storm to strike. Your gaze, however, quickly shifts to the side as if you were unaware that he was standing there.

Did you absolutely despise him? He can't blame you if you do, but it doesn't make the pain that crawls and scratches him back any less painful. He can only blame himself for causing you so much hurt that you decide to ignore him entirely.

He isolates himself from the traveler, preferring to rest under Windrise's great oak tree. His hand wipes any daring tear that dares to fall, and even though he is no longer the frail puppet he once was, he still easily tears up. He is unsure if your rejection or avoidance of him causes him more pain, as both equally rip him apart. It hurts much more that you no longer care about him and he has no way to bring you back into his life, even if he drowns himself in sorrow and endures a thousand stab wounds.

He chases after those memories of you both being content and happy, and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in them.

He eventually drifts off to sleep under the cooling shade of Vennessa's Tree, lulled by the Archon's breeze and the melody sung by the lyre coming above from one of the branches.

The Wanderer was painfully jolted out of his dreams of you when he felt something tap his shoulder; he frowned as he faced the intruder but stopped when he saw you smiling at him. He pinches and rubs his eyes awake to check if he's dreaming again.

You kneeled in front of him and offered him a bottle of water, which he accepted dumbfoundedly. His violet eyes are watching you intently as if Aranaras were dancing on the top of your head. You smiled awkwardly at him, overwhelmed by his focused attention, and cleared your throat, ready to ask him the question you had thought for hours.

He stills his beating heart, afraid that it’ll drown out your words as he awaits anxiously for you to speak.

“You must be parched, here’s some water I got from Sara awhile ago. Don’t worry it’s freshly taken from a clean spring. Anyway, I uhm saw you earlier while I was at the crafting table and I-”

"Wait before you say anything else" He rushes in front of you, grasping your hand while looking down at the ground and saying, "I'm sorry for everything I've done. Although I had my reasons for causing you pain, it does not make it right. I will do anything to regain your forgiveness. I will persevere even if it takes years or more. I love you. I know I'm a disappointment to you most of the time but you still constantly care for me, even when I act and make hasty decisions. Amidst my past and painful memories and mistakes, you are the first thing that has ever felt right. I'll always love you even if you turn me away"

Even if it is wrong to hope for your forgiveness instantly, he still clings to it while he looks at you. His face painted in sincerity, as he waits for your response.

“I uh- I’m so sorry to say this but I only saw you today? I asked for your whereabouts and followed you because well you seemed familiar to me and when I saw you staring earlier, I’m reminded of the locket I used to have and how you resemble the person in the picture but I can’t remember why I have it and who you are in my life”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

His entire world was put in chaos as he repeats your word over and over. Forgotten? All those memories gone? He want to latch at you and scream and cry but he can only stare, hand at his chest as it beats too hard and painful for him to even breathe.

“I’m really sorry uh traveler? But guessing from your actions and words we must’ve been linked at some point in the past. I don’t know how I’ve forgotten someone important to me but I’m willing to make new ones with you. How does that sound-?”

He fell silent, even if all the memories you both once shared are gone, taken away when the Greater Lord was forgotten and passed away, along with the memories of the Balladeer, he'll take anything as long as he can stay by your side.

“Kuni, call me Kuni”

"Okay Kuni, how about we start over?" You dusted down your skirt as you stood up and offered your hand to him, “I’m Y/n, researcher of the Knights of Favonious at your service”

You cheerfully saluted him, laughing at your own actions.

“I’m Kuni the Wanderer”

Finally, in the midst of the darkness that has surrounded him all of his life, you shone like the brightest star in his sky, as your light pours through the appearing cracks, chasing after the storm as it breaks through the barrier and free him from his cage.

“The Wanderer huh? So you like to just wander off?”

“Shut up”

“Should’ve called you The Grumpiest”

“Archons…. You’re lucky I love you”

[zhongrin]

insignificant (pt.1 / 2)

◇ characters ◇ al haitham, cyno, wanderer, ayato

◇ tags ◇ angst, hurt no comfort, major character death (you), slight description of dead bodies, hints of wanderer's story spoiler, hints of cyno's backstory spoiler

◇ a/n ◇ happy birthday kazu @kazuuaki ily <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

numb.

when the news reached al haitham's ears, it feels like something was forcefully carved out of him. it’s a nostalgic feeling, but it was still unwelcome nonetheless. he moves on auto-pilot from thereon; nodding and following the messenger calmly, expression as stony as ever despite the dimming of his previously verdant green optics.

even when he sees your body - bruises and scratches marring your skin, the unnatural bend of your joints... and yet still, you look like the most gorgeous being in his eyes - he doesn’t cry. he simply confirms your identity before walking out of the morgue and immediately starting on preparations of your funeral.

he doesn’t want to touch you because he wants to remember your soft, warm hug as you left that morning for a commission, and not the chilling cold as rigor mortis settled in. he doesn’t want to see you any longer because he fears he’ll forget the lively grin on your expression and the love in your eyes as you promised each other to take care and stay safe-

never in his life had he imagined you would be the one who would break your promise to each other first.

but then again, the fact that you chose him at all was a big mystery even to him. what else did you see in him besides his intellect and stability? did you really mean it when you said you didn’t mind his bluntness and selfishness? did you ever regret getting into a relationship with him? did you ever dream of the same future that he saw in his own dreams?

in your last moments, did you think of the future you lost with him? did you curse him for not being there? did you…. at least…. pass on instantly?

the thoughts continue to run in circles inside his head, breaking the sentences of the book he reads and the paperwork he needs to sign as the acting grand sage. he finds himself continuously turning up the volume of the music in his soundproof headphones. his attention span diminishes. his temper worsens.

"are you hearing yourself right now?" kaveh seethes, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

a blank and stone-cold facade is all he gets from al haitham, “this is a meaningless topic to dwell on. i have made my statement clear and if you can’t see my point, i’m afraid it would be impossible to find a middle ground.”

“ugh, i swear to archons, you’re as stubborn as a mule! i really don’t understand why [name] likes y-” the blonde halts, the annoyance in his expression dropping into guilt and horror in mere milliseconds.

a chilly silence falls.

“i-i’m sorry. that was insensitive of-”

the older male's breath hitched. years of knowing the scribe as an acquaintance-turned-roommate, and yet this expression was a completely new sight to the architect. sure, kaveh does find the silver-haired male annoying sometimes, but he was no heartless monster - in fact, that was a title he thought his roommate held…

… that is, until today, as he witnessed the first tear fall down his roommate’s eye, therefore proving his hypothesis completely and utterly wrong.

“al haitham...”

“i don’t understand either.”

and he supposes it would stay as the one mystery he would never be able to unravel, for he would never be able to ask you now that you’re gone.

death is something the general mahamatra deals with almost on a daily basis.

it haunts him constantly; whenever cyno judges his targets with the scales of justice, he risks losing his life to the spirit that resides within him. not only that, there’s no denying the dangers that lurk just around the corner, ready to ambush him the moment he lets his guard down, given his position and the way he has to deal with criminals.

which is why whenever he has to do his duties, he always makes sure to kiss you goodbye and promises you that he’ll come back safely. to which you always reply with that lovely smile of yours and a cheerful “and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

his dance with death is a neverending tahtib. one slight mistake could be fatal, yet cyno is anything but careless.

but what can the strongest and the most careful individual do against nature’s will?

his confident steps faltered when he received the briefing while the locals explained the situation as they walked towards the tent. several bodies had been found earlier in the day, and they suspected it was caused by the massive sandstorm that happened overnight. seeing as the victims were akademiya scholars, the villagers had asked for some people to help identify the bodies. conveniently, cyno and tighnari had been in the area, so they had volunteered to help.

the two slipped under the tent flap and the first thing cyno notices is the familiar shade of your hair.

as if he’s in a trance, his bare feet move instinctively. his heart rattles against his chest as he stops right by your side, ruby reds shaking horribly.

this has got to be a dream, right?

he dropped to his knees, uncaring of how the rough sand dug into his skin as he reaches out to trace the lacerations on your face; no doubt caused by all the sand. some of them are still stuck on your eyelashes too; and he prayed for them to flutter, to show some kind of movement, to quickly end this horrible nightmare he’s having in the middle of the day.

“cyno…”

his friend’s voice is soft and laden with sadness, as if the fox hybrid could feel the way his very soul is cracking at the edges. his calloused hands - the very same ones you used to pepper kisses upon kisses - clench around your sleeve.

“and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

“you promised… you promised!!”

tighnari’s arms wrap around him, and he crumbles. the infamously stern and unwavering general mahamatra, broken and vulnerable, tears rapidly streaming down his bronze skin as he bit his lips until they bled to stifle the whimpers and sobs racking his body. he could barely hear his friend’s worried calls of his name. the arms around him felt suffocating and wrong because they weren’t yours.

he would never be able to feel that warm, floaty sensation from your hugs, ever again. you weren’t coming back. he will be stuck in this perpetual nightmare for as long as he lived.

“they promised….”

“……… i’m so sorry, cyno.”

as a puppet, wanderer is fortunate enough to not need many things that others find crucial to live with.

he does not need a name. after all the misdeeds he did, it felt wrong to desire such a human necessity. and yet you gave him a name nonetheless - a beautiful acknowledgment of his existence and a gift that ties you to him. they sound heavenly when the syllables fall from your lips, and he would never admit it but every time you call him that he could feel the desire to live up to your wishes behind such a precious benefaction.

he does not need love. he had craved it enough. groveled and begged for it enough at the start of his archon-made life. he tells himself he does not need the fickle emotion. not from his creator, and certainly not from a measly human who was too stubborn to let him be. still, you gave it to him with your bare hands, bit by bit, ever so patient and fleeting, with your honeyed whispers and gentlest touches upon his wooden skin. and oh, what a marvel it was, to bask in them.

he does not need to eat or drink. while he can taste and digest organic sustenances, his body didn’t exactly need them to function properly. his ‘mother’ could have taken his tastebuds and he was convinced he would not have minded… before he met you, that is. for how else was he going to taste your sweet lips and savor the intoxicating taste of your skin? and the way he just can’t seem to get enough, how he keeps starving for more, how he keeps having these funny feelings in his stomach - was it what the mortals call them “hunger pangs”? or perhaps it was something else? - whenever you are not by his side… you make him malfunction and he hates you for it.

he does not cry and he certainly does not need to cry.

so why are there liquids seeping down his polished cheeks and dropping onto your still hand?

“fix them.”

the small dendro archon returns his empty stare with a sympathetic frown. his jaw sets.

“fix them.”

he repeats, yet she remains unmoving; her green eyes flicking back down at your unmoving body.

“please.”

he does not breathe, but the pain in his voice and the cracks in his plea mimic that of a breathless, pained human.

nahida looks back at him, and then she steps forward.

something tugs within him. a little spark. a familiar sensation. one you frequently elicit from him, with your annoyingly endearing laughs and silly declarations of love.

the deity’s little hand places over your glazed eyes and closes them gently. then, she steps back.

the small spark fizzles and dies.

“not even us archons can bring back souls long since left for the afterlife into a dead body. this is the very law of nature itself,” she gives him a pained look, “you know of this.”

“…. please…”

“i know it hurts, little one. this too, proves that you’re no different than a hu-”

“THEN END ME ALREADY! LET ME PERISH!!”

for his heart has stopped beating, so why was he still alive?

“ayato.”

his name falls from your lips like the stars falling from the sky this rainy night. the downpour continues to make the ground muddy and the workers continuously struggle not to slip as they wrestle with the soil. it was not the ideal weather for this event and truthfully had he wanted he could probably order to stop the whole thing or use his vision to help with all the rainwater.

“i just feel like i needed to tell you.”

but the blue hydro gem merely hangs uselessly on his hip, along with the rest of his clothes, clinging uncomfortably onto his body. the umbrellas held by thoma hadn’t done their jobs properly, but the blonde housekeeper does not dare utter a word as the two siblings continued to stand side by side in silence, staring at one singular point.

“if, one day, you need to choose between the kamisato clan and me…”

to the elders in the family, it is a familiar sight. they could see it as if it was just yesterday. the same scene, the same setting - just a different place and with a younger version of the current lord and lady of the house. the girl had clung to her older brother, sniffling and choking back sobs, as the latter held her tightly, but with a sort of resolve that didn’t exactly fit his young visage.

just like last time, ayato watches silently as one of the most important people in his life is taken further and further away from him. as the wooden crest of the kamisato clan is eventually covered by the dirt. as his memory frays and his heart screams in pain and tears itself inside out behind his white robes.

as the pristine tomb with your epitaph marking your final resting place settles on its place.

his father.

his mother.

you.

all of whom should have been his family. all of whom he had sworn to protect and cherish.

“… i will not resent you for the choice you make.”

but [name], dearest, i will forever resent myself for the choice i made.

his vision never does shimmer as brilliantly as before from thereon.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[cryoculus]

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin. 

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that. 

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. 

02. 

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester. 

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time. 

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture. 

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red. 

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao. 

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day. 

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before. 

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do. 

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists. 

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke. 

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater. 

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.” 

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him. 

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?” 

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.” 

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!” 

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much. 

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05. 

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being. 

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.  

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest. 

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations. 

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later. 

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him. 

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks. 

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie. 

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.” 

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06. 

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year. 

But you let him in anyway. 

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years. 

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you? 

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with. 

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you? 

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up. 

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…” 

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you? 

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. 

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him. 

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long. 

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago. 

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh. 

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love. 

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel. 

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor. 

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all. 

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou��s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work. 

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you. 

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end. 

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares. 

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ? 

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist. 

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems. 

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.” 

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao. 

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception. 

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.” 

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at. 

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^