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clandestineloki · 1 year

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Cold Flower (NSFW)

A/N: My public apology for going dormant on Tumblr for nearly 5 months.

tw: jotun!loki dom!loki, sub!cottagegirl!reader, loki’s cock is big but his size kink is bigger, corruption kink, praise kink, manhandling but very cutely if i may say!!, unrealistically fast paced because loki is horny ) >:D

read it on ao3!!

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The grass tickles your ankles as you step through the bushes, careful not to step on any pretty flowers in your path.

Sunset is nearing, and you've only gotten so much as a few ferns. But you don't mind. The forest will bloom when it wants to, and even if you haven't collected any flowers for your work you're having a wonderful time looking around at all the birds and the deer and the butterflies and nature; just getting away from the busy life in the village is enough of a treat.

Stepping through a clear patch, you look around for any deer traps. What deer traps? The ones that have hidden nets that burst out from the ground like flytraps and scoop up any poor being that just happened to be there, leaving them trapped up in the air by a rope tied to a tree.

Now that you think of it, a clear patch in the middle of the forest means one thing: a deer trap has been set off already.

Right above where you stand.

Realizing the danger of being anywhere near a threatened or harmed deer, you’re ready to bolt out of the woods when you look up, and see a net that’s filled with leaves, branches, and stray grass reeds.

And dangling out of the net is a leg— a leg that looks less like a deer’s… and more of a person’s.

You gasp in horror. Someone’s caught in it!

Running around the tree, you find the rope suspending the trap buried in the ground. You rummage for your shears and hastily cut it, grabbing the rope to pull it down with your weight and let the trap sink to the ground slowly.

When it does, you run over, cutting away as much of the net as you can, digging through the leaves until you reach someone covered in an enormous fur cape.

You gingerly pull it back, and stare in awe.

It’s a man, with dark hair and sharp features, no doubt very handsome despite the scratches and cuts he’s sustained. The linen top he’s wearing is littered with twigs.

Softly, you brush away the twigs when you touch his wrist and freeze.

And quite literally, because his skin is as cold as ice.

Almost as if he were a corpse.

“Sir! Sir! Please wake up!”

When Prince Loki’s eyes open and adjust to the glare of the sun— and the silhouette blocking it out— his breath hitches.

Is this Valhalla? Am I… dead?

Surely, he must be. For above him kneels the most beautiful girl, almost shimmering in the golden light, it’s definite that you’re an angel.

“Hello? Sir? Can you hear me?”

An even lovelier voice for a radiant woman. He nods, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness!” You lean forward, brushing away twigs from his face and cloak. “I thought you had died! I hate those deer traps, they’re dangerous and they're so hard to see! It almost killed you! Are you alright?”

“Yes- Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

It’s as if he spoke without thinking, eager to hear more from your pretty lips. You catch your breath, kneeling back down, and he sits up to get a better look at the captivating face of his savior.

“How long have you been up there?”

Loki brushes his hand against his cheek. “I'm not quite sure- ah-”

He hisses when his fingers graze a wound on his temple, and he retracts his hand to find a few specks of scarlet.

“Probably not long, I'm still bleeding,” he shows you his hand, and you gasp.

“Oh, no,” you take a closer look at his face. “My house isn't far from here, I can help you clean up and get some rest. You must be exhausted. Are you alright with some porridge and biscuits? They're all I have the ingredients for and the farmers’ market is a bit far so I'm sorry if...”

Loki honestly can’t concentrate on what you're saying. He nods along, but he's rather focused on you.

As he tags along behind you as you retrace your steps to your home, Loki whispers a thanks to whatever Gods led him to be graced by your beauty in this moment, regardless of the circumstance. He had just been hunting for sport, unaware of the trap that had pulled him up into the tree so suddenly and rendered him unconscious.

Now, he's found something— no, someone— better; a much more rewarding, delicious little prey.

“I just realized I haven't introduced myself."

Loki looks up just as you say your name, timidly holding out your hand. He takes it after a moment.

“Loki,” he replies, once he finds it in himself to speak.

“Like the prince?"

He recoils a bit in surprise. “Yes- Yes, like the prince. Uh-"

“How are you feeling?" you ask, dabbing the cloth lightly against his wrist.

“They don't hurt if I don't move."

“Okay. Let me know if it does.”

Loki nods, watching you silently tend to his wounds, before he hisses softly.

You flinch, pulling away. “Oh, I'm sorry-"

“You really don't know who I am?” Loki asks.

A second passes as you look down at him, brows furrowing as you sit down next to him on your bed.

“I can't recall. Sorry, have you ordered flowers from me before?"

“You run a flower shop?”

“Yes, that's why I was in the woods. I was looking for fresh flowers and came across you up in that trap.” You tilt your head. “What were you doing in the forest, anyway?"

“I was... hunting for deer, and the last thing I remember is hearing something above me snap.”

“Hunting… Is that what you do for a living?”

“Well, no. My brother and I do it for sport."

“Oh."

Loki stares at you blankly. “My brother, Prince Thor."

You nod.

Loki chuckles. Your pretty little head hasn't registered it.

He leans in close, brushing his lips against your ear, and whispers very slowly:

“I'm Prince Loki."

And the reaction he gets is the cutest. Your lips part as your eyes widen, to which he grins.

But he doesn't expect you to fling yourself off the side of the bed and onto the ground, bowing down to him.

“Your Highness!” you squeak. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know!! I-”

“Darling, please," he chuckles, shaking his head. “That isn't necessary-"

“I'm so sorry, I'll get some tea, do you want anything from the market? Please, allow me-”

Loki bends down, lifting you off the floor in a princess carry and sets you down on the bed.

“Please, don’t stress yourself. You saved my life.”

He takes your hand, kissing it softly as he smiles up at you.

“Thank you, pretty angel.”

Your eyes widen as you stutter out tiny breaths. Norns, aren’t you the most adorable?

“I don’t think you believe me.” He stands up, pretending to be offended by your silence.

“No!” you cry . “I mean- I do believe you! It’s just- I was surprised, I didn’t think-”

“Didn’t think what? A prince would just be out in the woods for no reason?” He laughs, leaning down to you. Before you can respond, he chuckles again. “That’s alright,” he steps back, “you just need a little… evidence.”

Loki closes his eyes, and lets himself shift into his true form: blue skin, dark green patterns across his biceps. He hears the tiniest gasp of amazement from you as the magic also heals his wounds and cuts (and hopes that he’ll hear more of those cute noises very soon).

When he’s done transforming, he opens his eyes and stares down at you.

Dear Norns.

He knew he was already taller than you in human form, but this was just delightful. You’re much tinier than him, staring up at his stature with those wide doe eyes of yours.

“You are-” you blink a few times in shock. “You are the Jotun prince.”

He smiles even wider. “That’s right.”

“And… I… just saved the Jotun prince.”

He starts laughing, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Clever girl.” He knows he’s downright cruel, teasing you just because you’re so cute. “And do you want anything in return for ‘saving the Jotun prince’?”

“Well, I don’t know-”

Loki walks closer to you, and stands between your legs as he drops his cloak to the floor and leans down, drawling his next words very slowly.

“You deserve something… special. Something downright… pleasurable as a reward for saving my life. Something that you’ll remember for the rest of yours.”

He chuckles darkly when your breath hitches in realization.

He wants to make love to you.

“What?”

He pushes you down on the bed, trapping you in with his large body as he takes your wrists in one of his hands.

“You’ll feel undeniable bliss. I’ll take you over and over and over again until I’m sure you’re truly satisfied, because you’re such a sweet little angel saving my life and cleaning me up and looking so fuckable.”

You mewl, no doubt keening from his dirty words. He cups your chin.

“All you have to do is say yes. You don’t even have to do anything~”

His thumb brushes over your quivering lips, and push into your mouth. Loki grins as you look up at him, nodding slowly.

“Use your words, angel,” he teases, pulling his thumb away from your mouth.

It takes you a few moments to catch your breath. “Okay…”

He wanted to make you beg. He wanted you to say please, please fuck me so he could flip you over like you weighed nothing and take you over and over again like you’d asked but the way you whimpered withered away the last of his patience.

He had to make you his.

Loki captured you into a passionate kiss, muffling every last sound your pretty lips made so that only he could hear. He pulled away only to push you down on the sheets again, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you twitch in his hold, unable to comprehend how dizzy you are from just a kiss.

The two of you pull away for air as his dark green irises watches your eyes glaze over with submission. He grins, unbuttoning his white button-up and tosses it elsewhere.

He grins as you stare at his chest. Your tiny hands reach for him, tracing over the markings and patterns.

Loki hisses, taking your hands in one of his. You whimper as he stares down at you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “Did that hurt?”

“No, no.” His voice softens as he leans in, kissing your nose gently, his other hand pushing your dress up your thighs. He kisses your cheek, then presses his lips against your ear. You shiver at his ice-cold breath.

“It doesn’t, angel. It’s just that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to resist flipping you over and pounding you into the sheets until you’re dripping with my cum and you can’t think.”

He pushes his knee against your crotch, making you squeak like a pathetic little mouse. Loki grins.

“I will be doing that, mind you,” he teases. “But I simply have to get a taste of your pretty juices first~”

Your skirt bunches up against your twitching hips as Loki stares down at your dripping cunt.

“Oh," Loki chuckles. “You're already wet for me, angel, isn't that adorable~?"

You mewl, bashfully covering your face as he grins at your embarrassment.

“Stop teasing..."

Loki shakes his head, pouting in mockery. “Only if you stop being so cute when you're flustered. But until then…”

He places his hands on your thighs, pulling you closer to him as he lowers his face to your mound.

“... I'll enjoy fucking you until you submit to me.”

Your eyes widen as he licks your folds very slowly, and you whine shakily.

“Prince Loki..."

Loki grins, kissing your pretty cunt wetly and pushing his tongue into your dripping hole. And your helpless whimper of pleasure as he devours your pretty pussy whole is the cutest and most captivating noise he's ever heard.

He draws it out of you again, and again, and again, drinking every bit of your slick, even if poor little you are just getting wetter and wetter.

You're panting now, and Loki is equally as short of breath, only ever breaking away from you to watch your pretty face scrunch up so cutely. Loki licks his lips, nibbling on your thighs and making you squeak and tremble in his icy grip.

“You're such an adorable little angel," Loki grumbles. "Makes me want to eat you up like a little mouse, hmm?”

He holds you down firmly as your moans tickle his ears. The way your little hole squeezes around nothing is just so cute, he just has to stuff you full after he makes you come far too many times than you can handle.

“Aww,” Loki chuckles as you whimper breathily, thighs thumping helplessly against the bed. “Little angel can’t take it anymore?”

He brushes a blue finger against your dripping folds, sinking into your hole for the millionth time making you squeak and sob in sensitivity.

“P-Please…” you mumble, glazed eyes pleading for a moment of rest.

He sighs, forgetting you’re just a pure little thing having her first time, and gently scoops you into his arms to press a few kisses to your cheek and whispering your name.

“Have I thanked you enough already~?” He teases, and you nod, nuzzling into his hold though you shiver lightly.

Loki’s heart skips a beat. He feels you cling to him tighter and he feels your little ass grinding against his cock.

“Well,” he muses, “I believe my kingdom will be overjoyed to find that an angel like yourself saved their prince, hmm?”

“Huh?” you ask, still pleasure-drunk as you settle into his lap, as if you perfectly fit in his hold.

“I said,” Loki chuckles his icy breath tickling your face, “My kingdom would be overjoyed to find a pretty thing like you saved the royal prince, wouldn't they?"

“Mhm..."

“And they'll throw a week-long celebration...” he continues, trailing kisses from your cheek to your shoulder. “All for you~”

“R-Really?” you gasp as he begins sucking on your skin, sure to leave marks after. “A whole week? That's too much-!”

Loki laughs against your shoulder, holding your hips down so he can feel your hips grind against his cock. “Nothing is too much for a perfect little angel like you~"

Loki licks the bite mark he's so carefully placed on your skin, then looks up at your glazed eyes and twitching pout.

“Would you like to come back with me to the palace?"

The look of confusion and bashfulness across your face makes his cock twitch against your bare folds.

“Me?! With you?!"

“Do you abhor the idea of that?”

He knows he's being mean and he knows you don't hate the idea, but Loki just can't resist seeing you so embarrassed and stuttering to apologize.

“No! I didn't mean that! I was just surprised-"

Loki shakes his head with a little chuckle, and brings you closer to his face to kiss the crease between your eyebrows.

“I know, I know. I was just teasing."

“Don't be mean like that!”

Loki laughs darkly when you cross your arms.

In a flash, he’s got you on your hands and knees before your pretty head can even figure out what’s going on.

“And if I do, what are you going to do about it?”

You shiver at the dark growl in his voice.

You're so far deep in this haze all you can see is blue.

“Your highness-!”

Loki presses your chest against the bed, leaving your pretty ass on display, purely his for the taking.

“You’re just a little mouse that can’t hurt anything, hmm? Just so innocent, and weak, and ready to be ravished.”

A cold, thick finger traces your wet folds, and you whimper, burying your face in the sheets as he tickles your hole until you’re shaking with need.

“Maybe I’ll take you back home with me… and make you my wife.”

Loki shoves his finger all the way in, knocking the wind out of you because you swear you can feel him in your tummy.

“Your- Your wife?” You ask, voice higher and breathier.

“Yes~” he mocks your airy voice. “My pretty wife, who won’t have to get her pretty hands dirty ever again, who I’ll take care of, and protect, and fuck every single night.”

Loki curls his finger, reaching that sensitive little part in your cunt that effectively leaves you a mumbling, drooling mess on him.

When he’s gotten you wet enough, he draws his finger back (to his cute little angel’s momentary dismay) and forces your thighs apart with his body, the head of his cock twitching against your folds.

Loki will forever remember the gasp you let out when you feel just how big he is.

“Do you want to be fully mine? Do you want me to fuck this little hole of yours with my cock until you’re screaming for me?”

You whine at his dirty words, slurring something that sounds like a yeah, and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

“Really?” he chuckles, fingering your little hole one more time to slicken your folds. “Do you think I’ll fit~?”

And with the dirty wet noises that tickle his ears as he sinks all the way in he gets his reply.

“Oh?” Amused, he runs an icy finger up and down your bare back. “She can take it, after all. What a good girl~”

Loki barely gets the praise out before the prettiest whimpers fall out of your mouth like sweet honey, your poor cunt clenching down on him as your voice gets higher and breathier by the minute.

“Please-” you hiccup, turning to look at him with those pretty teary eyes.

His vermillion eyes stare you down cruelly as he grinds his hips down into your ass, making your head fall onto the sheets as you slur out a moan.

His cock feels so heavy inside you and by the way he laughs quietly you know he knows just how big he is compared to you.

And the way he pins you down harder lets you know he loves it.

“Oh, you just feel so good around my cock,” Loki groans, pulling back and thrusting into your leaking little pussy.

Poor you, already sensitive beyond imagination as this handsome blue prince ruins any other man for you with the way his cock stretches you out better than anyone ever will.

Not that anyone else will get the chance to. Loki’s decided it: he will take you home to the palace and make you his wife, and everyone will bow before their new princess.

Loki can't resist you any longer. He beats your poor cunt like the beast he is until you're whimpering and bucking against him helplessly.

“Feels... weird..." you shudder and gasp, tears leaking from your eyes as he sinks deeper into you, his huge cock hitting all the good spots inside you as your pleasure takes over your senses.

“Oh, is she close? Is this perfect little cunt going to come all over me?”

Loki's dirty words make you whimper and nod dumbly.

“Yeah," you sob.

Loki laughs at how blissed out his little saviour is and stops,pulling out slowly and groaning when he hears the sinful squelching as your juices drip onto the sheets. He turns you on your back, pinning your wrists to your sides, and captures your lips in his as he sinks into you once more.

“I missed these pretty lips," he smirks into the kiss, taking you for himself.

“Y-You just kissed me a few minutes ago..." You sigh dazedly, though you love the attention he's giving you.

“Still can't get enough of you. You're just so sweet~" Loki licks your lips, thrusting harder and making you squeak and link your fingers through his.

“Say my name."

“Loki...”

“Gods," he throws his head back, almost moaning at how submissive you sound. “Surrender to me, darling."

His hands snake down to the back of your thighs, lifting them and pressing them to your chest, quickening his pace.

Your eyes scrunch up as you nearly scream in pleasure, wriggling away as if you could escape from him.

“Surrender to me, angel~" he grins, kissing your neck and marking you up. “A pretty angel like you deserves to be pampered like this every day. Imagine that? You'll never have to lift a finger, I'll do all the work, I'll do all the fucking.”

Loki accentuates that last word with a hard thrust into your hole, making your eyes blur over with tears as you mewl helplessly in the Jotun prince’s tight grip.

“Awh, don't cry," he teases, kissing your nose when he gets a sinfully great idea.

He stops his movements, making sure he's buried all the way inside you before he flattens his tongue against your soaked cheek and licks your tears away.

You gasp, stunned for a moment before you keen and twitch helplessly, whining loudly as he does the same to your other cheek.

And your poor little cunt just clenches down again.

Loki growls, his primal instincts taking over because you're his ideal mate and you're nothing like he's ever seen. The sounds in the room get filthier and filthier as he loses control and rams into your poor hole.

“What do you say, angel?" Loki asks, letting go of your wrist before his hand makes its way down to your clit, rubbing the little bud and making you scream and tremble in his arms. “Be my- fuck- be my bride? Be my pretty little princess?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, chest heaving as your eyes flutter shut.

“Are you close?"

“Mhm..."

“Cute little mouse," he chuckles, pressing open mouth kisses to your neck as he rubs your clit. “Let go for me now, angel."

It’s a sight from heaven as you orgasm all over him, soaking his cock with your juices and helplessly thumping your thighs against the bed because Loki won't stop thrusting in and out of you.

Loki growls, pinning you to the bed. He stills, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm, thick cum filling you up. It makes you feel even more full than you already do and it makes you dizzy with even more pleasure.

It becomes too much for your melting brain to handle when he pushes deeper into you and you gasp, attempting to kick him away.

A firm, cold hand grabs your ankle and spreads you wider, and you whine shyly when he grins at you with a cruel glint in his eyes.

“Stay with me, darling," Loki teases, gripping your hips possessively and holding you still on his cock so he can finish filling you up.

It feels like hours before he breathes again, but it's only been seconds for him, already wanting another round with you.

But the prince resists, setting your sore legs down slowly and carefully sliding out of your cunt.

You sigh in exhaustion, but your breaths falters in embarrassment when you feel just how much he pumped into you, dripping out of your twitching folds and onto the bed.

A tiny drop even lands on your ass and Loki chuckles at your wide eyes, leaning down to kiss your lips and whisper a dirty promise that he'll fuck you down there too next time.

“Next time?” you ask, lips parting.

“Yes," he teases. " I've decided it, you're never leaving my side, my guardian angel~”

And he scoops you into his side, letting you rest before he has a few more rounds with your pretty hole— then he'll take you back home to the palace and convince you to stay. He'll show you the library. He'll let you lose yourself in the royal gardens all day if you wish! As long as you return to his chambers each night and let him please you the way you deserve to be.

But he's fallen for you already and the whole kingdom will burn in a blaze of sapphire dust if anything or anyone ever keeps him away from you.

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feyascorner · 2 months

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11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that?

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters.

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer @roguishcat

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #tfbu #astarion x oc #tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader

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yaekiss · 1 year

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on this sinful sunday, i’m having very holy thoughts of either branding or carving my name onto childe’s skin— maybe that tummy he’s so insistent on not covering up, maybe a nice little tramp stamp. i know he’s making sure it scars, picking at the scabs and whining for you to redo them if they dare to fade away— he belongs to you!

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Yan! Tartaglia, reader's dick can also be read as strap, gore + eroguro, knifeplay + blood, masochist Tartaglia, spanking (just once, on Tartaglia), terrible wound care by Tartaglia please don't follow his actions, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Happy Whore Wednesday pulpie! Or uhhh, it was Wednesday when I started writing this. Got a lil carried away hehe :3 Happy Thotaglia Thursday! Slut on! (With you, Childe feels like every day is Thotaglia Thursday)

Anyways. Childe thinks of you as pure divinity, the holiest of beings, and he’s eager to worship all of you and bear everything that you’re willing to bless him with. Who is he to say no to the pain you inflict on him too?

This time, he’s cockwarming you, the heat and desire he feels is dizzying. You’re inside him and just the sensation of you filling him up perfectly has left him giddy with lust. His face is smushed into the mattress with his azure eyes already rolled into their sockets. Prior to this, he pressed a lavishly decorated dagger into your palm with a fervent sort of urgency, begging for you to mark him up however you like. You try to think back on what could’ve spurred this on. Was it that merchant trying to chat you up at the market the other day? Or perhaps it’s just a sick kind of longing that hangs around the ginger no matter how much time you spend together? One thing remains clear, at its core, Childe wants to be utterly and irrefutably yours.

Taking up the dagger, you admire the inlaid gemstones glinting in the lighting of the room, their colours matching the exact shade of your eyes and you’re sure that this must have cost an arm and a leg. Tracing the cold metal down the ridge of his spine, you feel him shudder, your ears picking up a soft keening whine. You start off slow, the tip of the blade breaking past skin and revealing glorious liquid crimson. Childe sucks in a breath at the delirious buzz of pain and pleasure that he’s subjected to at your hands.

“Nghh… please I wanttt-! to be yours!” Greedy as always.

You take your time carving out your name into his flesh, revelling in just how many moans and whines you can wring out from the harbinger. Despite how muddled his senses are, he’s acutely aware of each and every searing twist and pull of the knife. Some of the warm blood trickles and drips down to where the two of you are connected and the sensation has him losing the ability to speak, brain reeling at how disgustingly intimate this whole act is. However, over time, Childe gets squirmy and twitchy with how pent-up he’s getting, the arousal in him pooling and heightening. That simply won’t do. Good boys need to stay in line while their lover is being so so so nice to them after all. With a pointed “tsk”, you land a hard smack on his ass as a warning. He yelps loudly at the impact but he gets the message, obediently staying still as you finish carving the tramp stamp.

When you’re finally done, you pull out of him, the lack of your cock filling him up has Childe whining again but it snaps him out of his reverie. You reach over to grab a mirror and angle it so that he can see (read: marvel at) your handiwork. His eyes glint as he catches sight of the fresh cuts, the wound spelling out your name and the fact that you’ve claimed him as your devoted believer. However, he doesn’t let you go further than cleaning and disinfecting the wound site. (Secretly, he hopes that it leaves a permanent scar, an eternal pure white etched into his skin to show that he belongs to you without question.)

Throughout the whole healing process, he picks away at the scabs that try to cover the wound, opening it back up again so that your name is written in a carnal raw red. Whenever he stares at it in the bathroom mirror for too long and thinks that a certain part of it is fading away too fast without leaving a mark, he rushes to you, whining and begging for you to redo it with a frenzied tone in his voice.

He wishes you’ll dig even deeper, maybe even push your fingers into his flesh until he’s screaming and clenching down on your cock, use his blood as lube as you fuck up into him relentlessly. The thoughts keep coming and you can’t go a full week without Childe pleading for you to lay your claim on him.

Maybe next time he’ll convince you to leave your mark on his abdomen so that everyone can see who he belongs to.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

#📜.qi rambles #yandere #gore #eroguro #yandere genshin #genshin smut #sub genshin #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia #tartaglia smut #sub tartaglia #childe x reader #yandere childe #childe smut #sub childe #dom reader #📜.qi writings

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catboybiologist · 5 months

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Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

#eroticism of the machine #robot girl #mecha girl #spaceship girl #the fuck do I even tag this LOL #yall gotta tag this and make sure it gets to the right spaces for me okay

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erzsebetrosztoczy · 6 months

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For your wounded heart

Pt.1

Pairing: Mizu x reader

Word count: ~2k

Notes: If there will be interest for it, I'll continue the story, because so far there isn't really a Mizu x reader going on lmfaoo but we'll seeeee

Ps.: Mizu's pronounce is he/him in this part

Here's Part 2

The molten gold disc of the sun slowly crept up the horizon, pouring gray onto the world from the darkness. It rose drowsily, languidly among the tall canopies, leaves lighting up as it projected onto them as thousands of thalers appeared next to the shining disk.

The songbirds ruffled their feathers — ready for the challenges of another day, and sang happily to their companions.

A strong draft escaped from under the wooden door, making the embers of the flickering fire dance before running through your covers.

The sudden cold bit into your skin; grabbing you from the realm of dreams, dragging you back to the world of the living with its icy fingers. You opened your eyes with a terrified sigh; waking up from the warm and caressing dream you pulled yourself under the covers.

Another day, another task ahead of you.

Wearly, you dressed up before trying to gather your belongings, which you would need shortly.

A scalpel, a knife, gloves and a deep basket soon graced your side as you set off into the awakening forest.

Three days ago, you were approached by one of the most influential merchants in town. His wife caught the chills-fever, which her priests had not been able to cure with any of their treatments. Realizing that needles, prayers and incense would not help here, the nobleman visited you the day before, when the noises of the market in the main square seemed to dull down, when you started packing your goods to go home.

It had been a long time since you were last offered such a sum - too long for your liking. Short of money - and because you would have faced the wrath of a powerful man if you refused - you accepted his offer to heal his spouse.

Early in the morning, when the rooster hadn't even crowed, you were already ready to go collect the ingredients for the potion.

The sharp autumn air crawled over your skin, penetrated your bones and breathed newfound strength into your heart. Listening to the soothing soft melody of the forest, you set off towards its thickets, hoping that you would find enough ingredients for your tonics today. Everything was ready to take care of the sick wife- all you had to do was get the hojicha flower, of which you had run out of stock a while ago.

Pulling your cloak tight around your shoulders, you stepped on the wet moss carpet, careful not to slip on the rutted ground. Soon the ground would start to freeze- you thought as you tried to remember which tree trunk you marked, where you should turn right or left to reach your usual harvesting location.

"If I want to have everything in the winter, I have to collect them in time..." You sighed, stepping over a taller ditch. "Maybe I should look at the market to buy seeds and-"

"To the best of my knowledge, you have to go the other way to the nearest market." A harsh, sharp voice spoke from your left.

You immediately screamed and if the cold didn't do it until now — the stranger who suddenly stumbled here had certainly frozen your blood. The pounding of your heart only made it worse as you spun backwards, trying to face the source of the sound. Your foot slipped and you fell to your knees, hitting a wet log while you turned your head trying to find the source of the sound.

After a while, three men appeared in front of you; one from the nearby bushes, while two crept out from behind the cover of the trees; like wild dogs lurking in wait for their prey.

"The lady must be lost, people can disappear quickly in the forest..." The other man nodded with a vile grin, rubbing his palms together while approaching you.

"Certainly, it is not recommended to walk alone in such remote places at the crack of dawn." The third man took over, turning his attention to the basket lying on the floor next to you. “It's better if we accompany you… so no one attacks you.”

"I didn't, I just-" You stammered, but your voice got stuck in your throat as the three strangers walked closer and closer. Their ragged and dirty clothes, their darkly glistening dreadful eyes ruled out that they were simple wanderers.

You ran into bandits on the road, alone, in the middle of the forest. Your heart was pounding in your throat and kept yelling for you to move, escape, run — otherwise you will take your last breath here forever.

Your eyes darted to your overturned basket – deep inside your knife was glinting in a cold light. If you could be fast enough to get it out of there...Fight for your life. You fight or you die.

But instincts were stronger than reason; the Gods opened a third way for you at that moment.

You pushed yourself away with your hands, your heels digging into the ground hard, almost scraping it up as you jumped up to run away like a chased deer. You could barely feel your legs, could barely breathe as you ran through the trees with all your might, jumping over bushes, rocks, and pits. With your heart in your throat, with the sound of the bandits' steps and shouts in your ears, you kept going forward, not even daring to look back.

Your ability to navigate had left you, you didn't even know if you were running towards or away from them, there was just the feeling that you still had to go, still run, still fight. If you stopped you were dead, if you fell you were dead, if they caught up you were dead.

A huge thorn bush appeared in front of you, too high and wide it would have been almost impossible to jump over it, to get around it; so for lack of a better option you tensed your muscles, pulled your neck in, closed your eyes and ran into the branches, shielding your face with your arms.

The pain that ignited in the darkness flashed through you as a hundred and a thousand spikes dug into your exposed skin; then you felt the ground open under your feet, suddenly you began to fall.

You didn't even have time to cry out when you hit the hard ground with your side.

Lying there injured and exhausted, with a bursting heart, you realized that it was all over.

You just sealed your faith.

Panting and choking from crying, you heard the rustling of the bushes behind you, then the trampling of feet.

"Here's the little slut" One of the men chuckled, but the cheering stopped almost immediately.

You did not dare to look up from the ground, did not dare to move; you were left lying on the ground trembling, awaiting death...

But nothing happened.

Another second, but there was only silence, no more footsteps, no giggles, no shouts.

Blinking away the dirt and blood, you looked from behind your lashes and then realized why you were still breathing.

The attention of the three thugs no longer plagued you. They turned almost motionless, to the left, watching ahead of them.

You followed their gaze and saw that you had fallen on a road. On a road where a fourth stranger was now standing in front of you.

A tall, lanky stranger in blue traveling clothes, the bamboo hat he wore pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

A stranger with a sword in his hand.

Suddenly everything around you seemed to be silent; the chirping of the birds died away, the trees and twigs no longer creaked and cracked, as if the wind itself had stopped to watch the unfolding scene.

Not wanting to break the silence, you stared at the fourth stranger, holding your breath, wondering what would happen now.

Was that your savior ahead of you? Or was he just a wanderer who didn’t care what troubled others, who would only solve his own problems, regardless of if he made others ill-fated? Maybe you got out of the frying pan into the fire?

"There's nothing to see here." The nimblest bandit growled, a rusty knife in hand. "Everybody's minding their own business, right?"

"This matter belongs only to us and this woman, there is no need to cause difficulties for anyone." The largest one with a long mustache spoke slyly, the one closest to you clutched a heavy cudgel in his fist, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped it.

The blue-clad stranger didn't answer immediately, instead tilting his head to the side, he peeked out from behind the brim of his hat, flashing his yellow-tinted glasses in the light.

"Looking at you, I suspect you are road thugs." The sword bearer spoke, his voice softer than you would have expected. "You rob those who come here." His words didn't seem like a question.

At this, the third man - the fox with a smile, who had a katana, spat down his side stepping forward in front of his companions.

"If you want good for yourself, you turn back or walk past us without another word." He snapped in his raspy voice, grabbing the hilt of his sword as the other two tensed with their weapons as well.

Barely able to handle the shaking and the hitching of your breath, you lifted your torso off the ground with challenge, turning to the blue-cloaked stranger desperately.

"Please…" Your voice trailed off as sobs broke from you. "Don't let me die, please!" Your voice cracked; hot tears washing away the mud and blood from your face. "Help me, please!"

The lanky stranger moved his arm back, revealing the hilt of his sword as he reached towards it with his right hand.

You inhaled through your teeth when you heard the deep clang of metal and clattering footsteps as the bandits charged towards him.

You dropped back down, pulling your knees to your chest as the battle began. Only daring to watch the scene from the cover of your arm.

The swordsman reached first the blue-clad savior, swinging an upward blow from the left, but his sword met another steel.

The man in the hat drew his sword from the sheath with the speed of a viper, breaking the first attack with almost no effort. Before the thug could react to it, the man was already flying to the ground, his legs entangled as the blue clothed one pushed him away to answer the next blow.

The rusty knife reached him second, and while his companion seized the stranger with his blade, he thrusted his knife towards your helper's neck. The cloaked man shoved the katana wielder away with his foot as he turned his torso to the side, the knife still flying towards him mid air.

Taking advantage of the movement, he turned to the right, placing one raised foot in front of the other, cutting across with his blade in front of him.

In a blink of an eye, red rain shot from the arm of the knife-wielding bandit - the sword almost cut his arm off. He staggered with a sharp wail, then fell to the ground, where he continued to shriek.

The one with a cudgel on the other hand did not attack yet, instead he stopped from a decent distance so the sword of the man in blue could not reach him, seemingly considering his next moves.

But this proved to be only a distraction when the first attacker reappeared, this time springing into action behind your savior's back.

The one in blue could hear this, as he turned to the side keeping an eye on both of his attackers, but then the largest started to move suddenly in order to attack at the same time with his other partner.

Seeing the impossible situation, you already had the mental image of the swordsman slashing your savior while the other beat him to death with the heavy club — you whimpered in terror, burying your face in your arms to shield yourself from the sight.

You heard a shout and the clang of steel meeting again, something heavy falling to the ground. A dull, more watery pounding - the cudgel! Bubbling, frothy snoring- a moan of agony and then silence.

You were next, you were sure of that.

Sharp cuts, bone-crushing blows and then slow, lingering death awaits you.

But there was no movement, not even a single grunt from the fight.

Panting, you raised your head to shorten your wait, but you did not find yourself facing the person you were waiting for.

You caught the gaze of the blue-cloaked stranger. You watched with a dry throat and roaring head as he stood over the three bloodied, dying bandits, his sword still clutched in his right hand.

The bamboo hat was no longer on his head, it probably fell off sometime during the fight when you weren't looking, and now was lying at his feet, waiting to be dusted off and put on again.

But instead, the stranger staggered, his knees buckling as he took two steps forward, finally slumping forward onto the ground, leaving you alone in the field of vigilance.

#blue eye samurai #mizu #bes #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #mizu imagine #bes imagine #blue eye samurai headcanons #mizu headcanons #bes headcanons #blue eye samurai fanfic #bes fanfic #mizu fanfic #x reader #for now i cannot decide yet if it will be gn or fem reader tho :/#my writing

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rustytrident · 2 years

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beelzebub who has obscure knowledge because he cares so much about his brothers' interests, they become his, too – or, a slight beelzebub character study at 3am because i need it and so do you.

beelzebub who can name every constellation in the night sky of all three realms, who knows both astrology and astronomy, who has read all of belphie's essays and research papers, who was there when they were written.

beelzebub who knows how to play (and cheat, and win) about every casino game, who knows how to do fast math even if he doesn't really care for it, who checks the fucking stock market every morning to see if mammon's mood will be affected by it or not.

beelzebub who knows the difference between the scent of white and red roses, who knows how to properly do your (and his) makeup, who has memorised which products are good for his complexion and how many times a day he needs to apply sunscreen, because asmo swears that the fridge light hits him as much as the sun would have in the human world.

beelzebub who can quote jane austen and poe and shakespeare and euripides from memory, who makes references from books that were destroyed with the library of alexandria, who knows about every breed of cat there is, who listens to satan explain whose fur is the thickest and whose the softest.

beelzebub who will rewatch tsl for hours, who will carry boxes upon boxes of games upstairs, who will (poorly) draw ruri from memory, who will know how to play most games levi hyperfixates on and the plot from most anime he has rambled about.

beelzebub who knows even the most bizzare of genres of music, who can taste the difference between a thousand year and a thousand and one year aged demonus, who immediately recognises the jazz song lucifer is playing when he wants to spend quality time with him but doesn't want to disturb him.

beelzebub who, if you ask him about his interests, will reply that he doesn't really have any, who will search within him for an ounce of self, who will give up after a while because he is six beings in one, and he doesn't know if there's room for one more.

beelzebub who decides that it's okay to be a mosaic of his favourite beings, who finds out that he has been carrying seven in him all along, who gazes in your – a human's – eyes and understands why she fought and why she fell and why she tried so much.

beelzebub who, in his spare time, will go in the human world to visit museums and archaeological sites and long abandoned villages, who will reminisce about when everything he just saw was once new and shining, who will retrace the steps he took aeons ago, alone this time.

beelzebub who often feels lost, who grieves and eats and grieves some more, who carries the memory of his sister because he once read that one truly stops existing when they are forgotten, yet smiles when he sees red roses and shiny coins and old books and video games and cursed records and the starry sky, who sighs into your neck right before he falls asleep and promises to never forget the way your skin feels under his.

beelzebub who, without you asking him, tells you he likes flowers and animals, who likes everything the sun touches, whose eyes glimmer when you ask him to tell you about yarrows and their meaning and their colours, who will explain in a heartbeat, just for you.

beelzebub whose self is a wounded one, a fighting one, whose self is a memory box he just keeps adding into, a scrapbook of eternity's erosion, who finds happiness in the little things, in the simple things, who binds his family together.

beelzebub who loved and loves and will love until there's nothing of him left, until he is the last one remembering, until the night sky is no longer a painting, but just an accumulation dead stars.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #beelzebub obey me #beelzebub x reader #i feel like he has so much depth #and if he doesn't he does in my head #some people only view him as the nom nom himbo but good lord #i beg to differ #finally being able to let out the 2 year beel brainrot to real humans and not the voices in my head is fantastic #i hope this wasn't too messy #sing me a song // the song of our glory

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ticklygiggles · 4 months

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Dangerously Close At Night | Rafayel x Reader [N$FW]

Collab with @lovelynim

A/N: Happy Valentine's day! Precious Fabi and I worked together to write this little n$fw piece with our favorite babygirl from Love and Deepspace! Thank you for writing this with me, Fabi! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy it! (Also, big thanks to this anon for inspiring us)

Warnings: this fic is very feet centered, so read at your own risk

Summary: Rafayel dared to forget to buy you something for you on Valentine's Day. Of course he'll get a well deserved punishment, but why is he enjoying it so much?

Words: 2,811

A pretty, large, red ribbon, made out of the finest silk in the market. Delicate, but with strings firm enough to keep things in place. There couldn’t be a better choice to restrain him.

“So, is this your great idea for a Valentine’s gift?” Rafayel said, his voice full of snark and pride. You smirked, telling yourself inside your head that he wouldn’t keep those for long - not tonight.

After sitting on the edge of the bed, you start to slowly work on the buttons of your own shirt, revealing some extra bits of skin in an attempt to earn his attention and, above that, set the mood. You could tell that he was hiding his nervousness just by how tense his shoulders were, by the way his restrained hands fiddled behind his back.

“This is just the setting. Why the rush? It’s your fault for not buying me anything anyway,” you said, kicking off your high heels before crawling a little closer to him. “You said to yourself that I could get anything I wanted…”

Rafayel chuckled, resting his head back in the pillows and letting out a nervous sigh. You could tell he was still trying to figure out your plans, but couldn’t come up with anything. “So, miss bodyguard… is this what you wanted?”

You rolled your eyes, admiring his helpless state for a few more seconds. You slowly reached to his leg, feeling the fancy fabric that his pants were made of and tracing a short path from the top of his thigh down to his knee. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle when Rafayel nearly jumped off the bed from just that touch. “Are you nervous? Scared that I’m going to do something bad to you?”

“W-well, you are looking at me like a shark would look at a wounded fish,” he averted his gaze, trying to force his way out of his binding one more time before sighing in defeat.

You shook your head, amused by his answer, and continued to move your hand down his leg, stopping as soon as you reached his ankle. “What kind of person do you think I am, Rafayel? I thought that, by now, you’d have a better picture of me,” you muttered softly, moving your hand around and tugging at the back of his shoe.

“Or is this the better picture you have of me?” You asked, looking at his face with the corner of your eyes while letting his shoe drop to the ground. “Comfortable?” You smiled.

“Barely,” he snarked and your smile only widened as you pulled his other shoe off as well. “Hey. Do you have any idea how expensive they are? Could you be more careful?”

“I can't,” you said just as your eyes caught sight of his feet. Rafayel was an elegant man. Very stylish and very careful with his appearance. Perfect hair, perfect face, impeccable clothes and shiny shoes. From head to toe, Rafayel was a handsome man, flashy and attractive.

For this reason, you were not surprised to find that his feet were wearing neat black nylon socks. His feet looked… pretty. You felt your cheeks heating up a little- this was the first time you felt so fixed in this part of another person's body. Rafayel certainly was too attractive. You swallowed thick.

“W-What are you looking at?”

You chuckled, lightly running your fingers up one of his soles. “Your feet, why?”

Rafayel jumped at your touch and gasped sharply. His foot jerked away, but you caught his ankle, pulling it back so your fingernails scribbled lightly against his sole. Under his toes, swirling against his arch. Rafayel giggled, pulling at his foot and trying to kick you with the other as he squirmed like a lovely fish out of water.

“Puh-lease! It tihihickles!”

“Well,” you giggled, “that could be because I am tickling you, silly.” You grinned, looking at his bright smile and rosy cheeks. “I always forget how ticklish you are, Rafayel,” you teased, suddenly stopping.

Rafayel went limp against the bed, giggling and chuckling. “If you're going to be so mean, you better- what are you doing now?”

Grinning at him, you kneeled in front of his feet. Rafayel's eyes were wide, pupils trembling as you pulled his silky socks off. His toes scrunched and fanned out, wiggling as if he was trying to get rid of the tingly sensation from earlier. You smiled, taking one of his feet between your hands. Rafayel tensed, but before he could pull it away, you gave it a firm squeeze and started rubbing your thumbs against the sole. Rafayel gasped, but a low groan escaped him as you massaged his foot; your thumbs kneading the muscles by the sides, knuckles rubbing against any knot at his arch and the ball of his foot.

“Aw, look at you…” You cooed, dragging your thumb from the top of his heel to just below his toes while pressing it against the soft skin. “Enjoying yourself?” Your words made his cheeks go even redder than before, that bright shade of red spread up to the tip of his ear.

Just as he was about to answer, you pressed down a little harder and forced a sweet (but embarrassing) sound out of his lips, making his breath go uneven. “W-what, agh… what are you uhuhup to? Is this y-your plan?” Rafayel panted, trying to still sound confident and charming, his usual act, but you could read right through him.

His arms trembled, desperately trying to break free from the ribbon keeping them together, as you continued to experiment different methods and switch between different kinds of touches, keeping Rafayel at the edge, unaware of what to expect from you. “What’s so funny, Rafayel? You’re smiling so much tonight. Still feeling ticklish?”

“Y-you- hmph…” He sighed, turning his face away and arching his back a little, almost as if to get more comfortable inside his bonds. “Y-you keep tihihickling me. How c-can I feel ahanything else?” Rafayel retorted, clasping his knees together and letting out another heavy, long sigh.

You couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t trying to pull his feet away from you anymore and was, instead, trying to fight something else other than your touch… the sensations that came from it, maybe? He gasped, giggled and chuckled with every stroke and pressure to his foot; his toes fanning out when you tickled his sole, as if asking for more.

Feeling the heat from your cheeks spreading to your ears, you gulped. Something in your head clicking. This was… an interesting discovery.

“Your feet certainly are sensitive, right Rafayel?”

“W-What?”

You nodded with a grin, your nails gently scraping at the soft skin under his toes – the sound that came out from his lips barely surprised you, but still, it made you tremble inside. His feet really were sensitive, perhaps because they were new to him.

“I mean, I can tell how much you’re enjoying this just by looking at you,” you grinned, holding his foot down with one hand and using your thumb to gently push his toes back, stretching out the sensitive skin. Your other hand soon joined, tracing lines up and down with the tip of your nails, being extra careful - and sadistically slow - while doing it.

“A-agh, nohoho!” Rafayel gasped, laughing a bit too much for how little effort you were putting into playing with his sole. “Yohou are juhuhust mehehessing w-with me!!” He whined, arching his back in a renewed fit of giggles, his foot twitching inside your grip as if he was trying to move it away from you - but you could easily tell that he wasn’t.

His skin felt good to the touch: soft, warm and adorably delicate. You felt like you could end up hurting his feet if you used just a tad more of strength. “And how else am I supposed to get you looking like this if not messing with you?”

You couldn’t tell what kind of noise came out of Rafayel’s lips when you teased him, but you definitely needed to hear it again. His cheeks were burning in a bright shade of pink that stretched out to the tip of his ears, creating a mesmerizing contrast with the dark hues of his disheveled hair. On top of all that, Rafayel had the most handsome smile you ever saw on his face - carefree, vulnerable and a little shy.

You knew this was driving Rafayel crazy, but so were you. You were flushed, feeling butterflies in your tummy and your chest and the tingling sensation between your legs only grew the more you gave attention to Rafayel. He was excited, turned on. Looking up, you could see the bulge in Rafayel's pants and your mouth watered. Was he being more sensitive than usual? Or were you being too good at riling him up?

He gasped heavily, “wait, what are you- ngh!” A pretty moan escaped his lips when you suddenly pressed a wet kiss against the arch of his foot, followed by another and one more. “H-Hey, where are you k-kissing, ah!” He moaned your name as you started to swirl your tongue against the ball of his foot.

Your fingers lightly tickled his arch and his heel. Your other hand climbed up his leg under his pants, pressing against his skin firmly like a massage; you didn't reach all the way up to where you wanted to touch, but he gasped and jumped when you gave his inner thigh a squeeze. Rafayel closed his legs, as if trying to hide how aroused he felt. With his other foot, he gently pushed your shoulder, but there was barely any strength on his touch.

“Aaah, pl-please,” he begged, arching his back when your tongue found its way between his toes. Your teeth scraped at them carefully and your tongue fluttered under them making him whine and let out choked chuckles. “T-this ihihis too m-much!”

No, it wasn’t, you thought, unable to snap back at his pleas as your lips were busy doing something else. Despite Rafayel’s effort to hide it, the tent on his pants became more and more evident, his hardened cock throbbing with each lick, each stroke and each tickle.

“Ngh!!- N-not there, ahh,” Rafayel cried, gritting his teeth and tensing his back when you pressed your tongue under his toes. You also couldn’t help but notice his hips slightly thrusting upwards, as if his dick was desperate to be freed and worshiped like that as well - a sight that made you smile against his skin.

It was no mistake to say that you were breaking him apart. The more you worked on his soles, the more aroused and desperate Rafayel seemed to be. His cool and charming persona was torn apart and all that was left was a man aching, craving for more.

You kissed his toes, gently nibbled at the side of his foot and dragged your tongue over his arches, over and over and over. Rafayel’s reactions didn’t seem to ever let you up, always rewarding your moves with delicious, intoxicating sounds that only made you want to keep going on and on.

His plain white shirt was starting to look a little translucid after sweat began to stick to the cloth; his eyes sparkled as the dim light of the room reflected on the tears clinging onto his lashes and rolling down his cheeks; and a little wet spot began to take shape on top of the tent in his pants - that definitely was going to leave a stain, you thought.

You moved your head back slightly, grinning and licking your lips in a teasing manner as you exchanged looks with him. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t know how much you like this,” you mused, using your nails to tickle the saliva-covered skin of his foot to not let him rest.

“Hnng- nohOHoho!! Ehehe, I cahAHAHan’t!”

“You look overwhelmed, Rafayel. Do you want me to stop? To let you go?” You tilted your head, admiring the way he thrashed his head left and right while laughing like a maddened man. “Come on, it’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. I’m not even going that hard on you, I’m sure you can still talk, right?”

An annoyed groan escaped his lips amidst the laughter - it was still Rafayel. You knew how much it would hurt his stupid pride to beg you, how upsetting this kind of thing was to him. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder: was his annoyance as big as his arousal right now?

“Agh- n-no! Ahah, dohohon’t- ahh! D-don’t stohohop it”

You smirked at his words. “Don't stop it? Maybe if you beg like a good boy, I won't stop,” You tried your luck while your nails ran over the soles of Rafayel's feet with light but quick touches. “That's something easy to do, right Rafayel? After all, you want it so badly, don't you?”

He let out a low, annoyed growl as he giggled and circled his hips. “Pl-Plehehease– please d-dohon’t stohohop.”

“That's a good boy,” you mumbled before latching your mouth back to Rafayel's unattended toes on his other foot. He moaned carelessly, toes fanning inside the warmth of your mouth as you licked, bit and kissed them carefully. His other foot, moisturized by your saliva, was still under a tickly attack that kept him giggling and laughing and whining, but he kept both his feet still for you to play with them.

The sounds he made took their toll on you. You were leaking, tingling and clenching. If you had known that this would be his reaction to having his beautiful feet under your attention, you would have done it a long time ago. Who would have thought that a few tickles and a few kisses here and there would be enough to silence this dramatic boy?

“I… lohohove ihihit,” he suddenly said and you hummed against the ball of his foot. “I l-lohoHOve it whehen you t-tihickle my tohohoes!”

That surprised you. He was not one to easily admit he liked something, especially when it was making him go crazy like that. You closed your legs, your hips thrusting slightly as you suck on the soft skin under his toes. Rafayel groaned deliciously.

“F-Fuhuck… I th-thihink I'm g-gohonna–”

“Oh? Really?” You arched an eyebrow, your eyes filled with lust. “Go ahead. Cum for me, little sea star.”

Your fingernails tickled in between his toes on one foot as your teeth scraped at that delicate skin under the digits of his other foot. Rafayel cried out a broken moan, his arms twisting, trying to break himself free, but he didn't need that because he did cum only after a couple of seconds.

“Aaaagh, fuck!” His body trembled as Rafayel moaned your name out loud, thrusting his hips upwards. You could only catch a few glimpses of his face, but it wasn’t to notice how stunned Rafayel looked at that moment. “E-enough..!” Rafayel pleaded, his voice hoarse, barely able to make it out of his throat.

Taken a bit off guard, you shook your head as you chuckled. Complying to his request, you let Rafayel move his feet away and rest them on the mattress - just to make sure they were out of your reach.

“My, I was just playing around… and you are already like this?” You teased, crawling on top of him and gently reaching out for his face with your hand. You gently brushed your thumb over his eyelids, wiping out the tears that were still clinging into his lashes.

“Y-you were being really mean, that’s what you did,” Rafayel whined through a heavy sigh, his body looking like it was going to melt on top of the mattress at any given moment.

“So you didn’t like it?”

“...I’m not saying that,” he pouted, lazily tilting his head to look at you and let you have a better look at him. You smiled softly, pushing his bangs away from his forehead.

“Got it… still,” before Rafayel could react, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pinned him against the bed once again, “don’t you think it’s a bit unfair if only one of us gets to cum?”

“W-what? That d-doesn’t count! There wasn’t even c-”

“But you did have an orgasm, Rafayel. I saw it myself,” you smirked, sitting on his stomach and starting to unbutton your own shirt - this time, all the way down. As you threw your shirt off the bed, you couldn’t tell if Rafayel was scared, excited, flustered or all of them at once. “It’s my turn to feel good now.”

After swallowing heavily, Rafayel seemed to gather the courage to look up to you again. “F-fine, go ahead…”

“Good boy,” you grinned. This was just the beginning of a really, really long night.

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deepspace tickling #Rafayel #Reader #rafayel x reader #ticklish!Rafayel #n$fw #spicy #tickle fic #mia's things #mia's commissions #lovelynim #fabi fabi ❤️

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dexlexia · 6 months

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mine o' mine - jean x reader

pairing: jean kristien x reader rating: 18+ summary: “How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?” Jean asked as he placed the badage on your cheek, “You can't make freinds with stray cats.” Then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.

You had only tried to lean down and kiss the creature on the head. But it proved to not work in your favour as it would rather claw at your face. Which left a cut on the skin. Which resulted in your husband tending to your wounds. tags: pwp, smut, gentle sex, cowgirl, loving husband and wife

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?” Jean asked as he placed the bandage on your cheek, “You can't make friends with stray cats.” Then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.

You didn't know the definition of being careful, you always had a tendency to walk on the 'wild side', even if that proved to cause you harm. You wanted to believe you were not some innocent being who was so prone to being harmed. But Jean worried, oh did he worry, after everything there it was surprising that he didn't keep you locked inside your home to keep you safe! There was so much bad out there in the world, there was no wonder he worried.

But he had to let you go about your life, you wanted to be in the world. But you always came back to him with a basket of delicious treats to share during the cold evenings. You always came home to him, no matter what market you went to, and that was all that mattered. He wanted his wife at home with him.

He wanted to see you at home with you, safe where you belonged. You didn't need another man as long as you had him. He'd always keep you safe! No matter what, no matter what laid in his way.

He'd make sure his lovely wife was protected. And as he strokes your cheek you felt the warmth in your body. He was so close to you, in that button up shirt with the top button undone. It would do a fair bit to a woman.

But he was so close, he was so painfully close that it wouldn't take much for you to lean in and kiss him on the lips. It would be within your right as you were his wife. But thoughts of what else he'd do to you that made your cheeks warmed. As he pulled away you placed a hand over your face to hide the blush.

He tilted his head to the side, “What's going on, honey?” He got a bit closer, you could study every inch of his face with how close he was. But you pulled away, and he in turn grabbed you by the wrists and pulled you closer to him.

“Nothing, nothing.” You tried to look so he wouldn't notice your warm cheeks. But soon his lips were on you warmed skin and you let out a small noise in response.

“Is someone blushing?” He asked as he grabbed your face to look at him, his eyes met yours. That ol' horse face staring back at you, but you couldn't help but get warmer. Your blush inched further down your neck, but you couldn't advertise his gaze.

“You're just so close.” You replied. You had been married for some time now but him being so close to take care of you still let butterflies in your stomach. You reached for him and held his face parallel to his. “I can see every little mark on your face.”

He chuckled, “Well shouldn't a wife have the chance to see her husband up close?” He kissed you on the cheek where the bandage was, “After all, I think you're the most beautiful woman ever. Even if you take in strays.”

You leaned in to kiss him on the lips delicately. You had no witty response for him. He had such a kind nature about him that you felt lucky to be with him. You had never met a man like him before, most want something as a reward for their kindness but not Jean.

Jean only ever wanted you to see the best parts of him. After everything, was what he told you. After everything he had been through, he wanted a wife who saw who he was after his time in the corps.

“I'm not that beautiful, Jean.” You remarked as you combed your fingers through his hair, “You're the one who has most of the looks.”

He pulled you in closer, your noses touched, “Well, then may our children have both of our beauty.” Then pulled you into a tight kiss as he pulled you on top of him. He laid on the bed with your face in his hands and he grinned at you.

You couldn't help but feel endeared to him. A deep burning inside of you as he started to undo your blouse. The feeling of his hands on you made you moan, which he responded to with kisses along your exposed chest.

“You're beautiful.” He said. His large hands cupped your breasts as he kissed them, “So, so beautiful.” His cock twitched in his pants as he moved back to your face. Those brown eyes gazed into yours. He smiled at you once more before he pulled you in for another kiss.

You giggled, the feeling of him so close made your heart race. “Jean.”

“Don't worry, I got you.” His hand reached your breasts which he massaged. Soon your bra was off and his thumb and pointer finger were playing with your nipples. You moaned against his neck. He knew how to make you feel good.

He kissed your soft skin, basking in the feeling of your warmth. He could never want another woman. Not when he could have you. His continued to kiss your skin and you melted in his arms. But soon kissing was not enough so the man had to start exploring further.

You pulled away from him and got the hair out of your eyes, “Do you want me that badly?”

“How could I not, you're my wife! I want you more than anything. There is nothing else I could want more than you. So come here, let me see my wife.” He chuckled as he got your pants off and then he started to get his own clothes off.

His hands roamed your body once you were nude. He admired your beauty, every curve, every mark, and every place your skin dimpled. He adored you, he wanted you. He thought you were the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Both naked on your bed, he kissed you passionately. He felt his heart race as he kissed you. The woman to bring in every stray. He guessed that's why you brought him home. He was just another stray. But he loved you so much. You were so perfect, there was an elegance to you. Not in the traditional way, but in a way that only he could see.

“I love you.” He said.

“I love you too.” You replied before you moved further away from him. You placed both of your hands on his bare chest and gazed down at him with a chest brimming with love. Even in late afternoon light, he still looked divine. He looked like home.

You loved him.

He placed his hands over yours as you slowly seated yourself onto his cock. You held hands while you endured the stretch of his cock. He was always so thick in the base that it took the wind out of you when it finally all fit. You neve suspected your husband having a problem with it fitting inside of you.

When you got comfortable, you let out a soft moan and he placed his hands on your hips. He started to roll them gently, nudging his cock into sensitive places that made your toes curl. A sharp sensation moved through your body as you started to move your hips.

It felt very good, it was tinged with pain but the more you endured it, the more pleasure that raced through your body. You held onto him as you bucked your hips to get every last inch of him inside of you. You wanted to feel your husband. You wanted to feel him deep inside of you the only way a husband and wife could.

He groaned and held onto you as you moved. You kept a hold of his shoulders as you laid on his chest to get a better angle of his cock inside of you.You felt amazing, the pleasure coursed through you as you rolled your hips. He leaned down and kissed you once more, his facial hai rubbed up against you.

Then he moved his hands and placed them on your ass so he could get as deep as possible inside you. You moaned loudly into the kiss and he gave your ass a quick smack. The sensation made you moan louder. His tongue slipped into your mouth and he explored up against your molars.

You pulled away to catch your breath, and he looked at you with nothing about admiration in his eyes. He was obsessed with you. He was so lucky to have you as his wife, to adore you. He wanted to make love to you all the time, the feeling of closeness between two people.

“Honey.” He said.

“Jean.” You replied before you took his face in your hands and started to kiss him once more. The bed creaked under you as the two of you continued to move your bodies up against one another. Your heart was racing as you made love to him. It was so simple yet it felt so right.

You loved Jean, it was as simple as that. You never wanted someone in your life so badly, but here he was despite everything. He was your husband at the end of the day. And you couldn't ask for anything more. As you kissed him over and over again, you felt a sense of euphoria. You rolled your hips quickly to meet with his pace and you felt the moans bubble in your throat.

“That's it, honey.” He moaned, “That's it, god. You're amazing. I love you so much.“

”I never want anyone else.“ You respond as you move your body against him. Your lips touched once more as you felt the curl of pleasure in your gut. You moaned into the kiss. It wasn't much longer now before you climaxed. You held onto him for dear life as you continued to passionately make out with him.

”Good, because I only want you.“ And you believed him. As your bodies moved together the feeling of climax became overwhelming. You held onto each other as you kissed once more. Your heart raced as you moved. You almost felt light headed with your lips feeling raw from all the kissing.

”Jean.”

“Don't worry, I got you.”

You clutched into him, you felt the rise of pleasure. It was becoming undeniable. You grit your teeth as he gazed at you. Your cunt tightened around him as you moved against him. You are tightened from the euphoria of sex with your husband. You could never imagine yourself like this with anyone else.

You were so devoted to him. He pulled you into one last kiss, he held onto your hips and quickly thrusted up into you. He groaned against you, his hot breath against your skin as he felt close to his own climax.

“You complete me.” He groaned as he quickened his pace. He held onto you tightly as he thrusted up into you. His cock hit against all your most sensitive areas and you felt the moans spill out of your mouth. There was no way to escape the feeling. He groaned as your nails dug into his skin. His face was flushed, he felt hot all over.

And with one more searing kiss. One last hot kiss, he finished inside you. And together you both climaxed. You clenched your thighs from the sensation of orgasm. The noise you made as you kissed was guttural and primal. It was hot.

When you pulled away you felt light headed as you panted wildly. And then with a heavy exhale you fell into his arms. He caught you and turned to his side to cuddle you. His cock slipped out of you and a bit of cum pooled at your inner thigh and eventually down onto the sheets. But neither of you minded, you were both wrapped in a soft embrace.

“You're perfect,” His thumb touched the bandage on your cheek, “No more taking in strays, okay?” he kissed the skin, “I need my wife to be safe.”

You chuckled softly, “With you, Jean, I'm always safe.”

#reader insert #dexlexia writes #anime x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirstein #jean x reader #jean x you #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtien

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missredherring · 4 months

Text

A Flower in February

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When he’s finished cleaning the scrapes on your face his thumb swipes tenderly over the curve of your chin once.

“I'll take care of it.”

Contents: Boston QZ!Joel. mugging. hand-to-hand violence. whump. wound cleaning.

A/N: This is a my Secret Valentine gift for @hoeruiner.

I hope you like this, Sarah! I tried to keep it in line with the info you gave.

Thank you @covetyou for reading over this. <3

You only notice the date because you glance at the calendar to check when your next shift is on your way out of work. The calendar is old and yellowed, from before when holidays were still celebrated as special occasions and not memories. The red of the “14” is faded too, but the color still draws your eye and sparks recognition in your brain.

February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Huh. It’s depressing that your plans haven’t changed after 20 years and an apocalypse: going home after work with a good chance of spending the night alone.

The ration cards stuffed in your jacket pocket cheer you up a little. Payday hasn’t changed either, and the ability to trade for questionably fresh groceries at the market tomorrow is something to look forward to. You head out into the dark streets of the QZ towards your apartment.

It’s fucking cold this time of year. The temperature barely rises even with a full day of sun, and it’s windy tonight too. There are piles of snow caught in the nooks and crannies of buildings and alleyways, radiating even more cold air. At least it isn’t tinged the same dirty gray-brown shade from before, with car exhaust and dirt kicked up by tires discoloring everything it touches. You’ll still find some of that on the main road, but not here in the backways that twist around the city.

A gust of wind blows through and goes right through the heaviest jacket you own, chilling you to the bone. You grit your teeth and hunker down, trying to cover as much exposed skin as you can. That’s the only way you see it: the flash of vibrant color so out of place in a city that only has faded colors available.

There, sticking through a chain link fence bordering what must have been a parking lot at some point but has grown over into a meadow, is a purple bloom of a flower. You take a few steps closer to get a better look. You’d crouch down, but with this cold seeping into your joints you might not be able to get back up, so you bend over awkwardly and try not to lock your knees.

It’s dark, but there’s just enough light from a streetlamp in the distance that you can make out the shape of the petals. They’re too sharp and close together to be a pansy, and facing up instead of down like a snowdrop, not to say anything of it being purple and not white. So… most likely a crocus, you think. Being able to identify the small bloom brings a happy feeling, with the bittersweet memory of when you had time to indulge in a frivolous activity like flower gardening. You could pick it and bring the spot of color into your apartment. It’s a happy thought that dies and quickly as the flower would.

“Idiot.”

It’s the only warning you get with the wind howling in your ears masking the shuffled steps behind you. They’re right: you’re an idiot for standing in an alley looking at a flower alone at night.

You aren’t the only one happy about payday.

At least they’re quick about it. You don’t know how many there are, but one grabs you from behind and another delivers a fast, brutal punch to your middle. While you heave and gasp they rifle through your pockets and take your ration cards. They give you a few more hits for good measure, and it’s not the blows to your face that does it; it’s the momentum with which they send your head smacking back into the brick wall that makes your vision swim and dim.

At first all you can make out is ratty shoes and pants with more holes than them, but then you force your eyes up up up when all they want to do is close and you catch glimpses of their faces in the same weak light that had bounced off the crocus and caught your attention. The QZ is a contained area with a small population, and they aren’t even wearing anything to cover their faces, just worn beanies tugged down low. You don’t know their names, but you recognize the faces of the group of thugs who like to crowd people at the market and intimidate them into giving up whatever they have to leave them alone. You still can’t hear them when they run away, the ringing in your ears is loud until you finally give in to it and pass out.

You don’t know how long it takes for your body to shake itself back to consciousness. Taking stock of your body as you get up is easy: everything hurts, but nothing hurts more than everything else. You don’t give the flower another look as you start to drag yourself home.

The wind is quiet now and you hear the heavy footsteps coming this time. Fear zips through you, freezing you in place; had they come back to take even more from you? But then your name is called out in a voice that makes your body start moving again. That voice means safety and warmth and you’re stumbling towards it on shaking legs until you crash into Joel Miller’s solid body.

He grunts as he absorbs your impact and his hands come up on your shoulders to keep you standing.

“What’re you still doing out here?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your teeth are chattering too much to get anything out. Great clouds of hot breath steam out of him as he jerks his head back towards your building.

“C’mon.”

Joel’s dark form is easy for your aching eyes to focus on. It’s a mindless act: following where he leads. Your feet could follow his lead in your sleep, so being cold, beaten up, and maybe concussed is no problem.

The lights are on in your apartment when you get in. You’re pretty sure everything had been off when you left, and wonder how long Joel had been here, waiting for you. You sit down at the kitchen table and close your eyes, safe in this room with him.

The sounds of Joel moving around the kitchen are nice. You play a little game, trying to ignore the throbbing, painful points on your body by guessing what he’s doing based on the sounds he’s making.

Water from the faucet filling the dented kettle and the clank of setting it on the burner. The click of the stove knobs as he turns it on. The creak of his weight on the floorboards as he waits for the water to boil. His hum at the creaking cabinet door when he reaches in for the bottle of alcohol he keeps there. The slosh of the bottle as he takes notice of how much has been emptied since he last poured himself a drink. If he asks, you can account for every swig you’ve taken on the nights when you want to dull your senses, on the nights when he’s not with you.

The noises are domestic and soothing, but the kettle’s whistle is like another blow to your temple and you can’t smother the noise of discomfort you make.

Joel’s footsteps pause, but then the noises of him pouring you a mug of the hot water continues and those footsteps continue until you can feel him in front of you.

You let yourself have the few extra seconds it takes for him to set the mug on the table before you force your eyes open and look at him.

He’s already frowning, suspicious about the entire situation, but he gets his confirmation when you have to tip your head back to make eye contact and your face is illuminated in the harsh overhead light.

His big hand is on your jaw before you can blink, but his grip gentles when you wince and he gently turns your face this way and that to see the extent of the damage. His eyes trail down your neck and across the stretched out neckline of your shirt, all the bare skin he can see, and his jaw rocks hard enough to capsize a boat on a turbulent ocean.

“What happened?”

There’s no getting out of this. The demand in his voice and the anger sparking in his eyes makes you feel warm for the first time that night. It stokes dark emotions, the ones you don’t like to dwell on too much, and the first thread of satisfaction unfurls in your belly. You know giving him names will mean bad things for those men, but you can’t find it in you to care. Maybe they knocked it out of you with their fists.

So you tell him, giving him the identifying features you remember. He’s quiet as he lets you talk uninterrupted, but the emotions that cross his face are enough to give you an idea of his thoughts. He snatches a clean washcloth from somewhere and wets it with the alcohol, the fumes curling into your nose when he presses it to your cheekbone.

His brows furrow when you mention the flower, and you’re thankful that you can use the firm press of the washcloth on scraped skin to camouflage the wince at the reminder of how unsuited you are for a world like this.

When he’s finished cleaning the scrapes on your face his thumb swipes tenderly over the curve of your chin once.

“I'll take care of it.”

You don't even have the urge to protest, to tell him he doesn't have to. You want him to take care of it, to take care of you. You want someone to care. And while it’s not bouquets of flowers and candies that melt in your mouth, the warmth from the mug is seeping into your hands and his touch wipes away the violence that clings to your skin. He’ll take that violence and return it tenfold, you know it.

His movements are filled with purpose and he only pauses with his hand on the door to give you a stern look.

“Lock up behind me.”

The next day is just like the one before it. Unable to do anything else without a fresh supply of ration cards, you go to work and try to ignore the pain that has settled in your body. You don’t even mind it that much, it’s nice to feel something else.

You’re not stupid though, so when your shift is over you make sure to leave from the front entrance when a few others are heading out as well. It’s a small group, but they scatter and go their separate ways, their steps quickening after they notice the figure leaning on the corner of the building. From that spot he’d be able to see both exits, and when he sees you he pushes off to stand tall, waiting. Your feet move on their own before you completely register the surprise of his presence, falling into place beside him and matching his uneven stride.

A nudge at your hand snaps you out of your whirling thoughts and makes you look down. His hands are always ruddy from the cold, but now dark purple joins the red and there’s a couple of places where the skin broke over the hard bone of his knuckles. The stack of ration cards trembles just once in his grip, maybe from the wind or a movement of his muscles, but you take it from him and stare down at it. There, tucked into the string securing the cards together, is the crocus blossom. A droplet of moisture that had clung to the snapped stem transfers to your fingertip when you touch it. He must’ve done it while he was waiting.

“Thank you, Joel.”

Joel is watching you when you look up from the cards. His dark eyes are calm, his jaw moving as he takes in your expression. He chews on the sentiment he sees there as if working it over will make it more palatable, something easier to swallow, and you hope he doesn’t spit it out.

#Joel Miller x F!Reader #Joel Miller x Female Reader #x Reader #Joel Miller fanfiction #Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction #SpaceSistersSecretValentine

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milkb0nny · 8 months

Note

If you write for Jing Yuan, can I request angst with him being in love with Yanqing's biological mother (Reader) but she died asking him to take care of him? If this isn't up your alley or violates any of your boundaries please feel free to delete!

××× my shooting star ×××

Jing Yuan x fem!reader

Note: Thank you so much for this request! It was a very interesting and saddening experience. I hope I met your expectations. Have a lovely day and feed yourself with some wholesome content as well. 🤎

The night was quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon and the occasional twinkle of distant stars. Jing Yuan stood before your grave, his heart heavy with grief, even after a year had passed since the death of his beloved. Even though he loved you more than anyone else, he struggled to visit your grave. Your death haunts him, as he wished to see your smile one more time. The times he approached your grave, covered in flowers, it was a clear night. He raised his eyes to the lonely night-sky, watching as shooting stars streaked across the heavens, each one a painful reminder of the love he had lost. Each one a reminder he had to take care of your beloved son.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "My shooting star, my dearest sweetheart, my darling. How I miss you."

The memories of you were still vivid in his mind – the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the way you had filled his life with light and love. You had been his confidante, his anchor, and the love of his life. Never did he thought to lose you one day. Tears dwelled up in his honey colored eyes, a hurting smile crept over his lips and his shoulders hung low. He never wanted you to be apart from his side, he desired you every day. He prayed, he screamed, he cried so much, only for a last kiss.

A year had passed, but the pain remained as raw as ever. He had made a promise to you on your very own deathbed, a promise to care for your dear son, Yanqing. The young boy, with his mother's eyes and your cheerful spirit, was a constant reminder of the love he had lost. Regardless Jing Yuan loved Yanqing, he always did. There was no moment where he cursed him or accused him of reminding him of his loss. Jing Yuan was mature enough to use that negative energy and turn it into anticipation. The general wanted to make Yanqing stronger, so at least the young boy would never leave Jing Yuan’s side.

Jing Yuan had taken Yanqing under his wing, teaching him the ways of the world and the art of fighting, just as he had promised. He loved the boy as if he were his own, and Yanqing had become like a son to him. But despite the joy that the boy brought into his life, the pain of losing his lover was a wound that refused to heal. After all, Yanqing often visited Jing Yuan, expressing how he also suffered from his mothers death. Both men loved you: one as a strong, confident mother, the other as a beautiful, faithful wife.

Tears ran down, down Jing Yuan's soft skin, as he continued to watch the shooting stars. One after another, all of them being a potential wish for you to come back. Each of them harbored the hope to wake up and see you. Jing Yuan missed the mornings where he woke you up with caressing your arms and kissing you. He missed the evenings you three strolled through the market. He finally knelt beside her grave, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The pain this man owned ate his soul day by day.

“I can't help but wonder… why you had to leave me so soon, darling. I feel so lost without you. I can’t, I really can’t. You were my little fragile flower and I tried so… so hard to protect you. I still love you. I love you so much that my heart’s been hurting, bleeding and wanting to join you. My love…”

Jing Yuan traced a finger over the engraved words on the gravestone, as if seeking solace in the cold stone. Your name was written there but it had already withered with time. The rest of your tombstone was covered in blue and white flowers that Yanqing had always brought to you. Your son, your partner cared for you but handled it their very own ways.

“But, sweetheart, I will keep my promise," he vowed. "I will always care for Yanqing, just as you asked. I will make sure he grows up strong and wise, just like his mother. He is such a good kid, so strong to deal with your death." He cried out loud, sniffling and wiping away his tears. There were rare occasions where the grown up man sobbed, but when it was about you he never refused to bawl his eyes out. Where were you?

As he gazed up at the sky once more, another shooting star streaked across the heavens, as if in response to his words. Jing Yuan took it as a sign, a message from his beloved, reassuring him that you were watching over him from the stars above. Oh, what bright shooting star you were this cold night.

With a heavy heart, he stood up again, kissing a flower, then wiping away his tears. "I will carry your love in my heart always," he whispered, his voice cracking and breaking apart like shattered glass. "And I will find the strength to continue on, for you, for Yanqing, and for our love."

With one last lingering gaze at the night sky, he turned around, his back facing your grave, and walked away. His steps heavy but determined, as he faced another day without his beloved by his side. Before entering the front door of his residence, he looked up, to the brightest shooting star that caressed the sky this night. Naturally he smiled at that.

“My shooting star. I love you.”

After saying these words, he opened the door to find Yanqing sleeping on a chair. He always waited for Jing Yuan to show up before he head to bed. To Jing Yuan, he treasured it deeply. He softly woke his apprentice up. Tired eyes met the reddened eyes of Jing Yuan, though the younger one didn’t question why he had cried. He knew, they both knew well enough.

#jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hrs jing yuan #hrs x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #Hrs Jing Yuan x Reader #star rail

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appocalipse · 4 months

Note

how about cracked compass + antique lock and key set with eddie munson? hear me out, but i'm thinking a historical AU and they're both servants at the same house/manor/castle (thinking kinda downton abbey energy with the servants drama). maybe she's carrying a tray or something and spills it everywhere (idk maybe it's food, maybe its something tiny like a jar of beads) and eddie swoops in and takes the fall so that she doesn't get sacked (because he's been working there a lot longer) makes up some story about how it was his fault and stuff. yup, that'd be the moment you fell stupidly hard for him... imagine all of the pinning? the staring at him when he's not looking? AH!

lea, you have such a beautiful mind 🥺♥ i tried my best but unfortunately, i've never watched downton abbey, so it's probably not exactly what you wanted :( hope you'll still enjoy it anyway, thanks for the lovely request 💗 | 4.3k words

visit amy's flea market ♥

The vase goes clattering to the floor and you watch with a desperate and frenzied heart as it hits the stone and...shatters instantly.

In a mix of dismay and panic, you reach to the floor where the delicate craftwork is broken into countless jagged and shattered pieces along the smooth white tile. Upon attempting to save the poor vase, you accidently slash your palm open on one of the sharp corners, and though the wound gushes blood, you don't seem to care. You think maybe if you gather all of the pieces and put them back together in their proper place, it may still be fixed, may still be saved, if you—

"Have you- Christ! Sweetheart, what...what happened?"

Startled, you look up to find Eddie running down the long and winding stairway, his chest rising and falling as if he'd just run a mile. He quickly makes his way over to you, crouching down on the floor, his dark eyes scanning your body for any signs of injury.

"Are you hurt? Oh God, there's blood," he breathes, and before you can reply, he's reaching out to take your wounded hand in his and inspect it closer.

The feel of his fingers against your skin sends a tingling sensation up your spine, but you shake the feeling away and focus on explaining yourself. "I...I was just passing by and...I tried to grab it, but it fell, and—I didn't mean for it to—"

"Hey, hey, shh, it's alright," Eddie murmurs, and without hesitation, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clean handkerchief. He wraps it around your bleeding hand and ties it tight, his movements gentle and careful. "I'll talk to Mr. Harrington about it, okay? It's not your fault."

"I—no. It was all me. Don't...you shouldn't get involved, you'll end up getting in trouble too."

Eddie smiles softly, his dark eyes sparkling as he looks up at you. "You're sweet, but...it's okay. I've been a servant here for a longer time. I know how to deal with this. You don't need to worry, okay?"

Unable to form words, you stare at Eddie and wonder why he's being so kind to you. It's true that the two of you have grown close over the past few years—close enough that you'd even consider him your friend—but still...this isn't his fault, and he shouldn't feel the need to take the blame for you.

"Eddie, I—"

He blushes and drops his gaze, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. "Go clean up, okay? I'll handle it."

And with that, Eddie carefully picks up the broken shards of the vase and disappears down the hall.

For the next days, you can't seem to stop thinking about what happened. The guilt eats away at your insides, twisting and turning until you feel physically sick. Eddie had taken the punishment for you, from what you've heard — a severe deduction from his pay and the threat of getting fired, along with extra cleaning duties.

You had tried to protest, to tell Mr. Harrington that it was truly an accident and that you could handle the consequences yourself, but Eddie wouldn't let you. He'd taken on everything, saying that the vase had slipped off the pedestal as he was cleaning it, and that he'd been the clumsy and careless one, leaving you in the clear.

You hated it.

It was the reason you couldn't seem to sleep, couldn't seem to eat or even breathe. Every waking moment was haunted by the memory of his soft and understanding voice, the warmth of his fingers against your own, the smell of his hair lingering in the air long after he'd gone, like a ghost haunting your thoughts and—

"God, sweetheart, you look terrible," Eddie says one day as you make your way through the castle corridors. "When was the last time you had a good night of sleep, huh?"

You blush, self-consciously touching your hair and wishing you looked even a fraction better than you did. "I-I'll pay you back, you know. I promise."

Eddie frowns, tilting his head in confusion. "Pay me back?"

"For...for taking the punishment for me. I'll do double my duties, and with the extra payment—"

"Woah, wait...you want to do extra work so you can...give it to me? What? That doesn't even make any sense. I didn't take the punishment so you'd repay me for it, you know."

"But it was my fault," you argue. "And it's only right that I—"

"How's your hand?"

"I don't...what?"

Blinking in confusion, you look down to where your hand is neatly wrapped in gauze. You had accidently re-opened the wound a few days back while running some errands for your lady, but it had mostly healed by now, though it would surely scar.

"Is it feeling better? That was a nasty cut," Eddie asks, moving closer so he can reach out and inspect your palm. He takes your hand carefully, as if you're made of glass, gingerly unwrapping the bandage and scanning the sensitive skin with his eyes. His touch sends an electric buzz under your skin, a longing unfurling in your belly that you force yourself to ignore.

"Oh, uhm, yes. I'm fine," you reply, trying to calm the sudden rush of heat that's flooded your cheeks. "But—Eddie, please. If you won't take the extra payment, then please, just let me do some of your chores or—"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Why would you not?!"

Eddie laughs, shaking his head and giving you a crooked smile. "Sweetheart, I told you—I did what I did because I wanted to. Because I'm your friend and...I like seeing you happy. Seeing you upset over this whole thing is worse than a month's worth of cleaning duties, honestly."

You frown, biting the inside of your cheek and staring down at the polished tile beneath your feet. "Still, it doesn't feel right, you taking the blame and...punishment for me. I can't stand the thought of you getting in trouble because of something I did, especially when it's...it's not your fault, and you shouldn't have to—"

"I don't think of it as punishment."

"You don't?"

You look up, watching as Eddie's chocolate eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light of the candle-lit hallway. "I've been here longer than you. It would've been much worse if you'd taken the fall."

Eddie's fingers are gentle and warm against your own, his calloused hands brushing over your palm with a feather-light touch. You watch as he carefully wraps the gauze around the wound again, his brows furrowed in concentration as he secures the fabric tightly.

"I think you're being too kind to me," you murmur, feeling your heart race as he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I don't deserve it."

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head and stepping back with a sigh. "What if I have an ulterior motive?"

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. "Ulterior motive?"

"Mhm. What if I'm only doing it so you'll see how good I am and fall madly in love with me? Hmm?"

You blush, unable to form words as Eddie grins mischievously. "I—you—what?"

"Kidding, sweetheart, I'm kidding," Eddie says with a chuckle, reaching out to gently pat your head. "I'm just trying to make you smile, that's all."

"Well, you're very good at it."

"You think so?"

"Yes," you breathe, surprised by the sudden sincerity in your voice. "I'm glad we're friends, Eddie."

"Me too, sweetheart."

After that night, you couldn't seem to get those stupid words out of your head.

Eddie had been joking, of course. The two of you were close, but he didn't have feelings for you. Of course not. Not like that. How could he? How could someone as sweet and handsome and wonderful as him like you of all people, when there were so many other girls who were prettier, with more money and manners than you could ever hope to achieve?

You sigh and return your focus to where you're meant to be helping your lady get dressed, dutifully lacing the ties of her corset and giving them a good tug.

You know that he'd meant it in good fun. Know that he had most likely forgotten about it as soon as he'd said it—but for whatever reason, you can't seem to.

It's so annoying.

You love Eddie. He is your friend, of course. And while you both had never broached any territory close to a romantic relationship, you aren't stupid or blind. You aren't oblivious enough to the way his dark eyes seem to linger on you for a little too long. To how he holds the door open and gently touches the small of your back whenever the two of you are walking through the castle or descending the grand staircase.

God, you could go on and on and on about him.

"Miss, you seem rather distracted," your lady remarks, causing you to flush with embarrassment. "Did you tie my corset too tight, by chance?"

"Oh—I'm sorry, my lady," you reply, shaking yourself from your thoughts and adjusting the laces once more. "There—how is that?"

"Much better."

After helping her into her dress and pinning her hair into place, you follow her out of her chambers and down the corridor to the grand staircase, where a few other servants are already waiting for her. Tonight you and most of the other servants will finally have some time to yourselves — the family you serve is going to be attending a lavish dinner party with many other high-class members of society.

They're going to be gone for most of the night, and though usually you'd look forward to this sort of thing, you can't seem to muster the same excitement as usual.

You just aren't...feeling it tonight.

You sigh and make your way down the stairs, where the front doors have just opened and your lady and her husband are now heading out to their carriages. Once they're all gone, the rest of the servants will enjoy their rare free time as well, either staying in their quarters or heading into the town. Maybe that's what you should do, you think; go into town and distract yourself from your confusing thoughts about a certain valet, now that you have the luxury of time on your hands and no expectations of anyone.

"Miss, you seem a little flushed. Are you feeling well?" Eddie asks mischievously, stepping up behind you and reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of your neck. "You don't have a fever, do you?"

You jump, startled by the sudden touch and turning to look up at Eddie with a huff. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death."

"Oh, did I?" Eddie asks, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a crooked grin. "Sorry about that."

You roll your eyes and try to suppress the sudden butterflies in your stomach. God, how could you have let yourself fall for someone like him, anyway? He'll be the death of you.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Oh, er...no," you murmur, suddenly feeling very flustered. "I was just lost in thought. I suppose you're also staying?"

"Staying?"

"Here."

Eddie makes a confused face, tilting his head in an adorable expression of perplexity. "Where would I go?"

You frown. It seems unlike Eddie to not find some sort of adventure in the rare and little free time you're given; he's always the first one eager to ride out to town and spend a free evening gambling and drinking with his friends, but this time, he doesn't seem eager to go anywhere at all.

"You...don't want to head into town with the others?" you ask, unsure of whether or not you're prying too much. "I heard the pubs are having a sale on ale and—"

Eddie sighs, running a hand through his curly dark locks and shrugging his shoulders. "Eh. I'm not in the mood, I guess."

You tilt your head, intrigued by his sudden change in behavior. Usually, he's the life of the party, the one who brings a room together with his energy and humor, but now, he seems almost...dejected.

"Eddie, is everything alright? Did something—"

"Fine," he replies a little too quickly, his voice sounding strained. He gives you a forced smile and reaches out to gently touch your shoulder. "Just tired, that's all."

You frown, unconvinced. "If there's something bothering you, you can always—"

"Sweetheart, don't worry, okay?" Eddie murmurs, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim light of the entrance hall. He leans closer, his fingers gently grazing over your cheek, and for a moment, your breath catches in your throat. "Promise."

Before you can say anything else, he's turning on his heel and heading towards the back staircase, his valet uniform swishing behind him as he goes.

You blink, your fingers lightly touching where his hand had been moments before. The sudden brush of his skin had sent electric shocks throughout your body, a heat building up inside your belly that you can't seem to get rid of.

"Excuse me," one of the maids whispers as she walks by, startling you from your trance. "I need to clear this hallway."

"Oh, um...sorry," you reply, flustered. "I'll get out of the way."

By the time you reach the servants quarters, most of the staff that had received permission to go out has already left. Most of the doors are closed, and the sound of chatter and footsteps and laughter fades out into the distance as you head towards your bedroom and gently shut the door behind you.

Your share your room with three other girls, but none of them are anywhere to be seen now.

Thank God.

You sigh, the dull roar of your thoughts finally starting to quiet down as you sit at your small desk and lean your head against the back of the chair.

You can't stop thinking about what had just happened.

Can't stop thinking about the sudden flirtatious behavior and the way Eddie had brushed his fingers against your cheek with a gentleness that made your knees buckle.

With a long, exhausted sigh, you rise to your feet and slowly start to unpin your hair from its tight bun. You replace your uniform with a simple cotton dress, comfortable enough for a night of light reading and...

A knock at your door jolts you from your thoughts.

"Hey, uh...sweetheart?"

You pause, blinking in confusion and taking a few tentative steps towards the door. "Eddie?"

It can't be.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Is something wrong?"

Eddie chuckles softly on the other side of the door, his voice sounding muffled by the heavy oak. "No, nothing's wrong. I, um...I found a jar of wine in the pantry that Mr. Harrington doesn't know about. Thought you might wanna join me?"

You bite your lip, a wave of nerves rushing through your body as you slowly reach out for the door handle. He shouldn't be here and you definitely shouldn't open the door.

But some things are easier said than done.

You carefully turn the knob and pull it back.

He looks downright sinful, his valet uniform unbuttoned at the collar, a few loose strands of hair falling over his forehead, dark eyes sparkling mischievously in the dim light of the hallway.

He holds the jar in his hand, the liquid sloshing around inside and giving off a slight spicy aroma that you can almost already taste on your tongue.

Male servants like Eddie are strictly forbidden from coming anywhere near the women's quarters, and if someone were to find you, it would be a hell of a lot of trouble for both of you.

"I—are you insane?" you whisper, unsure of whether to shut the door in his face or let him in. "If the housekeeper—"

"Come on, sweetheart, live a little. It'll be fun," Eddie murmurs, stepping closer and leaning forward so his face is level with yours. "Trust me."

You stare at him for a few more tense moments, your heart racing and your palms sweaty against the cool brass handle of the door.

Finally, you swallow thickly and step back, making room for Eddie to come inside.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you shut the door quickly and lean back against it, waiting for the sound of footsteps or yelling or anything that would indicate the presence of another servant or staff member.

"Chill, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs with a smirk, carefully opening the window a crack and lighting a match to ignite a few candles. "Nobody's gonna come looking for us. Everyone's gone."

"Mrs. Byers is not, no," you argue, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff. Most of the time, you like the housekeeper; she is the closest thing to a motherly figure in your life right now. But she's also incredibly strict when it comes to rules. "She's probably somewhere lurking, as always."

Eddie chuckles softly, winking playfully in your direction. "Well, then we'll have to keep it down."

"Oh, for God's sake. Just open it already."

Carefully, Eddie pries the cork off the jar of wine and takes a swig, a grin playing on his lips. He takes a few steps towards you, holding the bottle out for you to take.

"Want some?"

"It's bad for your liver."

"Everything in life is bad for your liver," Eddie replies, tilting his head to the side. "C'mon, sweetheart. It's good."

You glance down at the bottle, taking in the sweet scent of dark cherries and spices, the bright purple liquid swirling around inside like a whirlpool.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against Eddie's as you take the jar and lift it to your lips, taking a sip.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's sweet and tart and spicy and rich, all at the same time, with an intense burst of flavor on your tongue that you never thought possible.

Feeling your skin warm, you hand the jar back to Eddie and watch as he drinks deeply, his eyes sparkling in the soft glow of the candlelight.

"Are you sure no one will miss this?" you ask, glancing down at the bottle and wondering how expensive it might've been. "What if Mr. Harrington finds out?"

"He won't. Not if we don't make too much of a fuss," Eddie replies, his voice growing softer. "I bet nobody's even thought to look for it. And besides, he wouldn't know it was us anyway."

You cross your arms, raising a challenging brow as you sit on the edge of your bed. "How can you be so sure?"

"There's plenty of wine in the cellar," Eddie counters with a grin, putting his hands up as if he's surrendering. "I didn't steal all his wine. I merely took one that was already there."

"Don't take anymore."

"No promises."

"Eddie."

"Sweetheart."

The nickname sends a rush of heat to your cheeks and you shake your head, fighting a smile as you smooth the fabric of your dress.

He takes a swig of the wine, never taking his eyes off you, and leans back against the wall, the familiar scent of him drifting towards you like a wave of summer air.

"It's good, isn't it?" Eddie asks, cocking his head to the side. "And you're, ah...you're really pretty tonight."

You roll your eyes and try not to look too affected, pushing the stupid fluttery feelings back down into your stomach and stomping them out like tiny little sparks. "Are you already drunk?" you ask, chuckling.

"Pfft, no."

"Then why are you suddenly talking nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense," Eddie protests, his ears turning red. He shakes his head and moves closer, setting the wine jar down on the desk and rubbing the back of his neck. "I think you're...really great, sweetheart. Really amazing. In every single way."

"Uh-huh, sure."

You look away, pretending to be interested in something else so that Eddie doesn't have a chance to read the emotions on your face and pick up on all of the pent-up love for him you've stored inside for the last months — love that is, you've decided, better off locked up tightly in the chest in the corner and never spoken aloud.

He looks different in the soft and sultry orange glow of the low-burning candle, though — his curls illuminated by the light, his dark eyes sparkling, his soft lips curved into a gentle smile.

"Hey."

Eddie sits down beside you, and the heat of his body radiates outward and dances across your skin like the waves of a flickering flame.

He smells clean and warm and fragrant, like soap and fresh laundry.

You lean closer, looking up at him through your lashes and watching as he nervously wrings his hands together.

"You know," Eddie murmurs, smiling gently. "You make my life a lot more interesting than it used to be."

"Are you suggesting I cause you a lot of trouble, then?"

"Not at all," he replies, laughing softly and looking back up at you, his expression softening. "More like...just makes me wanna keep coming back to you, over and over. Even when I don't have to. And especially when I need someone to talk to."

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you let his words sink in. "Is that why you're here right now? To talk?"

He blinks, his tongue swiping out over his lower lip as his gaze drops to your mouth. "Are you drunk, by any chance, sweetheart? Be honest."

"Why would you—"

"Because I'm about to kiss you, and I want you to be sober."

His words come out breathless, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as your lips part in surprise.

"I am...not drunk," you reply, holding his gaze and leaning closer, your hands tingling from his sudden proximity. "I'm entirely in my right mind. Definitely."

He grins crookedly. "Really?"

"Really."

"So, if I did..."

Eddie's voice trails off as he inches forward, his eyes lidding slightly as he moves closer and closer and...

He stops, his nose inches from yours, and the tips of his long fingers gently brush over your chin, lifting your face up to meet his. "This okay?"

"Yes," you manage, your voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Good."

His lips are soft when they finally brush against yours, gentle and warm and inviting, and you inhale sharply, feeling yourself go weak in the knees.

He tastes like spice and cherry, and you reach out to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, your head spinning as he kisses you back with equal fervor, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck to keep you steady.

You gasp softly, his teeth grazing over your lip and sending a shock of electricity through your core, and you reach out, your fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as you hold onto him for dear life.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, panting softly as he finally pulls away. "God, that was good."

"It was," you whisper, looking up at him and biting your lip. "Worth the wait."

"Wait, what?" Eddie asks, raising a brow.

You blink, realizing you'd said that last part out loud and instantly wanting to crawl under the bed and die. "Uhm...nothing."

"Oh, please," he murmurs, smirking. "Tell me more. Did you have to wait a long time for this to happen, sweetheart? Hmm?"

"Absolutely not," you reply a little too quickly. "Forget I said anything."

"Nope, not letting you get away with that. What are you trying to hide, huh? How long have you been harboring secret feelings for me?"

"You're ridiculous."

"Am I?"

You lean back, your body screaming in protest as Eddie gently pushes you back onto the pillows and straddles your hips. He's heavier than you realized, and his fingers are calloused from years of work, but the mere thought of him touching you sends goosebumps up and down your arms and legs.

"Do you like me?" he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck and sending sparks down your spine. "Hmm?"

"Eddie, we—"

"Please, just...just tell me. At least let me hear you say it."

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours as he waits for you to answer. Your heart is racing, blood rushing through your ears and making you lightheaded and dizzy.

"I...no," you whisper, grinning when he raises a brow and scoffs. "Fine. Maybe. Only a little bit."

"Liar."

"Okay. More than a little bit. Maybe...maybe, I even love you, alright? Jesus. There, I said it."

Eddie's jaw drops, his pupils blown wide. "What, seriously?"

"Oh, alright, get off of me. I'm done with you."

"Hey, no, wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry," he breathes, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms above your head. "Don't—don't go anywhere."

"Eddie."

"Shh."

He chuckles, his warm breath fanning over your lips and making you weak in the knees. "What?" you rasp, struggling against his grip, stubborn in your attempts to stay mad.

"You love me, hm?" he muses, smiling brightly and making your heart skip a beat.

"I take it back."

"You're not allowed to," he breathes, his mouth barely an inch away from yours. "That's not how it works, sweetheart. Sorry."

"You're very annoying."

"And you're very pretty when you're frustrated," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours. "I...love you too, in case you didn't know."

"You what?"

"Love you," he repeats, his cheeks flushing pink. "Madly. Desperately. Quite embarrassingly, in fact, sweetheart."

You blink, your breath catching in your throat. "Really?

"Really," Eddie breathes, kissing you softly once more. "Shoulda kissed you the second I met you. Wish I had."

"Well," you murmur. "I suppose you'll just have to make up for lost time, won't you?"

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie x you #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #amy's flea market #🏷️ amy's flea market

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sunflowersandforgetmenots · 3 months

Note

Congratulations on your engagement!! I was thinking that Kassandra and 8 would be an interesting fic :) Don’t feel like you have to write one though if it doesn’t float your boat!

Thank you so much! I'm very excited! I might post updates on how things are going when we get further in the engagement! Also CONGRATS ON BEING MY FIRST ASK BACK LET'S GOOOOOOO!!!

Summary: In a world where the gods blessed mortals with the ability to find their soulmates through matching wounds and scars, Kassandra has always felt immense guilt for her bloody job.

Pairing: Kassandra x Reader

Genre: Soulmate; No Smut

Potential TW: Blood, wounds, scarring, intentional scarring of a soulmate

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Kassandra never noticed the small cuts and bruises on her body. She was a mercenary, a life of injuries great and small was something she would always be used to. So when papercuts and bruises on the hips and shins appeared, she never took notice, never really wondered which ones were from her soulmate. Some who asked found that selfish, that she never worried over which of the injuries weren’t hers, that her soulmate was out there in pain and she had little care.

But they never saw the big picture.

Kassandra never cared about which ones were her soulmate’s, not because she was selfish, but because she hated that every injury that was hers appeared on whoever was her destined. Did she lie awake scared some nights, worried that the medium sized wound in her leg was actually much larger on Kassandra? Did she trace her fingers over scars that branded Kassandra, hating that they marred her skin just as much? It made her ache, deep in her soul, that she was causing pain and injury. Yet she couldn’t stop. Fighting was in her bones, carried over from the darkness of that spartan night on the mountain. It was her living. She had lives to support. Surely, hopefully, because her soulmate’s wounds never hurt her when they appeared, her own simply marked the skin, never harming the softness that she was surely destroying.

Then, she learned the truth. In the market, a hot summer evening on the docks of Kephallonia, Kassandra watched as a woman bent in half, screaming in pain as her soulmate carved his name over and over into her arm. It wasn’t uncommon, branding your own skin with marks to ensure that you would find each other, but most people just do a small scar. A burn somewhere. A scar through the eyebrow. Something lasting that wouldn’t hurt much, but be noticable. Later, the woman praised the gods for her husband’s foresight, but the image of that woman, terrified and crying out in pain as the blood dripped down her arm onto the wooden docks stayed with Kassandra, haunting her nights and her mornings.

Now, the worries became nightmares. A woman, beautiful as the morning sun, gentle as the midnight moon, screaming and sobbing in pain as a spear wound appeared in her side. Claw marks raking down her face. Her eye bleeding as Kassandra’s own was impaled. Such extremes would never happen, the mercenary tried to remind herself, the gods had made it so your destined would never suffer that much from the injuries you face. And still, the dreams would haunt her.

So she learned. Dodging became her speciality, arrows barely grazed her now, she could catch thrown spears with ease. Eventually, the wounds on her body became more bruises, something she came to live with, though Kassandra desired not a single spot on her future love’s body, no more. Now, their lives could be spent without pain, and only laughter and passion.

Then, one night on the Adrestia as they sailed past Athens, Kassandra was woken up with a tearing pain across her upper left bicep, trailing down to her wrist in a slow, meticulous motion. She sat up with a startled cry, half expecting some wild creature set upon her by a rival or the Cult to be attacking her. A dagger flashes in the moonlight, swinging wildly for a second only to be met with air and the silence of the sea night. Barnabas wakes with her, shouting in response for the rest of the crew. Only a few stir, used to the nightmares of their crewmates after what they’ve seen after following her across the Greek world.

“Barnabas? There’s nothing…” She pants, her hair messy from her restless sleep.

“Aye, there’s nothing Captain.” Her first mate says, rising to his feet to come to her aide. “You were the one who woke me up- By the Gods! Your arm!”

She looks down, eyes widening as her arm shone with blood, dark and messy in a way that she’s used to after a fight with a wild beast. And then the pain hits her. It’s nothing she’s not used to, but the absence of any attacker aboard her ships grounds her in a reality more painful than most anything she’s ever experienced.

“No… this isn’t my injury to bear.” Kassandra croaks out, voice hoarse. “She’s been hurt.” And verbalizing that, even to a silent, concerned Barnabas and barely awake Herodotos, is easily the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

—------------------------------------

It was months later that Kassandra finally realized what happened to her soulmate that fateful night. It had taken Barnabas a week to convince Kassandra that searching every town in Greece would take much longer than they had time for and that her soulmate wasn’t dead because of the bruises and calluses on her fingers left by a weaver’s work. So, she just kept an eye out for any woman with the same deep scars tracing down the muscle of her arm.

And she found her.

A beautiful maiden, laughing with a customer at her simple booth in an Argos market, a laugh that Kassandra could swear she’s heard in her dreams, and she had the same scar carving into her skin. Left bicep, all the way down her wrist. A part of her felt pain over it. The real thing, right there, something that caused someone so lovely so much pain, was the only reason she knew it was her.

The maiden turned, ready to greet Kassandra as a new customer, then stopped, staring at her face with a very clear look of awe. Before she could stop herself, Kassandra reached out, touching the very end of the jagged mark.

“Tell me… I’ve wondered so long, how did you come to bear this pain?”

At first, the woman who Kassandra loved before this day looked embarrassed, then, recognition. Her own eyes trailed over the mercenary’s left arm, shock and relief gathering in dazzling eyes as she matches their scar together.

“You’ll be so infuriated with me.” She mumbled. Kassandra nearly burst into laughter. She had caused her so much pain before, such a scare would never make her angry. Not if it came from her. “But I tripped down a hill.”

The laugh that Kassandra was holding back ripped out of her. What a woman.

#Soulmate trope #Kassandra x reader #kassandra of sparta x reader #x reader #My Writing #Kassandra #Kassandra of Sparta

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ghostlychief · 1 year

Note

Hiii!! Just before I request- your Ghost fics are all so damn great :'))) youre suuuper good at writing!!

Could I please get a fem! Reader who isnt part of 141, but another taskforce, and happens to spot Ghost getting shot by a bullet from afar, so she decides to save the him by killing all the enemies (with gun, knife or martial arts, whatevs ya want, maybe all) and taking Ghost to her home and treats his wounds cause she is also a medic and Ghost just quietly falls in love with a stranger who just saved him?

Sorry if its not understandable, english isnt my first language :(

You can ignore it but have a good day ^^

omg thank you sm for reading my other ghost fics!!! <3333 first of all, your english is GREAT. there is no need to apologize sweetie. i threw together this fic for you, hope you enjoy <3

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

wc: 1.3k+

warnings: none, just mentions of bullet injuries, but nothing graphic; fluff

You’ve only met the guy once, and yet, you’re standing over him while he lays shirtless on your couch.

Of course, you weren’t planning on having anyone over tonight, no. You thought you would get home from your mission, albeit a bit bruised and sore. You were going to take a nice hot bath and let the steam melt away your worries. You had your self-care night all planned out. That was, until this morning when your team aka Task Force Cobra, got informed that you were paired up with Task force 141. It was to be a matrix job, something you weren’t overly used to.

Nonetheless, each group gathered in the conference room to debrief. This was your first time meeting the aforementioned 141 squad. They weren’t as intimidating as you thought, although maybe it was because you were also a skilled marksman. Nevertheless, you introduced yourselves and got the formalities out of the way before you got into the nitty gritty of today’s mission.

However, one of the 141 members caught your eye. Goes by the name Ghost. He was one of the taller ones, and you could only see his eyes. Everything else was left to the imagination.

You quickly rid your thoughts of the man, needing to focus on what you were assigned to do. You drew your attention back to Price and Diablo, who was your supervisor for Cobra.

“Cobra’s task is to run recon. We’ll go in first unsuspected and gather as much intel as needed. Then, 141 will come in.”

You mentally groan. You personally didn’t like recon because it usually didn’t result in a lot of action, and action is what you were trained for. You had a black belt in martial arts after all, and you were pretty adept with a knife.

Though, you kept your dissatisfaction to yourself and listened to the rest of the briefing.

Nothing exciting happened during recon. In order to gather intel, Cobra tried to look like normal civilians in the market area; all your weapons were concealed. You spotted a few of the hitmen you were after, and radioed 141. The hitmen you were after are part of a drug trafficking group called the Ludin cartel. You really were after the king pins, but you had to start somewhere.

Once you sent the signal, 141 started infiltrating the area and the civilians quickly scattered when they saw men with heavy weaponry storming through the market.

By now, you were in the outskirts of the market, but you could still see the commotion happening within. You may have just seen Ghost get shot. Wait what?

You did a double take and sure enough, Ghost has a red stain on his pant leg. Fuck.

You know you need to get to him as soon as he can so he won’t bleed out, but there’s still Ludin men surrounding him.

Well, fuck me.

You took a breath then started to make your way over to Ghost. Your movements were swift and sharp as you cut through Ludin’s men, every once in awhile your knife made contact with someone’s skin, leaving a big gash wherever the blade reached.

Once the hitmen were taken care of, you were left with the sight of Ghost passed out on the ground. You radioed Cobra and 141, “Ghost’s down. I repeat, Ghost’s down.”

You heard a chopper in the distance.

The last thing Ghost remembers is faintly seeing someone take down nearly every Ludin man that was surrounding him; he doesn’t remember much after that. Now, he’s awake but his surrounding is unfamiliar to him.

He also feels a chill, and that’s when he looks down and notices his shirt is off, but there’s also a thick white bandage covering the loser half of his torso.

What the fuck happened?

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A sweet voice cuts through the air, and he looks up to find a woman standing over him. Your face is soft, your features show compassion, tenderness, and he doesn’t feel on guard like he usually does when he wakes up in an unfamiliar place.

Maybe it’s the daze of waking up with two bullet holes in your body, maybe it’s because of you. Whichever, he can’t find himself to tear his eyes away from your sweet face. It’s been so long that you even say, “Are you alright? Can you hear me okay?”

He mentally shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. Just wasn’t sure where I was for a moment. You’re y/n right, from Cobra?”

You give him a slight nod with a smile that tugs at the corner of your lips. He finds himself looking there, at the plush color that coats them, but quickly averts his gaze so he doesn’t seem like a creep.

“Yeah, you got banged up pretty bad. Two bullets. One in your thigh, the other grazed your abdomen.”

Jesus.

“Why am I here in this house?” His tone is only curious, wondering why he isn’t in the med house back at base.

“This is one of my safe houses, and it just so happened to be the closest to the raid. Both teams agreed for me to take you back here. Along with being a skilled martial artist, I also happen to be a medic.”

Your sweet smile turns into a smirk while confidence coats your face, and Ghost finds this extremely attractive.

He once again can’t tear his eyes from you.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You keep staring.”

Fuck me.

He stutters out the first bit of his response, “I’m fine, sorry. Just have a headache, but also it doesn’t help that I’m laying here shirtless with a beautiful, yet terrifying martial artist turned medic.”

You let out a laugh that makes his heart glow. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’ve literally only met this woman once.

“No worries, Lieutenant. Patients are usually a little discombobulated after being injured.”

You smile at him again, “This is a judgment free zone.”

Ghost nods, feeling a little bit better. A hint of smirk forms on his lips, “If this is a ‘judgement free zone’, would you mind if I ask you a question?”

You nod, willing him to proceed.

He’s taking a risk, he knows. But he has to ask. He’s already so enamored by you.

“Well, since you’ve been so kind as to take me to your home, and tend to my wounds, what do you say about me taking you out for a drink? As a thank you, of course.”

He watches as your face shifts from intrigue to understanding. Your sweet laughs permeates the air once again.

“I usually don’t accept offers like this, but for you I will.”

Ghost lets out a breathy laugh.

“Great, it’s a date then.”

hope you enjoyed!

masterlist

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zoros-bandana · 1 year

Note

Hi Dove! I’m so happy that ur requests are open!!! So may I please request angst to fluff with Sanji where reader (female please) and Sanji had a fight about something (you can choose and they are together) and then the next day they were ambushed by the marines, reader saw that there was a marine about to creep up to Sanji and she took the hit for Sanji, it was kind of a big slash to the stomach and reader fainted after a while because of the loss of blood and Sanji got angry and began fighting more aggresively? Timeskip after the whole thing Chopper patches up the reader but Chopper said its gonna leave a scar on her body (specifically the stomach). Sanji felt so guilty and keeps apologizing to the reader and reader said that its okay and some other comforting words to Sanji and eventually also says sorry about the fight they had the day before. In the end Sanji takes care of the reader while she recovers. Thank you!!

Sour

(SFW)

Slight angst/slight fluff

Warning: mention of relationship fighting, mention of physical fighting, mention of blood, mention of wound

Summary: Sanji's drifting eye had froze the minute he saw you, however, when it returned, it became a rude awakening. Ending you both in a turn of anguish and hurt.

Word Count: 1,800

Your relationship with Sanji was effortless.

He was kind, as he was with any female he encountered, but with you it was something different. From the moment you joined the Straw Hats there was a sense of relief around him, freeing your once twisted past like loose ends, breaking free of what weighed you down.

And for Sanji it was mutual.

He acted differently.

The once love-sick cook had no longer any desire for anybody besides you, confusing the rest of the crew. He no longer ran after Nami or Robin, simply treating them like he did with the rest of the crew; competent and helpful. His spare time would be swooning over you and granting your every wish, making his priorities realign to appease his girl.

Nothing was too big or too small for him.

That was why, as you docked onto the island of Goruden for supplies, your relationship turned an unexpected sour.

It was a beautiful island, full of warmth and depth, casting every inch of the land in a glow from the sun. And much like the land itself, the people were just as beautiful.

You had taken off with Sanji in tow, heading towards the markets for a restock of food and drinks; a few crew mates tagging along with the hopes of promised luxuries. Upon your search, Sanji's gaze had drifted, taken aback by a tall women with long vibrant blonde hair. Her skin glistened like bronze, covered in a set of orange fabric that draped carefully over her curves. Her face was soft, kind, blushing a smile that drew you in with the faint tickle of her laugh.

Sanji reluctantly let go of your hand, for mere moments, assisting the women as he struggled to hold her basket of overflowing fruits. The sickening crack in Sanji's voice returned, knowing he was in awe of the women in front of him. Feeling betrayed by his actions, you retreated back into the group, shielding yourself from your boyfriend. Your whole body felt heavy, almost on the verge of fainting, fighting the urge to snap at him. You never imagined he would fall back to his old ways, only ever hearing stories of his behaviour, trusting your relationship was stronger than his urges.

But you were wrong.

You kept your distance from Sanji, walking a few steps ahead, clinging onto Zoro and Luffy; knowing it would annoy him the most. His voice continued to ring out to you, over and over, attempting to apologise for his misbehaviour. His stomach tied in knots the moment he realised what he had done, almost in a trance by her aura, unbeknown he was doing it until it was too late. The look on your face as he watched you sink further behind the swordsman broke his heart. He never wished to hurt you, knowing how deeply your trust for him ran, and how devastatingly hard it was for you to trust someone again.

This game of avoidance continued through the day, carrying into the late hours of the night aboard the ship. It was agreed to venture in the morning, leaving the island, giving into the night to rest; sleeping apart from your usual shared bed with Sanji.

Sanji did, however, continue bombarding you with displays of love, hoping to persuade you to come back to him, but his efforts were met short. You had watch the man you love fall back on his estranged love-struck patterns he promised were behind him, making your mind up to sit in the loathing bitterness of your hurt.

Word quickly spread of a pirates arrival to the island, prompting a worried call for marines to surround the ship early into the hours of the morning. It was a heavy blow, drunkenly guiding yourself to the deck just before sunrise, watching your friends already mid battle. Heavy clatters of swords and fired bullets rumbled your hearing, quickly snapping into action to join in the weave of intense crowd to defend your honoured ship.

A sharp snap of blond hair and fire shifted your attention, recognising Sanji's perfectly poised mannerism even in the midst of a fight. Meeting his bright blue eyes you exchanged a silent word, both relieved of each others safety in that moment; still bearing love for one another. Distracted for mere moments, Sanji's position became vulnerable, letting an open on his left switch your attention to the sword coming down towards him.

Your overall skill of endurance surpassed the likes of your boyfriend, quickening your reflexes for a perfect wing of defence to your crew. Snapping into action you took off, racing against the wielded marine to reach the still unsuspecting Sanji.

As you collided with the marine, you disarmed him with a few simple manoeuvres, relieved of your quick defences. He hit the deck in front of you, instantly passing out from the blow which deemed unusually large for someone of your size.

Dusting yourself off you looked back at Sanji, furrowing your brow upon his sickened look.

Sanji's eyes casted at your stomach, his face a ghostly white, mumbling out your name as he grasped your arm tightly. You followed his eyes to your stomach, noticing the large gash that spanned over your full abdomen, seeping through a heavy brown as blood oozed from your wound. Dazed in shock you zoned out, feeling your body shake into the likes of a collapse. You could still feel Sanji near you, his body inching closer in worry, his hands in the stage of lifting you into his arms. Fluttering your eyes you tried to mumble out your confusion, not grasping how the marine managed to reach you in time to cause such a heavy injury. However, your efforts were met short, your body giving in under the loss of blood and soon passing out in Sanji’s arms.

You awoke groggily on your back, fluttering up at the familiar ceiling of the infirmary. Your body rose in a searing pain, targeting your tightly bandaged abdomen, forcing you to groan out. Your voice prompted the answer of two voices, those of people you recognised well, turning your head towards the sounds.

Chopper and Sanji sat by your side, both exchanging a mixed look of relief and joy, leaning in towards your groggy state.

“You’re awake” Sanji smiled, reaching out towards your hand. “I’m so glad to see your face again. You’ve been out of it for a while, we were getting worried”

Squeezing gently you slid your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. It felt almost impossible to speak, your pain heaving heavy gasps for air as you tried to make sense of what was happening around you.

“Everyone else is okay, Y/n” Chopper encouraged, checking over your IV lines; prompted by your obvious pained state. “You just worry about getting better. That wound is pretty deep and it will leave a scar, so don’t move around too much while it heals”

Turning around to face Sanji, Chopper toughened his voice, raising it to make him seem bigger. “You make sure she stays safe, okay? And follow everything I told you earlier! She needs to keep still as much as she can”

“You don’t have to worry about her, Chopper, I'll look after her. There should be some cake up in the kitchen for your efforts, go and help yourself for helping my sweet Y/n-swan”

Chopper squealed in excitement, quickly running towards the door in a flash on fur. As his body hit the deck his voice was followed by the usual kitchen thief’s; Luffy and Usopp.

Returning his attention back to you, Sanji’s face softened, lowering his head to avoid your face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I should’ve been there to protect you, to help defend you against that deranged marine. Someone who has the audacity to lay a hand on a women, especially someone like you, truely deserves the worst possibly death”

“I’m also sorry about our fight; about how I acted” Sanji looked back up then. “I need you to know I never meant to hurt you or betray your trust. I helped her because I could never turn my back on a lady in need, and in those few moments even though my attention was on her, all I could think about was you. Her basket carried all your favourite fruits, down to the loose handful of grapes that I know you would happily fight our captain for. The crease beside her eyes when she smiled at me was something reminiscent of how you look at me when I make you laugh. Her hair was curled just the way that your hair does in the morning, framing your face when you look at me. There will never be a moment when I don’t think about you and how much you mean to me. You are my girl, Y/n, and nothing is going to take that away from you”

Fighting against your body you pushed yourself up, ignoring Sanji's protest to rest, moving to sit upright; the stack of pillows behind you cushion your fallback. You cleared you throat promptly, ignoring the surging sting as you coughed, busting enough strength to speak.

"I'm sorry, too"

You voice broke in a quiet groan.

"What are you talking about, Y/n? You didn't do an-"

"I'm sorry for the way I handled seeing you with somebody else. I know you, it feels like I have done more than this lifetime, and your hearty intentions to be kind to women. I know you wouldn't do anything to jeopardise our relationship, and I'm sorry I felt the need to avoid your apology. I was hurt, and too stuck in my own feelings to face this problem, because when I see you I see someone who I don't wish to lose"

"You will never lose me, okay?" Sanji promised, moving himself to sit beside you on the bed. He leaned forward over your body, his hand resting beside you, face inches from your own. "I'm not going anywhere, my love. I will be here for you through good and bad and nobody will ever come between us, no matter how many loose grapes are in their basket"

Sanji swiftly moved to you, sweeping you up in a soft kiss. His lips were always the perfect mould, curling against you in the most plump and soft folds, feeling somewhat like heaven. His taste remained the same, lingers of smoke dancing on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, working to build a familiar rise of butterflies in your stomach. As he pulled away, a soft pucker left behind a kind smile, relieved to have put the fight behind him and move forward; working towards getting you better.

"I love you, so much, never forget how much you mean to me and how much I value us." He looked up towards the IV bag, noting the drop in liquid from the bag, furrowing his brow. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a doctor to collect and a girlfriend to heal"

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e-vay · 9 hours

Text

The Sonnet of Domino & Phlox - Ch1

[A/N: In game canon, we’ve never learned who Sonic’s parents are or what they were like. I decided to make my own interpretation for Sonic’s mother and father. This is the story of their brief but significant meeting.]

-----

It’s only a couple of days.

A teal colored hedgehog took in a deep breath. The morning air was crisp in her lungs, a sure sign of the autumnal equinox. If she had any hope of making it through the next two seasons out in the wilderness, she’d need to stock up on supplies. Her thin tank top and patched slacks wouldn’t be enough to warm her fur against the icy winter breeze and scavenging for food in the desolate snow would be nearly impossible. She had to stock up now and that meant a trip to the nearest town.

Domino let out a puff of air before adjusting the backpack on her shoulders and marching through the entry gates. The young woman didn’t care much for cities. But, strapped for cash, there was no better place to look for odd jobs and errands to earn enough dough to purchase the winter gear she’d need. Her first stop would be to find the village square and look for a board with job postings, but that meant a trek through the marketplace…

Despite the early morning hour, the dirt path was bustling with locals and travelers alike. Merchants shouted praises of their wares, dueling for the attention of potential customers that filled the street and bounced from vendor to vendor. Children tugged at their parents’ hems and screamed for the shiny new toys that decorated several booths. “Ugh,” Domino thought to herself, “Markets are the worst.”

The blue teen shoved her hands in her pockets and pinned her arms to her sides to make her petite frame even smaller, better to weave through pedestrians and get through the market making as little eye contact as possible. She hardly ever had any money on her and what little she might have was always saved for the absolute necessities. Shopping only served to annoy and embarrass her. Domino could only turn down the constant barrage of salespeople with so many polite “nothankyous” before she found herself grinding her teeth. Worse than the merchants were the shoppers themselves. She could physically feel their eyes burning holes into her skin, sneering at her tattered clothes and remarking the ragged shoes bound to her feet with tape. Some would even pull their bags tighter to their bodies as if the girl were planning to snatch it away from them. That hurt the most.

It was better for herself and everyone else if she stayed where she belonged: out in the wild.

It’s only a couple of days.

A scent lofted through the air that made Domino’s mouth curve into a smile. Not everything about city life was awful. In fact, there was one thing that she was always guaranteed to love, no matter which village she wound up in: the food!

She lifted her snout and took in the different aromas that danced through the air. Spices mixed with warm smoke as chefs expertly cooked their meats to a sizzling perfection. Warm, almost sour notes were sure signs of a baker pulling freshly baked bread from a hot oven. Domino began to salivate. She knew she had to get to the job board, but it wouldn’t be smart to work on an empty stomach, right? She might have just enough cash for a slice of-

“Whu-!”

She yelped in surprise as she stumbled into a wall of purple fur and quills and heard the unmistakable sound of something fragile – and likely expensive – crashing against the earth.

“Oh Gaia!” Domino shrieked. She darted to the front of the person she had just bumped into and grabbed his shoulders. “So sorry! I wasn’t lookin’!”

The boy, a fellow hedgehog with wild, indigo fur, didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes were narrowed onto a spot on the ground. His mouth gaped but the only sound to escape his lips could best be described as the high-pitched squeak of air being released from a balloon.

Domino’s eyes followed the trail of his stare that led to a film camera laying in the dirt. His hands remained open and frozen in place from where the camera had just leaped.

“Oh boy,” Domino muttered. She crouched down to survey the damage. The shell of the device was cracked in several places. Some pieces completely snapped off and lay about like thick, plastic confetti. She gingerly picked up the camera and her shoulders sank with relief to see that the lens hadn’t fractured. “Oh, this is nothin’!”

The girl rested the camera on her lap and spun her backpack around to search for tools. Once her hand made purchase of the required items, she thrust it into the air with pride. Her arm was threaded through a roll of duct tape, wearing it much like a bracelet, while she held up a heavily used bottle of super glue.

“I don’t think that’s going to-”

Just as soon as the male had found his voice, he was once again rendered speechless by the blue hedgehog as she seemed to perform rapid-fire surgery on the device. Her hands moved too quickly for him to understand what all she was doing, expertly switching from tape to glue and back, pinching here and ripping there. In what could only have been a matter of seconds, Domino sprang up to her feet and held out a perfectly in-tact camera. “Here ya go!”

The boy slowly took the camera from her hands and carefully inspected it. It was nearly pristine!

“Wh-? Hu-? How?!” he stammered, turning the camera over and gasping as he noticed she had even managed to repair some of the damage he had done to it by extended use. “It’s like it’s brand new!”

Domino returned her tools to their home in her bag and slung it over her back. “I try to leave things better than I found ‘em.”

Something about that motto resonated with the male and a grin made its way across his face. His inspection finally shifted from the camera to the peculiar person in front of him and his breath caught in his throat.

The young woman’s eyes were a striking cyan color, as vibrant as an afternoon’s sky. Her long, wild quills were the same teal hue, just a shade darker. She was waif-like for sure, but despite her small stature she had a strong presence about her that told him she could handle herself. The sweet, almost demure smile on her caramel muzzle was in direct contrast with the rough appearance of her clothes and a noticeable tear in one of her ears. This girl had clearly been through a lot. Despite that – or perhaps because of that – he found her stunning.

Domino was also rendered speechless, a rare occurrence for her. The fellow hedgehog looked to be about her age with quills as windswept as hers, though shorter and rich indigo in color. He had a larger frame– or was it the fullness of his fur that made him appear bigger? His coat was longer, scruffy and rugged, particularly in the sand-colored patches that adorned his chest and muzzle. It was so unlike her short, sleek pelt. He wore a pair of denim jeans—another oddity as male Mobians often didn’t wear clothes. And his eyes! So many different shades of green with hints of amber… like sunlight filtering through the canopy leaves onto the forest floor.

She realized she was staring and hoped that the tufts of fur that framed her cheeks would help to mask the blush that quickly made its way up her neck.

“Uh. Still, I’m sorry about breakin’ it in the first place,” Domino muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“No, no need to apologize,” the male assured. His voice had a melodic cadence to it, bouncing around from soothing lows to confident highs. It was unusual but very pleasing to her ears. “If anything, I’m just as much to blame. I was the one standing in the middle of a busy street.”

Like a flip of a switch, Domino suddenly became aware of the dozens of people who were squeezing by and muttering curses at the two teenagers who were blocking their path. How odd, just a moment ago it felt like the two were the only people on the planet.

“Oh yeah…” Domino said slowly, turning her head either way to confirm that they were indeed obstructing the center of the path. “We oughtta get outta the way. Can’t have that camera breaking again!” She turned back to the boy and pushed on his chest, startling him and making him walk backwards until they reached the side of the road. She swiftly weaved and navigated them through the crowd with expertise. It was a wonder she had bumped into him in the first place. The lissome girl likely would have slipped right by him without him ever realizing she was there. Hmm, he didn’t like the thought of that.

“What’s your name?” he asked, those green eyes searching hers.

“Uh,” Domino paused for a moment. People at best ignored her; at worst went out of their way to avoid her. This wasn’t a question she was used to answering. “Domino. And you are?”

“Phlox.”

“‘Flocks’?!” She couldn’t help but blurt out. Sometimes her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Like… like a bunch of Flickies?”

The male’s eyes went wide and he snickered. “Flickies?! No, ‘Phlox’ like the flower!”

“Well hey, I dunno! Maybe your parents are really into bird watching.”

Phlox suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Domino’s ears sprang upwards. That chuckle was so silly and boyish and… mischievous, so unlike his speaking voice. She couldn’t help but beam with playful delight just from hearing it.

“By that logic,” Phlox managed once his laughing settled down, “that would mean your parents love board games?”

Oh now this would be too fun to pass up!

“Ah, so you’re familiar with my lineage!” Domino asked impishly. “I’m the heiress to a very wealthy game manufacturing company. It’s a family-owned business started by my great-great grandparents. It’s basically required that everyone in the family be named after classic games, lest you want to give up your claim to the family biz.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” she smirked. “You should’ve seen the look on my grandparents face when my Uncle Chess named his son-”

Her story was interrupted by an embarrassingly loud gurgle coming from her empty stomach. She froze in place, her face instantly growing beet red. Did he hear that? Of course he heard that. The whole world just heard it. Oh Gaia, why?! “Err..”

“I… was just on my way to breakfast,” Phlox said, a lilt in his voice. “I heard some of the locals raving about this restaurant. ‘Supposed to have omelets like you wouldn’t believe. Would you… wanna join me?”

“A... restaurant…?” Domino whispered with dread. Her skin grew even hotter with anxiety. She barely had enough cash on her for some bread. A restaurant was out of the question! She had to think of an excuse but whether it was brain fog from hunger or delirium from this cute guy’s smile, she was coming up with nothing! “Um…”

Phlox sensed the girl’s dilemma and saw her subconsciously rummaging in her pockets. He pretended not to notice and looked towards his next destination.

“I hope you won’t mind-” he leaned his shoulder towards her as if sharing a secret. “I know we live in a modern era but I was raised to always foot the bill when asking a lady on a date.”

“I-I don’t need handouts!” Domino said defensively, hoping her voice overpowered the growling of her stomach.

“Easy there, heiress! I’d never suggest such a thing,” he waved his hands while he laughed, hoping to ease some of the tension. Phlox extended an open hand. “Besides, you’ll be repaying me by telling me all about this prestigious gaming monarchy you’re a part of.”

He gave her a wink and with that, she was done for.

Domino took his hand and together the two teens were off to the eatery.

—

“-and that’s why the hippos are eating marbles! Oh! That reminds me. Did you ever wonder-”

Despite her constant rambling, Domino had scarfed down her entire meal with impressive speed. Phlox’s eyes flickered to her empty plate before inconspicuously sliding his untouched side of hash browns across the table. Domino began tearing into them as well, too focused on her current story to realize the plate didn’t belong to her.

Phlox rested his cheek in his palm, smiling as he listened to the teal young woman paint another wild tale. It was immediately clear that these stories were fabricated. Each one was more extreme and nonsensical than the last, but still, the young man found himself hanging on every word. It wasn't so much the stories that he enjoyed, but the enthusiasm with which Domino told them. The way her sky-blue eyes lit up and how her thin little arms swung about wildly as she gestured with her hands, as if her petite body couldn’t contain all of the energy that was trapped inside.

“-so I’m passing through here before I’m off for my next big business venture.”

“Oh? This is a short visit?”

“Ya,” Domino finished up her last bite of hash browns before unceremoniously letting her fork clatter against the ceramic. She was unable to remember the last time she’d ever felt this full. “I never stay in one city long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Towns are… complicated,” she averted her gaze, suddenly interested in a spot of the tablecloth that she began to pick at. “Everything’s all ‘property-lines’ and ‘who-belongs-where’. It’s all about what ya own and how much of it ya got, and what you can take from someone else.” She sank back into her chair with a sigh and looked up at the clouds. Phlox leaned in. Even if momentarily, he was getting a glimpse into the real Domino. He wanted to know more about the girl who felt the need to hide behind tall tales. “It’s not like that out in the wild. Nothing belongs to anybody. It all belongs to the planet, ya know? No judgements. No hurting each other for the sake of hurting… I only come into town when I-”

She stopped herself short, realizing she’d revealed a little too much.

“Wait you’re just passing through too, yeah?”

“Huh?” Phlox blinked. He could get whiplash from how abruptly she’d redirected the conversation. “Oh. Yeah.”

“How long’re you stickin’ around?”

“Hmm, not sure yet.”

Domino laced her fingers together and used them to balance her chin. “You don’t talk much,” she observed with amusement.

Phlox chuckled. “I’m more of a listener.”

“That’s a shame. You’ve got such a nice voice, like music,” she admitted. “I’d love to hear ya talk more.”

It was possible she was just trying to divert his attention from the previous topic, but the compliment made him blush nonetheless. He rubbed the back of his neck and tittered bashfully.

“Well, what would you like me to talk about?”

Domino pointed at the newly repaired camera that sat amongst the empty stacks of plates. “What’s this all about?”

Phlox smiled and rested a caring hand on the device.

“This here’s… my dream. My pride and joy.” He looked up at Domino and she just about wiggled in her seat, excited to hear more. It wasn’t like him to talk much, especially about himself, but if the pretty lady asked… “I spent an entire year putting in extra hours at my steel working job, covering shifts when others called out, never taking time off, all so I could save up for this baby! When I first told my family I wanted to switch careers to become a photographer… Let’s just say they were not so enthusiastic. Especially my dad…” he chuckled ruefully. “He’s not one for… sentimentality. But I always have been.”

Those bright green eyes looked up to meet Domino’s and her heart leaped in her chest when she caught sight of the fervor behind them.

“There’s beauty in everything, you just have to open your eyes to see it! The world is full of so many remarkable things that we take for granted. So many magnificent little moments that will slip right by if we don’t bother to notice them. I want everyone to see what I see. I want to give these wonderful, fleeting seconds the opportunity to live on forever.” Phlox found himself surprised at how boldly he was speaking. It was a nice change, something he had been hoping to improve upon himself. It somehow came naturally in this girl’s presence. “...Photography lets me do that.”

Domino swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt.

“W-wow. I didn’t realize I was talking to an artist this whole time.”

Phlox laughed, that mischievous, boyish chuckle erupting from him again. “Don’t get too excited just yet, Minnie. I’ve still got a long way to go and a lot to learn.”

Minnie? She’d never had a nickname before, never knew anyone long enough to have one. But this guy gave her one so casually, like they’d been friends forever. Minnie. She liked it…

“But I’ll let you in on a secret. Something the pros don’t want you to know.” He suddenly leaned across the table, making Domino’s eyes widen even more. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sure composition and lighting and all that’s important, but really? A lot of it is being at the right place at the right time.”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms with a smirk. “And I just so happen to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. A talent, if you will.”

Domino scoffed out the breath she’d been holding. “I’m not so sure about that!” She challenged him with a playful grin. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have busted your camera in the first place!”

Phlox winked and pointed a finger at her. “Ah, but that’s direct proof my gift is the real deal. How else would I have met you?”

The lady hedgehog was once again uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, too dry! She grasped for her drinking glass and quickly took several long gulps of water. Unsure how to respond and certain her signature teal and caramel fur were now every shade of red, she thought of a question to direct attention from her.

“So,” her voice cracked through feigned nonchalance. “What brings a budding photographer like you to this quaint little town hmm?”

Phlox snickered, pleased that he could make the pretty lady blush just as much as she’d made him. “You might not think much of this place, but I’ve heard it has plenty of little hidden treasures. For one, I’ve been told of this grotto tucked away in the surrounding forest that’s supposed to be spectacular, especially if you catch sight of it at just the right time. I’m going to head out later today and try to find it.”

Domino sat up with excitement. She loved exploring and being out amongst the greenery would likely be a much needed respite after the odd jobs she’d be doing in town. It was only a couple of days, why not make the most of it?

“I’d like to see! Can I come?”

Phlox’s smile grew wider. “Y-yeah, yes!”

“Oh! Speaking of spectacular," there she went again, her mind already on to the next thing. "Have you ever been to South Island?”

“No, but it’s on my list.”

“PHLOX!” Domino drummed her hands on the table with enthusiasm. “You’re gonna love it! Just about every possible type of landscape and flora you can imagine all on one island. It’s crazy! Green Hill was my favorite. Flowers bigger than me— bigger than you! Waterfalls taller than the sky!”

“Hold on.”

Phlox stood up from his seat to pull out a small, weathered notepad from his back pocket. He flipped to a blank page and hurriedly scribbled down notes while murmuring. “South Island… Green… Hill…”

He marked a large star next to the text before standing once again to return the notebook to his pocket. He glanced up and caught the girl giggling at him.

“What?” He asked, the corner of his own mouth turning upwards into a smile.

“I’m sorry, it has to be said…” Domino used a hand to gesture towards Phlox’s legs. “… the pants.”

Phlox smirked and placed his hands on his hips. He pretended to be offended, but mirth was evident in his tone. “I don’t get what’s so funny about my jeans. After all, you’re wearing pants.”

“Yeah but not many men wear ‘em.”

The young man counted on his fingers with each point he made. “They’re stylish. They’re practical. How else can I store my things?”

Domino pointed her thumb towards the pack on her back.

“Nah,” Phlox hooked his thumbs on his belt loops. “Backpack’ll never look this cool.”

“Ooookay, if you say so!” Domino laughed, waving her hands in defeat.

The tolling of bells from the town church broke the two from their lighthearted argument. Domino counted the chimes and realized more time had passed than she originally thought. As much fun as she was having, she had to get back to her priorities. She had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it.

“Well, Mr. Cool Guy,” she dusted the crumbs from her clothes as she rose up from her seat. “Thank you very much for breakfast but I’ve got some very important duties that need attendin’.”

Phlox caught her hand just before she was out of reach. His voice was soft but determined. “I’ll see you later? At the town entrance, at 4. Yes?”

Domino noticed a tangible spark as their fingers met. The feel of her hand in his and the passion in his eyes made her heart race.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

[CHAPTER 2: Coming Soon]

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