#i understand masa

[dynamitekansai]

[ef-1]

burn your village | female rage playlist

[blueesnow]

(3/6) Hijirikawa Masato's Private Story [Utapri Live Emotion]

Ch 1: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 6 with Masato)

-Shining Agency Dorm's Living Room- Masato: Oh, Nanami. What a coincidence. Are you on your day off today? Haruka: Yeah, I came here to return the materials that I borrowed before. Are you also on your day off too, Hijirikawa-san? Masato: Yeah. Since the wheather looks nice I thought I'd go outside today. I'm thinking of going to those events at the park. Masato: If you're okay with it, do you want to go with me? I've heard there were also markets and music events too. Haruka: Wow…that looks so fun! I want to go. Masato: Thank you. I've had a feeling you would say that. Well then, let's head out. -Park- Masato: Paintings and lacquerware, clothing and accessories…there were also food and beverage stall too. It seems like there's a lot of stalls being set up here. Haruka: There also seems to be a lot of handmade stalls too. Oh, look at that! There are a lot of cute accesories lined up. Masato: Oh, I think it might be a good idea as a gift for my little sister. If you don't mind can you tell me which one are you interested in? (choices) <How about cookies?> Haruka: Hmm… how about icing cookies? Not only does it look pretty, but it also looks delicious too. Masato: Indeed, these cookies were made with so much attention on the details. Look, there's even a pattern on the edge of it. Masato: Look at how delicate it is. As if it was painted with a paintbrush. How beautiful… <Accessory might be a good idea> Haruka: Beaded accessories are beautiful in my opinion! Look, something like this. It's cute isn't it. Masato: Accessory, huh. Certainly these color seems to be her favorite. Masato: I'm not that knowledgeable about fashion, so your opinion might helped. (back to story) Masato: However all of them are so fascinating, I'm troubled which one to choose… Haruka: Why don't we take a look around a bit more while we're here. Oh, how about that stall over there? Masato: Hm, that's…!

Ch 2: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 11 with Masato)

-Park- Haruka: It's an amigurumi*, aren't they all cute? Masato: They look very well made. There's the rabbit one, a bear… Oh, they also have an owl too. Masato: Alright I've decided, let's go for an amigurumi for her next present. I think it might be a good idea if I could also make a hat or other accessories that goes along well with it. Haruka: Wow, that's so lovely! I'm sure your little sister will be very happy. Masato: It's all thanks to you for finding it for me. I'm very grateful. Haruka: Oh no, I didn't do much… Eh, a cheering sound? You can also hear the sound of instruments too! Masato: Looks like they're holding a concert on that special stage next door. Let's go and check it out. - Masato: Oh they're actually a band consisting of students from a nearby school. It seems they're also selling CDs of their original songs too. Masato: Although their singing and performance is a bit rough around the edges, but you can definitely feel no hesitation on the messages they're trying to convey. There's something in it that resonates within your heart. Haruka: Yes, the way they play feels like they can't help but just enjoy themselves in music. Somehow it reminds me of us back then. Masato: Perhaps the teachers and seniors felt the same way too when they saw us back at the academy. Masato: Although we were still technically and mentally inexperienced, we all had strong aspirations born out of our love for music. Haruka: That's right… It's because I met Hijirikawa-san and everyone that I'm here right now. Masato: I felt the same way too. Maybe their performance here could actually change someone's future too. Masato: …As a matter of fact, I've also had a fateful encounter too that changed my whole life a long time ago.

*: Amigurumi (編みぐるみ) is a Japanese art form that involves crocheting or knitting small, stuffed, yarn creatures or objects.

Ch 3: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 21 with Masato)

-Park- Haruka: Hijirikawa-san's fateful encounter…? Masato: Yeah. It happened back from before I entered the academy, and you could say that it was an encounter that can be considered a turning point in my life. Masato: If it weren't for that miraculous day, there's probably no chance of me choosing an entertainment industry as my path. Masato: It was all thanks to that person that I am now able to move forward without any hesitation. Masato: And then, if I could become an idol who shines bright someday, I might be able to return the favor to them. Haruka: Hijirikawa-san… Masato: Though I wonder if the current me now is even worthy of being such a bright example as of that… Haruka: Hijirikawa-san is already shining bright. So much that just staring at you would blind my eyes away. Masato: …Thanks, Nanami. Hearing your words gives me a lot of confidence. Haruka: Likewise, thank you for letting me listen to that wonderful story. Haruka: Once again I was reminded that I, too, want to bring the music that I love to as many people as possible. Masato: You're right. I also want to deliver more of my feelings through music too. Masato: I will have to work even more harder so that I can perform a sound that will change even fate. Haruka: Fufu, I will use the inspiration I received here today in my songwriting as soon as I return home. Masato: I'm glad that this is worth your time. Let's go out together again just like this sometime.

Ch 4: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 31 with Masato)

Ch 5: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 41 with Masato)

Ch 6: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 51 with Masato)

[yonezawacastle]

The way she should have thrown his ass to the curb for this.

[vroomian]

HWHY do i keep WRITING ROMANCE

[nmbrrr77]

they keep me SANE!!

[velaraffricate]

i'm not sure if malakawi truly counts as polysynthetic, i don't think i can be the judge of that, but it is certainly far up on that side of the morphosyntactic alignment spectrum, and it basically kind of happened on accident. at first i just wanted polypersonal agreement, then i played around with noun incorporation, and suddenly i'm at the point where an 11 word english sentence can be expressed with only 4 words in malakawi

[nonsensemonkey]

i've just missed yagami and kaito so much and i really wanted to hang out with them again bc... i have a secret thing that i am DYING to finish with them urrrahghhghhh but i needed to be reinspired

[mefilas]

hes literally so perfect nothing matters to me but him

[zyafics]

TE AMO | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Mexican!Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — After a fight with his father, Rafe shows up at your door for comfort. He didn't expect to be loved so deeply. Word Count — 4.6K.

Content — 18+, angst, fluff, smut, established relationship, brief mentions of Ward's abuse (implicit), dry-humping, fingering, gags/muffling, unprotected p in v sex, position: doggy style, and semi-public sex (almost-caught), and mentions of Mexican-American culture.

Dedication — to @rafestaurusgf for inspiring this idea and for your continual support of my fics, ily <3 (or, more fitting, te amo)

lıllılı Cariño by The Marías

Rafe feels like he's going to die.

His heart beats fiercely against the puncture of his sternum, threatening to cut out of his chest. Each inhale he takes constricts his airway, wheezing its way through the narrow pipe, as if he's choking on his own oxygen.

His mind is another problem. The way it feels like nothing and everything at once. Wiry strings tangled together, a static noise humming in the background of a broken television. He's losing his own grip on reality—and his first thought is to go to you.

When you open the door, your eyes widen, lips part into a delicate pout. You're wearing nothing out of the ordinary; an old red tank top that cuts above your naval and pajama pants that drags over the glazed wooden floor of the foyer.

His rigid shoulders instantly fall upon seeing you and he can take his first real breath. The buzz humming in the back of his head drops to a hush. Rafe can't believe how much you eliminate his problem by simply being here.

"Are you okay?" is the first thing you ask because Rafe rarely shows up unannounced. He hesitantly nods and in that brief second of delay, you catch his truth.

Taking a step outside, bare feet scraping against the fine ridges of the concrete slab, you eye him carefully. "Are you sure?"

Nothing in his head feels right.

"I just—" Rafe stammers, throat dry. "I just needed to see you."

Your eyes soften and before you get the chance to ask further, your abuelita's voice carries through the house, fluid and swift Spanish reminding you to close the door before the mosquitoes are let in.

You obey, using your clean hand—free from the dried masa crusting your fingertips—and pull Rafe into the house. Instantaneously, the sharp aroma of spice hits him, accompanied by the savory scent of stewed pork.

Without further instructions, Rafe slips off his shoes. His eyes briefly scan over your living room that's across the stairwell and notice the peeled and worn-down leather of your brown couches, the bundles of handmade quilts and woven blankets sitting on the armrests, and the plentiful candles stationed all around the room—from the coffee table with the Bible to the television stand carrying old VHS tapes behind the cabinet's glass.

Tugging Rafe along, you lead him through the hallway fitted with your family portraits and a pinned crucifix on the wall. When he enters the kitchen, the aromatic smell strengthens tenfold.

Abuelita spares a glance over her shoulders at your arrival. “Hola, Rafe. ¿Has comido?”

He doesn’t understand. “W-what?”

“She asked if you ate yet,” your mother translates with a sweet smile.

Directing his timid gaze on her, he shakes his head. Feeling small. He met your family before but he's nervous, especially now—after his fight with his father—that he'll somehow fuck it up. "No, ma'am."

She nods, translating back and the elderly woman huffs, shaking her head as her frail hand stirs the pot, muttering something quick under her breath.

Rafe's hands are trembling. Afraid that he's done something wrong. Turning to you, he asks. "What'd she say?"

“That you’re too skinny and need to eat more.”

Rafe's stomach turns. He didn't like that he was also disappointing your family but before he can dwell on it further, your mother affectionately pats his shoulder. Her voice gentle when she says, "It's a good thing. It means she cares about you."

All tension in his shoulders dissolves. Your mother returns back to her work, and Rafe finds himself able to take another breath.

He thought your family would hate him. For something, anything, but they didn't. Instead of being met with criticism and disappointment, they were concerned for his well-being. It sank into his chest how he didn't know how to respond to that.

“Hey,” your soft voice draws him away from his thoughts and grounds him. “Where’d you go?”

Rafe swallows hard. You're recognizing the heavier signs of his defense mechanism and know that, right now, all Rafe needs is some space.

You're about to pardon yourself but your abuelita cuts you off to ask for help. Momentarily shifting priorities, you seat Rafe over at the circular breakfast table shoved to the corner of the kitchen, covered with a white frilly lace tablecloth and various jars of salsas, and move towards the elder.

A distinct, low-volume sound of Spanish opera plays in the background, where your abuelita occasionally mumbles along to the lyrics. That is before she's done cooking with the pork and steps back, directing you to carry the large metallic pot to the sink.

Rafe tries to settle into the wooden chair but his shoulders return to their rigid stance. He's recognizing that you're in the middle of cooking with your family and all his presence does is disturb that time.

Once you set the pot into the basin, you grab one of the colorful washcloths on the counter—the dark blue one, not the yellow one that's strictly reserved for water spills—and clean your hand of the crusted masa before sitting down on the empty seat next to Rafe. His head hung low with guilt.

You bump your knee against his, gravitating his attention back to you.

"Don't think I forgot about you," you whisper lightheartedly, but your soft smile fades when your eyes meet his shameful ones. "What happened?"

Rafe's voice is rough when he finally answers. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"You're busy."

"I'm fine," you reassure, glancing over to your mother, who's filling in your role of flattening the masa on the corn husks. "Three's a crowd anyways."

He knows you're trying to comfort him but he feels nauseous. He doesn't deserve your kindness, much less your family's warmth and consideration. Goddammit, he should be acting like a man and get his shit together—not drag you into it.

It's pathetic and cowardly for him to come here.

With a perpetual frown, Rafe doesn't say anything. That's when you realize that whatever's going on is worse than you imagine. You reach out and lace your fingers through his calloused hand, pulling him back to Earth once more.

Your words are gentle, like a summer breeze, and you raise his knuckles to your lips before brushing a chaste kiss against the roughened skin. "What's wrong, mi amor?"

His heart buzzes. He always loved that endearment, the way the accent falls off your tongue. Whenever you call him that, it makes him feel like he's worth something.

But not right now.

He feels like absolutely shit. Rafe can't seem to articulate how he doesn't deserve you. That if anything, he's a darkened cloud in your life, constantly forecasting a future of pain, misery, and obsolete. All he wants to do is retreat and isolate, pulling himself away before he brings you any more trouble.

It doesn't help that he can't vocalize it. The words caught in his throat, thick and enormous. You can see the frustration behind his gaze, his mouth slackens but no words come through. Rafe clenches his jaw out of anger, eyes piercing and filled with self-loathe.

You recognize that it's because of the additional people in the room.

Turning to your mother, you ask, "Ma, voy a ir a mi habitación, ¿vale?"

She stops what she's doing to look at you. That silent—only a Mexican mother could converse with their daughter—look. Not wanting to hear a refusal, you added an additional por favor, to which she conceded with a nod.

Quickly pulling Rafe's hand, you haul him out of the cramped kitchen before racing up the carpeted stairs, careful not to step on any of the little trinkets scattered around. Before you make it to your bedroom, your mother shouts her warning: "Don't close the door!"

You reluctantly oblige, leaving your bedroom door cracked open as Rafe enters through the familiar space, taking a seat on the edge of your mattress. His legs are parted and he bounces one of his knees, hands brushing over his knuckles as an anxious tic.

You take the seat next to him, but the distance is too far. His hand immediately circles your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

His restless leg stops and he lifts his gaze to yours. Using your free hand, you cup the underside of his jaw, running your thumb across his cheek. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. His voice is still lost to him, and a small frown replaces his face.

"It's okay, I'm here," your words are tender, and the gentle strokes of your thumb across his skin feel good, contrasting the burning of his face. Rafe continues to answer with his silence and you decide to fill in the gaps, recounting how you spent your day. How you were preparing tamales for the upcoming church mass, how you cut chilis from your own backyard garden, how your abuelita added so much spices you had to beg her to crank open the backdoor to let some of the smell out.

Rafe listens as the words cascade out, carefree and smooth, and how your descriptions of mundane activities still captivate him. He could listen to you talk for hours.

You inform him that you missed him. That, after finishing the last batch, the first thing you were going to do was call him. But he came anyway. It's like he knew you wanted him here. That he can read your soul from miles away.

The last comment you made was meant to let him feel at peace. To let him know that he was never a bother to you—now or ever. That you, with your whole heart, will always want him.

It broke off a piece of his walls. His heart swells with your trust and you grin, running your thumb across his jaw to feel the short pricks of his fresh shave. You sigh lovingly, burying yourself into the crook of his neck. "Amor de mi vida."

Rafe recognizes those words. You've said them before, and after constant badgering, he finally learned of its meaning: love of my life.

God, he truly doesn't deserve you.

For the new few minutes, there's nothing but the stillness of your bedroom. The soft sounds of your breaths, the slow thumping of Rafe's pulse in his chest, steady and calming. Your eyes briefly close from the rhythmic beats.

Finally, he confesses. "I'm fucked up."

You don't pull away from your position, curled up in his arms—as if you were the one in need of comfort instead—and wait for him to continue. You knew he always talks better without the scrutiny of a gaze. "Why would you say that?"

His hand grazes your waist, squeezing, needing to feel you. To know you're real. His next words come out with a sharp exhale. "Because I'm a fuck-up. Everyone thinks that. Even my dad said so."

You scoff.

"That pendejo doesn't know anything, okay?" You declare, a subtle bite behind your emphasis. You're always soft and gentle, with him and everyone else, but there's a side of protectiveness that comes out whenever you hear how Ward treats his son. You pull back enough to meet his gaze, using both hands to cup his face. "I know you. And believe me when I say that's absolutely not true."

Even though he trusts you, he doesn't agree.

"You're only saying that because you love me."

"And I'll keep saying it until you believe it," your tone goes delicate, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. "You deserve so much more, mi amor."

The conviction behind your words fizzles out any of his remaining arguments. It's always easy for Rafe to doubt himself, to see all his mistakes as an atrocity committed to humankind. How could he not? He grew up hearing it said by the one person he loves most.

But not you. Never by you.

His hand captures your profile, warm palm pressed against his cheek. "You're too good for me."

You smile. "I think I'm just right."

Rafe feels lighter. Better. Real. He can't believe your simple presence dissolves all the things he hates about himself. When he sees the way you look at him, with this pure, unadulterated love, he knows he will stop at nothing to preserve it.

Rafe draws you closer, slowly, steadily, until you're nothing but a breath away. His darkened blue eyes trace your features before landing on your lips. Your heart stutters and, with a brief hesitance, Rafe leans forward to kiss you.

Gently at first, as if to taste your air, before deepening it. His hand falls to your waist while your arms loop around his shoulders. His fingers splay over your warm skin, grabbing the soft plump flesh, and causing a quiet moan to slip out of you.

He feels good. You feel good. You know where this leads and before it can proceed any further, you shut the door.

Rafe watches as you return to his lap. "Your mom's gonna kill you for that."

"Yeah," you smile teasingly, "so let's make it worth it then."

Pulling off your tank top, revealing your bare tits underneath, Rafe sheds his shirt. His eyes follow the dip between the valley of your breasts before capturing a nipple between his teeth, grazing the sensitive bub, making you arch into him.

"Rafe," you gasp, threading your fingers through his tousled hair. "That feels good."

He loves hearing how he makes you feel, reveling in your praises. Moving to the other breast, Rafe takes his time to drag out your pleasure, teeth pinching the sensitive tip in a manner that intensifies the ache between your legs.

You're going greedy. Mind blurred with a lustful haze, you pull back slightly, separating from his mouth, and Rafe pouts at the loss of contact. The image makes you giggle and when you sweep your hand across his heated skin, you mumble in sweet reminder, "This is supposed to be about you."

"Me making you feel good is enough for me," Rafe whispers and a flame licks its way up your naval, making your reservation harder to control. He delivers another kiss against your swollen lips. "Please, baby."

"No," you shake your head, lowering your hands to mess with the buckle of his belt. His erection presses directly against your core. "I want to make you feel good first."

Refusing to take no for an answer, Rafe takes your wrists and throws them back around his neck, pulling you into another deep kiss. This time, it conveys more urgency and desperation, needing to taste you and feel you flush against his chest.

Instinctively, you roll your hips over his bulge, causing a groan to slip out from him. The low rasp that comes from the back of his throat drives you wild that you part from his lips to deliver hard kisses along the curve of his neck, sucking his sensitive spots, just for a chance to hear it again.

"Fuck, baby," Rafe grunts, feeling his cock twitch beneath you. His hands descend to claim your hips. "Keep doing that, just like that—fuck, that's a good girl."

Rafe's loud. Always has been, that you had to slap a hand over his mouth, muffling the noise from reaching your family downstairs. His dark brows wrinkle in surprise, but with one clever rock of your hips, his eyes roll to the back of his head, forgetting your gag.

Noises escaping through the slits of your fingers, you're losing your restraint with each roll. Thighs burning, you persist, separating from his neck to ask, "Do you feel good?"

He nods, eyes glazed over with lust and need, and a whimper escapes when you grind against his hard-on just right.

"Baby, you know anything with you feels good to me," Rafe compliments under your palm, before gently pulling your hand away and delivering chaste kisses behind your ear, making your eyes flutter shut and your hips go faster. Wanting him deeper. "God, you're killing me here."

He needs you. He needs to be inside you.

Having enough, Rafe wraps a strong arm around your waist before flipping you over, causing you to gasp. He pins your back against the mattress as he settles on top, quickly stripping you of your pants and panties. When he has you completely bare, he reels back to admire your naked perfection.

"You're so fucking beautiful, baby, you know that?"

You blush, "You always say that."

"Because I mean it," Rafe declares earnestly, lowering himself to your level. His voice drops to a delicate whisper. "How do you say beautiful in Spanish?"

Dios mío, he can't get any more perfect.

You mumble the translated word in his ear and he repeats it back, full of conviction, with an American accent that slices through the letters. "Did I say it right?"

"Sí," you land a soft peck on his lips, causing his smile to grow, eyes bright.

Rafe descends, planting wet kisses on the valley between your breasts, to the space under your naval, to the open spread of your inner thighs. Each kiss complimented with the accented hermosa rolling off his tongue, reminding every inch of you is a sight for worship.

When he enters the space between your legs, Rafe places a sweet, lingering kiss against your dripping slit, the sensitivity of your body causing you to arch upwards, into his face.

His laugh is soft but taunting. "Need me, baby?"

"Por favor, Rafe, please," you whimper, craving him so desperately, that you draw him back up into a hungry kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips. Heat spreads through your core, needing stimulation.

Rafe fucking loves kissing you, capturing your bottom pout between his teeth and tugging it with a sweet pull. His free hand roams down to your cunt, fingers entering you with a slow and steady pump.

"You're so wet for me," Rafe teases with a whisper, swallowing your moans with a hard kiss, and quickening his pace until the sound of squelching is heard throughout the small room.

Your hips buck. "It feels so good, mi amor," you moan, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure. "Please don't stop. Please, please, don't."

"I couldn't if I tried," Rafe laughs with a tinge of condescension, his thumb rotating small circles over your swollen clit. "Baby, you're clenching around me so hard, I don't even think I can pull out."

"Don't you dare," you grab onto his arm, the one between your thighs, holding him in place and needing some sense of stability. The familiar tightness in your stomach coils and your legs shake. "Rafe."

Encouraged by your needy voice, he goes faster, pumping you, rubbing you, till you're pushed over your edge, and that thin line of restraint snaps. His free hand slaps over your mouth to cover your erupted moan, just as Rafe slows down, guiding you through your climax.

When you come down from your high, Rafe pulls out, the loss of his fingers makes you whimper. The sound itself makes him impossibly more hard, and he needs to be in you, now.

Landing another kiss on your lips, your eyes flutter open from exhaustion. "You gonna take care of me now, baby?" Rafe whispers, gaze flicking across your face to read your willingness.

You nod, and he flips you over on your stomach before hauling your ass in the air. He slips out of his boxers, red and swollen, dripping with beads of pre-cum, and pumps a couple of shots before spreading your knees apart.

Your heart is hammering when he slips it in, tip teasing your wet entrance before sliding through your folds, and a hiss escapes from Rafe's throat. "You're so fucking tight, baby," Rafe groans, filling you to the hilt. "So fucking good for me."

His thrusts start slow, your walls enveloping him in such a tight vice, that he has to move with precision, or else he'll come in seconds. Rough hands find your hips, guiding his movements, and the muscles in his thighs flex with each pump.

"My perfect girl," Rafe whispers in your ear, each roll of his hips punctuated by a heavy breath fanning against your cheek, "too good for me. Too fucking good."

Your hand flattens over his profile, his chin digging into your shoulder blades. With one hand up to grope your breast, Rafe fucks you harder, bringing you closer to your orgasm.

"Harder," you demand, and Rafe obliges, his fingers toying with your sensitive nipple, his penetration hitting your g-spot. A moan slips out of you once more, mind numb with pleasure. "Dios mío, yes."

Wrapped up in your own chase, both of your heavy breaths saturating the air, you didn't even hear that your mother was calling you.

You still as the familial Spanish alert you that dinner is ready, and to come downstairs. But you're still mid-thrust, the embers of your climax just within the horizon, and your fervent desire sizzles out.

Rafe stiffens behind you, halting to a stop, waiting for her voice to flatten out into oblivion before starting again. Rolling his hips. Controlling his thrusts. His speed quickens.

"Rafe," you whimper, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure but knowing you have other business to attend to. "We have to go."

He shakes his head, "Not until you come."

"Mi amor, please," you moan, just as he lands a hard thrust, and you attempt to pull away.

But Rafe won't have it.

"Why are you arguing with me?" He grunts, grabbing your throat and hauling your back against his chest. His strokes are erratic and passionate, bottoming out with each pump. "I thought you wanted to make me feel good."

You're losing your senses. Your walls flutter around his cock and you cry out. "I–I do."

His head lowers till his lips are right next to the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning against your skin. "Then let me fill you up."

That does it for you, and you finally snap. Another orgasm crashes into you, so powerful and sharp, that Rafe uses his free hand to cover your mouth and muffle your loud moans.

Your walls clench around him and his thrusts go faster, harder, more desperate, until his own orgasm rolls over, his hot cum spurting, filling you up.

Both of you fall onto the mattress, with heavy breaths, eyes closing shut for recovery. Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing is heard throughout the air, and Rafe's fingers trace up your spine before collecting a strand of your hair.

You wish you could stay like this forever, in this moment, nothing but the separation of skin, but reality quickly shatters your bubble when the locked handle of your door rattles.

Your mother's Spanish comes through quick. In warning. In threats. She's coming up with vivid imagery about what she will do if she catches something inappropriate in your bedroom, promising a chase with chanclas.

You have no energy in you to come up with an excuse, grabbing a nearby pillow off your bed and throwing it over your head. "I'm going to die," you mumble into the plush, and Rafe chuckles, consoling you with delicate patterns against your backside.

"I'll protect you," Rafe promises, lowering himself to plant a tender kiss behind your shoulder.

"You've never had a Mexican mother before,"

"How bad could it be?"

You remove your pillow to glare at him, but it is half-hearted and you can't stay mad at him for long. The remnants of your mother's threats fade out and she parts with a final warning; yelling at you—and Rafe—to be downstairs in five minutes. That was said in English.

"Come on, baby, let's go," Rafe scoops you up and takes you to your ensuite bathroom, turning on the faucet before helping you clean up.

His hands roam all over, and after both of you are free of the post-sex smell, you find your clothes and quickly redress before heading downstairs.

But just before you descend down the steps, you catch Rafe's bicep, holding him back. He's just a step ahead, leveling your height with his, and your eyes soften as you ask: "Do you feel better, mi amor?"

His smile is soft and gentle, but the buzz in his chest is indescribable. He leans forward to place a kiss on your forehead, before mumbling into your skin, "Always with you."

When you reach the dining table, Rafe makes some bullshit excuse about what took you so long and the reason behind the locked door. It was impressive, enough that your mother eyed you carefully before accepting the lie with a firm nod, gesturing for you to take a seat.

There are cases of tamales over the wooden dining table, each with its separate fillings, and a selection of sauces to choose from, such as red and green salsa, queso fresco, crumbled cotija cheese, and fresh limes with pickled red onions on the side.

The moment Rafe steps foot into the room, your abuelita shoots from her chair to grab a plate, selecting everything off the menu and putting it on his dish. She coos, in quick Spanish, about how Rafe needs to eat more. Adding that she'll take great offense if he doesn't try everything on the table.

Rafe laughs, but nods respectfully, taking the plate from her hands as she resettles. You pluck a dish off the side and start selecting your own choices, picking your favorite types of tamales and sauce.

Independently, Rafe attempts to unwrap his tamale and it falls apart. Your mother laughs, "Mijo, you're supposed to set it on the plate," she instructs, demonstrating how to properly unfold the corn husk. "There! Felicidades! You got it!"

You laugh softly beside him, and he turns his head, meeting your contagious smile with his own grin.

Rafe leans over to watch what you're doing, following the steps of how you usually eat and mimics them himself. When he takes his first bite, your abuelita watches him intensely, waiting, for his following review.

Which has to be a solid 10/10, or else she'll throw a fit.

He agrees, nodding to her brilliance, and your abuelita gestures for him to try the next. He hasn't even finished half of the tamale before she's forcing him to taste-test the other stuffing—from the pork to the chicken, to the vegetarian options she cooked. All of them gaining a raved five-star appraisal from your boyfriend.

And you're laughing at this. So, he is. He's having a grand time with your family, with the way your abuelita is insistent on him eating, on him trying every food she'll ever make, and how your mother refers to him as mijo. While you're trying to eat your dinner, you feel something squeezing your thighs, and you look down to see Rafe's hand connected to it.

You raise a brow, wondering if something happened, if something is wrong, but when he leans over, his lips brushing the curve of your earlobe, he mumbles, in absolute fondness and appreciation, "Te amo."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

 Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

[joekeeryswife]

plz could you write something about mase looking after you when you’ve had a rough day with the baby!!

stress - m.m

a/n: hello angel! thank you for your request. omg i love it so much, kinda changed it a little if that’s okay! (dad! imagines own my heart!!!!). idk how to feel about this one so lmk what you guys think! anyways, let’s get on with the imagine, enjoy reading 🫶

mason mount taglist: @noturbabe22 @luvvtrent @peterparkerbae

four weeks, it had only been four weeks since you’d had your baby and you were already feeling like you’d failed her.

you knew becoming a mum would be difficult but you didn’t realise just how hard it was going to be. it was like everything you did was wrong.

Mason had gone back to work only a week after Margot was born and that was one of the worst thing to ever happen. you felt like you didn’t have support even though he would get up with her during the night and as soon as he got back from work he would take over looking after her. what was funny was whenever Mason got back from football she was never crying, it was like she could sense he was coming home.

Margot loved Mason. whenever he had her she hardly cried, she’d watch his face with such concentration and coo at him all the time. but when she was with you, she’d scream and cry no matter what you did.

you felt useless.

you felt like the worst mum in the entire world, not understanding what was wrong with her as she cried just hurt your heart. you just wanted to be in the ‘baby bubble’ everyone spoke about.

you wanted to feel like your friends did when they had their kids. they were always smiling, always happy when they were with their babies who hardly cried when they were with them, it was like you were broken.

today was like no other. it started out okay, Margot was actually happy this morning when you woke up, Mason had given her a bath and put her in the cutest outfit but then as soon as he said his goodbyes to the two of you and he drove out of the driveway, all hell broke loose.

she was just sobbing and it hurt you to hear those cries. “oh Margot, what’s the matter my angel. please don’t cry sweetheart. are you hungry? is that what it is?”

you quickly balanced her with one arm as you tried to lift up your pyjama top so you could breastfeed her but every time you tried to get her to latch she would turn her head away and sob louder.

you had realised that Margot would hardly ever latch when you tried to breastfeed her. it was very rare that she would allow you to breast feed her so you had decided to start pumping your milk and give it to her in a bottle instead and most of the time she would drink it from the bottle.

“how about we get you a bottle instead hmm? would that make you feel better?” you knew she wouldn’t reply to you but it was nice to speak to her. you got up from the sofa after fixing your top and warmed up the milk.

her sobs grew louder as you rocked her. waiting for the microwave to ‘ding’ felt like hours. “i know sweet girl, not long now” you poured the milk once it was warm enough into the bottle and went to sit back down on the sofa. you tried a few times before she finally started drinking the milk, her sobs died down but her eyes were still filled with tears and the tear stains on her cheeks broke your heart.

she was hiccuping slightly as she drank her milk but her eyes were fluttering masa img she was trying her best to not fall asleep. “you rest angel, mummy isn’t going anywhere. and i’m sorry i can’t understand you like your dad does, i promise i’m trying my best”

with that, her eyes closed and it was finally silent in the house. you just hoped today would be a lot better than the rest.

-♡-

Mason was back home a little later than expected tonight, he had been asked to stay back to speak to ten Hag which he forgot to tell you about but he knew you had it all okay at home. you always had Margot in a good-ish mood when he would come home and it was always nice to come home to a quiet house after training or a football match. he would hear shouting all day and coming home was just perfect.

you didn’t want Mason to know you were struggling, to you it felt like the worst thing i’m the world. you were meant to be a good mum as soon as you gave birth but you just felt like all you did was struggle. you had no idea what you were doing and you didn’t want Mason to be disappointed in you.

however, tonight Margot would not stop crying. after her bottle this morning she napped for maybe 30 minutes before her sobs started again and that continued for the entire day. you didn’t know what to do and you felt like you had failed as a mother. you had no idea what was wrong with her and you hated that you couldn’t understand what she was crying for. you felt like she hated you.

as Mason entered the house he could hear the wails coming from Margot, he had never ever heard her sound like this before and or worried him. he could hear you, speaking to her softly over her cries, you sounded just as upset as her. “i’m so sorry angel, i don’t understand why you’re crying. i’ve fed you, cuddled you, changed you, i don’t know what else i can do. i’m sorry i’m failing you”

his heart broke. he walked into the living room and saw you holding Margot in your chest with tears streaming down your face. you looked so defeated and he hated it. “hey, what’s going on? are you okay?” he questioned as he slowly walked towards you.

you hadn’t heard the front door close so hearing him made you jump. you didn’t want him ti see you like this so you quickly wiped your eyes and showed him your best convincing smile. “oh yeah i’m fine, she’s just, i don’t know what’s the matter. i think she just might be tired” you lied, of course you weren’t okay.

“do you want me to take her?” he held is arms out so he could take Margo from you so you quickly passed her to him and he gently started rocking her which no i’m surprise stopped her cries. you felt your heart break. was it really that easy?

your eyes filled with tears, jealousy and frustration taking over your body as you saw how easy it was for him to calm her down. “look, go upstairs and have a shower, i’ll take care of Margot and you just have a break okay?we can talk after if you want to” he watched your shoulders drop slightly and your chin quiver as you tried to hold in your tears, something was definitely wrong and he was going to figure out what.

once he heard the bathroom door close he sat down on the sofa with Margot. he watched her huge brown eyes dart across his face. “what’s happened angel? you giving mama a hard time?” she cooed at him, a small smile on her face which looked exactly like yours. “you can’t give mama a hard time honey, mama’s with you all day” she squealed, obviously not understanding him.

“i’m sure you tired, if you’ve been crying like that all day i’m surprised you’re up right now” he decided to grab a bottle and try get her to nap so he could speak to you. he had never seen you like that before.

he warmed up the bottle and went upstairs to her nursery and sat in the rocking chair. he started feeding Margot and immediately her eyes started to close, he honestly wished that he was able to stay off work with you when Margot was first born. he had only gotten a week off work before he had to go back and he felt awful but ten Hag wouldn’t give him anymore time off.

once Margot finished her bottle he turned on the white noise machine and put her down into her crib. he quickly exited her bedroom to leave her to nap and went to your shared bedroom. he wanted to talk to you, you barely speak to each other now and he wanted to spend time with you.

after waiting for a while you finally came out the bathroom in new pyjamas and your hair was wrapped in a towel. your eyes were red, it was obvious you had been crying. “hey” you said, noticing him on the bed. he opened his arms and waited for you to sit on the bed next to him so he could hug you.

you quickly got onto the bed and cuddled into him. “we haven’t cuddled in ages, we haven’t spoke in ages. i want to know what’s bothering you sweetheart. i’ve never seen you look so upset” he kissed your forehead.

“i just, i feel like i’m not a good mum. like everyday all she does as soon as you leave is scream and cry and i’m trying my best to understand what’s wrong with her and i’m struggling. i’m struggling a lot” you felt your eyes well up with new tears. Mason felt his heart break. he was annoyed with himself for not noticing sooner.

“it feels like she hates me. and i just feel stupid because as soon as she’s with you, you calm her down. she even smiles at you. i’m feeling so lonely and i feel like a terrible mum.” your tears started flowing down your cheeks. you were quietly sobbing as Mason pulled you in closer and ran his hand up and down your back.

“i’m so sorry sweetheart, i really am. i’m sorry i haven’t been here to support you, i’m sorry you’ve had to do it all on your own. it’s not fair at all. and i’m sorry you think that you’re a bad mum because you aren’t. you are the most incredible mum” he heard your sniffles, guilt eating him alive.

“if you weren’t a good mum you wouldn’t do half the shit you do now. she doesn’t hate you angel, she loves you. you don’t know what she tells me when i come home” he joked which made you giggle through tears.

“i know it is tough right now, but i promise it’ll get better.” you looked up at him with uncertainty. “it will, stop giving me that look” he gave you a sympathetic smile. he hated that you were feeling this way, he wanted you to enjoy being a mum.

“you stay here for a bit, i need to go do something. don’t come downstairs until i say alright? just watch some tv and i’ll be back” he gave you a few pecks before he left you in the bedroom, confusion filling your body. but nevertheless you grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, trying to finally relax.

-♡-

it had been over an hour since Mason asked you to stay upstairs and all you could hear downstairs was Mason’s footsteps. you had absolutely no idea what he was doing and you were nervous to even go back downstairs.

“y/n sweetheart you can come down now” you heard him shout up to you so you quickly turned off the tv and made your way downstairs. whilst you were upstairs Mason did come to get Margot who had awoken from her nap about thirty minutes into him leaving you upstairs.

you had gone to get her out of her nursery but Mason quickly shooed you away back to the bedroom so he could take care of her. you were grateful he went to help Margot, he knew how stressed you were and he was trying to make you feel better so he took Margot downstairs with him.

you walked down the stairs and into the living room and saw blankets and pillows covering the sofa with your favourite food on the coffee table and your favourite movie ready to play on the tv. Mason was holding a now very aware Margot who actually reached out for you.

“i know it’s not much but i thought maybe we could spend time together for once?” Mason handed Margot over to you and kissed you passionately. “i’d love to” you kissed him one more time before you both made your way to get under the covers on the sofa.

Mason pulled you into his hold and kissed your forehead. “i know this doesn’t make up for what’s been happening these past few weeks but i do want you to know me and Margot appreciate everything you do” you felt a smile form on your face as he spoke, he had a way with words which always made you feel special.

“i have also spoken to ten Hag and told him that i’m gonna take a few weeks time off to look after you both. i don’t want you to feel alone, ever, because i am here for you” you looked up at him, it was the first time he’d seen you smile in ages.

“i know you are, you didn’t need to take a few weeks off. will he not get angry at you?” you kissed his cheek and he shook his head. “i didn’t get to take the time of when she was first born so i i don’t care if he’s mad. i have a family to look after” he lent down to kiss you again.

you didn’t know why you were so anxious to tell Mason how you were feeling, you knew he would help you and you appreciated him. “thank you mase, i love you” he smiled at you “i love you more”.

[newluvrs]

Wonbin ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: WE ARE MAKING OUT - YEULE, MURA MASA word count: 2.5k bb note: literally just wrote this bc I had the urge to kiss a man

Your fingers nervously fidget with Wonbin’s in the small space between you, too scared to look up at him.  The hints you’ve been sending him all night bold and obvious, a stark contrast to the way you’re behaving right now.  Your lip is pulled between your teeth, and you wish you could watch the expression on his face as you use your tongue to soothe the area you chewed on.  He thinks its funny how you can never just say what it is that you want.  Instead you throw him blatantly obvious gazes and touches.  

Like tonight as the two of you were out with friends you insisted you get SomiSomi, then when he wasn’t looking you purposefully made sure to get the SoftServe on the corner of your mouth, turning to him with a pout to help you wipe it off.  When his thumb slid over your bottom lip you puckered your lips to press a kiss to it.  And from there the hints only got more extreme.  Huffing when you saw the couple on screen kiss during the movie, constantly reapplying more gloss to your lips then asking Karina if you looked good, chewing on the straw of your drink until it was nothing but a shredded piece of plastic. 

Of course Wonbin got the hint ages ago, but he thinks its funnier to see the ways in which you’ll make a fool of yourself just to get him to kiss you.  He pretends not to get the hints, nonchalant as ever.  He likes how you react to him, how when he leans in too close you freeze up in anticipation.  He pressed his face close to yours earlier, he almost felt bad when you closed your eyes thinking he was gonna kiss you and instead he pulled an eyelash away from your cheek.  Life would be so easy for you if you would just ask for what you want, because he would always give it to you, no hesitation.  But he doesn’t mind doing this with you, he’d do it forever if you’d let him.

When you stepped through your apartment door and threw yourself on the couch he thought you might be upset, like maybe he took his private joke too far.  Your baggy shirt rides up your hips a little as you stare at the ceiling.  You think about just caving and asking him point blank, at a loss with how he can’t take a hint.  And you would just ask if you weren’t so nervous, this aspect of your relationship still very fresh.  You cover your face as you’re deep in thought, it should not be this hard to ask your boyfriend to make out with you.  You feel the couch dip next to you and you sit up, pulling your hands away from your face as you flex your fingers.  He hasn’t said anything since you got home, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him after your many failed attempts this evening.  Instead you choose to resign yourself to just playing with his hands as you pointedly try and not make eye contact with him.  

He leans forward, ducking his head down to try and get a look at your face, and you just turn it further away from him, sucking on your lip out of nervousness.  You’re not trying to pout, matter of fact you’re not even mad, he just makes you so nervous.  Every time you’re with him it feels like it’s hard to breathe.  Even when you were just friends, he always had a certain way of making you feel like it was easiest thing in the world to love him.  The air starts to feel a little charged as Wonbin gently pulls his hand away from yours.  You’re about to turn to him and tell him you’re not upset when he grabs you by your waist to pull you closer to him on the couch, the action catching you off guard.  Now it’s your turn to pretend like you don’t understand, playing coy as you continue to not look at him.  Wonbin wants to laugh now at how the roles have reversed, you always seem to switch up when you come face to face with the consequences of your actions.  A beat of silence passes and you think maybe that was it, that nothing else is going to come of this.  

“y/n..”

The way he softly calls your name makes you feel like you were dropped in ice water, making you feel wide awake.  His voice sweet with the way he calls it, you think your name fits perfectly in his mouth.  The letters and intonations coming together to make it your name but somehow sweeter.  When the initial shock wears off you bring yourself to look at him.  

Your first thought is that he’s closer than you thought he was, stomach doing cartwheels as your eyes travel down his features.  When your eyes reach his lips he notices how they linger there a little longer before you bring your gaze up to match his.  He can’t wipe the knowing smile off his face as he speaks. 

“hey”

“hi”

You want to cringe when you hear the way your voice shakes, but right now you’re too distracted, lost in the deep gaze of Wonbin’s pretty eyes.  He just looks at you so fondly it makes you feel like your chest is going to crack open.  An invisible string pulls the two of you closer to each other, until you might as well be on his lap.  He keeps doing the glance from your eyes back down to your lips, but each time he lingers a little longer, pulls himself a little closer.  The tension in the air burns your lungs with every inhale, anticipation and tenderness making your skin warm.  You’ve only been with him like this a handful of times, but already you’ve come to memorize the moves he makes before he gives in.  You suck your bottom lip between your teeth again, just out of habit.  Wonbin brings a hand to your face, using his thumb to pull on your bottom lip to get you to stop.  Your lips part at the action, quick and quiet breaths leaving you.  

Instead of removing his hand, Wonbin chooses to slide it to rest at your jaw, gently caressing your face.  When he leans forward, you close your eyes, remaining as still as possible.  He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away again.  You pray that he doesn’t notice the way you try and follow him, the hand still cupping your face preventing you from doing so.  A furrow finds its way on your brow, impatience beginning to overpower you.  When you’re the first one to lean forward this time, Wonbin obliges, but this time all he gives you is a quick peck before he’s pulling away again.  Before you can complain he’s pulling you to be seated in his lap, legs resting comfortably on either side of him.  He smooths a hand up your leg, fingers brushing against the exposed skin.  As your caught off guard by the sudden motion, he feels like now’s the perfect time.  

You’re practically trembling by the time he finally leans in, the only thing heard being the sound of each other’s heavy breaths.  It kills you because you think maybe this is another one of his jokes.  Thinking that maybe this time he’s just gonna kiss the tip of your nose, or something infuriating like that.  So when he’s pressing his lips to yours, it takes you a moment to fully register it.  It doesn’t click until both of his hands are holding the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.  When you finally realize, you practically melt against him, pouring every ounce of your yearning into returning the heat of his kisses.   

Nothing about the situation is rushed, you revel in the slow press of his lips against yours, the feeling of his thumb stroking your jaw as he leans into you.  The contrast of the gentle brushes of his lips that quickly turn into deeper presses sends you reeling.  Your breathing speeding up when he starts to tilt his head to work into his kisses.  He always knows when something is too little or too much, knows when to pull away to leave you wanting or when to kiss you so intently it overwhelms your senses.  

His moves become more teasing the longer you spend like this.  He pulls back occasionally to nip at your bottom lip, gently sucking on it as you try and catch your breath.  When your breathing starts to even out slightly he begins pressing little kisses along your jaw.  He doesn’t let you rest for too long before he’s kissing you again, hands sliding from your face to rest in the back pockets of your shorts.  As he cups a handful of your ass, your breath hitches, the feeling of his hands on you making you part your lips in a silent exhale.  He uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, your hands coming up to rest against his chest in an effort to give yourself some stability.  

You’re starting to get greedy now, your hands trailing down his body, just touching and pressing against the muscle.  You notice a change in his kisses, slowly they’re starting to feel hungrier, hands kneading against the soft flesh of your ass.  When your hands reach the bottom of his shirt, you slide your cold fingers under the fabric, feeling the toned skin there.  His waist is so sensitive, your nails dragging along it making him shiver below you.  When you start to feel him harden beneath you it becomes harder to focus, falling out of rhythm with his kisses as your legs tighten around him.  

He grabs your ass again and you unintentionally push your hips forward at the action, grinding against him.  Feeling him groan into the kiss sets something off within you, rocking your hips forward again.  This time he matches the action with a roll of his own hips as his hands hold you steady.  The feeling of it has you pulling away from him, panting into the air as he starts to build a rhythm against you.  He pulls his hands out of your pockets and rest them low on your hips instead, encouraging you to rock against him. 

You risk a glance at him and when you do you see his heavy eyes, his pretty lips swollen and shiny with your combined spit.  A part of you feels cocky, heat burning within you at the thought of that being the result of you.  It makes you feel good enough that you initiate the next kiss, pulling him into you by his shirt collar.  The kisses are sloppy and slightly uncoordinated, both of you struggling to keep up when your focus is clearly elsewhere.  At one particularly good grind you gently lean your head back, staring up at the ceiling as you bask in the feeling.  Wonbin follows you, leaving wet kisses on your throat as he tries to copy the movements.  When you let out a whine he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven.  

He pushes a hand up your shirt, quickly slipping it under your bra and toying with your nipple.  He rolls it between lithe fingers as he watches your reaction, addicted to the way you arch your back to press your chest further into him.  It draws more sounds out of you too, your soft moans now permeating the once quiet atmosphere.  As he tugs on your nipple your movement starts to become more desperate.  You’re starting to become fueled by the achy feeling in your cunt, the wetness becoming uncomfortable as you try and chase the pleasure the best you can.  

Wonbin’s not faring much better either, movements speeding up beneath you in an effort to make the two of you feel good, practically trying to fuck you through your clothes.  When it’s just not enough, he flips your position on the couch, strong arms laying you beneath him as he settles between your legs.  He kisses you again briefly as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you.  When he resumes grinding against you the angle makes your brain go numb from the pleasure.  Something about doing everything with clothes on makes this feel so much filthier.  Especially when Wonbin is pushing your shirt up your chest and your bra along with it, your bare chest pressed against his clothed one as he grabs hold of your hips.  

At this angle you’re not gonna last very long, and he can tell.  He sees it in the way you can’t stop tipping your head back, your moans turning into whimpers.  The thought of making you cum in your pants drives him crazy.  He presses a hand by your head to steady himself, grinding as deeply as he can as he bites at your jaw and neck.  

“feels.. good..” 

The way your voice comes out sounds so broken.  If it were another time Wonbin would tease you for it, but in this moment all he can do is gasp against your skin as he nears his high.  He tucks his head into the crevice of your neck as you hold him close, hands tangling in his hair.  His movements start to grow uncoordinated, you doing your best to try and meet him with your own.  You’re almost there when he sinks his teeth into the right side of your neck, shuddering as he lets out a groan.  He fucks his hips against yours as he cums, trying to sink deeper into you despite the fabric barrier.  His hips become twitchy the longer he goes, stuttering against you as you pull at his hair.

The stimulation is starting to be too much for him, making him whine with each push of his hips but he needs to get you there.  He needs to feel you cum against him, despite all the clothes the two of you have on.  When he feels you finally tense up beneath him he doesn’t stop, rolling his hips as deeply as he can as you shake beneath him.  You bring his face up from the crook of your neck, lips desperately trying to find his and when they do, the kiss tastes sweeter than any of the previous ones you’ve shared tonight.  You can barely kiss back but you do the best you can, desperate to have him in every aspect.  

When you finally stop shaking he collapses on top of you, breathing in steady breaths to get yourself to calm down, your orgasm making your mind feel hazy.  His lips find the exposed skin of your neck, leaving small gentle kisses as you play with his hair.  He presses his cheek against you, eyes closing as he decides to speak up, teasing laced in his tone.  

“You could just ask for a kiss next time you know.” 

[blueesnow]

(1/6) Amakusa Shion's Private Story [Utapri Live Emotion]

Ch 1: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 6 with Shion)

-Guest House Garden- Haruka: (What should I do about the new theme song for Amakusa-san's program. The theme of a natural science is so vast that its hard to summarize it…) Haruka: (Come to think of it, is he in a meeting or something? Since I came here to observe his recording, I had to at least greet him somehow) Shion: Oh… what a lovely bird. Looks like you came here to heal Amakusa. Haruka: (Amakusa-san…! So he's resting on a bench. Looks like he's talking to a little bird… maybe it's better if I didn't interrupt him.) Shion: You can use me as a perch and rest your wings. Now, come here onto this finger. Shion: This recording is a special feature on your friends. It's the last episode before the program is renewed. Shion: A familiar set, with a touch of colors in its song… Many things are being reborn yet I have been ordered to continue. Shion: ...My heart is filled with warm joy. This program is definitely something to be cherished. Shion: Mysterious nature and science that challenges the unknown. The emotions that it bring shall never cease to move Amakusa's heart. Shion: I believe it's my mission to make this feeling resonate with so many people. Haruka: (…Looks like Amakusa-san really took a liking to this program) Shion: Thanks to you, I was able to reflect on such an important beliefs. Shion: As a token of my gratitude, I shall present you a song. …~♪ Haruka: (How beautiful… It's like his kind heart is literally embodied within his voice… Ah, I feel like I've grasped something now…!) Shion: …Looks like your friends had come to pick you up. You should go. I shall do my best on the recording as well.

Ch 2: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 11 with Shion)

Ch 3: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 21 with Shion)

Ch 4: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 31 with Shion)

Ch 5: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 41 with Shion)

Ch 6: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 51 with Shion)

[elysiaheaven]

𝐈, 𝐉𝐢𝐚𝐨𝐪𝐢𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦-𝟏 The fox's wedding

Words:5207

TW: Mentions of curses, dead people, forced marriage?

Most of the lines are from the Masa works design's onibi series songs! just references since I got this idea from it!

If you think y/n is shitty in the first chapter, get ready to face that it's not true.

Characters that appear in this chapter: Jiaoqiu, Moze, Y/n

The abandoned ship from part of the Luofu which was lost loomed ahead, its dark silhouette against the starry backdrop of the void. Jiaoqiu and Moze approached the vessel, their steps echoing in the silence of the derelict expanse.

Moze, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of caution and disdain, adjusted his grip on his weapon. "This is a bad idea," he said, his voice a low murmur. "There's a reason this place was abandoned."

Jiaoqiu, ever the optimist despite the grim setting, gave a reassuring smile. "I understand your concern, Moze. But this herb is crucial for General Feixiao's treatment. Her condition is deteriorating, and we need to find it before it's too late."

Moze nodded, though his frown deepened. "If it's that important, then I suppose we have no choice. But if anything goes wrong, remember that I warned you."

As they entered the ship, the musty smell of decay filled the air. The once-magnificent interior was now a maze of twisted metal and debris. Shadows danced ominously across the walls, and the eerie silence was occasionally broken by the distant creaks of the ship's frame.

Their search led them to a chamber filled with a disturbing sight: statues of what appeared to be people, frozen in various poses of agony and despair. The lifelike details of the statues gave them a haunting realism, their eyes wide with a frozen terror that seemed to transcend time.

Moze's gaze lingered on the statues, a shiver running down his spine. "What are these?" he asked, his voice edged with unease.

Jiaoqiu's expression grew somber as he observed the statues. "These statues are a tragic reminder of an old tale," he began, his tone reflective. "It's the story of Y/N L/N, the Goddess of Betrayal. A deity not born from human creation, but from something far more ancient and malevolent."

Moze's curiosity was piqued despite the ominous setting. "Go on," he said, though his eyes remained wary.

Jiaoqiu took a deep breath. "Y/N L/N once aided the Borisin clan during a time of dire need. She provided them with food and sustenance when they were on the brink of starvation. The Borisin people, desperate and grateful, welcomed her aid. But there was a price to be paid."

He paused, looking at the statues with a mixture of sadness and reverence. "The village's guardian deity, a foxian named Eiji, tried to stop her, sensing something sinister behind her gifts. Y/N L/N, driven by her own malevolent desires, killed Eiji and took his place. In doing so, she cursed the people of the village, transforming them into statues as a testament to her betrayal."

Moze's eyes widened slightly. "So these statues are—"

"—the remnants of Eiji's final wish," Jiaoqiu continued, his voice somber. "He wished for everyone, including himself, to be turned into statues and die, hoping to stop Y/N L/N's wrath. But as a spirit, she couldn't die. Instead, she was bound to the human realm through marriage. If someone were to marry her, they would be bound to her forever. If they tried to escape, they would die. The only way to defeat her was through a clever scheme: to trick her into giving up her soul, thus betraying the Goddess of Betrayal herself."

Moze's gaze fell back on the statues, their cursed faces a chilling reminder of the power of betrayal. "I see. And you believe this herb will help Feixiao?"

"Yes," Jiaoqiu affirmed, nodding. "The herb is said to have properties that can counteract the Moon Rage affliction. It's our best hope."

Jiaoqiu and Moze moved deeper into the abandoned ship, their search for the herb proving more challenging with each step. The air grew colder, and the silence seemed to press in on them, broken only by the occasional clatter of debris.

As they entered a large chamber, Jiaoqiu's eyes were drawn to a wall covered in ancient writings and inscriptions. The text, faded and worn, was in a language he recognized from his studies—a mix of old Borisin dialects and forgotten scripts. Despite Moze's warnings, Jiaoqiu was intrigued by the historical significance.

Moze, ever the skeptic, approached with a concerned expression. "This is a bad idea, Jiaoqiu. We're here for the herb, not to play historian. The more time we spend here, the greater the risk."

"I understand," Jiaoqiu replied, his eyes still fixed on the inscriptions. "But knowledge can be as valuable as the herb itself. There might be information here that could aid in understanding more about our current situation."

Ignoring Moze's concerned sigh, Jiaoqiu began to decipher the texts, his fingers tracing the old characters with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. As he read, he stumbled upon a section that described a statue of a girl. The description was both enchanting and tragic—a girl with delicate features, her hands seemingly outstretched in acceptance, yet her eyes filled with sorrow.

Driven by a strange compulsion, Jiaoqiu moved towards a pedestal at the center of the chamber where the statue was displayed. The statue was exquisitely detailed, her features so lifelike that she seemed on the verge of tears. Her hands were poised as if she had accepted an offering, but the sadness in her eyes was palpable.

Jiaoqiu reached out and gently touched the statue. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt an intense pull, a deep yearning to kiss the statue's cold, sculpted lips. He found himself inching closer, drawn by an inexplicable force.

"Jiaoqiu!" Moze's voice cut through the haze. "What are you doing? Snap out of it!"

But Jiaoqiu was beyond hearing. The closer he got, the more overwhelming the sensation became. The statue seemed to come alive with an eerie allure, its sorrowful eyes mesmerizing him.

Suddenly, Moze, sensing the danger, lunged forward. "Get away from that statue!" he shouted, grabbing Jiaoqiu's arm and pulling him back.

The moment Moze's hand made contact, the statue's eyes flashed with a malevolent glow. 

Jiaoqiu, now freed from the statue's grip, staggered back, his mind clearing. "There's a monster, behind it." he said, his voice trembling. 

Moze drew his weapon, his face set in a determined scowl. "We need to fight. Stay sharp!"

The creature let out a guttural roar, its monstrous form shifting and writhing. It charged at them with surprising speed, its eyes still glowing with that hypnotic light. Jiaoqiu, shaking off the lingering effects of the statue's influence, joined Moze in the battle.

Moze moved with precision, his strikes calculated and deadly, while Jiaoqiu used his agility to dodge and counterattack. The ship's dim lighting cast eerie shadows on the walls as the battle raged on, each movement and strike reverberating through the cold, silent chamber.

Jiaoqiu managed to land a solid blow, causing the creature to stagger, but its eyes continued to glow with a hypnotic pull. Moze, sensing the need for a decisive strike, aimed for the creature's core, hoping to end the threat once and for all.

With a final, powerful strike, Moze hit the creature's core, and the monster let out a final, anguished roar before collapsing into a lifeless heap. The hypnotic glow in its eyes faded, and the chamber fell silent once more.

Breathing heavily, Jiaoqiu and Moze stood amidst the remnants of their battle. The statue was now just a broken relic, its enchantment defeated. Jiaoqiu's hands trembled slightly as he looked at the fallen creature.

"Thank you," Jiaoqiu said, his voice shaky. "I almost—"

"Don't mention it," Moze interrupted, his tone firm. "Let's get what we came for and leave this place before there are more surprises."

Jiaoqiu's eyes were drawn back to the statue as he and Moze took a moment to catch their breath. Something nagged at him, a detail he had initially overlooked in the heat of battle. The statue's kimono—

He noticed that the kimono was worn right over left, a clear indication that it was a garment meant for the deceased. In contrast, living people traditionally wore their kimonos left over right. This detail, combined with the kitsune mask that adorned the statue, suddenly clicked in his mind.

"This... this is the Goddess of Betrayal's statue," Jiaoqiu hissed, his voice barely a whisper. The realization sent a chill down his spine. "It's her!"

Before he could say more, the monstrous creature, still lying in wait, let out another guttural roar. The statue's form shifted and writhed, its monstrous nature fully revealed. It charged at them once more, its eyes glowing with that hypnotic allure.

Moze, seeing the danger intensify, made a split-second decision. "Jiaoqiu, get out of here!" he shouted. "I'll hold it off. You need to save Feixiao. Get to the herb and get out!"

"No, Moze, we need to—" Jiaoqiu began, but Moze pushed him back towards the entrance of the chamber.

"Go! I'll handle this. I can't let you both die here," Moze said firmly. With a swift motion, he activated a mechanism on the door, locking Jiaoqiu inside the chamber with the monster.

Jiaoqiu's protests were drowned out by the clamor of the battle. He tried desperately to force the door open, but it was securely locked. He pounded on the door, shouting for Moze, but his cries were met only with the sounds of the struggle beyond.

Then came a scream—a piercing, agonizing sound that cut through the chaos. Jiaoqiu's heart sank as he realized it was Moze's voice. The sounds of the fight grew more desperate, and then suddenly, everything went quiet.

Jiaoqiu's breaths came in short, panicked gasps as he searched for a way out. His eyes darted around the chamber, looking for any possible escape route or a way to help Moze. But the door was firmly locked, and the only other exit seemed to be the way he came in—blocked by the monster now.

He turned back to the statue, his mind racing. The legends had spoken of the Goddess of Betrayal's curse: she could only return to the human realm through marriage, and if someone attempted to escape from her, they would die. The only way to save Moze—and himself—was to somehow appease the goddess, even if it meant sacrificing his own freedom.

Jiaoqiu felt a wave of desperation wash over him. He knew what kind of malevolent spirit Y/N L/N was reputed to be—a being who had betrayed the town. Yet, if he wanted to save his friend and complete their mission, he had to confront this deity.

He approached the statue with trembling steps, his heart pounding in his chest. The goddess's eyes seemed to follow him, their hypnotic glow now more pronounced than ever. Jiaoqiu took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he had to do.

"I'm here," he said, his voice quavering but determined. "I'm willing to make a pact. I'll do whatever it takes."

As he spoke, the air around the statue seemed to shimmer with dark energy. Jiaoqiu could feel the pressure of the goddess's power building, an oppressive force that threatened to overwhelm him. But he remained resolute, focused on saving Moze and fulfilling their mission.

"I'm not afraid," Jiaoqiu declared, his voice growing stronger. "I'll marry you if it means saving my friend and completing our mission. I'll do whatever it takes."

Jiaoqiu's heart raced as he stood before the statue, holding the ancient text that revealed the solution to their dire predicament. The spell was clear—marriage to the kitsune spirit was the only way to save his friend. With a resolute expression, he read the incantation aloud, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him.

As he completed the spell, the statue's eyes began to flicker with life. Jiaoqiu approached, feeling the weight of his decision press heavily upon him. The goddess, a tragic figure bound by her curse, had her eyes closed, her form still and lifeless. He knew what he had to do to seal their pact.

With trembling hands, Jiaoqiu leaned in and pressed his lips gently against the statue's. The kiss was soft, almost tender, yet it carried the weight of his desperation and hope. As his lips met the cold stone, a shiver ran through him. The sensation was like stepping into a dream, where reality blurred with the ethereal. The statue's form began to change, her features softening, and her kimono—a deep, wine-red with black sashes and a grey obi—flowed around her as she transformed.

For a moment, you, the Goddess of Betrayal, felt the warmth of his kiss. Your eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep sadness mingled with an ancient, inscrutable power. You could see Jiaoqiu before you, his features illuminated by the dim light—a young man with pale salmon-colored hair and golden eyes that reflected a mixture of determination and vulnerability. He was almost hypnotized by the act, his gaze locked with yours as he awaited your response.

"You've bound yourself to me," you said, your voice a whisper that echoed with a sadistic edge. "How cute, a foxian marrying me. After all, it was a foxian I once killed with my own hands."

Your eyes softened momentarily as you gazed at him, your lips curving into a dark, melancholic smile. You leaned closer and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, a gesture both affectionate and haunting. "I will be a good wife, haunting you through every step you take."

Jiaoqiu's eyes widened, a mix of fear and awe reflected in them. He didn't fully understand the depth of your power or the true nature of your curse, but he sensed the gravity of his situation.

"Please," Jiaoqiu implored, "save Moze. He's in grave danger."

You nodded, You moved swiftly, your form a blur as you used your powers to navigate the darkened corridors of the temple. Your presence was a haunting shadow, manipulating the very essence of the surroundings to achieve your goal.

The scene was surreal: you, a goddess bound by a curse, moving with a grace that was both unsettling and beautiful. The power you wielded was palpable, shaping the environment around you as you searched for Moze.

Finally, you reached Moze's location, your eyes narrowing as you saw him injured but alive. With a decisive motion, you used your abilities to mend his wounds and transport him out of the locked chamber. The process was swift, the air around you shimmering with the force of your will.

Jiaoqiu, witnessing your actions, felt a mixture of relief and awe. He had bound himself to you in a moment of desperation, but now, as he saw you save his friend, he understood the complexity of his choice. Your presence was both a blessing and a curse, a reminder of the tragic fate that had led you to this moment.

With Moze safe and the immediate danger averted.

Moze's frustration was palpable as he slapped Jiaoqiu across the face, his eyes blazing with anger and confusion. "Why did you sacrifice yourself?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Why did you throw away everything for this?"

Jiaoqiu's eyes were red with tears, his face a portrait of anguish and resolve. "Because... because you were my friend," he choked out, his voice trembling. "And Feixiao was like family to me. I couldn't let him suffer, even if it meant enduring this... this fate. I would rather suffer myself than let him down."

Moze's silence was replaced by a fierce, unspoken rage. He raised his hand to slap Jiaoqiu again, his expression a mix of sorrow and fury. But just as his hand was about to connect, you, levitating gracefully above the floor, intervened. Your ethereal presence was both commanding and terrifying as you stopped his hand with a mere flick of your wrist.

"Hold your hand, mortal," you said, your voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling calm. "You're the emi of our lives, I don't wanna hurt you."

Moze pushed against the air with a sense of futile defiance, his frustration evident as he faced you. "You're not welcome here," he growled, his blade grasped tightly in his hand.

You hovered there, a spectral figure of disdain and amusement. "What are you looking at, while grasping that blade in your hand?" you taunted, your voice dripping with mockery. "Shall we speak to him, who can't recover his old self? You mock the very reason why he married me. I find it quite amusing—laughable even—that he chose to bind himself to me."

You floated closer, your gaze sharp and unforgiving. "He chose to sacrifice himself for a cause greater than your understanding. It is because of you that Jiaoqiu married me."

Your laughter was haunting. Moze's anger seemed to falter under the weight of your words, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief as he struggled to comprehend the depth of Jiaoqiu's sacrifice and your own cruel amusement.

You continued to hover, your laughter echoing ominously through the chamber. The sound was both mocking and sorrowful, an unsettling blend that seemed to deepen the shadows around you. Moze, seething with anger and desperation, stepped forward, his voice fierce and filled with an edge of menace.

"The Luofu will see to it that you are beheaded," Moze threatened, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're nothing but a curse upon us. Leave Jiaoqiu alone, and get out of here!"

You looked at him with a cold, unsettling calm, your expression unphased by his fury. "Oh, I am the victim here, Moze," you said with a haunting smile. "I am bound to this curse, and I cannot turn back into a human unless I am married to someone for thirty days. Only then will I be freed from this torment."

Your eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger lighting up your gaze. "And yet, you ask me to leave, to abandon the one who bound himself to me. How quaint. You insist on telling me not to leave. Are you so eager to ensure my suffering continues?"

Jiaoqiu, sensing the growing tension, stepped between you and Moze, his voice urgent yet pleading. "Please, stop haunting Moze. He's already suffering enough."

You turned your gaze to Jiaoqiu, your expression momentarily softening as you regarded him. "And why should I? He is the one who forced this fate upon me. Yet, you plead for his sake. How touching."

Moze's eyes hardened, his tone laced with disdain. "Loyalty for a goddess after betrayal? Is that what you value so highly?"

For a moment, you were taken aback, a flicker of confusion crossing your features. The question struck a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you had long buried under layers of bitterness and rage. But you quickly masked your confusion, a cold smile returning to your lips.

"It seems you misunderstand," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Loyalty is but a tool, a means to an end. Betrayal and loyalty are mere players in the game of fate. I am bound by my curse, and he—Jiaoqiu—has chosen to play his part in this tragic tale."

Your gaze shifted back to Moze, your eyes reflecting a mixture of sorrow and disdain. "But remember, it is not just loyalty or betrayal that defines us. It is the choices we make, the sacrifices we endure, and the consequences of our actions. If you wish for me to leave, then so be it. But know that I will not forget the role each of you plays in this twisted narrative."

As you floated closer to Jiaoqiu, leaving Moze behind, your presence seemed to envelop the room with an eerie calm. Jiaoqiu, sensing the intensity of your gaze, instinctively took a step back, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and resignation.

You hovered gracefully before him, your expression softening into a smile that was both unsettling and strangely tender. Despite your past hatred for the foxians—rooted in deep-seated bitterness and betrayal—you found yourself unable to hate him. There was something about Jiaoqiu's demeanor, his gentle features, and the earnestness in his eyes that disarmed you.

"You know," you said softly, your voice carrying a strange, melodic tone. "Despite everything, I find I cannot hate you. You are so kind, so pretty in your own way. It is a rare thing, to find such sincerity amidst the shadows."

Jiaoqiu's heart pounded as he looked at you, his fear palpable. To him, your kind smile felt more like a haunting specter of doom than a promise of salvation. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation, and gave a slow, hesitant nod.

"I will be a good wife to you," you continued, your voice imbued with a gentle assurance that contrasted sharply with the chilling atmosphere. "I will fulfill the role expected of me. Though we are not officially married, this bond we have is undeniable."

As you spoke, Jiaoqiu tried to create some space between you, his hand trembling as he attempted to maintain distance. "We didn't marry officially," he said, his voice strained, trying to maintain his composure.

You chuckled softly, the sound both melodic and unnerving. you floated away, your presence lingered, leaving an unsettling stillness in the chamber. A soft, eerie light began to emanate from the statues, and suddenly, they began to stir. One by one, the statues moved as if guided by invisible strings, their once-stone forms now animated like puppets. The room came alive with a spectral, unsettling energy.

Moze, still bound and struggling, looked on in shock as the statues—now eerily lifelike—took their places around him, their movements synchronized in a macabre dance. His eyes widened as he realized the full extent of your powers and the dire situation he was in.

In a swirl of shimmering light, you transformed into a vision of ethereal beauty. The Kinmokusei blossom petals surrounded you, their sweet fragrance filling the air as you emerged in traditional Japanese wedding attire. The kimono you wore was a stunning array of intricate patterns and colors, the fabric flowing gracefully around you. Your appearance was both enchanting and unsettling, a blend of elegance and menace.

The statues, now fully animated, assumed the roles of your attendants. They moved with a precision that spoke of long practice, preparing the room for the grand event. Their silent, expressionless faces and fluid movements added to the surreal atmosphere.

You giggled softly, the sound a strange mix of joy and malevolence. Your eyes sparkled with a twisted delight as you directed the attendants, arranging the room and ensuring everything was perfect for the occasion.

Jiaoqiu, observing the transformation with a mix of dread and confusion, was soon approached by the attendants, who gently but firmly guided him into a male kimono designed specifically for the wedding. The kimono was elaborate, its fabric rich and luxurious, adorned with intricate embroidery that contrasted sharply with the somber atmosphere.

As Jiaoqiu was dressed in the ceremonial attire, he looked at you with a mixture of fear and resignation. You stood before him, your smile a blend of satisfaction and cold determination.

"Isn't it wonderful, Jiaoqiu?" you said, your voice sweet but carrying an underlying edge. "The ceremony is almost ready. All that remains is for us to finalize our bond."

Jiaoqiu's heart raced as he took in the surreal and haunting scene around him. The once-stone statues now moved with a life of their own, and the atmosphere was thick with the sense of impending doom. The wedding was no longer a mere formality—it had become an eerie, otherworldly ritual that tied him irrevocably to you.

As you approached, your gaze never leaving him, Jiaoqiu knew there was no escape from this twisted ceremony. The realization of his fate, bound by your will and the powers you wielded, left him feeling both trapped and powerless. The room, filled with the soft glow of Kinmokusei petals and the haunting presence of your attendants, seemed to pulse with a life of its own, marking the beginning of a dark and unbreakable bond.

The scene before Jiaoqiu was straight out of a nightmare, a dark and twisted version of a wedding ceremony. The once-stone statues, now animated and lifelike, moved with eerie precision. They formed a haunting procession, their eyes vacant yet filled with an unnatural, ghostly light. The atmosphere was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft rustling of Kinmokusei petals.

Moze, bound and helpless, watched in grim horror as you, now an embodiment of spectral elegance, took your place at the center of this unholy ceremony. Your mask, a golden fox visage, added to the sinister aura, its eyes glinting with a malevolent light.

With a commanding gesture, you pushed Jiaoqiu forward. He stumbled, his movements shaky, as the procession of animated statues—now disturbingly alive—moved in a perfectly synchronized manner. Each statue seemed to have a purpose, their once-dead eyes turning toward the couple as if they were part of the ceremony.

The statues, their faces twisted into grotesque smiles, began to twist their necks in unison, their bodies contorting in unnatural ways. Their movements were eerily fluid, as though they were performing an intricate, macabre dance. Despite their movements, their expressions remained hollow, a haunting echo of their former selves.

"You see, Jiaoqiu," you said softly, your voice carrying a dark, hypnotic undertone. "This is our wedding. A ceremony that binds us in ways beyond the mortal realm. These are the witnesses and the blessings. They are alive, in a sense, but bound to this realm by my will."

As you spoke, the statues' necks twisted further, their bodies stretching and contorting in a grotesque mimicry of life. They seemed to move with a purpose, their eerie, synchronized motions creating an unsettling harmony. The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying, a testament to your power and the dark magic you wielded.

You floated gracefully behind Jiaoqiu, your presence both alluring and terrifying. The Kinmokusei petals drifted around you, their fragrance now tinged with an undertone of dread. Your mask, a symbol of your divine but twisted nature, added to the surreal and menacing atmosphere.

Jiaoqiu, his heart pounding and eyes wide with terror, looked around at the grotesque spectacle. He felt a deep sense of dread as he realized the full extent of his predicament. The once-beautiful ceremony had transformed into a dark, demonic ritual, and he was at its center, bound by fate and your will.

The statues, now eerily alive and animated, continued their dance, their movements a haunting echo of a ceremony long forgotten. They were both the audience and the participants in this unholy union, their twisted forms a stark reminder of the price Jiaoqiu had paid for attempting to save his friend.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as the ghostly figures completed their macabre dance. The haunting melody of the Kinmokusei blossoms floated around you, casting an ethereal glow on the scene. Jiaoqiu, trembling with fear and resignation, stood at the center of this twisted ceremony.

With a chilling grace, you approached him. The Kinmokusei petals continued to fall gently, their sweet scent now mingling with the oppressive dread in the air. Your attire had shifted to an elaborate Japanese wedding kimono, its intricate patterns and vibrant colors creating a stark contrast to the dark ritual unfolding. The ceremonial clothing was as elegant as it was eerie, a blend of tradition and otherworldly menace.

Jiaoqiu's eyes darted nervously from the animated statues to you. He took in your transformed appearance, the golden fox mask and the flowing kimono adding an otherworldly grace to your already haunting presence. His heart raced as he struggled to process the reality of the situation.

"Jiaoqiu," you said softly, your voice a haunting whisper that seemed to echo through the stillness. "We are bound by fate and ritual. This is our union, sealed by the forces beyond."

You reached out to him, your fingers cold and otherworldly as they brushed against his cheek. Jiaoqiu's breath caught in his throat, the touch both unsettling and strangely intimate. He closed his eyes, trying to brace himself for what was to come.

With a deliberate and practiced motion, you guided Jiaoqiu to the center of the ceremony. The statues, now fully animated, encircled the couple, their eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of eerie devotion and hollow anticipation. Their twisted forms seemed to sway in rhythm with the ceremony, creating an unsettling backdrop for the final act.

The ceremony's focal point was a large, ancient scroll held by one of the statues, its intricate symbols glowing with an unearthly light. You took the scroll and unrolled it, revealing the ancient marriage vows inscribed in a language both arcane and familiar. You began to recite the vows in a low, melodic chant, your voice weaving a spell of binding and enchantment.

Jiaoqiu, still trembling, tried to maintain composure. His heart was heavy with the weight of the situation, but he understood that there was no turning back. He nodded slowly, accepting his fate as you continued to recite the vows.

As the final words of the incantation left your lips, you moved closer to Jiaoqiu. Your eyes locked onto his, and you could see the mixture of fear and determination reflected in his gaze. With a gentle yet firm motion, you tilted his chin upward and leaned in to seal the marriage.

Your lips met Jiaoqiu's in a kiss that was both chilling and profound. The contact was not just physical but also mystical, a connection that seemed to bind your very souls together. Jiaoqiu felt a strange sensation, a mix of warmth and cold, as if he were being enveloped by a force that was both beautiful and terrifying.

As the kiss deepened, Jiaoqiu's mind swirled with a blend of emotions. The kiss was hypnotic, drawing him into a realm where time seemed to stand still. He felt a strange comfort amidst the dread, a bond forming between you both that transcended the ordinary.

When the kiss finally ended, you pulled back slightly, your eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and cruel delight. The ceremony was complete, and the bond between you and Jiaoqiu was sealed. The statues, now fully animated, seemed to exhale a collective sigh, their movements becoming more fluid and less menacing.

Jiaoqiu, now officially bound to you, looked around at the eerie assembly of figures. His expression was a mix of relief and fear, knowing that he was now a part of this twisted ritual. The haunting beauty of the ceremony was over, but the implications of the union were just beginning to sink in.

You smiled softly, your gaze lingering on Jiaoqiu. "Welcome to our eternal bond, my dear husband," you said, your voice echoing with a sinister undertone. 

Acquired to exchange our lost bodies, Our twofaced thoughts,half dreaming,half awake In the end, I embrace & whisper to you Open it? Open it? Open it? Open it!

"Wake up!"

[greensagephase]

Making Tamales with Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x FemaleReader

Summary: You make the first batch of tamales for the season with Miguel.

Word Count: 1,909

Warnings: Reader knows or at least understands Spanish; Reader knows how to make tamales; Miguel talks in Spanish a bit but translations will be provided at the end (italicized); teasing and smug Miguel; It's alluded Miguel and reader did it at the end

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

As soon as Miguel feels the first chill of the season, he tells you it’s time to make tamales. You agree with him, of course, so the two of you plan an afternoon to make them. Miguel and you prep the kitchen. You have all the ingredients and supplies out from the leaves to the masa, the filling that the two of you prepped, and other items like the big pot where they’ll be cooked.

Miguel takes charge of preparing the masa. It only seems right as his large hands can get it just right and much quicker than you and your smaller hands. Of course, it also helps that this man is like a walking furnace, which means his warmth is perfect to help the melted lard mix in with the masa. His playlist is playing in the background, which is composed of music that he grew up listening to and that will help keep both of your spirits up as you make the tamales because he knows how exhausting it can get after twenty minutes of working. Thankfully, he has upbeat songs like those from Joan Sebastian such as “Tatuajes,” Bronco’s “Que No Quede Huella,” and Los Angeles Azules’s “Como Te Voy a Olvidar.” You notice Miguel bopping his head as he prepares the masa, his lips moving as he sings silently to the songs, which you can’t blame him for because he’s playing iconic bops.

Meanwhile, you prepare the leaves. You soak them in warm water in a large bowl, making sure to sink them with your hands so the top ones get covered, too. You dump the water out a few times, making sure the leaves are clean before you leave them to fully soak. You prep the pot and the containers you’ll be putting the tamales in as you make them before you put them in the pot.

At last, Miguel tells you the masa is ready so the two of you start. You’ve seen other methods on social media, but Miguel and you stick to the traditional method using spoons. The two of you take a seat and start and well, this is where the peace starts fading because the two of you start to get competitive. If you grew up making tamales with all your family pitching in to help “para terminar más pronto,” you know how competitive it can get with who prepares the most leaves. And of course, for you and Miguel, it’s no exception as you both grew up competing with your relatives.

Neither of you say it but you can tell. Miguel casually looks at the stack of leaves with masa you have ready. He grins to himself, knowing that he has at least three more than you when he looks at his taller stack. You notice his grin and force yourself to hide a frown, thinking it’s unfair. With his large hand, Miguel can cover more ground. He doesn’t have to turn the leaf on his hand so many times like you to cover the same amount of space even if the leaf is the same size.

You speed up, casually, of course. You don’t want to tip Miguel off. You want to win this, even though it’s silly, especially when you see his little grin like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“With this speed we’ll be done in no time, preciosa,” he says, trying to sound neutral but oh, you know when Miguel is teasing and he’s definitely teasing you right now.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing that will only give him more satisfaction. So instead, you nod and smile.

“I hope so. You know how the first batch of the season always hits different,” you reply as you pick up another leaf and quickly grab a spoonful of the masa. Your movements are fast and experienced as you spread the masa over the leaf evenly, but it still takes you double the time it takes Miguel to get one done.

And you’re not as slick as you think you are. Neither of you are. You both know you’re in an unofficial competition with each other now. The playlist Miguel has playing in the background is kind of forgotten at this point even when a song that you both enjoy is playing. You’re both focused on beating each other, though Miguel isn’t really worried, and you can tell. He feels so comfortable with his progress that he slows down, preparing the leaves in a calmer manner, unlike you.

It just makes him grin as he steals glances at you. And just when it looks like you’re about to tie up with him, Miguel picks up the speed again, whistling as he does so to whatever song is on now. It gets on your nerves, but you keep a neutral face despite knowing he’s doing it to annoy you. You pick up another leaf and grab a spoonful of the masa once again, wincing as the spoon makes contact with the finger you’ve been supporting it with this whole time. You can already feel the skin tender and sore, a sign that tomorrow you’ll have a full-on blister if not by tonight before you go to bed.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrow as he notices you wince. He puts his leaf and spoon down and walks around the table to you. You continue to spread the masa over the leaf, still trying to beat him when he takes your hand, the one that’s been holding the spoon the entire time. You begin to protest but he hushes you as he leans forward, bringing your hand to his face. You sigh agitated and look at him. Miguel is looking at your finger before he rubs his thumb over the sored area gently. He meets your eyes and gives you a small grin as he does so.

“How about I take care of the rest, preciosa? You can start on the filling with what we have already,” he suggests quietly.

You’re about to decline but he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the tender and sore skin of your finger, while meeting your eyes. You shut up and sigh. You’re competitive but you know when to admit defeat. You nod.

“Fine. I’ll do the filling,” you mutter and retrieve your hand after he kisses your finger again.

“Muy bien,” Miguel replies, giving you a grin and kissing your cheek before he returns to his spot.

So, you finish making the tamales by putting the filling in them as Miguel finishes using the masa. And yes, you’re a little upset. Just because you know when to admit defeat doesn’t mean you aren’t a little sored about it. You always beat your relatives growing up, so you’re not used to losing this competition.

After putting the tamales in the pot together, Miguel and you clean the kitchen. You head to the living room and lie down on one of the couches once you’re done with your part, knowing it’s going to be about an hour before the tamales are ready. You turn on the tv, still feeling upset as you switch channels. Not long after, Miguel walks out of the kitchen drying his hands with a towel since he volunteered to wash dishes, which just made you feel crappy because he always volunteers to wash dishes to spare your hands from the harsh dish soap but especially today due to your sored finger; his kindness is like salt to the wound, and yeah, maybe you’re being a little dramatic but who cares.

He approaches you, throwing the towel over his shoulder before he stands behind the couch. He peers down at you, noticing the pout as you switch channels, and grins. He knows you’re sored over losing even if it was a friendly competition. He leans down on the couch and caresses your face with the back of his hand.

“¿Sigues enojada, preciosa?” he asks in a whisper.

Your pout becomes more noticeable as you turn to look up at him, meeting his red eyes. You stare at him, unable to stop yourself from feeling a little breathless at the sight of his face. You cuss internally because it’s so unfair for this man to look this good after making tamales. Some strands of hair hang over his forehead and he has a bit of powder flour on his cheek from when he was first prepping the masa. You lift your hand to his face and wipe it off gently.

“I wasn’t upset,” you reply, clearly lying, as you retrieve your hand from his face but Miguel grabs it before it’s away from his reach. He brings it to his face.

“Ah, okay,” he answers with a grin. “That’s good to hear. I thought you were a little sore back then. And not just from your finger.”

You snatch your hand from his grip and turn away from him, facing the tv and ignoring him. Miguel chuckles lightly at your reaction, clearly amused. He walks around the couch to the front and before you can protest, Miguel is over you. He has no problem moving you to his liking, placing you between his legs before he lies down on you.

“Miguel! Seriously?” you say trying to move but your efforts are useless when it comes to Miguel, who settles on top of you with ease. You sigh annoyed even though you’re in no discomfort because Miguel knows exactly how to position himself to avoid crushing you.

So, you just lay underneath him and turn your face to the tv as an effort to at least ignore him, though that’s a very challenging task because the man is on top of you and now his mouth is on your neck, peppering your skin with kisses.

“Andale, preciosa. Don’t be upset with me. We have a whole hour before the tamales are ready. You can’t avoid me. You can’t even leave the house. You know the rule. We both put the tamales in the pot, and you know what they say,” Miguel says, planting a kiss on your neck at the end of each sentence. “¿No queremos tamales pintos, verdad?”

You try very hard to ignore him but his warm breath, his lips on your neck, the weight of his body over yours keeping you in place always does something to you. And Miguel knows it. So, he uses it to his advantage. He continues to kiss your neck, eventually escalating to biting your neck gently, which instantly has you closing your eyes and whimpering underneath him.

Needless to say, the tamales weren’t the only thing that got a filling, and thankfully the two of you remembered to check on them once the hour passed by. You concluded the evening by eating some delicious tamales, definitely needing the energy after so much work.

As the two of you eat tamales, Miguel leans closer to your face and pecks your cheek.

“The first batch of the season definitely hits different,” he whispers with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes at him but now that you have food in your system and took out your annoyance on him, you grin back.

“I don’t know how but I’m beating you next time. So be ready,” you answer.

“Preciosa, I’ll help you win as long as I get to have you and tamales at the end.”

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

Translation for italicized words: Masa - dough para terminar más pronto - to finish sooner preciosa - beautiful muy bien - very good ¿sigues enojada, preciosa? - still mad, beautiful? Andale, preciosa - come on, beautiful ¿No queremos tamales pintos, verdad? - we don't want painted tamales, right?; "pintos" is used here in place of "raw" (there are several myths (my family and I have never tested any) about tamales getting "painted," which means that some parts are cooked and others uncooked for different reasons, one of them being that the person who prepare the dough or the people who put them in the pot can't leave the house). _____

My family and I made our first batch of tamales this week and I just got inspired by it. Imagining Miguel mixing the masa got me in my feelings. 🥺 This is just based on my experience but other people who make tamales may have a different method(s)!