#but sobs its so intricate

[mishhe-kht]

thimking noises at his new glamour

[tinyfantasminha]

Since it's still pride month and if you're looking for animanga recommendations, do consider Umineko ❤ /srs

[guiltyasdave]

hold on to this lullaby

chapter 4 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, implied death of a character, the angst is once again angsting, reader's thoughts have suicidal undertones sometimes

a/n: girlie is once again going through it. i know that we're moving at a very slow pace but the chemistry is growing, slowly but steadily :)

shoutout to @toomanytookas who left the most thoughtful analysis on the last chapter, and noticed how the doors being open or closed works as a metaphor for the state of their relationship. looking back, that is very true, but truth be told, it wasn't a conscious writing choice on my part lol. i love it so much though and am now using it very purposefully, so thank you for bringing that to my attention and just for being so incredibly kind <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You’re running through the woods, running, running. Searching for something, someone, that you know you won’t find. 

Keep them safe. Promise me. We’ll be there soon. 

No one’s safe. No one’s coming. No one’s there. Your hands are wet, dripping with red, leaving a trail behind you. You trip, falling down to your knees, hands sinking into the earth. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to find. 

Still, you have to keep running. Running running running, searching searching searching. Keep them safe. Promise me. 

You’re used to it. 

Eyes flying open to suffocating, disorienting darkness, gasping for breath in the stale air of your room, the blanket much too heavy on your body. The images that your subconscious conjured up, still playing behind your eyelids. Your heart racing, your mind struggling to find its way back to reality. Lying alone in the darkness, only gradually able to discern your dream from your real life, the horrors blending into one another too intricately, too smilar to be separated. 

You’re still gasping, tears burning hot in your eyes and leaving wet tracks on your face. But it’s not dark, this time. And you’re not alone. The blurry shape of Joel slowly comes into focus, illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp on your nightstand. The weight of his hand is still resting on your shoulder, anchoring you to the present, and you realize that he must have shaken you awake. That you must have been loud.

You’ve wondered before, if you’re making noises, if the sobs that wrack through your body in your dreams follow you into reality. There’s never been a way to find out, before, but now it seems like they do, loud enough to travel through the closed door and wake Joel up. 

Heat blooms on your face, fueled by shame and guilt, both for disturbing his sleep and for your behavior earlier.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice stumbling over the words, thick with sleep and more tears. 

“Hey, no,” he replies softly, soothingly, his voice a deep rumble, his touch still firm on your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

You shrug, too exhausted to argue. His other arm twitches at his side, reaching towards you before he stops himself, sitting back on his haunches, groaning quietly at the movement. 

“You wanna–” he clears his throat, shifting slightly, “you wanna talk about it? Or is there anything else I can do?” 

You quickly shake your head, eyes trained on your hands that are clasped in your lap. He waits for another beat, before he hums, his knees creaking as he stands back up. 

You miss the feeling of his hand on you as soon as it disappears, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to ask for that, so you swallow against the lump in your throat, watching his retreating silhouette in your doorway.

“Joel?” Your hushed voice travels through the dimly lit room. He halts at once, turning back around to face you, the lines on his face somehow softer than you know them. “Could you— keep the door open? Just a little?” 

You’re awake for a long time after he leaves, at first listening to the fall of his quiet footsteps retreating to the other room, the faint rustle of his sheets as he gets back into bed, Ellie’s hushed voice and his responding grumble, but you can’t make out the words. When it’s quiet again, you retreat into the swirling mess inside your head. Unable to turn the light off, unable to close your eyes, terrified of the darkness and the images it might bring back.

You’ve tried not to think about it too hard, afraid of jinxing yourself, but you’ve noticed that you’ve slept better since Ellie and Joel have arrived. It’s like their presence, the change they’ve brought to your life, is enough to keep your mind occupied, like a safety blanket has been draped over you, keeping the worst of it away from you. But yesterday’s events must have ripped holes into it, must have brought the past and its pain to the forefront again. 

You drift back off eventually, nothingness engulfing your tired mind and pulling you into a dreamless sleep that you’re thankful for. 

You’re roused by the sounds from outside the door, the movements of someone being up filtering through the gap that Joel left open last night. It takes a while until you get your bearings, until the memories all come back to you. The familiar fear, the panic. The unfamiliar presence of someone beside you, of a touch on your shoulder.

Following the sounds, you find Joel in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, something that you usually do. You watch him for a second, taking in his messy morning hair, the specks of gray, the furrow of concentration in his brow as he’s stirring oatmeal. The steaming cup in his other hand, almost dwarfed by his large fingers, that you know must contain coffee. 

His eyes widen for a second when he notices you leaning against the doorframe, scrutinizing your face, gauging the state you’re in. You try a tentative smile, taking a step towards him, nodding towards the pot on the stove. 

“Thought breakfast was my job.” You’re pleased with how normal your voice sounds, nothing like the mess from last night. 

Joel shrugs, the expression on his face just a smidge too innocent, too casual. 

“You’re doing more than enough for us. Thought I’d let you sleep in.” 

You don’t have it in you to start a discussion about it, and you wouldn’t know how to explain this to him anyway. How you don’t want him to do things for you, don’t want to know what it’s like to have someone else care for you. Don’t want to feel how nice it is, even in such small doses. How you’re overly conscious of the fact that it will get taken away again before you know it, that you’d do well not to get used to it. How you’re not sure if you’ll be able to survive having something nice ripped away from you yet again. 

So you smile, mutter a thank you, Joel, and when he suggests that you take a shower, that he’ll be finished by the time you’re ready, you agree. Suddenly, you’re aware of the night’s sweat that has dried on your skin, clinging to you and making you feel sticky. Suddenly, you’re desperate to wash it off your skin, to leave the last night behind you and not look back.

With the stream of warm water raining down on you, the stiffness in your neck eases a bit and your breath’s coming more freely again, pieces of the tension that’s been coursing through you since last night slowly melting away. Still, you keep shivering, no matter how much you’re trying to open your body up to the warmth surrounding you, to let it drive out the coldness that’s emanating from your chest. 

Move on, your own voice echoes in your head. Keep living. The promise you’ve made to yourself, that you’re trying to keep, even though some days, you’re not sure why. 

Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself when you enter the living area again. You’ve pulled on one of your warmest sweaters, one that you’ve knitted yourself, over the course of several long, lonely days, with nothing else to keep your hands and mind occupied. Still, you feel cold. 

Ellie is up now, sitting on the couch, a bowl of oatmeal all but forgotten in her lap and her nose buried in one of the comics you gave her, the artwork on the cover all too familiar to you. She jumps when she sees you, hastily stuffing the book in between her thigh and the cushion beside her, a guilty expression in her eyes as she looks at you. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles before you can say anything, her hands clasped in her lap. It breaks your heart to see her like this, to know that she heard you last night too. How much your behavior must have scared her. That she probably feels responsible, even though your mind was already in a bad state long before you’ve even met her. 

It does hurt, seeing those drawings of galactic adventures that you’ve seen a million times before, with another pair of eyes glued to the pages. Another child excitedly recounting the stories to you over and over, until you basically knew them by heart and listened to them time and time again anyway, because his happiness made you happy. 

The pain of it weighs heavy on you, but not as heavy as the urge to protect her from being hurt, to wipe that guilt off her face. 

“The pages are gonna crumple like that,” you say, softly, hoping to convey with your eyes what you don’t have the words for. 

She slowly pulls it back out, shooting you careful glances. “Are you sure?” She sounds so young right now, so unsure of herself, and yet she’s trying to look out for you, trying not to hurt you, when she really shouldn’t have to. 

You’re nodding, convincing the both of you, that it’s fine, that you’re fine. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “That one’s good, enjoy it.”

You duck into the kitchen, mumbling about urgently needing a cup of coffee. You’re certain that Joel has heard your conversation, and that he sees how glassy your eyes are, but he doesn’t comment on it, just quietly hands you a cup, his fingertips faintly grazing yours.

It’s a subdued kind of day. Both Ellie and Joel are trying hard to act casual around you, but you feel the lingering glances, notice the looks exchanged behind your back, the cloud of worry that’s surrounding both of them. It makes you nervous, weirdly conscious of your every movement. And you’re still cold.

You end up watching another cheap action movie that evening, Ellie curled up on the armchair while you and Joel are occupying the couch. Your chin is resting on your knees, arms wrapped around your legs, eyes fixed on the small TV. But your mind is wandering, barely taking in the scenes playing out on the screen.

Your thoughts keep going back to how Joel touched you last night, how his hand had rested on your shoulder. How good it had felt, how you have the inexplicable need to feel it happening again. How warm his hand had been. You wonder if his touch might be able to finally stop you from feeling like you’re slowly freezing from the inside.

Another involuntary shiver runs through you. Joel’s gaze slides from the screen to you beside him. He doesn’t ask if you’re cold, being familiar enough with you by now to know that you’d deny it. Even as another wave of coldness passes through you, causing your shoulders to tremble slightly.

His brow is creased with worry as he wordlessly leans over to you, spreading the blanket that had been folded over the armrest that he’s leaning against over your shoulders. Your lips tip up in a grateful smile, the long lost feeling of someone caring for you engulfing you in more warmth than the blanket could ever provide. You allow yourself to get lost in it, just for a little while. 

The blanket faintly smells like him, you realize as you pull it tighter around yourself and up to your chin, inhaling deeply. A different kind of warmth is creeping up your cheeks and you turn your face towards the TV once more, oblivious to the way Joel keeps watching you from the corner of his eye. 

When you go to bed later that evening, you leave your bedroom door ajar once again.

thank you for reading <3 comments, reblogs and asks are love and make my day every single time!

[ssorenz]

I WANNA RIDE !

ᰔ- struggling to take true-form ryōmen sukuna (he has rotted my brain omfg HELP)

contains- nsfw content, fem! reader, manhandling, size diff, bimbofication, mdni!!

“fhuuck— s’too much ‘kunaa!” his name drawling out on your lips. for a curse, he was so hung, his bulbous tip alone stretching you out so much. and he wasn’t anywhere near close to bottoming out completely.

“oh now its ‘too much’? were you not insisting you could take all of me earlier? how pathetic.” his gruff voice chastised as he watched in amusement at how poorly you were attempting to take him.

you hung your head low, waves of sheer embarrassment washing over you as sukuna studied you so attentively—paying attention to each and every intricate move of yours. tears started to well up as you slowly sunk onto his length—having a bruising grip on his bulky shoulders as hisses of pain and pleasure escaped your parted, glossy lips.

he was all the way inside of you now, his throbbing head nuzzling against the tip of your cervix. hands draped around the mans nape, your sweaty forehead sticking against his neck as your warm breath tickled against his chest.

saying ryōmen sukuna, the king of curses, was big is definitely an understatement.

“tsk, how disappointing.. so much talk earlier, yet y’re breaking a sweat merely from taking my cock inside you.” he grumbled lowly, a hint of banter in his tone.

“are you going to move, or do i need to do the work for you?”

and without warning, he’s buried himself deep into your embarrassingly dripping cunt.

a series of sharp cries echoed throughout the room as sukuna jerked his hips in and out if you with such ease, such precision. he smirked as your expression twisted into something much more fittingly lewd—eyes rolling to your skull as your top teeth gnawed on your bottom lip.

“ry-ryōo. . .haah—!” you surprisingly managed to babble out, considering the fact your brain had turned to mush due to the way he was maneuvering himself inside of you. each quick but calculated thrust, resulting in him kneading against your sweet spot every single time.

“feels too good, hic need m-more..” you desperately begged, the sensation of being so full making you go dumb.

“you need more? or you want more, girl?” sukuna scoffed at your audacity. he raised a heavy hand, then smacked it against the fat of your ass, making you squeal. you were one hundred percent sure you would find a red mark there later tonight.

“go on now, say it properly.” he snarled into your ear, his sharp, black nails still kneading into your flesh. he was so rough, so mean.

“wan’ more ‘kuna, please!” you choked out a pathetic sob. sukuna simply hummed in pleasure, satisfied with your obedience.

“atta girl, thats more like it.”

@/ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[kentopedia]

when nanami dies, there's a box of letters waiting for you.

months pass before you find it. it's not until you're cleaning out his things, wondering if you can stand to get rid of them, that the letters are there waiting for you.

its no bigger than a shoebox, dark wood engraved with an intricate design, one that you're certain kento picked out specifically for you. you've never seen it before, and you open it with shaky hands, tears already pooling in your eyes at all the memories your lover left behind.

inside, there's a stack of letters, each one dated at the top with kento's name intricately signed at the end. some are in sealed envelopes with beautiful stamps. some multiple pages long and include some little haikus that are far too lovely to be about someone like you. and some are just quick little notes scribbled on napkins.

your spread them across the floor, staring down at each of the tiny little hearts he'd drawn next to your name on each note. even though you'd been together for years, you had no idea that he'd been writing all of them—hours of his life dedicated to this little pastime, and you'd been clueless.

they're like journal entires. insights into kento's life and your relationship, both the good moments and the tough ones. he leaves behind everything to you, entrusting you to keep his entire existence safe in your hands.

you read the letters with tears streaming down your face, and you choke on your sobs, trying so hard not to smear the ink from the wetness on your cheeks.

when you pull one out with shaky hands, you realize it's a decade old. the writing has faded a bit, and the paper is yellowing, but it's kento's handwriting, nonetheless.

it makes you near sick to read it. for a minute, you have to set it aside, cry into your knees as you curl into a ball, wondering when you'll ever stop feeling this empty.

this letter is from a sixteen year old kento; a quiet boy who had a silly little crush on girl in his year that was much too pretty for him. and in the letter, he says he knows you're too good for him, but he can't help but love you. he can't help but hope that one day, in a few years, you'll want to marry him as much as he wants to marry you.

it hurts, burns in your chest because even back then, kento had known you were the one. he'd known and he wrote you these letters because he'd felt that his life would be cut short. he'd felt like that since haibara died, and geto left, and it started to seem like the life of a sorcerer was always doomed to be an unhappy one.

kento had been so afraid that his friend died without knowing how much he meant to him, and he refused to make the same mistake with you.

there are letters from even when you weren't together. from the years that you were eighteen, nineteen, twenty, and kento had been so desperate to leave jujutsu behind that it meant he had to leave you too. even then, even when you were nothing more than a shadow from his past, he adored you.

you feel so outside of yourself, nauseous and filled with so much grief that you're not sure where to put it.

sometimes, you’d doubted if kento felt as loved by you as you did by him. but there's pages and pages of him speaking of how special you make him feel, even when you were separated, and he missed you so much that the thoughts of you consumed him.

you spend hours going through the letters, and then, you see one dated halloween, 2018. even breathing feels hard, but you can't stop yourself from reading it, even though you know it will destroy you, know that you won't be able to leave the house for days after reading it.

in the letter, kento says he loves you. he talks about the day before, when you'd convinced him to watch some halloween movies, and though most of them were silly, he didn't care how he spent his time with you as long as it made you smile.

he says that he feels bad for cancelling your dinner plans, and he's going to be thinking of you when he's in shibuya. that it's such a shame that being a sorcerer is so much more fulfilling than a salaryman, because it cuts into your time together, and you’re the most important part of his life.

he says he loves you again. that he really hopes he makes it back from shibuya because even though he's never told you, he wants a family with you.

he says he’s decided he'll bring it up when he gets home safe and sound. he’s not sure how you’ll feel about it, but you better know that he’ll always love you no matter what you decide, even if what he really wants is a little girl that looks just like you. and lastly, he hopes that you don't stay up too late waiting up for him—you’ve been so tired lately, and it’s making him feel bad.

his name is at the bottom with another little heart.

you let the letter fall from your hands.

[beenbaanbuun]

Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

——————————————————————————

hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

[some-bunniii]

Consoling Lucifer on Charlie’s first day of school

・❥ Charlie’s growing up, and Lucifer isn’t taking it well. Luckily, you’re there to keep the King of Hell standing on two feet.

x: just a short fic about a super soft lucifer who loves his daughter, i had some fun with this haha. reader is g/n and also has a parental role. no use of y/n.

~ 1.5k words

warning: tooth-rotting parental love

“Are you crying, Daddy?” The tiny apple-cheeked figure asked, her head tilted curiously up towards the almost identical-looking porcelain face standing a few feet away from her, his hand over his eyes as he rubbed at them feverishly. 

“No,” He lied, his lips curved into a tight-lipped smile as he bit back tears, “It’s just allergies, Apple Pie.”

Lucifer’s eyes trailed back onto the poofy red dress Charlie wore. The intricate, black lines and little hearts woven into its soft fabric made her even more adorable in the outfit. She also sported snow-white stockings, and a pair of sparkly red shoes that glinted in the light as Charlie smiled giddily, excited about the new adventure.

A small red bowtie was nestled into her hair, which was styled in a large braid that ended at the middle of her back. It swayed softly as the young girl bounced in place, becoming antsy by the second. 

You stood right beside him, smiling happily at Charlie as she looked up at the two of you. It was you who had gotten her ready, no doubt did you think she looked like a beautiful little princess. However, you were not expecting such an emotional reaction from your husband, Lucifer Morningstar, when you presented her outfit to him. 

It was Charlie’s first day of lessons, which means—in Lucifer’s opinion—she was finally leaving the nest. Except for the fact she was still considered just a youngling when it came to being Hellborn, and Charlie still needed her father to read her a story every night before bed. She still has trouble reaching items on the counter, and remembering all the letters of the alphabet. She was far from flying off on her own, she was still her father’s little duckling.

He was already nervous the days leading up to this morning, and you had watched him flip through baby book after baby book. Each contains hundreds of photos depicting from when Charlie was a newborn, and through last Sunday. 

Whenever Charlie so much and breathed cutely, Lucifer was pulling out that camera and saving it for the album. Especially when he got a hold of a yellow duck onesie? The man was a goner, and the bookshelf was beginning to fill with rows of binders filled with polaroids.

Yesterday, you had been in the process of cleaning out a closet of rarely used items, when you stumbled upon a pair of Charlie’s old baby boots. 

Lucifer had just walked into the room when his eyes landed on the tiny boots. They obviously wouldn’t fit the girl now, as she had grown out of them long ago. It definitely stirred something inside the fallen angel when his lip began to quiver from the doorway, and slowly walked over to you sitting on the edge of the bed.

He took the boots from your hands, his thumb brushing softly over the small velcro straps. Charlie was old enough to start wearing laces, and she needed his help getting tying her shoes less and less as the months went by. That thought made him collapse onto you, tears brimming his eyes. 

“She had such adorable little feet!” Lucifer wailed in your lap, as you soothingly petted his hair. There were multiple photos in his hands, all of baby Charlie, “Her toes just don’t look like little sausages anymore, it’s not as cute!”

“At least she’s not a hobbit,” you replied, brushing a stray tear from his face.

“I don’t even know what that means!” He had sobbed.

It wasn’t like she was going off to college or anything, yet the way Lucifer clutched her baby blanket in his free hand—which she only stopped sleeping with 2 days ago—made it seem like the girl was not coming back from a few hours of teachings. 

“I packed you some snacks. Apple slices, and some funnel cake. Eat the fruit first, it’s healthy for you. Want to grow up big and strong, don’t you?” 

“Uh-huh!” Charlie nodded with enthusiasm, smiling brightly.

“That’s my girl,” Lucifer choked back tears, nodding approvingly. 

“Honey, she’s going to be late, hurry up and say goodbye,” you prodded gently, smiling warmly with clasped hands. You had been silently on standby, this was a much more emotional moment for Lucifer than you, he needed the space and time with his munchkin.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he growled softly at himself, “look at me, all worked up over nothing. What a joke of a King.”

Lucifer lowered himself to one knee and reached out a hand, and Charlie walked forward returning the touch. Her tiny hands were engulfed in his palm as he curled his fingers tenderly around them. The fallen angel met his daughter's gaze, before taking a deep breath.

“I love you, Charlie.” 

“I love you too, Daddy,” Charlie laughed, before leaping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Lucifer pulled her in, nuzzling into her hair as she squeezed him tightly. 

Even if Charlie grew apart from her father as she got older, you’d know she’d always be a daddy’s girl. It was Lucifer whom she invited for tea time among her stuffed animals, and it was he she asked to dance with when the radio’s soft melodies filled the lounge during the evenings as the three of you relaxed by the warm fireplace. 

It made your heart flutter with how similar the two were, and the way Lucifer fawned over Charlie like he’d never seen a more beautiful soul. 

“My best creation,” he had whispered with a smile one night, while the two of you were sitting on the balcony, the alcohol buzzing inside your mind as you held his hand from across the small table. Those words had made your love for him continue to grow, if that were even possible in the first place.

Lucifer and Charlie stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments on the floor before the girl released him, and Lucifer’s arms slowly lowered from her abdomen as she took a few steps back towards the door.

“Go on, now! Don’t let me keep you waiting, just remember to crush it.” Lucifer waved his daughter off, and she jumped with joy.

“Okay! Bye, Daddy!” Charlie giggled, her little red dress bouncing along with her toes as she quickly turned away towards the open door of her room. 

“Have fun, Charlie!” You called after her, as Lucifer slowly rose from his position near the floor.

“I will! Bye!” She replied, running down the hall, her little bag bouncing in her hands as she scampered away to…

…her private tutor’s small classroom at the end of the long hallway. The three of you had been wishing the girl farewell in her large bedroom inside the family manor, which meant Charlie’s teaching wasn't even outside of the home. 

That made Lucifer’s reaction even more humorous, but it was also incredibly sweet. The ruler of Hell, a nasty, bitter place, was a cinnamon roll behind the bad-boy act that he played so well in front of the rest of the realm.

When Lucifer stood straight again, you turned your head to face him. The sight before you caused you to clamp your lips shut tight, trying to suppress your laughter at Lucifer’s disheveled figure.

His hair looked messier than before he had said goodbye, and his face was soaked with tears. Lucifer’s lip quivered, and he quickly averted his gaze, slamming his hand over his face to contain his quiet sobs. The man was practically in shambles. 

“What’s wrong with me?” He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “I can’t control my emotions when it comes to Charlie.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Your Highness, but you’re in love,” you cooed, shaking your head with a smile as Lucifer sniffled beside you. He pulled a hand-embroidered handkerchief from his waistcoat, dabbing underneath his eyes to clean the fresh tears. 

“Come on, Lou. How about I make you some pancakes for breakfast?” You said softly, lacing your fingers with his as you tugged him towards the opposite end of the hall. 

“Really?” He sniffled, looking at you with glistening eyes.

“Mhmm,” your hands lifted to cup his face, tenderly squishing those small red spots as you replied with a honeyed tone, “Heaven knows how the ‘Big Boss of Hell’ can be such a softy. Don’t worry, Charlie will be back by lunchtime, and maybe we’ll go on a picnic, hm?”

Your free hand went up toward the fallen angel’s head, and your nails softly grazed his scalp as you pulled his hair back into a more uniform appearance. After fussing with it for a moment, you leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“A picnic sounds nice, I have no idea how you always have a remedy to everything,” He said softly as you pulled away, an adoring smile on his lips as you turned to tug him down the hall.

“Years of practice,” you laughed, as the two of you walked towards the large kitchen, passing loving glances between the other. 

At least, with Charlie away for a few hours, you and your husband could get some alone time together. God knows the poor man needed it. 

lucifer is just so soft for his little princess whether it’s beating the shit out of adam or playing tea party it makes me just 🤭🥴 like damn

hope you enjoyed the lil snack, have a great day! 🤍

tags 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (Epilogue)

ー☆ Epilogue

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: suggestive language, cursing, smut ー☆ Word count: 8.7k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: mature ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: I chose no song for this chapter, so everyone is free to listen to whatever or not listen to anything at all, however, while doing the moodboard I was listening to Power and I actually started sobbing, so uh, you can give it a listen if you wish to! I won't yap here, so see you at the end of the chapter! <3 I hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know what y'all thought of the last chapter of my beloved series. divider

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red

@sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng

@deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf

@hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380 @xciiiomwliah @vixensss

@catchingskzzzs @tesssaurrr @ginger-mingi @mingisbbg

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

3 months later

            Spring was finally approaching, the weather having turned less harsh and warmer in the span of a few weeks, slowly painting nature in its vibrant and gorgeous colors that I would never get enough of. And we were lucky the air was warmer now outside, because in the confines of the limited space of my little studio of my Arts Club at university—which is more of a storage room to be fair—the smell of fresh dye and incense mingled together almost in a nauseating way, leaving me no option but to crack open the small window of the studio. Well, since it was so high up, I had to ask Mingi to open it as I didn’t want to get on a chair as I would have had to walk to the front of the room, and I was too lazy to do that. Music played quietly in the corner from Mingi’s portable speaker as he hummed along the melody of the song, typing away on his phone as his shoulders were slouched over, head lowered.

My eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as I bit my tongue, making sure the dye spread out evenly at the back of Mingi’s head, not wanting to leave spots of his previously platinum blonde hair. Around a week ago, he and Seonghwa hung out under the pretense of watching movies and having a boys' night in which they would drink beer and maybe compose some music, however, the next day when Mingi came over to have lunch with my mother and me, his hair was short. The long strands that curled prettily against his nape and ears were gone, replaced by short spikey hair that stuck up against his head, giving him a punkish look. My mother had squealed when she saw him, touched his hair, and then cradled his cheeks, gushing about how handsome he was, making me glare at the two as they forgot about my existence. Instead, I went and set the table and left them to their usual gossiping, shaking my head when my mother told him all about the new hot doctor at work she had her eyes on.

At times, those two would get lost in their own world and forget about my existence, amusing me, but also prompting me to give them a side-eye. Don’t get me wrong, I was beyond the moon that my boyfriend and mother got along really well, but at times it almost felt like I didn’t even exist—and before you would be like Mingi and say that I am dramatic, the fact that my mother seemed to love Yunho just as much as Mingi, definitely sent me into an existential crisis after the first time she confessed she loved the two as if they were her own sons. And about Yunho, well, yes, we’ve worked out our differences—which involved a lot of explaining, invoking buried memories, and a lot of apologies from Yunho’s side—so now we were all a big happy family—family as in not to be misunderstood, we all loved each other and had a nice bond. To be honest, I felt no mal-intent towards Yunho when after a month of dating Mingi we finally decided to sit down and discuss everything with his best friend, and I even found myself now confiding in him and asking him for advice in areas Seulgi—and Wooyoung—couldn’t help, because, after all, Yunho knew Mingi best. And Yunho’s girlfriend was an absolute angel and sweetheart, I took a liking to her quite quickly and found her love for literature rather adorable as she’d often quote her favorite characters from her favorite books.

Mingi snickered as I playfully pushed his head forward as I was done dyeing his platinum hair to a regular, darker, blonde with pink hues in it. I tried to look over his shoulder to see what he found so amusing but he cradled his phone to his chest and made me roll my eyes as I walked to the sink to wash the small bowl and the brush I used to dye his hair. Mingi changed the music to something more upbeat and a lot noisier than the music he, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa made, and I came to realize the speaker was playing Limp Bizkit. I couldn’t say that I enjoyed their music too much, I preferred something more indie, but I still appreciated some of their songs. I turned on the faucet and started washing the brush first as Mingi approached me and leaned against the counter, lips pursed as he tried to hide his cheeky smile. I threw him a questioning look as I rinsed the bowl out, applying a little soap in it to wash out the dye completely as Mingi finally spoke up, “Check this out, ‘Your face is a work of art, my legs should frame it.’”

My eyebrows furrowed as I gave Mingi a confused look, quickly making him pout, “Oh, come on! It’s ‘art rizz’!”

I snorted as I placed the bowl and brush aside to dry, peeling the gloves off my hands carefully to not stain my clothes or skin, “You’ve had better ones Mings, besides, shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“I mean,” Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed as he pocketed his phone in his light pink jeans, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He wore a white loose sleeveless tank top today, his biceps bulged from the action and I tried not to let my eyes linger on the well-defined muscles, “I definitely like the idea you’re suggesting—”

“As if we haven’t done that already.” I interrupted with a pointed look and Mingi just rolled his eyes.

“That’s beside the point,” And then he was smirking, leaning into my space as I rinsed the soap off my hands, “wait, are you suggesting something right now?”

“I just dyed your hair, Mingi, no, I’m not suggesting anything.” I sighed, unimpressed, as I shut the faucet off and grabbed a small towel to dry my hands off in it. You see, Mingi is rather…vocal with his needs and quick in executing them, so, I cannot say we haven’t been… active, if you know what I mean.

“Pity.” Mingi pouted for a second before he moved on to the next subject, his brain sometimes moving too fast for me to be able to keep up with him, “You remember that well-dressed woman from our last gig at Outlaw?”

“I sure do, she looked rather out of place with her pencil skirt and blouse.” I hummed as I leaned my hip against the sink, facing Mingi. He grinned and then fished his phone out of his pocket again and unlocked it, clicking on something I couldn’t see. Then, he cleared his throat and raised it to a higher pitch that was definitely mocking the woman’s voice.

“Mr. Song, I am delighted to let you know that Horizon Records would love to work with Noir Zenith, and we’d like to set an appointment as soon as it fits you and your bandmates' schedule. – Hong J.” Mingi bit his bottom lip as my eyes widened, prompting me to hold onto his wrist in excitement.

“Wait,” I said, eyebrows lightly furrowing, “isn’t this that super famous and huge record everyone dreams of getting signed to?!”

And when Mingi’s smile grew into a hug grin, I felt joy and excitement fill my senses as I grabbed both of Mingi’s hands, jumping up and down as he giggled and followed along, the two of us jumping in small circles like little kids. I couldn’t believe my ears, this was even bigger than the last record they agreed to sign with for half a year—the one Hongjoong helped out with—and once their contract was over, they could sign a new one with Horizon Records.

“That’s fucking amazing, Mingi!” I exclaimed loudly as we finally stopped jumping around, my heart beating fast as Mingi nodded in excitement, his teeth visible as he couldn’t stop smiling.

“I know, Wooyoung started running laps while screaming and Seonghwa cried clinging to me for half an hour when I told them.” I chuckled at the image in my head, but quickly realized the message wasn’t fresh. Before I could go off on him for hiding something so important from me, Mingi beat me to it, a knowing glint in his eyes, “Mrs. Hong sent the text yesterday afternoon and I only didn’t tell you about it because I knew we’d meet today and I wanted to see your reaction, so, don’t be mad, please.”

And how could I be mad at him when his plump lips were jutting out and his eyebrows raised in a manner that made him look adorable and heartbreaking at the same time? I huffed and squeezed his hands before I released them, trying to play off the fact that he already knew me so well, “I wasn’t about to get mad, I’m very happy for you and the rest of the boys, my love.”

Mingi giggled and looked away, the high of his cheekbones slightly flushed, and I grinned because I could never get over the fact that calling him ‘love’ or ‘my love’ turned him into a giggling and blushing mess. It was adorable, cute, and somehow still sexy, and before I would let any stray thoughts enter my head and distract me from the plans we had, I cleared my throat, “We should eat that pizza we ordered, it’s probably already gone cold.”

Mingi hummed but didn’t speak up as I went to walk towards the white sheet we had laid on the floorboards to sit on, pizza, black nail polish, Mingi’s pink beanie, and my sketchbook scattered all over it. However, before I could take another step, my feet suddenly weren’t touching the ground anymore as I was lifted by the waist, a squeal leaving my lips as I clutched onto Mingi’s bare arms, “Mingi! Put me down!”

“No.” He giggled against my neck and I felt his warm lips press a small kiss against my nape as my hair was in a bun, then he was running towards the sheet as we both laughed, the song playing through the speaker drowned out by our loudness. He finally placed me back down on my feet when we reached the white sheet and I sat down in a crisscross position, opening the box of pizza as Mingi took his seat across me. I grinned as I grabbed a slice, my stomach growling in hunger once again, and then I took a bite of the cheesy pepperoni pizza, making Mingi chuckle as he looked less hungry and less eager to devour our lunch for today. I extended my hand for his phone and he gave it to me without a word, I typed in his password before I looked through his playlist, taking bites of my pizza in the meantime. I found a slower beat that I liked and switched the currently playing song to that and then handed his phone back after I locked it, smiling as Mingi was flipping through my newest sketchbook which had mostly drawings of him.

I didn’t expect him to flip to that particular page and I almost choked as the pizza went down a little array, making Mingi smirk as he pulled the drawing closer to himself, dark eyes inspecting his sleeping form in the drawing. Well, the drawing looked completely innocent unless you knew what happened before it, and I couldn’t help but blush harder when Mingi bit his lower lip, pizza in his hand forgotten as he traced the blanket that hung low on his naked hips, torso on display and face serene as he had been in a deep slumber. When he looked up, he didn’t look much too smug, but there was a glint in his eyes that I had become accustomed to too well. He was in awe, but he was turned on, and I couldn’t help but stuff my face more with pizza, satiating my hunger as a means of distraction from the fact that I drew Mingi post-sex not even four days ago.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a talented songwriter and composer but a good hell of a painter.” His voice was deeper as he mumbled, taking a bite of his pizza as he glanced back down at the drawing, “I want to draw you too, to capture you in all forms and commemorate you for an eternity.”

Well, what a way to make me blush harder. I grabbed another slice as I had finished the first one as a means to stall for a second, ponder over my answer, “You’re good with your words though, unlike me. I always struggle to express myself concisely, yet to you it’s easy. You create beautiful lyrics and you never fail to capture my true nature in your songs, so I think I’ll always live on in your music, Mingi, you have already commemorated me for an eternity.”

That made Mingi blink in surprise as he hadn’t even realized that before, and I smiled as he gave me a lasting look before he flipped the page, the drawing of him playing with a kitten I had found outside my porch. Now, she was our kitten and she, obviously, loved Mingi more than me—just like my mother, I didn’t try to complain about this too, “You inspire me like none other.”

“You inspire me too, Mings.” Mingi’s smile was shy as he continued flipping through the sketchbook, less filled than my other ones as I decided to dedicate this one only to him. He’d seen the older sketches plenty of times before, yet he never failed to become shy when looking through them.

I finished my slice of pizza, dusted my hands off and made sure my cheeks weren’t greasy as I leaned towards the black nail polish, shaking it in front of Mingi with a grin, “Ready to get your nails painted?”

He nodded excitedly and handed me his left hand as he still held his slice of pizza in the right one. His thick fingers were smooth and decorated with rings, much like mine, and I flipped my left hand around to place his palm in mine. After having arrived at my humble studio once we were finished with our classes for the day, Mingi got to work and painted my nails. He had bought some new nail polish a week ago and convinced me to surprise me with them, so, the nails on my left hand were now almost neon green and the nails on my right hand almost Barbie pink. Sometime along, painting each other’s nails became a habit, something we both enjoyed doing and now we could confidently call it our thing.

I concentrated hard to not smudge the skin around his nails, eyebrows furrowed and teeth clamping down on my bottom lip as Mingi’s eyes were either on me or his nails, bobbing his head along to the rhythm of the song playing. He usually chewed loudly and I was thankful he kept his mouth closed this time, knowing that it would only irritate me if he started chewing on his slice of pizza aggressively—it wouldn’t be the first time he does it just to annoy me. As I finished doing his middle finger, his phone rang and Mingi reached over to his left side as he bit on the crust of his pizza, picking his phone off the floor as the music cut off. He accepted the phone call and put it on speaker as I chuckled and watched him take out the crust from his mouth so that he could talk.

“Hey! Song Mingi!” It was unmistakably Wooyoung’s voice as he screamed into the phone, making me concerned that Mingi would lose his hearing if he had just normally picked up the phone without putting it on speaker, “What’s up, bro?!”

Mingi snickered, shaking his head as I finished painting the nails on his left hand, “I told you yesterday that I would hang out with Y/N after classes.”

“Ah, right,” Wooyoung hummed as I leaned down to press a kiss against Mingi’s hand, making him grin as he finished his slice, eagerly handing over his right hand to paint his nails, “And where are you two lovebirds?”

“In her studio,” Mingi answered as I got to work, careful as always as I painted his pinkie’s nail.

“Now that you mention, Seulgi said something about not being able to work on her assignment in the studio because of you two.”

I scoffed and before Mingi could answer, I spoke up as I leaned towards the phone, “I told Seulgi to do her assignment not two days before the deadline, and I also told her a week ago that I’d be hounding the studio with Mingi today.”

“Heard that babe?!” Wooyoung’s voice was distant just for a second, then he snickered, “She says you’re lucky she loves you, otherwise she would’ve kicked you out of your studio.”

“My own studio.” I huffed and applied another coat over Mingi’s forefinger’s nail to even out the texture, “What a bitch.”

“A bitch that is forced to listen to her best friend’s constant bitching, who’s the bitch now, Y/N?” Everyone snickered and I rolled my eyes as there was the unmistakable sound of a kiss pressed against a cheek through the phone, Mingi and I shared a look of mild disgust as I went to paint his thumb’s nail.

“Don’t start making out while you’re on the phone with me, Wooyoung.” Mingi’s voice carried disgust but there was a hint of amusement, “Anyways, what’s the purpose of your call? You never call unless you need something or I ask you to remind me of something.”

“It’s neither this time,” Seulgi chuckled through the phone, and then there was shuffling and I knew she walked away. I finished Mingi’s nails and closed the bottle of nail polish, sitting up on my knees to kiss Mingi’s cheek as he bit his lower lip, grinning at me as he wriggled his fingers happily.

“Do not be late to Aurora’s opening tonight and wear something extra fancy, Hongjoong will have our heads if we don’t honor his fiancé for God’s sake.” Wooyoung sounded mildly annoyed but it was no secret that he loved Hongjoong probably almost as much as he loved all of his friends, however, he’d never admit that to anyone. Aurora became the name of Seonghwa’s studio and small gallery, and tonight was the grand opening. Everyone was excited about it, with Seonghwa being a nerve wreck as he feared people wouldn’t show up. After having talked to both him and Hongjoong, they agreed to display a few of my paintings in the front lobby and I was giddy and curious about everyone’s reaction to them. Nobody knew what I had handed over to Seonghwa, and he had beamed when his eyes took in the paintings, he getting emotional instead of me and making me chuckle as I hugged him tightly and thanked him for the opportunity.

“You should worry about yourself, Woo,” Mingi teased with a chuckle, “Y/N and I will look impeccable, as always.”

“That is for sure,” I muttered as I sat back on my ankles, watching Mingi with a grin as we had decided to match our outfits for the night.

“Talk to you later, we’ve got some business to attend to with Y/N now.” And then Wooyoung said his goodbye and they hung up as Mingi pointed towards the pizza with a pout, “I’m still hungry, will you feed me?”

And even if I said no and rolled my eyes, five minutes later Mingi had a teasing glint in his eyes as I fed him his third slice of pizza, smart enough to remain silent or else I wouldn’t have continued feeding him or helping him drink water while his nails dried.

            Barely an hour later, when Mingi’s hunger and thirst were satiated and his nails were dry, we replaced the white sheet with a huge flat canvas that we would paint over. We had agreed on painting a scenery, something similar to the creek we so much liked to visit when the weather allowed it, but sometime along my attempts at making it look like the actual creek, Mingi’s not so painter skills came into the mix and created a—whatever that did not look like the creek. He refused to admit that what was supposed to be the water now looked like the sky, making the whole painting look like it was upside down from our standpoint, and he also kept on vehemently denying that he tried to paint a dick over the trunk of the tree I spent at least fifteen minutes on to make it look as realistic as possible. All in all, I concluded that without Mingi here I would’ve been able to finish the painting in a maximum of three hours, however, now there was no future for finding a vision in whatever we have created.

But I didn’t mind, because this was Mingi’s and my work, something we created together while laughing and talking about whatever came to our minds, the atmosphere light and joyful. I had also washed out the dye from his hair and we towel-dried it, making it look spikier than usual. I couldn’t lie, this new hair made Mingi look incredibly hot, and it took me some willpower to not jump him as he looked at me with those sharp eyes and a knowing smirk, the asshole.

“But you’ll dye it back to black soon, right?” I asked while painting clouds over the once creek turned sky now. Mingi was behind me, crouched down, and his clothes still somehow miraculously not stained. I wore my old overall knowing that I’d stain myself the second I opened a can of paint, and I wasn’t wrong at all as the edges of my pants were already stained green and white.

“I mean, do you hate this color?” Mingi asked from behind me as he dipped his brush into black, terrifying me of whatever he had in mind to do with the color once I saw him.

“What the hell do you need black for?!” I exclaimed as I grabbed his wrist, making his eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Aren’t artists supposed to just go with the flow?” His lips jutted out as he playfully leaned closer, my eyebrows furrowing as I was ready to oppose his idea, “You’re making me question your working etiquette, doll, I don’t find you creative enough—”

“As if!” I exclaimed only mildly offended as I knew Mingi was only teasing me, “Going with the flow and trusting your instincts is one thing, love, but having no vision or idea in mind is plain terrifying.”

“I was going to sign the top of it, but never mind—”

“Fine,” I groaned, gripping his wrist to stop Mingi from twisting away. His voice was whiney and he was pouting, not even looking at me as if he was offended. I knew he wasn’t; he was just acting up to get what he wanted. And unfortunately, it was working embarrassingly well on me, “Sign it.”

“Great!” He beamed as he leaned forward, mindful of staining his pink jeans with paint and I sighed as I shook my head, making curved lines before I colored them to make them look more like clouds. I had no idea what would become of the painting, but I certainly was eager to find out.

“Back to your hair,” I spoke up as Mingi carefully drew his ‘fix on’ signature onto the canvas, “I don’t hate the blonde but I miss your natural color, it suits you more, makes you look cuter and softer.”

“Aw,” Mingi turned back to give me puppy eyes—which he learned from Yunho, no doubt, “you like your boyfriend to be all soft and cute? I thought you like it when I get all wild and destroy—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Song Mingi.” I threatened as I sat back, brush pointed threateningly towards Mingi.

“Or what?” His crooked teeth showed as he grinned, quirking an eyebrow to annoy me further. I huffed and tried to think of a good comeback, but came up empty-handed for once so I gave him a pointed glare.

“I’ll stain you with paint.”

“Bet.”

“Bet.”

And I know Mingi didn’t expect me to actually follow through with my childish threat, but as I jerked my wrist in his direction, the remaining paint from my brush flew off and, well, stained his white sleeveless tank top. Mingi’s mouth fell open as he gaped down at himself, and I laughed, giving him a smug look.

“What, did you think I was fucking around?”

“Oh, I’ll make you wish you never did that!”

And before I could prepare myself for whatever attack he had planned, he pressed his hand against his brush and coated it in black paint then sprung towards me, making me gasp as his thick fingers drew a cold line against my cheekbone. Mingi grinned as I stared at him in surprise, but I reacted soon quickly as I pressed my fingers into the fresh paint on the canvas and returned the favor, the only difference being that I drew a circle on his forehead with white paint. Mingi blinked once, then twice, and a mischievous grin spread onto his lips which told me that I was in trouble.

I quickly scrambled to my feet, but Mingi was fast as he dug his whole hand in green paint and slapped my ass painfully hard, making me cry out as it stung even through the fabric, making me give him a deadly glare, “Song Mingi! That fucking hurt!”

“You’re a pussy.” He stuck his tongue out and I tsked, leaning down to push my whole hand inside the red paint. Mingi’s eyes widened as I gave him a victorious smirk, eyes narrowing as he jumped up to his feet, holding his arms up in defeat.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start a war—” But his futile attempts at saving his ass fell on deaf ears as I cackled and took off towards him, making him yelp as he tried to duck and run away, making us run around the canvas. We were both barefoot and as Mingi tried to jump over the canvas, he miscalculated where his long legs would land and landed on his freshly painted signature, making him yelp again as it was no doubt cold against his feet. I laughed as I easily caught up with him and felt up his chest, biting my lower lip as Mingi’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no, your white shirt is all stained now.” I fake pouted as Mingi froze, incredulous eyes looking between me and his shirt. I chuckled and clapped my hands together, deciding that my job was done here, but then Mingi was stepping back and leaving foot marks all over the canvas on purpose. I scoffed but didn’t care much, the poor painting had been long ruined. I crossed my arms in front of my chest in defiance as he dipped both of his hands in pink paint and then gave me a grin as he beckoned me over with a finger. I huffed in disbelief as if I’d hand myself over willingly to him. And he knew that because I dipped both of my hands in light blue paint and faced him again. Our stare-off was intense and calculating as we both tried to guess the other’s next step, and thinking I’d have the upper hand, I stepped in the middle of the canvas just as Mingi moved too and I raised my hands to dirty his tank top even more when he cupped my cheeks and made me squeal.

The paint felt cold against my skin and I knew it would dry it out once it started drying itself, but I was far too amused to worry about something so insignificant right now. Wanting revenge, I grasped his hair and massaged my hands well into the freshly dyed darker blonde strands, making his hair look like cotton candy due to the pink hue mixing with the light blue of the paint.

“My hair! Y/N!” Mingi whined loudly slapping my hands away, but I wasn’t finished as I dirtied his jaw, neck, and tank top too. Mingi was pouting hard and glaring at me at the same time, already sharp eyes turning sharper and full of revenge as he flushed his body against mine and cupped my ass over the fabric, gripping tightly and kneading the flesh.

“Mingi!” I exclaimed, content with being so close to him, but also annoyed that he kept going for my ass, “Leave my ass alone, you idiot!”

“You ruined my hair!”

“I told you to dye it black and not a different shade of blonde.”

“I thought you were a firm believer in people doing whatever they want.”

“I am, but you’re my boyfriend and I find you hotter with black hair.”

“Well, you’re my girlfriend and I find you hotter with my dick down your throat.”

We both paused as my eyes widened and Mingi caught himself a second later, cheeks flushing as he looked sheepish, finally releasing my ass as his hands settled around my hips instead, “Oopsie, that went too far but it’s the truth—”

He cried out as I whacked him over the head, giving him a fierce look, “Yeah? I also find you hotter gagged around my fingers—”

“We only did that once!”

“Are you afraid it makes you less masculine?”

“I agreed to let you peg me, bro.”

“I know, bro, and you fucking enjoyed it.”

“So, what’s the issue here?”

“That you keep slapping and kneading my ass, leave it alone.”

“Okay, princess, my bad.”

“You’re the princess, Mingi, not me. You’re always whining.”

“And you’re always beating me up, Y/N.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah, you are!”

I scowled at Mingi and pushed him back by the chest, by no means aggressively or harshly, but his dramatic ass pretended to stumble and then he fell back, splaying out across the canvas. I huffed and pinched the bridge off my nose as he made fake crying noises, blinking up at me slowly, “See? I’m huwt.”

I closed my eyes to compose myself and control the need to kick him in the balls for being cringy, “Don’t talk like that, oh, my God.”

“Do you hate it?” He grinned evilly as I walked off the canvas, and to look at me, he turned onto his stomach as he cupped his chin and raised his legs to swing them in the air. He looked like a mess with the paint all over his hair, face, and body, some having gotten onto his pants too now that he was laying on the canvas. I chuckled and shook my head as I eyed my boyfriend, knowing that I looked probably just as messy as him.

“I do, actually, you’re only cute when you’re not trying to be cute.” I deadpanned and Mingi huffed dramatically, letting his arms fall as he pressed his forehead against them. Eyes falling on his round ass, I knew it was my time for payback, and I moved swiftly before he could realize what I was aiming for—it wouldn’t be the first time—so I quickly kneeled next to him and leaned down, baring my teeth as I opened my mouth wide. At first, Mingi jumped when my teeth made contact with his jeans and then when I bit down hard, he yelped, soon turning into loud cries as I continued to bite his left ass cheek harder and harder. He started flailing around and I pulled back with a cackle after I made sure my teeth had sunken in deep enough. But, I had no time to react as he quickly turned around and leaped onto me, landing on top of me as I fell back onto the canvas, no doubt smudging even more whatever paint hadn’t dried yet.

Mingi got on top of me, sitting on my hips as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, pinning me to the floor. I smirked as I raised my eyebrows tauntingly at him, watching his eyes slowly rake over my body to take me in.

“That hurt.”

“Fair enough, it hurt too when you slapped my ass.”

“Well, you have no right to whine so much about it anymore.”

“I do if you keep slapping it, and I also have the right to bite your ass as revenge.”

Mingi’s eyes narrowed and I giggled as he slowly leaned down, placing his hands on both sides of my head to prop himself up, effectively caging me between himself and the floor. I continued looking at him challengingly as he bit his bottom lip, eyes never settling as they searched my face for even a fraction that showed that I would back down. But I wouldn’t, and he knew that by now as he suddenly smirked too, leaning so close our lips brushed against each other.

“I think I won, doll.”

“I didn’t know we were in a contest, love.”

And then he sealed his lips against mine, shutting up the both of us in the most effective way as our lips moved slowly, savoring each other’s taste and lips. Mingi shifted above me and I eagerly opened my legs to let him settle between them as I hugged his torso, hands raking up and down his back slowly as his hips pressed firmly against mine. I smirked against Mingi’s lips when his breath hitched in the back of his throat due to my fingers tangling into his short strands now a little crusty from the red paint in it, it was no secret that Mingi liked it when I pulled on his hair. He cupped my chin with one hand as he pressed his weight on his left arm, the only cue I needed to open up my mouth to grant him access. We both sighed in contentment as his tongue slowly glided against mine, my legs coming up around his hips to lock Mingi’s body against mine.

Mingi moaned when I tangled my fingers just a little harder into his hair, letting him lap at my tongue as he explored my mouth, my body growing hotter as the seconds passed by, hands slipping under his loose tank top to feel up his warm skin. The skin of his back was smooth and I pressed my nails into it as I slowly racked it up his back, feeling Mingi shiver against my body as he jerked his hips forward, making me hum against his mouth as he pulled my bottom lip between his teeth and clamped down on it, sucking hard. I groaned and dug my nails into his shoulders, pulling my head back to be able to lean up and press kisses against his lean neck, his cologne mixing with the paint that was smeared all over us. My lips were hot as I parted them to press wet kisses against his flesh, sucking in the areas I knew Mingi was sensitive to, making him groan and jerk his hips forward again. With a hand slipping down to his hips, I gripped him firmly and prompted him to grind against me, Mingi’s head buried in my hair as I continued to press kisses until I reached his collarbones, gripping the hem of his tank top. He wasted no second as he pulled back just slightly, slipping the fabric off his torso, leaving it bare for me as I grinned at him, feeling his chest and abs up as he worked at the clips of my overall.

I kissed the skin between his pectorals and then pressed up on my elbows as Mingi made quick work of slipping the overall down to my waist and ultimately out of them as goosebumps covered the bare skin of my legs. We threw the overalls off to the side and Mingi was then moving back, down between my legs as he hovered above my thighs, eyes boring into mine as he pressed a feather-like kiss against my left thigh. I gulped and fisted my palms as heat pooled in my lower stomach, his lips always featherlight as he advanced higher up on my thighs with nips and kisses, sometimes licking at the skin teasingly. I knew my cheeks were flushed as I felt hotter by the minute and I shuddered when his lips pressed against my core through the fabric of my panties, making the breath hitch in the back of my throat. Mingi smirked and did it once again before he licked a slow strip upward, closing his eyes to hum, and I let my fingers tangle in his hair as he tapped my inner thigh, moving away from where I wanted him most.

He sat back to undo the buttons and zipper of his jeans, and I watched in anticipation as he slipped the fabric off his thick thighs and ass slowly, in a teasing manner, bottom lip between his teeth as he was half hard already, eyes hooded once he was done with his half-assed striptease. I chuckled and he was all over me again, hips flushed against mine again as I wrapped my legs around his hips, eager to feel his heavy body press me down into the floor. Mingi’s fingers gingerly traveled from my waist up to the hem of my blouse and then he brought it over my head and arms, landing in the pile of clothes to the side. And then his lips were over mine again, licking into my mouth and biting my lip messily as he slowly ground his hips against mine, making me hold onto him as it was easy to feel him in just our underwear. One of my hands went to tease at the elastic of his boxers and, despite him talking shit about it, I knew he liked it when I kneaded his ass, the skin sensitive for him there.

Mingi moaned and ground just a little harder against me, making me burn for him more as he cupped one of my boobs through the bra, pinching the bud as our tongues moved messily without much purpose or goal, too focused on how our bodies felt with the ministrations done to it. As he pressed himself up on his elbow, the hand that grabbed my boob traveled lower on my body until it was inside my panties and rubbing circles against my clit, making me moan out his name loudly, his length grinding up against my thigh as he bit my collarbone, making me screw my eyes shut as I was throbbing for him. But he was a little shit and he only teased, rubbing but never quite letting his fingers slip inside as he chuckled against my ear, making me grit my teeth at him as I gripped his wrist to keep him pressing against my clit as my hips kicked off the floor.

“You’re wet, doll.”

“And you’re not doing enough, love.”

Mingi chuckled again and I moaned as he teasingly slipped just the tip of his finger inside, his rings cold against my burning skin, my nails digging into the flesh of his ass. Mingi groaned and pulled back, making me groan in frustration as I glared at him, but he quickly silenced me with his lips as I felt him pull down my panties, I shimmied my hips to help him get over with it faster. He grinned and nipped at my bottom lip as I pushed his boxers off too, grabbing his dick to teasingly rub at his slit, making him hiss against my lips as our eyes fluttered open.

“What? Only you can tease?” Mingi’s eyes were dark and narrowed as he bucked against my hand, my pace awfully slow in jerking him off, “I could tell you to get off me and I would go on with my merry day—”

“Sure,” Mingi grinned, lips ghosting against my ear as his voice had dropped lower than usual, grabbing my wrist to stop my movements, “but you love my dick too much to pass up on it.”

I scoffed but said nothing, perhaps a little too desperate to have it inside me finally. I hated it when he teased me too much, and because Mingi knew this, he never passed up on the opportunity to get on my nerves even when we were having sex. He enjoyed it perhaps a little bit too much. But the teasing was finally over as he had gotten enough of it, eager to push in as he lined himself up with my entrance, pressing a kiss against my lips.

“I don’t have a condom.” He whispered, eyes searching mine.

“Just pull out, I’m fine.” I circled his shoulders, embracing myself as my core throbbed, eager to have his size expand my walls. Mingi hummed and then pressed another kiss against my lips as he slowly pushed inside, having to take it slow as he didn’t stretch me out with his fingers first, the burn insistent despite our active sex life. I still haven’t gotten used to it, but I didn’t mind as it only made me wetter for him, more eager to take him. Mingi’s bottom lip was between his teeth as he kept his breath labored, concentrating on not hurting me and taking it slow until I said so. I let my fingers run through his hair as I sighed, trying to relax my muscles and just melt into his arms, pressing a kiss against his cheek when he paused abruptly, shuddering.

“You’re so tight,” His voice was barely above a whisper and strained, “I’m about to burst.”

“So soon?” I asked with a chuckle, teasing as it earned me a sharp glare, “And whose fault it is I’m so tight? Your fingers are there for a reason.”

“Shut up.” Mingi groaned and then pressed in fully, a gasp leaving my throat at the sudden move, eyebrows scrunching up as he pressed in deep, making me feel fuller than before. My walls clamped down against his dick and Mingi pressed his forehead against mine as I embraced him, letting my fingers tangle in the short hair against his nape. I nodded, eyes boring into each other, and then Mingi was moving, slowly at first, pulling out only halfway before he was pressing back in, sighs leaving my lips as the pleasure was slowly building up, my hips moving in an attempt to meet his thrusts.

He secured his knees better against the canvas and pressed up on his elbows, hovering over me as his cross necklace dangled in my face, and the image was way too good and hot, knocking a moan out of me as he started thrusting faster, hips slamming back against mine as our pace got faster and more urgent, our breathy moans falling against each other’s lips as I nipped on Mingi’s bottom lip. I hooked a finger against the silver chain as his nose scrunched up, hips slamming back against mine with more purpose, more power, and eagerness as he looked down between our bodies, a grunt leaving his lips as he enjoyed the view. I hooked my legs tighter around his hips and prompted him to move faster, most of my moans were swallowed as we had to remember that we were at university still, in my own studio, so we couldn’t be too vocal. The walls here weren’t soundproof like in Mingi’s studio, yet staying quiet proved to become harder and harder as Mingi started pistoning his hips, grunts turned into low moans as he slammed his lips against mine, our breaths getting swallowed as our teeth knocked together, saliva gathering in the corner of our mouths as I pressed my hands against the small of his back, my own arching off the floor for an even better angle, keening his name when he finally reached the spot that had me seeing stars.

But Mingi was a diligent man who took his time in everything he did, even sex, and if he could prolong our orgasms, then he certainly would, so I had no doubt we’d be at it for a while, subsequently making us late to Aurora’s opening. And we couldn’t have that happening, but our brains were too fogged up and busy with something else to notice Wooyoung’s insistent texts on Mingi’s phone or my mother’s call to remind me I had to be home in fifteen minutes to start getting ready. Oh, well.

            Turns out, we got there just in time and nobody screamed our ears off—I’m looking at you Wooyoung—and Seonghwa was certainly overwhelmed when he saw the number of people that showed up for the opening. It was a mix of all age groups and people who knew Seonghwa and Hongjoong from different places, like Hongjoong’s employees or Seonghwa’s colleagues from his major, and there were even more fans of Zenith Noir that showed up, surprising all three of the guys. Seulgi and I stood to the side with grins on our faces as their fans swarmed them and gushed about the beautiful designs Seonghwa had displayed, some put behind glass to protect the expensive material Hongjoong’s team had worked on, and some even put out to be tried on and bought if someone desired to do so.

Seonghwa’s speech had been an emotional one in which he thanked everyone for their support and Hongjoong for believing in him and offering him opportunities he thought were real only in a far-fetched dream, and then I got teary-eyed when Seonghwa’s family surprised him with cake and hugs and praises, making me extremely happy for being able to chase his dreams. The matching rings Hongjoong and he had on their ring finger were eye-catching to those who didn’t know about their engagement, and it was Hongjoong who proudly announced it to the whole room while Seonghwa flushed and tried not to hide behind Hongjoong despite being taller than his fiancé. It was a sight to behold and I wasn’t surprised to feel Mingi cuddle up into my side and sniff loudly as he watched his friends with a proud smile on his lips, Wooyoung amusingly quiet for once.

When everyone was done appreciating Seonghwa’s efforts and creations, he announced with a cheeky smile that the next time anyone visited, the front lobby would be decorated by other artists’ works, but because I had a special request, tonight my works were displayed in the room adjacent to this. I felt my heart in my throat as Seonghwa led us towards the dark room, then our eyes met and I nodded with a small smile, biting my bottom lip as the light switch was flipped on, coating the room in light. I turned to look at Mingi in anticipation as his eyes widened, and he broke free of the crowd, hurrying inside to take in the entirety of the room, from being incredulous to teary-eyed and then looking like the happiest man on Earth, I couldn’t help it but let my heart swell in happiness and pride as I watched him chuckle and look at me with eyes filled with pure and honest love.

The soft sage green walls were decorated with two portraits of Mingi I had sketched out right at the beginning when I had met him, when I wasn’t so familiar with all of his features yet. Then it progressed to the moments I had captivated as our relationship slowly progressed into that of friendship, us sitting in his car, Mingi driving, Mingi laughing at making me flustered, Mingi’s sharp eyes watching me in a faceless crowd, Mingi up on stage shining like the star he is, Mingi gazing at me with yearning in his eyes, Mingi hugging me warmly into his chest, Mingi chewing on his bottom lip in concentration as he sat in his chair in his studio, working on his music, Mingi looking upset because I rudely disregarded everything that’s happened between us, Mingi angry because I was too stubborn to admit my feelings for him, too afraid to move on from Yunho, and at last, Mingi smiling so widely his eyes disappeared, nose scrunched up and his front teeth showing a little more than usual, pure happiness painting his face.

There was a low murmur amongst the crowd as everyone took in the sketches, drawings, and paintings, but I was only focused on Mingi and his reaction to seeing the stages of our relationship displayed through my eyes, my feelings, and my thoughts. And then, more towards the end of the exposition, there was an old sketch of Yunho I had done while still mulling over the failure of our relationship, and right next to it was a painting of both Yunho and Mingi as they sat next to each other, laughing about whatever was funny at that moment. I had captured the moment when Mingi, me, Yunho, and his girlfriend had gone out for dinner, and then I decided I wanted to paint it twice and gift it to Mingi and Yunho for Christmas. I suppose Mingi would get his sooner than Yunho, I’m sure neither would mind.

Seonghwa announced that I was the artist behind the creations and the room erupted in cheers and claps as people complimented me on my talent, but my eyes were on Mingi only as his blazer was glittery underneath the white light, matching my floor-length glittery black dress. He opened his arms and I didn’t waste any more seconds to approach him and let him crush me in his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring as he pressed his face into my hair, exhaling loudly as I embraced him back just as tightly, closing my eyes as my heart was racing. These past three months I spent next to him had been the best time of my life ever, he made me happier and feel safer than anyone else ever. He helped me get better at controlling my explosive emotions and he helped me slowly break down the walls I so defensively built up after Yunho’s departure. He made me unafraid to love and to receive love, he made me want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I wanted a forever with him.

“I love you, Mingi.” And it was the first time I voiced those thoughts, voice clear but quiet so that only he’d hear it. I felt Mingi freeze, a gasp leaving his mouth as he pulled back, holding me at arm's length as I smiled at him softly, “I love you.”

Mingi gulped as his eyes suddenly turned teary, and he cupped my cheeks as he lowered his head to press his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply as he nodded his head. He’d said those three words to me before, unafraid and unashamed to let me know how he truly felt towards me, and I finally found the courage to say it back. I finally was ready to let him know just how much I felt for him, that I loved him just as much as he loved me.

“I love you, Y/N, so much.” His voice trembled and he kept his eyes closed out of fear of having the tears escape them, and I hummed, resting my hands on his shoulders as I gently rubbed the skin of his neck in an attempt to soothe him.

“I love you just as much, Mingi.”

And he smiled, pressing his warm lips against mine with the unspoken promise that this would last forever, that this was what we both had been searching for. Safety, contentment, honesty, friendship, and freedom, a love that was honest and unafraid. It seemed like our future was rather promising, next to him, I could take on anything. We won’t forget to look at the moon tonight.

I love you, Song Mingi.

A/N: So, hello once again, I am so-so grateful if you made it 'til the end. I cannot believe I'm actually finished with this story and it's a really bittersweet feeling actually, because I am as happy as sad, no joke I kinda cried a little bit. I absolutely love the character and personality I have created for Mingi in this story and I love MC and his dynamic so much, that I find it so freaking hard to let go of them omg, what's happening to me?!

I just really really want to thank everyone who stuck around from start to finish, or from the middle of the story, or showed up as we neared the end of it, I am so so grateful to you all for being patient with me and showering me with love and making me look forward to posting. I was always so excited about a new chapter because I wanted it to be the best, and when I felt like it wasn't, you reassured me that it was and it made me really happy.

I started this story nine months ago, back on the 15th of December, which is funnily enough my sister's birthday so now I will never forget the date I posted it lol, and I find it so freaking crazy that this whole story came from a random brainstorming with my best friend in my car (@orshii), right as we finished our classes at university, brains fried off and ready to end everything, and yet, here I am, trying not to cry again ffs because of how much I grew to love every character in the story.

A little insight: the story at first started out as a random plot that was somewhat similar to 10 Things I Hate About You (which is one of my favorite movies) as Mingi was inspired by Patrick's character and our MC by Kat's, but as time went on, the story and our characters became their own and thus this is how Love Me Like A Rockstar was created. Back at that time I was also obsessed with this song, which played a part in the story becoming a rockstar!au beside Mingi acting like a whole ass rockstar during Crazy Form era lol, and even the title is inspired by the censored version of the song.

I think I made this note already too long, so I'll try to wrap it up. I really want to thank absolutely everyone who reads the whole story, to my loyal readers who were here for every chapter and for all of your thoughts and theories and for making me smile, really. Those who stumbled upon this when it's already finished, I hope you enjoyed each chapter and had fun exploring the world I created (this applies to those too who stuck around while it was still on-going) and I always appreciate your feedback, it's never too late! Thank you everyone, and I hope to see you back for my other stories! <3

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[potato-lord-but-not]

hello ! i hope you’re having a lovely day.

i just wanted to thank you for creating your aroallo arthur ams oscar comic. recently i wrote a fic about oscar and arthur and while it wasnt the soul focus of the fic i characterize/hc arthur as aroallo, and i intend to write more of them in the future being more explicit with the moments in their relationship where they explore and affirm identity.

im on the aro spectrum and when i first saw your comic i teared up/pos. your blindfaith art is always brilliant but this comic just took me out. its so wonderful to see art depicting the beauty of aroallo relationships, that also acknowledges that shame. that balance of bitter and sweet. its been wonderful to see your art of blindfaith and see how those two navigate and grow through the various spheres of shame/guilt they have when it comes to intimacy.

sorry this was so long i just wanted to say thank you for the beautiful art as always and for doing a brilliant job depicting the ways that intimacy and love exist within aro relationships.

hope you’re doing well and staying safe and cozy !!

On my hands and fucking knees SOBBING THANK YOU I’m glad you think so !! I’m glad it spoke to you !! and I’m glad I can portray such intricate and delicate intimacy for y’all to enjoy <3333

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Lessons of life

Tonowari x Metkayina!Reader (Sequel to Missed Lessons)

A/N: Listen I know I said Missed Lessons was my Magnum Opus but I'm starting to think that writing for Tonowari in general might be my Magnum Opus, also if you saw me accidentally post this unfinished then no you didn't. Also not that anyone asked but Obstacles by Syd Matters and Look at you by Screaming Trees are Tonowari and Reader's songs in my head. Also also the smut is very little of this fic so if you're here for smut without plot this is not for you. And in case you haven't noticed my fics are never beta read so just act like any mistakes aren't there.

Synopsis: 35 cycles, almost 36, of being Tonowari's closest friend was enough to ensure a familiarity with everything in his life. The walls of his Marui, weaved by hand by his grandfather's father contained intricate patterns that you could trace in the sand from memory. The permanent markings covering his body, each with a story you knew from start to finish although it was rare the story didn't involve you in some capacity. The way people looked at him since becoming Olo'eyktan. Before your heat came, before Tonowari laid you in the sand and made you his.. you never would have believed that familiarity would ever fade. The walls of his Marui are now the walls of yours as well, the pattern's swirls seemingly different to how they were in your childhood. His newest marking, familiar? Yes, a marking to show your mating with a matching one adorning your own body but still, it looked out of place in its freshness amongst the faded and settled ones you had seen for many cycles. The way people looked at him, at Tonowari, your Tonowari.. they now looked at you the same way. His mate, the woman carrying his child.

Fic includes: NSFW so MDNI, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth (mostly talk of pushing, contractions etc and then mentions of the baby coming into the world but nothing graphic), pregnant sex, fingering, squirting because I can't write smut without it, p in v, reader on top because she is quite far along, themes of insecurity from Tonowari and Reader (Tonowari's insecurity of being leader that I totally made up and Reader's insecurity of her relationship with Tonowari), hints of a strained relationship between Ao'nung and Reader, hints of Jake and Reader being besties because it felt right in my heart, a little surprise at the end 🤭, 3.6k overall

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Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Sweat beads on your forehead and covers your body in a thin sheen. The morning sun beats down on you and despite your position in the cool rippling water you are burning from exertion. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Every noise around you seems muffled, as if you have your hands over your ears to block them out. You don’t hear the Tsahik finishing her blessings from Eywa, you don’t hear the encouraging words of your clan from the water’s edge or the rumbling echoes of clicks and bellows from the Tulkun in the deep water. Even your own cries are dampened in your ears as your blood pounds.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Hands land on your shoulders and you jolt out of the daze of your own mind. Your eyes lift from where they were focussed on the lapping waves against your round belly. Meeting Tonowari's eyes you can’t hold back the sob that rips from your throat, the pain was unlike any you had ever experienced. It was a consuming pain, running through every nerve of your body. You try to distract yourself with the way the morning sun hits his eyes, their beautiful blue hue sparkling with specks of turquoise and deep cerulean. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Tonowari moves his hands to your face, cupping your tear-dampened cheeks in the palms of his large hands. You see his lips moving as he asks you about making the bond with him and despite the pain running through you, you shake your head at the suggestion not wanting your mate to be forced to experience the same pain you are. A conscious part of your brain, not consumed by the pain, is overly aware of the eyes on you both and it aches at the thought of making your mate experience pain so openly in front of the clan.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Keeping a hold of your face, Tonowari reaches for his kuru and presents it to you, accepting your choice but giving you the option to change your mind if you need to. You stare into the eyes of your mate, his action washing away any negative thoughts your nagging insecurity might have washed to the front of your brain and you nod numbly, accepting his offer.

Tonowari presses his forehead to your own as he connects your kuru with his, the little pink swirling tendrils tying together and connecting you both through mind, body and soul. Eyes clenching shut he embraces your pain as if it's his own, sharing the pain of bringing your beautiful baby into the world. 

Images pass behind your eyes in a way that you imagine is similar to what Tsyeyk Suli had called a ‘moo-vee’ one day while discussing his life before his consciousness transfer through Eywa. Memories and feelings so deeply embedded that they can only be brought forward through such a profound connection. Tonowari’s eyes water, whether from your pain now being shared with him or from the onslaught of memories detailing your life together through every twist and turn, you can’t be sure.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

🌿

“Tonowari” 

He remembers the low baritone of his father’s voice vibrating in his ears which lowered in shame at his tone. He’d been caught daydreaming instead of paying attention to his father's words once again. Words of his future, how his father was aging and Tonowari would soon have to lead the clan. 

Pressure, pressure was what it was. A pressure filled promise of a future set in stone that he would never be able to shake, even if it’s all that his adolescent brain wanted.

A deep sigh made him turn to his father, the look on his face making his stomach turn, a look of disappointment that he would one day be just as masterful at dealing out to his own children albeit not without a simmer of shame.

“You may go, your little friend is waiting for you”

Ears shooting up with surprise, his wide eyes looked at his father. He didn’t understand the position he was in back then, not like he does now. If he could go back he always said he would take it easier on his dad, let up on him a bit for being so uptight. 

He remembers running from his Marui, running to you where you were waiting for him in the afternoon sun. Your hair was loose that day, unbraided and unstyled with a rogueness that was uniquely yours. You smiled at him, bright and beautiful as you told him about a place you wanted to take him.

An outcrop, one you had to swim to from the other side of the island where Awa’latlu rested. A place that would hold significance in your lives throughout cycles and cycles. The place where you would create new life to add to yours.

🌿

“Skxawng!”

You remember the offended look that Tonowari shoots at you, your hands weaving a delicate shining shell into his songcord with practiced perfection. 

The dark ink of his newest permanent marking is shocking against his skin, covered in a layer of healing salve from the Tsahik. 

He was banned from the water, not allowed to get the marking wet or soak it for the next few days so he’s stuck making up his excess time by attending duties with you, annoying you through your daily tasks.

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was happier by your side, watching you work on various duties, than he was in the water with the weight of being the Eykyu (Leader) of the tarpongu (hunting party). 

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was a different person with you.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the shake in your voice, the quiver of your bottom lip as you stared up at him and the tears gathering on your lash line that threatened to spill over. 

You were standing off to the side of him and his group of friends who were sitting around a fire. They were talking about something stupid, laughing and smiling. He was relaxed, as much as he could be while knowing he was about to become the Olo’eyktan. 

These friends would soon grow to look at him differently, look at him as their leader and not the boy they grew up with but you.. you never looked at him as anything other than himself.

Laughter roused from the group as Tonowari practically sprinted to your side to check on you. He can’t recall why you were crying, why you needed him but he remembers the panic that spread through him when he saw your tears finally spill over and dampen your cheeks.

He didn’t realise at the time that your tears finally spilled not from what had actually gotten you so worked up but from the guilt of pulling him away from his other friends, from making them laugh at him because of you.

🌿

“Skxawng” 

You remember calling Tonowari that as he shifted once more from the feeling of your hands on his body. At the time you were annoyed. Your hands were aching from grinding up iridescent shells to make the unique paint in front of you and no part of your mind would have thought that your best friend of 21 cycles was being so inconsiderately mobile because the feeling of your hands on his body was meaningful to him in any other way than just painting him for his ceremony. 

The swirls you painted were purposefully reminiscent of the weaving swirls throughout his Marui, a place you had spent a majority of your childhood together in, and the paint you had made for this momentous occasion was dazzling. Fit for the Olo’eyktan to be that was sitting before you. 

Fit for your best friend.

🌿

“Tonowari!”

He remembers the cheers of excitement from the clan around him, a grin spreading across his own face to match the ones he could see in the crowd as the Tsahik announced him the new Olo’eyktan in the presence and blessing of the Great Mother.

The weight of the ceremonial cape on his shoulders was a fitting physical representation of the metaphorical weight he had worn for cycles before becoming clan leader and that he would continue to wear cycles on from now.

He remembers pressing his forehead to the Tsahik’s in a respectful display before doing the same with his father, who for the first time in his lifetime seemed to be just that. Not Olo’eyktan now, not a leader or a role model but his father.

He turned to face the crowd, eyes meeting yours from a distance and he allowed himself to look at you, really looking at you.

He remembers a shock going through him at how beautiful you were, light shining on you as if Eywa herself had parted the clouds to let it highlight you amongst the rest of the clan.

He wondered at the time when you’d become so beautiful, when he’d become immune to noticing it. Wondered when your hair had grown from the choppy little cut you ran around with as a teenager to the carefully braided and styled way you were now wearing it. Wondered when you had grown into your body, when you’d developed into a woman with enticing softness and eye catching curves.

He was whisked away before he could speak to you, taken to the side by his mother and father. Shown off to the parents of the Tsakarem, Ronal, someone who he'd always known as Tonowari but was now having to get to know all over again as Olo’eyktan.

🌿

“Thank the Great Mother he doesn’t look like you, Skxawng..”

You remember the embarrassing shake of your voice as you held Ao’nung in your arms, Tonowari’s first born, so small and sweet. Looking so much like his mother Ronal. You wondered in that moment if he’d grow up to possess the same fierceness as his mother, the same bite in his words and bone chilling scowl that she shot at those who angered her.

You didn’t realise at the time looking down at his small, content face that he'd one day turn his mother's fierceness towards you. Throwing out sharp words just to hurt you, questioning you and accusing you of trying to replace his mother when he found out about the life you and his father had created.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the whisper of your voice behind him as he looked over the Suli family from the Omatikaya. The way your eyes met his own sent a shiver down his spine. It had been cycles at that point since you had called him by his name, a friendship once as strong as the waves of the ocean beyond the reef now settled like gentle ripples.

Your eyes sent him back to his childhood, to a time where you could speak without saying anything, to a time where he was closest to you.

He didn’t realise at that moment how much he really loved you, how much he had loved you his whole life. How the love he had for you was strong enough to cripple him, make him drop to his knees in front of the clan and scream it until his voice was rendered hoarse. 

He remembers your eyes flicking to Tsyeyk and how he looked at you, pleading. Your eyes took in the children surrounding Neytiri and Tsyeyk, full of warmth and kindness you had gained over many cycles before they shot to his own once again. Without words he knew what you were saying to him and he agreed.

Despite facing away from you to address the clan he could hear the grin in your voice as you spoke to the Suli family and it took the strength of a leader that he had become more used to possessing to hide his own grin at the sound.

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu”

He remembers calling you that for the first time not even a full cycle ago. His hands were on your shoulders as he begged you to look at him and calm down.

You had both returned from your outcrop, your mixed scents and day long disappearance a dead giveaway to what had taken place. 

The Tsahik had approached you both to confirm that you had mated before Eywa and before you had time to truly grasp what this all meant there was an announcement to the Metkayina of their Olo’eyktan taking a new mate. Your mind had finally cleared from your heat only to be bombarded by the reaction of your clan.

He remembers you nodding through the words of the clan, accepting offers from the finest performers of Tā moko (permanent marking/tattooing) to design your Moko Kauae (tattoo on lips and chin of women) to represent your new status amongst the Metkayina. Remembers the Tsahik announcing that there would be a handfasting ceremony in the village wharenui (village meeting hall). 

He remembers your breathing starting to pick up, your eyes shifting amongst the many smiling faces before you as you excused yourself and practically ran to your Marui. Practically ran from him.

He approached you a while later, only delayed by having to speak with the Tsahik, finding your curled up form shaking on your bed roll. He remembers gripping onto you and begging you to listen to him. 

He remembers the look of relief that flashed across your face as he called you his love and he vowed in that moment, privately and to himself, that he’d never let you go for another moment without knowing well and true how much he loved you.

🌿

“Ma’Tonowari”

You remember the first time it slipped it, the first time you called him yours in front of someone else. 

Your hand was clenched around his own large, rough hand and looking back you’re surprised at the lack of reaction he had to your bone-breaking grip. 

You’d received Tā moko before, different permanent markings covering your body in different positions and locations but your Moko Kauae was giving you more trouble than you had hoped. The Tsahik had warned you before-hand that your pregnancy might make your body more sensitive to stimulation, painful or pleasurable.

You had no time to be embarrassed, no time to overthink about what the others in the Tā moko whare (Permanent Marking/Tattoo building) may think of your exclamation because, before any of that could happen, Tonowari pressed a kiss against the back of the hand that was squeezing the life out of his own. Grounding you instantly and keeping your brain with him rather than with anyone else. 

His eyes trailed the marking being placed onto your skin, a matching Tā moko throbbing on his chest directly above his heart to show his dedication and love for you that he’d experienced for years, finally immortalised on his body.

🌿

“Ma’Tsmuke!”

He remembers the squeal of excitement in your voice as you did your best to make your way to the water quickly, your heavy stomach making your pace more underwhelming than it was in your head. 

You’d joined him on a Tsurak as he guided you both to where the Metkayina’s spirit brother’s and sister's were gathered.

He remembers speaking with his Tulkun, his brother. Telling him the tale of your mating and the baby in your belly that was his for you to bear. Remembers watching you swim with your sister, the water taking your weight and making your movements smoother once more. 

You had waved him over, presented him in front of your spirit sister in a way that made him flush. He had attributed your gushing words about his strength and how much you loved him to your pregnancy making you more emotional than usual.

He didn’t know at the time that your spirit sister was the only one you felt truly comfortable expressing your pure emotions to other than him. Didn’t know that through the polite smiles and nods at the members of the Metkayina that congratulated you both was a crippling insecurity that used its ugly voice to drag you down. 

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu..”

You remember the tired edge to his voice as he entered your Marui for the night. The puffiness of the bags under his eyes almost brought tears to your own as he sat beside you on your shared bed roll. 

The day had been long, the tarpongu (hunting party) returning almost empty-handed due to an unexpected Akula in the hunting area and Tonowari blamed himself for every lost fish from the catch and every injury that dotted the bodies of the hunters.

Your own day had been strenuous but nothing could compare to the strength of Tonowari’s ability to blame himself for clan matters. 

You remember offering him your kuru, silently telling him you wanted to share his worries and pain while sharing your love and reassurance.

You didn’t realise at that moment Tonowari was convinced you were the most incredibly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Hand outstretched presenting your kuru to him like a gift, large concerned eyes gazing at him with a sea full of love swimming inside them and belly swollen with his child.

🌿

“M-Ma’Wari..”

He remembers the desperate whimper trembling from your lips as he rolled your overly sensitive clit between his fingers, bullying another orgasm out of you that made your eyes roll back in your head and your legs shake.

It had started when you had complained about your appearance, something stupid about the swell of your pregnant stomach and full breasts that Tonowari had taken personal offense to.

Two of his thick fingers collect the slick drooling from your puffy cunt and teasingly circle your entrance before sinking inside you deep enough to brush against your g-spot on their first thrust. 

He remembers your hands desperately searching for something to grip on to, one settling in his hair where it gripped hard enough to sting his scalp and the other clenching your bed roll into a fist. His lips trailed from your sweat slick neck, heavily marked by his nips and sucks to your full breasts, latching you your tender nipple and twirling his tongue around it in a practiced motion that made your voice weak every time.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you begged for a break before you released a heavy squirt, your orgasm dragged out by his insistent press against your clit. 

He had given you room to breathe while he admired the wet spot you left on the bed roll because of him, your swollen cunt twitching with overstimulation and your body trembling from his actions.

Your pregnancy had subdued you slightly, made you a little more pliable and submissive just like the heat that got you pregnant in the first place had but it didn’t subdue you enough to stop you from sending Tonowari back with a shove until his back met the bed roll.

“Skxawng”

You both remembered the roll of his eyes, the smiles on your faces as you sank down on him, holding yourself up with whatever effort you could muster as you took his cock. The stretch was still a pleasurable burn despite the amount of times he had split you open on him during your pregnancy.

Tonowari stared up at you like you were Eywa herself above him, the evening sun lighting you from behind and creating a beautiful image, one he’d remember forever. 

“N-nga yawne lu oer”

You had beaten him to saying it again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

A relieved sob rips out of your throat at your final push and you very nearly collapse into the arms of your mate who stands before you, eyes no longer focussing solely on you but also on the beautiful baby that your body had made for you both.

One of his large hands stays supporting you at the waist while the other reaches into the water, helping the sweet little life reach the surface for their first breath. Tears of happiness form in his eyes at the sight of his beautiful baby taking their first big gulp of air.

The Tsahik works quickly to remove the shawl placed around you from your shoulders, a shawl that all of the members of the clan had a form of contribution to, whether through harvesting materials or weaving. Wrapping the baby into the shawl, a metaphorical hug from the clan embracing them as your own arms embrace them in the loving hold of their mother. 

Meeting Tonowari's eyes you pass him your precious baby, the life you made together and you can’t hold back your grin at the way his arms make the baby look even smaller than they feel in your own. 

Looking to the edge of the water, your clan surrounds you and for the first time since mating with Tonowari you don’t question your position. 

Eyes meeting Ao’nung’s you can see the apology and pride for you in his own before he can even consider saying anything out loud. You send him a relaxed smile in understanding, the exchange going unnoticed by everyone except the two of you.

“Have you prepared a name to announce to the clan?” 

The Tsahik’s words send your brain on the search once more and when your eyes land upon Tsyeyk Suli standing amongst your clan, your brother's and sister’s, his mate and children by his side but missing a member, you know that your decision is made.

Tonowari raises his arms above his head, cradling your brand new baby in his hands as gently as he’s ever held anything before. The sound of excitement runs through the members of the clan who can see their Olo’eyktan’s new baby.

The low baritone of Tonowari's voice rings out, loud enough for the clan, the Tulkun and even Eywa herself to hear as he announces the name of your son.

“Neteyam!”

[panakinthedisco]

PART 1 | HEAVEN ━━ Marcus Acacius

summary: acacius' mother forged a blood pact with the goddess of love, vowing to safeguard and elevate her son, while dedicating her life as a delphi in return. through all general acacius' triumphs, you as the daughter of venus deftly orchestrated his victory as promised but then gradually nurturing a forbidden attachment.

author's note: don't get me started how i almost died with the trailer and the photos of papi pedroooooo so i had to do this (also i can use my greek mythology knowledge for some good use) so yup reader is an immortal goddess and possibly daughter of venus, idfc anymore because i'm making my own lore! they're going to be arwen and aragorn-esque ending coz i eat those kind of tropes lmfao

warnings: eventual smut to later chapters. mentions of misogyny, violence and also implications of sexual abuse.

word count: 4.4k

In the heart of a desolate village, a young woman stood at the fringes of society, shunned and abandoned for bearing the child of a powerful general. Clutching her infant son tightly to her chest, she wandered aimlessly, her heart heavy with despair and fear. The whispers of the villagers echoed in her mind, a cacophony of judgment and scorn. Tears streamed down her face as she made her way to the grand temple of Venus, the goddess of love, her last beacon of hope.

The temple, with its towering marble columns and intricate carvings, loomed before her like a sanctuary in the midst of her turmoil. The air grew thick with an impending storm as she fell to her knees at the entrance, her cries piercing the silence of the sacred place. "Great Venus, goddess of love and mercy," she sobbed, her voice trembling, "I beg of you, protect my son and guide us, for we have nowhere else to go. I fear for his life, for he is innocent."

As her desperate pleas echoed within the hallowed halls, the wind suddenly picked up, swirling around her with a fierce intensity. The sky darkened, and the deafening roar of thunder cracked through the air. In the midst of this tempest, a radiant light descended upon the temple. From the ethereal glow emerged a figure of unparalleled beauty, clothed in pure white robes that flowed like water.

Venus, the goddess of love, knelt before the fallen woman. Her presence was divine, her skin like alabaster, flawless and luminous. Her eyes, a captivating shade of deep blue, held the wisdom of the ages and the compassion of a thousand hearts. Golden hair cascaded down her back in waves, shimmering as if woven from sunlight. A gentle smile graced her lips, exuding warmth and serenity.

"Rise, my child," Venus spoke, her voice a melodious symphony that filled the air with hope. "Do not despair, for I have heard your cries and felt your anguish. I can offer you and your son protection, but it comes with a price. You must dedicate your life to me, serve as my devotee, and in return, I shall ensure your son’s safety and guide you both to a brighter future."

The young woman, overwhelmed by the goddess's presence and her words, gazed into the loving eyes of Venus. With unwavering determination and gratitude, she nodded. "I will do as you ask, great goddess. My life is yours to command, if it means my son will be safe."

Venus gently lifted the woman to her feet, her touch tender and reassuring. "Then it shall be so. From this moment forth, you are under my protection. Fear not, for love shall guide your path, and together, we shall overcome all obstacles." 

With that, the storm subsided, leaving behind a serene sky. The young woman, now filled with renewed hope and purpose, cradled her son as they both embraced the divine path laid before them by the goddess of love.

Years had gone by, the once forsaken young woman found solace and purpose as a devoted Delphi. She served with unwavering faith, her every breath a testament to the sacred bond she had formed with the goddess of love. Her son, Acacius, grew under the protective aegis of the temple, receiving the finest education and training from the wise sorceresses who resided there. His days were filled with rigorous training and study, molding him into a formidable warrior.

One golden afternoon, the courtyard of the temple buzzed with activity. Acacius, now a young man of remarkable prowess, moved with grace and strength as he sparred with his fellow trainees. His body, chiseled and powerful, gleamed with sweat under the sun. Every muscle in his arms and chest rippled with the precision and control honed through years of discipline. His jawline was sharp, his dark hair tousled, and his piercing eyes focused, exuding an aura of confidence and determination.

From a distance, Venus, resplendent in her divine beauty, emerged from the temple accompanied by you, her daughter. Venus’ robes flowed like liquid moonlight, and her presence illuminated the courtyard. While you, whose divine essence shimmered with an ethereal glow, stood by your mother’s side, your eyes subtly observing Acacius as he trained vigorously.

"Look at him, my daughter," Venus spoke, her voice a soothing melody. "Acacius’ mother devoted her life to serving as a Delphi, and it is now your duty to watch over him. He has grown into a man of great potential."

You were hesitant and prideful, replied, "Mother, surely I am capable of far more important tasks than merely watching over a mortal."

Venus laughed, "Ah, my dear, I see great things in Acacius. I made an unbreakable oath to his mother to protect him and guide him to victory. This task is of utmost importance, and you, my daughter, are perfectly suited for it."

Reluctantly, you agreed, though you felt the weight of the responsibility. As Venus gracefully returned to the temple, your gaze lingered on Acacius. You had watched him grow from a vulnerable child into the powerful warrior he had become. His masculine form, sculpted by relentless training, was a testament to his dedication and strength. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and defined torso were a sight to behold, each movement exuding a raw, magnetic energy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had spent millennia observing the ways of mortals. From the heights of the celestial realm to the depths of human existence, you had witnessed the endless cycles of birth, love, ambition, and vanity that defined their ephemeral lives. Mortal men, in particular, seemed ensnared by their own reflections, driven by a relentless pursuit of power, beauty, and validation. Their obsessions with vanity, you mused, were like chains binding them to an endless quest for an ever-elusive perfection.

In the sanctity of your divine solitude, you pondered these thoughts, your mind weaving through the countless interactions you had with mortals over the ages. Vanity, you concluded, was a double-edged sword. It spurred men to greatness but also led them to their downfall. How often have you seen warriors, poets, and kings, their hearts consumed by the desire for eternal youth, adoration, and glory? They built monuments to themselves, adorned their bodies in opulent garb, and sought the fleeting approval of their peers, all the while neglecting the deeper virtues of humility, wisdom, and compassion.

Living among mortals, you had grown accustomed to their ways, understanding the fragile nature of their existence. Yet, with each passing century, you have grown more disillusioned by their unchanging flaws. Despite the wisdom imparted by time and the guidance of the gods, mortals remained predictably obsessed with their own image.

When your mother, Venus, entrusted you with the responsibility of watching over Acacius, you could not help but feel a familiar pang of skepticism. Was he not just another man, destined to be ensnared by the same vanities as those before him? Despite his formidable strength and the disciplined mind he had cultivated, you feared that beneath his heroic exterior lay the same vulnerabilities that had claimed countless others.

As you observed Acacius from the shadows, your thoughts grew heavier. You remembered how, as a boy, he had shown signs of the same traits that plagued mortal men: the pride in his burgeoning strength, the flicker of arrogance in his victories, and the longing in his eyes for recognition and admiration. He seemed no different from the countless men who had walked the earth, striving for greatness yet ultimately ensnared by their own hubris.

Your divine heart, though swayed by eons of witnessing human folly, felt a curious twinge as she watched him. There was something about Acacius, a glimmer of potential, that both made you intrigued and worried. Could he break the cycle? Or would he, too, succumb to the inevitable downfall of vanity?

As you silently vowed to fulfill her mother’s promise, you found yourself grappling with an unexpected sense of protectiveness. Despite your reservations, there was an undeniable bond formed by watching him grow, a reluctant admiration for his resilience and strength. You feared for him, not because you doubted his abilities, but because she understood the weight of his mortality.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to the task. "Acacius may be like other men," you thought, "but perhaps there lies within him a spark of something more." You would watch over him, guide him, and protect him from the shadows, ever vigilant and ever hopeful that he might transcend the very vanities that ensnared his kind. As the daughter of Venus, you knew that love and duty were bound by unbreakable threads, and you would honor them both, even if it meant confronting your own doubts and fears.

As you observed him and embedded in your own thoughts, Acacius suddenly paused and turned his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours across the courtyard. Startled, you quickly retreated into the shadows, your divine essence blending with the darkened corners of the temple. 

Hidden from view, your heart pounded. You realized the gravity of your new role, feeling a mixture of trepidation and an unspoken bond with the man she would protect and guide. As Acacius resumed his training, unaware of the divine eyes watching over him, you knew this won’t be an easy responsibility. 

As the daughter of Venus, you have watched over Acacius from the shadows, your divine presence hidden but your influence ever-present. From the moment he drew his sword, you felt the weight of your mother's promise pressing upon your shoulders, a vow to guide and protect him, to steer him towards greatness. Acacius was more than a mortal; he was the culmination of a divine pact, and your duty to him was as sacred as the bond forged between his mother and Venus.

In his youth, you whispered wisdom into the ears of his mentors, guiding their hands as they trained him in the arts of war and leadership. You ensured that the best teachers found their way to him, that he learned not only the strategies of battle but also the virtues of honor, compassion, and justice. Through subtle interventions, you shaped his character, molding him into a man worthy of the destiny laid before him.

As he grew, so did the challenges he faced. You were there in the thick of his battles, unseen but ever vigilant. During his early skirmishes, you would nudge his instincts, sharpening his reflexes and lending him the strength he needed to overcome his foes. When he faltered, you were the whisper of encouragement that steeled his resolve, the invisible hand that steadied his sword.

In the grand halls of strategy and politics, you guided his thoughts, helping him navigate the treacherous waters of Roman ambition. You planted seeds of wisdom in his mind, urging him to form alliances that would strengthen his position, to make decisions that would earn him the respect of his peers and the loyalty of his men. You were the unseen force that smoothed the path before him, ensuring that every step he took led him closer to his destiny.

When he was appointed as a general under Maximus Decimus Meridius, you knew that your efforts were bearing fruit. Acacius had become a formidable leader, his name spoken with reverence and fear across the empire. Yet, his journey was far from over. Under the rule of Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, Acacius faced new trials. The invasion of Caledonia was a test of his mettle, a crucible that would forge his legacy.

As the Romans prepared for their campaign, you took on the guise of a tradesman’s daughter in Caledonia, positioning yourself to be near him, to watch over him more closely. The battles were fierce, and the land was unforgiving. You ensured that crucial information reached him at the right moments, that his strategies were sound and his decisions unerring. You softened the hearts of those who might have betrayed him, turned the tides of fortune in his favor.

Through the years, you have been his silent guardian, his invisible ally. You have seen him rise from a young warrior to a revered general, each victory a testament to the bond you honored. Even now, as you  stand among the captured townspeople, disguised and hidden, your purpose remains unchanged. You are here to protect him, to guide him, and to ensure that he fulfills the destiny that was promised.

In the moments when doubt clouded his heart, you were the light that pierced the darkness. When he faced insurmountable odds, you were the strength that carried him through. You have watched over him with a mixture of pride and affection, your heart swelling with each triumph and breaking with each loss. Acacius is more than just a mortal; he is a living embodiment of the divine promise you are bound to uphold.

Amidst the chaos of the Roman invasion of Caledonia, the air was thick with smoke and the cries of the conquered. The formidable General Acacius, now a seasoned leader under Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, surveyed the battlefield with a steely gaze. His once youthful visage was now marked by the scars of countless battles, his presence commanding and unwavering.

In the midst of the turmoil, you risked disguising as a daughter of a tradesman, moved with quiet resolve. Clad in the coarse, earth-toned garb of a peasant, she blended seamlessly with the captured townspeople. Yet, even in your humble attire, your divine essence could not be wholly concealed. Your skin, a flawless alabaster, stood out against the grime and soot of the war-torn village. Your eyes, a striking shade of hazel, gleamed with an unearthly light, and your movements, though tempered to appear modest, held an innate grace that betrayed your true nature.

The Roman soldiers, drunk on victory, rounded up the women of Caledonia, separating them from their families with ruthless efficiency. Among the throng, the disguised goddess maintained a facade of fear and helplessness, your heart pounding as she witnessed the suffering of the innocent. The brutality of the soldiers, their coarse laughter, and lecherous gazes made you shudder inwardly, but you knew you must maintain your cover.

General Acacius, his mind burdened with the responsibilities of command, scanned the scene with a practiced eye. His soldiers were securing the captives, ensuring the spoils of war were collected. His gaze fell upon the group of captured women, and for a moment, he saw them as mere pawns in the grand scheme of conquest. But then, his eyes landed on you.

Despite your plain clothing, something about you stood out. Your skin, untouched by the harshness of the elements, was too smooth, too luminous for a common peasant. Your hair, though partially hidden beneath a simple headscarf, shone with a subtle, otherworldly luster. You moved with a quiet dignity, your posture erect even in the face of despair. Acacius's sharp eyes missed nothing, maybe a nobility pretending to be a peasant so they can escape from the invasion. He finds it as a clever tactic. 

As one of his soldiers, emboldened by the chaos, approached her with lecherous intent, Acacius felt a surge of anger. The soldier, a brutish figure, reached out to grasp your arm, his intentions clear. Before he could lay a hand on you, Acacius's voice rang out, authoritative and cold.

"Stand down," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The soldier froze, his hand hovering in the air. "Do not touch her."

The soldier, taken aback, stammered a protest, "But, General, she's just a—"

"Bring her to me," Acacius cut him off, his gaze fixed on the disguised goddess. "Now."

The soldier, reluctant but obedient, withdrew his hand and roughly pushed you forward. You stumbled slightly but quickly regained your balance, your eyes meeting Acacius with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. As you were brought before him, he could see the subtle details that marked you as different: the refinement in your features, the intelligence in your eyes, the air of quiet strength exuded within you.

"Who are you?" Acacius asked, his voice softer but still commanding. "You do not belong here, do you?"

You hesitated, you mind racing to craft a plausible response. "I am the daughter of a tradesman," you said, your voice steady despite the fear you felt. "Captured like the others. Please, I mean no harm."

Acacius studied you for a long moment, his instincts telling him there was more to your story. "Take her to my tent," Acacius declared, his voice carrying an edge of finality. "She will be my personal cupbearer."

The soldiers, recognizing the unwavering tone of their general, nodded in agreement. They stepped back, leaving you untouched. Acacius's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, a mixture of curiosity and protectiveness in his eyes.

"Find her something clean to wear," he instructed, his tone gentle yet firm.

Two soldiers led you through the encampment, their grip on your arms firm but not harsh. They guided you to the lavish tent of General Acacius, a striking contrast to the roughness of the battlefield outside. The tent was grand, its exterior adorned with rich fabrics and ornate decorations. Inside, it was a sanctuary of luxury and comfort amidst the chaos of war.

The interior of the tent was spacious, with plush carpets covering the ground and opulent cushions scattered around. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of Roman victories and mythological grandeur. A large, intricately carved wooden table stood at the center, laden with an array of sumptuous food and fine wine. The scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

As you stood in the middle of the tent, feeling the weight of her disguise, General Acacius entered. His armor gleamed in the soft light of the tent, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, yet there was a gentleness in his approach.

"Sit with me," he said, gesturing to the cushions by the table.

You hesitated but complied, lowering yourself onto the soft cushions. Acacius sat across from you, his gaze never leaving yours like a lion observing his prey. He offered you a plate of food, the array of delicacies a testament to the wealth and power he commanded.

"Please, eat," he urged, but you shook your head, declining politely.

"I’m not hungry, my Lord," you explained, your voice steady.

Acacius leaned back, studying you intently. "What kind of business does your father have?"

You took a breath, weaving the story you had prepared. "My father is a tradesman, specializing in silk. We travel far and wide, even to the distant lands of China, to procure the finest silk. He sells it to the emperor and to those of noble birth."

Acacius nodded, intrigued. "A tradesman of silk, you say? But then, you do not seem like a mere peasant."

You lowered your eyes, the weight of your divine secret heavy upon you. "We have faced many hardships, but my father has always ensured that we present ourselves with dignity."

Acacius leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and measured, "does your family live in Caledonia?"

Your heart is pounding. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady. "We come from an impoverished background. My father sought to make a better life for us through his trade."

Acacius studied you closely, his eyes dark and intense. As he reached for a cluster of grapes, he popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. The act, so casual and yet so intimate, made your pulse quicken. His scrutiny was unrelenting, and you felt as though he could see through the layers of your disguise.

"You should know," he began, his tone carrying a note of warning, "that the nobility of Caledonia will be captured. There is no escape for them."

You remained silent, her expression carefully neutral. You knew he was testing you, probing for any signs of deceit. His words, though intended to intimidate, also carried a hint of concern.

"My soldiers are ruthless," he continued, his voice growing colder. "They would take advantage of you if given the chance."

You nodded silently, acknowledging the gravity of his warning. Your heart ached at the thought of the suffering around you, but you knew she had to maintain your composure.

As Acacius spoke, the flap of the tent was pushed aside, and a soldier entered, carrying a bundle of fresh clothes. They were simple but clean, likely taken from a Caledonian household. The soldier handed the bundle to Acacius, who thanked him with a curt nod.

"Here," Acacius said, extending the clothes to you. "Put these on."

You rose from your seat and took the bundle obediently, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. The contact sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the thin line she walked between mortal and divinity. 

"You may change behind the screen," he said, gesturing to a beautifully carved wooden partition that provided a modicum of privacy within the tent.

You nodded and moved behind the screen, the fabric rustling softly as you slipped out of your peasant clothes. The new garments were a marked improvement, though still modest. As you dressed, you could feel Acacius's presence just beyond the screen, his protective aura enveloping you like a shield.

When you emerged, you found him watching you intently, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something you could not quite name. The new clothes fit you well, accentuating your grace and poise even in their simplicity.

"Better," he murmured, his voice softening. "You look more like the person you claim to be."

You offered a faint smile, lowering her gaze. "Thank you."

Days passed, and you, now working as a cupbearer in General Acacius's camp, endeavored to maintain your humble facade. Despite your best efforts to appear as an ordinary servant, your innate grace and poise occasionally betrayed your true nature. Acacius, ever observant, began to notice the subtle refinement in your movements, the way you carried yourself with a dignity that spoke of nobility.

Your body language, though deliberately subdued, hinted at a life of privilege and education. You moved with an elegance that seemed out of place in the rough-and-tumble environment of a military camp. The way you poured water into cups, the delicate curve of your fingers as you handled the pitchers, all bespoke a background far removed from the impoverished tale you had spun.

One afternoon, a group of generals gathered in Acacius's lavish tent for a luncheon. As you silently poured water into their cups, you could feel the weight of their gazes upon you. The generals, their voices booming with laughter and boasts, paid little heed to the solemnity of their surroundings. One of them, a burly man with a coarse beard, eyed you with a lecherous grin.

"Acacius," he called out, his voice thick with drink, "is your cupbearer good in bed?"

The tent erupted in raucous laughter, the crude jest echoing off the walls. Acacius, seated at the head of the table, narrowed his eyes. His gaze hardened, and he fixed the offending general with a stern look.

"Such things are not to be discussed," he said, his tone carrying a quiet authority that silenced the laughter.

The general, still chuckling, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, Acacius, always so reserved. You'd do well to indulge a bit more."

The disguised goddess watched the exchange with keen interest, your heart pounding. You knew Acacius's character well, having observed him for years. You despised these gatherings, these displays of vanity and ego. He found no pleasure in the idle boasts of his peers, preferring the company of his own thoughts and strategies.

As you continued your duties, pouring water and refilling cups, you could sense Acacius's discomfort. He was a man of action, a warrior with a clear sense of purpose. These luncheons, with their empty chatter and frivolous banter, were a stark contrast to the disciplined life he led. You admired his restraint, his ability to maintain his composure in the face of such provocation.

The generals continued their revelry, their conversations shifting from one boast to another. They spoke of past victories, of conquests and spoils, their voices a cacophony of pride and self-importance. Acacius, though present in body, seemed distant, his mind likely focused on the next battle, the next challenge.

As you moved around the table, you caught his eye for a brief moment. In that instant, you saw a flicker of something deeper, a connection that transcended. You knew that he valued substance over show, strategy over vanity. His reluctance to engage in their crude jests and hollow boasts only endeared him to you more.

The luncheon dragged on, the generals growing more boisterous with each passing moment. Acacius, ever the disciplined leader, maintained his stoic demeanor, responding to their jibes with measured patience. You could see the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw, and felt a pang of empathy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had always found mortal men to be easily swayed by vanity and ambition. They are like clay, molded by the hands of society and their peers, their true selves often buried beneath layers of ego and pride. But Acacius is different. Despite the pressures and temptations that come with his rank, he remains steadfast and true to his values. You're secretly proud of him, of the strength he shows in resisting the crudeness and arrogance that so often define his comrades.

That evening, after the generals had left and the camp had settled into a quiet lull, you found Acacius outside his tent, gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled above, their light casting a gentle glow on his strong, chiseled features. There was a tranquility in the air, a moment of peace amidst the chaos of war.

You approached him silently, your heart swelling with admiration for the man he had become. "Thank you for everything, My Lord," you said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned to look at you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "You don’t need to thank me," he replied, his voice steady.

You nodded, understanding the brusqueness of his words. "Even so, I am forever grateful."

As you turned to return to the tent, you could feel his gaze lingering on you. There was a mystery in his eyes, a curiosity that you knew he could not easily dispel. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you—this woman who appeared from nowhere, cloaked in the guise of a humble servant yet betraying hints of refinement and grace.

CONTINUE READING: PART 2 | PART 3 ━━ AVAILABLE ON AO3

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS ☆

[cxtori]

Kaveh ✮ Bad Days

summary: basically you’ve had a really rough week and Kaveh decides to help you do your hair when you get upset with it :)

genre: fluff established relationship, good ole’ feminine hair rage, hurt/comfort, Kaveh is really good at doing hair I just know he is

warnings: n/a

WC: 1.3k

song: here with me by d4vd

tori’s note: OMG a genshin fic, lookie! And HELLO! I’m alive. I’m finally getting used to my new job and routine so I’m finding more time to spend on my hobbies, which means I’m finding more time to write :) hoping to be posting more stuff soon! <3

It had been a hard day. A Hard week actually.

First, the art piece you had worked so hard on was rejected by the art exhibit you submitted it to. Then the market was out of all of the key ingredients you needed when you planned to make Kaveh some Fatteh. And then one of the art gallery’s regulars yelled at you because her piece wasn’t in the spot she felt it deserved. Plus all of the other little inconveniences that occurred throughout the week that pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

You were already exhausted, annoyed and frustrated. And now, here you were, sitting at your vanity trying to get your hair fixed and looking pretty while on the verge of tears.

It’s a style you’ve done a million times over. There’s no reason for it to be this complicated. And yet, your hair is refusing to cooperate, your strands now tangled in a hair barrette.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan. At this point, you don’t care if it’s not the best it’s ever been, you just want it to look presentable. But it seems like the harder you try the worse it gets.

Kaveh is supposed to be here at any moment to pick you up for your date and your hair is nowhere near ready. And now the tears welling in your eyes threaten to ruin your makeup as well.

You take a deep breath and try to calm your annoyed thoughts before making another attempt to untangle your hair wrapped around the intricate hair piece, its sparkling green gem reflecting in the mirror as though to mock you.

You’re making fine progress, until you drop the barrette and your hair seems to wrap around it like a magnet. You pick it back up and manage to tug a little too hard on a strand or two, causing a sharp pain in your scalp and an involuntary gasp to escape your lips. And that did it.

You let out an exasperated groan and the tears you’d done so well to hold back drop down your cheeks, dragging dark mascara with it. Great, now your hair is a mess AND so is your makeup.

You pick up the hair piece again, heavily considering whether it would truly be a bad idea to just cut it out.

Before you can convince yourself you’d look good with shorter hair, Kaveh knocks on your door and enters the room.

“Y/n, there you are, darling. I thought you’d be down-” He cuts himself off when he catches a glimpse of your mascara-streaked face in your mirror. “Y/n?”

You turn around to face him, tears now streaming freely down your face as you’ve completely given up on trying to hold them in. You’ve reached your breaking point, though you must admit, you’re surprised it took this long.

“Wh-why are you crying?” Kaveh asks, panic rushing through him at the sight of your current state. His eyes widen slightly and he straightens, placing his hands on his hips. “Was it Ms. Oshi again? I swear, her work isn’t good enough to be putting up a fuss the way she does.”

“No… I mean she did come in again this week, but that’s not why I’m crying,” you say, your words barely comprehensible through your quiet sobs and sniffles.

Kaveh’s arms drop and his expression softens. “What is it then, darling?”

“I can’t get my hair right!” You cry. He looks up at your head, only now noticing the tangled barrett resting chaotically in your strands. “And now my makeup is a mess,” you mutter, turning your gaze back to your reflection.

You miss the soft smile on Kaveh’s lips as he makes his way over to you and rests his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit up straight.

“Let me help.” You don’t resist when his hands begin working on your hair, carefully pulling it from the metal piece. His nimble fingers make quick work and before long, he’s pulling the barrett from your hair, no scissors needed.

He moves his hand around you to place it in your lap before picking up the hair brush on your vanity. As he straightens out your knotted hair, you begin fixing your makeup, doing your best to not smudge the streaked mascara further on your face.

You finish your makeup at the same time he gets your hair untangled, but when you move to start working on your hair yourself, Kaveh pushes your hands away, a humming quiet “hmm mm”. You, once again, don’t argue and sit back in your chair as he continues his braiding.

Your gaze drops down to the barrett in your lap and you pick up the cool piece of metal. Your fingers trace over the delicate, golden vines and leaves, the stems growing tighter together as they meet in the center where they wrap around a grassy-green crystal surrounded by tiny, crimson red gems.

“Do you remember when I got you that hair piece?” Kaveh asks quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You mean when you were nervously fumbling with the jewelry box and nearly dumped it into the river? I remember,” you giggle, the image bright and vivid in your memory.

“Ahh, well… yes, but not that part,” he says and you look at his face in the mirror just soon enough to catch the flash of embarrassment on his face. “Do you remember why I’d given it to you.”

You think back on the moment, but no answer comes to mind. You had been together for around 6 months at the time, and aside from that milestone, nothing of significance comes up. You shake your head, careful to do it lightly enough as to not mess up your boyfriends progress. Kaveh gives a light chuckle.

“You had been having an absolutely horrendous week. ‘Worst days of your life’ is what you’d told me.” Your eyebrows furrow as you try to dig up the memories, but you get nothing.

“Granted, I think you were overexagerrating a bit,” he says quickly before continuing. “But still, you were quite upset. I thought the gift would cheer you up. And it did, though maybe not in the way I’d intended.” You laugh again at the image of him almost dropping his newly purchased gift off the bridge into the rushing water below you and the heavy sigh of relief he gave as he clutched the box in his hands like his life depended on it.

He reaches around you to gently take the barrett from your hands, his fingers lingering on yours a few moments longer than necessary.

“All of that to say, this moment will pass. You’ll move on and forget about all of the bad things that happened this week. Well, maybe except Ms. Oshi yelling at you. Her voice forever haunts me,” he jokes and you giggle. He never fails to make you laugh, even if it’s not his intention.

“But something you will never forget are these moments,” he says as he clips the barrett into place. He brushes your hair over to the side and places a light kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“I love you, darling. On your best and on your worst days.” His whispers against your skin give you goosebumps and you turn your head to face him, his amber-red eyes meeting yours.

He takes your hands and guides you to stand up, his hands moving to your wast as soon as your vertical.

“I love you too. Thank you,” you say, leaning close to him so your whispers fall on his lips. He wastes no more time to press his mouth to yours, the scent of clay and sandalwood flooding your senses.

Every unsaid word is conveyed perfectly as he pulls you closer to him and deepens the kiss. You let out a soft laugh when he nibbles your lip, knowing it’ll get a reaction out of you. You pull apart, your quiet pants filling the space between you as you hold each other close.

“My love,” Kaveh says, stroking a thumb tenderly over your cheek. He gives a happy hum as he pulls away, his hand dropping down to yours to grasp it tightly. “We should get going, don’t want the tavern to be too crowded now.”

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[minbells]

impossible future

armin arlert x gn!reader

content: fluff, very soft, slight angst, implied sex but non-explicit, one curse word, during time-skip, implied that it’s the day before the attack on Marley.

words: 1.4K

He was always wondering where you were. It was strange, really. Before meeting you, he never had anything that plagued his mind other than the thought of a vast world outside the walls. He would picture fiery lands and cold mountains, inspired by the pictures in his books. He would even see those sights in his dreams, imagining what it would be like to ride his horse through those magical landscapes, his friends by his side. Maybe even the air would smell different, perhaps sweeter than the scent of blood and shit he was so familiar with. Every night he dreamt of this world, the taste of freedom on his tongue.

Now, he dreams of you.

Especially at times like this. When it was quiet and late into the night, and he knew, he feared, how dangerous tomorrow would be. Even his trusty book, with its few pages loose and damaged from the years of flipping through it, wasn’t distraction enough. He trailed his fingers over the fading pictures, brushing over them with a gentleness only he possessed, and sighed. What he failed to notice was how your careful gaze was observing him in silent worry.

"You look tired."

He startled, the beautiful sound of your voice, delicate and concerned, digging him out of his reverie. When he raised his head from his book, he was more than ready to take in the sight of you, his beautiful angel who still made him blush even after months of intimacy. And you didn’t fail to disappoint him, your form standing in the opening of his private tent. He felt immediate relief.

"I didn’t think I would see you tonight," he smiled faintly, the light in his once bright blue eyes dimmed but not yet extinct. Your expression mirrored his, tired and worn out with years of sleepless nights and deadly expeditions. You turned to close the slight gap in the tent’s opening, tying the knot and smoothing the thick fabric, thus forbidding the outside world to enter your little haven.

"Hange was done with the last few details of the plan, not that I was much help to them anyways. I figured I’d come see you…" you trailed off, words left unsaid. It might be the last time we ever see each others like this. After all, you were about to set the world on fire and you doubted you could come back from this unscathed.

Well, Armin would never miss an opportunity like this one. He raised from his chair, carefully putting the worn book aside. You stood there, quiet and sleepy, unmoving as you admired him. His face was illuminated by the dimming candlelight, and while he walked the few steps that separated the two of you, you took in the intricate details of his features. It had been impossible not to fall in love with his complexion; faint freckles on his sun kissed nose, long blonde eyelashes kissing his cheeks with a blink and the soft, inviting pink plump of his lips. He called you an angel, and yet he was the otherworldly one.

The rest of his body was just as beautiful, strong yet surprisingly gentle, seemingly untouched by hunger and pain. But you knew better. You noticed how his eyes seemed to hold the burden of war and duty. You remembered oh so clearly the nights spent crying silent tears or screaming ugly sobs in each others arms. The fear of losing each others, the horror he felt at the thought of losing control and annihilating everything around him, losing friends and dying with dreams unfulfilled. These nights were all too familiar. You desperately sought for nights where gentle touches and private smiles were exchanged.

So in this moment, when you knew that if you extended your hand right in front of you, you could touch him and feel at peace, nothing could hold you back. Therefore, the only logical choice was to move forward.

And he immediately caught your extended fingers in his warm hand. You could never comprehend how soft his palms were, even after years of harsh work and training. Every soldier you knew had their hands hardened by years of slaying Titans and fighting to survive. Armin was just different, you thought. He slayed with his tongue and battled with his mind. It seemed the only purpose for his hands was to gently hold yours.

You pressed your palm on his chest, eager to feel his heartbeat. You never went a day without feeling his pulse soothing you. And he let you. The atmosphere outside the tent was tense, soldiers either readying themselves for what tomorrow would bring or drinking until they couldn’t stand. However, right in the middle of your little world bathed in candlelight and soft touches, everything seemed timeless, free from burdens and duties.

Armin leaned towards you and pressed his cheek against your forehead. He enjoyed the feeling of your warm skin against his own, your steady breath hitting his neck and your hair tickling his cheek.

"You know," he started, your skin warm, his heartbeat steady, "I’ve read about this type of fish in the ocean that we’ve never seen before. In the book, they call them 'sharks'."

You hummed, your eyes half lidded with sleep. "Sharks?" He nodded, and in a moment of tenderness, he tilted his head to kiss your cheek before returning to his previous position. You couldn’t help but smile.

"Apparently they are predators of the sea, vicious and dangerous. They come in all shapes and sizes, and they’re all hunters. The book even mentions how they have teeth sharp like razors and that they possess the ability to smell a drop of blood in the water from long distances."

"They sound quite awful. Build to kill." Your mind conjured the sight of a deadly sea animal, with teeth long and sharp like swords, eyes scarlet red and a body as big as those Marleyan boats.

"Maybe they’re just misunderstood," Armin whispered. His voice felt like a saccharine melody dripping into your soul and his hands started playing with your hair. "Perhaps it’s in their nature."

For a second, you noticed how his voice trailed off, mind lost somewhere you couldn’t follow.

"Then we should befriend them," your silly suggestion tugged a smile on his lips. "After all this. We could find out where they like to swim and build a little house there. Even if it’s in the middle of the sea." You pressed your cheek to his chest and he wrapped his arms around your waist. "We could observe them and maybe we’ll discover that they’re not so bad after all. Perhaps the biggest ones are the friendliest, the most gentle and caring sharks of all. And we’ll use your beautiful talent with words to rewrite history books and make sure those creatures are never misunderstood again."

"It seems you’ve got it all figured out," he chuckled. Walls, he loves you so much.

"Of course," it was the most obvious thing after all. Were you to survive all of this, you knew you’d spend the rest of Armin’s days exploring beyond the sea with him and befriending the world. "We’ll build our cottage, we’ll even get a dog, or three, and we’ll ride our horses onto the beach," you were mumbling against his shirt and you only now noticed how you both had unconsciously started to sway together, dancing to the music of your future.

"We could open a bookstore," he suggested, and his eyes lit up at the thought. It seemed you had both decided to ignore your impending doom. It was much more pleasant to picture yourself with Armin, walking on sandy beaches hand in hand, playing with your dogs in the fields, cooking delicious meals together, and making love into the night.

"With… lots of books in all sorts of dialects." You felt yourself dozing off, yet you fought sleep with all your might just to appreciate the moment for just a second longer. "A whole collection of books dedicated to sharks. And… multicoloured seashells and rocks to brighten up the place."

"Hmm," his eyes were closed, lost in the fantasy. Acting on instinct, he slowly and gently guided the both of you to the bundle of blankets you had accumulated on his cot over the last few weeks. You followed without question and giggled when he tugged your body so you both fell on the pile of softness. "Let’s make plans for tomorrow then."

You smiled gently and settled next to him. You tangled your legs together while he wrapped the thin blanket over your bodies.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

He knew that tonight he would be dreaming of you and your impossible future together.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Difference of Opinions (Part 2)

Fandom: Spider-Man, Spider-Verse, Across the Spider-Verse, Miguel O'Hara, f!Reader Summary: Miguel left you for dead but you don't give up so easily. And with a little help from a friend, you soon find yourself safe at home. But your relief is short-lived as you are faced with some skeptical Spiders and the fact you will soon have to confront Miguel... Word Count: 4811 TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Glitching, Left for Dead, Betrayal Notes: Sorry that Miguel doesn't physically show up in this chapter, but he plays a major part in both the next chapter and the prequel!

Prequel, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Series Masterlist

*Spoilers for Across the Spider-Verse*

The glitching was getting worse. By the time you made it to your lab on the other side of the building, it was happening every thirty seconds or so. You stumbled through the door and crashed into one of the computer consoles as you lost your balance. Every inch of your body ached and felt as fragile as glass. It seemed as if the chemical bonds that held your atoms together were about to shatter leading to you basically vaporizing down to the atomic level. Which you guessed was what was about to happen. 

Another glitch hit causing you to crumple to the floor. Once your body realigned itself, you tried to climb back to your feet but you just didn’t have the strength to anymore. Instead, you rolled over to your stomach and began to drag yourself over to your desk. It wasn’t far, but by the time you reached it, you were barely able to lift yourself up to find the hidden compartment underneath. You pressed your thumb to the biometric lock and gave a huge sigh of relief when the drawer popped open. Reaching inside, you pulled out the small cloth bag and held it against your chest.

You knew you had to hurry before another glitch occurred, but you were so exhausted that your fingers were clumsy and fumbled as you tried to untie the bag. It took about three times as long as it should have, but you finally managed to open it up and you slid the contents into your hand. 

It had been over a year since you had last held the red amulet but it instantly made you feel stronger. Running your thumb across the spider carved in the stone, you couldn’t help but smile. This little piece of your homeworld didn’t contain any powers on its own, but it helped boost your powers and would hopefully ward off the glitches long enough to send your message. 

Sliding back to the floor and laying on your side, you pressed the amulet to your lips as you closed your eyes and concentrated. Your eyes rolled back in your head behind your eyelids and you felt your mind slip into the space where the intricate web of dimensions existed.

This was your power. This was what set you apart from every other Spider-Person and how you had helped Miguel build the Society in the first place. You had the ability to gaze through the veil and see the interconnected web that made up the Acracnoid Humanoid Poly Multiverse. It was also how you got the name Spider-Gazer, or Gaze. It was with this ability you first contacted Miguel’s dimension, traveled to different dimensions without a watch, mapped out hundreds of different Earths and their differences, discovered the Canon and helped Miguel and Lyla design a model so everyone could understand, and how you learned the dangers of trying to change the Canon. None of this would have been possible without you, and now all of your work had been turned against you. 

Once you sensed who you were looking for, you whispered, “Hobie, I know you can hear me. I need your help. Please. Come get me before it’s too late. I just want to help Miles. I promise. I–”

A glitch cut you off and you dropped the amulet as your body was once again torn apart and reassembled by this dimension trying to arrange your atoms to fit its unique configuration. As everything somehow managed to right itself once more, a small sob of pain slipped from your lips. Whatever strength or stability you had gotten from the amulet was now gone, and you felt yourself returning to this dimension as you no longer had the strength to continue reaching out across the multiverse. It was all over. This lab that you had built with Miguel and where you spent countless hours lovingly by his side was going to be your final resting place. 

You were about to die alone and abandoned. 

Your eyes returned to normal as you stabilized but you kept them closed, resigned to just giving in to the encroaching darkness. However, a moment later you heard the familiar crackle of a portal opening up and you peeled your eyes open to see the soft glow of a portal in front of you and a pair of heavy gray-scale boots appeared in your field of vision. 

There was the sound of a soft tongue click before a heavily-accented voice said, “Well, lookit here. The queen’s decided to join the rebellion, eh.”

Using the last of your strength to roll over slightly, you looked up at Hobie and gave him a weak smile. “Damn straight.”

His muted palette flickered back to the full-color spectrum as he nodded. “‘Bout bloody time.”

He reached out his hand to help you up but just before his fingers brushed yours, you were hit with a massive glitch and everything went black.

Even before you opened your eyes, you knew where you were. No matter how many dimensions you had traveled to or what sort of protection you used against glitches, no other world made you feel this sense of belonging and inner peace. You were home.

Someone had placed you on a bed and you ran your palm across the sheets beneath you, savoring the feel of the muted faded edges against your skin. It was such a welcome comfort after so long of nothing but hard lines and definitive boundaries surrounding you. You had missed being the only thing around that looked or felt like you.

Every universe was different in at least one way. Sometimes those differences were instantaneously recognizable like obvious aesthetic differences while others might be something so minute it was almost impossible to pinpoint (such as the Earth without the element protactinium or the one where all hummingbirds fly 2% faster than on other Earths). 

Though you hadn’t known it until you began to visit other dimensions, the main thing that set your world apart from others was the edges of everything. There was no sharp cut-off or firm line around you. Instead, your outline sort of dissolved away to nothing. It had been a terrifying encounter the first time you met Miguel with his pronounced angular cheekbones and well-defined figure. Though to be fair, he was just as perturbed by your appearance.

Miguel had once described it as if someone had smudged your edges until they were all blurred and hazy. Recently, Gwen had found a more artistic way of describing it. She compared most universes to art with sharp edges while yours was more of a soft edge, like the background of a watercolor or oil painting. But regardless of how others described you, the fact was you and those from your universe weren’t as solid or stable as most.

It was why the glitches hit you so much harder and more frequently than any of the other Spider-People. Your genetic structure was already less tightly bound than those from other dimensions which made you more susceptible to the glitches. That plus the fact your powers were connected to the multiverse and attracted multidimensional energy whenever you left your home meant that you couldn’t survive outside of your own universe without the stabilizers for very long. Something you had once learned the hard way.

Opening your eyes, you glanced around the room and were shocked to find it wasn’t just any room. It was your room. The one you had lived in a few years ago as you were learning how to traverse the multiverse. Back before you had left your world to help build the Spider Society. You wondered how Hobie knew to bring you here.

You were still in your Spider-Gazer costume though you spotted your mask laying on the table next to the bed. And right beside it was your amulet. Thankfully, Hobie must have grabbed it from where you had dropped it before he brought you here. You reached over and picked it up, a fresh wave of energy flowing through you as you did. For a moment, you had thought you might have lost it forever and that thought had devastated you. After all, it had been in your family for more generations than anyone could remember and it was what had originally helped connect you to the Acracnoid Humanoid Poly Multiverse. Your powers might not have come from it, but it amplified them which had allowed you and Miguel to accomplish all the things you had thus far. In fact, without the amulet, you never would have been able to reach out to Miguel in the first place. 

Miguel….

Honestly, you weren’t sure how to feel about what had happened or what he did to you. Loyalty and commitment to him and your mission to protect the multiverse meant everything to him and you had gone against both to try and help Miles. After everything he had been through, you could understand why Miguel was so devastated by your betrayal. However, that didn’t excuse the fact he left you caged and glitching on your own with only one possible outcome….

You were pulled from your train of thought as the door opened and Pavitr walked in holding a cup of water. But when he saw you looking back at him, he dropped the cup– spilling water across the floor –and run from the room hollering, “Guys! She finally woke up!”

A minute later, he returned with Gwen, Peter B. Parker, and Mayday trailing behind. As you struggled to sit up slightly, Mayday shot a web above your head and swung over to land directly in your lap. Before Peter could snatch her away, you drew her close and snuggled your face into the top of her knit spider-hat. She hugged you back as you cooed, “Hey there, little one.”

“Mayday…” her father muttered as he held out his arms, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine, Peter. I’m okay.” However, you noticed the nervous look that he exchanged with Gwen and you felt a deep pit open up in your stomach as you realized their concern. “Ah. You’re not worried about me. You’re worried about her with me.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nothing against you, Gaze. It’s just we don’t really know where you stand right now.”

“Well, I seem to recall the last time I saw you, you were heading back to your dimension while I was left glitching out of existence in a cage,” you snapped. “But I can see why I would be the one whose loyalty is being questioned.”

Peter stared at the floor, unable to meet your eye. “You’re right. You helped Miles, even when most of us tried to follow Miguel’s plan. But Gaze, you’re Miguel’s girl. I’ve known the two of you longer than almost any other member of the Society and I’ve seen what you are both willing to do for the other. How do we know you aren’t going to tell him we’re all here, what we are planning, and have him come to this universe to stop us?”

“First of all, may I repeat that he left me in a cage to glitch into nothing?” There was more venom in your voice than you intended and you felt Mayday cower slightly in your arms. Instantly regretting your tone, you kissed her softly on the top of her hat and released her to return to her father’s arms. She smiled up at you before she swung away, and you were glad at least she seemed to have forgiven you.

Taking a deep breath, you continued in a softer, calmer tone. “Second of all, Miguel can’t come to this dimension even if I wanted him to. We had a fight once and he kept following me across dimensions when I tried to walk away. After that, we decided that this– my home dimension –would be a safe place for me to go where he couldn’t follow when I needed some space. So I used my powers to ward it so he can’t enter this dimension. Even with his watch.

“And third of all, I love Miguel deeply, but in this case, he’s too blinded by his pain and loss to really look at this situation objectively. So you need me because I may be the only one who can get through to him and make him see that.”

Peter caught Mayday as he exchanged a look with Gwen. They both still seemed slightly skeptical of you and your motives and you tried to keep your frustration from coming back. They had been just as involved in Miguel’s plan to stop Miles as you had been, maybe even more so seeing as they were his friends. And you had tried to help Miles even as they had continued to try and make him see the logic of Miguel’s actions. They may not have agreed with how Miguel went about it, but they were full supporters of not letting Miles try to save his dad. Only you and Hobie had originally wanted to let him try and go against the Canon. Yet you were still the one who was considered a threat to Miles. The hypocrisy was unbelievable. 

But as Gwen opened her mouth to say something, Pavitr jumped in. “Guys, come on! Just trust her already!”

Gwen shook her head. “Pav, I’m sorry but you weren’t there. It’s more complicated than that.”

“No, but Hobie was and he trusts her. He never would’ve brought all of us here otherwise. And if Hobie’s willing to trust someone, that’s good enough for me.” He gave you a bright smile and you almost burst into tears.

“Thanks, Pav.” You glanced around at the other Spiders in front of you. “Well? He’s right. You either trust me and we start working together to save Miles or you don’t and you should get the hell out of my apartment and let me rest.”

Gwen shot Peter another look. After a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged in her direction as he placed Mayday in her carrier. “It’s up to you. You’re the one who gathered us all here and you’re the one who knows Miles the best. If you think we can trust her…”

Chewing on her lip, Gwen considered the situation. The longer she stared at you, the more the anger and frustration began to build in your chest once more. But just as you were about to tell them all to forget it and to get out of your dimension, Gwen said, “Pav’s right. Hobie doesn’t trust people easily so if he trusts her, then we should too.”

Peter sighed and held up his hands. “Whatever you say. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if this goes sideways.”

“Yeah, Peter, because it’s never your fault is it?” you ruefully chuckled, ashamed by the way it caught in your throat. Seeing him still doubt you even now hurt more than you wanted to admit. Glaring at him, you spat, “It’s true what you said. I’ve known you for longer than almost anyone else, and yet you still turned your back on me and walked away when I needed you most.”

Peter’s face darkened as he looked away. Gwen must have noticed whatever fragile peace your group had settled on was at risk of falling apart already because she said, “Um, can I speak to Gaze on my own?”

Pavitr –who had been anxiously watching your back and forth with Peter– sighed in relief and nodded. With another wide smile in your direction, he hurried from the room. 

Peter began to follow him, but he hesitated at the door. Without looking back at you, he muttered, “I’m sorry. You were right. I left you there in that cage knowing what would probably happen. I wanted so badly to help you but I had Mayday and I couldn’t…. I couldn’t risk what Miguel might do to her if I tried to interfere.”

Your glare softened a bit at the pain and regret in Peter’s voice. You knew he was right. If Miguel was angry enough to turn on you, there was no telling what he would have done to anyone else who tried to cross him at that moment. And you would never want Mayday to be put in danger, despite what that meant for your own safety. 

So, you sighed, “It’s okay, I get it. Your daughter comes first. Always. And that’s how it should be.” You squeezed your amulet still in your fist tighter and tried not to think of your own family or what they had done to keep you safe. “Regardless of how I feel about what happened, you should know I think you’re a fantastic father and Mayday is so lucky to have you.”

Peter’s head whipped around to face you and you saw tears welling up in his eyes as his lips began to tremble. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but then closed it again without a sound. Then he nodded once and hurried from the room.

Gwen watched him walk away for a moment before she shut the door. “That was really sweet of you to say.”

“He tries so hard with that kid, he deserves to know it isn’t in vain.” You pushed yourself up so you were in more of a sitting position and asked, “So now that we trust each other, where’s Hobie? I want to thank him for coming to get me.”

“He’s out looking for parts to build more watches. I have a few other friends I want to bring with us to look for Miles but we’re afraid that if we use Miguel’s watches, he’ll be able to track us.”

You nodded. “He can, so that’s good thinking. That’s why I called Hobie for help instead of any of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I taught him how the watches worked a few months ago. I was tinkering with a broken one and he kept looking over my shoulder so I walked him through how they worked. Then I noticed him swiping equipment and parts ever since you all arrived at HQ earlier today. So when I needed help, I figured he would have assembled his own untrackable watch by now… Or at least, I hoped he had.”

Gwen shook her head. “But if you knew he was building his own watch before everything went wrong, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Since when does Hobie listen to anything anyone tells him?” you chuckled. “If I would have told him to stop, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Besides, after seeing how worked up Miguel was getting over Miles already, I had a feeling it wasn’t a terrible idea for there to be a non-Society watch out there somewhere. Turns out, I was right.”

“So you did know Miguel was going to do that to Miles.”

Sighing, you said, “We all knew what he was planning, Gwen. And we all agreed to it so we could uphold the Canon. I just…. I never thought Miguel would take things that far.”

Gwen hesitated for a moment before she asked, “It can’t be true, can it? Did Miguel really leave you imprisoned without a watch knowing what that would mean? Did he…. Did he really leave you to die? I just can’t believe it. He loves you. Everyone knows that.”

You stared down at the amulet in your hands, unable to look her in the face. In a small voice, you said, “Miguel isn’t a bad man. He’s just been hurt in the past like all of us. And like all of us, he’s found ways to cope with his pain and loss. One of those ways is cutting out anyone or anything that he feels may hurt him again or betray him. And I did both.”

“But what Miguel was doing was wrong!”

“You didn’t see it that way at first.” You lifted your eyes to stare at Gwen and it was her turn to look away. “I’m not judging you, Gwen. I know how hard it had to be to lie to Miles about what was about to happen and to try to keep him from stopping it. We’ve all had to accept the losses that come with being a Spider–” Your mind once again flashed to your mother and late fiance, but you quickly push them from your thoughts “– but Miles is new to this. He may have lost his uncle a while ago, but finding out he was also about to lose his father was never going to be an easy thing to accept.” You gave her a soft but pointed look. “Just like you refusing to go home because you can’t accept your own father’s impending death.”

“But that’s just it…” Gwen came and sat on the edge of your bed. “I did go home. Miguel sent me there and I saw my dad. He’s quitting his job which means he’ll no longer be a captain. He doesn’t have to die anymore! The Canon of my universe changed! So, maybe Miles can change his dad’s fate too!” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. Canon events had shifted in the past, switched from one person to another, but they never failed to come to pass. Or if they did, it led to the potential collapse of that universe. Her father may no longer be the captain she was close to who would die, but that didn’t mean another captain wouldn’t take his place eventually. However, that was a conversation for another time. 

So instead, you gave her a small smile and nodded. “I’m glad, Gwen. Really, I am. And I agree that Miles has a chance to change the Canon. It’s why I tried to stop all of this before things got so out of hand. Miles is unlike anyone I have ever seen before. It’s true he’s an anomaly but he’s not a fatal one. I can see that he’s connected to the multiverse and the Canon and yet is also separated from it. I’ve never encountered anything like it before. I just wish I would have realized it sooner. Then maybe I could have convinced Miguel to let Miles at least try to save his father. Maybe then Miguel wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have–”

You shook your head, unable to finish the words that were too painful to say out loud. It had been one thing when you had snapped them in anger at Peter, but now, when you were calm and able to fully face what Miguel had done to you, it was different. You just kept seeing that dead expression on his face and the cold gleam in his red eyes just before he hurled you across the room. The sound of his complete lack of emotion as he snapped, “She made her bed, now she can die in it.”

You and Miguel had been in each other’s lives for so long. Even before you started your romantic relationship, the two of you had been extremely close friends and partners. Sure, you had had your ups and downs, but nothing anywhere close to this. At that moment, he truly hadn’t cared what happened to you. And even if there was a chance he changed his mind and tried to come back for you, it didn’t undo what he had done or said. But while your head continued to scream these things at you, your heart couldn’t let him go– at least not yet. 

However, if there was any hope of reconciling with Miguel, what you had planned next would obliterate that sliver of a chance. But it was the right thing to do.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “I know how to find Miles.”

Gwen stared at you in surprise. “What? How? I already checked Earth-1610 and he’s not there which means the Go Home machine messed up and he could literally be in any other universe.”

“How do you think?” you scoffed as you let your eyes roll back into your head and the room around you melted away into the familiar glow of the multiverse. “I just need something of his to tune into.”

“Here!” You felt Gwen jump off the bed and out the door. A moment later, you heard her return and place a soft piece of clothing in your hand. “It’s his jacket. I took this when I visited his place on Earth-1610. It’s pretty worn out so I’m guessing he wore it a lot.”

Feeling the residual energy radiating from it, you nodded. “Yeah, this should work. Just give me a few minutes.”

Mentally, you reached out into the tangled web of dimensions as you searched for the person who matched the feel of the jacket in your hand. You found several who were close– Miles Morales’s from other Earths –but not the one you were looking for. Finally, you were drawn to a cluster of Earths to your left and headed in that direction. A moment later, you caught a hint of what you were looking for. And what was more, your Miles didn’t seem to be alone….

Leaving the dimensional void, you sagged back heavily on your pillow with a soft sigh of exhaustion. Normally, a search like that would have barely registered to you, but you were still drained from being almost glitched out of existence. 

After collecting yourself, you nodded at Gwen. “I got him. He’s on Earth-42. And it seems he’s found the Miles of that universe.” 

“Oh!” Gwen said in surprise. “What does that mean?”

“Potentially nothing, but meeting your doppelganger from another dimension isn’t always easy to accept. You’ll need to approach the situation carefully when you go get him.”

“Me? What about you?”

“I’m going after Miguel.” You saw the skepticism spark on Gwen’s face. “It’s okay. I’m not going to tell him where Miles is. But while you guys go find Miles, get him home, and try to stop Spot so you can save his dad, I need to try and stall Miguel. Maybe I can finally talk some reason into him.”

At that, Gwen’s skepticism shifted to worry. “The last time you tried that, he left you for dead.”

“True, but I wasn’t prepared because I never imagined he would stoop to that level. Now that I know the extent he’s willing to go, I’m ready for him. I know Miguel better than anyone else. I know his strengths and weaknesses, and I know how to stop him if I have to. And if nothing else, I can buy you guys some time.”

“He could kill you. For real this time.”

“Yeah, he could.” You looked down at your amulet. You could still back out. Go with Gwen and the others instead of trying to face Miguel. But you knew this was their best chance for success, even if that meant you might not be there to see it. 

Sliding your amulet over your head and letting it fall to its rightful place on your neck, you said, “I should already be dead, but Hobie saved me. The least I can do is try to use that life I was given back to save my friends.”

Gwen took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Thank you.”

You smiled and squeezed her hand back. “I just need a little more time to regain my strength. What I need to do takes a lot of energy and I’m just not there yet. But I should be ready by the time Hobie finishes the watches and you get your other friends on board. Then we’ll each go do what we have to in order to set things right.”

This wasn’t going to be easy. You still loved Miguel and you knew despite what he did that you would love him until your last breath. But this was no longer about the two of you. In fact, it never really was. Miles was different– special –and he might be the key to discovering a way to change the Canon for all Spider-People. No more destined loss, no more unavoidable pain. But only if Miguel will listen to you and what you have seen. And that was a really big what if.

As Gwen left the room to fill everyone else in and let you rest, you picked up your amulet from where it rested on your chest and placed a soft kiss on the cold stone. Sending out a small tendril of power through the multiverse in the hopes he might hear you, you thought, I’m coming, my love. Whether you’re happy to see me or not.

Taglist: @zebralover, @covenlovenn, @amecchii, @gram-cracker24, @keenzinemugstudent, @cubaton1551, @multifan-bitch, @princessbarnes19, @horneybeach1, @mellovespasta, @corpsebridenightamare, @leiosvnii, @littlefreakymunson, @newearth5s, @wokpokerface, @nickey-diano, @scoobdoobdoob, @froyoshow, @erensbbg, @nataliahemsworth, @bontensbabygirl, @freeingrebels, @g-on-ef, @123lmao123, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @elizabeth-von-winken-universe, @namjooningera, @owaowaowawa, @mizu-san, @daemonlover, @gullible-diamond, @unavoidabledirewolf, @freeingrebels, @antiherocorn101, @mintqueenjo, @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 27th

Double Penetration In Two Holes, Papa Emeritus III, Dracopia x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 6.3k.

Warnings: Double penetration in two holes; bisexual Terzo and Copia; mild olfactophilia; fellatio; spit as lube; anal sex; public sex; sex in a chapel; loss of virginity; voyeurism; fingering; degradation kink; praise kink; multiple orgasms; spanking; cum eating; finger sucking; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; piv sex; GN!Reader; throat-fucking; minor blood play;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog

!! Terzo and Copia are not related in this fic !!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

In the hush of the night, the chapel stood as a silent sentinel, its ancient stones cloaked in the silver glow of the moonlight. The air inside was still, carrying a sense of reverence that hung heavy in the dimly lit space. Stained glass windows, adorned with intricate designs of Satanic saints and demons, cast their vivid colors onto the cold, polished stone floor. Each pane was a jewel of “evil” history, its hues now muted by the darkness but still whispering tales of faith and devotion in the bright light of the moon.

Cardinal Terzo, unable to sleep found himself, barefaced, chested and footed wandering down to the peaceful place to gather himself and calm his racing mind. Candelabra clutched in his thick fingers so as to not disturb his superiors; the slaps of his feet hitting the stone as he entered the chapel echoing throughout the ancient walls. He stood still, silent for a moment, eyes darting around the nave as his ears picked up something he never expected to. Wracked sobbing, faint but audible, was coming from somewhere nearby.

Terzo, slowly, made his way up the aisle, looking in the darkness for the source of the anguish, heart pounding in his chest in fear - he didn’t know what, or who he would find. As he approached the crossing, a dark figure came into view. A male, slender, dressed in black and hunched over. He was sat on his knees, with his head in his hands, sobbing into the palm of his hands, brunette hair a mess from the tugging he’d subjected it to no doubt in whatever stress he had felt in that moment. Terzo got a peak at the nose, the strong, rather large appendage he’d grown accustomed to seeing around the Ministry since his teenage years some two decades ago. This was none other than Brother Copia, the lanky, weedy young boy who had been raised here since birth now a 21-year-old Sibling of Sin who showed great potential. He was bent on the chapel floor, red from the stained glass window reflecting off his body in an artistic fashion. And, given the pain of his sobs, no doubt his heart had shattered like one of those very windows.

“Brother Copia?” Terzo gently called out to him, a safe distance away but his gentle, concerned voice amplified by the Gothic dome in the centre of the crossing.

Copia’s head snapped up towards Terzo, his eyes red and puffy from the tears but his irises now the colour of blood. His ears, Terzo had finally noticed, were longer than usual and much more pointed, like an elf. In that moment, it had become apparent to Terzo what had occurred here on this night.

“C-Cardinal,” Copia sobbed, hand flying to his chest where Terzo had scared him, “I didn’t hear you… you startled me.”

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention. Why are you crying?”

“I ache… everywhere. I’m tired; exhausted, even. I’m starving but no amount of food I eat even begins to hit the right spots. I was down in the kitchens just trying to get food but the siblings were looking at me as if… as if…” Copia sobbed again, much louder this time. “I was a monster!”

Terzo had only read books on this growing up, had only heard stories from decades prior. Never had he come across this in real life, nor had anyone that he knew. Somehow Copia had ingested vampiric blood and in the time between then and now, he’d died and been reborn as a vampire; one of Satan’s darkest soldiers. And the worst part of it all was, Copia had no idea about any of it. He had no idea what he had become was, indeed, the monster the kitchen Siblings had feared, but it was by no means a bad thing. This sweet, awkward young man, who instilled feelings of pity and irritation was now one of the most important members in the Dark One’s fight against the oppressive forces that plagued their world - and no one had prepared him for it.

“What is wrong with me?” Copia asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Fear was in his eyes, prominent in his shaking hands and wobbling speech. He was scared of himself - or maybe deep down he’d already understood what he was capable of.

“Brother, I think there is something you should know.” Terzo began recounting everything he learned as a child, sitting beside the lost Sibling as he told tales of immortality, and the Devil’s hand touching those He wished to bless with the gifts of life and death. Copia, once a mere, male mortal capable only of dying, could play God, could choose whoever he wished to join him in undeath, and create his own children using his blood, now still around his dead heart.

Copia didn’t believe the Cardinal at first - who would? There were times when his own Satanic faith wavered and he found himself doubting the power of the Olde One. If he didn’t even believe in his own father in Hell, how could he believe these old wives’ tales of night stalkers and blood drinkers? It wasn’t until Terzo reached into Copia’s mouth and sliced his index finger on his canine teeth that Copia began to believe these stories were true.

The way his nose twitched at the smell of Terzo’s blood; at first inhalation, the dominant note is one of iron—a metallic tang that is inherent to blood itself. The metallic undertone carried with it the essence of life, a reminder that within this crimson fluid lies the very sustenance that nourishes the body and fuels existence.

Yet, beneath the metallic foundation, there was a subtle and alluring note of coffee. It was as if Terzo’s blood had absorbed the essence of freshly ground coffee beans, the aroma of a rich and robust brew that invigorated the senses. The coffee note was warm and inviting, conjuring images of early morning rituals and the comfort of a steaming mug in hand. Warm and inviting, the perfect two words that could sum up the Cardinal and how he had always made young Copia feel.

These two scents had Copia’s stomach growling as if there was still life inside him. The way saliva pooled in his mouth at the sight of Terzo’s blood pouring down his finger and pooling in his palm. Copia had no idea his body was reacting, that he was turning to face the Cardinal, crimson eyes now glowing with the need to quench his thirst. That his mouth was drawing ever closer to Terzo’s palm. That his lips were parting enough to expose his fangs.

Terzo, in an effort to escape and not get blood everywhere, tried sliding backwards, dragging his ass along the stone. But the force of Copia’s body landed on him, pushing him backwards and forcing him to lie flat on the floor, Copia crawling on top of him to reach the blooded hand that was now extended above his head.

Somewhere in the struggle, humanity returned to Copia and he suddenly realised what he was doing. He was going to back away, apologise profusely for his behaviour and beg for forgiveness. But he was aware of Terzo beneath him, of the Cardinal’s legs spreading ever wider and allowing Copia to settle nicely in between them. His brain, one of the few organs that survived the change, recognised this moment as intimate… sacred… sexual. His still blood warmed in preparation and began to travel down to a very familiar appendage, filling him up nicely underneath the looseness of his tunic. With the closeness of their bodies, there was no way Terzo was unable to feel the hardness of Copia’s cock.

Terzo, like Copia, wasn’t thinking. He should have let Copia get off him and walk away. He should have fought harder for his life and allowed Copia to leave before things took a turn for the worse. But Terzo’s brain was also aware of the position he was in, how he was trapped underneath a fledgling vampire who barely had control of his own fangs. He was also aware that there was only two items of clothing separating his fluttering hole from Copia’s deliciously thick and hard cock. That thought was what clouded Terzo’s judgment, and had his clean hand wrap around Copia’s neck and pull him down.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, mostly awkward with tongues and teeth smashing against each other until a rhythm was found that was pleasurable for both. Copia’s one hand kept him propped above his superior, while the other made its way to Terzo’s thick waist and pinned him down desperately, despite the fact that Terzo had no intention of going anywhere.

Terzo was the first to break the kiss, reaching up slightly and attaching his lips to Copia’s neck causing Copia’s hips to buck forward and rub his cock against Terzo’s. Both groaned at the sensation. “Th-this is wrong.” Copia said. “We should s-stop. I might k-kill you.”

Cardinal Terzo pulled away and looked directly into Copia’s eyes. “I can’t think of a better way to go, no?”

Copia chuckled and rested his forehead against Terzo’s bare and hairy chest. “Cardinal!” He grumbled, trying to pretend he wasn’t amused.

“Look at me.” Terzo ordered. He waited until Copia obeyed and looked into his mismatched eyes. “I trust you.”

“But I’ve never… You would be… my first.”

“First… meal? Of course.”

“First time. Wait meal?”

“You are a virgin!?”

“Hold on,” Copia pulled back, “I feel like we’re not on the same page here.”

“I would be your first meal and your first fuck? What contract do we have to sign? Get inside me already.”

“Cardinal.”

Terzo sat up and took Copia’s head in his clean hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Sì.”

“I trust you. Now,” he patted the pew they were sat in front of, “pull up a pew. Get comfortable.”

Copia sat on the seat with his legs spread and watched as his superior awkwardly walked on his knees towards him, settling in between his thighs. With his clean hand, Terzo began lifting Copia’s tunic and once Copia got the hint, he helped, taking it off entirely and throwing it somewhere in the chapel leaving him naked and vulnerable to Terzo’s whim. His cock, thick and hard now, rested on his stomach, leaking precum and waiting for Terzo’s… well, something. Copia wasn’t sure what Terzo would do to him.

Terzo removed his sweatpants, revealing his own cock to Copia, which became the second part of his body that Copia drooled over. When Terzo got back onto his knees, he wasted no further time, spitting directly onto Copia’s cock and taking him into his mouth.

Copia gasped at the foreign feeling, unable to fathom the sheer pleasure he was feeling. He had touched himself, of course. He spent most of his late teenage years exploring his own body, but his own hand never compared to this. To the sloppy feeling of Terzo’s mouth dragging up and down his shaft; to the way Terzo’s tongue took care at the tip of his cock, and played with his frenulum. How had Copia gone this long not putting his cock down people’s throats? How had he spent as long as he had not partaking in carnal lust as was required of him by Satanic law?

“Oh, Sathanas!” Copia exclaimed. Terzo had hollowed his cheeks and increased the suction on Copia’s cock, intensifying the feeling. At the same time, he pushed down so his nose was flush with Copia’s pubic mound and the tip of his cock was down Terzo’s throat. Copia’s hands flew to Terzo’s black hair and grasped on as tightly as he could, trying to keep himself grounded, but it was unsuccessful. His head flew back and his throat released a shout, so loud it echoed against the walls and could have drawn attention to the chapel had this been a different hour.

Terzo pulled off with a pop. “I know my mouth feels incredible, but you do need to be quiet. Unless you want to be caught?”

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I couldn’t help it.”

Terzo smiled, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face clearly proud of his work. He bent down and went to take Copia into his mouth again, but Copia’s hand stopped him. “Please, don’t. I’ll cum if you do and I don’t want to. Not yet.”

Terzo laughed and stood. “Ah, virgins. Three minutes and they’re done.” He straddled Copia’s lap. “We’ll have to work up your stamina, sì? Keep you nice and hard for all the Siblings you’re going to fuck in your future.”

Terzo lined Copia’s cock up with his ass. “Wait!” Copia said. “Don’t we need lube?”

“That is why I slobbered all over your cock, my sweet boy. You’re also,” he began to sank down on Copia’s cock, “lucky I am a seasoned slut.” Copia’s hands flew to Terzo’s hips and gripped on, sinking his nails into the flesh. Terzo wasn’t gentle with his movements, bottoming out immediately. “I got railed by Cardinal Secondo’s Ghoul this very evening after his duties were finished. Though, I must say,” Terzo grunted, “you are much thicker than he is.”

“Cardinal,” Copia leaned up and kissed Terzo deeply, “please stop talking.”

Terzo laughed but nodded, allowing Copia the mental relief of his blabbering so he could focus on not cumming instantly. Little did Terzo know, it was already a mental struggle for Copia to just be this close to him, especially with the scent of Terzo’s blood still strongly wafting throughout the room and directly up his nostrils. The coffee smell and the feeling of being balls deep inside Terzo had Copia’s head reeling. It was almost too much for the poor boy. He was unbelievably hungry and now he was achingly hard and trying not to cum, he was losing his virginity while also mourning the loss of his life. So many thoughts in that little brain of his, so much to think about, but all quietened by the fact that there was a Cardinal ready and waiting to bounce on his cock when he gave the go ahead, tightening his walls every so often as if he were trying to drive the poor vampire mad.

“Are you ready, my little bat?”

Copia swallowed hard and nodded, nerves getting the better of him.

Terzo tentatively bounced, and tried not to laugh at the face Copia pulled at the feeling of it. He bounced a few more times, slowly, making sure that Copia was doing well enough before he picked up the pace. His hands holding onto Copia’s shoulders for leverage, well aware that his dried blood was now touching Copia’s skin and exceptionally close to his mouth. He saw Copia’s nose twitching as he smelled it, but Terzo said he trusted Copia and he meant it.

“Sathanas!” Terzo moaned softly.

Desperate moans were spilling frantically from Copia’s lips in time with each movement of Terzo’s hips.

Terzo bent down to kiss Copia once more, before uttering, “Touch me.”

Copia swallowed once more and nodded, moving his large hand down to Terzo’s cock and began stroking it as if it were his own. Terzo, already sensitive from his previous escapades, was on the verge of cumming himself, he just needed that extra push. And the feeling of Copia’s hand wrapped around his cock was the push he so desperately needed.

“I’m cumming.” He announced, and then moments later began spilling his seed onto Copia’s stomach, his mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ and his eyes watching the way his cum gathered on Copia’s skin.

Copia, now almost at his climax, pulled Terzo down and kissed his neck at the most sensitive spot before sinking his teeth into Terzo’s neck and feeding from him for the first time.

Terzo’s blood smelled sweeter than before, almost like a toffee nut latte. It could have tasted like it too had it not been for the metallic undertones. Copia released a deep and gutteral groan at the first lick of Terzo’s blood, and pulled his body closer and closer as he took his fill, all the while Terzo was lazily stroking his own cock to oversensitivity. When Copia was full, or close to it without hurting Terzo, he pulled away and thrust into Terzo’s ass several times before cumming deep inside it, watching as the blood from the open wound cascaded down his neck, across his chest and fell onto Copia’s body, dripping and mixing with what was left of Terzo’s cum.

For a while, all that could be heard in the chapel was their heavy breathing as they recovered from their short, but sweet encounter, Terzo dizzy from the loss of blood but alive. Copia did everything he could to stop the bleeding, and was successful eventually. But Terzo had lost a significant amount and it would take him a while to recover.

That night, he was able to guilt trip Copia into carrying him back to his room, and Copia watched as Terzo slept after Terzo’s quick, replenishing meal, making sure that Terzo was, in fact, okay and he didn’t take too much of his blood. That was the scariest first night as a vampire for Copia, terrified he’d killed one of the few people to show him kindness at the Ministry. But when Terzo’s eyes opened the next morning, Copia could breathe a sigh of relief.

As the years had marched on and the weight of time settled upon his shoulders, Papa Emeritus III often found himself drifting back to the vibrant tapestry of his youth, like an old, cherished book whose pages he couldn’t help but reopen. He often thought back to the night in the chapel and how it felt to be woven within Copia’s life so imperatively as he was. How he still wore the 30-year-old bite scars on his neck with the utmost pride, a badge of honour representing the baby bat’s first successful feed.

There had been casualties throughout the years, Copia’s lack of confidence triggered a particularly rough dry spell for the vampire where he refused to drink another drop from a living being again, which ended up doing more harm than good, especially when there was a raging, bloodthirsty vampire on the loose around the Ministry. He was able to reign it in as he got older, of course, and he grew into his abilities both vampiric and sexual.

It had been so long since the last time they touched each other; after the night in the chapel they would sneak off to that very room regularly for a quick fuck and feeding. But one day, presumably after Copia became Cardinal their meetings just stopped. Copia’s dark, yet intoxicating aura kept drawing other members of the Clergy in and Copia was enjoying his meals from various playthings, a harem if Terzo was being honest. Terzo’s own Cardinal duties meant their schedules never aligned and so the two drifted apart. But there were times when Terzo would be bouncing on a cock where he would allow his mind to drift off to that night, and remember how it felt to take many of Copia’s firsts. Terzo was sure he would never relive that night.

Yet, in the hush of the night, the chapel stood once more as a silent sentinel, glowing silver in the moonlight. The air inside retained a palpable sense of reverence, just as it had in ages past. The very same stained glass windows, adorned with intricate designs of celestial angels and unholy saints, cast their vivid colors onto the cold, polished stone floor.

Papa Terzo, troubled and restless, found himself in this sacred haven once again. Barefaced, chest exposed, and feet clad only in the softest of slippers, he had ventured here to seek solace and tranquility, just as countless others had before him in days of old. Clutching a candelabrum in his sturdy hand, he moved with deliberate care, ensuring not to disturb the tranquility of the sanctified space. The echo of his footsteps reverberated through the ancient walls as he entered the chapel, standing motionless for a moment, his vigilant eyes scanning the nave, and leaving the candelabrum by the door. It was in that timeless silence that he heard something he had never anticipated.

It wasn’t sobs he heard echoing off the ancient walls this time; not sounds of anguish and despair; he couldn’t taste the fear and woe that he could thirty years prior. He smelled sex, he heard the breathless moans of two enthralled in the most cardinal of sins. He saw Cardinal Copia’s bare back, brunette hair messy atop his head and pale white skin littered with dark scratches. In his lap on the pew, he saw you, the prettiest of all the young things gracing Copia’s harem, straddling the Dark Cardinal with your eyes closed and your face contorted with such pleasure. You had no idea your Papa was there in the nave, watching you both with morbid fascination as you rode Copia’s long, slender fingers.

He knew how it felt to be Copia at that moment, knowing firsthand how good your tight, wet cunt felt. You were, as it happened, his favourite plaything. His most obedient, good, little slut who always promised him that your cunt was his to play with. Though he never actually believed it, he just found it amusing to see you so pliant and willing for another man when you always seemed so shy. He wondered how many others you gave yourself to, how many others you’d lied to so that you could reach orgasm. What a truly, devious, desperate little whore you were.

“I remember when you used to do that to me, Cardinal.” Terzo announced, making you jump and your eyes snap open to look at him.

Both Terzo and Copia laughed at you.

“I borrowed your whore, I hope that’s okay.” Copia said. He didn’t care if it wasn’t okay, he always took whom he wanted and challenged anyone to challenge him. He could be a dick sometimes, that was part of the reason he had so many people fawning over him.

“Papa-” You reached for Terzo, your body weak and exhausted. Your voice was hoarse, no doubt from where Copia had had you screaming for him before Terzo had got there. Terzo recognised the sounds, and knew from your reactions that you’d cum multiple times already. And judging by how pristine your body looked, Copia hadn’t had his fill of you; rather, he enjoyed watching you beg for mercy.

Terzo gave you his hand and moved towards you both, kissing the back of your hand and stroking your hair gently. “How many times have you made them cum?”

“Two. Working on the third.”

Terzo tutted. “Were you never taught to not play with your food? Or in this case, torture it.” Though he was talking about you, he was looking at you, revelling in the way your face showcased your ruin.

“Of course, Papa. But,” Copia moved his free hand to your ass cheek, “I want this one sweeter than a fucking peach.” He slapped your bare ass, hard, and had you yelping out and tightening around Copia’s fingers. He bent down to bite your hip - not hard enough to puncture and draw blood, but hard enough for you to feel it.

Terzo feigned sympathy and finally addressed you. “Oh, tesoro. Is he torturing you?”

“Papa, please!” You were begging him, clutching onto his hand and staring up at his bare face in desperation. But you didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“You want your Papa to help you, è corretto?”

“Please!”

He moved his hand from your hair to your face and tenderly stroked it. “Do you think you deserve help when you lied to your Papa?”

Copia gasped. “They lied to Papa?”

“They did. They told me that sweet, little cunt of theirs belonged to me. Yet here they are allowing another man’s fingers inside of them.”

“Oh mi povero Papa! You should have heard how they were begging for my cock earlier.”

“Well this just won’t do, will it, Cardinal?”

“No it won’t.”

Your desperate voice sounded as your hips bucked faster and faster against Copia’s fingers. “Cardinal, I’m so close, please!”

“They want to cum, Papa. Should we let them?”

“Well, seeing as they’re so desperate to orgasm, I think we should.”

You came for the third time on Copia’s fingers, clenching around him so tightly he found it difficult to move them. Instead, he had to focus on your clit to keep you overstimulated and brain dead as you came for him, for them both. Both of their eyes were trained on you, focussed on how your face contorted again, how your body shook with the force of your orgasm, and how you tried, but failed, you keep your voice low.

Copia pulled his fingers out of you and raised them to Terzo’s mouth, and he sucked them in willingly, hollowing his mouth around the digits and fervently licking every drop of your cum off Copia’s skin. He groaned at the taste, and only pulled away when he had deemed them acceptably clean.

“Are they ready for your cock now, Cardinal?” Terzo asked.

Copia nodded, “They are. And I’m ready for yours.”

As you sank down onto Copia’s cock, his thickness stretching your wet walls beyond comprehension, you watched Terzo pull his sweatpants down and off completely, to reveal his achingly hard cock to the coolness of the room. Your hands rested on Copia’s shoulders for purchase as you began bouncing, setting a slow pace to begin with and allowing your little whimpers to echo throughout the chapel. Copia tipped his head back, his neck exposed to you and resting on the back of the pew, his mouth open and waiting. Terzo, eyes focussed on you, began feeding his cock down Copia’s throat, inch by inch until he was fully seated down his throat. You watched Copia’s slim neck expand to accomodate Terzo’s length, and clenched when Terzo let out a deep groan formed at the pit of his stomach.

“Just like that, Cardinal.”

With each of your bounces, you jolted Copia’s body which in turn had him move against Terzo’s cock, only a little though. It was for that reason Terzo moved his hips and began to fuck Copia’s throat. Slowly at first, he didn’t want to hurt Copia, but eventually his need was too great and he found himself thrusting harder and harder. His body leaned forward, and was supported by two of his hands on the back of the pew and one of his feet, the toes curling around the bench to give him leverage to thrust. This position allowed him to, when you leaned forward too, get right up into your face and pepper you with sweet kisses. “How does the Cardinal feel, tesoro?” He asked.

“He’s s-so big. So deep!”

“Where can you feel him?”

“I-in my stomach.”

A muffled growl could be heard from between you, Copia’s voice reacting to your words. That growl vibrated around Terzo’s cock, which pulled another moan from his throat. The good thing about vampires, both Terzo and Copia had discovered during their youthful escapades, was that they didn’t need to breathe, which meant that Terzo didn’t have to do the courteous pull-out.

Terzo removed one of his hands from the pew and wrapped it around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep and passionate kiss. Your face, red and sticky from sweat, too irresistible. Terzo needed your lips on his, and he needed them immediately. Though when he pulled away, he gripped onto your hand and brought your fingers to his lips. Like he did with Copia’s fingers, he sucked them into his mouth, the action entrancing you like a witch’s spell.

This time, however, your fingers were getting sloppier and sloppier each second they were in his mouth, and eventually, he released them with a pop. “Open your asshole for me, tesoro. Get yourself nice and stretched.”

You did as you were told, taking your now lubricated fingers and stretching yourself out to fit Terzo’s cock. Copia, now registering that your mind was preoccupied, held your hips still and began to thrust into you at a rough pace from beneath, getting his pleasures while you were preparing for your Papa.

Terzo, at this point, had moved back to almost his original position, except the hand that was on your neck had begun resting on Copia’s, squeezing his esophagus and making that hole so much tighter around his cock. “Cazzo!” Terzo shouted. “This throat takes me just as well as I remember, no?”

Copia grunted in response.

“Always so willing for my cock, Cardinal. Always took what I gave so willingly.”

Copia’s hips slammed into you harder at the memory, his cock hitting against your cervix every time and forcing loud, uncontrollable screams out of you.

Terzo gasped, as if something had shocked him, and pulled out of Copia’s throat completely, sitting down on the pew behind him and catching his breath. “Fuck, that was too close.”

“Losing your stamina, old man.” Copia taunted, his voice deep and gravelly from the exertion. His smile exposed his fangs, and his tongue ran over them, teasing Terzo. His Cardinal makeup, the black eyes and upper lip, was completely ruined by Terzo’s efforts. The tears that Copia had cried while Terzo was deep in his throat had rubbed off in a perfect tear line down the sides of his face, and the lipstick he wore had disappeared completely, replaced by pale pink, swollen lips. A particular thrust inside your cunt, however, had the Cardinal pulling his head off the pew and looking at you, mouth wide open and brows furrowed in animalistic pleasure. “This fucking cunt!” He yelled, continuing to slam into you at such a rate that stole your breath.

“Now you see why I keep fucking them.”

“I might have to steal them from you - make them my own.”

“We share them.” Terzo stood and walked around the pews, settling himself behind you. One of his hands went to your waist, just above Copia’s, while the other went to your hair and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck. He began to kiss up and down that sensitive spot, both men ignoring your overwhelmed cries and using you for their own pleasures and agendas. You saw the possessive look in Copia’s eyes as he watched Terzo kiss right on that sweet spot on your neck, the very spot Copia was going to feed from. Unbeknownst to you, Terzo was also staring at Copia as he was taunting him, living for riling the vampire up and thoroughly enjoying what it was doing to you. “We share them.” Terzo said once more.

“We share them.” Copia repeated through gritted teeth.

“I’m r-ready, Papa!” You screamed as Copia maintained his speed and intensity. This only slowed when Terzo ordered him to.

You heard Terzo spit on his cock to re-lubricate himself, give himself a quick tug, before he started pushing into your ass.

Your eyes almost bugged out of your head as Terzo entered you. He was gentle, of course, Terzo usually was at first. But with Copia’s thick cock already buried so deep inside you, it was more than difficult accommodating them both at the exact same time. “Almost there, tesoro.” Terzo said, kissing your shoulders to comfort you. “You’re doing so good for me. Taking us both so well.”

Copia’s eyes and hands were now roaming all over your body hungrily, feeling the life rush through you as your heart pumped faster with adrenaline. He could smell the spike in your blood, the extra sweetness released by the three orgasms he’d already given you. Copia’s sensitive senses detected a multifaceted aroma from the scent of your blood. Initially, it was a delicate floral fragrance, reminiscent of rare blossoms that only thrived under the full moon, creating an ethereal and intoxicating essence. Underlying this was an earthy, grounding note, evoking ancient forests and damp soil. Deeper still, there was a subtle, forbidden sweetness, like condensed nectar from countless flowers, tempting yet taboo. Lastly, a comforting warmth permeated, suggesting hearth and home, sparking a longing for connection beyond Copia’s immortal existence. In the end, the scent of your blood was akin to the finest aged wine, a treasured and savored rarity.

And Terzo, after all those years apart, still smelled exactly like coffee.

“Are you ready, tesoro?” Terzo asked with one final kiss to your shoulder.

“Yes, Papa.”

“What do you want, dolcezza?” Copia asked.

“You.”

“Who?”

“Both of you.”

Terzo smiled, “you have us.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“As you wish.” Copia said.

They both began thrusting, picking up a pace easily. This, of course, wasn’t the first time they’d shared a sibling more than willing to whore themselves out for the pair of them, and this wouldn’t be the last. They both fell into a perfect rhythm, only thrusting in when the other had pulled out, and maintained this even as their speeds picked up. Copia was slouched on the pew, allowing him more leverage to fuck into you, but Terzo was immediately behind you. His skin touched yours. He was so close, you could hear his grunts and whimpers directly into your ear.

“Look at you,” Copia began, his voice low and strained, “taking us both like a fucking whore.”

“Merda!” Terzo exclaimed. “Cardinal, that filthy mouth of yours. Be kinder to our tesoro.” Those ‘filthy words’ though, had both of your holes fluttering around them, and even got into Terzo’s head. He got off on the fact that you got off to being abused in such a manner, thoroughly enjoying your tightening ass.

“They want kind? Fine.” Copia’s hand moved down to your clit and he started to lazily play with it using his thumb, causing you to cry out once more.

“They love it when you play with their clit, Cardinal.”

“So good for us, aren’t you, dolcezza?”

When you didn’t reply, they laughed.

“Poor little thing, so cock drunk and brain dead.” Copia said, feigning sympathy. “I think we’ve ruined them.”

“I guess they want us to stop.”

“No!” You screamed. “Don’t stop - please don’t stop! F-feels so fucking good. I love your cocks!”

“Which is better?” Copia asked.

Your eyes widened, fully comprehending the question. “I c-can’t choose.”

Terzo, “You have to, or you won’t cum.”

Copia, “We’ll pull out and leave you like this.”

You, “No, please! I can’t decide. I want them both. I need them both! Fuck, I’m so close, please!”

Copia, “You want us to share you, eh? You want us to keep fucking you like this?”

You, “Yes!”

Terzo, “You want to hang off our dicks like this whenever we want to use you?”

You, “Yes! Fuck! Please, please, please!”

Copia, “Aw. Papa, since they asked so nicely…”

Terzo, “Cum, tesoro. Cum for us.”

You came hard, stilling against them and grabbing onto any limb you could possible grab onto. Your head fell back against Terzo’s shoulder, exposing your beautiful neck to Copia, who, while you were in the midst of your orgasm, had leaned forward and sunk his teeth into your neck, sucking your blood down his throat. The first bite of you, the taste of your blood had him cumming deep inside you, hitting your cervix at the final thrust and painting your walls white with his seed. The tightness of your ass from the orgasm and the eroticism of watching Copia devour you, had Terzo’s cock twitching and cumming into your hole, also gripping onto whatever part of your body he could find and burying his face in your shoulder. He had to restrain himself from biting you, too, knowing that it would hurt you more coming from him than the vampire attached to your neck.

From the exhilaration of the whole event, you passed out cold. After your orgasm, you don’t remember a thing, except when you woke up, you had a pounding headache and your bottom half ached deliciously. You opened your eyes, only to be met with the almost total darkness of Terzo’s bedroom, and no doubt, Terzo lying behind you, his arm over your waist protectively as his sleeping frame held you close to him. As your eyes opened further, you saw Copia sat on the armchair in the corner of the room, a book in his hand. But his attention was on you now that he knew you were awake.

“Good morning, dolcezza.” He said. He placed the book down and walked over to the bed, lying down in front of you and scooching up to press his body close to yours. He placed his arm over your naked waist where Terzo’s body hadn’t claimed. As you moved your neck to watch him, you felt a twinge of pain as though it were bruised at Copia’s bite. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” You replied, honestly.

“Mi dispiace, amore mio. It seems I overdid it last night. I took a little too much blood than I ought to.” He kissed your forehead. “Can you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive, Cardinal.” You yawned. “Just a mistake, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then nothing to forgive. Forget about it.”

“You need to rest more, dolcezza. When you wake up, Papa will order his Ghouls to get you some breakfast.”

“Will you sleep here with us?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes… please.”

Copia smiled at your adorableness. “Then, sleep here I shall. Good night, little one.”

“Good morning, Cardinal.”

And sandwiched in between Papa and the Cardinal, you drifted back off to sleep.

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