#doing the dishes for the rest of the night ))

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bad for Me — Cassian x Reader

Hi! I found this in my drafts and thought I’d share it while I’m finishing up the next part of Bluebird. I’m not sure why I never posted it 🤔maybe because I don’t think it’s very well written. Also, it seems I was using a prompt list for parts of dialogue in this, but I can’t for the life of me think which one it was 😅but anyway, enjoy an angsty piece with an angsty cliffhanger ending 💅🏻

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What the fuck is this?”

There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t shake with anger as you stormed your way into the sitting room. Anger that had built up and festered as the day had faded into night.

It was late. You’d waited up — waited for the telltale, arrogantly loud footsteps that had announced Cassian’s return. Where he’d been all day, you didn’t know nor care.

Sure enough, you found him in his usual chair by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey rested on the arm and his eyes closed. His fingers rubbed circles into his forehead — a positive sign that he was sporting a particularly gruelling headache.

Good. You would yell into his ear until he launched himself off one of the verandas and flew far, far away.

“What is this?” You repeated, chucking the item you held straight onto his lap.

His eyes slowly opened, and he glanced down impassively. “That’s a piece of paper. It’s useful for writing, or drawing, or—”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

It had surprised you, to say the least, to wake up to the folded note on your bedside table — in Cassian’s rough scrawl.

Find yourself a pretty little dress. Don’t make any plans for Friday next. We’re going dancing. Cassian.

“Explain.” You demanded, your tone clipped. Brash.

You didn’t want to go dancing with Cassian. Or walking, or running, or…anything.

It was bad enough living under the same roof as him. Working in the same circle as him. Bad enough having to be civil in the name of a unified front.

But you were professional. You could pretend to get along in front of people.

That didn’t mean you had to socialise with him, though.

With a sigh, he sat up straighter, brushing his hair back. “Rhys is having me play courtier again.”

Your head cocked to the side. “But you’re so terrible at it.”

The minuscule pause and tick of his jaw told you you’d landed a sure blow. A nervy spot, for Cassian, was certainly his abilities off the battlefield. Why Rhys insisted on sending the General on certain courtier expeditions was beyond your comprehension. And beyond Cassian’s, too, judging by how much he hated it.

You took no small amount of pleasure in that fact. A little payback for all the ways he’d torn you down over the years.

“Hilarious.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Whatever. Rhys is having me represent him at a fucking ball in the Hewn City and I need a plus-one, so — you’re coming.”

Your shoulders tensed. “Absolutely not. Ask somebody else.”

“There’s no way I’m putting Mor through that. And she’s in Vallahan, anyway.”

“So take Amren with you.”

“Be real, Y/N.”

You stared at him, clenching your jaw. You hated him. Hated him so, so much — loathed him — that you swore your veins turned to ice around him. Ever since you’d met him, and you’d taken one look at him and thought he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen. 

You’d sworn never to fall in love again, when you’d joined Rhysand’s Inner Circle — and seeing Cassian go through flings like you went through books only solidified that decision.

Hate was a good thing. Hate was something you could pour all your anger into and throw at the person that seeped into your thoughts a little too often.

And dish that hate out you may, but gods Cassian gave it back just as fiercely.

“Ask one of your many lovers.” You spat. “You have your cock in a different female every week. I can’t imagine you’re short on admirers.”

Cassian stretched his arms over his head. “And how many admirers do you have, Y/N?”

You tried your best not to flinch. To let him see the effect his words had on you was as bad as him thrusting a dagger into your gut. You willed yourself to give nothing away.

“Just find somebody else.” You said. “There’s not a fucking chance I’m going anywhere with you, of all people.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your feet and stalked from the room, leaving the note on his lap and your barbed words hanging heavy in the air.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Three nights later, your bedroom door burst open so abruptly that you dropped your book on your face.

“Pause your masturbation for five minutes.” Cassian’s deep, arrogant voice filled the room. “I have your dress.”

You sat up, your entire body tensing the way it always did in his presence. “What.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, and even in your considerably-sized bedroom, his domineering figure seemed to take up most of the space. He strode to the foot of your bed — and paused, just for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of your nightgown, your unbound hair.

You didn’t have a chance to remark before he straightened himself out and launched a flash of pale pink fabric at you.

“For the ball.” He said. “I checked your size and asked the shopkeeper to pick it out, so…if you don’t like it, I don’t really give a fuck.”

Your eyes fell down to the dress in your lap. Undeniably pretty, with its rosy hue and flaring skirt, thin straps and tiny, beaded jewels. A dress you would probably choose for yourself, if the occasion called for it.

You’d always loved clothes; dresses in particular. The intricacies of certain garments fascinated you, and the thought of creating your own made your heart skip a beat.

You thought you’d feel pretty in this dress; prettier than you usually felt, in your leathers or shirts and breeches. It wasn’t all that often that you had an occasion to dress up for.

But even this gown wouldn’t convince you to accept Cassian’s invitation. Or, rather, his order.

You pushed the dress away from you, though your fingers lingered within the soft fabric. “You’re absolutely fucking insane if you think I’m going to that ball with you.”

Cassian’s eyes fell to where your hands stroked the skirts, before climbing back up to meet yours. The bastard knew what you were feeling. He fucking knew.

“Oh, you so want to.” He smirked. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “So it’s a nice dress. I’m sure one of your many sexual escapades would appreciate it.”

The General’s head tilted, a few strands ripping from the loose knot his hair was tied into. “What is it about my sex life that bothers you so much?”

That you’re free to even have such a sex life without judgement. That you will never know what it’s like to be ostracised just for exploring such things. That you can fuck who you like with no repercussions. That it isn’t me you’re—

“Don���t mistake me for someone who gives a shit about anything you do.” You bit. “I just wouldn’t want such a nice dress to be wasted.”

“It won’t be. Because you’ll be wearing it to the ball on Friday.”

“No.” You threw the dress back at him. Picked your book back up. “I will not.”

“I’m going to hang it on the door.”

“Don’t bother.”

He ignored you, of course. The dress was hung. “We’ll be leaving at seven.”

“No we won’t.”

“We will.”

He pulled your bedroom door open, slipping out.

“Cassian?” You called, and there was a strong pause.

He poked his head back in. “What?”

“I’m not going to that damned ball with you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You were going to that damned ball with him.

High Lord’s orders, your ass. You’d kill Rhys for this.

The dress was a perfect fit, clinging to you like a second skin. And as you stared yourself down in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this pretty.

A long, long time ago. A night of passion. A night that would ultimately ruin your life.

You shook the past from your thoughts, straightening yourself out. It was imperative that you wore an unbreakable mask to the Hewn City. One that was steeled and sharp and revealed nothing of the person that lay beneath.

A thump fell on your bedroom door. “We’re going to be late.” Cassian barked.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from the mirror. The beads of your dress swished as you moved, and you focused on that, rather than the oaf that was currently trying to break into your room.

Just a few hours, and this would all be over.

“Simmer down, General.” You pulled the door open, stepping out. “I’m ready.”

Cassian stepped back. And stopped.

His hazel eyes slowly traced the length of your body. And despite the fact that he’d griped about being late, he took his sweet time drinking you in.

You waited for the snide remarks. For whatever fault he would surely find with your appearance. But when his eyes landed on your face again, you couldn’t puzzle out his expression.

“Good.” Was all he commented. “Let’s go.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

“Can you quit your fidgeting?”

Cassian scowled beside you, rolling his shoulders. “The collar on this thing is too tight.”

Your eyes travelled the sculpted length of his body — not for the first time — before you forced them away. He looked…undeniably breathtaking.

His comfort, you knew, was in leathers and body armour. Only on rare occasions like Starfall or Solstice did he swap his usual attire for more casual clothing like button-up shirts and trousers. You couldn’t recall a time you’d actually seen him decked in a tailored suit.

Until now.

The material was of deepest burgundy, outlining — accentuating — every last muscle it possibly could. There was something thrilling about the thought of so many deadly weapons hiding within that dashing attire. Something thrilling about knowing the Lord of Bloodshed walked beside you.

Right now, though, he was the fucking Lord of Complaining and Whining. You rolled your eyes, turning to him.

“What are you doing?” He watched as you pushed up onto the tips of your toes.

“Shutting you up.” You adjusted his collar, ignoring the feel of the backs of your fingers brushing his neck. “Better?”

“Suppose so.” He rolled those shoulders again. He wouldn’t be content until the suit was off him completely.

“Then let’s go.” You currently stood outside the towering gates of the Hewn City, the air always unpleasantly cold in these parts. You took a step forward, your dress swishing along the ground—

A warm, rough hand landed on your arm. Stopped you.

“What?” You glanced at Cassian over your shoulder.

“Rhys is expecting us to represent him.” He said, his hazel eyes strangely fierce. He always got that look when there was a task at hand. “I know we hate each other. And that’s more than fine. But just for tonight, can we pretend that we…don’t?”

You stared back at him pensively. A petty part of you wanted to shrug him off and scoff. To tell him that the unpleasantness with which he’d always approached you had long laid any potential alliance to waste.

But he was right — Rhys was counting on you both. And Rhys had done a lot for you since you’d turned up on his doorstep with barely a coin to your name. For him…for him, you would pretend to enjoy Cassian’s company.

“Whatever.” You shrugged the General’s touch off, turning back around. “Fine.”

It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You made sure, in your life, that you never had to spend any extended amount of time with Cassian. You tolerated him when you had to, and avoided him the rest of the time.

But you’d been for nights out in the same group, of course. And you’d forgotten how many females tended to flock to his side and fawn over him.

This ball was a sure reminder of that.

You’d barely stepped into the room and grabbed yourselves a drink before groups of females were glancing over and chatting excitedly, shrill giggles floating over to you. It was a mere five minutes before one of them mustered the nerve to ask him to dance, leaving you standing on your own.

It was during that first dance that you decided — you weren’t just going to be civil with Cassian.

You were going to be so sickeningly over the top that he’d have no chance of skulking off with any of those females and leaving you by yourself while he got his cock sucked. Not a chance. If they thought he’d been claimed by another member of Rhys’s Inner Circle, they’d back off; if a little begrudgingly.

So you watched. Waited for that dance to end. Rhys hadn’t given you any specific orders, besides attending on his behalf and keeping an ear out for any gossip. You drank your wine and enjoyed the music, and the second Cassian had an empty space before him, you dipped in before anybody else could.

It seemed to surprise him. He blinked at you, before straightening himself out. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you.” You grabbed his hand, fastening it on your waist.

“Rhys never said we had to dance together.”

“You want us to get along, Cassian?” The music began, tugging you into movement. “Then let’s get along.”

With the other couples beginning to dance around you, it left no other option than to follow suit and avoid causing a scene. Cassian’s jaw ticked, but he grabbed for your other hand and began to pull you around the dance floor with him. He was no seasoned dancer, by any means, but he displayed more skill than you’d expected.

Another thing you loved — dancing. Feeling like your feet were floating. Once you started dancing, you wanted to keep going and going into you fell off the world and tumbled into a blissful beyond. Nothing else mattered besides the music, the moves.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” Cassian commented, echoing the thoughts you’d had about him.

You shrugged, not misstepping once. “I was forced to take lessons as a girl.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“Why would you know? It’s not as though we like each other.”

He spun you around. Dipped you in his arms. “And why is that?”

Laughable, that he was the one to ask that question. “You tell me. You never tried.”

“Is that how it went?”

“It is.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. No other words were exchanged as one dance came to its end, and the music flowed into the next piece. But you didn’t need words to carry out your plan.

The second you caught a glimpse of hopeful, waiting females in your periphery, you pulled Cassian closer to you once more, your bodies flush against each other.

You may have felt a teensy bit ridiculous as you slipped your fingers into the strands of his hair and brushed it out of his face.

“I like your hair like this.” The words were heavy on your tongue. Not untrue, but…painful to say out loud.

Cass stared at you. “…thank you.”

But his thanks was lost in your satisfaction as the awaiting female disappeared from the corner of your eye, skulking off to sulk, no doubt. It was an effort not to smirk. Still, you righted yourself and continued with your plan.

You made certain that yours and Cassian’s bodies met in all the right places. Very close. Very dangerous.

Perfect — because there were still hopeful, simpering females watching. Waiting for you to walk away.

“Dance with me again.” Your breathy tone wasn’t entirely for show — nor was the hand you trailed down his arm for emphasis.

But Cassian frowned at you. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Your eyes glittered. “Nothing at all.”

He kept his gaze on you, following you into your second dance. You could have sworn you saw the slumping of many shoulders as you spun around the floor, Cassian’s hands like a burning brand on your skin.

You weren’t even really paying attention to him, simply following the steps mindlessly, until he spoke again.

“That isn’t how it went.” He said.

Your brow furrowed as you spun around. “What?”

In one swift move, he was pulling you against him, pressing your fronts together. “You said I never tried to know you. I refute that.”

You shrugged. “You treated me with the same contempt as the bastards I ran away from.”

“You treated me like I was dirt beneath your shoe and I didn’t deserve the time of day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. That simply was not true. He had always been cocky, and arrogant, and difficult. He acted as though mud wouldn’t stick to him, as though he could do what he liked, when he liked.

Suddenly, you didn’t want to be dancing with him anymore. Didn’t want his hands on you, simpering females or no.

He could go to hell.

“I never thought you didn’t deserve the time of day.” You contested tersely. “I—”

“I know.” He interrupted. Spun you around again. “I worked it out eventually.”

“Excuse me?”

“What your problem is.” Another dip.

You didn’t like this conversation — it’s direction. It would be easier to run away, to avoid it.

Easier, but cowardly.

“Pray, tell, General, what do you believe my problem is?” You stared at him.

He leaned down, just as the music faded. Poised his lips at your ear. “Jealousy.” He murmured, the word seeming deafeningly loud. “Sometimes the way you look at me makes me think that perhaps you don’t hate me that much.”

You knew your body stiffened between you. And as he pulled back and smirked, you also knew that he knew he’d won.

Whatever it was that glittered in his eyes was…knowledge. Knowing. An understanding. And that couldn’t mean anything good for you.

“Cassian?”

The two of you looked up upon the intrusion, only realising then that the music had stopped, and the dancing with it. A doe-eyed girl stared at the General with bright, sparkling hope in her eyes.

“I was hoping I might have the next dance.” She said.

You didn’t care anymore. You barely spared either of them a glance as you let go of Cassian and pushed out of his arms.

“He’s all yours.” You said.

And then you went to find some fresh air.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

“I’ll be sure to tell Rhys that you spent the evening skulking around on your own whilst I did all the posturing.”

You glanced at Cassian out of the corner of your eye. You weren’t interested in a verbal sparring match right now. The night air was pleasant on your skin, and you allowed it to cool your face, your neck. Allowed it to wash away the tension permanently coiled within your veins, if only for a few stolen moments.

“Go ahead”, was the only reply you offered.

Eyes pierced into you as you bathed yourself in the moonlight. Even with your own shut, you could sense Cassian watching, waiting. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anything beyond vague acknowledgement. Not now.

That seemed to fucking torture him.

“What—no smartass response?” He quipped.

“No, Cassian,” you sighed quietly. “No smartass response.”

He paused — seemed genuinely knocked silent for a moment — before he scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second. Even in silence, I know you’re up to something. That scheming brain of yours—”

“This scheming brain of mine is exhausted.”

As your eyes flew open, you caught the way he faltered, a slight misstep, the barest ruffling of his wings. For all he was the General of War, the Lord of Bloodshed, you’d also observed him to be a profoundly emotional person. And that emotion sometimes won as he fought to hide it.

This emotion…it was ire. Gone was the sharp-edged teasing. He found issue with your words, and his jaw gave a telltale tick.

“What could you possibly be exhausted by?” he scoffed. “You need only turn up looking like a fucking goddess and people respect you. You’re not some lowly, bastard-born brute. You don’t get sneered at simply for breathing—”

“You believe people respect me?”

“Of course they do!”

“You don’t.”

He stumbled — actually stumbled — and it was only that which alerted you to the way he’d been inching towards you. But his steps faltered, and he gaped at you like your revelation was entirely out of pocket. Like you had no reason to feel that.

“You have never respected me.” You held firm on your point, even if your voice was a tad quieter. “I fled a fucking viper’s den and ran to Rhysand’s court, hoping to find a sense of…of belonging. But you…” A soft, rueful chuckle shuddered out of you. “You have made it your mission to ensure that would not be the case.”

Slowly, Cassian’s brow pinched. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seeming to search for the right words. “That…isn’t how it went…”

“It is,” you shrugged. “You said I treated you like dirt — perhaps, unintentionally, I did. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism, because I never expected to flee absolute hell and come face-to-face with a male that I immediately wanted.”

There they were — the words out in the open. The truth wedged itself between you like a glaring, unmissable sign. You had never hated Cassian. Quite the opposite.

“I thought that I would never want another male in that way again.” You revealed hoarsely. “I thought I would live a life content with just…being me. With friends and nothing more. But that first day I met you, I walked in and I…I knew. I felt it.”

Cassian blinked, slowly shaking his head. “What…”

“And then you were so hostile, and I thought that maybe that was a good thing. That it would discourage me from feeling things. But I must be a fucking glutton for punishment, because no matter how cold you were towards me, my feelings only grew. And I tried…I tried so hard to shift them into hate, but I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to. I simply…can’t.”

The way he stared at you…so hardened, so severe…you couldn’t get a read on the reaction. But then…had you ever really been able to get a read on him?

“You were right…what you said about me being jealous,” you swallowed. “I was. I am—”

“That was…just a joke…I was just being a dick—”

“No,” you shook your head. “You were right. I was jealous in there, and I’m always jealous when people flirt with you. When I see you smile at them and joke with them and I shouldn’t wish it was me but I do. These feelings are constant. And that, Cassian…that is why I am exhausted. It’s exhausting for me to know you.”

Silence.

It should have been a relief, to have finally shifted such heavy feelings from your shoulders. But they were like tangible beings, fogging the air around you, wrapping you and Cassian up in a situation that was complicated and ugly and not at all ideal.

You knew he would do nothing with your feelings…except maybe sneer at them, laugh at them, throw them back in your face. You expected nothing from him. And the longer the silence went on, the more you began to wish that you could steal your confessions back. Shove them deep back into that narrow part of your heart that was still capable, somehow, of feeling such things.

You cleared your throat, tweaking the pretty, delicate gloves that covered your hands and forearms. “We should…head back inside.”

You breezed past him, suddenly desperate for the mindless chaos of the throne room. But you’d only managed a few steps forward before Cassian was gripping onto your arm and yanking you back.

Your dress fanned out as he spun you around, and a breath pushed out of you as he slammed you against the nearest wall, the cold brick biting into the fabric of your dress.

Before you could say anything, he was dipping down, his mouth sliding over yours.

Cassian kissed you deeply, punishingly, his lips moulding to yours perfectly. You gasped against him, and his tongue slid into your mouth to dance with yours, his rough, rugged taste invading you.

You’d thought about this moment a ludicrous amount. You’d imagined what the weight of his lips might be like, how perfectly his tongue might duel with yours. Nothing — no amount of imagining — could prepare you for the reality. The sense of rightness as his hand coasted up to clasp the back of your head, his fingers sinking into your hair. He gave a gentle tug, and you moaned in immediate response.

Air, it seemed, was not important. Not as you kissed him back feverishly, gripping at his shirt in an attempt to pull him as close against you as he could possibly get. The press of his hard body against yours was pleasure in itself. You nipped his lip, desperate for more, more, more, and he groaned in response.

This — this could very well spiral out of control, and you would welcome it. You wanted him to tear your clothes off and take you against this wall. You wanted him to make you feel like he wanted you, like it wasn’t exhausting to know him—

But there was suddenly emptiness and coldness. And it took your mind a moment to catch up and realise that he had pulled away.

Not far. Just enough to stare down at you, his deep hazel eyes flaring and furious. His panting breaths sawed out of him, landing directly on your lips and making you desperate for another taste. You tilted your head up—

He shook his head. Stepped back.

“No,” he murmured, voice gruff. “No. You…you are very bad for me.”

Your entire body turned cold at the words. Words that sliced at you, reminiscent of ones you’d heard before. “What?”

“You’re bad for me,” he repeated. “And I am very bad for you.”

“Cassian—”

“Don’t—don’t even say my name.”

With a swiftness that sent a gust of wind rustling the skirts of your dress, he turned, wings flaring and launching him into the star-speckled sky above you. You gaped at his retreating figure, flying off into the night, leaving you alone not only in that courtyard, but in the fucking Court of Nightmares.

Your mouth had turned dry, your skin cold. You lingered out there long after Cassian had flown off, waiting to see if he would come back. Pathetically hoping he would.

He did not.

And as you conceded, slipping your courtier mask back into place and turning to retreat back inside, his words rang like a deafening klaxon in your head.

You are very bad for me.

[greensagephase]

What If...? (Father's Day)

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: It’s Father's Day and you celebrate Miguel, the father of your son. You surprise him with an unexpected gift! Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: pre-established relationship; reader is married to Miguel; parents of a three year old; breast fondling; oral sex, male receiving; unprotected sex (pls be safe); p in v; light spanking; soft Miguel Masterlist Link to part 1!

MINORS PLS DO NOT READ

In the kitchen, you put away some dishes you washed earlier from breakfast. You take care of other little tasks around your kitchen, making sure it’s organized and cleaned for dinner time.

In the living room, Miguel is hanging picture frames since you recently took new family photos. You’re both taking the time to do some quick chores since Gabrielito is taking a nap in his room.

Among your tasks, you put away some leftover homemade tortilla chips from this morning.

Today is Father’s Day and of course, you’re spoiling Miguel just like he spoiled you for Mother’s Day. You cooked his favorite breakfast - red chilaquiles, two fried eggs, and fried beans topped with queso fresco - a typical Mexican dish that can be served both for breakfast and dinner, hence the tortilla chips.

With a smile, you recall this morning when you surprised Miguel with his favorite breakfast in bed. You bought him flowers because you wholeheartedly believe men also deserve to receive some, at least your man does, and then cuddled with him and Gabriel for a while.

It’s now around one in the afternoon and you’ve had lunch already. Miguel subtly told you earlier in the week that he wanted to spend the whole day at home with his family and do little tasks around the house, like hanging new picture frames. That’s why you decided to order takeout for lunch from one of Miguel’s favorite places, at least.

However, just because you plan to stay home all day doesn’t mean you didn’t plan something fun and special for the evening. Your plan is to cook another one of his favorite dishes for dinner and then end the day with a movie night.

You’ve bought Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks for the movie, and you have plans to make the living room even more cozy than it already is with blankets and pillows.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel’s drill from the living room, a smile forming on your face.

Your handy husband, gotta love him.

You grab two cold drinks from the fridge, one for Miguel and one for you before heading to the living room. You find Miguel standing in front of one of the walls with a pencil behind his ear as he drills into the wall. He looks so… You have to stop yourself from letting your thoughts wander but wow, he’s so handsome.

“I got you a drink,” you say approaching him.

Miguel turns, smiling at you. “You’re always thinking about me, preciosa. Gracias [precious, thank you],” he says, accepting your offering with appreciation. He opens it and takes a few sips. “Almost done here. ¿Como se mira [how does it look?]?” he asks, pointing his chin towards the wall.

You step closer and take a better look at the pictures of the three of you, smiling.

“It looks fantastic, corazón [heart]. Look at us,” you say softly as your eyes settle on one picture in particular. Miguel is holding Gabrielito, his arm wrapped protectively around his son. The other one? Around your waist in an equally protective manner. The three of you are smiling at the camera, a happy family.

Miguel steps behind you, quickly resting his head on top of yours, his arms finding their rightful place around your waist. “My whole life,” Miguel whispers sweetly. “In one picture alone.”

Your heart swells with love and tenderness. With a sigh, you place your hands on his arms.

“Our little family,” you whisper.

“Si, nuestra familia [yes, our family],” Miguel whispers. He moves his head and pecks your cheek from the side. “El amor de mi vida y mi hijo [the love of my life and my son].” He pecks your cheek again. Again. And again, until he has you giggling like a schoolgirl, his arms tightening around you. “Ven aquí, preciosa [come here, precious],” he murmurs against your lips. “Te amo [I love you].”

“Mm, I love you more,” you murmur back, eyes closed as you bask in Miguel’s attention.

“Impossible,” Miguel murmurs, his lips moving to your neck to continue their mission. “You’re my whole universe - the very air I breathe.”

With a low moan, you move your head aside to grant him more access.

“Good girl,” Miguel says, his mouth on your neck. He peppers your neck with more kisses before he gently bites the soft flesh, eliciting another sweet moan from you. “Dios, te amo mi reyna [God, I love you my queen].”

“I love you,” you reply. “Te amo, mi corazón [I love you, my heart].”

Miguel smiles and plants a few more kisses on your neck, creating an ache between his and your thighs. He pauses his kissing for a moment to look at the photograph, looking at the three of you. His arms tighten around you, even more somehow, protectively.

He can’t help but think about something. It’s been a few weeks since Mother’s Day, since that night when you both decided to start trying for a second baby. Ever since that night, the two of you have been going at it, which is not unusual, really. Your passion for each other has always been ignited, no matter the ups and downs of a normal, healthy marriage. Even when you both thought you’d find it difficult to make time as a couple with the arrival of your firstborn, it turned out that your baby boy only strengthened that passion - that love.

So, Miguel supposes your recent love making moments are not shocking, however he can’t deny that there’s an extra special layer because you’re trying for a second baby. Either way, he knows the two of you have been going at it and he can’t help but wonder if it’s happened yet, if his seed has taken and you’re now carrying another baby in the beautiful, gorgeous, goddess-like, and breathtaking body you have. The thought makes him giddy.

He really wants to be a dad of two, wants your little family to grow.

“Soon, mi amor [my love], there will be four of us there,” he whispers with hope and longing.

You smile at the thought. “Very soon. I have no doubt,” you whisper.

That makes Miguel grin. He kisses your neck again, his tongue darting out to taste your sweet skin. Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue running down your neck, moving to your shoulder. You lean back on him, pressing your ass to his groin area and immediately feeling his semi-hard cock.

“Miggy,” you whisper.

“Mhm?” Miguel runs his tongue upwards now.

“You’re growing hard.”

“I know, preciosa. Can’t help it,” he whispers. “I’ll stop if you want.” He begins to pull back, understanding you may not be in the mood and being respectful as always of your boundaries.

“No, come here,” you say holding him by his arms, attempting to stop him from moving away from you. Once you feel him pressed against you again, you lean back as much as possible, pressing your ass more firmly on his cock.

“Mmm, you want to, hermosa [beautiful]?” he asks pushing forward.

“Yes, I want to. I want - need you,” you reply realizing you’ve grown so wet just with his neck kisses and bites.

“Say that again,” Miguel whispers.

“I need you,” you whisper, making your husband groan softly.

“I need you, too, preciosa,” he whispers back, his mouth attaching to your neck again. His hands slide up from your waist to your breasts, cupping both of them with his large hands. He brings them closer together, squeezing gently and fondling them.

You whimper softly, laying your hands over his. “They’re a bit sensitive,” you whisper.

Miguel loosens up his grip. “’m sorry, princesa [princess]. Did I hurt you?” he asks, concerned. He begins to massage them even more gently, tenderly.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t worry. I’m just letting you know,” you reassure him. “They’ve been sensitive for a few days.”

“I’m sorry, baby, why didn’t you tell me?” Miguel asks, resting his chin on your shoulder, massaging your sensitive breasts. “I could’ve massaged them for you,” he says genuinely as he knows you find his large and warm hands helpful for these kinds of things - and other things, of course - but especially when you need a little massage, his hands are perfect for it.

“It hasn’t been bad, I promise,” you reply.

“Okay, but I still want to help you,” your sweet husband says, still massaging your tender breasts. “We can stop - we can focus on this, preciosa. I don’t want you hurting or feeling discomfort. Plus, you’ve been feeling fatigued, too. Maybe you ought to rest a bit, mi reyna [my queen].”

“N-no,” you say, shaking your head. “Please? I want to.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“M’kay, but I’ll be extra gentle with your breasts.” Miguel gives a gentle squeeze, feeling your hardened nipples through your top and bralette. He lowers his hands and pulls your top up by the hem. You aid him by lifting your arms, knowing it’s only the beginning.

In a matter of seconds, you’re both naked in the living room, pressed against each other kissing. Miguel’s hands fondle your ass while your hands glide up and down his back, your nails digging slightly into his skin, leaving goosebumps behind. You chuckle while kissing him, getting an idea. Miguel pulls back, wondering what you’re chuckling about. He soon finds out the reason when you deliver a gentle but firm spank to his ass.

His eyebrows raise, a smirk on his lips. “Oye, oye,” he says in a feigned offended tone. “Spanking your husband’s ass?”

“What about it?” you ask nonchalantly, grinning up at him.

Miguel hums, smirking. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between you. “I love when you use that tone,” he whispers leaning down and taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you.

You return the kiss, your hands gliding to his hips. You give them a squeeze before you slide one of your hands between your bodies with a clear intention. Not even a second later, Miguel lets out a soft growl as he feels your fingers wrap around his thick cock.

Smiling, you pump his cock gently, swiping your thumb over the engorged tip. You let out a soft hum of approval when you feel pre-cum. “So hard, baby,” you whisper as your hand wraps around it more firmly.

“Mierda, preciosa [shit, precious],” Miguel groans, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he feels your fingers’ ministrations.

“I want to please you,” you whisper.

You push Miguel’s arms off you and get down on your knees, still holding his cock in your hand.

“Fuck, preciosa,” he says, looking down at you, the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your hand doing nothing to help his now throbbing member. “You look so pretty for me.”

His words encourage you - fuel you. You lean forward and lick the tip, wiping clean the new droplet of precum, staining your tongue.

“Ah - fuck,” Miguel lets out. “Your teasing licks. You’re gonna end me, mi reyna.”

You chuckle before licking again. “You like that, baby?” You don’t need to ask that, you know Miguel does but you still love to hear him say it.

“Yes - I do - You know I do.”

“I like to hear that, corazón,” you say before you take his cock into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, coating it with your saliva.

“Mi-erdaa- fuck- fuck - preciosa,” Miguel grunts.

You take more of him, struggling to take his size even years later because he’s so big. You slide back, only leaving the tip in to look at the rest of his cock for a second. It’s so damn big sometimes you’re still surprised at the fact that you can take him both in your mouth and pussy.

You lean forward, taking more of Miguel. Your mouth gets stuffed with your husband's cock, stretching your mouth. You hollow your cheeks out, causing Miguel to groan, before you begin to bop your head, settling into a rhythm that you know he loves.

“Fu- ayy - amor [love] - Esa boquita [that little mouth]- you're killing me”

You look up at him, making Miguel moan. “You look so pretty, preciosa. Look at those pretty eyes.” He cups your face with one hand, caressing your cheek tenderly. You notice the way his stomach and legs flex, fighting back the urge to move his hips. Tapping his thigh, you let him know he may do it.

He bites his bottom lip, understanding, before he holds your head still. He always does that, not to keep you still for his own need but to ensure he doesn't hurt you, it's the last thing he ever wants to do.

He groans as he pushes forward, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He stays like that for a few seconds, eyes closed and appreciating the way your mouth feels around him before he slides out, only leaving the tip in for a second before he pushes back in. He repeats his actions for a few moments, grunting as he feels your sweet, small mouth struggle to take him in but still trying nonetheless.

“That’s enough, preciosa, or I'm gonna cum in your mouth,” he says pulling out gently. You both look at his cock, shining with your saliva and his precum.

You lick your lips and lean forward again before taking the tip in your mouth again, sucking it gently.

“Ahhh- ahh- fuckkkk!!”

You moan, hearing Miguel's voice.

“Mmm,” you murmur, closing your eyes as you suck on his tip. You swirl your tongue greedily, trying to get more reactions from him because his grunts and whimpers always turn you on. Unfortunately, Miguel cups your face with both his hands, holding your head still. You whine, opening your mouth and reluctantly releasing him. “Miggyyy.”

“Shh,” he replies. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth if you keep going with that little mouth of yours.” He helps you up to your feet, always the gentleman.

“I want to please you,” you start, pouting. “It’s Father’s Day.”

That makes Miguel’s gaze soften. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you. “You want to give me a blow job for Father’s Day?” he whispers against your cheek before kissing it.

“Mhmmm.”

“How sweet, preciosa.” He kisses your cheek again, moving to your lips to kiss them. “So sweet - so sweet, my little pretty wife. You’re the sweetest.” He kisses your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, and chin. Your entire face is getting peppered with kisses.

“Migs, I’m the one that’s supposed to spoil you today,” you murmur, making him laugh.

“Who says you’re not spoiling me? Getting to kiss you is one of the best gifts I could receive,” he says continuing to kiss you. “But if you’re thinking in terms of this,” he pauses and motions to the state you’re both in - naked, aroused, and with the need to make love. “You know what I would love more than a blow job?” He leans close to your ear.

You nod, whimpering as he squeezes your ass cheeks with both hands. “Yea- yeah - mhmm.”

“Why don’t I show you instead?” he murmurs, tugging on your earlobe gently with his teeth.

“That sounds - good to me,” you whisper, your pussy soaked and needy for your husband’s cock.

So he does.

Miguel grabs a blanket from one of the couches and spreads it on the living room floor. He wastes no time to bring you to your knees, positioning himself behind you and pushing your torso down, leaving your ass high in the air.

He smacks your ass cheek firmly, eliciting a whimper from you and leaving a sting on your skin.

“Gonna take this pussy from the back, mi amor [my love],” Miguel mumbles, his cock hard and needy, ready to be buried deep, deep inside you. He pushes your legs apart with his knee, pressing behind you and rubbing his cock against your heat. He groans loudly, feeling how wet you are. “Mierda [shit] - you’re drenched, princesita [little princess]. You’re so eager for my cock?” he asks, moving his hips to rub his length up and down your slit, making you whine with need. “So eager to get fucked from behind - to get this pretty pussy filled with my cum?

“Yes - yes - I want it, Miggy,” you reply eagerly, moving your body to get more friction. You rub yourself against his body, pressing your ass to his hips. The movement earns you another spank.

“So needy, princesita - rubbing yourself on me like that,” Miguel murmurs, squeezing your ass cheek with his large hand. He lands another spank on your ass as he rubs against you, coating his cock with your sleek. “Good girl,” he praises, loving how soaked and needy you are. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy, baby, gonna make you feel good, okay?”

You hum in response, biting your bottom lip and feeling more than ready to take your husband’s big cock as he continues to rub the tip along your slit. He makes you gasp in pleasure when he suddenly slips in, pushing the tip with no trouble thanks to how wet you are. Your legs tremble as he slips in, burying himself into your heat while groaning and praising you.

“Good girl - so fucking wet for me - so ready - you’re so ready for me,” he says, his words coming in pauses to groan as he feels your walls stretch around his cock, accommodating to his size. “Mierda, princesa - so fucking tight, squeezing my cock so good.” He spanks you again, watching the way your ass recoils from it. “Look at this pretty ass - all mine, yeah, baby?”

“Fuck - yes -ahh!” you start but moan when you feel him push all the way in, his tip reaching that sweet spot of yours. “Miguel-”

“I know princesa, I’m all the way in - buried deep inside you. You feel so good, so good for me,” he says groaning, your walls clenching around him. “Gonna fill you with my cum, princesa - we’re gonna have another baby, yes?”

“Mhmm, another baby, yes,” you coo.

“Good girl, you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant with my baby again,” he says pulling back and leaving only the tip in. “So pretty carrying my baby, princesa, so fucking beautiful.” He’s barely done talking when he slams right in, pushing his heavy cock deep inside you. He relishes on the way your legs tense, the way you moan beneath him as he begins to thrust into you, quickly finding his rhythm.

“Fu-ckkk - Mig- ye-ah - don’t stop,” you beg, whining as he thrusts into you, over and over again, stretching your walls deliciously with his fat cock.

“Don't stop, baby?” Miguel asks as he grabs your ass with both hands to support himself, thrusting into you without faltering.

“Don't - pleas-e -ahh- ahh - please- fuc- me-!” you manage to get out, moaning and whimpering, feeling your husband's fingers dig into your soft flesh just the right way. He keeps hitting that sweet spot, making you a moaning mess beneath him. You curse in pleasure as his thrusts grow heavier and stronger, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, adding stimulation.

And God, Miguel's grunts as he slides in and out of your pussy is making you hazy - he sounds so pretty, so needy for you.

“Fuck,” Miguel groans as he leans on you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he keeps thrusting. He pulls your upper body up so your back is pressed to his chest before he presses kisses and little bites to your shoulder. He then slowly moves his hand down, reaching between your thighs to play with your clit, making you arch against him. He flicks your clit and rubs his thumb over it, making it his mission to make you orgasm before he does.

Thrust after thrust, your sweet moans and whimpers reach Miguel's ears, motivating him. He knows you're close when your walls start squeezing his cock, trying to milk him dry before he's even climaxed.

“Cum for me, preciosa,” he grunts out as his hips snap into your ass over and over again until he has you shaking beneath him and screaming his name.

Panting and whimpering from your climax, Miguel pulls out of you and quickly, but gently, turns you on your back. You whine as soon as he slips out, feeling empty, but Miguel takes care of it. He spreads your legs and immediately settles between them, slipping back into you, needing you.

You both moan as soon as he bottoms out and you waste no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, knowing, even in your hazy state, why he switched positions.

“Fuc- ‘m gonna - gonna - mierda - gonna cum inside you, preciosa,” he says in between groans as he thrusts into you fast and hard, chasing his own climax to fill you with hot seed.

His thrusts become sloppier and sloppier until he eventually goes still, moaning. A second later, you feel his cock twitch a few times before he fills you with his hot, thick cum, painting your walls white. You moan, your legs tightening around him as you get filled deliciously.

Watching your blissful face, Miguel lowers himself on top of you, wrapping his arms around protectively. You both pant, riding out your highs together. You kiss his head gently, whimpering as he thrusts a few more times, letting your hungry pussy milk him until he’s spent and you’re full of him. He stays buried inside you as you both recover from your highs, both of you wanting to let his seed take since you’re trying for a second baby.

A few minutes later, your sweet husband takes care of you during after care. When you feel like you can walk again, you both shower quickly to get properly cleaned up before Gabriel wakes up from his nap.

Once he does, the three of you chill until it’s time to make dinner. You keep Miguel out of the kitchen even though he keeps popping up with your son, offering to help but you stand your ground and keep him out in order to really surprise him.

You succeed, despite his attempts to help, and your sweet husband, not surprisingly, thanks you with lots of kisses and words of love, which you one hundred percent reciprocate.

Before you know it, it’s movie time. You give Miguel’s last surprise of the day by revealing your plans for the evening, including the basket full of Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks. You also give him a proper gift, something you saw him eyeing a few weeks ago at the store but didn’t buy because he said he had an old one - a set of tools. You’re happy with your purchase when you see the way Miguel’s eyes lit up with excitement while he opens it. You have no doubt he’s already thinking about all the ways he’s going to use it before he’s even done opening it.

Once that’s done, you get Miguel on the couch and pamper him by throwing a blanket over him and Gabriel, who insists on cuddling with his “daddy.” You place the basket with snacks near him and finally start the movie.

The three of you are having a great time, or at least you think so, Gabrielito doesn’t seem too interested in the movie but more on playing with his dad’s hands before he asks to play with his toys on the ground.

Halfway through the movie, you begin to feel sick all of a sudden. You try to push past it, thinking maybe you’ve eaten too many snacks since Miguel has been sharing everything with you. It grows worse by the minute, nausea hitting you suddenly. That’s when you decide it’s better to head to the bathroom, just in case.

“I'll be right back,” you tell Miguel standing up and hurrying, looking off.

“Preciosa, what's wrong? Do you feel sick?” Miguel asks, quickly checking in on Gabrielito and making sure he's safe before following after you.

He reaches the bathroom in seconds where he finds you already vomiting, his concern going through the roof. He immediately reaches you, helping you as much as he can. He rubs your back gently, sticking by you all the way until you wash your mouth and face, trying to catch your breath.

You sigh softly as he helps dry your face, gentle as always.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Do you feel better? Is the nausea gone?” he asks, brows knitted with concern.

You nod, swallowing saliva and wincing a bit. “Yeah, much better now. I just started feeling sick out of nowhere.”

Miguel’s head tilts to the side, your words sinking in.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before you connect the dots. Miguel comes to the same conclusion because he suddenly smiles warmly and happily at you before he places a hand on your tummy.

“Mi reyna [my queen],” he coos.

You smile at him, knowing.

“No wonder,” you say as Miguel pulls you into an embrace. “Sore breasts, nausea, and I’ve been feeling a bit tired the last few days.”

Miguel kisses your forehead. “We’re expecting, mi preciosa [my precious],” he whispers. “We’re having a second baby.”

Hearing his words makes it suddenly feel real and you can’t help but let out a happy noise of content, throwing your arms around him. “I’m pregnant!” you say hugging your husband, who hugs you tight to him.

“You’re pregnant, mi amor [my love]. You're pregnant - I can't believe it. I mean, I do, we've been working on it,” Miguel says with a playful smile, making you laugh. “But it happened so fast. I'm so happy right now!” Miguel picks you up, hugging you. “I want to go outside and yell it to the whole world that we're having a second baby. Dios [God],” Miguel says, kissing your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats in between kisses. “Te amo [I love you].”

“I love you,” you whisper, caressing the curls at the back of his head. “I love you so much.”

“Yo a ti más, mi preciosa [I love you more, my precious],” Miguel whispers pulling back to kiss your lips, lovingly and tenderly. He breaks the kiss a few seconds later and holds you in his arms, the two of you standing in the bathroom. “Gracias, hermosa, gracias [thank you, beautiful, thank you]. You've given me the best gift for Father's Day.”

You chuckle softly, hugging him. “It was an unexpected gift.”

“Perfect way to end the day, hermosa.” Miguel smiles and kisses your forehead again. “God, I'm already thinking of all the things I'm gonna hang up in the new nursery using my new tool set.”

You laugh and pull back. “One step at a time, corazón. It's still early, but if all goes well, in a few months you'll be doing all of that.”

“Happily,” he replies. “You know I'll be there every step. I'll rub your feet and carry you to the bed. I'll do your nails, I'll do anything and everything,” Miguel promises, peppering your face with kisses, caressing your back.

You smile, knowing they're not empty promises.

You spend a few more moments in the bathroom before you return to the living room where you cuddle with your son, happy and excited that in a few months, your family will gain one new member.

A/N: Meant to post this earlier and then life happened, but it's still Father's Day for me so, happy Father's Day to my husband Miguel!! Thank you for reading!!

-Alondra ❤️

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 5 | honesty

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, angst, smut. language, religious imagery, mentions of child abuse, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blood, death/loss, oral (f receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 6.2k

a/n: every time i edited this i ended up adding like 100 words oops! also didn’t realize it but i was listening to forwards beckon rebound while writing this and highly recommend it def gives the vibes of this chapter

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

Putting away the last few dishes, you excitedly await Choso’s arrival, your apartment finally cleaned and the soft glow of a lilac-scented candle illuminating the space. Given the state he had seen it in the past few times he spent the night, you wanted to ensure a good impression of your home, striving to make it a place he felt welcome. A soft knock at your door startles you before you swing it open, met with a familiar face smiling down at you, his eyes returned to their normal dark hue. A wave of relief courses through your body as you move to welcome him.

“I got your favorite,” he grins, holding out a plastic bag you immediately recognize from the ramen place down the street.

Stepping inside he kicks off his shoes, still clad in his scrubs from work. The black fabric does little to hide his body, and you can’t help but be drawn to him as your arms wrap around his waist, tracing the muscles of his back beneath your fingers.

“Thank you, Cho,” you hum, nuzzling into his chest, the scent of his cologne and something sterile hanging on him. Grabbing the bag it feels too light, glancing inside to see there’s only one container in it, confusion spreading across your features. “Aren’t you gonna have anything?”

Pulling you into a hug, he rests his chin atop your head. “I ate at work,” he responds. Not technically a lie, he thinks - knowing he would be seeing you tonight, he made a preemptive stop to the blood bank, putting any risk of tempting fate aside, determined to make tonight perfect. “Now, we can stay in, not have to go anywhere - no risk of you hurting yourself again,” he smirks, “and just enjoy each other’s company.”

Adjusting in his hold, you rise to your toes to kiss him. As your lips meet his, a metallic taste hangs in his mouth; yet, it’s quickly brushed aside as his hands make their way to your thighs, picking you up with ease as he carries you and your dinner to the couch.

Digging into your meal, you suddenly feel his gaze on you. “It’s not polite to stare, you know,” you tease through a mouthful of noodles.

A cheeky grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he continues observing you, his dark eyes trailing your body. “You’re just cute when you eat,” he admits.

Despite the blush creeping across your cheeks, you rummage through the blankets surrounding you, tossing the remote at him. “Why don’t you pick something out to watch so you don’t have to ogle me like your next meal,” you chuckle.

An awkward laugh leaves Choso’s throat as he adjusts - shit, was he really staring at you like that? - clicking through channels before landing on some romcom neither of you had heard of, one destined to be ironically bad and perfect static noise, allowing you to turn your thoughts down and simply enjoy being with one another.

Upon finishing your dinner, Choso finds himself resting his head on your lap as your fingers absentmindedly play with his hair, now let down as it cascades across your thighs. The movie turns into comfortable background noise as you loosely braid and unbraid his dark locks, neither of you feeling pressured to speak, at ease in each other’s tranquil presence.

The feeling of fingertips tracing small circles along your inner thigh pulls you from your relaxed mental reprieve. Muscles moving on their own, he draws languid, imprecise shapes into you, his palm cool as he begins placing soft kisses along your skin, leaving trails of gentle tingles in their wake. Something in him needs to be closer to you, buried under your flesh, become a part of you and you him.

“Choso,” you purr from above him, carding his hair through your fingers, “what’re you doin’ over there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hums teasingly. As his lips continue their path, he feels electric, hot. A pang of guilt rises in his stomach, sensing his body's desire to consume you, to feed from you. He thought the blood bag at the hospital was sufficient to avoid this, yet he finds himself trembling, heart pounding in his ears, palms becoming sweaty. Shoving down his internal disgust at the thought of hurting you, he decides to settle for the next best thing.

You can feel his smile before he shifts his weight, planting him on his knees in front of you. Kneading into the supple flesh of your legs, he holds them apart slightly as he looks up at you. His dark eyes hold a new fire behind them, one of carnal need.

His lips trace a path, ever so slowly, towards your core, heat beginning to build as his gaze never sways from yours. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs into your skin, each word punctuated by pecks.

Opening your mouth to respond, any sound you began to make suddenly transforms into a moan as his mouth makes contact with your clothed heat through the thin material of your shorts.

“Can I taste you, please?” he whispers from beneath you. A soft “mhm” leaves your throat in affirmation, Choso taking the invitation to tug your shorts down, pulling your panties to the side. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he mutters, eyes locked onto your pussy, glistening with desire.

“Cho,” you whine, heat flushing your cheeks in embarrassment.

His eyes flit up to yours for a moment, a smirk forming across his features. “Sorry, just couldn’t help myself.”

With that, he reorients his attention between your legs. He licks a slow stripe up your folds, a deep groan vibrating against your skin as his eyes roll back.

Holy fuck, now this is heaven. Choso immediately loses himself in you, overcome in lust. He can’t imagine a sweeter taste, a better high, than this.

His tongue circles your clit, his body following a primal instinct, his mind crafted for you, each neuron programmed for your pleasure. And pleasure it brings. His mouth covers your bud, sucking gently as he flicks over it. A soft moan of his name leaves your lips as your hands grip firmly into his hair, undoing the loose braids that remained in it. Holding him in place, you buck your hips up, desperate for more. Nails gently scratching at his scalp, he releases a heavenly breath.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans into you, “taste s’good.”

His words barely register in your mind, too lost in the bliss he’s bringing you as you continue grinding against his face. Adjusting his position slightly, his tongue swirls your entrance, teasing.

“Please, Cho,” the words hitting your ears before you realize you’ve said them, allowing yourself to willingly give in to him, surrendering to his desires.

Yet, it’s still not enough, his hunger unsatiated. Kneeling at the altar of his new god, he demands to be perceived, recognized for his servitude. His voice is low as he growls out the demand, the plea. “Let me see you.”

Opening your eyes, foggy in pleasure, you struggle to focus on him as your head weakly tilts downward. Your thoughts are sluggish, consumed only with the man between your legs. His gaze locks on yours, his pupils blown wide, barely noticeable in contrast to their normal black hue.

At the sight of you, your eyes glossed over, jaw slack, cheeks flushed, he loses any shred of control. If this desire is heaven or hell, he doesn’t care, so long as you’re the one guiding him there.

Bringing his palm over to rest on your hip, his thumb draws rough circles over your clit, the cold of his skin sending shockwaves through your body. His actions are imprecise, driven purely by lust, as your flutter closed in ecstasy, tightness pulling at your core.

“Hey, eyes on me,” Choso’s deep voice pulls you back to reality momentarily, the contrasting softness of his words making your head spin. Complying immediately, you lazily return your focus to him. “That's my girl,” he hums into you.

Finally plunging his tongue into you, a broken moan echoes through your apartment, your thoughts too clouded to discern if it was you or him. Knuckles turning white from your grip on his hair, you bring him impossibly closer. “C-Choso,” you whimper, the cord inside you pulling tighter and tighter.

He needs this. He needs you. He needs more, more, more. The words are spilling out, hot breath against your skin, his greed getting the better of him. “Cum for me.”

You snap. Your legs shake as euphoria consumes your body, warm like the heat of the sun despite the wintery grip on your thighs. His actions never slow as he fervently tongues your cunt, driving you further and further into the depths of ecstasy with each move of his muscles.

To Choso, the whimpers of his name as you finish are a symphony only angels could conjure, the gates of heaven opening to meet him. As he messily laps up your essence, he swears he sees the clouds parting for him.

Coming down from your high, you finally return to your senses. Realizing how tightly you held onto him, you release your hands from his hair and slowly blink. Rising from his knees, he leans above you, placing a tender kiss to your lips, the taste of you lingering on him. Despite the noticeable tent forming under his pants from his erection, he needs nothing else, finally feeling satiated, full.

“Can I repay the favor?” your voice wavers, breathy. He simply smiles, rubbing his nose against yours as your arms weakly wrap around his body.

“This was all I wanted, no favor to repay,” he whispers against your lips before pressing his against them. Adoration radiates from his body, the static around him temporarily quieted in satisfaction.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Exhaustion settles over your body as Choso returns his head in your lap, the TV softly playing in the background despite the lack of attention you both pay to it. Running your fingers through his hair, you find yourself once again at peace.

Stirring beneath you, he moves to sit up slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Mind if I go change into something a bit more comfortable?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Baby, you know we’ve seen each other naked before, right? You don’t have to leave to do that.”

His cheeks blush slightly, still unaccustomed to the intimacy he’s found with you - more than just physical, there was an intrinsic emotional connection you shared, one that made him stumble over his words and his feelings, making his heart flutter in a mix of nervousness and excitement when he thinks of you. “I know,” he sheepishly grins.

Dramatically rolling your eyes, you giggle. “If you insist,” you tease, “bathroom is down the hall on the right.”

Placing another peck to your lips, he stands and moves down the hall. He knows he’s been here before, but the night of your first date his mind was too clouded to have formed a solid map; truthfully, most of his memories blended together at this point, the only thing consistently bookending them was your presence. Reaching the first door, he turns the handle.

“Wait-” you call, but it’s too late.

The door swings open, revealing another bedroom - a twin-sized mattress, dark blue sheets, superhero posters covering the walls. A thin layer of dust covers everything, swirling from the sudden gust of the unexpected entrance.

“Choso,” you begin, “let me explain.”

Rising from the couch, you grab his hand and guide him back to his seat next to you. Confusion is clear on his face, yet an openness lies behind his gaze. Taking in an uneven breath, you hold his hand in yours.

“Do you remember the night we met, in the hospital?”

He silently nods in response. Nervousness courses through your veins, fingers anxiously kneading into his palms.

“I told you I was Megumi’s guardian. And it’s true, I am, but…it’s more complicated than that.”

Gently squeezing your hand, the coolness of his touch steadies you.

“I…when our mom died, I wanted to take care of him, I tried to get custody of him. But I was too young, and I couldn’t prove he’d have a good home, and I - shit - I just wanted him to be safe. So he got adopted by someone who said he’d keep him close, who’d let me stay his legal guardian. And he did okay, at first; he wasn’t the perfect father but at least he was trying. But then he started drinking, disappearing all night. He got angry, leaving us feeling like we had to tiptoe around a bomb with its lit fuse slowly dwindling, like one wrong step would make it explode. And somewhere along the way, things changed when I started standing up for myself, and for Megumi. I guess one day he decided he had enough, that he didn’t just not love me anymore, but he hated me.”

A dark chuckle escapes your throat. “And I mean, how fucked up is that? How do you hate a kid who’s just trying their best to keep their little brother safe?” Sighing, you continue. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, anyways. He wanted to hurt me, and I didn’t let him. But eventually, he figured out the one thing he could do to get to me, the one person he could use.”

Your chest is tight, unable to catch your breath, your ribs closing in on the dread inside you, a cage of your memories, your regret. “I guess Megumi says he’s nice when they’re alone, but I don’t think that kid would know cruelty if it hit him in the face. But of course, the minute I’m around, he’s…different. And I haven’t been able to prove it, but I know it, that goddamn piece of shit…” you trail off, eyes stinging. “He hurts him.”

Choso leans forward, silently wiping tears you hadn’t even realized were falling from your cheeks. His hands remain softly on your jaw, holding your gaze with his.

“I kept this room for him, waiting for the day I got full custody, but every time I try the court says I’m not ready, and I just -” you sniffle, “-I just want him to be safe.”

Wrapping his arms around you he pulls you into a hug as sobs rack your body. The weight of your guilt had been a burden your entire life, one you had always carried alone, and despite the heaviness of your confession, your body feels lighter to have finally shared it with someone.

Your tears continue to fall, dampening Choso’s shoulder as he holds you. His hands gently stroke your hair, your body pressed into his.

“We’ll keep him safe,” he whispers, “I promise.”

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As summer turns to fall, the leaves falling overhead as cold winds blow through the air, your love for Choso continues to grow, a warm spot within your heart. Megumi’s never-ending enthusiasm expands to his classes, excitedly sharing his new knowledge with you when he sees you every weekend. Joyous babbles of the words he learned or reciting multiplication tables fills your time together, interspersed with pleas to see his summer best friend, Yuji. Fortunately, Yuji’s eagerness is similarly conveyed to his older brother.

During one of your lunchtime walks with Choso, a weekly routine you had grown to cherish as you stroll hand in hand through downtown, your eyes land on a flier posted inside the window of an unfamiliar storefront. The bold phrase ‘Halloween Haunted Hayride’ catches your attention as you pause, tugging his hand as you plant your feet to read further.

“Wanna go?” he asks, sensing your interest as your gaze lingers over the words.

A smile graces your lips at his attentiveness, the softness in his voice making your heart flutter. “I was thinking maybe we could bring the boys?”

“I think that sounds like a lovely idea,” he smiles, placing a kiss to the top of your head before continuing your path through the city.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

The night is shockingly cold, even for late October. The wind cuts through you, a shiver racking your body as your arms cross in an attempt to protect your warmth. Choso instinctively wraps himself around you as he rubs your shoulder, pulling you into him. The roughness of his jean jacket suddenly makes contact with your shoulders as he drapes it over you, leaving him in an unbuttoned flannel and black t-shirt, the cotton soft as his arm rests behind your back.

Rumbles of the tractor fills the air, the only sound besides Megumi and Yuji’s soft giggles from where they sit across from you. As the vehicle carries you further and further into the woods, the two boys pluck small pieces of hay from the bales beneath them, throwing them at each other before they’re lost into the darkness beyond the lights illuminating the trailer. When the tractor finally halts, you take your cue to begin the haunted trail.

Hopping off the back, the gravel crackles under your shoes as you begin your path out of the woods. As the sound of the engine fades into the distance, you’re left alone with nothing but the weak flashlights the tour company provided you with to guide you.

Suddenly, you feel small fingers grab your hand; glancing down, you see Megumi, eyes wide, staring into the darkness ahead. “I’m here if you get scared,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. Smiling, you grab onto Choso’s hand who repeats the action with Yuji, the four of you walking in unison forward.

All of a sudden, a man in zombie makeup hobbles from between the trees, his arms outstretched, with a low groan of, “Braaaaaaiiinnnss.” A nervous laugh escapes your throat as he stands threateningly in place.

“Is this their idea of ‘haunting’?” Choso leans over to whisper into your ear with a chuckle. Beside you, Megumi begins weakly trembling, tightening his hold on your hand.

Continuing your path, a loud scream tears through the trees as a woman, covered in a ghastly white dress with ghoulishly pale skin, runs towards you. Her shrieks invoke a deep terror, yet Choso’s presence is enough to reassure you. It’s not real, you remember.

As she continues her course past you, your breathing steadies. Glancing down to check on your younger brother, your palm suddenly feels empty as the cold breeze fills it in his absence. Shit. Dread fills your body as your gaze flickers across the space in front of you, thoughts racing in panic. Where did he go? What if he got hurt? It was your fault for letting him run off like this, for even bringing him here.

Looking to Choso, whose attention is focused on teasing Yuji through the boy’s retorts of, “I’m not even scared! You are!”, the man senses the fear in your eyes as he turns to face you.

“Megumi’s gone,” you manage to choke out as you scan the woods.

Immediately Choso switches into action, calling Megumi’s name into the emptiness ahead. As if on cue, the flashlight in your hand dies, curtaining you in the blackness of night. Terror builds in your bones as the reality of the situation sets in, desperately searching through the foliage off the path.

Yuji’s high-pitched voice cuts through the silence. “He’s over there,” he states, pointing into the darkness. Squinting your eyes, you still find yourself unable to make out anything besides vague shapes of trees against the nighttime sky.

“Shit,” Choso mutters, eyes following the direction of Yuji’s attention.

He suddenly takes off into the woods, only traceable by the sound of rustling leaves under his boots as he moves through the heaped piles off the trail. Megumi’s fearful cry is heard as the sound of branches breaking echoes through the silence.

A moment passes.

Two.

Your heart races in your chest as Yuji walks over to you, grabbing your hand. “They’re okay,” he reassures, feet planted firmly in place next to you.

“How do you know that, Yuji?” you ask, still unable to make out anything happening in the twilight surrounding you.

“I can see them,” Yuji responds easily, as though it was second nature. “Can’t you?”

Before you can question him further, Choso returns to your line of sight, carrying Megumi in his arms. Your brother’s eyes are wide in terror, tears streaming down his cheeks. The moment he’s set down he runs to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, “I got scared.”

Stroking his hair, your heart finally settles. He’s safe. “It’s okay, buddy,” you hum, “you’re okay.”

Yuji’s small arms wrap around Megumi from behind, holding both of you in a silent hug. Following his lead, Choso walks to you, tension hanging in his body as he joins the peace of the moment.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Given the emotional shakeup of the evening, you willingly acquiesce to the boys’ requests for a sleepover. Settling them into your living room, blankets and pillows being collected to build “the most amazing, awesome, best fort of all time,” you and Choso finally collapse into bed. Resting your head on his chest, his fingers stroke your hair.

You want to feel calm, you want to slip into the comfortable respite of sleep, but something in your heart tugs you out of it.

“Choso?” you whisper tentatively.

“Mhm?”

“What happened, in the woods?”

“Oh,” he sighs, “Megumi had managed to climb up one of the trees a ways off the path - he was pretty high up there too, that little monkey,” he chuckles. “The branch he was on wasn’t strong enough to hold him, I guess, so it broke. Luckily I was there, though, and caught him as he was falling.”

A moment of silence falls as you process his words. “Choso?”

“Yeah?”

“How were you able to see him in the dark?”

His body tenses at your question. Shit, did Yuji say something to you? A nervous chuckle leaves his throat. “My night vision is just good, I guess.” Against his chest, you feel his heart rate pick up, beating against his ribs so hard he worries it might erupt. Each thrum sends another shockwave of dread through him, his blood running cold.

Adjusting your position, you sit up to look him in the eyes. “I know you’re lying.” Panic flashes across his features as his gaze covers your face, an uncertainty shared between the two of you. “Choso,” you prod, “please, just tell me the truth.”

Biting down on his lip, he inhales, momentarily breaking eye contact as he anxiously turns away. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” His eyes darken as they meet yours again, unwavering. “Because it’ll scare you.”

Reaching up, you place a gentle hand on his face, fingers tracing his jaw. “Nothing you say will scare me.”

“You can’t know that,” he sighs, worry building. It should scare you, he thinks. You should run, hide, be anywhere but here with him. He’s dangerous, a threat, a weapon. All he’s done is hurt people, and he can’t do that to you, he won’t. But how long can he fight against his very nature?

Leaning up, you place a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling his body shake beneath yours. Something about him looks so small, so terrified, as his eyes follow yours. A reassuring smile forms across your features. “I swear to you, for as long as I live, that I will never be scared of you.”

His eyebrows furrow in nervousness. Is he really about to do this? Is he really about to give up everything, break the one rule he swore to uphold, for you? For love?

Fuck, does he love you? Thinking back over the past few months all he can feel is warmth, a comfort he had never known before. Every moment with you felt like the sunshine after rain, the first warm day after a cold, lonely winter. The darkness in his life lifted the day he met you - is he ready to risk returning to that? If he doesn’t tell you, will he be forsaken to night anyways?

“Okay,” he sighs, his voice wavering, “but just…promise to listen to the whole thing, okay?”

“I promise,” you grin softly.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Choso Kamo had never been exceptional.

From the day he was born, he knew his place in the world, one of servitude, of submission. His job was to care for others, his younger siblings, and to provide for his family. The burden of labor was placed on his shoulders, one he carried willingly so long as his sacrifice ensured his brothers’ wellbeing.

So he worked. Everyday he woke, fed his family, completed the innumerable tasks assigned to him at whatever factory would take him, and returned home. Day in and day out, his bones worn down in the same way as his soul. Yet, he persisted: not for himself, no, but for those he loved.

But love could only protect them for so long.

When he returned home in the dead of night from another grueling shift, one that blended into the countless others, a joyless monotony, his exhaustion clouded his recognition of the smoke on the horizon. When he saw the flames overtaking his home, his neighborhood, his family, it was as though the tiredness inside him vanished, replaced with resolution, a determination, to save them.

Without a second thought he ran into the burning building, flames pricking at his flesh as he tore through the rooms, desperate for any sign of life. The first bedroom, Kechizu’s, was empty, as was the small kitchen off the main hallway. Continuing through the house, smoke began filling his lungs as he pushed open the other bedroom door, Eso’s, again empty.

Running through the hallways, a collapsing beam suddenly struck his face as it cracked under the weight of his home. The rough wood collided with his nose as it broke, every breath now a mix of smoke and blood as it spilled down his chin. Yet, he persisted, the pain only a momentary falter in his path.

Entering the final bedroom, one belonging to his parents, a rough choke racked his frame. His body began being consumed by the heat, his soul melting into it. As his eyes scanned the space, they landed on the bed, four forms resting in it. He cried out their names, begging them to rise, but there was no life left in this space, no hope.

Unable to will himself to move, he stood firm, feet planted upon the crackling floorboards. He vowed to die there, with his family. With those he loved.

As his vision went black, the flames overtaking him, he felt a sudden hand grab him as his body finally collapsed.

Awaking under the light of the moon, Choso felt the cool grass beneath him as raindrops slowly covered his body. He was alive?

“You shouldn’t have gone in there,” a gruff voice sounded from above him.

In the haze of the fire, Choso’s eyes struggled to focus on the man above him. As he tried to move his arms, pain shot across his body, the smell of burning flesh hitting his nose. Was it his?

“You’re hurt,” the man next to him stated, emotionless.

The only sound Choso could utter in response was a guttural groan, the smoke still uncleared from his lungs as blood pooled against his lips.

“Do you want me to save you?”

“W-what?” Choso managed to choke out.

The stranger knelt to his level, his pink hair haloed by the moon. An angel?

“Do you want me to save you?” he repeated.

Choso’s vision finally cleared enough to focus on him, gaze loosely scanning his face. His red eyes glowed under the moonlight. No - a devil.

“Why?” Choso coughed.

The man laughed, a dark, haunting sound against the crackling flames in the distance. “Don’t think I’m rewarding your stupidity, fool.” He leaned over, face hovering above Choso’s. “You were strong, and I admire that. So for the final time, I’ll ask, do you want me to save you?”

The adrenaline finally began to wear off as Choso’s eyes flickered, threatening to close for the final time. His body ached, every muscle burned in agony. Did he want to be saved? Images of his brothers flashed through his thoughts, their smiles as they gathered around the table. Would they want him to be saved? Through the fog clouding his mind, a weak “Yes,” left his lips through a strained exhale.

With his admission, the man above him chuckled. “Good,” he remarked, his teeth catching the light of the moon. With ease he found Choso’s weak pulse against the scorched skin of his neck, his fangs piercing the pale skin in one swift motion.

A pained scream echoed through the night air as rain continued to fall, extinguishing the flames of Choso’s home and of his soul.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Disbelief clouds your mind as his words settle. “No,” is all you can mutter, the word repeating in the empty silence, unable to meet Choso’s gaze from where he sits across from you on your bed.

“I know it’s a lot,” he whispers, holding your hands in his. “And I understand if you’re afraid of me, or want me to leave, or hate me, or-”

“No,” you restate. “I don’t…I don’t hate you, Choso. And I don’t want you to leave.”

He lets out a sigh of relief as he stirs uneasily next to you. “Are you…afraid of me?”

Taking in a shaky breath, you pause for a moment. After everything he’s told you, you should be scared, his very existence proof of the nightmares you’ve heard since you were young, the cautionary tales ones you brushed off as fantasy. But now, you hold their truth in your palm, your fingers intertwined. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to feel the fear they warrant.

“No.” Glancing up, your eyes lock with his. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, the rich darkness in them free of malice, of malevolence. The only emotion his soul exudes is tenderness, a promise of protection.

He would have died for those he loved. He would do it again, for you.

Reaching a hand up, you gently stroke his cheek as tears begin to spill over his lashes. Wiping them away with your thumb, you sense the worry they carried, now free as it leaves his body. Pulling him into your embrace, he begins to sob.

“I - fuck - I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he chokes.

Wrapping your arms around him, your fingers gently stroke his back.

“You are never going to lose me,” you promise, “ever.”

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As the knowledge of his secret settles, you find a tentative peace in your heart. Resting against his chest you allow yourself to sleep in his arms, the beating of his heart echoing through your ears - proof of his existence, of his humanity.

The following morning, Yuji and Megumi return to their respective homes, granting you and Choso privacy in your apartment. Sitting next to you on the couch, he once again takes your hands in his.

“I know I dumped a lot of information on you last night, and I imagine you must have questions, so if you want to ask them, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

His honesty, his desire to be completely forthcoming with you, puts you at ease. Locking eyes with him, you build your resolve, prepared for anything.

“So…” you begin, “you’re a vampire?” An easy enough question to start with.

Choso simply nods, a sufficient affirmation.

“And you drink blood?”

“Yes. But only from blood bags,” he explains.

Understanding clicks into place as you connect the pieces you’d been presented. “Is that why you’re a doctor?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, “I’m a doctor because I wanted to help people, to save them.” Because he couldn’t save his brothers. “But it is certainly a convenience to have access to the blood bank.”

“Have you ever drank blood from a living person?”

“Yes.”

Stunned for a moment, you fight back the apprehension within you. You expected this to be his answer - after all, he couldn’t have been a doctor forever, it’s what he needed to survive, and how could you fault him for simply persevering?

“When was the last time?”

“About two months ago.”

But shit, you didn’t expect it to be so recent. Nervousness builds as your hands begin to shake.

“But I didn’t want to,” he continues explaining. “She was a patient of mine, and it was her dying wish.”

You sigh, steadying yourself. “Have you ever thought about drinking my blood?”

“Yes.” He pauses, heat flushing his cheeks. “But I wouldn’t.”

Something about the openness of his admission, the shyness and fear in the way he closes off his shoulders in your silence, affirms the truth behind his words. Squeezing his hands, you continue.

“How old are you, really?”

He hesitates for a moment, trying to gather the recollections of his life, the broken frames that hang his memories through the hallways of his mind. “150, give or take.”

“You don’t know how old you are?”

He shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “After so many years I guess I just stopped counting”

“Oh,” you trail off. It truly isn’t his age that holds your attention, but rather the fact that his life had blurred to such an extent. Had he not felt celebrated? Had he ever felt remembered? Despite the influx of information, your thoughts continue racing with more questions. Glancing up at him, there’s a gentle fear behind his gaze, a quiet worry. Your body moves to comfort him before your mind can catch up. Tracing your fingertips across the bridge of his nose, his skin wrinkles under the lightness of his touch. “So, your tattoo…” you trail off, piecing together the brief glimpses he gave you into his past.

“It’s a reminder,” he hums, his tone laced with sorrow. His mind involuntarily conjures up memories, the crack of wood, the pain of his nose breaking, blood trickling down his chin, before he shakes them off. “Becoming like this, it heals you, but I wanted some way to remember what I did it all for - who I did it all for.”

“So, the man who turned you, is that your older brother?”

“Yes,” he begins, “Sukuna. But like I said, we aren’t related by blood.”

“Wait…” you think aloud, “so does that mean…Yuji is like you?”

“Yes,” he states, “w-well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

His eyebrows crease as he looks away, struggling to find the words. “It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated,” you chuckle, “as if this whole thing isn’t ‘complicated.’”

A small laugh leaves Choso’s throat as he returns his gaze to you, the heaviness of the moment temporarily relieved. Even through something like this, an impossible situation, the immovable boulder, things are still, somehow, easy.

“So,” you continue, “is that why you refuse to eat the food I make?”

“Mhm…it’s not that I don’t like food, it’s just that I don’t really have to eat it, and it kind of all tastes like dirt,” he sheepishly admits.

“Now I know you didn’t just tell me my cooking tastes like dirt,” you tease, a smile returning to your features. Before he can retort, your mind continues to wander. “Wait,” you blurt, “but you go outside, I’ve seen you during the day!”

A boyish giggle escapes Choso as the air lightens. “You don’t seriously believe I can’t go out in the sun, do you?”

“What else am I supposed to think, it’s not like there’s a Youtube tutorial for how vampires work!”

Rolling his eyes, Choso laughs. “You watch too many movies.”

Playfully hitting his arm, you allow yourself to feel the joy of the moment, the comfort it brings. Holding yourself close to him, you place a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Cho,” you hum.

“You deserved the truth.”

His hand makes its way to your face, his cool fingertips gently stroking your cheek. Leaning forward, your eyes flutter closed as your lips meet his. The kiss is slow, deliberate, tender, everything Choso strives to be, for you.

For the first time in his life, he feels truly at peace. His greatest secret, one he swore to protect, is now revealed, the cave of his heart unveiled through the stone that had sealed it; yet, it is not empty, but full of pure, unadulterated, love.

Pulling away for a moment, you rest your forehead on his as your eyes meet.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

The last word comes out softly, barely a whisper, lending itself as a silent promise. “Forever.”

As your lips meet his, you allow yourself to meld into his infinity, becoming a part of his past, present, and future. A peace settles over you, plagued only for a moment by a small seed of doubt planted in the very back corner of your mind. As its roots begin to grow, you find yourself wondering: How long will you have with him? Will your lifetime be enough?

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

[boundinparchment]

Lullaby

Sunday/Female Reader and their child, in which Sunday sings a lullaby. Domestic fluff. On AO3 here.

It was a rare experience to hear Sunday’s voice croon and bless the walls of your home.  

Every now and again, he would hum, lost in his own thoughts as he went about this or that.  An unconscious echo of a life you only knew from stories and hearsay, shared in quiet moments of the night when nostalgia moved from wistful to fuel an existential angst only he could pull himself out of.

But singing was a sacred act, full of purpose and soul, conscious in what it sought to weave in both musician and audience.  It came from a fountain of emotion that threatened to overflow if not directed just right.

Much like crying.

You’d spent the last twelve hours managing the tears and screams and fever of the little one in the other room, drifting off to sleep when you could.  Sunday returned home from a meeting with Elio and found you in the kitchen, half-asleep with your hands covered in dish soap.  Your husband was gone for months at a time prior to the change in your lives but now, thankfully, he was never far from reach.

Somehow, he’d managed to get you into bed, although you didn’t recall more than the kiss to your forehead and brushing of his wings against your cheeks.  Through the walls, you could feel the vibrations of someone vocalizing but you couldn’t make out more than that.  Blinking and accepting the fact that you’d slept longer than you intended, you rose and shuffled quietly out of the master bedroom and padded down the hall, where a sliver of light cut through the darkness.  You nudged the door open with your toe, careful of the creaking hinge.

Sunday kept his rhythm with the gentle rocking of the child in his arms, his footsteps just as silent as yours were as he paced the length of the nursery.  

The tune, familiar now that you could hear it properly, was one you were well-acquainted with.  He’d composed it himself after a rather restless week of sleep, when you’d both been dismayed to realize your child was a night owl and kept you up all night with flips and kicks.  Every chance he had, he whispered and sang to both of you, and his voice was the only thing that soothed the constant restlessness inside you.

At times, you thought perhaps it was a byproduct of the empathy that Halovians could extend one another.  It would be impossible to know for another few years, of course, given the human genetics in the mix.

And truthfully, what did it matter?

Your child, born of both of you, loved their father’s voice.  Few things brought you greater joy, especially when all previous memories of the act were tainted.

Eventually, the cries turned to whimpers and then gentle fussing.  Sunday pressed his lips to a tiny forehead, both an act of love and a dutiful check of the fever, and his face relaxed.  You watched, head tilted as you rested your weary body against the wall and watched your husband expertly navigate the latches of the crib and arrange the monitor just so.

He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he turned and found you there.  His face bore traces of exhaustion and you held out a hand, beckoning him close.  Sunday stepped closer and took it, pulling you close.

“The fever is broken, finally.  That should be the worst of it,” he whispered, kissing your temple.  “Be sure to rest, my love; pushing yourself will do more harm.”

“You should take your own advice, too,” you replied, angling your head to capture his lips.  “I know Elio is eager to have you in the field again.  You can’t afford to get sick.”

“There’s so much to be done.”

You felt a tickle at the base of your skull that reminded you of the way a dam buckled under pressure.  Resignation stirred in your shoulders and you kissed Sunday again, gentle and coaxing.  Always taking up what needed to be finished.  Never resting until every item on the list was entirely crossed off.

“It can wait,” you replied.  “We’ll talk about everything once you’ve slept.”

You parted long enough to plea silently, earnestly, with gold and indigo eyes.  The sensations faded, replaced with a content hum, the way air felt in spring.  

Full of promise for an even better tomorrow.

[iliketangerines]

Hihi hii I'm the anon that asked about the pregnancy request. It's simple and short really since I don't have much in mind; Reader x Shang Tsung wherein the reader has been sexually active since pregnancy and one night he wakes up to her crying as she's grinding onto him, doe-eyed and begging to be fucked

in the early hours

a/n: he definitely has a silver tongue

pairing: shang tsung x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), pregnancy kink, pussyeating, overstimulation

Shang Tsung helps you walk to your room after dinner, pulling back the covers and settling you into bed with your heavily pregnant belly

your hands rub at your belly, and you groan as you finally settle back down, finally able to lay down and get the weight of your baby off your back

Shang Tsung gives you a worried frown, asking if everything was okay, and you wave him off, saying that you’re fine, just that even sitting had your whole body aching

he presses his lips together and rests a hand on your stomach, looking down and telling the baby to stop giving you so much trouble

you chuckle, and the sorcerer smiles, content that he was able to make you laugh despite your exhaustion

he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he says he’s going to clean up the dishes and asking if you need anything, but you just tell him to go clean-up and that you’ll be fine after a few minutes of laying down

Shang Tsung nods, sneaking in one more kiss to make you giggle, and then he goes back to the kitchens to clean everything up

wiping down the tables and washing the dishes and then throwing away the scraps of food that would spoil overnight, he looks at the kitchen, feeling proud of himself

he comes back to the room and finds you coming out of the bathroom, and rushes over to you and holds onto your hand, leading you back to the bed

you nearly fall into the bed, absolutely exhausted and fall asleep quickly, and Shang Tsung smiles and rubs his thumb over your cheek before going to freshen himself up as well to go to bed

it’s a rather quick process, and he slides into the covers next to you, hearing your soft deep breaths as you sleep and letting it lull him to sleep

his nights are usually dreamless and peaceful, but he can hear something in the room, slowly rousing him from the dredges of sleep

his vision clears, seeing you cry swollen tears and your hand stuck down your bottoms, and he can hear you whining and whimpering and begging for him

Shang Tsung turns onto his side and finds you staring back at him, and he raises his hand to rub a thumb across your cheeks and says that of course he will

he makes his way up, sleep slipping off his figure as he rubs his eyes and starts to wake up, and he shuffles his way down, sliding off your underwear and spreading your legs wide

he moves your hand away from yourself, and he spreads your swollen folds with his own slender fingers

you’re soaking wet, pussy clenching around nothing, looking for something to fill it up, and you whine and weakly moan out his name to get him to do anything

he hums and presses his thumb into your clit, watching how your thighs slightly jolt and how you let out a loud keen at the feeling

Shang Tsung hums, smirking as he rubs slow circles into your clit and listens to how you let out choked moans and whimpers

lowering himself, he scoots up close to you, using his free arm to hook under and around your thigh to keep you close to him

moving his hand downward to slip his fingers into your warm heat, Shang Tsung presses forward and uses his tongue to lick firmly against your swollen clit

you gasp at the stretch, moaning out his name, and Shang Tsung grins and thrusts his fingers in and out of you slowly, listening to how your pussy makes a lewd sound every time he pushes in

your cunt drools onto the bed, staining the sheets, but Shang Tsung can’t really care, not when you taste and sound so sweet underneath his practiced tongue

he wraps his lips around your clit, flicking it back and forth, and he closes his eyes to really savor the taste of you

you gasp and whine, thighs twitching in his hold as you cum, pussy clenching down on him fingers

he keeps thrusting them into you, letting you ride out your first orgasm of the night on them, and his tongue presses firmly against your clit

ever since you had gotten pregnant, you had become so sensitive and reactive to his touch, and you had also gotten very very needy for Shang Tsung

he wasn’t complaining, not at all, and he loved how much you needed him, how you would always find him because your own fingers were never enough

under his fingers, you were so pliant and sweet, and he guided you through every up and down, as he pleasured you and punished you

it fueled his ego and also became quite the good stress release whenever his experiments failed or weren’t ready to perform just yet

Shang Tsung hums, making you let out a mewl of pleasure as the vibrations travel through you and sends pleasure shooting through your nerves and fill your head with a hazy fog, and he just continues to hum and moan into your clit

you let out a little pants and gasps as his tongue continues to flick and lap against you, his fingers thrusting in and out of you and curling up to find your little sweet spot

a low moan falls from your throat as you grip onto the sheets and fist them

Shang Tsung massages the spot with his fingers, drawing a strangled gasp out of you, and your pussy clenches down on him, trying to draw him in deeper

he just continues his steady pace, feeling his head cloud with something as he continues to lap at you with his tongue

you’re so sweet to him, so beautiful like this as he makes you cum on his tongue and fingers, and he truly could stay like this forever to keep drawing those whines out of you

it’s a gorgeous sound, one that fills his ears just right and has him wanting more

his hips grind into the mattress, making him groan into your cunt, and he fucks his fingers into you faster, wanting to taste your cum again

your thighs squeeze around your head, muffling any sound he can hear from you, but your whimpers still ring clear in his head as you cum on his tongue again

he needs more, desperately so, and he ruts against the mattress like a feral animal as he sucks and laps at your pussy

he can hear you let out a sob of pleasure, and Shang Tsung simply drags you closer to press himself closer to your cunt, as if the taste would intensify

his tongue brings you to orgasm after orgasm, and it fills his mouth with the clean taste of you

he can feel his own orgasm coming upon him, how pleasure curls in his stomach and his head buzzes nicely at the taste of you

your thighs are plush, warm, and thick around his head, and by the gods, he loves it when you squeeze them around him

he can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter as he feels you tremble and shake around him, so close to your high once again

Shang Tsung whimpers into your cunt, hips grinding down into the mattress as his own cum spills onto the sheets and stains them

he doesn’t waste a drop of yours however, tongue lapping at you as he drinks it all in, and your thighs loosen around his head as you sigh and mumble out something

the sorcerer lifts his head up, slipping his fingers out of you, and he swirls his fingers around them, moaning at the taste

you look up at him, and he looks at the tear-streaks down your face and your swollen lips from biting them too hard, and he comes up, minding your stomach, to give you a soft kiss

your whines fill his ears clearly once more as you taste yourself on his tongue, and he pulls away and pets your hair with his clean hand, telling you to rest

you mumble out something, but your eyes already droop down and soon sleep takes you into its grasp

Shang Tsung chuckles and goes to clean himself and you up

he would change the sheets tomorrow

[mx-pastelwriting]

Workaholic

Viktor x GN! Reader

Summary: Pulling Viktor away from his work.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Viktor sleep deprived, Arguing with Jayce, Eepy Viktor, Cleaning Viktor's Place, Bit Sad

Walking into the messied lab holding Viktor's lunch tightly, not wanting to drop it, having brought some for Jayce had made the bag heavier.

Laying eyes upon the two boys hard at work, Viktor tinkering away at a machine and Jayce working on paperwork. Jayce is the first to look up, smiling at you, giving his lunch, receiving a "Thank you" in exchange before walking over to your boyfriend's workspace.

Placing the bag on the desk gaining his attention, leaned on the edge of the desk, meeting Viktor's tired eyes. Smiling weakly at you, struggling to keep his eyes open, sunken cheeks and red eyes that surrounded his amber ones stared back at you.

Not living together, you hadn't been aware of his sleeping patterns; the only reassurance of him getting rest was from staying over at his place and saying goodbye before going home telling him to rest.

“You look exhausted. How long have you been working?” You ask, worried, cupping his cheek. “I’m fine, I just need a nap.” Even with his calm dismissiveness, you persisted. Of course, this not being the first time.

“Let’s go, you need rest,” you stated, pushing away from the desk grabbing the bag of food. “Hold on, wait, we were close to a breakthrough,” Jayce's voice sounds from behind.

Turning to the man watching as he stepped back at the look on your face, “Look at him, Jayce,” responding in a low voice. Having had this conversation with Jayce before, Viktor never knew when to stop working. Jayce knew that; it was his job to make sure Viktor stepped away.

“We talked about this, no more long hours.” whispering with a voice filled with anger, "You can pick it up another day, I'm taking him home to rest," emphasizing the word rest. Not waiting for Jayce to respond, you turn to see Viktor standing, struggling to hold himself with his cane.

Moving to aid, supporting his body with a hand warped around his waist with an arm resting above your shoulder. Sounds from the cane hitting the ground filled the silence as neither of you spoke, arriving at Viktor’s.

Opening the door, having a spare, meeting the same clutteredness as the lab. Setting down the food as you walked through the apartment, passing by notes that covered every surface.

Entering the dim bedroom setting him down slowly on the blanket-covered bed, when staying over cuddled close to Viktor, the many blankets felt like heaven, but for him, it was a necessity, his body still not used to Piltover's cold nights.

Quickly undressing Viktor before tucking him in, taking only a second for sleep to take effect. Tracing the outline of his sleeping figure, thinking of the complaints of soreness that were to come in the morning.

Looking away, scanning the room, seeing what's changed since you've been there, little changed, only becoming more disorganized. Taking the opportunity to clean up his space before you join him in bed, starting by picking up clothes scattered about. Cleaning up tripping hazards and the small amount of dishes placed atop his desk.

Walking into the kitchen seeing the few dishes in the sink, noticing them to be the same ones from a week ago, when you had last visited. Realizing Viktor had been living off of the lunches and late dinner dates in the lab you brought him, thinking about it any further broke your heart even more.

Just as you started washing, Viktor's voice called out for you, setting the dishes back in the sink before washing off the soap from your hands. Making a mental note to finish in the morning, knowing how worked away his body from the lab, having no strength nor time to do it himself.

In the short distance to the bedroom, you undressed, making crawling into bed cuddling Viktor more comfortable, laying atop his chest wrapped warmly in his arms and blankets, having the rhythm of his heart and lungs taking in air to lull you to sleep.

Remember to eat and drink water today! <3

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @scrunkalicious @sophieissleepy

[commander-krios]

We Shine In The Dark

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: f!Tav/Astarion Rating: Teen Summary: After securing his freedom with Cazador's death, Astarion can finally make plans for his future. Plans that may include a certain do-gooder cleric. Words: 2962 Additional Tags: Post-Cazador Fight, Spawn Astarion, Love Confessions, Cleric Tav, Human Tav, Cleric of Lathander

Read on AO3

The night didn’t hold the usual foreboding.

He sat on the roof of the Elfsong Tavern, his legs dangling precariously over the edge, a bottle of the finest wine he could scrounge up from the chest in their room clutched in his hand. He’d barely drunk any of it, the taste of the alcohol doing little when his entire mouth tasted like ash and blood.

Cazador’s blood.

Closing his eyes, Astarion was met with a fathomless darkness and he sat for a moment, the sounds of the night on the air: the strum of a lyre from the street below, laughter from the comedy show in the Elfsong's private room, the jangle of coin from patrons as they paid for their food and drink. Across the street, a couple was in the throes of passion, the sounds of their love making loud to his ears while the drunks walking down the street wouldn’t hear a thing over the roar of their chatter.

Wagon wheels on cobblestone, the hiss of a knife as it left its sheath, the clatter of silverware on dishes… Baldur’s Gate was full of life all around him, some enjoying the warmer than usual evening, others taking advantage of unsuspecting revelers. Life moved ever on even as his entire world had come to a standstill.

His eyes opened to the sight of his hand resting against his thigh, pale against the ebony fabric. Blood had dried beneath his nails, the only sign left that a fight had taken place. He’d scrubbed the rest of it from his body as soon as they’d returned from Cazador’s mansion, the stink of death lingering despite the floral soap and hot water.

No matter how much he washed, preened, and scrubbed his skin raw, he still felt unclean. With shaking hands, he lifted the bottle to his lips, letting the cool wine numb him with each swallow. 

A creak of roof tiles and a shuffle of footsteps was all it took before he was no longer alone. She was sitting there beside him, mimicking his posture, hands curling over the edge of the roof as she leaned forward, glancing down at the drunk people singing while they continued down the street. For a brief moment, Astarion feared she would tumble to her death. How easy it would be for her to disappear over the edge, plummet to the ground and bash her head against the stones.

If his heart still beat, he was certain it would be hammering in his chest now.

“You’re going to break your neck if you keep leaning like that.” 

She glanced at him, hazel eyes reflecting the little light from the lamps below. A small grin curled at the corners of her mouth and even in the pitchest black of night, even without the darkvision provided to him thanks to his condition, Astarion could easily count the freckles that dusted her nose. He knew for certain that wasn't the only place christened with the birthmarks.

“Astarion, is that concern I hear?”

He sniffed, not bothering to hide his smile. “Only for my next meal, darling.”

Luz shifted closer, the heat of her body a balm for his aching soul. Or whatever was left of it. She bumped his leg with her foot, a soft laugh floating around them. “You can’t pretend with me. There's softness in you, Astarion.”

“No, there isn't, darling.” She rolled her eyes, but Astarion couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. She was so beautiful, the silver glow of moonlight reflecting blue off of her dark hair, the copper ends almost like fire with the way it climbed into the darkness surrounding her, an angel sent to save him from not only Cazador, but from himself. He never thought much past how she could protect him from his master, how she could help him get revenge and freedom in one fell swoop, how she benefited him. 

And her selflessness went so far as to not even care when he’d admitted that. She was still willing to be his friend, despite everything he tried to manipulate her into. 

He knew, without a doubt, that the thing crawling inside of him, trying to tear him apart from the inside out, was love. He loved her.

And he’d never deserve her.

“Are you alright?” Her voice broke him out of his mind and he blinked in confusion. “You were staring off into space again.”

“Thinking. About… everything.”

She flashed a smile in his direction, soft and kind. Kinder than any he'd seen in centuries. “If you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen. Or if not me, I'm sure one of the others would be willing to step in.”

She was trying to put him at ease and despite the flare of irritation that coiled in his gut, he was grateful for it. Because it was her and dammit, this was getting too complicated for him. What did he do with these sorts of feelings?

Astarion huffed, turning away to gaze into the distance. Torchlight flickered where Sorcerous Sundries stood, a colorful glass beacon in the darkness. He wondered briefly what life would be like when they defeated the Elder Brain, if they defeated it. Would he be able to return to the dark willingly? With everything that had changed for him, for all of them, could he really be alone again?

“Easy for you to say. People care what you think.”

Silence followed his words. Astarion couldn’t look at her, refusing to see the pity on her face. After the things they’d dealt with over the last few months, he didn’t want to be some pathetic creature looking for comfort or validation. Not when he was little more than a monster.

Her hand slipped into his, skin warm against his own chill, a comfort in an otherwise despairing life. She entwined their fingers and a gentle squeeze nearly undid him.

“I care what you think.”

A laugh escaped him, harsh and foreign to his own ears. “I thought I knew who I was… before all of this.”

“Before the tadpole?”

“Before you.” Closing his eyes, he mesmerized the softness of her touch, the brush of her skin against his, the open maw of yearning that left a gaping hole in his chest. “You’ve… done more for me than anyone ever has and all I’ve ever done is hurt you. Mock you for your choices. Yet, still you helped me get my revenge. Helped free me from Cazador.” When he finally faced her again, he opened his eyes to find her watching him curiously, without a hint of the things he feared. “Why?”

“Astarion, I know it’s been years since you had anyone care about you, but if you have to ask why I helped you, then I haven't been clear enough." Luz tilted her head so her unfocused gaze was on a couple laughing as they left the Elfsong, hanging on each other as they stumbled over their feet. She nodded her chin in their direction. "Do you think you'd ever be able to have that?"

"Having too many drinks and making a fool of myself?" He scoffed, suppressing an eye roll. "Darling, all you need to do is supply Wyll with a few extra glasses of wine and ask him to dance. I'm sure he'll gladly entertain you."

When she bumped him with her shoulder, a wave of her hair brushed against his cheek, tickling his skin. He reached out and caught the strand, wrapping it around a finger before tucking it behind her ear. She smiled at him again, this time a real smile, one that left wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. He'd never considered laugh lines or wrinkles as markers of beauty, but on Luz, they were incredible. She was a living, breathing person who actually wanted the best for him, a monster who'd only be selfish for as long as he could remember.

Astarion wasn't a good man, never had been even as a mortal, but Luz made him want to be better. 

"You don't have to tell me anything if it makes you uncomfortable. I know how you feel about baring your heart."

Damned clerics and their psychological warfare.

"The only hearts I'm used to baring are the ones I ripped out chests." 

He was only partially serious about that, but instead of being disgusted by the gory description, she laughed, a soft sound that was so like a ringing bell that it took him a moment to realize what it was. There was a light within her, buried just beneath her golden skin, and it warmed even his cold heart. Astarion glanced at their still entwined hands, wondering how exactly they'd gotten here.

All he'd wanted was someone between him and Cazador. A person he could use to keep his master off of his back, a shield to protect him from whatever it was Cazador had planned when he was undoubtedly caught. Luz was a means to an end, a most likely bitter and bloody end, and despite knowing the truth before they'd even stepped into the Lower City, she continued to help him out of the goodness of her heart.

She'd risked her life to make sure Cazador lay dead on the floor of that dreary old chapel.

Astarion's existence had been one of abject terror and dread, subsisting on nothing but rats and darkness, hurting people who didn't deserve it, all to please a master that would never free him. Every year, every hour, every second of his pathetic and miserable life, he'd barely survived.

He was ready to start living again.

When he glanced at her face once more, Luz was watching the stars overhead, head tilted slightly upwards, lips parted in awe at the sight. Astarion knew the stars, he'd lived nearly two centuries in the darkness that he knew them like the skin he wore. Any beauty they held faded long ago. 

But Luz was a sight to behold.

"Thank you."

The words left his mouth before he realized he'd spoken. Her gaze returned to him, curiosity in her eyes, her head bending in his direction automatically. He had her full attention and that terrified him more than Cazador ever had.

"I... wouldn't have any of this without you." Forcing the words past the lump that'd formed in his throat, Astarion refused to break eye contact. She deserved to see the sincerity in his eyes, to know that the lies had stopped long ago. "So thank you."

Luz shifted closer and put his hand between both of hers, eyes soft and full of so many unspoken confessions.  Longing pulled at his dead heart. The warmth of her palms against his own made him almost feel mortal again. Though it would never be true, she made him feel alive. 

"You don't have to thank me. I did it because it was the right thing to do." 

"Oh? I assumed it was because you absolutely adore me, darling." He raised an eyebrow coyly, enjoying the way the blood beneath her skin raced whenever he smiled, when he truly smiled. She turned her face away, a flush spreading from her cheeks and down her neck. He could even see the tiniest bit of redness peeking out from beneath the neckline of her tunic. In his experience, the religious types were always plain, boring, sometimes even going as far as being ugly. But Luz was otherworldly beautiful, like Lathander himself bestowed her fiery beauty among mortals.

"That might be part of the reason as well." She admitted, a nervous tremor in her voice. She took a deep breath, an obvious attempt to center herself, but it did little to calm her erratic heartbeat, the thrumming of her blood a song he could get used to hearing. While their tadpoles linked them in many ways, he didn't want to force a confession through the worm's psychic link. No, he preferred to hear it in her voice and without a single ounce of hesitation. He wouldn't be able to accept the truth of her feelings in any other manner.

"Look at me, darling."

She hesitated, closing her eyes as if he'd disappear if she didn't gaze upon him. Astarion had waited nearly two centuries to be free from Cazador's vile grip and he wasn't wasting another damned second on this type of nonsense, not even with the woman he loved. He'd been dead long enough.

"Luz."

A quiet sigh slipped out as she faced him, eyes studying the clay tiles they sat upon. He wondered if she could hear their companions in the room below, chatting amongst themselves about what was to come next. Lae'zel cursed under her breath as Gale brought up the possibility of seeking out an audience with Mystra. If Astarion was correct in his translations, he was positive that their Gith friend had called the Goddess of Magic quite the nasty word. And then there was the issue of Shadowheart's parents, and Karlach's revenge against Bane's Chosen, and many other things that needed their attention. 

None of that mattered when there was so much left to say to the woman beside him.

When she finally managed to open her eyes, Astarion was again hit with the intensity of her quiet beauty, the mix of green and brown in her eyes that were never the same pattern whenever he met her gaze. He'd never tire of guessing what would greet him whenever she looked at him.

"I don't need anything from you that you aren't willing to give." She said, the words coming out thick, as if she was trying not to express any emotion over their situation. Even now, she was thinking of him and what he wanted, of what he needed. 

He might be irritated by her selflessness, but he was also grateful their trials hadn't changed her soft heart.

"Let me continue to be selfish then, since you aren't willing to be." He reached out, cautiously as if she was a cat that might spook if he moved too quickly, and gripped her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to hold his gaze as he spoke. "You're maddening, you know. With your self-sacrificing and your holy communions and those dreadful robes you like to wear-"

"Astarion! Those are Lathander's robes-"

"Yes, I'm sure your god is genuinely pleased that you spread his love and golden light around, but darling, they're ugly."

She choked out a laugh, tears shining in her bright eyes, before taking hold of his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Insulting me didn't work before, Astarion, what makes you think-"

"I love you."

She stilled, eyes widening as if that was the last thing she'd expected to hear from his lips. And to be fair, it was certainly one of the last he'd expected as well. But it didn't make it any less true.

"What I want more than anything in my newfound freedom is to live again. Truly live. And you..." Astarion brushed his fingers along her jaw, tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, the soft silky waves slipping through his hands like water. "I've never felt freedom quite like I do when I'm with you. Perhaps it's selfish of me to ask you to stay with me in the darkness when this is over, but I am asking." 

He couldn't lose her, not after finding love of all things.

Luz blinked in the silence that followed, eyes staring directly through him. "I-"

"If you planned on breaking my heart, love, now is a terrible time to do it."

Astarion's words shook her from her reverie, and she blinked again, moving a hand to cover the one still entwined in her hair. A soft laugh escaped her mouth, and she smiled, gentle and oh so beautiful. "Here I thought you were breaking my heart."

"I might not have a heartbeat, darling, but even I can't deny the hold you have over me." He leaned closer, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her soap: basil and lemon with a hint of sea salt. She'd recently bathed as well. Beneath the soap, the metallic scent of her blood beneath her skin was ever present, a life more precious than any he'd know in his hands. With a brush of lips against her cheek, he felt drunk on her more than he ever had on wine. 

The tips of her fingers grazed against the linen shirt he wore, tracing the worn threads that dangled at the neckline. Then she settled a hand over where his heart was, cold and still no matter how much her touch  dared it to beat again. "I love you, Astarion. And once we're free of the tadpoles, we can figure out what's next. Together."

"I rather like the sound of that." He murmured, pressing a kiss against her forehead, her skin a warm comfort against his lips. She sighed, leaning against him to rest her head against his shoulder, watching the stars once more. "But we should stay here for a bit longer."

She glanced up at him, one corner of her mouth twitching up into a half smile. "Why's that?"

"Our resident Githyanki might be plotting the death of a certain high strung wizard and while I wish to see what happens, I also enjoy my head being attached to my body."

Luz giggled, burying her face into his shirt to stifle the sound. With such a simple gesture of trust and affection, Astarion felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in recent memory. Pulling her tight against his chest, his eyes found the stars overhead and considered that maybe they were beautiful, after all.

[unopenablebox]

🌸 and i are perfect cooking symbiotes

[astrcthesiai-archived]

"Yo, old man. Wanna go for a drink?"

No one else wants to, and Wolfwood is aching to be stupid. He doesn't offer to pay. Because he can't. Because if they go to the bar, their tab is going to fall to this sad old tabloidist.

Discerning, pale green eyes narrowed at Wolfwood. The old wolf raised his brows. He has been through things and lived to tell about them, and he is sure as Hell this bar visit will not end the way either hoped. It was a hunch since the man liked taking his cigarettes.

"Alright, but I know a place," he said before he headed in the direction of the local saloon he frequented. "I'll pay for the first drinks." It was the polite thing to do.

[altruistic-meme]

shaking in my fucking boots with excitement to go home and eat something

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

There’s a suuuuper good chance I just lose my shit entirely this weekend.

[orcelito]

hm. health insurance applications make me actively want to hurt something.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[gojonanami]

“ A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME ”

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

summary: you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom.

warnings: 18+ suggestive, fluff, comfort, some angst, implications of the shinjuku showdown arc, implied gojo is no longer a sorcerer, gojo is your househusband, taking a bath together, taking care of him, copium really, satoru being a silly man

w/c: 1,184

“I’m home!”

You call into your home, the clatter of your keys and shoes as you shedded the things that chained you to the outside to submerge yourself in your oasis and into his arms. But as you got no reply, you stepped into your living room, scanning over the kitchen, to find no one.

Now where was your home?

“Satoru?” you called, heart skipping a slight beat, he was always waiting for you when you got home, usually on the couch or maybe in the kitchen the clank of the knife as he chopped away. Or even the many times that he was waiting by the door to only ambush you with kisses. But this time, nothing.

You rounded the corner to the hallway and peeked into your bedroom to find him asleep. You crept closer, careful not to wake him, and yup, he was fast asleep. His pretty snow white lashes resting against his cheeks, his chest slowly rising and falling as the soft sounds of his breaths parted his lovely lips.

You could watch him sleep for hours. You knew he never did enough of it before, and you’d argue he still didn’t do enough of it now. He always said he was fine sleeping 6 hours since it was twice as much as he usually got — and now he was working at home, so he could be ease.

But even so, you know he needed more.

As if he senses your thought, he stirs, starry blue eyes finding yours as he flutters sleep from his gaze, “sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, voice still beautifully raspy from sleep, “when did you get home?” He’s shifting to get up, but you use gentle hands to ease him back, “I haven’t started on dinner yet, sweets—“

“I got it, Toru,” you’re running your fingers through his hair, “just rest, baby,” and a protest is already on his lips, “let me guess what you did today — cleaned the house from roof to floor, stocked us on groceries, cooked lunch for me for the week, and probably a million other things,” you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I think I can handle dinner for one night at least,”

He’s pouting now, “but you just got home from work, Princess, what kind of househusband would I be—“ and you can’t help but laugh, he loved his self appointed title of househusband, especially since it was one he had chosen for himself, and he took any opportunity — even now to call himself that.

“I think even the absolute best househusbands need a break, and should listen to their wives, since I’m the one you want to pamper so much,” and his lips party in protest, but you’re leaning down to kiss them and his pout away, “let me take care of you, Toru,”

He’s sighing, as he leans up to press his forehead to yours, “and does your offer include a bath, sweetheart?”

~~~

“Y’know sometimes I feel guilty,” and you pause in your massage of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, suds from the bath you’d drawn for him covering both of your bodies as he leans against you in your tub, back pressed flush to yours.

“Guilty about what?” you ask, holding your tongue on the million reasons why he shouldn’t.

“For so long, I was the strongest,” he gives a small chuckle, “and it was fun, sometimes. But it was mostly lonely,” he leans back to look up at you, a small grin on his lips, “except when I was with you,” your lips curl, “and now I get to be with you, and I get to stay home — and the worst thing I have to do are the dishes,” and you snort.

“I told you I’d do them if you hate them so much,”

But he’s shaking his head, “Sometimes I think trying to deal with our cast iron is worse than fighting Sukuna—“ and you roll your eyes, “but there’s always this urgency that I have to be doing more. Telling me to keep going, moving, fighting—“

“You’ve done enough, Toru, more than enough,” your fingers cup his cheek, “too much, honestly. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done your part—“

“But—“

“Didn’t you or someone say jujutsu is like a marathon, a baton pass?” Your fingers run through his white locks, before you shift yourself to sit in his lap instead, “the marathon is over, racers have packed up and gone home, and the finish line has been crossed,” your fingers rest on the back of his neck, tracing his undercut, “and that’s because of you and all you did to fight and raise up the next generation,” you say softly, and he’s pressing his head to your forehead.

“Is it okay for me to rest now?” and you’re pulling him into your arms, hoping your touch conveys what your words can’t.

“Yes, it is, Satoru,” you’re pressing soft kisses to his neck, “you don’t need to be the strongest. You’re Satoru Gojo, and that’s all I want,” and he leans back, “you’re all I want,”

“Is that a proposal?” And you snort.

“We’re already married, weirdo—“ and his lips find yours, as they always did, his arms around your bare waist, as the water shifted and splashed, but you could barely feel anything except his lips against yours and the circle of his thumb against the small of your back.

He finally pulls away, a genuine smile on his lips, “And you married this weirdo,” and you chuckle, tracing his jaw with your finger, “you’re stuck with me for life,”

“Promise?” And he’s kissing you again in an instant, stealing your breath like he did the first time you met him all those years ago at jujutsu tech. And you knew you’d never love anyone else — not like him.

“Promise.”

Bonus:

Satoru’s arms wrap around you from behind as the two of you towel off after your bath, “what are we having for dinner?”

“Well someone insisted on me being in here with him, so I had to order out,” and he’s grinning, as he nuzzles your neck.

“Whoopsie, hehe,” and he’s humming, as he tugs your hips against his, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips, “can we have dessert first?”

“It is dessert. We’re having ice cream for dinner—“ and he’s kissing you again, but this time it’s languid and messy — all tongue and teeth, until he’s pulling away with a smirk at your breathless face.

“I want something sweeter, wife,” and you smile.

“Think you can finish before the delivery gets here?” And he’s already picking you up with ease in his arms, pinned under him in a moment, as his ocean blues flash with mischief from between your thighs.

“I can, but I don’t know if you’ll be done by then.” He says cheekily, as you only sigh.

If there was one thing that would always be true is that you would always be weak to Satoru Gojo — but not his abilities, but who he is.

Your husband.

“Let’s see, hm?”

a/n: I’m real upset about the leaks and this is my coping. I needed this.

taglist: @staryukis, @cloverlilies, @asgoodasdead666, @strawmariee, @chuuyasboots, @forest-fruits-jam, @catsgomurp, @rat-loves, @hanlay, @risuola, @spider-fan72, @sunamatic, @difficultdomains

[crippledpunks]

chronic fatigue weaves its way into everything. people love to tell disabled people they'd love to rest as much as we do, but they fail to understand how tired we are while we rest. we are not relaxed, we are generally pretty miserable, either from pain, irritability, or fatigue- which bleeds into every aspect of your life. being too fatigued to get up off of the couch means that you're too fatigued to get to the cupboard to pull out pans to attempt to start cooking.

the steps hidden within steps that are required to do a lot of tasks related to being a "functioning adult" are daunting, there are often way too many steps necessary to make "Simple" foods or do "simple" chores for disabled people to accomplish these tasks. chronic fatigue often means that even waking up from a nap or night's rest requires time to adjust to and power through

waking up is a process for me. im often no more alert and awake hours after i've woken than I am right after doing so. caffeine does not help fatigue- at least not at safe doses, for me, anyways. many days the act of moving from my bedroom to my living room is too much. taking dishes to the sink can be too exhausting. i have began falling asleep in front of the kitchen counter while standing because i realize the amount of steps required to clean the counters, or do the dishes, or prepare a meal that all of my energy instantly bleeds away

it's okay if you feel this way too. i have been dealing with chronic fatigue my entire life and it cost me my best paying job. i lost my ability to work because of it. it's not just you being "sleepy", you are genuinely too exhausted to function. you do NOT have the energy levels other people do, and that's okay. it's okay to let yourself be tired sometimes and address that instead of trying to pretend you're not tired.

i wish you good luck. you are loved

[meanderfall]

boy oh boy i sure hope i'll be able to sleep tonight