#does it make sense? no. but blade does not want to be left out of the hat game. safety first!

[ihatealimore]

Lover, You Should've Come Over

(word count: 1.432) (angst, comfort)

Sitting alone in the dim room, Kurapika finds himself consumed by a painful wave of regret. His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingernails digging dents into his skin as he thinks about (Y/N). A beautiful woman with sharp eyes that saw right through him.

"I pushed her away," He mutters to himself, the extent of his actions weighing on him heavily, "I was so concerned about dragging her down with me... I didn't consider what it would do to her."

The memories of their past together begin to seep into his mind like venom spreading its poison throughout an unsuspecting body. Their laughter echoing through empty halls, the way she'd playfully tugged on a lock of his blonde hair whenever they sparred together. Each memory brings forth another flood of bitter sorrow that gnaws at the edges of Kurapika's already damaged heart.

"She deserved better," He whispers hoarsely against the icy silence that wraps around him, "And I... I couldn't give it to her."

The taste of regret is sour on his tongue, but nothing stings more than remembering how (Y/N) had looked at him when he walked away, pure understanding reflected in those knowing eyes. A silent acceptance that cut deeper than any blade.

"(Y/N)," Kurapika breathes out, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. 

His gaze focuses on the empty space before him as if he could summon her back with just his longing.

"I'm sorry. I should've stayed," He murmurs quietly into the stillness of the room, shame lacing every word, "I miss you..."

A strained sigh escapes Kurapika's lips, his eyes dull and filled with sorrow, "If only I could see her again..." His voice trails off into a broken whisper, the words hanging stubbornly in the stagnant air surrounding him.

He would give anything to see those bright eyes again, to see her smiling at him so tenderly, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. The pain plaguing him seems unending, spiraling deeper within his chest with every passing second.

His hand instinctively moves towards where he imagines (Y/N) might be sitting if she were here, an empty gesture aimed at filling a void he himself had created. He misses everything about her, her stubbornness, her recklessness...

But most importantly, how understanding she was, even when things didn't make sense.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Kurapika declares quietly as if making a vow to himself, "I just want another chance."

The blonde-haired man's hand hovers over his phone, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He contemplates calling her, the weight of his decision making his heart pound louder in his chest. His fingers itch to dial her number, a series of digits he had memorized by heart.

The screen glows softly in the dim room, casting an eerie light onto Kurapika's face as he scrolls through his contacts until (Y/N)'s name comes into view. Her contact picture is one they'd taken together during happier times, both of them smiling so brightly that their joy seems almost tangible.

His thumb hovers over her name for what feels like an eternity, every second amplifying the heavy silence encompassing him. The fear gripping at him feels strong and suffocating. What if she doesn't answer? Worse yet... What if she does?

"(Y/N)..." He says under his breath, steeling himself before finally pressing down on her contact information.

As he brings the phone up to his ear, Kurapika bites down hard on his lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood dripping into his mouth but he barely registers it. All he can focus on is the rhythmic beating of a dial tone, a stark contrast to his erratic heartbeat.

His grip tightens around the device as every passing second becomes a harsh reminder of how much time had been wasted, how many words were left unsaid, and how many actions were done out of fear instead of love. His breath hitches when after several agonizing moments, her voicemail greeting plays.

But even just hearing her recorded voice gives him a brief sense of reprieve, grounding him back to reality from where regret and pain drag him deep within its clutches. It isn't enough though. He needs more than just echoes of her voice trapped in a digital recording.

Hearing the beep indicating it's time to leave a message, Kurapika takes in a deep breath before speaking. His voice quivers slightly, but he presses on, "(Y/N)... It's me, Kurapika."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now but... I miss you."

The words taste bitter on his tongue, an admission of guilt and longing wrapped together.

There's another tension-filled pause before he finally lets out what had been gnawing at him all night long, "Please come over. I need to see you..."

With that final plea hanging heavily in between them, even if she isn't there physically, he ends the call. His phone drops back onto his lap as he leans back into his chair, letting out a sigh full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

She may not come... But at least now she knows how desperate he is without her.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Kurapika had begun to lose hope. The silence is deafening and doubt claws at his insides with a vengeance. He spends the passing hours aimlessly pacing around his apartment, trying to distract himself from constantly glancing towards his phone.

When he hears a subtle knock echo through the room, the Kurta freezes in place, heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as he makes way to the door.

Dread and anticipation swirls within him as he gently pulls open the door, revealing (Y/N) standing there under dimly lit hallway lights, her silhouette creating shadows that dance across her features.

For a moment, it seems as if time itself has stopped, everything silent except for their shallow breaths mixing together in sync before he finally releases an audible sigh of relief.

"Kurapika?" Her voice is filled with surprise, and before she can utter another word, he has already thrown his arms around her. His grip is tight, a desperate hold born out of fear that if he lets go even slightly, she'll disappear.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, every inch of him attempting to memorize her, the way she feels against him, the faint scent of her hair mixing with the outside air lingering on her clothes.

A shaky breath escapes him as he tries to gain control over his racing heart, albeit in vain, because now that she's here within his reach again... He doesn't want to let go.

"Kurapika?" She echoes and the sound of her voice, so close and filled with concern, causes something warm to bloom in his chest. As she returns his embrace and begins to rub soothing circles on his back, he feels a few of the knots in his stomach start to unravel.

"You sounded... Unwell in your voicemail. Are you okay?" Her words resound through him, genuine worry laced into each syllable.

"I..." He swallows hard as he draws back just enough to look at her, meeting those beautiful eyes that hold nothing but sincerity, "I've been better," It isn't a lie but it doesn't feel like the whole truth either.

"I can tell," She replies quietly.

He lets out another trembling breath before tightening his hold around her again, not ready yet to fully face what's been haunting him for so long without having her close.

For now, he wants to linger in her arms. Holding onto her as if she's his lifeline, Kurapika allows himself to sink deeper into her embrace, her comforting warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his cold existence.

He presses his face further into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent deeply, "Just let me hold you for a bit longer," He murmurs against her flesh, hoping she'll understand just how much he needs this right now.

"Okay, I'm not going anywhere," She whispers against his ear, the softness of her voice flowing into him and further calming his anxious thoughts.

Kurapika's heart constricts at her promise, gratitude washing over him in waves. He tightens his hold on her further, as if conveying all the unspoken emotions through this one gesture.

He doesn't know how long they stood there in silence, time seeming to lose its grip on him as he simply allows himself to exist within this comforting bubble with her by his side... And for once, it feels okay to let down the walls around him even if it is just for a little while.

This feels like home to him, something he thought he had lost forever.

[fisheito]

OMG. that means... Cloaca Crew........

WAIT.

✨C l o a c a C r e w✨

[azsazz]

Little Bird

Kinktober Day 24: Lorcan x Reader [Size Kink]

Summary: You're tired of sword-fighting with Lorcan. You want to practice endurance with him instead.

Warnings: Smut, size kink, choking, fingering.

Word Count: 2,452

Notes: Sorry these are taking so long...

_________________________________________

You don’t know if you should be more worried about the sword millimeters away from your neck, or the looming body that pins you to the ground. If he decides to rest his weight down on you, if you even think about trying to squirm away from him, he will fucking crush you.

It shouldn’t make you as hot as it does. Lorcan’s hot breath fanning across your face as he bends over you. Your torso, pinned between the thick of his thighs, large as mountains. Onyx eyes peer down at you, and there’s no distinction between the color and pupil. His equally dark hair is pulled from his face, but there’s a strand fallen free and brushing the skin of your hot cheek, clinging to the dew. 

“What are you going to do now?” he asks you, his voice is low and cold, but his breath across your lips is hot. Draws your focus. That’s what he wants.

Your own weapon is just out of reach from where he’d hit it from your hand. You’d tried to defend yourself with your fists, but Lorcan is easily thrice your size and acts like it too. He doesn’t hold back with you, because you’ll never learn how to defend yourself against someone his size, even though you’re not sure there could ever be another person his size, because he’s fucking huge.

You could try to jut up your knee between his legs, but your attempt wouldn’t do much damage because the part you’re aiming for sits thick and heavy on your stomach. Your arms are pinned in one of his large hands with nowhere to go. You’re out of options. Or, almost out of options.

There’s one thing left in your arsenal that you can use. One that will have Lorcan growling at you for not taking any of this training seriously, but only for a moment.

You arch your body under his, pressing your breasts from the ground to rub against his chest. Lorcan blinks, nostrils flaring at the sweet scent that suddenly invades his senses, and he grits his teeth as he catches on immediately to your plans.

“I’m going to let you fuck me, Lorcan.”

“No, little bird, we’re going to train.” He demands it of you, even though you feel his cock twitch in his pants. You squirm and he pulls his blade slightly, not wanting you to accidentally injure yourself, and you swallow back your triumphant grin. The way that he’s keeping you pinned, looking out for your safety, makes you hot. 

“Let’s work on endurance, then,” you challenge. “I know you can use come work.” 

With that, you know you have him. Lorcan bares his teeth, sharp canines gleaming in the sun’s lowering light. The growl that accompanies it rattles your bones, reverberates deliciously against your clit and your breath hitches harshly.

Lorcan chases the sight, your chest flaring a little at your gasp. The sweat that beads between your breasts. Your lips part with the inhale and he wants to bite, tear the perfect pink skin of your mouth until they’re swollen and panting and in a perfect circle for him to stick his cock into. That would teach you, he’s sure, to taunt him like that, when his cock is shoved so fucking far down your throat that it nearly tears around his girth.

“Little bird,” he says, deathly calm. “You do not want to fuck with me.” 

You roll your eyes, “Of course not, Lorcan. I want to you to fuck me.”

You whimper as he tosses his sword away and flattens his body against yours. You loose your breath with his weight, but he’s heavy and hot against you, smothering you with that large frame of his. 

“You won’t be able to train for days,” he murmurs against your skin. His teeth scrape your cheek and you shiver. Your arms strain beneath his grip with the intent to cling to him, but he’s too strong, easily keeping them tightly pinned to the ground above your head. You whine a little, and his grip only gets harsher. “Oh no, little bird. If you don’t want to work, you don’t get to touch. I’ll fuck you as long and hard as I please for your insolence.”

His words shouldn’t make you shiver with pleasure but they do. Your nipples tighten with interest and Lorcan’s pupils dilate at the feeling, his chest pressed to yours.

“Hands,” you pant, because he’s rubbing himself tauntingly against you and you no longer know words. He’s thick and full in his pants, hot against your thigh. You think you’re pleasing for him to release your hands, or touch you with his, but you can’t be sure. Either works, though.

Lorcan hums, pulling away from the dark mark he’s sucked into your neck. There are two little indents, not quite his fangs breaking skin, but they look incredible on your flushed skin like this.

“Hands,” he hums thoughtfully, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Want me to let you go, bird? Want my hands all over this tight little body? Or perhaps around your neck? You know how pretty you look with my hand around your throat, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically, more than ready for him to force the air from your body while he impales you on his cock. With his hand wrapped around your throat, breathing will be a struggle until the male above you allows it. Just like he’s allowing you to taunt him, to land a swipe at him with your sword. Nothing happens that Lorcan doesn’t want to happen. He is always in charge, leading the bull.

Lorcan’s free hand has released your arms but you keep them high above your head even if the urge to rip out the tie in his hair and bury your fingers into it is so great it makes your arms shake. A grunt of approval leaves his lips and it sends heat right down to your core, pooling between your thighs.

“Open your mouth for me bird,” he commands, brushing his thick fingers across your lips. They part automatically, and your skin is bussing with his touch as he dips two fingers in. “Yes. Good girl, just like that.” Lorcan’s praises, and presses those long fingers of his further down your throat. You choke, a squelching sound coming from your mouth that sets his charcoal eyes alight, his cock twitching between your bodies as he struggles not to grind. “Look at you, taking me so well. Should we find out what else we can fill?”

You moan, sucking them in bliss. You’re harsh with it, just the way that he likes. He likes it so much that Lorcan starts thrusting his fingers even faster, saliva pooling in your mouth as he moves, but he likes it messy, loves the way your lips swell and the way that you drool for him. Maybe he’ll even stick his fat cock down your throat if you’re good. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your throat is tight around his fingers and you’ve forgotten just how big he is all around. Not just his cock that he’s hastily tugging from his trousers and tugging roughly before he’s removing his fingers from your throat.

You whimper at the loss but gasp as he kicks your thighs open, not wasting any time to reach down and tear a hole right through your own fighting leathers. The sound of the fabric ripping echoes through the thicket of trees and you’re thankful he made you hike so far out today, though with the way that his cock is standing straight and leaking at the tip, red and ready for your perfect, tight cunt, you know your cries of pleasure will be heard for miles and miles.

“Please,” you beg, and you relent. You don’t care how he’ll punish you, you need to feel his flesh embedded beneath your nails, need to feel the dips and valleys of the muscle stacking his body. You need to see the way that his hands smother yours, how he doesn’t even have to strain a muscle folding you into the positions he likes. “Please, Lorcan. I need your cock.” 

He grunts in response, a disapproving sound as he stares at your tiny cunt, shining and wet for him. As much as he’d love to lean over and fuck right down to the hilt, you’ll only break. So, he needs to take this slow.

“Fingers first, little bird.”

The moan you release as his first finger dips into your wetness turns pinched when Lorcan adds a second, then third on the next plunge in. You scream around his fingers, at the feeling of him stretching you. Loran hushes you softly but keeps moving, his other hand coming to caress your face, trailing down your neck to grab a fistfull of your breast through your shirt. Your fingers scratch at his skin, begging him not to stop, working your cunt ready for his cock.

He towers over you, covering every inch of your body with his. The ground is hard beneath your back but he’s even harder above you. His onyx eyes are all you can focus on as the fire builds in your gut and then it’s only darkness and sparks of light that surround you when your eyes roll into the back of your head while you orgasm. 

Before you can even catch your breath, before you can even force your eyes open again, Lorcan is nudging the head of his cock into your entrance. It stings, because no amount of prep from him can compare to the girth of his cock as it stretches your channel wider and wider. 

Your soft fingers turn to snake bites against his shoulders as he wedges himself inward. Your body is coiled with tension, with the intrusion of his large cock, and he leans down to take your mouth against his as he works to distract you. 

You whimper painfully against his mouth, and Lorcan growls. “Take it bird. Take all of me.”

And you have no choice but to. Your body is made for him, slick and hot and greedily accepting every inch that he’s giving you. He groans like a pained man when you constrict around his cock, not following his direction. Slipping a finger between your bodies, he rolls your clit between his rough fingers and slowly you begin to relax.

Your pained sounds turn to pleasured moans, your back arching with need and your stomach bulging with the tip of his cock. His hips meet yours and it’s always a surprising feat that he can fit that far inside of you, pressing into your organs with his head.

“Too deep,” you gasp when he pulls his hips out and thrusts them back in. Lorcan doesn’t falter in his movements, only hooks his hands under your knees and presses them to your chest, forcing himself further. “You’re too deep, Lorcan.”

“You’re okay, bird,” he grunts low. He bends over and licks a tear that’s escaped the corner of your eye, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin afterward. “You can take it. Arch your back for me. Gods,” he pants when you follow his command. “Just like that.”

Lorcan adjusts his hips and slides into you at an angle that makes every pinch and twist of pain worth it. The head of his cock brushes up against your walls, hot and leaking, and it feels so good. 

“Please, kiss me,” you beg and Lorcan doesn’t hesitate. He lets you lead the kiss, taking everything that you need from him and giving you even more. His tongue brushes across yours at the same time he hits that bundle of nerves inside of you again and you moan deeply into his mouth. He swallows it like the greedy fucking male he is, smothering you, taking you, because you are his and for no one else.

Lorcan thrusts harder and you tighten your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck as your body vibrates with pleasure. You know that he’s close, and you can feel the building of your own orgasm threatening to crash over you as well. But you want to wait, you want to cum with him, feel your juices mix together as he fucks them deep into your womb.

“Don’t close your eyes, little bird. Look at me when you cum,” Lorcan says, and it almost feels wrong, the way he’s so gently smoothing back the hair clinging to your damp cheeks. You cum with the feeling of his calloused fingers so tender on your skin. He may not let anyone else see this side of him, showing you how much you mean to him, but here and now, even after you’ve all but taunted his skills, he continues this kindness, and it makes your heart swell with joy.

Lorcan’s name is a desperate cry on your lips as you cum for the second time. His chest vibrates with a growl that only has your cunt constricting tighter around him, so tightly that he has to put more effort into jerking in and out of you. The feeling of your warmth choking his cock is more than enough to shove him over the edge as well, spurting rivulets of cum into your cunt with a growl that shakes your core.

“Such a good little bird, aren’t you?” he asks when he comes down from his own high, enjoying the feeling of himself dripping out of your cunt around his cock that’s still shoved deeply into you. If you weren’t on the tonic you’d be worried about how easily Lorcan would be able to impregnate you, but as you lie beneath him in bliss, the both of your chests sticking together with sweat, you might not mind baring his children someday.

“So good,” you swallow roughly, caressing his sides. You squeal when Lorcan grabs your hips and rolls you so that you’re lying across his chest, and your cunt pulses at the feeling of his cock grinding with the mauver. Lorcan groans softly, his large hands pinning your hips in place so that you don’t get any ideas about rolling your hips while he’s still coming down from his previous orgasm. 

“Give me a few minutes, bird,” he huffs, closing his eyes. His eyebrows are strained but you can feel his cock twitch in your cunt. 

You hum, clenching around him on purpose. Lorcan growls and bares his teeth again, but you only stroke the pad of your finger down the length of his sharp tooth. “But Lorcan, I thought we were working on your endurance.”

[angelltheninth]

Honkai Star Rail Men + What Are We

Pairing: Blade, Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Sampo, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, slightly suggestive, mentioned friends with benefits, confessions, morning after, kissing, cuddles

A/N: I have another idea that's a more nsfw FwB type of thing but for now have this fluffy one.

Blade doesn't really care what you think he is to you. He knows what you are to him: someone he likes to have around to entrain him for a few hours. Yes, its fun with you, he enjoys being with you, if you feel the need to develop romantic feelings then fine, but don't push them onto him. He won't stop asking you to come to his bed just because you're the one making it complicated, you sort that out by yourself

Caelus knew there was something more then sex going on for a while but he didn't want to be the first one to bring up the issue. He has been hugging you a lot more lately, you've noticed this, and you've noticed how he always leaves the door unlocked on days he knows you'll be here and just so happens to have extra food. The man is not subtle but he is shy, so you took that step, you asking him on a date today.

Dan Heng is silent for a few moments, he doesn't push you away, he doesn't move away, he doesn't stop massaging your shoulders and arms, he just thinks in silence. Well, he did think you were friends with benefits but perhaps the past the friend part of that a while ago. Would you like to be more with him? He's open to the idea but he figured with how busy he is you wouldn't want to commit to him.

Gepard could not be more happy when you asked him that because he had been wondering for some time too. He could sense it in your kisses, how you embraced him and snuggled up to him when it was done, how your eyes lingered on each others in these early hours of the morning, asking the silent question. He will reply to you with a kiss and a promise to take you on the best date ever now that you're officially boyfriend and girlfriend.

Jing Yuan lets out a big, loud belly laugh at your question. He thought he was being pretty obvious with his kisses and biting at your shoulders every morning before you left. There weren't any other people he was seeing right now, you had his full attention, all the time, he wasn't fooling around. When you told him you thought he was being playful when he did those things. Then allow him to be much more direct as he flips you on your back and asks you to be his.

Sampo is really taken back by your sudden question. He's in the middle of getting dressed to leave and you're asking that, still naked and covered with a sheet. Oh boy, are you trying to rile him up again? The truth is, he doesn't know either. You've been on the edge of something more, he can tell but he's scared to know what that is. So he can't give you an answer, not yet but if you're willing to be patient with the mercenary just a little longer he will do his best for you.

Welt takes a day to think about this but makes it very clear that this isn't him saying he does not like you, so don't worry about that. This is just him getting his thoughts in order. When you come back to his place its to a fully candle lit diner and him holding flowers. This is way too much, he is well aware of this, but he feels like after so many months of just sex and longing gazes, the two of you deserve something more romantic.

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus V.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, codependency o'clock, implied/mentioned not SFW, coercion and mommy issues. Word count: 10.1k.

Nexus index.

Time is a way to measure reality. 

It allows the woefully inadequate mind of a sentient being to process a sliver of something greater. The senses are a sieve that retains what little they can of the universe’s riptide. Considering this, it’s no wonder the Aeons tend to keep to themselves. How long would you entertain the whims of a speck of dust? You’d gain nothing from it. The dust cannot understand, it lacks the means to properly perceive you. It simply wishes to find a nice, comfortable spot to occupy its days. It can loathe, revere, or fear you, it matters not; for in the end, it’s nothing but a speck of dust. 

So why do the Aeons occasionally make themselves known? What do they stand to gain? Further power, enlightenment, entertainment? 

They should’ve just kept wading through the stellar sea. 

Specks of dust shouldn’t be allowed to wield even an ounce of their power. 

All it does is let them destroy themselves and others in new, horrific ways. 

The white rings around your mother’s pupils shine. 

She subjects Kafka and Blade to concurrent curses. Cutting, snipping, trimming; their psyches are flayed one layer at a time. How she does so rivals a butcher preparing a tender cut more than a doctor performing a delicate surgery. Inky blots propagate along Blade’s vision. From this limited perspective, you can’t determine Kafka’s condition. Not that it would matter, you can barely comprehend what Blade’s going through. 

Mother has to be forming a link, right?

Ideally, both parties consent to a link’s formation. This grants stability and lowers the chances of complications. An unwelcome link is treated with the same hostility as an immune system that’s noticed a germ. It’s sought out, identified, then exterminated. The host may suffer malaise for a time, but if their body is in working order, the problem will sort itself out. 

There has to be more to this, you surmise. Mom, please, don’t let this be the end. You can’t. Not you. 

The disease inflicted on Blade metastasizes; Kafka is likely facing a similar predicament. Memories swarm around him like locusts, buzzing and biting. 

The Zhuming is the womb from which divine weapons are born. It is the warden to the subdued Flint Emperor, whose flames once burned hot enough to rival the stars. These flames will one day exterminate the rampant borisin, the young boy is certain. Whether it be in his lifetime or not doesn’t matter. No child deserves to be made an orphan. He can’t undo what’s been done to him, but he can help prevent it from happening to others. 

“If you believe you are up to the task, I will take you on as my apprentice. What you do with the knowledge I impart is your decision.” 

This Foxian lady sent to retrieve support for the fight against the borisin loves to chat. There’s rarely an instance where a grin can’t be found on her face, wide enough that her eyes must squish to accommodate her exuberance. 

“Just focus on what you want to do, and let fate take its course."

Those who belong to the short-life species cannot grasp a nebulous concept such as ‘fate.’ This sentiment is commonly found among his fellow Artisanship Commission members. It doesn’t deter him — if anything, his resolve is strengthened. His life won’t be as long as theirs, but it will burn hot and bright before it extinguishes. 

“The borisins must pay the price for their evil.” 

One day, a lady with long, silver hair, who has conquered the moon and brought it to heel, approaches him. The air around here is crisp, contrasting the sweltering air of the Zhuming. She reminds him of the winters he experienced on his home planet. He had forgotten how frost stings. 

“A talent such as yours shouldn’t be left to drown amidst a mediocre sea. After this visit, I’m bound for the Loufu. A seat will be made available for you. Come and reach your full potential, or, languish here where your accolades will fade from history’s recollection.” 

The Shard Sword, Starfall Reverie, Cloud-Piercer, and Baiheng’s recurve bow were no longer what he treasured most. Those monumental accomplishments don’t enrich lives, it ends them. Standing here, where the ocean’s blue is more brilliant than the artificial sky, is where he’s found something akin to peace. The Scalegorge Waterscape has become a gathering place for friends. Laughter, sparring, and the burning of liquor are shared beneath the moon’s watchful eye. 

He raises a cup to his lips and silently wishes this joy could last forever. 

“Do you remember?”

This voice interrogated him unceasingly for answers they both knew he couldn’t give. Again and again, he’d undergo a punishment disguised as a lesson. Frost didn’t just sting, it imparted necrosis, yet what is decomposition to an immortal but a joke? Again and again, his flesh would be pierced, organs punctured with expert execution. His body wasn’t allowed the privilege to rot. 

Again and again, he’d be swallowed by death, only to be spat back up, as it’s unable to digest him. 

"Listen, I can always kill you again, otherwise I can't bring you back."

What he thought to be prey standing in his way turned out to be apex predators. A woman who could render him useless with her words alone and a suit of armor that reflected the sun in his weary eyes. He had to get his fill of death before considering her offer. It sounded too good to be true, but he was reminded that the universe has enough instruments to perform the threnody he so desperately wishes to hear. 

“Having trouble settling on a gift? Hm… I suppose that’s to be expected. Any off-world flora you leave behind will shrivel beneath the planet’s atmosphere, unless it possesses special qualities. It’d be a bad omen to give her a lotus that can wilt. Why not try a different approach?”

He stands solitary on the cragged terrain around the LOTUS-EATER. Though she’ll soon emerge to gaze up at the starless sky, his wait won’t end there. It’ll bleed into the next day, then the day after that, on and on the cycle will spin. Destiny’s Slave promised this vortex would end so long as he remained patient. Once he fully bows down before her, damnation will be her crown. The weight of his burden is to be shared by two. 

He considers the iridescent crystals in his bandaged hands. 

He thought the joy he found in creation died the same day ▇▇▇▇▇ did. 

This emotion’s resurrection, however…

… If it’s a sin, then what’s another addition to his list? 

“Listen, Blade, snap out of it.”

The swarm falls silent. 

Bright screens, the thrum of the oxygen generator, sterile colors. Kafka towers over him, implying that he’s fallen to the ground. Her complexion lacks its usual glow. While Blade stands, she reaches inside her jacket and pulls out a portable blush. She dusts the rosy powder over her cheeks. 

“That was unpleasant,” Kafka sighs. She snaps the container shut. “I guess that’s to be expected from one of Noct’s Emanators. It seems you bore the brunt of it, though.” 

Mom, an Emanator? You think. Maybe… maybe that means she had a chance to get away. This was a diversion that she used to go into hiding. Faking a corpse is within their skillset, Silver Wolf can hack reality itself. I only looked at it long enough to confirm her identity. 

Blade places a hand on his throbbing head and grimaces. His vision alternates between different degrees of blurriness. Kafka’s positioned in front of him, which prevents you from seeing the area your mother occupied. You pray to anything that might listen for her to fucking move already.

“That trip down memory lane was a red herring,” Kafka says. “She bought herself enough time to complete her real objective.” 

Even Kafka thinks so! 

Instead of explaining further, she leisurely reaches for her lipstick. Your frustration boils over. You aren’t the only one feeling impatient. Blade hasn’t uttered a word, but his typical apathy ebbs and flows irregularly. Kafka hums a tune as she smears the rouge pigment along her puckered lips. This whimsical attitude shows no signs of tapering off. 

Blade exhales sharply, belying his annoyance. He’s near his limit as well.

Kafka clicks her tongue. “Don’t be so impatient, you two. I’m dolling myself up.” 

…‘You two?’

“Yes. Now, let me assess the damage,” Kafka switches from looking at Blade to inspecting his psyche. She gasps, playing the role of a melodramatic damsel perfectly. “Oh my. Ania did a number on you.” 

This woman is insufferable, always playing coy. I swear, the next time I see her—

“Your memories of [First] Phaeales, the visceral emotions she stirs up in you; they’re growing fuzzier by the second, I presume? In an hour or so, they’ll be gone altogether. Hmm… ‘gone’ might not be the best word to describe it. Sealed away might be more appropriate.” 

A premonition too cruel to put into words coils around you. 

No, no, no. 

“Can you fix it?” Blade strains. The hypothetical Kafka suggested encourages his mara to writhe and hiss in dissatisfaction. It crawls around his head, murmurs near his cochlea in a scratchy voice, demanding a quick fix. To be deprived of you is unacceptable, it insists. This sentencing must be overturned. It wants you, needs you and will destroy anything to have you. Himself included. 

Pandemonium wreaks havoc inside his head, it’s like he barely exists. The warring influences rip away as if drawing and quartering him. 

“I can’t, no. It’s beyond my abilities,” Kafka’s smile is all teeth. “Fortunately, I do know of someone who can undo it.” 

His mara hushes so it may hear her out. 

“Contact them,” he snaps. 

“You’d get all bashful if I did. Besides, I don’t think she’d do a very thorough job if she knew the context.” 

Kafka stares Blade in the eye and tilts her head like she’s posing for the camera. “Isn’t that right, Miss Phaeales?” 

You think you might be living in a nightmare. 

Please, no…

Blade’s heart lurches inside his chest at your mention. 

“Listen, Bladie. Until [First] Phaeales undoes her mother’s seal, you’ll be unable to remember the past twenty-four hours. The second the seal is undone, this memory, on June 8th, 2153 AE, starting from Eris’ local time of 0223 and concluding at 0214, will resurface in your consciousness. It will play for her so she’s fully caught up.” 

How could something this awful… ever happen…? 

The edges of the memory fade and curl inward like burning paper. 

“I’ll throw in some advice, just for you, sweetie. He’s bound to get tongue-tied around you, so remember to be patient,” Kafka’s suggestion is muffled. “Oh, and another thing. You might want to get a headstart while you can.” 

… 

You can’t breathe. 

The room performs for you, rippling side to side, hypnotizing as a pocket watch. A white blur whirrs by. Clink, clink, clink, it crashes, spurting its innards in a splatter of red and glimmering gold. The sound itself seems delayed, echoing a moment too late. It isn’t in time with the opal shards that scatter like teeth along the polished floor. The deluge is offbeat, dissonant, yet the song continues.

You can’t breathe. 

The percussion is ousted, making way for the woodwind section. The flutes raise and raise in pitch. This tocsin sounds shrill and consistent, stabbing your eardrums, and vibrating your bones. Dizziness makes for a distracting audience member, its dry, unblinking eyes landing on you. It opens its maw impossibly wide, tearing the tendons around its cracked lips, and swallows your head. For some reason, it cannot go past your neck, so it contents itself with gorging on your cranium like it’s sucking candy. 

You can’t breathe. 

There’s something living inside your throat. A parasite, leech, or slug, maybe. It wriggles back up whenever you try swallowing, like jello on a wobbling plate. The tiny hairs along its gelatinous body tickle your esophagus. You’re always on the precipice of choking, but not quite. It delights in the warm and moist cavern you’ve provided. 

You can’t die because it wants more from you. 

You can’t be reduced to a husk because your vitality sustains it. 

You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

Something awful touches your skin and you want to burn the residue it leaves behind. 

“[First].” 

You scramble back until your spine hits a cold, solid surface. A hand retracts. 

What is this thing before you? It’s tall and has eyes like vats of blood. You see your reflection held captive inside the crimson miasma. The woman it shows resembles you in some ways and doesn’t in others. She looks afraid. Sickly. Lost somewhere between the junction of life and death. Traipsing, testing the fraying line’s integrity. One wrong step guarantees a plummet to inconceivable depths. 

“[First].” 

“Don’t,” you rasp, your voice wobbling like a transmission with a poor signal, “Don’t you fucking dare come near me!” 

He listens. For now, at least. You’d be a fool to mistake stalling for surrender. You press your back into the wall hard enough to ache. The enclosed space seemingly shrinks around you. You press a trembling hand over your heart, feeling how it hammers against your chest cavity. The room’s air is stifling. Your sympathetic nervous system can’t decide its course of action. Should the little oxygen you’re inhaling go to your brain or your heart? Delegation is a tricky endeavor. 

Blade’s gaze eats you alive.

He’s starving and you’re the only thing that can fill him.

The manifestation of his mara frightened you less. 

 Mom, what have I done? What can I do? 

“You should sit,” he says. You want to rip his vocal cords to shreds. “There’s nowhere to run and you know better than to fight.”

As if he had to remind you. 

The Shard Sword. So that’s the name of the terror he wields? You’ve read about it in history books, there are entire chapters dedicated to the High-Cloud Quintet’s exploits. Even if he were unarmed, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Any flesh wound will heal, any organ will stitch itself back together, and any death will be a temporary visit he’ll saunter back from.

Blade takes a step closer.

How do you get out of this? How do you get him to stop? What would get him to stop? 

What could he possibly want more than you? 

Oh.

The answer unfurls like a body bag. 

… There is one more thing, isn’t there? 

You thread your psyches together with a thin string. It’s too weak in its present state, the weight of your goal will make it snap instantly. You need to fortify it as best as you can. Otherwise, there is no place you can go where he won’t find you. The prismatic shards that record his history are no longer indecipherable, each moment is visible to you, forming a macabre mosaic. 

The second you finalize this link, he’ll know. Your touch isn’t a stranger to his mind anymore. Nothing about you is. 

You recall the shattered opal goblet a few feet away. 

You let your knees buckle like they’ve desired all along. You fall toward the jagged shards and you brace yourself. It happens as swiftly as you expected — his inhuman speed allows him to catch you easily. He steadies you against him, holding you up since the strength leaving your body wasn’t an act. 

Your hand brushes over a sliver of his skin. 

You wanted me to show you what it’s like to die, you think. It isn’t beyond my means at all, Yingxing!

The Synalink is a success. 

He might want you, but his longing for a permanent death eclipses that. 

This is a scenario unlike any you’ve ever built before. The dimensions are simple, you’re creating one static scene. It isn’t a vast galaxy with trade, economies, and conflicting ideals, teeming with planets that house millions of individuals who each have their own role in the story to play. Grass doesn’t have to blow just right, there aren’t bystanders whose conversations you need to generate and perform maintenance on. 

The stage you’ve built is, at its core, nothing. A vacuum you’ve molded into a cube and placed him in the middle of. 

You’ve cut off stimuli to each of his senses. He can’t perceive anything, because there’s nothing to perceive. 

His psyche shows no signs of resistance. This is what he wants, isn’t it? Total absolution. The loss of self, to be undone and woven into the universe’s indifferent tapestry. Every factor has aligned in your favor like a once-in-a-millennium syzygy. Your newfound knowledge of his past, his most innate desire being death, then the amplification physical touch brings. 

This isn’t an unknown pathogen, it’s a welcome salvation. 

You just have to maintain it. 

Your main hurdle is finding a way to do so while navigating the physical world. The slightest deviation could have catastrophic consequences, his acumen is that competent. How long can you sustain this Synalink if you don’t dedicate your entire attention to it? There’s no point of reference. For all you know, it could be impossible. 

Regardless, you have to try. 

Reopening your corporeal eyes, you find yourself in the private room. 

The Stellaron Hunter, who uses the alias ‘Blade,’ stands behind you like a cocked gun. 

He isn’t moving. The white rings in his eyes match yours. His vitals are consistent with what you see in clients immersed in Synalinks. Low respiration and heartbeat, and the paralysis of limbs so as to deter unwanted motor functions.

You hold your breath, shimmy out of his loosened grasp, and then cautiously take a step back.

Your heels crunch down on a stray fragment from the broken goblet. You cringe.

You expect the worst when you gather the courage to look at him again. 

Still nothing. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you awkwardly slide toward the door leading to The Lounge. 

The burning question of what to do next sears your mind. You have no faith or trust in Chrysus. There’s Caicias, but he’s in Mele. The fastest nectar guide would still take two hours, factoring in the repairs being done to the one in Thelx. Even if he did make it here, what could he do? Help you negotiate? Would Blade even give him the chance? You’d be condemning the elder quadrant leader to certain death. 

Who is in your star system? You’ve heard that the Astral Express has had run-ins with the Stellaron Hunters, but they could be millions of light-years away. Then there’s Kafka. If she goes too long without hearing from Blade, she won’t just sit around and let you scheme. Silver Wolf could hack into the LOTUS-EATER’s surveillance system or use thermal imaging to gauge the situation. 

The price of hope is too steep. 

Your fingers grope blindly for the door’s switch. You refuse to take your attention off Blade for a split second. You feel a protrusion, start to flick it up—

Sparks fly from the wall like frantic fireflies, joined by chunks of dark debris. Strands of your hair blow aside as if subject to a wicked gale. Sediment scratches at your skin. Out of instinct, your eyes squeeze shut, shielding you from what they can. A figure towers above you. You can’t see him, but you can feel him. The torment, bloodlust, and yearning are so prevalent that they may as well be in the room alongside you. 

Through a looking glass, you saw the reflections of a wretched life.

How he fell victim to a friend unwilling to accept a comrade’s untimely demise. That for this incursion, death would never grant him permanent residency. Over a thousand times, a swordmaster gripped by madness tested this ordinance, her strikes colder than winter’s wrath.

He’d lose a piece of himself each time, leaving a mangled afterimage of what he once was.

A sinner rendered mara-struck and immortal — a shade that will dye you his accursed color. 

Blade pins your wrists above your head. It hurts, but you’ve learned there’s pain worse than this. 

“Open your eyes.” 

It isn’t a request. 

You hesitate for as long as he allows. Ultimately, you have no choice but to give him what he wants. Scarlet eyes reward your reluctant obedience. Leering, glowing. Your chest heaves beneath the burden of each breath. Something wet and warm trickles down your cheek. It titillates the flames of his mara as if it’d been lathered in oil. He shackles your wrists with his gloved hand and drags the other downward. Over your temple, cheekbone, then finally, your chin. 

He tilts your head up. 

Neither of you speak. 

How? How did he break free? 

You didn’t sense any fluctuations, nothing that’d warn of your incoming fate. Your control didn’t slip, it was pulled out right from underneath you. 

Isn’t death what every segment of his psyche seeks? His rationality, morality, and base instincts were all in agreement, a unanimous jury that didn’t require deliberation. 

What unforeseen note upset this triad? 

Your reflection in his eyes is drenched in red.  

“Haha… seriously?” You laugh a humorless laugh. “Me?” 

Blade doesn’t respond. You don’t know if he heard you. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He is the author of whatever happens next. 

A butterfly with injured wings loses none of its original beauty. If anything, it’s made easier to admire, now that it can no longer fly away. You have nowhere to go, nothing to do, and not a word to say that’d make a difference. This futility reassures his mara. That which was held above its head has been made to crawl along the ground. Blade seizes total control of himself as his mara slinks away. Cognizant of his bruising grip, he releases you. Without his crushing support, you collapse like a house of cards. Your knees hit the ground. 

You sink down further and squeeze your head in between your hands. 

It hurts, mom, it hurts. Why couldn’t you give me up one more time? ‘My’ life never belonged to me in the first place, anyway. You should’ve granted the shift in ownership when it was still a choice. 

… I’m scared. 

There is no getting out of this, is there?

Metal clinks by your side. Dazedly, you inspect the sound’s source. A silver dagger rests beside you. It’s small in build, yet pointed as a weapon should be. Your attention flitters between him and the blade. What is this? A pitiful attempt to level the playing field? Has he not humiliated you enough? Taken everything that wasn’t yours to give? 

Sensing your confusion, he explains, “Sins should be punished.” 

You grasp the hilt. 

It’s heavy. 

“What… are you even saying…?” You murmur. Is he referring to your mother? “It’s ‘permissible’ to take life, according to you.” 

You recount his creed with the venom it merits. 

He falls silent. 

“Not yours… not for free,” he drawls. “I’ll pay any price.” 

Transactions benefit both parties. What’s there for him to gain? 

You stand on unsteady legs.

Blade’s countenance is an impenetrable fortress. The violent waves have settled, leaving still, murky waters. Is it twisted affection swirling in his gaze? Guilt? The celebration of a long-fought battle? You don’t know. You don’t know what to think, feel, or do. You’re just numb. What will you be after this? Your mother likened their designs for you to a ‘retractable leash.’ Close, but not quite. 

You’ll be more of a portable oxygen tank. 

Kafka can’t always be there to soothe Blade’s mara, but you can. You will. You have to. It’s a duty that binds more than marriage. 

If transactions benefit both parties, then… 

What he’s offering to pay for here is you. 

Your eyes drop down to the dagger. 

The currency will be blood and flesh. He’ll let you kill him, however you want, for as long as you want. Ten, one hundred, one thousand times or beyond, until you feel the scales have balanced. The blank canvas has given you the tools to create your final masterpiece. Once the paint dries, the roles will reverse. The subjugated will become the subjugator. It isn’t a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. 

You raise the dagger, his cold heart your target. It’s yours. A gift, a burden, an unbreakable vow. 

You plunge it down, and—

—He doesn’t even flinch. 

The tip of the blade rips his shirt, but not his flesh. 

You toss it aside and shake your head. 

“Has anything worthwhile… ever come from killing you…?” 

Blade doesn’t respond, but you know he heard you. 

He furrows his eyebrows, your question hanging over his head. Whatever he expected, this must not have been a possibility he accounted for. Had he been anyone else, he might conflate mercy for forgiveness. He isn’t, though. He knows the crippling weight of guilt. How it secretly imbues you with a craving for more, so you can finally be crushed to death, instead of being forced to roll the boulder onward. 

Each slice would be for him as much as it is for you. 

If that’s penance to him, you will never grant it. 

“My mom…” you trail off, not because you don’t know how to complete the sentence, but because finishing it will finish something inside you. “Is she…?” 

Blade’s memories have made their way back to him using you as their bridge. You could parse through them, but you don’t want to. You don’t think he’ll lie. He hasn’t lied to you as far as he knew. The truth is worse and the truth is what you’ll get. The emotions you pick up from him hint at what you already know. They nibble at you as piranhas would. Notably missing from the onslaught is any iteration of guilt or its distant cousin, regret. 

He’d die a thousand deaths to pay the fee of having you. What’s a little more bloodshed to someone who views death as enviable? 

“Never mind,” you murmur. “Forget I asked.” 

He won’t. 

He refuses to forget anything about you ever again. 

For now, he’ll pretend otherwise. 

You’ve decided that from this distance, Eris looks like a marble. 

It’s just a little black sphere, infused with the occasional stream of gold. You center the image in between your thumb and pointer finger, making minuscule adjustments until it fits just right. Once you’re content, you hold it there, squinting your left eye so this speck’s the main focus. 

As of the latest census in 2155 AE, the planet Eris is thought to have a population of 2,912,840. 560,432 in Ade, 1,510,781 in Mele, an estimated 200,400 in Arc, and 641,227 in your home quadrant of Thelx. Each of those numbers can be attributed to a living, breathing being. Someone with their own family, history, ethics, dreams, and struggles. Your fellow Nymphalians, descendants of prisoners dumped on a dark and frigid planet to die.

You thought you’d given them your life before. In a pretty, metaphorical sense, that could be made into poems for generations. 

Your conversation with Destiny’s Slave reassured you that no, there’s nothing pretty or metaphorical about what awaits you. No one will be penning sentimental poems detailing an ascetic’s life led in solitude so that the people may prosper. You’ll be a cold case. For a week, your name will be a hot topic on primetime television. A headline sprawled in large font across news media companies. ‘Tragedy Strikes: Eris’ [First] Phaeales Kidnapped, IPC Implicates Stellaron Hunters,’ or something to that effect. 

Then another calamity will occur and you’ll be pushed from the public’s consciousness. 

You might get a special mention on anniversaries. The first, fifth, tenth, fiftieth, then the hundredth. Podcasts will do deep dives. Books will be written. Forum boards will swap theories. Who knows? An anonymous user might guess the truth and be labeled a conspiracy theorist for their troubles.

You pinch your thumb and pointer finger together, smushing the faraway planet from your perspective. 

“Boom!” You exclaim in a whisper yell. “Is that how easy it is to you?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

You turn away from the sheet of glass separating you from the limitless depths of outer space. 

“The silent treatment, huh?” You muse, drumming your fingers against the window pane. “You saw this future and worked oh so hard to procure it. What? Having second thoughts, now that it’s here? That’d be a shame.” 

There’s something ugly living inside your heart. It’s been there since you were born and will remain until you die. Maybe it lives inside everyone, you can’t say, you can only speak for yourself. Kindness isn’t inherent, it’s learned. Practiced so that it may be honed. Otherwise, the steel grows dull and rusts. Sharpening means losing layers of yourself against a whetstone. Those layers are worth losing, you’re told. Spite, vengeance, hatred; they’re all so, so ugly. Little imps that should be sandpapered away. 

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, that sort of platitude. It’s nice bumper sticker material. Something to slap on a graphic tee or coffee cup, maybe. To be fair, practicing the antithesis isn’t so simple either. 

You don’t want his eye, it’ll grow back.

You don’t want his life, he’ll just be born anew. 

You don’t want him, but from now on, he’s all you’ll get. 

“Are you curious about the deal I made with Elio?” You probe. 

Blade sighs, likely preparing himself for the vitriol you’ll slew his way. 

“I don’t need to know.” 

“You want to know, though,” you smile thinly. “I could feel you brooding from rooms away. What? Does the thought of me speaking to another man displease you that—” 

He rushes forward and lifts you by the collar of your blouse. You don’t waver, if anything, you could get drunk off this emotional outburst. His nostrils flare and you can feel his warm breath fan against your face. Your heart whirrs strong against its bony restraints, adrenaline blasting throughout your system. 

“That mouth of yours is testing me,” he chuckles, although he’s far from amused. “Have you forgotten the position you’re in?” 

“Have you?” You scoff. His grip tightens. “Go ahead. Choke me, ravish me. You can’t bring yourself to though, can you? Want to know why? Hm? You’re holding out for the slim, impossible chance that I might return your fucked up feelings, even if just a little bit.” 

Scornfully, you whisper, “Elio was generous enough to answer some of my questions. The extent of the Stellaron’s influence, the true perpetrators behind the nectar guide bombing, why you’d get so pissy whenever Lear swung by… in retrospect, it’s painfully obvious, really. Messing with the LOTUS-EATER’s noise-canceling software is child’s play for Silver Wolf. Did you enjoy eavesdropping on us? Probably not, huh?” 

He growls your name, low and menacingly. It’s a warning.

You ignore him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do. 

“I never told him,” your lower lip trembles. “Because of you, I’ll never get to, either. You want to pay a price? Have your sins punished? Start by listening to this!” 

His mara bubbles up as if it were magma. For someone unraveling from the inside out, he doesn’t look the part. Emotion and vitality have drained from his face. His complexion is that of the dead man he wishes himself to be. Pale, vapid. He wants you to stop, yet the only way you would is if he tore out your tongue. To do so would guarantee he’d never get to hear those three words directed at him. He must consider that fate harrowing indeed if he allows the means for you to utter your next sentence. 

The finger you pricked all those years ago tingles. 

“Lear is the only one I’ve loved. The only one I’ll ever love. He gave me a life; you’ve destroyed mine. How could you ever compare, Yingxing? How can you even come close?” 

You wrench yourself free from Blade’s grasp. He lets you. 

His hands remain where you once were. Gradually, they fall, as do his shoulders and head. It’s peculiar. You’ve come to be so in tune with his emotions, picking up on frequencies only you can hear. This pitch falls silent. His mara is too. The infighting over where he should begin and end calls for a temporary cease-fire. Neither madness nor sanity care for victory, their attention has been cast elsewhere, to a more prominent problem. 

“It is.” 

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Earlier, you asked if it’s that easy for me,” he says, plainly. “It is.”

Your system absorbs the implication as well as it would cyanide. 

“Eris and all of its inhabitants are strictly off-limits. I figured you'd already heard this.” 

“I have.” 

“Then—” 

“It’s not loyalty that ties the Stellaron Hunters together,” he interrupts. “It’s the pursuit of individual goals which just happen to align.” 

Blade saunters forward. You bristle, awaiting unwanted physical contact, yet he brushes by your shoulder. His footsteps echo throughout the ship’s hollow corridors. You pivot, intent on following his every movement. He gazes out the window, your home planet his point of interest. The little black and gold marble orbited by four moons, far away from any star. 

“Goals change, lotus.” 

His eyes find yours in the window’s reflection. 

He’s bluffing. He has to be. 

“You’ve sought death for over 700 years,” is your uneasy reply. “Surely, you wouldn’t risk the one avenue you have to reach it.” 

“Didn’t I already betray that expectation of yours?”

Death is no longer what every segment of his psyche seeks, as it’s the one place he can’t have you.  

“... You’ve stopped running your mouth. Clever girl,” Blade flexes his fists by his side. The leather glove on his hand creaks as he does so. “If you think this an empty threat, I have a suggestion.”

Blade grins from ear to ear. 

“Repeat any of what you just said to me and I’ll prove it isn’t.” 

It’s as if his mara forms tendrils that slowly slither up your body. It caresses your thighs, your midriff, and your chest. Breathes against your nape and coils around your neck. You can’t find the strength to move. It wishes you would so that it’d have an excuse to hold you tighter. Squeeze harder. Sink into you deeper. 

You glower at him. His mara keens, finding the expression delightful. 

“Look at me like that any longer and I’ll take you up on your suggestion.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, belying your confusion. 

He wets his lips with his tongue.

“‘Choke me, ravish me,’ was it?” he muses, chuckling breathlessly. “Who am I to deny such a tempting offer?” 

Finally, you muster the effort necessary to break free from his hypnotic stare. You’re overcome with the need to scrub off every part of your skin he’s touched. You want the residue gone, purged from your flesh. Nausea floods you like a broken dam. 

You let him touch you, you let him kiss you, you let him fuck you.

He can’t have anything else. 

You don’t know what more there is to take. 

His eyes are heavy on your back as you leave the room. This spaceship’s decently big, but it’s not enough. A universe could separate you, but it still wouldn’t suffice. You’ll create any gap you can, illusionary or otherwise. You speed through the ship’s main corridor until you near what’s to be your room. Before you can open it, your hand stills.

Elio said we’re to leave on a job the second Silver Wolf starts distracting the IPC’s blockade, you think. That should be any minute now. 

Your blood freezes over.

After this ship makes the jump, you’ll never see Eris again. 

Or Nona. 

Or Lear. 

Will Nona continue to pursue her studies without you there to teach her? Is there a reason for her to? She’s come so far since you first met. That harsh, untrusting girl with a permanent scowl blossomed into something truly special. 

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be my mentor?”

“Alright, lemme set one thing straight. I’m here to save up enough to leave this shithole. If that hurts your feelings, go and cry to mommy about it, I couldn’t care less. It’ll be bad press to ship your latest Arc rescue back over, after all.” 

“Why do you care about this planet, anyway? Beyond whatever sense of purpose you get from playing the hero, I mean. All anyone here ever does is complain and half-ass things. ‘Let’s give anarchy a shot guys, but like, a nice version of anarchy, where we all hold hands around a campfire and sing songs.’ It’s hilarious.” 

“The first time I made it to Thelx’s border as a kid, I thought I was hallucinating. I asked my older travel buddy, ‘What’s with these tiny, floating yellow spheres?’ She didn’t even spare me a glance, she was so enchanted. ‘That’s light,’ she said. ‘Take a good, long look. You won’t be seeing much of it.’ I remember how angry hearing that made me. Not just what she was saying, but how she said it. Like she’d given up. Like that was acceptable.” 

“A cargo ship bound for Rosiz is heading out in three cycles. You and Lear could come with me, y’know. Elope, or whatever. My contact would allow it. Probably. Hey, don’t give me an answer right away. Geez. At least think about it.” 

“Yep, I’m still here. Surprise! My other plans fell through, what can I say? Apparently, Rosiz is run by a weird blood cult. I don’t want anything to do with that. Guess you’re stuck with me a while longer. What’s with that look? Yeah, I still think this planet’s a shithole. But, you’re here, so… it’s 5% less shitty, give or take. Lear brings that up to a whopping 15%. Yes, he gets a value of ten. Have you tasted his cooking?” 

Will Lear ever know how much it meant when he comforted the haughty and naive girl you once were? How without him, all you ever would’ve known was loneliness? You were a handful, there’s no doubting that. It’s a miracle he put up with you. 

He had the softest voice when you were kids. 

“I’m supposed to play the princess? But… but… I’m a boy, and you’re a girl… so shouldn’t you…? Ow, ow, stop pinching! Okay, okay! I’ll be the princess! Eh? Whaddya mean ‘you’ll kiss it better?’ Miss Phaeales? Miss Phaeales…?!?!?!”

“I’m back from work, my wife. Huh? Husbands don’t say that? No no no no, you can’t play the husband, I have to play the husband! Lemme try again! Ahem. From work, I have returned… woman… I’ve married. That’s no good either? This is so complicated!”

“I dunno why you like Connect Four so much. I mean, we could play Monopoly, but you always steal credits when I look away. No, that's not allowed! … You’re just ‘being a capitalist?’ What’s that mean? Cheater, or something?” 

He didn’t lose this soft quality when he became an adult — his tenderness was the air you breathed. 

“‘What do I want,’ huh? Where do I begin? To be a part of you, I guess? Ah, if I’d known you were going to grin like that, I wouldn’t have said anything. W-Well, of course I want you. I just don’t think the phrasing’s right. You’ve always viewed yourself as a commodity. I don’t want to reinforce such a terrible thought.”

“It’s… so good, so warm, so… fuck, please, don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe… that I get to do this with you. You’re beautiful, you’re everything…! I’ve always loved you so much. So, so much. Is this okay? Is it really okay? If it is, then please, let me pleasure you.” 

“Quit messing around with me already. There’s no way that was your first time. Because, I mean, you’re so sought after, y’know? You must’ve had tons of opportunities to— ow ow ow, again with the pinching?! Alright, I get it, I get it! Pfft, stop, don’t make it weird. Okay, fine, hearing that does make me a little happy. Aaand there you go, making it weird. No, I’m not possessive. You said you don’t like possessive men, so… what? Of course I remembered that. I remember everything you say. Wait… are you embarrassed? I didn’t… didn’t think that was possible… one sec, lemme get my camera…” 

You swore an oath not to cry.

You didn’t when packing the few items Blade approved of, or when you negotiated with Elio. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. Should your resolve slip for a second, you grow dangerously close to drowning in a puddle of your own tears. There’s plenty to cry about, plenty to mourn. Once you start, though, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop. You’ll waste away as your body’s wrung for all its worth. Should that happen, you won’t be able to uphold your end of the bargain with Elio. 

There’ll be a lot more to cry about then. 

For this reason, you don’t turn back. 

Your deal with Destiny’s Slave consists of two elements. 

First, you are to serve as Blade’s ‘field partner,’ offering him your unremitted support however he sees fit. And second, you pledge the full extent of your psionic abilities to further the Stellaron Hunters’ mission. This second condition perplexed you, but it wasn’t like you had many bargaining chips. For so long as you cooperate, Eris will remain unharmed and the nascent Stellaron neutralized. 

Kafka had called to ‘celebrate your inauguration.’ You braced yourself for the worst, but she was surprisingly amicable. 

“Have you really never considered your utility outside of parlor tricks?” She wondered. “The power to create fantasias and read memories certainly has its uses, no?” 

“I just don’t see how it’d contribute much,” you replied. 

“If it stopped there, maybe. Should you be able to replicate Ania Phaeales’ seals, though… that’d come in handy.” 

You gritted your teeth and read between the lines. They want that too, huh? 

You’ve since worked tirelessly to understand how such an anomaly is possible, much less replicable. Silver Wolf provided an updated version of the Arbiter training software to aid your endeavors. You’ve tried and failed hundreds of times. Deleting fragments of a person’s psyche has disastrous results, as you once hypothesized. If the Stellaron Hunters wanted a foe lobotomized, they wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of obtaining you. 

The holographic screen floating before you presents an error message. 

‘Generated psyche #643, Garçia Chamora, has been rendered comatose from suffering damage to his cerebral hemispheres. Press here or say next to generate a new psyche.’ 

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. 

This job on Rosiz requires a nobleman’s lifelong fealty to be sealed, you think. If I can’t figure this out before then… 

Your stomach jumps to your throat like you’re in a free fall. 

Leaning back in your chair, you swipe the screen away. You look at the digital clock in the ship’s common room. It reads 2:05 a.m. This shift to a twenty-four-hour time has been a pain, but you think this number means it’s late. While glancing around the uninspired decor, your eyes land on a solitary figure. 

Blade sits on a beige couch with his arms and legs crossed, his eyelids shut. You assume he’s asleep. There are plenty of comfortable beds he could veg out on, but wherever you are, he isn’t far behind. You don’t get why he’s playing prison warden. He can’t think you’re stupid enough to try escaping with almost three million lives dangling over your head, can he? Perhaps he’s getting off on your suffering. 

Whatever the case, you loathe having to breathe the same air as him. You wish he’d fuck off already. 

You’ve barely spoken to one another since he made his threat. If it has to do with the upcoming job, you’ll give a few curt words and nothing more. He’s never been outgoing, so without you initiating conversation, hours trudge by in tense silence. You’ve recently made the unfortunate realization his input on your mother’s seal would be useful. He was under it for two years, there must be some information you can glean from him. You need anything you can get.

The thought of asking him for assistance, though… it makes you sick. 

“What?” he asks, his voice gravelly from unuse. 

You tense. He could tell you were looking at him without opening his eyes? 

“Nothing,” you reply. 

He grunts and that’s the end of it. You pull the holographic screen back up, eager to distract yourself. Except, all you can focus on is the #643 in the bottom left corner. You’ve already made that many attempts without any progress? One of Kafka’s contacts is going to help sneak this ship onto Rosiz in two days. You’re running out of time. 

You spare Blade a quick glance. Unsurprisingly, he hasn’t moved. 

Every muscle in your face scrunches up as if you’d bitten a lemon. 

Just get it over with, you tell yourself. 

“Blade?” 

He makes a noise to prove he heard you. 

“Can I… ask you a few questions?” 

“That depends on what they are.” 

You exhale shakily. “When your memories of me were sealed away, what did it feel like?” 

His mara murmurs, discontent at this reminder. He appears outwardly unaffected. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

You play with your skirt’s hem, picking at a loose thread. This is what you were afraid of. 

“Knowing will help me understand and replicate the seal better,” you explain. Then, you hastily add, “For the job.” 

All is silent. You shift in your seat. 

“That isn’t my concern,” is his eventual answer. 

Your jaw drops. “Wh— are you serious? You wouldn’t want to botch a job, would you?” 

“It wouldn’t be me ‘botching’ it,” Blade says, coolly, evenly. “It would be you.” 

You gnash your teeth together but bite your tongue. As callous as he’s acting, he isn’t wrong. He doesn’t owe you anything. Especially after you said what may have been the worst combination of words to him. You refuse to regret it, but you can follow the cause and effect. 

“You really don’t care about what’d happen?” You press, breathless. “Eris is my home. You lived there for months yourself, experienced the culture… does that mean nothing?” 

“Why do you ask questions you know you won’t like the answers to?”

Blade hasn’t so much as opened his eyes. You just don’t get it — you’ve peered inside his mind multiple times and still struggle to understand him. To what extent does he care about you, if that word even applies here? Does it stop at your physical well-being? Can his current nonchalance be attributed to your diatribe, or would he have acted this way regardless? He doesn’t make sense. He’s an enigma.

You decide to try another approach. 

“What about Nona? You’d still feel nothing then?” 

Finally, he opens his eyes. The warm hues feel cold. 

“I hold no ill will toward your student. I’d consider it a shame,” he says. Despite his impersonal word choice, he isn’t being sarcastic. That must mean something. Before you can expand on this, he smiles. It’s far from kind. “I see you’ve omitted your boyfriend from this thought exercise. A wise choice.” 

Your heart skips a beat.

Ah, fuck. 

“A word of advice, girl. Manipulation isn’t your forte.” 

It feels like a struggle between life and death to maintain eye contact. 

“Negotiation, though, you’re half-decent at,” Blade muses. He inclines his head to the side. “Well? Make me an offer.” 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. What do you have to offer? In a business setting, you can lowball some figures, that’s how everyone starts. You doubt he’s interested in money or stocks. There’s your Synalink ability, but there’s no way he’ll put himself in a vulnerable position like that again. Everything’s been taken from you. Your business, assets, connections, leverage; all you have are the clothes on your back. Still, if he’s entertaining this conversation, there must be something. 

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin. “Are you… propositioning me?” 

“Oh? That’s how you’ve chosen to interpret it?” he raises an eyebrow. “If that’s your offer, I accept.” 

“No, I’m not—!”

“I know. Calm down,” he interrupts your panicked exclamation. “You’re easily rattled when exhausted.” 

Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that it’s difficult to hear him. 

“Relax. The next time I take you, I want you willing.” 

The next time? Is he delusional? Has he suffered long-term memory loss? You’d sooner saw off your hand than sleep with him ever again. You come dangerously close to voicing this, but ultimately decide against it. You need him in an agreeable mood. This seal — have you been set up for failure? You can’t imagine why they’d bother. Still, there’s no singular script, as per Elio’s own admission. It’s a string of possibilities loosely connected by little choices. If one script isn’t followed, that means another has taken center stage. 

Should you be unable to deliver, that future has been accounted for as well. 

It’s a future that can’t come to pass.

Blade speaks your name. 

“Come over here,” he says. 

Your eyes widen and lips part, horror painting itself across your countenance. 

He clicks his tongue. “Trust your own intuition. You said it yourself, didn’t you? That I’m ‘holding out.’”

You fight the urge to wince at the quotation. He’s the one who mentioned it, not you. This can’t count as an infraction on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, you start trekking over, counting each step. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… ah, it didn’t take anywhere near long enough. 

He pats the spot beside him. Once you’re situated, an arm coils around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. Your heart thumps away. This is reminiscent of the evenings you spent together in your office and on the balcony. The high you received from sex would fade away, replaced by this nice, soft haze. Talkative as you were then, there was something about those moments that kept you quiet. You’re not sure why. 

Maybe it’s because you realized you’d finally met someone lonelier than yourself. 

“You’ve hardly eaten or slept. That I can understand,” Blade says. “What I don’t get, however, is why you haven’t cried.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You’re often on the verge of tears. Like now, for instance,” he points out. You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. “Why not let it go?” 

Something already broken in you shatters beyond recognition.

“What good would that do?!” 

Your fingernails dig into your palms hard enough to bruise the sensitive flesh. 

“I’m nothing, I-I have nothing, I’m—” you laugh and laugh, making your throat feel scratchier than it already is. “I wanted to do so much…! I was stupid. So stupid! I actually thought that I could— could find a way to fix things, if only I kept working, kept trying! There isn’t a way. There never was a way. We’re greedy, we’re awful, we’re ignorant. A planet like that… a universe like this… so long as we’re in it, it’s fucked, it’s all fucked.” 

You shake your head. “I may have hated her, but I still wanted to be her. To outdo her. Prove that I could’ve done it better, that change was possible, so she’d have no excuse. I couldn’t do either. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d just be delaying Eris’ inevitable fate like she did.”

Your shoulders heave with each painful breath you take. 

“Did she feel vindicated in the end? Think that by saving me once, it’d make up for all the times she didn’t?”

Whether you’re talking to him or yourself, you can’t tell anymore. It doesn’t make a difference. Speaking the truth aloud doesn’t make it any more or less real. It just leaves a bitter taste that’ll never go away. 

“If she cared so much, why did she never tell me?” You whisper, your voice cracking. “What was she so afraid of…?”

What was I so afraid of?

Tears trickle down your face in a free flow. The drizzle shifts to a torrential downpour, no matter how hard you try shaking or shutting it off. There’s no point in telling him this. You’ll probably regret it, somewhere down the line. 

You faintly register how your body moves without your input. Blinking the wetness in your eyelashes away as best as you can, you see gold patterns. There’s weight around your shoulders too. Weight and warmth. The scent of blood and anise. 

He’s pulled you into an embrace against his chest. 

You twist and jerk your limbs around, attempting to purchase freedom you can’t afford. You yell at him, curse him, beg him to let you go, and still, his grip never relents. He just holds you there, your struggles amounting to nothing, your pleas falling on deaf ears. His grip doesn’t feel tight until you try wriggling yourself out of it. Then, and only then, are you hit with the realization he could crush you so easily. It must take a great deal of self-restraint to avoid doing so. 

The fight leaves your body and you tremble like a leaf in the wind.

His large hand runs over your back, slow and steady, as if his touch were destined to soothe rather than destroy. 

Your well of tears runs dry eventually. 

“When you live for others, you’ll die for them too.”

Blade’s statement doesn’t make you feel better or worse. It washes over you without soaking in. Whether it’s a warning for you or condemnation for yourself, you don’t know. Perhaps the two overlap in an unsightly hybrid. 

Some time passes before he speaks again. 

“The day that man drew his weapon on you, I felt something stir, as rousing from a long slumber,” Blade reveals. “I assumed it should remain undisturbed.” 

This is your chance. You detach yourself from him enough to look him in the eyes. He loosens his grip just enough to allow this, but no more. The vice would tighten should you try extracting yourself further. You wipe away the moisture clinging to your lower eyelashes with your wrists. Since he’s sitting, he isn’t towering over you. This small detail aids your waning resolve. 

“What made you assume that?” 

His bandaged hand cups your tear-stained cheeks. You wince, but allow him his indulgence. 

“Instinct,” he murmurs. 

Your eyebrows pinch together as you think. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You guessed that’d it feel like something significant was missing — a gaping hole. That the individual would want to fill it. Curiosity is the sentient being’s natural state, after all. Especially since this should’ve been an element of itself the mind wishes to reinstitute. Yearning, affection, and care; even if it’s a vestige of the full experience, these positive emotions shouldn’t set off alarm bells. 

Unless the mind decided it was worth suppressing. 

Maybe your mother wasn’t using the influx of memories inflected on Blade as a ‘red herring.’ Kafka adores messing with you, she could’ve floated the idea because she knew you’d hear it in the future. What was your mother doing then? Pulling up key instances throughout Blade’s life, specifically those with heightened emotions and long-lasting influences… 

What if it’s not so much altering memories, but altering the mind’s perception of them? 

The Arbiter training software is bound to your movements, which allows it to manifest with a few hand gestures. The screen displays itself close to your right. You’d prefer to figure this out elsewhere, but Blade doesn’t appear interested in letting you go anytime soon. He silently observes as you pore over the generated psyche. You’re too focused to comment on how creepy he’s being. 

Liliana Kokot. 34. Short-life species. Citizen of the planet Punklorde. Witnessed the murder of her parents at a young age. Came to despise gang activity. Joined police academy. Assigned to the Homicide Unit by age 25. Discovered possible connections between the police chief and organized crime. 

You pull out the prismatic shard containing her parent’s murder. 

The mind has mechanisms to inhibit trauma that’d otherwise obliterate it. Repression, denial, projection, displacement, rationalization, and regression to name a few. In the same way, prisms have multiple sides. The one which refracts the most light will change depending on how it’s angled. 

You adjust the shard without changing its shape. Eventually, you find a side that deems this memory too much, beyond what Liliana can handle. It’s easily absorbed back alongside the other fragments. Except that now, the mind chooses to repress the memory, deep down in the subconscious where it cannot do irreparable harm. 

A ‘seal.’

“I get it now,” you wave the screen off. “It’s similar to a heart transplant. Mechanical valves aren’t integrated as smoothly as tissue valves. The body’s more willing to accept what’s similar to it in composition, as is the mind.” 

“You don’t look less troubled,” Blade notes. 

You scrunch up your nose. 

“I mean… this is— I don’t even know. It undermines what makes a person, well… who they are to the very core.” 

“When you accepted Elio’s deal, you knew you’d be an accessory to criminal activity. How is that any worse than homicide?” 

Blade’s refusal to sugarcoat the truth slashes through you like a phantasmal sword. Perhaps not a thousand times, but close enough. 

“This is your price, lotus.” 

You want to avert your gaze, but you don’t. It’d feel wrong, somehow. Cowardly. Hypocritical. 

No longer can you dwell on the currency itself. What matters now is ensuring you pay your dues on time. 

Your debt extends beyond Destiny’s Slave. There’s another proprietor you must settle with, for even the slightest peace of mind. 

“Blade— no, Yingxing,” you correct yourself. His muscles stiffen, his true name having gone unspoken for so long devoid of contempt. “I may have made a deal with Elio, but… I haven’t personally made one with you. I’d like to change that.” 

You can tell you’ve piqued his interest. 

“I swear on everything that is sacred to me that I’ll remain by your side until my final breath. In return, regardless of if I’m alive or dead, you’ll never harm my home or the people who inhabit it. Intentionally or otherwise.” 

His long, dark eyelashes flutter shut as he mulls over your proposal. He doesn’t take long. Soon enough, vermillion bores into you again. Candle wicks flicker inside them, alight with an emotion you refuse to name. 

“How do you finalize deals, Miss Phaeales?” Blade asks, moving aside a stray strand of hair from your face. 

It’s like the air’s been knocked from your lungs. He couldn’t have known, right? The ripples born when those two words are stitched together? Your chest feels tight and hollow all at once. It’s like your internal organs have liquified, leaving nothing but shapeless viscera. This isn��t the right voice. It should be softer, a tenor’s pitch, not a sonorous bass. 

“M-Miss Phaeales?”

You blink away a fresh set of tears. 

“A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.”

“Hand me the dagger from before.” 

“I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.”

He does, after a moment’s consideration. 

“It’s my fault, I should’ve killed that man, and now she’s in that criminal’s debt, because of me…!” 

You prick your pointer finger with the dagger’s tip, just enough to create trickling blood.

“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.”

He mirrors your actions. His skin quickly mends itself back together. 

“So why… why do you look so sad?”

I had so much to say, you think, bitterly. So, so much.

Blade’s bandaged hand falls to your lower back, where it softly pushes you forward. His gloved hand envelops your face, the leather refreshing against your feverish skin. His lips descend upon yours. You may have called the kiss tender had you known nothing about him. You do know him, however, as fate has decreed he’d get a better future at the cost of yours. It’s as if everyone was in on the joke, leaving you the odd one out. 

He murmurs words in between kisses that you fight desperately to unhear. 

When you pull back for air, you notice how madness surges and retreats in his eyes, as if it were ocean waves washing against the shore. 

The likeness helps. 

Pretending the red shade’s a brilliant blue instead comes easier. 

The next time he kisses you, you cautiously kiss back.  

A/N: i thought i'd feel satisfied when i finished nexus' last chapter, but i actually feel rather sad JTFSIKL i cannot overstate how much i enjoyed working on this story. it scratched a sci-fi itch i've had for over a decade now. when writing longer works, it's rare for me to not get caught on snags that sap my inspiration away. that never happened with this story though. from start to finish, i was contentedly tip tapping away on my keyboard.

i became enamored with this idea of a yandere story that didn't just revolve around the MC and yan, it just wasn't until i started outlining nexus that i had an excuse to explore this concept further.

the main cast of n darling, nona, and lear (an anon affectionately dubbed them the lotus trio, which is a term i loved enough to hijack) has become close to my heart. for that reason, writing this chapter physically hurt at times 😭 i wanted to swat blade away like a fly and have everything end nicely. from the very first sentence though, i knew this would be a tragedy, so it'd go against the Themes to pull a power of friendship ending.

at first, i worried about the reader's ability to empathize/connect with n darling, since her status and abilities aren't universal. like at all. the solution presented itself rather naturally. n darling, at least to me, stresses that simmering anger women feel the need to hide for professionality's sake. her experiences as a child where she's given responsibilities beyond her age's capacity, then in adulthood, where she isn't taken seriously (chrysus) or unintentionally infantilized (caicias). i'm sure many afab individuals can relate to some extent.

my primary interest was in having these two deeply frustrated individuals crash together and spill debris everywhere. i was given a little more liberty with blade's actions and dialogue, due to miss phaeales' id inducing presence, which drew out more than he'd normally give. as for blade's characterization, if he isn't in the throes of mara madness, i really can't see him being a hellion 24/7. he feels more somber to me when lucid.

of course, that changes if the right buttons are pressed... but that isn't exclusive to him.

since the final chapter is divided into three main scenes, i wanted to fully explore the three predominant ways i picture a yandere version of blade acting. the first is his guilt and shame, the second, his mara-induced sadism, and the third, a more neutral self where reason prevails.

i hope that you enjoyed reading nexus as much as i enjoyed writing it!! although the main storyline is finished, i'm by no means done with the universe as a whole. i'm planning a little epilogue for starters. then maybe some side stories from blade's perspective ?? who knows, the motivation's still there, so anything is possible.

thank you again 💖

-sincerely, lock.

Tag list: @99-nct @pixiestixes (idk why the tag thingy won't work but an effort was made) ...

[lskisms]

(not) strong, c. berzatto

syn. you think you traded all your luck on being able to wake up next to carmen every morning because it doesn't look like you have any left to spare. no matter; carm is here to patch you up.

gen. romance, angst.

warnings. crying, reader has a bad fucking day, carm is a sweetheart, mentions of food and eating.

word count. 1.8k.

you’re lucky that bad days tend to be few and far between; how could they not be when you have the privilege of waking up next to carmen berzatto every morning? he, of course, denies the effect he has on your life, says if anyone’s making a difference here, it’s you. but you really can’t downplay the warmth and light that sharing a bed with him, sharing a life with him brings to you. seeing him first thing in the morning is always the best part of your waking hours, a nice pick-me-up before you go to work; you have never taken that for granted.

but there are days where even seeing your boyfriend isn’t enough to wipe the slate clean, to erase that familiar sense of dread that makes its home in the pit of your stomach for you to carry around all day. having carmen with you, body or spirit (through text, of course), always momentarily eases the pain, but when he’s gone, when you have to stop texting, it comes back, agonizing and sharp like a blade twisting in your gut. all you can do is count down the hours, minutes, seconds until you get to go home and see him again.

today, it seems, is one of those days. regardless of the fact that you woke up feeling well, sharing a few soft kisses with carmy in bed before he made you breakfast and left you to your own devices so he could get to work, it seemed like the universe was working against you: you got to the train late, meaning you made it to work late, meaning you started the day off behind and if that wasn’t enough, you just couldn’t seem to get anything right. time has moved by at a snail’s pace, almost like the world is taunting you, wanting to drag this torture out for as long as fucking possible.

and it is. it is torture in all the worst ways, excruciating and harrowing. you didn’t have time to slip away and text carmy the whole day, barely had enough time for a lunch break, and even when you had taken your lunch break, typically a reset for you, things still were entirely awful. you’re astounded you even made it through the day without breaking into tears.

in public, at least, because the second you get home, it all comes rushing at you. the door closes behind you and the tears will not stop, no matter how hard you will them to just go away. you can’t even be bothered to hang your bag up on the coatrack, letting it drop to the floor instead on top of your different pairs of shoes left stranded at carmy’s front door. you trudge through the apartment into the bedroom, change into comfier clothes (a pair of shorts and one of carm’s sweaters), and lay down. it’s the only thing you can think to do after a rough day while you wait for your love to come home to you.

he does, eventually, though much later than you do; with his hours at the restaurant, it’s not often he comes home any time before eleven pm, and even that, that’s pushing it. it’s maybe closing in on half past eleven when you hear the door open and carmy’s voice, your name sounding as perfect as ever (nobody says it like he does, you maintain, your name has never sounded prettier than it does coming from him), and you become acutely aware that you have completely wasted the evening.

carm’s footsteps draw closer and then you hear him again at the door, a sweet lilt of “baby? you doin’ alright?”

and that, for some reason, just sends you over the edge. you’re not facing him, which is lucky, but you shake your head and close in on yourself, drawing your knees to your chest and making yourself smaller. you’re trying not to cry, not again, but it feels like the only way to react, the only way to get all of this out.

“sweetheart…” his voice is quiet and then he’s crawling up the mattress to lay beside you, shoving himself in the small space left between you and the wall his bed is pushed against. when he sets his gaze on you, all soft and clear blue sky, you fall apart, not sobbing but not holding back the tears anymore.

for a few moments, carm doesn’t know what to do. even though he’s seen you like this before, he still hesitates because you aren’t communicating what you need from him right now. still, the best bet, as always, seems to be wrapping you up and holding your pieces together. 

so he does. he scoots in close, tucks your head under his chin, and wraps his arms around you. and he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you cry into his shirt, no doubt staining it with your tears, but if he cares, he doesn’t show it. you’re sure part of the lack of speaking is from him just being a little awkward about it, but still, you’re thankful that he isn’t pressing you on it.

when the tears finally do stop, he waits for you to pull back, waits for you to make the first move. he meets your gaze head on, the arm that isn’t pinned under your head moving so that he can wipe away stray tears caught in your eyelashes or on your skin.

“what’s all this about?” he asks softly, tipping his head so that your foreheads touch. “what’s got you all worked up?”

you shrug with one shoulder, casting your eyes down, letting them focus on the neckline of his shirt. “i don’t know. today was just… a really… really bad day, carm.”

he nods, brushes hair out of your eyes, lets his thumb stroke your cheekbone. “you can tell me about it. i’m listenin’.”

so you do. you recount the whole day to him, every gritty little detail, and he listens intently, like what you’re saying is the most important thing in the world to him. and maybe it is because he treats everything you do and say like that; he takes everything to heart and turns even the smallest things into something big and monumental.

you realize as you’re talking that all of the bad things that happened are so inconsequential and it makes you feel kind of stupid. carmen comes home and complains about much bigger issues all the time, and you listen, of course, offer advice when he needs it; but his issues are always so much bigger than yours, there are things, lives, that ride on his decisions going over well. not like yours, not like this. and it gets you worked up again, laughing when the tears burn at your waterline again.

“hey, hey, what’s all this?” he asks, ducking his head to look at you when you try to turn away. “why’re you cryin’ again?”

“i really don’t know, carm,” you answer tearfully, shaking your head like the movement will get rid of it all. “guess i feel kinda stupid. i’m not strong like you are.”

he mimics you, his turn to shake his head, curls falling into his eyes. “you don’t need to be, alright? you don’t have to be strong like i am. i can be strong enough for the both of us. that’s my job.”

“are you sure? i just-”

his hand, rough and warm, comes to rest on your cheek and you look up at him. his gaze is gentle in a way that he reserves just for you. “i’m positive. i can’t do much, but i can do this, so let me… ‘kay?”

you nod, closing your eyes and muttering back an “okay.” he leans to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before tilting back down, his nose brushing against yours. you lay like that for moments that stretch into forever, his breath hot against your mouth and his arms warm around you, your own personal weighted blanket.

“i’m not that strong, by the way,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. when you make a noise of confusion, he clarifies. “you said i’m strong, but i’m not. not really. i got a lot of fucked up shit goin’ on ‘n half the time, i’m spaced the fuck out… y’know, and i worry that you’re gonna figure that out one ‘a these days, but… i wanna be strong for you. i try really fuckin’ hard it almost scares me. so i mean it when i say i can be strong for us both because i want that to be the truth, y’know?”

you wrap an arm around him and nod, pressing your face into the soft material of his tshirt. the thank you you say into his shirt is wet and thick with tears, but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much, wrapping his arms tight around you and holding you against him; he doesn’t seem to mind a lot of the things you do, just takes them in stride and adjusts, which is sweet.

“you don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says into your hair, rubbing your back. “it’s my job to take care’a you, so that’s what i’m gonna do, alright? now… you eat dinner yet?”

the scoff he lets out when you tell him that no, you haven’t, might come off as mean to anyone else, but to you, it’s anything but. this is, for all intents and purposes, what he was made to do and this is proof of that.

“‘course ya haven’t. alright, what d’you want, hm? i’ll make whatever you’re cravin’, so just tell me what it is.”

you rattle off your order and when you pull away to look him in the face, he’s got a smile that belongs solely to you. he kisses you all soft and gentle, lips warm against yours, the one thing you’ve really wanted all day, and it dismantles that dread you’ve been feeling, takes its house apart piece by loving piece until it’s razed.

“you really gonna make me a grilled cheese right now? it’s almost midnight.”

carm lets loose a breathy chuckle, kisses you again, quick this time. “yes, chef. not letting my baby go to bed on an empty stomach. you know i don’t play around like that. what kind of cheese you want?”

you know he doesn’t play when it comes to making food for you, so you tell him to surprise you. you’ll eat anything he makes anyways because when he makes it for you, it’ll always taste good.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[warnings: kissing, angst, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last four years, all her sisters had spoken about was Prince Aemond Targaryen. She knew that he was to choose one of them, as agreed between the king and her father, Borros Baratheon − military intent for marriage seemed for him the right price. On the day when all the findings were confirmed he came to her, took her cheeks in his rough hands and began to speak.

“One of your elder sisters will marry Prince Aemond in a few years. But not you. I want you to stay with me." He said, kissing her forehead.

She didn't understand what he meant then, and she felt humiliated to think that perhaps he thought that she was missing something. Only after a few years did she realize that her father treated her differently than them.

Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn and Floris loved to sew, sing, play instruments, read poetry. They resembled her mother, whom she barely remembered.

Her father once told her that she reminded him of his younger sister, who died when he was only fifteen. Although, unlike her father, she could and liked to read, she went hunting with him as well, Borros watched from a distance as his son and heir, Royce, taught her swordsmanship and archery. Her father decided that she was of Baratheon blood, not her mother's, and that marriage would destroy her.

She accepted the idea that her father had other plans for her, watching her sisters, thinking that she was no match for them in maturity and beauty, their hips and breasts full, their curves graceful.

She, as the youngest of the siblings, was much smaller, her cleavage was not so plentiful, her hips were not so wide, she didn't seem fully female standing next to them, and she was glad that her father had let her escape this humiliation.

On the day Prince Aemond was to make his choice, a great storm broke out. She thought, as she and her brother walked out to the back of their fortress, that this was a bad omen from the gods.

They both flinched as they heard a monstrous, loud roar in the distance, they thought for a moment that a huge dark cloud was approaching them, and then they saw a huge beast appearing from the sky, circling above their stronghold. She felt her heart pounding in terror, shivers run down her spine.

"Do not think about it." Royce shouted at her, throwing his sheathed sword at her.

She grabbed it on the fly, her hair wet, strands stuck to her face; they often practiced in the rain and with how tense things were inside their castle, they both decided to run away and wait until it was all over.

She smiled at him, pale, drawing her sword. They slashed their blades again and again with a loud clang of steel, turning around, trying different positions. Their movements weren't fast or brutal, both of them practicing proper posture and stamina.

Though she knew that it wouldn't make sense in King's Landing, in Storm's End no one asked why Borros Baratheon's daughter practiced hand-to-hand combat.

It seemed obvious.

War has been in the blood of their family for generations.

It almost always rained in Storm's End, and when it didn't, it was usually cloudy, she was used to the fact that whenever she went outside she was all wet, and although her sisters rarely left the fortress for fear of getting sick, she only strengthened her immunity and such conditions did not impress her anymore.

She and her brother both flinched and backed away from each other when they heard a guard run down to them, shouting something at them, she had to listen carefully to understand what he was saying, as he repeated his words.

"Your father orders you to return to the keep immediately, my lady." He said, in the background of his words thunder and loud, rushing rain, she looked at her brother, but he just nodded for her to go.

"It's probably over." He said, obviously wanting to reassure her.

She followed the guard down the corridor, through the cold, stone walls of her keep, trying to keep her composure, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Which one did he choose?

Ellyn, she thought.

She had a charming smile and pleasant curves, bright eyes and ease of speech, she knew that Ellyn desired this marriage and she hoped that the prince would be kind to her sister once he was her husband.

She followed the guard into the great hall and saw her father sitting on the lord's throne, stroking his chin uneasily, her four sisters were scowling at her, grim, she sensed that something was wrong.

She turned her gaze a little to the side and then she saw him.

He was standing in a long, unbuttoned leather coat, resting his weight on one leg, saying something to her sister, but he turned to her when he heard her footsteps, the dagger and sword strapped to his belt.

She saw that famous scar and black eyepatch, his long, white hair partly tied back, there was something terrifying about him, she thought, in that animalistic, menacing look.

She felt the raindrops falling down her cheeks onto the floor, she had the impression that they would soon evaporate from the heat that she felt in her body, at first she didn't even hear her father speaking to her, unable to look away from his face, she turned to him when she heard him say her name.

“This is my youngest daughter, my prince. As I said, I felt that she was not properly prepared to fulfill her responsibilities as your wife." He said briefly, she heard impatience in her father's voice, but also something else.

Fear.

Prince Aemond didn't even glance at him as he spoke, he stared at her intensely, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I will decide that, Lord Baratheon. Wasn't that the deal?" He asked, and that was the first time when she heard his voice.

Cold, low, slightly taunting.

She felt her hands shaking and swallowed softly, only now feeling her throat tighten, she didn't know where to look.

She saw him avert his eye from her and walk slowly, unhurriedly toward Cassandra. She looked away immediately, red and horrified, when she saw that he had kissed her, her sister gasped.

When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he released her without giving her a single glance and walked over to Maris.

She saw him repeat the same gesture and felt tears well up in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling of the great hall that she was standing in, where she had played all her childhood and prayed to the gods that he wouldn't do this to her.

When she heard him walking slowly towards her she didn't look at him, felt his large, cold hand grab her cheeks, forcing her to turn her face towards him. Involuntarily she drew a shuddering breath into her lungs, letting out a soft sigh, her eyes looking pleadingly at him, her mouth slightly parted in shock and fear.

His face showed absolutely nothing.

She felt him move closer to her, but hesitated for a second as she shivered all over, felt his small gesture, how quickly, almost imperceptibly his thumb squeezed and wiped her cheek, as if to soothe her, comfort her.

She looked at him again then and his lips were on hers, pressed against hers in a sticky, warm kiss, she closed her eyes and thought that it wasn't unpleasant, he smelled like smoke and rain.

She didn't purse her lips against him, but she didn't kiss him back either, she thought that he was about to break away from her as he had from her sisters, and she waited patiently, knowing that the end would come soon.

She stifled a guttural groan as his hand closed over her cheeks and he kissed her deeper, more hungrily, sending shivers down her spine.

Involuntarily she put a hand on his shoulder, as if she was both looking for support and wanting to push him away, she flinched as he let out an almost inaudible grunt when she touched him.

He pulled away from her with a wet click and she looked down, red with embarrassment. He didn't let go of her cheeks and was silent for a moment.

"Her." He said suddenly, her heart stopped.

She looked at her father in horror, but she couldn't get the words out of her throat, she heard Ellyn sob loudly, burying her face in her hands.

She thought that it was impossible.

Her father seemed as shocked as she was.

"…as I was saying, my prince…" He began, but Prince Aemond let go of her face, turning tensely as he walked slowly towards the entrance, without glancing at her once more.

"I have decided." He said loudly, coldly, leaving through the main door, outside the windows they heard a loud thunder, which shook the fortress.

She heard her heart pounding loudly, didn't even know when tears were streaming down her face as she slid helplessly to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

She heard her sisters sobbing, Cassandra came over to her, pushing her angrily so that she collapsed on the stone floor.

"How dare you touch him?! He's a prince!” She screamed, possessed by humiliation and pain.

"Enough!" Their father shouted, rising from his throne, running his hand across his face.

"All of you, go to your chambers. Now!" He shouted impatiently, dismissing them with his hand.

She stood up, but she felt her body moving on its own, her mind leaving her loins and drifting away, as she walked down the corridor she met her brother who was speaking to her, apparently asking her a question, but she moved past him, heading for her chamber, closing the door behind her. She slid down, sitting on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chin.

She felt her whole body tremble in convulsions as if she had a fever, she tried to tell herself that it was all a dream, but then she felt his fleshy, full lips on hers again, his hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her face imperceptibly.

Her stomach tightened at the thought, terrified that she liked this feeling.

They had all been humiliated by him, but especially her sisters.

She thought that they would never forgive her.

They'd wasted years of their lives, preparing to be married to the man who stole their first kisses and then chose their sister who wasn't even considered.

She wondered why he did it? What drove him?

She wasn't even wearing a gown, didn't have her hair combed, didn't look like a woman, a highborn lady.

She thought that he was mocking them and her, that it was his cruel joke, a punishment for the king and queen for forcing him to marry against his will.

Her sisters pretended that she didn't exist for the next few days, when she came to join them during supper, they got up from the table and left.

Her brother comforted her by saying that they were taking it out on her for their misfortune, but she didn't feel better.

All nights since he chose her she cried, burying her face in the pillow.

Her father had no words of comfort for her either. Even though she knew he wanted to, he couldn't keep his promise to refuse him. He hadn't expected this turn of events and was furious, but breaking the agreement with the crown was out of the question.

She wouldn't even dare to ask him to do it.

The prospect of marriage and wedding night left her in a state of constant shock, she knew nothing about these things, and her sisters wouldn't tell her even if she wanted to, her mother was dead and she couldn't ask anyone what it looked like, what she should do, how to behave.

She thought that it would all be a series of endless humiliation.

After a few weeks, Lord Baratheon received a letter from the queen, informing him of the expected date of the nuptials. She was to arrive in King's Landing in the next few days, to properly prepare for the ceremony and acclimate.

She wanted to vomit at the thought.

Her father then hugged her tightly as he had when she was a small child.

He was a big, aggressive, sometimes even boorish man, but she had never known another lord who loved his children so dearily.

"You are of House Baratheon. Nobody will break you." He said, taking her face in his hands and kissing the top of her head, she pursed her lips at his words, not letting tears leave the corners of her eyes until she heard him disappear behind the door.

The night before she left for the Red Keep she couldn't sleep. Her sisters still didn't speak to her, but she and Cassandra always had the closest and warmest relationship. She needed the advice and comfort of another woman.

She took her candle in her hand and walked down the corridor towards her chamber. She opened the door, peering inside timidly, her sister frowned at her, confused.

"What is it?" She asked coldly.

She swallowed softly at the tone of her voice and closed the door behind her, walking slowly to her bed, sitting on the edge of it without looking at her. There was silence between them for a moment.

"I'm scared." She said, her lips quivering hard, her eyes were already red from crying, but she felt tears welling up again under her eyelids, heard her eldest sister shift uneasily under her covers.

"Please, tell me what to expect." She whispered, looking at her pleadingly, her sister stared at her dispassionately.

"Pain."

She swallowed softly, terrified, the way she said the word sent shivers down her spine.

"What do you mean?" She asked softly, her voice trembling at the very end of the question, betraying her desperation and fear.

Cassandra looked at her for a long time before answering.

“You have a duty to fulfill. You must give the prince an heir. This is your only task. Do you know how this act looks like?" She asked, and her younger sister shook her head quickly, looking down in embarrassment.

“The man lies on top of you, between your thighs. He inserts a part of his body into you, from which fluid will flow out, thanks to which you will be able to bear his child. With any luck, he won't tear you apart from the inside." She said indifferently, her face proud, her eyes cold.

She swallowed hard, feeling her whole body tremble, what she was saying sounded terrifying, foreign and painful, she couldn't imagine anyone putting anything inside her body. She clenched her hands on her knees.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She mumbled, feeling herself shiver all over, her sister exhaled loudly through her nose.

"They say the pain is indescribable."

She nodded, swallowing softly, thinking that perhaps this would be some kind of punishment for taking away from her sisters what they wanted.

She decided that she would accept what was about to happen with the greatest dignity as she left her chamber without a word.

That night she did not fall sleep.

The next morning everything was ready and her ship was waiting to take her to King's Landing. She threw herself into her brother's arms, for the first time in her life she saw him cry.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered into her ear, squeezing her tightly, his stubble scratching her cheeks pleasantly as usual, she stroked his hair, closing her eyes.

"Don't worry." She whispered, breaking away from him.

Then her father approached her, also unable to refrain from an affectionate gesture, he kissed her cheek and pulled away from her, pressing his lips together.

She knew that if he could, he would have kept her.

She looked at her sisters who were standing in the distance, only Ellyn rushed to her, bursting into sobs and hugged her tightly. She embraced her, and walked up the long plank, to the deck of her ship.

The journey wasn’t long, but it still felt like an eternity for her. She felt great tension, terror and fear, Cassandra’s words rang in her ears, filling her with anxiety.

When they finally arrived, a man who looked like a knight was waiting for her, she recognized him as Ser Criston Cole, she had seen him fight in royal tournaments more than once. He bowed to her, giving her a calm, gentle smile.

"My lady. Welcome to King's Landing."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[amomentsescape]

I'd love to see y/n making Halloween treats with the slashers from the prompt list!!!

Slashers Making Halloween Treats with You

October 2023 Halloween Prompt List

A/N: Thank you for this request! My inbox is still open and empty so feel free to send in more requests (with or without the prompts)!

Freddy Krueger

This man literally takes nothing seriously

The moment you step away from the counter, the fun pretzel treats are now wiggling fingers

Your immediate glare silences Freddy's laughs as he finally changes them back

"You're no fun"

Doesn't really help you with the process

Not because he doesn't want to, but because you refuse to let him

He doesn't want to take off his glove and would probably set the place ablaze somehow

So he's left to just watch

But he doesn't mind

He comes up behind you a lot and holds you close, peeking over your shoulder

Steals a few tastes of chocolate here and there

Will also make whatever spatulas or cups you need appear right beside you

Occasionally it's a severed head, but it wouldn't be Freddy without some dumb scares

He might not be much help in the kitchen, but he'll gladly lend a hand in tasting everything

Just don't leave him unintended

He has literally no self control

Michael Myers

Michael may not seem like the type, but he does have a bit of a sweet tooth

Halloween is clearly his favorite time of year, and it wouldn't make much sense for him to not like the occasional sugary treat

So of course, you had to take advantage of this

He doesn't really understand what you're doing (kitchen stuff isn't his thing)

It's honestly kind of cute how he just follows you around like a lost puppy, only doing what you ask of him

He'll hand you whatever supplies you need

Doesn't touch any of the food though

Wants to leave the house a couple of times, but you don't let him

Eventually decides on sitting in a chair and watching you

Will only actually help you if it involves using a knife

He doesn't enjoy doing things he's not good at, but using a blade is something he feels confident with

Honestly, anything that involves the use of a sharp object is something he'd rather do (he thinks you're too clumsy)

Just tell him and he'll do it, and he'll do it well too

You have him taste some of the ingredients along the way

He shows no reaction, but he secretly loves it

Jason Voorhees

Despite everything, Jason is still a bit of a child at heart

He doesn’t really eat, but he’s happy to be there with you (and he makes an exception here and there)

He’s very eager to help you in the kitchen!

All you have to do is ask and he’s there

It reminds him of what he and his mother used to do when he was younger

Would rather build each treat together than do it separately

This takes a lot more time, but he’s happy to spend all night doing it if it’s by your side

Loves when you give him a small kiss or a bump of your hip as you reach around him

Holds each cookie with such gentleness that you’d think it was alive

Gets all pouty if he accidentally makes a mess

But a small smile is all it takes for him to pep up again

Thomas Hewitt

The occasional piece of candy would be handed out during this time of year, but actual baked goods were rare for him

So when you brought up the idea of making some treats, Thomas was almost a bit confused

But any activity with you was quality time in his book, so he agreed

He's not much of a chef since his job is mainly to catch the food, but he tries his best

All the measuring and cooking is solely up to you, but the decorating is something he's eager for

The occasional frosting boop ends up on your nose

And sugar has somehow found its way all over the floor and table

But Thomas's excitement makes up for it all

He's not much of an artist, but they'll all taste the same

Definitely wants to lick out the bowl before you have a chance to wash it

But he's happy to help you clean after everything is done

Bubba Sawyer

This man has the biggest sweet tooth ever

Immediately jumps on the chance to make some Halloween treats with you

He not only likes sweets, but he also enjoys the process of making them

Is a bit too eager to help and ends up just throwing flour and sugar into the bowl before measuring them

Will probably need to give him a lollipop or something to calm him down a bit

Hands you all the ingredients you need

Doesn't know the difference between a 1/2 cup and 1/4 cup though

He ends up eating a good amount of the batter while you were washing your hands

So your full-sized cake was going to need to be resized

You end up settling on making cake pops

Bubba has a lot of fun rolling the dough into little balls and dipping them into the icing

He ends up getting food all over his clothing and has to change before they're done

Brahms Heelshire

It was actually his idea to make some treats in the first place

You were feeling a bit bummed that you couldn't do the normal fall things you used to do since Brahms hates leaving the house

He tried to make up for it by recommending the spooky activity

You were excited and decided to get started that night

Brahms would probably burn down the house if you tried to bake anything, so you settled on some rice krispie treats instead

He stayed by your side the entire time, but wasn't really much help until the mixing part

He jumped at the chance to stick his hand in the marshmallowy mess

However, he also tried everything in his power to eat it before you had even added the food coloring

You basically had to threaten to not sleep in bed with him that night for him to stop

Ends up adding too much food coloring

And still finds a way to eat some of treat when your back was turned

This resulted in the making of just one rice krispie treat

Norman Bates

He loves the idea and wants to make it into a date night

He lights some candles and gets the record player going

Norman isn't one for sugary sweets, but he does enjoy pie during this cooler weather

He also knows his way around the kitchen pretty well so of course he already has the recipe memorized

Wants to make everything from scratch (the filling, the crust, all of it)

Shows you the correct way to knead the dough and will stand behind you to guide your hands

Rewards you with small kisses on the forehead

Once the pies are in the oven, he takes you by the hand and dances a bit to the music while you wait

You both end up cooking an entire dinner to go along with the pies

They honestly came out delicious and the night was absolutely perfect for you two

Billy Loomis

Billy is a decent cook, he just lacks motivation

But he agrees to the idea as long as they can be Ghostface themed (you couldn't expect anything less honestly)

Will do most of the work making the batter and letting you lick the spoon

Gives you kisses in between each task

He leaves the decorating up to you though, since art isn't really his forte

He also doesn't want to get colored icing on his clothes

Of course, you have to have a scary movie playing in the background

Helps you clean up if you ask him to

Holds you to his chest while you try to work, completely distracting you the whole time

Sweet kisses along your neck

The occasional compliment in your ear

He's having a much better time than he had originally thought

Once they're done, you both have trouble waiting and immediately cut into them

The brownies are shared on the couch during your horror movie marathon

Stu Macher

So this isn't the first time you guys tried to make some treats

Cookies, cupcakes, and candies have all been attempted before only to fail

Mostly Stu's fault to be honest

He burnt pretty much everything

So you finally decided to go with the complete opposite

Milkshakes!

He sneaks a few spoonfuls of ice cream before you guys start

Spills milk on the floor and on your shirt a couple times

But the enthusiasm is there

Has a fun Halloween playlist going on in the background as well

His favorite part is rolling the glasses around in the sprinkles

Dumps half the container in his mouth first though and stains his lips black

Tries to kiss you despite your giggling protests

By the time you guys finally finish decorating the shakes, the ice cream has pretty much melted down

But they still taste great

Eric Draven

Anything that feels like normal domestic living is a win in Eric's book

He honestly looks forward to the task all week and even comes home super early that night so you two can spend time together

But of course, he somehow manages to choose the most decoratively challenging treat he possibly could

Lights some candles and leaves the window cracked, letting the cool fall air inside

Hums while he mixes ingredients together, giving you a warm smile whenever he catches your eye

Doesn't even let one drip of batter fall onto the counter

He is somehow that skilled

Wraps his arms around you and sways back and forth while you work

You leave all the bone decorating to him though

Eric is incredibly artistic, and he somehow pulls off everything he tries for the first time

The treats end up coming out just like the picture

You end the night taking turns feeding each other the little treats

[sonder-paradise]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐈𝐈— 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭

◊ ft. diluc, childe, kaeya, zhongli, gn!reader

◊ genre. angst to fluff?

◊ cw. stabby stabs and brief descriptions of blood

— 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜 𝐑𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐫

he had warned you not to make trouble. sure, the warning in of itself was just a minor precaution that he had spat out as the two of you left. but as diluc watches the blood-splattered blade grind into your stomach, his heart lurches. it should have just been another routine visit with a few abyss mages. so why were you staring at him with those horrified eyes?

your name is a whisper on his lips as he stumbles back onto his feet. in a flash the enemy evaporates into that familiar black and red mist. diluc rushes to your side; his widened eyes scan your wound, desperately trying to apply pressure while your blood stains his hands.

"why... why did you do that?!" he exclaims, "you should have just let me take the hit!" you smile weakly. the sort of smile that has him reeling and disgusted with himself. "i wanted to protect you. besides," you cough, "I'll be fine. you can't kill me that easily."

diluc holds you to his chest, burying his face in your shoulder. "still, please don't scare me like that. i couldn't bare to lose you too." you can feel his worry in the way his heart pounds against your own chest and his eyes screw tight as he if when he opens them you'll be gone.

— 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

a confident grin befalls childe as you watch him from the corner of your eye. a peaceful day in the mountains of liyue have the two of you wrapping up a prolonged training session. perhaps he should have paid more attention to what was around but before he knows it, your gut-wrenching shout fills his ears.

childe stumbles, unsure of the events that had just transpired. he was certain you had shoved him just as he had called your name. but he blinked in a mute horror upon spotting your limp body slumped against the trunk of a tree. the monstrous geovishap growls ferociously at you and childe can’t help but let that horror grow into a vile rage.

the next thing you know, you’re staring at the most grief-stricken childe you’ve ever witnessed. his eyes are murky and tired. his hand clutches yours with such an intensity that you find it nearly hard enough to break. and for a second, childe appears to be at a loss for words. “i… i patched you back up,” he says slowly, “you should be… better now.” the way he sounds make it seem as if he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“what’s wrong?” you murmur, softly squeezing his hand in yours. he just seems lost, unsure whether or not to scold you for what you did or thank you. “just… please don’t do that again,” he finally says, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚 𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

“kaeya!” you watch your lover gather his thoughts. you never would have thought a quick, routine scouting of the nearby mountainous forests would have resulted in an argument. but here the two of you were, struggling to explain to the other your innermost thoughts. the argument had been a petty one. just something kaeya wished to warn you about.

honestly, he was just looking out for you. it wasn’t often he got angered at you either. but something about the evening swayed his emotions when it came to you. upon hearing his name he frowns, turning back to hear you out at the very least. yet, as he does so the disgusting scent of blood snatches his senses.

kaeya feels the wet substance hit his cheek as you shove him aside. the ruin guard leaps, shadowing the land of his descent. but in the moment, kaeya’s quick to summon the strength to look back at your wounded body limp in his arms. your blood stains his skin and his lungs feel as though about to collapse.

when your eyes open, you're in a warm bed and at the end of it is kaeya. his eyes look tired. but a breath of relief flows back into them when he notices you are awake. "oh thank god," he whispers, kissing you fervently. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." he repeats the words over and over until you finally hush him back into that loving embrace he adores.

— 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢

it's a flash of heartbreaking thunder that crashes down onto the man. one second you were assisting him with a simple task and suddenly he's gripping onto your bleeding wound, eyes wavering as he looks down at you. he feels frozen at his feet when you swallow harshly. blood spilling from the ghastly cut on your abdomen.

his shield should have protected you. you were not supposed to be his. his mouth opens and shuts, trying to comprehend the situation. he hasn't truly felt hopeless since the archon wars when she died. and now you may suffer the same fate because of his negligence.

"zhongli!" you cry, snapping him out of that horrified trance, "it's gonna be okay. i'm still here." it's his turn to swallow back the bile in the back of his throat and nod slowly. he can change your fate this time. "just hold on, my love," he says softly, wrapping your wound with a cloth.

"i trust you," you murmur. for a moment he almost wishes you didn't as he feels his heart sink even further. "right. just... please don't close your eyes," he quietly begs. you're in his arms in a second, determined to pay attention to his words as he heads towards the abandoned camp he noticed earlier. you can feel his hands tremble; if not from fear then from the anger towards himself.

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[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

I headcannon that humans usually get to choose where the marks go when they make a pact, but MC didn't care so they just let the brothers choose. This is purely for fun, feel free not to read it or take it too seriously.

Mammon went for the back of their right hand. For one, it's a safe option and he felt kind of awkward choosing the place for his own pact mark.

Later, it turned out to be perfect. He's their right-hand demon, always within arm's reach. Anywhere they go together, he holds that hand, and whenever MC meets someone new, they shake hands, that person knows right away that they're his human, and he's their demon.

Leviathan followed the same logic at first, and put his on their left forearm, just under their elbow, because where else would he put it?! He's never picked a pact mark before!

In the end, he likes it because it's not always on display, or always hidden. MC shows it off just enough to assure him that they're proud to have a pact with him, and hides it enough so he's not overwhelmed with the reality that he is theirs, and they are his.

When they dress up, they make sure not to cover their arms, and wear his mark with pride, but it's the quiet moments in his room, when they roll up their sleeve and let him trace the mark with his fingers, or trace it with his tail, that he really likes.

Beelzebub had trouble with picking his place. He's never made a pact before, let alone picked where it's been displayed.

He had no real reason for choosing their right shoulder blade, other than a feeling that that's where it needed to be. MC knows though, it's because of his twin. They knew where Belphie's pact mark would go, directly on their other shoulder.

Twin demons, guarding their human's back.

Asmodeus was a cheeky menace, as soon as he was given the choice, he smacked the mark right on MC's inner thigh. He thought it might fluster the little human, but as it turned out, MC is long past the point of flustering.

That choice turned out to be to Asmo's detriment as MC strategically chose how they displayed it. Hot day? They're wearing shorts and his mark is on clear display, sitting nestled on their soft skin, where no one, not even he can touch.

MC's learned to tug at that mark every now and again, granting him the most delicious teasing grin.

The devildom's greatest tease has met his match.

Satan's choice was a hard one, by the time he agreed to a pact, truly chose MC for a pact, he knew they were going to be someone he cared for deeply.

It took him days to decide where that mark would sit, MC never rushed him, or offered to make the choice for him. That patience was something he admired in someone he knows to have a firecracker of a temper.

In the end, he placed the mark on their collarbone, just above where their heartbeat thrums with life.

He wants them to remember that no matter his wrath, he does have a heart, and he'll always protect theirs.

MC often reaches for the brand when heartache strikes, reminding themselves of their wrathful demon, with a heart of gold.

Belphegor loved Beel's choice and didn't hesitate to put his brand on the opposite shoulder blade.

He falls asleep with his head resting on one of those marks at least twice a week, pinning MC beneath him, willing or otherwise. Any attempted to wake him up just has him switching to the other shoulder and clinging to them tighter.

He loves that a permanent mark of his twin is close enough that he can feel anytime MC summons Beel, and vice versa.

Anytime MC summons one, there's a 50/50 chance that both will come, called by each other's magic.

When the time came for Lucifer to make his choice, MC was sure he wouldn't surprise them, but unbeknownst to them, Lucifer had no intention of making the choice completely by himself.

He's seen them, wearing each and every pact with pride, pride to rival his own, but any human with sense would be proud of forging pacts with 6 of the seven lords of the underworld.

MC is more than proud of the pacts, they're proud to be part of the family. They give everything to that family, time, effort, love, all of it dedicated to those they call family.

In the end, MC had already made the choice a very long time ago, and lifted their chin, breath catching as Lucifer's palm encompassed their throat, placing their life, their breath, in his very hands.

The demon beamed his pride as he painted their throat with his brand, never to be hidden, never to be taken away.

That final mark symbolised more than a pact with the avatar of pride.

It stood for the completion of a family long left lacking their final piece.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer

Chapter 1

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: I can't believe I actually got around to writing this! *sobs*. I hope everyone does take the time to read it, and enjoys what I've created here. This will be a multi-chapter fic, quite different from the one-shots I've posted before. It was originally made with an OC, which can be read on my AO3 account, but all changes have been made to y/n here.

Thank you @actuallysaiyan for making the lovely title banner and for listening to me rant and giving me all the encouragement to finish this chapter. Everyone needs a cheerleader like you. 💜

Nanami masterlist | Chapter 2

“You’ve got it from here…Itadori kun.”

Those were the last words Nanami remembers saying before Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration fragmented his soul into smithereens. All he felt was pain, gut-wrenching pain as his soul collapsed and rearranged itself, piece after piece trying various combinations of alignment, trying to come back into some semblance of a whole, like chromosomes after being hit with a lethal dose of radiation.

His eyes squeeze shut, senses overloading as he prepares to meet whatever awaits him on the other side. Would it be a lovely afterlife like he’d hoped? Filled with long days on the beach, reading the backlog of books he’d been holding off on? Laying in the sun, no work, no obligations, just doing whatever he wanted to his heart’s content? He felt warmth against his chest, a bright light emanating from it, and for a split second, it felt like someone was calling out to him, a very familiar voice…

And all of a sudden it stops. With a thump, he crumples on something solid, his side colliding with the surface. Was this it? Was he in the afterlife? Nanami hesitantly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

At first, it appears like he’s landed on a sidewalk that wound deeply into a very gloomy and derelict-looking city. He could make out buildings, traffic lights, and little shops tucked away in between these larger structures, all of them looking abandoned or in various states of disuse. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. Was this actually the Great Beyond? 

Nanami pushes himself to his feet, relieved when he realizes he’s not in pain anymore. Had Mahito sent him to a separate contained domain? He squints, trying to find his bearings. There was no sunlight wherever he was, but the street lamps were lit along the length of the sidewalk, casting shadows along the way. He cautiously looks around. The place looks strangely familiar…

He grasps his weapon, the blade having still been in his hand when Mahito touched him, and advances down the road. As he walks, he realizes with a jolt that wherever he is appears to be a phantom of his neighborhood. He recognized this road now, as he had frequented it so often. Up ahead was the grocery store he would go to every Saturday. And right opposite it, a little cafe he would sometimes wander into for their lovely croissants and artisan coffee. The more he walked, the more he started piecing together a map of this area, astonished at what he was seeing. This certainly couldn’t be a domain expansion. There was far too much detail resembling the real world and, although the place gave a foreboding aura, seemed to be unoccupied except for himself. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, lowers his weapon, and tries to think. Logic was telling him Mahito had sent him somewhere, perhaps a sealed space, rather than kill him outright. But if that was the case, why was he healed? His entire left side which had been covered with fatal burns was gone, the skin healed over like new, his eye regenerated, hair grown back. His clothes and shoes had somehow been restored to their original condition, his glasses back to their position on his face. 

Things weren’t adding up. He continued to walk, then came upon a library he remembered passing by in the real world but had never really paid attention to before. Deciding this was as good a spot as any to glean information about his whereabouts, he enters, squinting through the darkness. Lines and lines of shelves stood neatly arranged in the building. Nanami walks between the rows, pausing in between sections for a brief moment before continuing his perusing. 

He rounds the corner, then quickly presses his back against a bookshelf as he senses an unusual energy signature fading away from him. So he wasn’t alone, and the thought wasn’t comforting. The energy didn’t match a human or a sorcerer, so he had to assume it was a special-grade curse. After his interactions with Jogo and Mahito, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of its abilities. He was tempted to escape but knew he had nowhere to go. If he was trapped in this domain what hope was there to escape this odd being he was sensing?

Raising the clothed blade with its polka dot pattern, he follows the energy steadily, not daring to breathe too loudly as he advances. It moves stealthily and silently, as though trying to elude him. This makes him immediately wary, sensing he could be getting lured into a trap. He follows at a distance, then stops as he comes to a reading section, the area cleared out and decorated with little chairs, poufs, and tables. Struggling to see in the dim light, he moves into the open, instincts screaming that he’s making a mistake. He pauses, trying to sense the energy again.

“It’s rude to chase one with a weapon you know.” A voice says from directly behind him. Nanami startles and spins around to face his pursuant, arms immediately coming before him to block an impending attack. Upon seeing the sight before him, his gaze fills with both fear and wonder, the being in front of him a vision of amazement. 

All he sees at first are a pair of piercing silver eyes that seem to probe the very depths of his soul. There’s a quiet insightfulness to them like he was looking into the eyes of an old friend, yet an unsettling intensity that made him feel apprehensive. The being appeared to lack a shape, but as Nanami took another step back, the light from the street lamps showed it to be made of wisps of black shadowy mist, neither fluid nor gas, swirling endlessly around it. 

Something within him tells him he shouldn’t fear this creature, yet all instincts were telling him to charge the attack before it got to him first. They stood, staring at each other through the dimness, before Nanami gathered his courage and asked, “What are you? A curse?”

The being huffs, as if it was an impertinent question. “What am I…Who am I…The question has been asked for centuries. Yet, even I do not have an appropriate answer…But I am most definitely not a curse.”

It glides silently over the floor, and Nanami instinctively raises his weapon. The being appears to look amused, based on the way those intense silver eyes glowed. “Put away your blade, Nanami Kento. The things I could have done to you once you entered my realm can’t be defended against by you, or even a special-grade sorcerer for that matter. I doubt even Ryomen Sukuna would stand a chance against me.” The smoky form billows, ebbing and flowing as it circles him. 

Not entirely reassured, Nanami puts his weapon back in the holder of his suspenders. There’s an odd feeling of reverence despite the eerie nature of the being. 

“I am what they call The Mediator, The One Before Death, or The Spectator.” It answers his question. 

“And where am I?” Nanami asks the shadow. 

“You are in between worlds, Nanami Kento.”

“In between worlds?” The blonde man repeated skeptically. Did such a thing exist? He had never given death much thought (beyond the dying part), and always assumed it was like being asleep one moment and waking up in paradise the next. To be in between worlds…had Mahito somehow just locked him away in another dimension that was a bleak version of his neighborhood? 

“So…am I…alive? But in another dimension?”

The Mediator looked at him thoughtfully, as though wondering how best to explain to him. “You are alive for now. But you definitely died, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here in my realm.”

“I died, and came back to life?” The sorcerer frowned at the obscureness with which this said. “That makes no sense. People don’t just arbitrarily resurrect from the dead. I was severely weakened. My soul was unprotected. Mahito’s attack should have killed me.”

“It did. However, something at that moment reversed the attack and restored the various fragments your soul had shattered into.”

Disbelievingly, Nanami started running his hands over his torso as though trying to find evidence that he had died. It was just…fantastical…impossible…He had survived Mahito’s attack? What divine intervention could have possibly saved him from something so deadly? As his fingers near his wrist, they brush over a small chain, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. He quickly undoes the button and looks incredulously at the small charm, an Aum symbol, dangling from the chain. 

“Y/n…” he murmurs her name softly. His apprentice. He now remembers her fastening one of these to not just him but to Ino and Itadori as well before they were deployed to Shibuya. 

“That’s probably what saved you,” the being said evidently, interrupting Nanami’s thoughts. “Whatever that is, it was imbued with a heavy concentration of neutralized curse energy. So when you died from the attack, that charm activated and repaired your soul.”

Nanami absently fingered the charm, trying to think. Y/n’s ability to neutralize cursed energy had improved immensely under his tutelage, he knew that, but he hadn’t imagined it to this extent. Her other ability included being able to manipulate any cursed energy she neutralized into forms of heat, summoning flames on her palms that towered at least  20 feet tall. How she had imbued the energy into the charm was anyone’s guess. 

“And I’m in between worlds.” He repeats again, trying to make sure he’s not misunderstanding the conversation.

“Indeed. Think of this as your own personal purgatory.” Those silver eyes bore into him like moons against a black sky, waiting to see his reaction.

Purgatory. Nanami pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom how insane this sounded. “I thought purgatory was for people who needed to be redeemed.”

“It is usually. But in your case, it looks like the veil partitioning the worlds got confused, seeing as how you left one dead, and then suddenly became alive in another. Death probably couldn’t figure out what to do with you so it sent you here instead.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

Despite the miraculousness of it all, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. He had been prepared for death for several years now. So much to the point that he had a will drafted, signed, and sealed, declaring all his possessions to be donated to charity since he had no other family or next of kin. A copy of the keys to his house had been entrusted to the lawyer who had helped draft the will. He had all his affairs set in order with the expectation that his death would be sudden and he was unwilling to burden anyone to deal with the repercussions. 

He had known he would die in the line of duty. He had accepted his fate the moment Mahito had laid a hand on him in the underground, welcoming death as a tranquil friend. His whole life had been struggle after struggle, a gamble, clawing his way to stay alive. All he could say was that he had been lucky so far. There had to be a moment when that luck ran out. He had been dreaming of knowing peace and death seemed to be the only option for that. 

“Does it bother you, that you are alive?” The purgatory being asks him curiously, noting his less-than-happy expression. “Most would rejoice at this second chance for life.”

The question hits Nanami with a gravity he hadn’t been expecting. “Most people haven’t lived my life. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. I’ve earned the right to a peaceful death.”

“And yet, it looks like someone desperately wanted you to live.” Those hypnotic eyes wander over to the charm dangling on his wrist. “Is that not reason enough? To not want to die?”

Disturbed by the notion, Nanami grips the charm. Y/n’s energy had kept him alive, unwittingly preventing him from moving on into the afterlife. Whether that had been her intent was debatable. Her desperately wanting him to live? It just didn’t seem likely to him. Sure, perhaps she didn’t want him to die in the way that people didn’t want others to die in general. But beyond that? He couldn’t fathom her being so consumed by the thought of his death that she would create a charm that essentially kept him alive after having his soul damaged to what should have been a point beyond repair. 

Y/n had a late start in her career as a sorceress, and certain concepts about it seemed to stymie her, more typically seen in a younger student than someone her age. He had repeatedly told her to not worry about him when he took her on missions, to value her life more than his. He drilled it into her head when he taught her self-defense, that if there was an opportunity to escape she should take it, the hand-to-hand combat sometimes leaving bruises on her skin because she’d been unwilling to take a shot at him. It always pained him when that happened, marking her, leaving those unsavory blemishes on her but how else was she going to learn that fairness wasn’t something that existed in Jujutsu? Her willingness to get a little scuffed up if it meant protecting him from a curse irked him. She was rather like a kitten unwilling to be shooed away from a reluctant petter. His lips curled wryly as he imagined her expression if she ever heard that comparison out loud. 

‘Don’t be so cruel Nanami san!’ She’d probably say, those large (color) eyes looking at him reproachfully. And for a moment, his mind’s eye couldn’t picture anything else except that; those large (color) eyes, and the shock in them when he told her that he didn’t think he’d live very long. She hadn’t said anything to convince him his mindset was wrong, but she did look like he had betrayed her by expressing his very honest and logical opinion. As though he had broken an oath to her by not saying he wanted to live long and prosper. 

Nanami gives himself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be thinking about Y/ni's opinion on his death. The bigger task at hand now was figuring out what to do about his imprisonment in purgatory. 

All the while, the shadow hadn’t wavered and had merely continued to look at him work through his inner monologue. Realizing that Nanami had reached a limit, it said, “No, you are not stuck here. At least, not for very long.”

The sorcerer’s head snaps up at those words, eyes narrowing behind the green glass of his frames. “What do you mean, not very long?”

“Well, the neutralized energy imbued into that charm? It’s not infinitely going to remain contained in that. The seal broke when it saved your life, and it’s essentially trickling out little particles of it. It will run out at some point, although it’s difficult to say when that is.”

“And when it does run out?”

“You’ll die.” The being says simply. “And move on into the next realm. That’s the way purgatory is supposed to work. Cleanse you to be fit to live in the realm of death.” 

“And it’s unknown when that will happen?”

The shadow appears to ponder his question before offering a hesitant guess. “A few days, maybe 4 or 5 at maximum, based on the energy intensity that it's currently emitting.”

“And what am I to do for 4 to 5 days here?” Nanami gestures around the gloomy library, obviously not impressed with this arrangement. These extra days before his impending death somehow made a vein pop in his forehead. It was like a pre-death before the actual one.

“Well, you must have noticed by now that this is the neighborhood you used to live in. You are free to wander around here and experience your old life one last time. You can visit your apartment, take the subway and wander around the Jujutsu High campus, or watch a movie in the theater.” The shadow suggested, sounding like a pleasant tour guide for the afterlife. “Think of it as a vacation before your death.”

It struck Nanami as a little absurd but he strokes his chin, considering. “And that’s my only option? To experience my old life before dying?”

“It’s not the only option. You could go back and live.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air at those words. Nanami’s eyes widen at the thought. He could go back to the land of the living? He hadn’t even considered that as an option. He only had death on his mind. Thoughts of living on a beach, days filled with no responsibility still flickered through his mind but at the same time…

“What is it about life that makes you so hesitant?” The purgatory being asks him inquisitively. 

Nanami opens his mouth but no words come out. Had he been thinking about how to escape his situation that all he had ever thought about was dying? It wasn’t unexpected of him. He had learned so long ago that life was mostly shit, with a few moments of relief folded in. At least it was for curse users. He remembers seeing all the people he knew die, how he had tried to escape from Jujutsu, only to be sucked back in because he knew he didn’t fit in anywhere else. When faced with the choice of remaining in a job of corporate greed, or one that endangered his life but was somewhat altruistic, the choice became apparent. He had returned to Jujutsu. Not entirely selflessly, but with the idea that it was the quicker way out of his misery. 

“Is there nothing you would like to return to?” The shadow presses. “Remember that you are a very rare case. Hardly anyone ends up in purgatory under your circumstances. I would hate to see a life go to waste because you don’t know what to do with it.”

A sudden memory comes into Nanami’s mind. A day of unexpected frivolity, when Y/n, Yuji, and Ino had convinced him to come along to an amusement park. It was an odd day but to his surprise, he hadn't hated it. Y/n had mostly stayed away from the roller-coasters, leaving it to Yuji and Ino, wandering with Nanami to the food stalls, closer in age to him than she was to the boys. It was a strange feeling of domesticity he had never experienced before, almost like they were a hodgepodge family of misfits. It was the closest thing he had experienced to a normal day in a long time. 

But days like that were rare. They were like sprinkles on top of ice cream. People could never have more sprinkles than ice cream. Life just didn't work that way. However, Nanami found himself contemplating his choices. Perhaps he had been so jaded that he thought life was wading through ice cream instead of appreciating the sprinkles? And here he was dreaming about sprinkles when he was stuck in purgatory. 

He sighs and shakes his head. “If I did go back, would it make a difference?” He asks doubtfully. 

The being’s eyes crinkle warmly, almost like it's smiling. “To one person, yes. And isn't that more than enough?”

The charm swings from his wrist like a pendulum. He considers the shadow’s words and feels his heart clench uncomfortably. The stakes almost felt too high, wagering his return to life on the chance that it would make a difference to Y/n. Well, maybe not just her. He frowns as he feels the energy in the trinket resonate for a brief moment when he thinks of her, as though it was trying to convince him to make the gamble. He had never quite paid attention to her energy signature before now, so concentrated within the tiny object; it felt like a warm cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning. He feels disconcerted that he could sense this now and it was making him want to change his mind about dying. He sighed deeply, feeling his resolve begin to solidify, even though it felt like he was making the wrong choice. 

“How do I get out of here?” 

The shadow has no features except its eyes, but if Nanami could assign it an expression, it would have to be triumph.  

“I’m so glad you asked.” It appraisingly looks at him, before continuing. “Perhaps you might want to let the lady know you’re alive.”

“Must I?” Nanami asks with a hint of exasperation. 

The shadow looks amused but continues in an even tone. “I’m afraid I must insist. It's better to give people a warning when you’re coming back from the dead. Prepares them for the prospect of seeing you again. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

“And how do I do that?” 

It merely continues to look at him with that amused expression and Nanami almost lets out a growl of frustration. “Listen. I died. Then I was told I wasn’t dead, but I’ll die soon. Then I changed my mind and decided I wanted to live. The least you can do is tell me how to get a message out of here.”

The purgatory being laughs; it’s an eerie noise, yet had all the comfort of a long-lost friend. “Very well 7:3 Sorcerer. It’s simple really. To send a message out of here, all you need to do is blend your cursed energy with the cursed energy of the person you’re thinking about going back to life for. Imbue this energy into a small object which will then find a way to its recipient.”

The elementary way this was said nearly cracks his temper. “Is that all?” He asks, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice. 

The shadow chuckles at this, adding to his ire. “It really is. Just try focusing on something other than your disappointment of not dying today.” 

Nanami takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose trying to keep his composure. “A small object…” His hand grips the handle of his blade and pulls it out, eyeing it carefully. The whole blade wouldn’t make it. He just automatically knew it. But he wanted to make sure Y/n would recognize the message was from him. He fidgets with the blade, thinking, and then by accident, the edge of it comes in contact with the Aum charm. 

The blend of energy that shoots through him was a shock; a mix of the warm coffee on Saturday mornings, coupled with the calculated preciseness of a seasoned Q-grader who assessed those coffee beans. The polka dots spattered all over the cloth wrapping the weapon glowed at the edges for a brief second before the blade lost contact with the charm. 

Nanami observed the whole process with fascination. Dormant instinct took over him, and he moved his hand so that the charm now swung over the blade. Focusing on that combined energy signature, he purposefully touches the charm to the blade. Y/n’s neutralized curse energy flows into the blade, and he feels his own beginning to fuse with it. He concentrates on his ratio technique, and with a flash, all the polka dots lift off the blade, glowing with a pale sea foam green aura. 

“Find her,” he whispers to the dots, and in a hazy glow, they vanish. 

Nanami watches, as though in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. He turns to look at the purgatory being.

“Message sent. Now, how do I get out of here?”

The shadow being had been looking at the spot where the polka dots had vanished. It swirls around and looks at him in the eyes. 

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

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[danikamariewrites]

fourth wing rec:

training mats w xaddy daddy but instead of waddling off, he does us

(aka what shoulda happened the first time)

On The Mat (SMUT)

Xaden x reader

A/n: you’re so right for this omg

Warnings: fingering, p in v, biting

Watching as everyone trailed out of the training room you grew agitated. Swinging and dodging Xaden you glare at him. “Don’t let that control you.” He grunted throwing another left hook as he sensed your anger. Dodging his massive fist you throw yourself across the mat with a back handspring.

Landing in a crouch you look up at him and snarl. Unsheathing two of your daggers you aim them both for Xaden’s shoulders. The Wing Leader rolls to the right avoiding the blades. “How much longer?” You yell. “How ever long it takes for you to get it right.”

Rolling your eyes you both pop back up in ready stances, circling each other. You fumble with your hidden dagger at your back. Taking your eyes off of Xaden for a moment he saw his opportunity and pounced. You let out a grunt as Xaden pinned you to the ground.

You struggled to get free but your arm was pinned behind your back. Xaden quickly grabbed your hips, flipping you and straddling your ass. He held your arm to your back, slipping the dagger out from its hidden sheath with his other hand. You struggled against him panting as you failed to escape his iron clad grip.

Xaden leaned down next to your ear. His breath tickling your skin. “I guess we aren’t leaving just yet.” He whispers seductively. That deep voice bringing heat to your face. The need for him growing between your thighs. Letting out a sarcastic laugh you fall limp against the training mat.

“We don’t have to leave. But we’re done with this exercise.” You tease, grinding your leather clad ass against his cock. Xaden’s sharp breath makes you smirk knowing you’ve won. “Sure you can get this right?” Lust evident in his voice.

“Oh, Riorson. This is one exercise I won’t fail.” Xaden flips you onto your back, gathering your wrists in his hand to pin above your head. His lips immediately go to your neck, kissing and biting aggressively. You tilt your head to the side giving him more access. Moaning his name you try to move your arms to touch him. Over the sound of his lips and moans you hear the lock on the door click. You’re sure it’s thanks to his shadows. Always using them to conceal you in stolen moments or locking doors when he’s too caught up in your activities.

Making eye contact he bites the zipper of your vest, pulling until your breasts are exposed. He bites and sucks at the supple untouched flesh. Marking you as his. He brings his hands to your breasts, groping them and letting out a possesive moan as his hands trail down to the waist band of your pants.

Wasting no time Xaden ripped open the laces. Teasingly dragging his fingers across your pelvic bone. Leaving a trail of goosebumps on your flesh. Gods, it feels like he hasn’t touched you in years when it’s only been days since you’ve last had him. Clearly Xaden was just as eager to have you. Again, wasting no time he brings his fingers to your heat.

A whimper fell from your lips as Xaden spread your wetness around your folds. “Fuck, sweetheart.” Xaden breathed, pushing two of his thick fingers in your hole. Bucking your hips you clutched at his shoulders. He began working you open. Making you desperate for him.

You dropped your head against the mat as you came close to the edge. Your hips moved to meet the thrust of his fingers. “Please,” you beg, “please, Xaden. I’m s-so close.” You pant. Just as he started grazing that sweet spot Xaden ripped his fingers from your core. A whine escapes your lips.

“One second, sweetheart. Then you’ll have what you want.” You watched as Xaden pulled at the ties on his own pants. The outline of his hardened cock prominent against his leather pants. After freeing himself Xaden pulls your pants and boots off. Showing your impatience you grab his cock, running your thumb across his slit.

Teasing him at your entrance a growl sounds from deep in Xaden’s chest. He bats your hand away which immediately finds home in his thick dark hair. Xaden rubs himself against your entrance before sinking in. His hips fitting snug against yours as he waits for you to adjust to his size. “Move. Gods please move Xa.” You plead with him again. Xaden presses his lips against yours in a heated kiss as he begins to move. Swallowing each of your moans with his thrusts.

“Fuck, Xaden please. Right there, yes!” You scream against his lips. Xaden’s thrusts get deeper and faster. You dig your nails into his shoulders as he brings his thumb to your clit. Rubbing tantalizing circles. “I’m close, sweetheart. I need you to come with me, can you do that?” You nod letting out a small, uh-huh.

He presses down on your clit making your leg shake around his waist. “I-I,” you stutter. Xaden shushes you, knowing what you’re about to say. “I can feel you squeezing me, baby. I know, me too.” With a few more thrusts you let out a moan, coming undone around Xaden’s cock.

His head drops into the crook of your neck as he relishes in the feel of your walls fluttering around his cock. Squeezing around him a rare whimper left Xaden’s lips as he came.

Neither of you moved. Just laying on the mat, chests heaving as you held each other. “Fuck,” you breathe out. Yanking on Xaden’s hair you find that smirk on his lips that told you there was more. “You still didn’t get your move from earlier. This was your reward for trying.” He hovered over your lips, only slightly grazing them. “You still need to be punished, sweetheart.”

[c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak]

Whispering Woods

Pairing: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1k

Summary: When the world gets too much for you, you have the tendency to 'run' away sometimes. This time you and your dragon don't get the peace and quiet that comes with it for too long as it seems you have an admirer waiting to make their presence known.

Bingo: @eclipsingbingo with the square 'Hand Kisses'

(Y/N): Your name

(D/N): Dragon's name

(D/S): Dragon species

(W/C): Weapon of choice

*Gif does not belong to me

It wasn't unusual for you to take a break from Berk every once in a while. Hopping on (D/N)'s back and flying off without a word to anyone else on the island. You knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do, not when Drago Bloodyfist or whatever Hiccup had called him recently attempted to take control of all of Berk's dragons, but you couldn't help yourself. There was nothing better the disappearing for a few hours with nothing but the wind in your hair, your (D/S) under you and the quietness that came with it.

The only repercussions for disappearing that you've ever gotten were some annoyed friends or a worried Hiccup, which you could say was one of the worse options since he tended to fret when you returned. Though anything was better than a mad Hiccup when you accidentally disappeared for three days and came back to half of Bekr looking for you since Hiccup had gotten worried enough to start a search party.

That's how you found yourself where you were now, surrounded by the quietness of a forest on some random island not too far away from Berk. The flight over had only taken twenty minutes as you and (D/N) took your time flying there.

(D/N) had slunk off not too long ago, making her own way through the forest as she explored, leaving you to your thoughts as you trailed after her, not trying very hard to keep up.

Berk had been hectic recently. Hiccup found his mum, Berk was attacked, you almost lost (D/N), and Stoick died... It was a lot to happen in the span of a few days, closer to a few hours if you don't count Hiccup's extended absence.

This island had seen worse for wear but there was still a lot of work that had to be done. Which you should be doing now but too many people were asking too much of you. You had also been avoiding meeting Hiccup's mum as the two of you had spared only a few words to one another when in the heat of battle.

It was a lot to think of all at once, so you found yourself off the island quicker than the Twins could say boar pit.

Being out here was doing wonders for your mind; calming you down and making it easier to think of nothing at all. It was all you could hope for, even if you knew you would have to head back soon unless you wanted Hiccup to deem this as another one of your escape attempts.

It was only when the forest got quieter than normal did you felt the need to come back to your senses, an actual need to be alert instead of walking around aimlessly as if you were on autopilot.

The soft thumping of (D/N)'s feet from ahead had stopped, along with the birds hidden in trees. The only noise that passed through was the rustling of leaves as a steady breeze glided through the woods. Your hand was itching down to grasp onto the small blade you had strapped to your belt, your (W/C) left on the saddle that (D/N) had run off with.

Before you had the chance to do anything though, a set of hands were slipping around your waist, tugging you back and into someone's chest softly. Years of Viking training were already kicking in as you raised an elbow, ready to dig it back with a low aim when someone caught onto your arm, stopping it in its motion.

"Hey," You struggled to get out, still trying to land a hit on the person behind you and push yourself away, attempting anything that would set you free.

"Calm down," A familiar voice laughed out, surprising you into stillness as your brain realised who it was. At your sudden stop, you were whirled around by the person who had disturbed you, being met with a bright smile and a deep set of green eyes as they bore into you. "I was wondering when you'd notice it was me."

"Hiccup," You deadpan, watching as the taller boy slowly pulled you closer, setting one of his hands on your waist without the hassle of a fight from you trying to dislodge it.

"(Y/N)," He copied, raising one of your hands with his free ones and bringing it up to his face, setting a soft brush of his lips on the back of it in the form of an extended greeting. You watched the motion with warm eyes, the annoyance that had crept up your spine dying down a bit.

"How long have you been here?" You questioned once your fingers got interlocked with his, not going to deny the soft touches as the both of your hands were brought down.

"Not long," Hiccup commented. Standing in front of you, Hiccup seemed like he didn't have a care in the world, reminding you of what you had left behind on Berk and how Hiccup himself could bring this feeling out of you. "Toothless saw you and (D/N) fly off not long ago and wanted to bring me to you so that he could play with them."

"Mm," You hummed, bringing your linked hands back up. For a short moment where your hands stayed hovering in the air, your lashes fluttering at Hiccup, you took him in, the small smile on your face expressing more words than you wanted to at the moment. Laying a kiss on the back of his hand, you murmur, "We better go find them then and make sure they don't get into too much trouble."

[yandere-daydreams]

ayaka and ayato never really learned how to share.

it made sense, once you'd been in the kamisato clan's employment long enough to fully grasp the extent of their wealth. why would they have to? as children, their parents were more than able to provide two of everything either sibling may want, and as they grew up, their interests diverged, their schedules deviated, and they were never so lucky as to encounter a scenario where, say, ayaka took a liking to ayato's favorite sword or ayato decided he was fond of a material ayaka had set aside for her next kimono. they rarely fought, and on the few occasions when they did find themselves at odds with one another, it never seemed to result in anything more than a few quiet meals and a particularly impassioned sparing session. they were too mature for juvenile disagreements, too regal to squabble over toys like children. they didn't fight, but they didn't have to, either.

which must be why they seem to have so much trouble dividing your time amongst themselves.

you owe the most of it to ayaka, technically - something she's quick to point out whenever ayato asks you to help him sort through letters from the other clans or offers to accompany you on your near-daily trips to the marketplace. you're her attendant, her companion, and she's possessive of you as a swan would be possessive of the whiteness of its feathers - unwilling to let you be marred by the filthy hands of anyone aside from herself. she doesn't need your help, and you know she'd be able to survive an hour or so without your company, and yet, she clings to both, makes excuses to keep you by her side despite how clear it is that she doesn't need you to help her dress or brew her tea. you'd never think of complaining, not on a salary like yours, but still. you could afford spare more time for ayato's paperwork, if she allowed you to.

ayato's claim to you is less legitimate, but boosted by his position as one of the shogun's commissioners. ayaka doesn't need your help, and neither does ayato, not really, but it's more plausible when he claims he needs an extra pair of hands for... well, for whatever a commissioner does all day, when he's not fighting treasurer hoarders or giving poor thoma food poisoning. he's willing to employ more underhanded methods, too, to catch you the moment you leave ayaka's sight and keep you occupied until you're forced to return to her. he'll slip you notes asking you to visit his personal chambers in the dead of night, leave silk-wrapped jewelry and bouquets of white roses on the foot of your bed, openly ask you if you'd rather be his or his sister's when he knows that ayaka's well-within earshot.

they still don't fight, or scream, or let their own pettiness affect anything beyond the internal dynamics of their household, but you're not left as unharmed as the rest of the world. it's tiring, being pulled between two bodies of impossible strength and resolution, having to live between the sharpened ambition of water flowing downhill and the quiet attrition of ice splitting open solid stone. it's hard not to imagine yourself split in half, a piece of you lodge on the ends of each of their blades. you'd leave if you thought you were able to, but that's just not plausible. they're both so unyielding, you couldn't imagine ayato or ayaka ever letting the object of their desire go without a fight.

it's all you can do to smile, try to keep the peace, and hope that eventually, they'll learn how to share something without tearing it apart.

[argisthebulwark]

We Can Get Lost, You & Me

summary: Scenarios that make them say please. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf warnings: canon typical mention of blood/injury and death, sexually suggestive content. minors should not read or interact.

Vilkas says it through gritted teeth. Every inch of his body is screaming for him to close the distance between you - it’s a couple measly steps, after all. Only a few steps keep him from kissing you but he refrains. He refuses to lose this little game you’ve been playing for weeks; dancing around each other, flirty comments and touches meant to get under the others skin, the constant heat simmering heat between you. It’s as exciting as it is infuriating.  “Please.” He finally breaks, fists clenched on the arms of his chair. Your little laugh makes his blood boil when you climb into his lap, hands combing through his hair to tilt his head back. He relishes your fingers trailing over his jaw and the victorious smile on your lips.  “Does this mean I won?” You tease, though he’s too distracted to be annoyed. It’s so easy to slide his hands over your hips and draw you in, to finally indulge in what he’s wanted for too long. 

Miraak is not one to plead - he only says it when he is broken, when he is on the verge of death and has nothing left but you. When his eyes are wide and terrified, ink stained fingers grasping your armor as the world tilts around you. Your blade rests at his throat just as the prophecy described. Whoever foretold your future did not expect you to hesitate, to look into those deep green eyes and feel your heart wrench.  “Please, Dragonborn.” Miraak pants, blood staining the front of his robes. “Allow me one more chance.” “Why should I trust you?” In your heart you know that it is fruitless, your blade never sought to kill him. The only wounds you’ve left are superficial, a warning that you are as strong as him.  “You shouldn’t.” Miraak admits, each breath bringing your blade dangerously close to his skin. “Look into your heart, Dragonborn. Please, allow me a chance to earn your trust.”

Farkas looks at you with stars in his eyes, cheeks flushed and an easy smile on his face. He’s so gentle when he holds your face, kissing you until you feel dizzy. He’s so warm and close, all your senses dominated by him. Sunlight peeks through the hastily shut curtains alerting you that you’re late but here you sit, sluggishly untangling your limbs from his.  “Please don’t go.” He murmurs into your skin between kisses, eager hands exploring every curve of you. “You don’t have to leave, not yet.”  “I do have to leave.” You insist, though it’s far too easy to fall back into bed with him. Strong arms are around you before you can blink, lips trailing up your shoulder to your throat as he smothers you in kisses.  “Stay with me, please.” Farkas insists. Against your better judgment, you do. 

Brynjolf, who learned so long ago to shove his needs aside for the sake of others. The man who doesn't dare ask for a thing if it doesn't benefit the Guild, begs for one more day. Hell, he'd take another minute. His tears have dried, muscles sore from sobbing and pleading with whatever god bothers to listen to him. None answered, so his pleas are solely for you. "Please, love. Don't do this to me." He mumbles, stumbling through the snow. Mercer hadn't even bothered to bring your body back, leaving Brynjolf with a long trek. "Don't leave me." A senseless little spark of home remains in his heart - you cannot be dead. Surely he would have felt it. "Please, just come back. We'll figure it all out. I'm almost there, I'll get you home safe. Just hold on a little longer for me."

[magicxc]

Rain Down On Me

Pairings: Survey Corps x Black!Reader - Where They Like To Cum

Word Count: 4407

Warnings: Just a whole lotta cum lol

A/N: Phew chile, not me dipping my toes in the anime water. It’s gonna be SO much fun! I can’t wait to explore different scenarios and play around with my favorite characters. That being said, expect a wide range of topics from the mundane to the sexy. And for my first piece I had to come out the gate SWINGING lol. So without further ado, enjoy:

Eren - inside. He only committed mass genocide to preserve his race. Might as well see if all his efforts proved futile. 

Lets face it, Eren is a rough lover. The only thing gentle about him are his deep green eyes, and even they can be intimidating. But it’s his sheer tenacity that makes him so intense; his need to get something right the first time, everytime, almost concerning. So it should really come as no surprise that he needs to get you pregnant.

Fierce thrusts against your pelvis has you mewling into the evening sky. Both hands locked in a vice grip atop your head, Eren uses his other arm to hook onto the back of your left thigh, wrapping it snugly around his waist. 

His key chain dangles above your face, swinging swiftly along to his movements. You’re captivated by the way it twirls in front of you, unaware that you could feel even more turned on than you already do; loud sloshing noises a clear sign of your growing arousal.

“You think you can cum again for me honey? Hmm, just once more to increase our chances.”

Beads of sweat line his forehead while Eren’s face twist in concentration.

Apparently conception works best when the woman is able to orgasm. But according to Eren’s logic, double the orgasms mean double the chances - his thumb mercilessly rubbing against your clit in hopes that she’ll rain down on him once more.

Small drops of sweat pool into your neckline, your body convulsing in sensitivity. But all that does is egg him on with Eren’s fingers circling quicker and his hips driving deeper. Your nails desperately scrape against his knuckles, thighs shaking around his body as you thrash through your release. Head thrown back, you howl into the night, breathlessly panting as tears stream down your face. His lips swallow your sweet sounds, spilling into you as he heavily groans into the kiss.

“Almost honey, I promise. But we can’t be sure if that one will take, so go ahead and turn over for me.” 

Levi - inside your mouth; and you better swallow. Did we really expect anything less from mister clean his blade during battle? He hates mess and that applies to the bedroom as well, though he is willing to make exceptions from time to time. So if Levi can’t have your mouth, he will paint your body as a last resort.

Face smushed against his pelvis, his agarwood scented soap engulfs your nostrils, the fragrance deliciously spicy. Levi’s fingers are tangled deep into your locks, his hands guiding you on the exact pace he prefers. It’s nothing too hurried, his thrusting motions almost slothful. 

On the field, he’s humanity's strongest soldier. His swift moves and sharp senses are life saving but here, behind closed doors, Levi prefers to take his time with you. He wants to revel in every sensation, his cat-like instincts not missing a beat, from the way your hands grab onto his thighs for stability to the way that your eyelids flutter close when you really get into the moment. 

“Mhmm,” he groans. “Open wider for me angel.” 

Even now he’s not much of a talker, but he won’t hesitate to tell you exactly how he wants to be pleasured. Obliging to his request, you open your jaws as wide as they’ll go, savoring the taste of Levi as he continues to cram himself to the very back of your mouth. 

He’s a stark contrast from the stoic demeanor you’re used to seeing, watching as he falls apart from your expert tongue. You’ve never seen him so desperate, so starved as he loudly pants through his gratification, warm breath fanning past your face as his eyes never leave yours. Levi’s intense gaze fills you with a deep hunger to satisfy him, your pussy sopping at the idea of seeing him finish.

Damp hair sticking to his face, they bounce against his forehead with each jerking motion, his gruff temperament crumbling with every lick, twirl, and suction to his dick. Hands nestled on your jaw, you relish in the way his thumbs softly brush against your cheeks, watching as his thighs quiver and his lips tremble, tongue darting past his teeth to swipe over them. 

His languid thrusting picks up in speed, fingers lightly squeezing your skin as you feel his warm release coat the walls of your mouth, your pace unfaltering as you make sure to swallow every drop. Dick slowly sliding past your lips, you watch in awe as the shiny coat glistens before you, thinking how soon enough there’ll be another coat to add to the sticky mess. 

“You always do so well for me angel,” he coos, the pads of his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of your face.

Erwin - on your tits. Though his steel blue eyes are one of his most striking features, they’re good for spotting more than just titans. He’s very much so a breast man at heart and finds them to be a woman's most prominent feature. With the pressures of the government and the stress of being a Commander, he needs something soft to lie on at night - for tranquil purposes of course.

Erwin is one of the most composed people; it's a necessity. It’s how he’s able to assess a situation and get his team to safety - allowing him to effectively delegate to his squad and ensure that the odds are in their favor during missions. But boy does he let loose around you. When the day is finished and his body is aching, he finds solace in you and your breasts. 

“Bbbrrrrrrr,” is the rumbling that sounds from your chest, Erwins face buried deep between your breasts as he rapidly shakes his head through the plump globes. 

“Are you done Commander?”

Trailing his head up to your neck his mouth lands to your sweet spot, sucking a hickey onto the skin. Moaning, you unclip the bra letting the girls fall freely.

“Baby, it’s Commander out there and daddy in here. You’re not gonna make me repeat myself right?” he cautioned.

You want to. You want to push his buttons and tip him over the edge oh so badly, but his day has been rough enough and you save your bratty behavior for another more lighthearted occasion.

“No sir,” you promised.

“Good,” he says, hands fondling your nipples. “Go ahead and throw the rest of your bras out baby cause I have all the support that you need.”

His head dives to your chest before you have the chance to respond, licking and nibbling against the surface. He gladly leaves bruised spots in their wake, deading the idea for you to wear any deep cut shirts in the days to come. 

“On your knees.”

Not that you need to be told twice, your limbs are hitting the ground before he can finish the sentence.

Standing tall above you, his icy stare bores deep into your brown orbs, pride heavy on his face at how well trained you are for him. Unzipping his pants, Erwin lets them fall, your hands reaching to his underwear to free his thick member.

“You gonna keep me waiting baby?”

You wouldn't dream of it.

Sliding his dick inside your mouth, he only intends for you to get it wet, your tongue lapping over his veiny shaft until enough spit has gathered. As inviting as your mouth is, Erwin considers it more as an appetizer, something light to hold him over until the main course.

“That’s enough, now hold up the girls for me.”

Breasts held together in your arms, you push them up and watch as Erwin slides his tip through the middle, a haughty groan slipping past his lips as he does so. He drives his dick upward, slowly at first and then sloppy soon after. Your spit combined with the lush feeling of your perky boobs is his perfect sensational cocktail, one that leaves him drunk on ecstasy and quick to bust.

“You look so fucking sexy right now,” Erwin whimpered. “Stick your tongue out for me, real wide just how I like it. 

Tongue hanging out your mouth, it occurs to you that you’d bark if he asked you to; without hesitation. Drool gathers at the tip of your tongue, gradually sliding down to your chest and adding to the slobbery mess down below. Erwin can move with ease and at this angle each time he drives his dick forward, it touches the warm tip of your tongue. Your position won’t allow for much more than that and so you stay put, allowing Erwin to destress through your body, listening intently as his light whines crescendo; his explosive finish splattering against your chest and chin.

Connie - Anywhere! Mans is just happy to finish. Connie is far from preferential, so long as both he and his partner find pleasure. And while he’ll cum wherever you tell him, you two have found it more entertaining to see just where his sperm will land. The more ridiculous the better actually. 

A few weeks ago during sex, you had forgotten to take your birth control and in the knick of time Connie pulled out, spraying his seed directly into the sheets next to you. It was a close call, but who could blame him when you felt that good? You found yourselves in a similar situation yesterday and when he pulled out, his load shot across the room, painting the walls. Though it was pretty close in distance, it did pique his interest enough to see just how far his can spunk can land without something to hinder it - and that's how you found yourself in your current predicament, ankles propped next to your head. 

While Connie is a bit of a goofball, sex was where he seemed to shine the best; folding your body in ways you didn’t know it could bend. And you were grateful for the generous lover that he was, making sure that you always got yours. 

Hips meeting yours, Connie finds his face nestled between the junction of your neck, his soft grunting loud inside your ear. 

With Connie pinning your legs to the bed, he rests his full weight on your body, any chance for a break long gone as you cry out for a moment's relief; one Connie won’t give you unless you soak him completely. Arms as limp as your legs, all you can manage is to sink your nails into his chest, taking every forceful thrust he sends your way, the pressure too much to handle. Your poor pussy is puffy and swollen, yet furiously leaking at how good he works your body over. His uneven breathing harsh against your face, Connie litters it in butterfly kisses, proud of the peak you managed to reach.

“Nice one buttercup,” he compliments, rolling off of you to lie flat on his back; jerking himself to the finish line. 

You both watch in amusement as Connie shoots his load directly into the air, his hands continuing its ministrations until the task is complete. 

“That’s gotta be at least three feet.”

“Maybe, let's get a tape measurer and find out.”

“I need to practice my aim, whaddya say next time you hold your lips nice and wide for me and see if I can make a hole in one?

“You wanna try aiming inside my mouth?”

“Not those lips buttercup.”

Jean - Face. He’s a cocky one, no pun intended. No matter what position he finds himself in during sex, he doesn’t miss the chance to pull out and paint your face; jokingly referring to himself as the next Hokusai on occasion. Jean loves knowing he’s the one doing this to you, a strong sense of power coursing through his veins at the sight of you dripping in his essence. 

As dirty as Jean likes to get you, he’s equally as excited to help clean you up; like a one stop shop sorta thing. And so showers have become a common place for you both to do the deed. Most times you find yourselves clean only to get dirty again and while it started off as a way to save the water bill, you’re sure all you’ve done is jack up the price. 

Hands pressed against the shower glass, it threatens to slip at your wobbly footing. The only real sense of security is Jeans hands wrapped securely around your waist. The steady rocking of his hips into your ass has your forehead planted against the glass, heavy breathing fogging it almost as much as the steam. 

Every so often, he’ll bear down his palm into your back to keep your arch as deep as he likes it. And while it isn't the most comfortable, his lengthy dick keeps you distracted, the delicious burn of the way he repeatedly rams his member into your dripping pussy. 

The steam obscures your view, but there's nothing you need to see anyway. The only thing your fucked out mind can manage to focus on is feeling and you do just that; relishing in the way Jeans calloused fingers tug on your damp skin again and again and again. 

You can’t help the wails that spill from your lips, crying aloud as your screams echo against the tiled walls. Jean never really gives you a break either, his ego on full display each time the force of hips pulls an even louder noise from your sweet lips.

How your feet haven't given out on you is miraculous, but it’s probably Jean holding you up until your body can milk him dry, his stamina coming to a relieving close. Pussy throbbing against him for the nth time that night, it’s become his personal little shower; your creamy finish dripping down his thick length. 

Pulling out of you, Jean spins you around, knees slapping against the wet floors, on autopilot, for his oncoming release. A few pumps of his hands and he shoots his load on your face, careful not to waste a drop. 

You don’t mind and lap up whatever drips down to your mouth for added effect, his legs quaking at the sight. 

“Keep that up and we’ll never make it out this shower, my love” he cautioned.

But the real intimacy is him helping you wash it off, every time. You aren’t allowed to touch your face and he’ll gladly sit there and towel wash it until you’re fresh and clean - peppering your cheeks in kisses with promises to paint it again.

Onyankopon - An ass man, so he enjoys seeing your silky skin sparkling with him. Ony loves a woman on the thicker side of the spectrum, shit he’s got enough juice to pour. Thighs work just as great and he finds them equally as sexy so it’s anyone's guess where his cum will land next. 

The handprints left behind leave a red tint on your ass which makes it a touch more swollen, adding to the already thick asset he’s come to adore. Your thighs quake each time his heavy palm connects to your plush thighs and though your eyes brim over with unshed tears, so does your pussy brim over with never ending slick.  

Ony’s calloused digit drags itself inside your warm walls and you repeatedly clench around him in hopes that he’ll drag them in a little further.

“Didn’t I tell you to use your words pretty? Tell me what you want and watch me make it happen,” he assures.

“I want y-you,” you stammered. 

Even though Ony is easygoing and super chill, you always found yourself flustered when it came to him. And the bedroom was no exception. Oftentimes you got nervous and stuttered at the simplest command.

Thankfully he doesn’t withhold from you much longer and sinks himself to the hilt with delicious ease. You both pause for a minute, the sensation too much and not enough all at once. His dick jumps at your moist walls as your pussy throbs in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size.

Driving himself inside you, Ony builds a nice rhythm, his hips slapping against yours as he moves to the ripple of your skin. He can’t help himself and his palm rains down on your ass for the seventh time; the thunderous crack loudly echoing throughout the quiet morning.

You whine as the unshed tears spill over into the sheets. Fingernails tightly clutching the fabric, your mouth hangs open and the wails get an octave higher.

Hands delving into your skin, he uses it for support and plunges into you repeatedly; hoping that his body can get you to tell him what his words can’t.

“Right there Ony, ohhhh my, right there please.”

And right there he’d stay, grounding his foot into the mattress for better support to make sure that you found satisfaction and that it’d envelop your heated body in all the ways his busy hands couldn’t. 

He won't last long like this. He rarely does when you crawl out of your shell and get so vocal with him. That, coupled with the way your pretty body reacts to his sends Onyankapon over the edge each time. 

He feels your body squeeze him tighter, hear your moans grow louder, and watch the sheets get wetter. Knowing that you’ve climaxed allows him to follow suit, pulling out of your warm walls to spray your ass cheeks with his seed. Through gritted teeth and breathy moans, Ony jerks himself to completion, watching with hooded eyes as they trickle down to your thick thighs.

Reiner - On your back, mostly because he LOVES doggy style. He absolutely refuses to cum in you, terrified of the fact that he could become a father. It’s almost like the Pavlov effect, his race to the finish line incomplete if he can’t finish on your back.

Reiner is a beefy guy and while he has no problem displaying his strength in the bedroom, your safety and comfort trumps all. In fact it’s you who has to initiate rough sex with him, agreeing upon a safe word that lets him know when he’s taken things too far. But it’s something about doggy style that lets him get as feral as he wants, all without hurting you in the process. Also, it gives him the perfect view: he can see your breasts slap against the bed with each thrust. 

“Squeeze em for me darling and twist each nipple until it gets too much.”

Renier didn’t come second in his overall scout training just because he was good at slicing titans. After all it was his strategic ability, amongst other things, to evaluate a situation for the long run all the while remaining collected. And it's safe to say, those qualities carried over into your sex life with Reiner expertly instructing you to touch and twist your body in the ways he know you love; which no doubt always led to your fireworks moment. 

Also, it gives him the perfect view: excitedly watching your pussy swallow him whole. Reiner was never one to explore kinks but he’s definitely discovered a few through you and size just so happens to be at the top of the list. Bodies pressed together, he’s entranced at the junction where you both meet, slowing down ever so slightly to take it all in. Eyes glossed over, he admires the way his dick is covered in your creamy goodness, your pussy molded to accept his impressive size as he pushes past your lips repeatedly - amazed each time he manages to fit the entirety of himself inside of you. 

While you relish the sweet sting at the way he pounds away at your cervix, you know crossing your legs in the days to come will become the ultimate challenge. 

“Ahhh fuck, you're in this for the long run, you know that right?” he pants. “You ain't going nowhere right? RIGHT?”

R-right Reiner, righ-”

Also, it gives him the perfect view: Reiner swells with pride when your tight asshole gladly accepts his thumb.

The first time he decided to jam his thumb down there wasn’t the most pleasant experience for you. But with lots of prep and planning, it’s come to be another erogenous zone, damn near a spot you can’t come without him using.

Thumb sitting to the hilt, he fiercely thrusts at both ends, his sausage-like fingers providing just enough size to topple you over. Teeth sinking into his lips until they bleed, it’s your release that sets off a chain reaction for Reiner with him pulling out of you to cover your back completely. 

Once everything calms down, he usually comes back with a warm towel to clean you up, thanking you with each drag of the cloth for sharing your body with him.

Armin - on your tummy. He’s another one that's deathly afraid of knocking you up, but for completely different reasons; therefore he tends to be the responsible one in regard to protective sex. 

Legs intertwined with one another, you both lay on your sides as Armin gently rocks his hips into yours. Hands wrapped tightly around your waist, your fingers dig into his shoulders for support.

Eyes trained on your face, he’s come to know what each contortion means and exactly where he should place his attention next, angling his hips upward to kiss your g-spot just right. Eyebrows drawn together, it’s the crinkling of your nose that lets him know that he’s found it. His glare never leaves you, watching attentively to what your features tell him you’ll need next.

“My flower - that's what you are to me. Something that adds beauty to this gloomy world of ours,” he admits in between thrusts.

Head dipping low, he takes a nipple into his mouth, grazing it ever so gently across his teeth. Moans tumble past your mouth, gibberish not too far behind on just how perceptive Armin is with your body. He raises your thigh higher to get deeper, your hips greedily meeting his as you chase your second high of the night.

“Much like the thorn that protects the rose, harming only those who wish to steal its beauty, I’ll protect you from the sins of the world before I dare let it taint you sweetheart.”

Pulling out, Armin’s fist flies to his lengthy member, squeezing and tugging until your tummy is drenched in the aftermath of how good you made him feel. 

So sweet, he’d make your tooth rot. Armin is much the same behind closed doors as he is on the field - his heart on full display of his sleeve. He always makes sure to tell you just how much you mean to him and you eat that shit up every time. His soft voice coupled with the gentle way he handles your body has heat rising to the surface of your skin, unable to meet his eyes. 

But that’s okay. He has time and stamina, but most of all patience. And he’ll gladly make love to you until you build up the courage to talk him through his release or beg for a moment's relief; whichever comes first.

Floch - in the ass. It's the place you save for someone really special, no? What better way to show your love to him than to let him fill your ass to the brim. After all it's the sacred hole you entrust to your partner and why are y’all even together if he can’t have you entirely? Prove your loyalty to him and see how he’ll worship your body in return. 

Face planted into the pillows and ass hiked high in the air, this position has become a salute of sorts. Much like the pledge Shinzou Wo Sasageyo, so do you promise to devote yourself to Floch. 

“It’s a mystical place that only the worthy should be allowed to enter,” he’d tell you. “Allow me the honor of experiencing you whole and see how I reward you in return,” he’d promise. 

You weren’t opposed to anal, but it did throw you for a loop the first time Floch suggested it. And while the thought did pique your interest on occasion, it’s Floch who’d convince you to go all in; and your body has been grateful ever since. 

Fingers vigorously rubbing against your clit, it helps add to the heated sensation deep in the pit of your belly. Your other hand gently pushes against Flochs stomach but all he does is lock your arm against your lower back as his dick drives into you with rigor.

“What you running for? The next time I find your hands anywhere but knuckle deep in that pussy, it’s gonna be a problem.”

One hand on your arm and the other curled tightly around your hair, Floch hones in on his point with harsh thrusts between each word, his pelvis knocking you off your knees and into the mattress. 

Even with his body pressed against yours, you don't make the mistake of stopping your ministrations, fingers intensely rubbing against your swollen nub. The feeling is otherworldly, but it doesn’t stop the pressure from being too much to handle as the build up rises almost uncomfortably.

Your thighs twitch and your eyes water; but it's all a boost to Flochs ego and so he thrusts deeper along your rigid walls, hoping to reach the spot that makes you go dizzy. Him knowing that he could get you to this level of pleasure only encourages him to continue on and that he does; instructing you to do the same.

Your brain eventually goes fuzzy, screaming as you squirt for what feels like a lifetime; drenching Floch and the sheets as soon as your body reaches its peak. Your climax sets Floch off on his own and he loudly groans as he shoots rope after rope of his thick cum into your ass.

Once done, it’s like a veil is lifted and he softens up almost instantly, delicately rubbing on your soft skin and cooing at how well you did for him. After removing himself, he goes into heavy aftercare - cleaning your body down, ice cold water on standby, and if you’re up for it, a few snacks before the eventual nap. He figured it’s the very least he could do after he’d wring out endless pleasure from your taut body.

“You did so good for daddy, sugar. Sleep tight so this gorgeous body can get the rest she needs.”